Edgar Allan's Official Crime Investigation Notebook Page 8
Destiny said hi.
“Oh! Hi, Destiny.”
Tubby and Twig looked at each other.
“Do you want to ride over to the school tomorrow and see if anybody suspicious is hanging around?” Destiny asked.
“Sure. Great idea.”
“I’ll call Taz and see if he wants to come, too.”
“Okay. What time should we meet?”
“How about ten?”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
Edgar turned off the phone and looked up. “What? Can’t a guy have a friend or two?”
On Saturday, Edgar woke up early and watched the clock anxiously. He couldn’t wait until ten.
Finally, he hopped on his bike and rode over to the school. Nobody was there, so he kept circling around and around the parking lot. On his thirty-seventh loop, Destiny arrived, out of breath.
“Taz can’t come,” she called out. “His mom told my mom that they have to take Bandit to the vet today.”
Edgar pulled up to where she had stopped.
She squinted, shielding her eyes from the sun. “My mom said they’re putting Bandit down.”
“What do you mean down?”
“They give him a medicine that makes him fall asleep, only he never wakes up.”
“He dies?”
She nodded.
Edgar looked down at the gravel that had collected at the bottom of the curb.
“We should do something,” Destiny said.
Edgar nodded, but he wasn’t sure what was appropriate.
“We could bring flowers,” she said. “Or cookies. Or maybe we should make a card.”
A thought occurred to Edgar. “People write poems on gravestones,” he said. “What about that? I have the perfect rock. Very smooth.”
Destiny smiled.
They rode to Edgar’s house, and he found the large flat rock from last year’s science fair project. They wanted to carve their poem into it, but neither of them knew how to do that. Twig let them borrow her collection of permanent markers, and they discovered that they wrote beautifully on rock.
After they finished, they rode over to Taz’s house. The driveway was empty. They parked their bikes and walked up to the front steps.
Edgar put the rock on the first step. Destiny picked some dandelions, wove them into a little wreath, and laid that next to it.
Bandit
Brave and funny
Ready to run and play
Inspiring everyone to smile more.
True friend.
On Sunday at breakfast, Edgar’s parents reminded him that the Cabaret was in exactly one week. He asked if he could read a poem and invite two friends. “You’ll like them.”
“Terrific idea,” his parents agreed.
“A poem?” Henri said. “Since when did you start writing poems?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Edgar said.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, either,” Henri said.
It was true, Edgar realized, and interesting. Henri had sounded a little jealous, and to think that Henri might be jealous of him was a concept that Edgar had never considered until now.
Henri looked at me with something new in his eyeballs: respect. I think he is seeing that I’m not just a little kid anymore. Just wait until I solve the crime!
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The morning sun danced through Edgar’s window and nudged him awake. He hopped out of bed and threw open his window. Hello, Monday! Hello, Blue Sky! Please don’t let Patrick solve the crime, Edgar thought. Just give me one more day.
Destiny and Taz were both waiting by the flagpole when Edgar’s bus pulled in. They were waiting for him! He was so happy he felt like singing, and then he remembered Bandit. What would it be like to come to school after your dog died? Maybe school would be a good thing. Maybe it would keep Taz from being too sad.
Taz smiled when Edgar got off the bus, and right away Edgar knew that the rock had helped.
“Taz wants us to be his alibi,” Destiny said to Edgar.
Taz nodded. “If the thief strikes again, you can say you were with me.”
“Good idea,” Edgar said.
As they walked in, Destiny gave him a secret smile.
Edgar was six inches off the floor. He and his two friends—two!—were on their way to class.
They passed by the kindergarten hallway.
“Look!” Destiny stopped.
Mr. Browning and Ms. Barrett were talking in the hallway. She was holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Do you think he gave them to her?” Destiny asked.
Taz put one hand on his heart and sang, “Here comes the bride all dressed in white, here comes the groom with a bucket and a broom.”
The grown-ups heard and laughed, and Edgar, Taz, and Destiny raced on.
Kids were already gathered around Ms. Herschel’s door, Patrick closest to the doorknob.
