Edgar Allan's Official Crime Investigation Notebook Read online

  Edgar picked up his pencil. He liked the idea that a poem is a mystery and he wanted to try writing a very mysterious one, but he had to observe Destiny for suspicious behavior.

  Patrick was sitting next to him on the right, so he had to be very careful not to let him see who he was observing.

  Destiny was staring at her blank page, which was odd. She usually started on assignments right away.

  Why isn’t Destiny writing? Is she racked with guilt? Is she trying to come up with a new crime?

  I should be writing my own poem, but it is hard to write your own poem if you are spying.

  I bet Patrick will be the first person to raise his hand and read his poem.

  I think Destiny just had a brainstorm because she is writing fast now and pressing down very hard on her pencil.

  Edgar stared closely as Destiny’s pencil worked its way across the page. Then, he had a brainstorm of his own. He picked up his pencil and a poem poured out.

  What Am I?

  by Edgar Allan

  I am your thin friend.

  Pass your thoughts to me

  and I’ll scratch them down

  for all to see,

  giving a bit of myself

  unselfishly

  for you.

  He had never written anything like it. He read it over to make sure it was good. It was good. He liked the metaphor of the pencil as a friend. He imagined this pencil, loyal and brave, getting smaller and smaller with each use, in order to serve the writer. He liked the fact that his poem said all this without actually saying the word pencil at all.

  He smiled at the pencil in his hand. Thank you, friend, he thought! He put his pencil down and raised his hand. His heart was pounding.

  “Yes, Edgar?”

  “I’m done!”

  “Oh! Well, hold on. When everybody else is finished, you can go first.”

  A strange feeling was building inside Edgar, an excitement of a different kind. This was the third poem that he had written since Mr. Crew had started this poetry unit, and writing each one had been surprisingly satisfying. The thought that he might have a special talent for writing poems as well as for investigating mysteries occurred to him for the first time in his life.

  He noticed Patrick looking in his direction. Edgar smiled at his nemesis, and then he raised his hand again.

  “Yes, Edgar?”

  “I’m done.”

  “Yes, I know. Just wait a few minutes longer, and you can read your poem for us.”

  Finally, the class was ready. But somehow Mr. Crew forgot that he had promised Edgar could go first, and Patrick was the first to raise his hand.

  Patrick read:

  What Am I?

  I am your long skinny friend.

  Give me your ideas.

  When I scribble them down,

  heads will bend to read them.

  Edgar could hardly breathe.

  “You’re a pencil!” Maia said.

  “Yep.” Patrick nodded.

  “It’s a masterpiece!” Mr. Crew said. “I love the metaphor of the pencil as a friend! Great job, Patrick! Who would like to go next? Edgar?”

  “That was my . . . He . . .” Edgar looked at Patrick, but Patrick wouldn’t look back. Patrick had stolen his idea! He had practically stolen the whole poem!

  “Edgar, didn’t you want to read yours?” Mr. Crew asked.

  How could he read it now?

  “We’ll go!” Maia said.

  Maia and Gabriela read another one that they wrote together, and Sammy read one about a soccer ball without enough air, and Taz read a funny one about the inside of a dog’s nose, but Edgar couldn’t pay attention.

  It is a terrible feeling to have something stolen from you. It’s like you’re about to eat a delicious feast and somebody comes along and pulls all the food away.

  Maybe a thief is somebody who has never had anything stolen because once you’ve had something stolen, then you know how bad it feels, and how could you ever do that to somebody else?

  Toward the end of class, Edgar realized that he was neglecting his crime investigation duties. Come to think of it, something very odd had happened regarding Destiny during class. Destiny hadn’t shared her poem. She always wanted to share. So, why not this time?

  There were five minutes of class left, and they were supposed to be quietly brainstorming ideas for more poems on a page in their notebooks. Mr. Crew was busy putting up the poems from yesterday on his bulletin board.

