Copycat Mystery (2 page)

Aunt Jane laughed as she gave each of the Aldens a warm hug. “Well, let’s get your suitcases loaded into the car, and we’ll be on our way!”

As they turned onto the highway and left the small town of Elmford behind, Violet rolled down her window. “The country air smells wonderful!” she said.

“Yes,” agreed Jessie. “And the farms look so pretty.”

When they turned onto the dirt road that led to Aunt Jane’s, the car slowed to a stop beside a long gravel driveway lined with trees. Aunt Jane stared out the window, looking bewildered.

“Is anything wrong?” asked Henry, who was sitting up front.

Their aunt pointed to a post at the side of the road. “There’s supposed to be a sign hanging from those hooks.” After a moment’s thought, Aunt Jane shrugged. “I’m sure there’s a good reason for it not being there. Now hold on to your seats,” she added. “You’re about to take that trip back in time!”

The Aldens weren’t quite sure what to expect when they drove slowly up the driveway. It wasn’t long, though, before a white farmhouse peeked out through the trees and they all drew in their breath.

“Hey!” Benny almost shouted. “That lady looks like she’s from that Victorian era.”

It was true. Standing on the front porch of the farmhouse was a fair-haired woman dressed in a high-necked blouse and a long skirt. The children could hardly believe their eyes!

“Good for you, Benny,” said Aunt Jane as she parked in front of an old barn. “The lady on the porch
is
supposed to look like someone from that era. As a matter of fact, that happens to be a Victorian farmhouse.”

Jessie looked around as they climbed out of the car. “But where in the world are we?”

“This is the old Wagner farm,” their aunt told her. “It was built in 1864 by Horace Wagner. His great-great-granddaughter, Elizabeth Pennink, couldn’t afford to keep it anymore. So she gave the farm to the town of Elmford to be used as an historic site. The farmhouse has been fixed up to look exactly the way it did when it was first built. And I must say, Carl Mason has done a wonderful job supervising everything.”

“Carl Mason?” echoed Henry. “Isn’t he the curator of the Elmford Museum?” The Aldens had met Mr. Mason when they were tracking down their grandmother’s stolen necklace.

Aunt Jane nodded. “That’s right. Now he’s in charge of the Historic Wagner Farmhouse as well.”

Benny had a worried look on his face. “Is the lady on the porch . . . a . . . a ghost?”

Aunt Jane gave Benny a hug. “Absolutely not, Benny. That’s Gwendolyn Corkum. Carl Mason hired her to keep things running smoothly out here. You see, the farmhouse is finally open to the public this week. Visitors can take guided tours through the house and find out what life was like during the Victorian era.”

“Oh!” cried Violet. “That’s what you meant about a trip back in time!”

Aunt Jane nodded and smiled. “Eventually, everything will be restored. Even this old pole barn.”

As they headed across the lawn toward the farmhouse, Jessie noticed a gray-haired man in overalls weeding the flower beds.

His face was tanned and leathery from the hot sun.

Aunt Jane stopped to introduce the children to Draper Mills, the custodian of the farm. When the Aldens said how do you do, Henry reached out to shake hands. But the elderly man turned away.

Henry and Jessie exchanged a look. Why was the custodian so unfriendly?

“Draper lives right here on the farm,” Aunt Jane went on. “He has his own cottage behind the orchard. As you can see, he does a great job of keeping the Victorian gardens looking beautiful.”

Draper Mills frowned. “It won’t be long before everything’s trampled. It’s just a matter of time, with so many people coming and going.”

Aunt Jane glanced around. “Actually, it looks very quiet and peaceful today. Almost
too
quiet. I’m surprised there aren’t
more
visitors.”

“Well, I wish there weren’t
any
visitors,” grumbled Draper. Then he turned and walked away.

“I don’t think he likes us very much,” said Benny in a small voice.

“Oh, I’m certain he likes you just fine,” Aunt Jane assured Benny. “Draper’s just shy around people, and that makes him seem a bit grumpy sometimes. He’s been running this farm for years, you know. It’ll take time for him to get used to all the changes, now that the farm’s open to the public.” Aunt Jane suddenly clicked her tongue. “Oh, dear!”

