I couldn't sleep that night. Something very wrong was going on at The Artbox.

Earlier that evening, I gave Alberto Verdacci a call as soon as I got home. He was an expert alright. When I mentioned the Maiden's Milotic, he knew just what I was talking about. I managed to squeeze out some information from him, and up until now, I was still turning it over and over in my head.

"Figasso never authorized any copies of his Maiden's Milotic," he'd said.

"So you mean, apart from the original, there are no other copies?" I had asked.

"Yes."

Yes. Something very, very wrong was going on at The Artbox. I tossed in bed for the hundredth time and almost fell out of bed. On the rug just beneath me was Vulpix, curled up and fast asleep.

I turned to face the ceiling. I knew one thing. Jeremiah is definitely behind this. But how did he make perfect copies of those paintings?

I turned to face the door. Maybe he's an artist himself and in his spare time, he creates illegitimate copies of famous paintings. Or maybe,he's running an underground forgery operation. I've got to tell the police. But would they listen to me? No. I need good, solid evidence.

I turned to face the closet. I could hear mom snoring in the next room. What if - ?

I looked up. The clock on the wall read 8:30. In a minute, I was out of bed and changing out of my pajamas.

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"Wake up!" I whispered and gave Vulpix another shake. This time, she finally woke up. She lifted her head and gaped. *Where are you going?*

I hurriedly grabbed a knapsack and threw in a flashlight and a pair of binoculars. "To The Artbox."

*What?* Vulpix rubbed one eye with her paw. *Are you crazy?*

"The day's not over yet, Watson," I said, and then put on an oversized jacket. Vulpix stretched, and with a sigh, followed me out the door.

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In the movies, stake-outs always looked fun. But as Vulpix and I sat behind garbage cans in an alleyway across The Artbox; as we sat still, suffocating on the smell of rotten onions, my opinion of stake-outs pretty much changed.

*Couldn't you have picked a better spot?* Vulpix asked. She stuck her tongue out and squeezed her eyes. Her sense of smell was much more sensitive than mine, so this was probably killing her.

"Sorry, Pix," I said, picking up my binoculars. "But this is the perfect spot. You told me earlier that the building has only one door and three windows, am I right?"

*Yup,* Vulpix replied, remembering what she had seen earlier when she ran around the gallery. *One display window on the first floor and on the second floor, there are two windows facing the street.*

From our little spot, I had a good view of all three windows. I zoomed in on the display window. "Hey, look! He's turning off the lights!"

Vulpix scrambled on top of some boxes for a better look. *He's bound to leave soon.*

But, boy was she wrong.

We waited and waited, but Jeremiah never came out of that door.

"Are you sure there's only one door?" This was probably the fifth time I had asked Vulpix this question.

"Yes!" she snapped back then muttered something about doubting Pokemon.

I put the binoculars down and looked at my wristwatch. The shorter hand pointed at ten. Jeremiah turned off all the lights at 9:00 pm. We've been waiting for an hour.

*What if he lives here?* Vulpix asked for the fourth time. Our conversation was going around in circles.

"No," I replied wearily, too tired to snap back. I told her, once again, that Jeremiah couldn't possibly be living in The Artbox. First of all, the second floor remained unlit. In fact, the entire art gallery was as dark as hell.

Secondly, he isn't the owner. I recalled the items I've seen on the counter and on the shelf: the trophies, the paperweight, the magazines…

"The owner is away on a vacation in the Orange Islands," I'd explained to Vulpix a moment ago. "He's a regular first placer and he couldn't possibly afford to miss out the Surfing Tournament."

It was true. I couldn't imagine Jeremiah, with his skinny physique, conquering the waves. Besides, apart from being snotty, he was also very neat. If he kept his clothes ironed and his art magazines covered, he wouldn't let a speck of dust settle on his possessions. It was clear that the surfing memorabilia weren't his.

Pretty soon, my head was spinning with paintings and surfboards. It wasn't long before I fell asleep.

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This time, it was Vulpix who woke me up. She nipped my thumb.

"Ow!" I yelped and jerked my thumb away. "What was that about?"

*Look!* Vulpix pointed a paw towards The Artbox. Sure enough, there was Jeremiah himself, locking up. I looked at my watch. 1:00 am.

Where had he been for the past three hours?

"Come on," I said. "I'll follow him from the opposite side of street, while you tail him directly from behind. That way, we won't lose him."

Vulpix nodded and leapt off into the street. She waited until Jeremiah was a couple of yards ahead before she followed.

Slowly, I began to stand up. But suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind, and before I could scream, a hand shot up and covered my mouth.