  Edgar decided to blow his nose. As he passed by Destiny’s desk on his way to get a tissue, he peeked at the poem in her notebook. He walked as slowly as possible, but he could only read the first line. He grabbed a tissue, went back to his seat, blew his nose, and wrote down the first line of her poem. He had to go back four times in order to write it all down. And it was lucky he finished because Mr. Crew told him no more tissues.

  What Am I?

  by Destiny Perkins

  I weep.

  My graceful arms hang with the weight

  of sadness.

  Once I heard happy voices beneath me.

  Now…silence.

  Edgar read the poem five times. What did it mean? Mr. Crew was right. Poems are like mysteries that must be cracked open in order to be understood. He would have to think about this one for a while.

  Before the bell rang, he needed to finish a new riddle poem, since Patrick had stolen his pencil poem. He rubbed his nose, which was sore from all the nose blowing, and wished he could think of a funny one like Taz. An idea came to him.

  What Am I?

  by Edgar Allan

  Sometimes I run

  Sometimes I’m stuffed

  Sometimes one tissue

  Is not enough.

  I deliver all smells

  From sour to sweet

  Just don’t ask me

  To smell your feet.

  Edgar held it up and read it over to himself. He liked it!

  Behind him, Taz laughed. “Hey, let me see that!”

  Edgar handed him the notebook.

  Great poem, dude!

  For once Edgar didn’t mind that Taz had written in his notebook.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Teriyaki meatballs, salad, sliced peaches, milk, and a cookie. Edgar hardly paid attention to what he was carrying on his lunch tray. Destiny was ahead of him, sitting down at a crowded table. He wanted to sit close enough to overhear any important conversations, and there was only one spot left at her table. As he walked toward it, he noticed Sammy and Kip were headed in the same direction. Edgar walked faster, not noticing the sliced peach that was on the floor in his path. Sloosh! His foot hit it and he slipped and fell. Meatballs rolled, salad somersaulted, peaches plummeted, milk spilled, and the cookie crumbled.

  “Way to go, Edgar!” Clarice Stolnup shouted out.

  Mr. Browning gave Clarice a look that made her close her mouth. Then the nice custodian helped Edgar clean up.

  Lunch was almost over by the time Edgar finally sat down with a new tray too far from Destiny’s table to hear a thing. Oh well, recess would be the perfect time to spy on her, he thought. But just as he was taking a bite out of his cookie, Ms. Cassatt stopped by to remind him to come to the art room and finish painting his mask. Of all the rotten luck.

  He gulped the rest of his lunch, ran to the art room, and began to paint his mask bright blue. While he was there, Ms. Barrett came in, her pretty face flushed and nervous. She pulled a stool over to Ms. Cassatt’s desk, and Edgar couldn’t help overhearing their hushed conversation.

  “Did you give him the card?” Ms. Cassatt asked.

  “Yes! But he hasn’t said anything all day. I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Maybe he just didn’t get it.”

  “I slipped it under the door of his supply closet yesterday. He had to have seen it.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment. What did you write in it?”

  “A poem,” Ms. Barrett whispered.

&nb
sp; “Oh, that’s so romantic! He loves poetry! He’s always reading poetry.”

  “I know!”

  Edgar began putting white and black and red dots on his mask. It was odd to hear teachers talking like this. It sounded like Ms. Barrett was in love! Edgar wondered who they were talking about.

  Ms. Cassatt jumped. “There he is! Ask him!”

  Edgar looked out the door and saw Mr. Browning walking by with a ladder.

  Ms. Barrett pulled the other teacher back. “Shh!”

  Edgar got out his notebook.

  Ms. Barrett wrote a love poem on a card and left it in Mr. Browning’s supply closet! Ms. Barrett has a secret side. Does every teacher?

  He put the last spot of paint on his mask. The shape of the mask was his face, but the colors and designs made the mask look bold and powerful. Is this the real me or am I a boring, ordinary boy? he wondered. He washed his brushes and asked if he could go.

