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ago. ”
    â€œYou’re a thief, too?”
    â€œHello! You’re a bright one.”
    Clara didn’t know which to be more shocked at—the fact that Annabelle was a criminal or that she had the nerve to speak to her in that way. But then she considered that it had been pretty thickheaded of her not to realize it. After all, Annabelle had fourteen police officers trying to arrest her while she was prowling around a rooftop in the middle of the night.
    â€œWhat were you doing on the roof?” Clara asked again, swallowing back her pride.
    â€œMy dad and I were at a party on the thirtieth floor, and I had just robbed an apartment on the thirty-third floor. Dad broke into an apartment on the twenty-ninth floor. That’s generally how we work. We get ourselves invited to parties in high-security buildings and then slip off and break into as many apartments as we can. But somebody must have had some kind of snazzy alarm system, because all of a sudden the police showed up and I had to scramble. ”
    â€œBut how do you get into the apartments?”
    â€œDifferent ways. With this apartment building it’s really easy. The terraces are close enough together that I can climb up from one to the next. You wouldn’t believe how often people leave their terrace doors unlocked. Then I just swipe all the really good stuff ”—she patted her fat backpack—“and climb back down to the apartment where the party is going on. Bing bang. Nothing fancy. You just can’t be afraid of heights. ”
    Clara squinted hard at Annabelle. “Why are you telling me all this? I could go to the police, you know. ”
    â€œYou?” Annabelle studied Clara for a moment. It reminded Clara of the way she watched the customers in the restaurant, which made her squirm a little.
    Finally, Annabelle shook her head. “Nah, you’re not the type. Well, I better get back to the party. Dad’s probably done by now, too.” Annabelle stuck out her hand again, which Clara now took. “Thanks, buddy. I owe you one. Nice hat, by the way. ”
    Then she hitched up her backpack and climbed down the tree.

CHAPTER FOUR
    C lara sat in the tree awhile longer, pondering what Annabelle had told her. Much as she tried to feel insulted, she was secretly pleased that Annabelle thought she was not “the type” to go to the police. Clara had always felt that, deep down, beneath her stylish black dresses and her good posture, she was bold—as bold as a girl like Annabelle. She smiled and snapped the straps of her overalls with her thumbs, in the same cocky way that she had seen fearless, wild country children do in the movies.
    Thoroughly and delightfully exhausted, she climbed down and went to her bedroom. But just as she put on her nightgown, she noticed that the lid of her jewelry box was open. She walked over to it and looked inside. It was completely empty. A moist queasiness churned in her stomach. The Tahitian pearl necklace, the one she had been saving to add to her everyday outfit once she turned sixteen, was gone. She had searched high and low for the right pearls and finally found them a few months ago: pink-hued, nearly perfectly round pearls. Now they were gone.
    Annabelle! She must have swiped them! In fact, she bet that it was her own “snazzy” alarm system that had tipped off the police.
    She picked up the phone to dial 911. If she told them Annabelle’s first name and the fact that she had once attended the Huxley Academy, they would certainly be able to track her down. But then she remembered that she had actually helped Annabelle escape into the tree, and that the only reason she knew Annabelle’s name was that they had had a pleasant, casual conversation while the police were frantically searching the roof for her—a fact that would make Clara look very foolish indeed.
    Her face reddened. Annabelle had been right. Clara wasn’t the type to