The Van Gogh Deception (The Lost Art Mysteries)

From School Library Journal Gr 4–6—A nameless 12-year-old boy is found loitering in Washington's National Gallery of Art, with dissociative amnesia, the result of a trauma he can't recall. It also seems that he is on the run from a gang of covert criminal operatives led by a millionaire tech developer. Once he teams up with spunky redhead Camille, the daughter of his temporary guardian, the pieces start to fall into place. It turns out that the boy is the one person who can upend a scheme to sell a faked missing van Gogh painting to the gallery for $183 million. While trying to stay one step ahead of his pursuers, Art (the name is written in his jacket) and Camille also race to find the protagonist's art historian father, who has been feared murdered. Much of the narrative hinges on art history and forgery, as well as the seizure of European masterworks by the Nazis. Hicks integrates necessary details into the contemporary narrative. The book occasionally bogs down in meticulous descriptions of downtown DC geography, the history of the National Gallery, and seemingly endless chase scenes. While the art theft plot and historical context are sound, the idea that a group of successful international criminals could repeatedly be flummoxed by two plucky tweens reaches into absurdity. QR codes link to further information about paintings mentioned in the text. VERDICT A workmanlike chase plot spiced up with some art history, this is an additional purchase for middle grade collections.—Bob Hassett, Luther Jackson Middle School, Falls Church, VA "A suspenseful mystery romp with art appreciation and heartening trust in readers' intelligence." — Kirkus Reviews (starred review) "... A mash-up of high culture, high tech, mystery and action... readers ages 9-13 will relish every surprise turnabout." — Wall Street Journal " Hicks deftly mixes details about art history and forgery into a fastpaced, nonstop-action mystery plot..." — Booklist As a lawyer, Deron Hicks investigates mysteries for a living. He graduated from the University of Georgia with a degree in painting and from Mercer Law School. He lives in Warm Springs, Georgia with his wife and children. www.deronhicks.com Twitter:xa0@DeronHicks Instagram:xa0@drhicksmysteriesxa0 Facebook:xa0DRHicksMysteries Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. PROLOGUE The boy appeared out of nowhere. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0He could see the boy's reflection in the protective glass that surrounded the small sculpture. The boy was blond'?his hair a bit unruly, but otherwise normal-looking. He wore a blue jacket and sneakers. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0He tried not to stare directly at the boy'?it seemed rude, under the circumstances. Nobody likes to be stared at, particularly by a stranger. So he watched from the corner of his eye as the boy glanced around the room. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Maybe the boy was looking for someone? Perhaps his parents? xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The room was filled with famous paintings and sculptures. The boy, however, didn't seem to notice. The crowd swirled about the room, but the boy just sat on the bench, his hands in his lap and a blank expression on his face. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0It was hard to say how long he sat there watching the boy'?he wasn't wearing a watch, and there wasn't a clock in the room. It was strange: time seemed to stand still. Had he been there an hour? Two hours? Longer? xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0No one seemed to notice the boy'?no one but him. Everyone else just passed through the room as if the boy didn't exist, or was invisible. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0He worried about the boy. He seemed lost. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Who was he? xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Why was he here? xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Rude or not, he couldn't help but stare. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0He glanced down briefly at his own blue jacket and his own sneakers. Odd, he thought'?so much like the boy in the reflection. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0He looked back up at the boy. He wanted to speak. He wanted to tell the boy that everything would be all right. But he couldn't find the words. The boy simply stared back at him. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0He felt powerless to help. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0And so he waited'?hoping someone might come along and help the lost boy sitting on the bench. CHAPTER 1 8:53 p.m. A few years ago Locronan, France For almost three hundred years, the simple stone structures on the outskirts of the small French village of Locronan had served as home to a family of farmers. The largest barn, constructed of thick blocks of local granite, had once housed the family's small collection of livestock but no longer served that purpose. Victor Baudin was no farmer and had converted the family barn to suit his unique profession. The well-worn stone pavers, the plastered walls, the thick wood beams, and the faint smell of hay and manure remained. However, bright fluorescent lights, modern windows, and a new central heating and air-conditioning system'?with silver vents slithering around the ceiling of the former barn'?made it clear that this was no longer a home to poultry, cows, and goats. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Along one long wall ran several shelves. One shelf'?stretching up to the full height of the ceiling'?was lined with dark bottles of boiled oil, vinegar, bleach, gallotannic acid, ink of cuttlefish, hydrochloric acid, elemental mercury, and rainwater. The next shelf was filled with tins. A crisp white label identified the contents of each: carbonate of lead, zinc oxide, sulfide of mercury, ground mollusk shells, hydrate of iron, flaxseed, realgar, dragon's blood, powdered mummy, and lapis lazuli. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0A large industrial oven sat at the far end of the room between two wide wooden drying racks, and a long metal table ran down the middle of the former barn. The stark industrial appearance of the oven and the table contrasted sharply with the rough stone structure in which they were housed. Bunsen burners, microscopes, beakers of every conceivable size and shape, a condenser, a mortar and pestle, clamps, and tubing had been shoved to one side of the table. Beneath the table were rows of tall wooden boxes with handwritten labels such as 'filbert," 'hake," 'badger," 'mottler," 'mongoose," and 'cat's tongue.' The other half of the table was empty except for one item'?Baudin's greatest creation. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Victor Baudin had often joked to himself that in another day and age the room would have been perfectly suited for the work of an alchemist or a sorcerer. While there was far more science than witchcraft in his efforts, the room did not lack in its share of wizardry. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Baudin turned to the table to examine his masterpiece once more. As always, there was an odd combination of pride, relief, and sadness when he finished a project. His client'?a man he had never met and whose name had never been offered or asked for'?had been remarkably patient. Three years, Baudin had explained. Even with modern technology there were certain methods'?ancient techniques'?that could not be rushed or duplicated. The client had accepted Baudin's terms, paid the bills in cash as they came due, and waited for the news that the job was finished. And now it was, and as close to perfect as it could be. The client would be pleased. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The knock on the barn door startled the old man out of his reverie. He quickly covered his work with a light cotton cloth. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Presentation mattered. 'Un moment," he yelled as he made his way across the room. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0He drew back a creaky iron bolt and pulled open the heavy oak door. A short, balding man with a bushy mustache stood outside. The cold winter wind whipped through the open door. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'Come in, come in," said Baudin. 'Il fait froid.' The man stepped inside. Baudin bolted the door back in place and turned to greet his visitor. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'Your work is finished?' the balding man asked. Although the visitor tried to hide it, Baudin could hear the excitement in the man's voice. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'Yes," replied the old man. "Your client will be pleased." xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Baudin pointed to the far end of the room. 'suivez-moi," he said. Follow me. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The men made their way across the room to the far end of the metal table. 'Gracier les dramatics," said Baudin as he took hold of one corner of the cloth that covered his creation. "I thought it deserved a proper introduction." xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The balding man smiled and nodded approvingly. "Of course." xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The old man removed the cloth with a flourish and stepped aside. The balding man gasped, then quickly regained his composure. He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his coat pocket and bent over Baudin's creation. He spent several minutes examining the front and then turned it on its side. He ran his finger across the back of the creation. He held his index finger up for the old man to see. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'Dust," the balding man said appreciatively. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Baudin nodded. 'Les détails sont importants," he replied. The details are important. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The balding man laid the creation back down and bent over it once more. For several minutes he said nothing. Finally, he turned back to the old man. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'Fingernail?' he asked. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'Yes," replied Baudin. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The balding man ran the edge of his nail on his right index finger across a small corner of the creation. He bent over and examined the area. His fingernail had not left a mark or impression. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The balding man stood up, put his reading glasses back in his pocket, and turned to the old man. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'the materials conform?' he asked. "No substitutes? Everything's authentic?" xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'As your client required," said Baudin. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'the paperwork?" xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Baudin retrieved a large folder from a side table and presented it to the balding man. The balding man quickly thumbed through the folder. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0'Everything appears to be in order," he said. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Baudin opened the oven. Heat blasted into the room. The balding man placed the folder on one of the racks and closed the door. The men stood silently and watched. Within seconds the paper had burst into flames. Two minutes later only ashes remained. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The balding man turned to Baudin. "And the others?' he asked. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Baudin pointed to the drying racks, which were stacked high with more creations. "On schedule," he said. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0The balding man nodded and turned back to the table. "It is truly a masterpiece," he said appreciatively. xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0Baudin smiled. It was a masterpiece. The alchemist had indeed turned lead into gold. Read more