“Uh oh,” Edgar said. “Did you get the fingerprint test done?”
“Nothing showed up,” Patrick said. “Which means the thief must have been wearing gloves. That’s why I’m doing the next phase of my plan.”
“What’s that?” Destiny asked.
“Patrick and his dad set up a trap,” Sammy informed them.
“A video surveillance system,” Patrick explained. “Ms. Herschel let me and my dad come at 8:00 o’clock. We hid a camera on Ms. Herschel’s bookshelf. It’s pointing at the door. If anybody came between 8:25 and 8:55 to steal something . . .”
“Bam!” Sammy said. “They’re on camera!”
All the juice seemed to drain out of Edgar’s bones. He pictured Mr. Chen in his black suit, setting up the video camera with expert precision.
“Why would a thief come if you’re standing by the door?” Taz asked.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been standing here. At 8:15, I walked my dad out to the parking lot, and then I went to the media center to wait. Ms. Herschel left for the staff lounge at 8:25 and she hasn’t come back yet . . .”
“Hey, what’s going on?” Kip called out from the end of the hallway. He raced toward them.
Patrick’s eyebrows went up. “So, you’re usually here early, Kip. I wonder why you’re late today.”
“One of my wheels got loose,” he said, holding up his board.
“Oh, I see,” Patrick said, but he sounded like he didn’t believe him.
Edgar, Destiny, and Taz all exchanged looks. Maybe Kip arrived early, stole something, hid it, and now was pretending that he was just arriving, Edgar thought.
“Ms. Herschel!” Patrick spotted her down the hall. “Open up!”
“I’m coming! I’m coming! Good morning, everybody. We’ve got double protection today. Patrick set up a camera and I locked up.” The teacher handed Maia her coffee cup and unlocked her door.
Edgar held his breath. It would be horribly disappointing if, after all this, Patrick solved the crime. Please don’t let there be anything missing, Edgar thought.
“The moment of truth has come,” Patrick whispered.
Ms. Herschel opened the door, and Patrick rushed inside.
“YES!” he shouted.
To Edgar’s dismay, there was a note on the board.
“This is terrible.” Ms. Herschel looked at her desk. “Mr. Crew’s birthday gift is gone!”
“His birthday gift?” Kip asked.
“His birthday is tomorrow. I bought his favorite tea, which he ran out of on Friday, and had it all wrapped and ready right here.”
“I really don’t like this thief,” Maia said. “That is just not nice to steal somebody else’s gift.”
Elated, Patrick rushed to his video camera. “The light is still on! It worked! I wish my dad could have stayed!”
“Let’s roll it, Patrick,” Ms. Herschel said.
Edgar sank into his chair.
Patrick plugged the video camera directly into Ms. Herschel’s computer, and she pro
jected the footage onto the screen.
For the first few minutes of the film, the voices of Patrick and his dad could be heard adjusting the set-up. Then they appeared on camera as they walked out the door and closed it behind them. For the next minute, nothing happened. Patrick forwarded the film until Sammy cried, “Stop! I saw something.”
The screen went black. Patrick stopped and backed up until he saw movement. He pressed “play.”
The video showed the door knob turning and the door opening. An arm reached inside the door and turned off the light switch. The room darkened.
A vague dark shape crossed in front of the camera, and a few seconds later, the shape returned and walked out the door. The door closed. That was it.
Edgar sat up.
“Too dark,” Gabriela said.
“That’s it?” Maia asked.
Stunned, Patrick turned off the recorder. “Somehow the thief knew to reach in and turn out the lights. He knew that I had set up the camera. But how? I didn’t tell anybody.” He looked at Kip. “Unless someone came early and spied.”
Kip’s leg stopped jiggling. “Why are you looking at me?” he asked.
An idea was slowly emerging in Edgar’s mind. The thief said, “Forgive me. I have good reasons.” What would be a good reason to steal an object and leave a poem in its place? He opened his notebook and wrote down the four items that had been stolen.
Goldfish, iris, fan, tea.
As class began, Edgar let a new theory tumble over and over in his mind. He scribbled notes, careful not to let Patrick see them.
