“Dad has Ned working all weekend, or I’d have asked him.”

“You know, it’s not exactly flattering to be your second choice.” She shot me an annoyed look. “I clean up nice when I try. I just hardly ever try.”

“Thank you, George!” I said, clapping with delight. “You’ll have to rent a gown ASAP or there won’t be any left in the shop.”

“Ugh, I hate that formal-wear shop. It always smells like cats and my grandma’s perfume. Plus, it’s totally overpriced.”

“This is serious, George! I really want to make a good impression.”

“Okay, okay, I promise I’ll dress up. I’m sure there’s something ‘suitable’ in my closet. Why don’t you help me pick out an outfit? Since you obviously want to.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” I said, making a beeline for George’s overstuffed closet. “Maybe you can help me with something in exchange. When Bess and I went to visit Sven’s studio, he told us that the Duchess has a pair of valuable works by someone called D. Shammas. I heard Zeke and Diana talking about them after the show too. You didn’t learn anything about that artist in class, did you?”

“Nope. Never heard of Shammas. I can do some research, though.”

“Yes, please.”

George started typing at a frantic pace, opening tab after tab of Internet searches. She might not be so good at dressing up, but George Fayne was the only person I trusted to guide me through the Duchess’s legendary art collection. I imagined Han van Meegeren, the forger, gluing delicate badger hairs onto his brush handle, and that reminded me of Mona Pearl, her face hidden behind the tall collar of carefully woven sticks. I liked the idea of a person who was totally dedicated to their art, even if no one else understood what they were doing.

Ever since that day at Slay Gallery, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mona Pearl’s missing statue. She’d said the statue depicted Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt. I wondered if that was significant. How could a goddess vanish from a packed gallery? And who would want to steal from the Duchess’s granddaughter?

In order to investigate the missing statue, I’d need to blend in among the Duchess’s guests. I wanted to look fabulous enough that any of these artsy people would feel comfortable talking to me, maybe even comfortable enough to let something slip.

George’s closet seemed to be filled with nothing but lumpy sweaters and hanger after hanger of wrinkled button-down shirts printed with zigzags, polka dots, birds, palm trees, lightning bolts, and bicycles. Finally, all the way at the back, I found a single sleeveless blue dress with its tags still on. I wrestled it out and held it up for George to see.

“What about this? If you added a belt and some heels, it would be adorable.”

George glanced over and wrinkled her nose.

“I’ll … think about it. Nancy, how do you spell ‘Shammas’?”

“S-H-A-M-M-A-S, I think. Why?”