Violet asked, “What is it, Aunt Jane?”

“I made a picnic lunch for us, but—”

Benny broke in, “I love picnics!”

“Well, I’m afraid I left the picnic basket in the car, Benny,” said Aunt Jane. As she started to walk away, she said over her shoulder, “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll be right back.”

While the Aldens waited, Violet couldn’t help noticing that the young woman on the porch seemed rather worried. Gwendolyn Corkum kept running her fingers through her long blond hair and looking around as if she were expecting someone to step out of the house at any moment. And then a small, gray-haired man with a mustache
did
step out of the house.

“Isn’t that Carl Mason?” asked Jessie.

Henry nodded. “Yes, and he doesn’t look very happy.”

A younger man with a camera appeared seconds later. He had dark brown hair and was wearing sunglasses. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up above his elbows, and there was a notebook poking up from the back pocket of his pants.

From where they were standing, the Aldens couldn’t help overhearing the conversation on the porch.

“I asked Jake North to take some pictures for the Elmford newspaper, Miss Corkum,” Carl Mason was saying. “But there isn’t a single visitor in sight. I’m afraid we’ve wasted Mr. North’s time today.”

“But Mr. Mason, it’s—”

The museum curator broke in, “It’s not exactly a beehive of activity around here today, is it? I certainly don’t want pictures of an empty farmhouse to appear in the paper.” Mr. Mason sounded upset. “But what else can be expected without a sign at the entrance? How will anyone know where the farmhouse is located, Miss Corkum?”

“I have no idea what happened to that sign, Mr. Mason,” replied the young woman. “It was hanging out front when I arrived this morning.”

“You’re paid to keep an eye on things around here, Miss Corkum!” Mr. Mason shot back.

Jessie whispered to the others, “That must be the sign Aunt Jane was talking about.”

“What could have happened to it?” Violet wondered out loud.

“Maybe it blew away in the wind,” Benny said.

“Maybe, Benny,” said Jessie. “But I don’t think so.”

“No, there’s hardly any wind at all,” Henry pointed out.

Jessie felt uncomfortable listening to the conversation. “Maybe we should walk back to meet Aunt Jane,” she suggested in a low voice. “It isn’t polite to eavesdrop.”

“Good idea,” said Violet.

As they headed back across the grass, Henry stopped to look around. “Where’s Benny?”

Jessie looked around, too. “He was here a minute ago.”

Violet thought for a moment. “Maybe he went to help Aunt Jane.”

But Aunt Jane hadn’t seen Benny. “He probably just wanted to stretch his legs,” she told them.

“Maybe,” said Jessie, but she didn’t sound so sure.

They decided to split up and look for Benny. Jessie went through the orchard with Aunt Jane, while Henry and Violet checked down by the creek.

“No luck,” Henry told them a little later, when he and Violet walked back.

Aunt Jane frowned. “This really
is
getting rather odd.”

“Benny can take care of himself, Aunt Jane,” said Henry. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.” But secretly Henry
was
worried. It wasn’t like Benny to wander away without telling them.

Jessie looked worried, too. “Benny couldn’t have disappeared into thin air.”

All of a sudden Violet cried out, “Look!”

When they turned, they spotted Benny coming out from behind the old pole barn. And he was dragging something behind him.

Jessie was the first to give him a hug. “We were looking everywhere for you.”

“How did you get burrs all over your socks?” Violet asked him.

Benny glanced down. “There’s lots of weeds behind the barn.”

“What in the world were you doing back there?” asked Aunt Jane.

“Looking for the missing sign,” replied Benny. “And guess what?” He held up the big sign he’d been dragging behind him. In bright yellow lettering were the words THE HISTORIC WAGNER FARMHOUSE.

“Oh, Benny!” Violet clasped her hands. “You found it!”

Mr. Mason looked surprised when Henry and Benny came up the porch steps a few minutes later carrying the sign between them. “Well, if it isn’t the Aldens!” he cried. “And Mrs. Bean!”

Gwendolyn Corkum’s face broke into a smile. “Oh, you solved the mystery of the missing sign!”

