Chapter 1
Our story might not truly begin with the turtle, but I’m going to start there. The turtle in question is named Agatha. Her name was given to her by a human who had noticed her existence. Most humans did not notice her existence. Agatha is important to our story because she lives in the garden behind the Penelope L. Brooks Museum. In the warmer months, she moves slowly—very slowly; she is, after all, a turtle—nibbling on food left over by picnicking families. (During the summer, the garden behind the Penelope is a very popular picnic spot.) Occasionally, a human will spot Agatha and clap with delight. But mostly she is left alone. In the winter, she tunnels underground to hibernate. And to stay away from the cold. Turtles prefer going underground to wearing winter coats. The day the painting was stolen from the museum was the warmest day that Maple Lake had had so far that year. The sun beamed down on the garden. That heat and goldenness radiated into Agatha’s burrow. A warm, bright wedge of sunlight woke her up. She crawled (very slowly) out of the burrow. She happened to emerge at just the moment that the robber was scurrying away with the painting. She saw the culprit. Agatha noticed many things about the thief. She noticed their height. Their clothes. She noticed how quickly they moved. Turtles are good at noticing. But she also noticed that the sun that had felt so warm in her burrow didn’t feel quite as warm up here aboveground. She tucked herself back into her burrow. She would wait for warmer weather.
