Behind the Canvas Read Online Free PDF Page A

stare. “The last time you visited, when you said there was a boy in the painting of the Dutchmen, I didn’t realize…”
    â€œMr. Custos,” she whispered. “What are you talking about?” Her fingers squeezed tight against the wooden frame of her painting. They would take it away from her. Scientists would poke and prod at her painting and keep Pim away forever. Mr. Custos would tell her parents. She would never see Pim again.
    But Mr. Custos nodded, as though the situation had become suddenly clear. He spoke slowly now, enunciating the consonants at the ends of words as he always did. “I think, Miss Miravista, that you need to meet Granny Custos.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œGranny Custos. Yes. She will definitely want to speak with you. Tonight. My house. Seven o’clock sharp. Both you and, uh”—he waved toward the painting—“your friend.”
    She had never heard of Granny Custos before, and she had no idea what Mr. Custos’s grandmother might have to do with Pim. “But I…”
    â€œDon’t worry. Your grandfather knows where I live. He can bring you.”
    An elderly couple appeared on a nearby path, walking their dog.
    â€œSeven o’clock sharp,” Mr. Custos whispered. “Bring the boy.” He spun around and waved at the couple as he passed. “Hello there! Gorgeous afternoon for stimulating your cultural sensitivities, isn’t it?”
    Claudia shoved the small painting into her backpack and tried not to break into a run as she left the park.
    *   *   *
    More than an hour passed before Pim returned to the painting, his head barely peeking around the frame. “Is it safe?” he whispered.
    Claudia nodded from the place on her bed where she was sketching absentmindedly in her notebook. “We’re home.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œWhat, no joke this time?”
    â€œI think the museum director scared them out of me. What did he say?”
    â€œHe wants us to meet his grandma.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI know. Weird, right?” She stood up and looked out her window at the long evening shadows. “It was like he wasn’t even surprised. He was but wasn’t at the same time. Instead of asking who you were or what was up with my painting, he asked me—well, told me—to come to his house tonight to meet his grandma. So strange.”
    â€œDo you know the curator well?”
    â€œOnly from visiting the museum. But my grandpa’s known him for decades.”
    â€œAre you going?”
    She looked back at Pim. “Well, if I go, I’m not going alone. He told me to bring you along.”
    â€œMe?” Pim looked shocked, but the expression slowly melted into a half smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had an invitation to someone’s home.”
    She pulled back her thick hair and looped it into a ponytail. “Don’t get too excited. Mr. Custos isn’t exactly normal. I can’t imagine what Granny Custos is like.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThat’s his grandmother’s name. Granny Custos.”
    Pim raised his eyebrows.
    â€œWhat? Have you heard of her?” she asked.
    He shook his head, slowly at first and then more firmly. “No. No. Of course not. Well, I’ve heard the name before, but I don’t remember where or when. A long time ago.”
    â€œReally? What else have you heard about her? Why would she want to talk to us? Why would she be interested in you?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWell, think. If you heard the name somewhere, then she probably has a connection with the world behind the canvas, right?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t know!” he snapped.
    â€œOkay, take it easy. Just thinking out loud.”
    If Pim had heard that name before, and Mr. Custos thought she would be interested in Pim … maybe Granny Custos knew something