When math was over and they were dismissed for language arts, Edgar stopped Mr. Browning in the hall for a quick interview.
Taz and Destiny caught up with him after it was over. “What are you thinking?” Destiny asked.
He pulled them aside, made sure Patrick was not listening, and tested his theory out on them.
Their eyes grew wide. “I think you’re right!” Taz said.
“But you don’t have proof. What are you going to do?” Destiny asked.
“Innocent until proven guilty, dude,” Taz reminded him.
Edgar nodded. “I have a plan. But I’ll need your help.”
“I’m in,” Taz said.
“Me too,” Destiny added.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As Edgar walked into Mr. Crew’s room, he was hit with an attack of the sneezes.
“Gesundheit!” Mr. Crew said. “Good morning, everyone! I heard the thief ran off with my birthday gift.”
“You heard right,” Taz said. “But don’t worry. We’ll get it back. We’re on to the chump.”
“All right!” Mr. Crew said. “That sounds encouraging.”
Edgar sneezed again. The tissue box was empty, so he asked permission to get a new box from Mr. Crew’s closet.
“A new box should be right on the top shelf,” Mr. Crew said.
Patrick announced: “I caught the thief’s arm on video camera.”
“On camera?” Mr. Crew said. “That sounds professional. Did Ms. Herschel set that up?”
“I did!” Patrick said. As he described his surveillance set-up, Edgar got what he needed from the closet and sat down. He smiled at Destiny and Taz. So far everything was going exactly as planned.
After everybody was settled, Mr. Crew began his lesson. “So far we’ve talked about the many ways poetry is used. Today, I’d like you to spend some time writing any kind of poem about any kind of topic. Sort of a free-writing day.”
“Can we work with partners?” Destiny asked.
Maia threw her a surprised look.
“Sure!” Mr. Crew said.
Edgar raised his hand. “Can we write a play instead of a poem?”
“Absolutely. Plays can be written in poetry form,” Mr. Crew said. “The most famous plays—Shakespeare’s plays—were all written in verse.”
Edgar, Destiny, and Taz exchanged smiles.
“You can work anywhere in the room as long as you’re reasonably quiet,” Mr. Crew added.
Taz pointed to the back of the room, where Mr. Crew had a beanbag chair, and the trio rushed over. Edgar couldn’t help noticing that Maia looked a little disappointed when she saw her former best friend eager to work with them, as if it was okay for Maia to have a new friend, but not Destiny. He smiled.
All period they worked on the script, and they secretly rehearsed the play all during recess.
When they came back in for social studies, they asked Mr. Crew if they could perform it.
“How long is it?” he asked.
“Short and sweet,” Taz said. “Actually, short and spicy!”
Mr. Crew laughed. “Go for it. We’re all ears.”
“That’s a metaphor!” Kip called out.
Mr. Crew smiled. “Metaphor spotting! This is great!”
Edgar, Taz, and Destiny took their places.
“Can we have popcorn?” Kip asked.
Mr. Crew laughed. “Popcorn is for movies, Kip. This is live theater! Shh!”
As narrator, Destiny was the first to speak. “Presenting ‘The Tale of Glurpy’ by Edgar Allan, Taz Raskel, and Destiny Perkins.”
Edgar added, “All characters are fictional. Any resemblance to any person is coincidental.”
Taz stuck his hands out like fins, and Edgar hid behind the door.
NARRATOR (DESTINY):
One dark and dreary morning long ago
A happy goldfish swam inside his home.
GLURPY (TAZ, flapping his hands and using a fishy voice):
How I do love to flap my little fins
For when I race against myself I win!
Taz ran around in a circle, flapping his hands and making fish faces, and then he pretended to win.
NARRATOR:
Next to the fishie lived a crazy dude
Who’d rather read and write than eat his food.
All day he read and wrote poems with such glee.
He wished the world loved poems as much as he.
CRAZY DUDE (EDGAR, rubbing his hands):
I have a plan that is so cleverish
I’m going to sneak into this room and steal the fish!
In place of Glurpy I will leave a poem
And then I’ll take the stolen goldie home.