“I’m a very good detective,” Benny declared proudly.

The young woman smiled at the four children. “Indeed you are! It just so happens I’ve heard all about you from your aunt Jane. I’m Gwendolyn Corkum,” she added, holding out her hand. “But almost everybody around here calls me Gwen.”

The young man with the camera gave them a friendly smile. He took off his sunglasses and reached out to shake hands, too. “Jake North,” he said. “I’m a reporter.”

“Now, where did you find that sign, Benny?” Mr. Mason wanted to know.

“Hanging on a nail behind the barn,” said Benny.

Gwen looked puzzled. “The barn? How did it get there?”

“Must be somebody’s idea of a practical joke,” guessed Jake. “Trying to be a copycat, no doubt.”

“Why do you say that?” Gwen asked.

“Wasn’t Horace Wagner a practical joker?” asked Jake. “Maybe somebody’s trying to copy him by playing a joke.”

Just then a silver-haired lady dressed in Victorian costume stepped out of the house. “Did I hear someone mention practical jokes?” she asked. “You must be talking about Horace Wagner!”

Gwen introduced Elizabeth Pennink, Horace’s great-great-granddaughter. “Miss Pennink is one of the volunteers here at the farmhouse,” Gwen explained.

“My great-great-grandfather loved practical jokes,” Elizabeth Pennink told them. “Maybe it’s because he was born on April Fool’s Day—born with a twinkle in his eye, I might add! He even got married on April Fool’s Day. Of course, Horace’s jokes were never meant to hurt anyone,” she quickly added. “They were just for fun.”

Carl Mason cleared his throat. “Don’t let us keep you, Miss Pennink,” he said abruptly. “I’m sure you have plenty to keep you busy inside.”

“Oh,” the older woman said in a quiet voice. “I . . . I didn’t mean to go on and on.” And with that, she slipped back inside the house.

Violet couldn’t understand why Mr. Mason had spoken so sharply. It was clear that Miss Pennink had been hurt by his rudeness.

The museum curator shut the door behind Miss Pennink. “We prefer not to mention Horace Wagner and his practical jokes,” he said. “This is a serious project! The important thing is for people to learn what life was like long ago.” Carl Mason smoothed his mustache. “Jokes simply do not belong in a museum.” Turning to Jake North, he added, “I trust the newspaper will not mention such silly matters.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Jake.

Mr. Mason nodded. “I’ll put the sign back where it belongs on my way out,” he said. “And please remember, Miss Corkum,” he added, “I’ll be out of town for a few days. I hope you’ll take your job more seriously while I’m gone.”

As Carl Mason went on his way, Jake remarked, “It really is strange, isn’t it?”

Henry looked over at him. “What is?”

“That somebody played a practical joke with that sign,” answered Jake. “Either there’s a copycat joker around here, or . . .”

“Or what?” asked Benny.

Jake said, “Well, let’s just say it’s enough to make a person believe in ghosts!”

“Ghosts?” cried Benny.

Violet shivered. Was the farm haunted by the ghost of Horace Wagner?

Gwen laughed. “As far as I know,” she said, “the farmhouse is
not
haunted.”

Jake North sighed. “I guess that
would
be hoping for too much.”

Jessie caught Henry’s eye. Why would anyone
want
a house to be haunted?

“What I mean is, it would make a good newspaper story,” Jake said quickly. “Not much happens in a small town like Elmford. The most exciting story I’ve had to report so far was that they ran out of hot dogs at the local baseball game!”

Benny’s big eyes grew even rounder. “They ran out of hot dogs at a baseball game?!”

“You see, Jake?” said Aunt Jane, as everyone laughed. “What
you
don’t find interesting, somebody else might.”

Violet spoke up shyly. “Grandfather says it’s people who make a town interesting.”

The young man smiled a little. “I only wish my teachers at college were that easy to please.”

Henry looked surprised. “Oh, do you go to college?”

“I’m in the journalism program,” Jake told Henry. “I start my second year this fall. My uncle’s a writer and a poet. He pulled a few strings and got me a job working for the Elmford newspaper for the summer. It’s a chance for me to get some practical experience.”