  Finding Destiny was easy. She was where she always was during recess: sitting underneath the willow tree on the far end of the playground. But the picture was incomplete. Maia was usually with her. Where was Maia? She wasn’t on the basketball court or by the giant chessboard or with Sammy and the other kids playing soccer in the field. He walked to the side of the building and peeked around the corner. Maia and Gabriela were there! Why were they hiding?

  Edgar wondered if he had his theory backward: Maybe Destiny was staying away from Maia because she had become a thief with Gabriela!

  “Let’s start at the beginning again,” Maia said.

  The two girls stood back to back.

  “Uno, dos, tres, cuatro,” Gabriela said, and then they began to dance.

  Dance? What kind of thieves danced? Edgar stepped out from his hiding place. Maia stopped and made a face. “This is a private rehearsal.”

  “For what?”

  “You know how Gabriela is the Star of the Month?” Maia asked.

  Edgar knew. He had hoped to be chosen.

  “Well,” Maia continued. “She wanted to do a Mexican folk dance for her Star-of-the-Month talent, and I said I do Mexican folk dancing, and so she asked me if I would do a dance with her.”

  Gabriela smiled and nodded.

  “Go away so we can practice,” Maia said.

  Edgar walked back to the main playground and sat on the tree stump. Back to investigating Destiny. He glanced at the willow tree, where Destiny was still sitting, and read over her poem again.

  What Am I?

  by Destiny Perkins

  I weep.

  My graceful arms hang

  with the weight of sadness.

  once I heard happy voices

  beneath me.

  Now…silence.

  An idea hit him like a ray of sunlight.

  I think I cracked the mystery of Destiny’s riddle poem. The answer is willow tree! The willow tree has graceful arms that hang down and it’s weeping because Destiny and Maia used to sit beneath it and talk happily, and now there is only silence. Why is there only silence? Because Destiny is alone!

  Maia and Destiny have been best friends since first grade. Now Maia isn’t hanging out with Destiny anymore. I think Gabriela came along and stole Destiny’s best friend! I think Destiny is sad and lonely!

  Can sadness be a motive for stealing something? Or maybe she is jealous?

  Did she steal the goldfish to get revenge on Maia for leaving her in the dust? Has she decided to turn to a life of crime?

  Patrick is watching me! I cannot give away the fact that Destiny is my prime suspect. I will pretend to be observing somebody else.

  I was pretending to observe Kip who was sitting on the bottom of the slide, eating a candy bar, and then Clarice Stolnup came along and stole the candy right out of Kip’s hand. Kip got up to chase after her, but his shoe was untied and he tripped. Guess who went after Clarice and got the candy back for Kip?

  Taz!

  Life is a surprise.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Edgar was on a roll! After recess was over, it was time for social studies in Mr. Crew’s room, and Edgar knew what he wanted to investigate: the metaphor poems from yesterday that were on the bulletin board. He hurried to class and searched until he found Destiny’s.

  Friend

  by Destiny Perkins

  A true friend swims

  close to you

  never leaving you

  all alone

  in the dirty water

  of life.

  Edgar understood it! She wasn’t really talking about a fish. She was talking about her former best friend. Maia was the fish who swam away to be with Gabriela!

  “Have a seat, class,” Mr. Crew called out.

  Edgar sat down. Destiny came in a moment later, hugging her notebook to her chest, and quietly took her seat.

  Now that I have read Destiny’s poems, I know more about her. She is sad, sad, sad.

  Is everybody hiding some kind of sad secret inside them? I guess some people have sadness in them and some people don’t. I bet Taz is always in a good mood because he is always cracking jokes. I bet Patrick is never sad, either, because he is always succeeding in everything he does. They have it easy. Like my brother.