My students then will find the poem and read it
and think that poetry is great. Nothing can beat it!
Edgar tiptoed across the room and taped a note to the board. Then he grabbed Taz by the arm. Taz yelped and flapped his fins.
GLURPY:
Put me back, you crazy dude! Right now!
CRAZY DUDE:
I didn’t know that fish could talk back!
Wow!
NARRATOR:
Soon many students read the poem he left.
They loved it. “Poems are worth a little theft.”
From that day on, they read poems old and new.
The thief was glad. His name
was…Mr….
Destiny paused for effect.
“Mr. Crew!?” Maia exclaimed.
“Mr. Crew?” Patrick echoed.
Destiny said her last line. “The thief was glad. His name was Mr. Drew. The end.”
“Well. Well. Well.” Mr. Crew stood up. “What a fascinating play about a fish named Glurpy and a fascinating ‘crazy dude’ named Mr. Drew.”
The class grew very quiet.
Edgar’s heart began to pound. Mr. Crew’s eyeballs were looking right at him, and they looked guilty!
“Where did you get your inspiration for this play?” their teacher asked.
Edgar glanced at Destiny and Taz. They both nodded their heads as if to say Go for it. He cleared his throat. “Before I answer that, may I ask you a few questions, Mr. Crew?”
“Go right ahead, Edgar.” Mr. Crew sat on the edge of his desk.
Edgar began to pace back and forth at the front of the room. “You don’t like coffee, do you, Mr. Crew?”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
Patrick interrupted. “I don’t see what this has—”
Taz held up his hand. “Let Edgar finish.”
“Thank you, Taz,” Edgar said. He turned his attention back to Mr. Crew and picked up his teacup. “You made a cup this morning, didn’t you?”
“Yes I did.”
“At about what time?”
“At about 9:00 o’clock.”
Edgar lifted the teabag out of the trash can. “Hmmm. I see it’s ‘Tennyson Tea.’ Isn’t that your favorite brand?”
“Yes it is. It’s delicious.”
“But you ran out of Tennyson Tea last Friday, didn’t you, Mr. Crew?”
“Yes I did.”
“Did you purchase tea over the weekend?”
“Well . . . no I didn’t.”
“I see. Then where did you get this tea?”
Mr. Crew smiled.
“You stole the tea from Ms. Herschel’s room, didn’t you, Mr. Crew?”
Patrick huffed. “Why would he steal his own gift?”
Edgar ignored him. “You stole the goldfish and the iris and the fan and the tea, didn’t you, Mr. Crew?”
A buzz of excitement went through the classroom.
“You’re not supposed to make an accusation unless you have proof,” Patrick said.
“I know.” Edgar smiled. “May I continue?”
Mr. Crew crossed his arms. “Go right ahead.”
Edgar nodded. “The first theft occurred on Tuesday, October 2. That’s the same day we began our poetry unit. You said, ‘how lucky’ because you could use the metaphor of the poem left by the thief to teach us about metaphor. Well, you stole the goldfish and left that note for a ‘good reason’, didn’t you, Mr. Crew? It was to get us interested in poetry.”
“What a fascinating idea!”
“You love poetry, and you wanted to teach us that every poem is like a little mystery that is waiting to be solved. So you created little mysteries for us to try to get our attention. You snuck into Ms. Herschel’s room when she went out for coffee. The third time, Ms. Herschel locked her door, so you asked Mr. Browning to unlock it for you. You told him that you needed to borrow her calculator, didn’t you? The fourth time, you saw Patrick and his dad installing the video device, so you waited until they were gone, then you asked Mr. Browning to unlock the door again—so you could return the calculator, you said. And you snuck in, careful not to be filmed. You stole a goldfish, an iris, a fan, and some tea. What do all those things have in common? Well, the goldfish was a gift from Maia to the class, the iris was a gift from you to Ms. Herschel, the fan was a gift from a Spanish student to Ms. Herschel, and the tea was supposed to be a gift to you. They are all gifts. And if you take the first letter of each of those objects you get ‘g-i-f-t.’ ”