  As Mr. Crew began his lesson on Mexico’s history, Edgar began to reconstruct the crime from Destiny’s point of view. On that fateful morning, she must have arrived early and found Ms. Herschel’s classroom empty. She sat down, feeling miserable. Perhaps she looked over at Slurpy and recalled that her former best friend, Maia Gomez, had given the goldfish to the class as a gift. Angry, she wrote the poetic note, taped it to the board, and picked up Slurpy . . . but how? Did she put the fish in a bowl? And then what? If she left the classroom, certainly someone would have seen her walking around with a goldfish: Edgar’s brown eyes grew bigger. She must have hid it in Ms. Hershel’s room. But where? Maybe, just maybe, the fish was in Destiny’s cubby!

  He jumped up.

  “What is it, Edgar?”

  “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “You just got back from recess, Edgar. You can go after class. Have a seat.”

  “I have to use the bathroom, too,” Sammy said.

  “No bathroom breaks now,” Mr. Crew said.

  The lesson on Aztec trade and transportation went in one ear and out the other. Edgar simply could not concentrate. Today was PE, so after social studies, they went straight to the gym, which was on the opposite side of the school.

  Finally, PE was over and they were heading back to Ms. Herschel’s room for end-of-day dismissal. Edgar walked as fast as he possibly could. He wanted to be the first one there so he could look in Destiny’s cubby and discover the goldfish!

  Ms. Herschel was sitting at her desk grading papers when he rushed in.

  “How was PE?” she asked.

  “Fine!” Edgar zoomed straight to the back of the room. He found Destiny’s cubby. In it was a pink jacket, a purple book bag, and a small twig with two graceful willow leaves.

  No Slurpy.

  “What are you looking at?” Patrick’s voice made Edgar jump.

  “Nothing!” Edgar said and rushed to his own cubby.

  Patrick peered into Destiny’s cubby.

  “What are you looking at?” Destiny’s voice made Patrick jump.

  “Nothing!” Patrick said and glared at Edgar. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Edgar. I don’t know why I’m bothering to keep my eye on you.”

  It’s true. I don’t know what I’m doing. If I were a butterfly, my wings would be torn. If I were a number, I’d be zero.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  That evening after dinner, Henri got out his clarinet and announced that he needed an audience. “Mr. Copland said we should practice all the songs for the fall band concert like it’s the real deal.”

  “A man after my own heart,” Tubby said, picking Rosy up out of her high chair. “A dress rehearsal tonight, Rosy! And we get to be the audience!”

  For the occasion, Twig tried to p
ut a little tiara headband on Rosy, but Rosy made Tubby wear it on his bald head. Tubby placed a small top hat on top of Twig’s red hair and asked, “What do you want to wear, Edgar?”

  “I have homework,” Edgar said.

  His parents set up three chairs in the living room, and Tubby sat down in one with Rosy on his lap.

  “Edgar, hurry, there’s one seat left in the front row,” Twig said. “You can do your homework later.”

  Standing in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, Edgar snapped. “I don’t see the point. We’ve already listened to these songs a billion times.”

  It is one thing to get a disappointed look from an ordinary mother, but a disappointed look coming from a woman who spends her days cheering up sick children is much worse.

  “It’s okay,” Henri said. “I don’t want him to stay if he’s just going to be negative.”

  Edgar took his notebook and sat on the concrete steps outside the front door.

  My parents think I’m being mean to Henri right now, but they don’t see what’s going on inside of me. I think I will explode if I have to sit there and watch Henri doing something good. Watching other people succeed is the story of my life.

  Maybe I should tell them what I’m going through and explain how worried I am that Patrick will solve the crime before I do. But what if they don’t think it’s a serious problem?

  It’s funny how the outside of a person doesn’t always match the inside.

  Everybody thinks Destiny is happy. But she’s not. Everybody thinks Taz just jokes around all the time. But he worries about butterflies. I hope neither of them committed the crime. I am still hoping it’s the work of a professional thief.

  Edgar stopped writing and looked up. The sun was setting behind the big magnolia tree in his neighbor’s yard.