Edgar Allan's Official Crime Investigation Notebook (7 page)

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 put 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.

The sky is the color of ten thousand goldfish. What if the reds and oranges and golds of the setting sun were caused by the last rays of light bouncing off all the goldfish spirits flying around in heaven?


Who knows what really happens to fish or to people or to butterflies after they die? Maybe everything has a spirit and every spirit has a color and it just can't be seen all the time.


Edgar's neighbor Mr. Timmid was out, raking leaves. He stopped and leaned on his rake and looked at the sky, just like Edgar was doing. Edgar's heart squeezed. He remembered when Mr. Timmid's wife had died. Edgar was a second grader at the time and it was the only funeral he had ever been to.

Is Mr. Timmid thinking about his wife's spirit? Is he missing her with all his might? He must be lonely. I sort of forgot about her, which makes me feel bad. I wonder how many people, at this very moment in time, are sad? I wonder how many people are looking up at the sky?


Overnight, dark thunderclouds had invaded, and now the rain was pounding on top of the school bus like it was trying to get in. An ominous morning. As the bus pulled into the school parking lot, Edgar peered out to see if any criminal-looking types were lurking around the school's entrance.

The car ahead of them pulled up to the curb, and Destiny hopped out, running so she wouldn't get wet. She and Maia weren't even carpooling in the rain together, Edgar noticed. He wondered if Destiny's parents knew that she had lost her best friend in the world. Or was she hiding it from them, too?

As he got out of the bus, Edgar tried to think of something nice he could say to cheer her up, but his mind was blank.

“Good morning!” Mr. Browning said as he walked by with his broom.

Edgar said good morning and then thought about Ms. Barrett. Had Mr. Browning said anything to her about the card she gave to him? Did he love her back?

When Edgar turned the corner, he saw Ms. Barrett with a frown on her face. Maybe if she smiled more, Mr. Browning would like her. But then again, maybe the reason she wasn't smiling was because he didn't love her in return! It was all very confusing.

When Edgar arrived at his classroom, Kip was guarding the door. “Patrick says you can come in, but nobody can touch anything,” he said.

“Another crime has been committed!” Patrick said importantly. He was at the board, where another note was taped, measuring the distance from the floor to the note.

Edgar kicked himself for not getting there earlier. Why couldn't he have been the one to find the note?

“What was stolen?” Destiny asked.

“Come in and have a seat, everybody,” Ms. Herschel said. “The beautiful silk iris—the flower—that I had in my pencil cup is gone. Mr. Crew gave me that last Christmas.” She read the note again for all the newcomers.

“To pluck the bloom” was a clever way of saying “to steal the flower,” Edgar thought. The thief certainly was
poetic! Ms. Herschel had said it was an iris. Maybe that was important. He whipped out his notebook.

An iris was stolen! I wasn't expecting this. Why an iris? Think…think…think…


“When did it happen, Ms. Herschel?” Maia asked.

“The flower was here when I first arrived. Then, it happened the same way . . . I left the room to get coffee, and when I came back it was gone,” Ms. Herschel said.

Coffee again! When will this woman learn?


Patrick put away his tape measure and turned to face the class triumphantly. “I've just verified my theory! The thief taped the note in approximately the same place he did last time.”

“What does that mean?” Kip asked.

“See how I have to reach to touch it? Well, that means the thief is probably taller than average.”

Everybody looked at Taz.

Taz laughed. “What would I want with a flower?”

“And look!” Patrick said, crouching down and pointing to the floor. “More shoe prints with an ‘O'.”

“That doesn't mean anything,” Taz argued. “Your shoe prints are there, too, Patrick. I got here first, and when I saw the note, I went to find Ms. Herschel.”

Edgar looked at the new message. “Like I said before, Taz couldn't write that good if he tried!”

Patrick smirked and handed Ms. Herschel her measuring tape. “Can I tell about the handwriting analysis I did?”

“I already analyzed!” Edgar said. “Anybody could see it's not his!”

“I did some
real
handwriting analysis.” Patrick smiled. “Yesterday after school, I looked carefully at the first note the way a real forensic investigator would. I looked at connecting strokes, and line quality, and spacing of words and letters, and pen pressure on both downward and upward strokes. And I realized that the handwriting looked
extremely
regular and the pressure on each letter looked
exactly
the same. I hypothesized that the note was printed by a computer with a font that looks like handwriting instead of being real handwriting! I checked the fonts that we have on our computers here at school, and it is an exact match for the font called “Frost Special.”

“Wow! Great detective work, Patrick!” Ms. Herschel exclaimed.

“That's just the beginning,” Patrick said. “I realized that I could use chromatography to determine exactly what brand of printer ink was used. You see, ink isn't just one color. It looks black, but really it's a mix of different colors. Each color has a different particle size. And if you dissolve the ink in a certain way you can see the particular spectrum of colors, which is sort of like the ink's signature. So I dissolved the ink and made this. It's called a chromatogram.”

He held out the thief's first note. The ink had bled into a kind of rainbow of yellow, blue, red, and purple.

“That's chemistry, Patrick!” Ms. Herschel said.

“I know.” Patrick smiled. “This morning before school, I did a chromatogram of the ink we use at this school, and it's a perfect match.” He held up another chromatogram. “I checked with Mrs. Peabody and I found out that all the ink used by the school's printers is the same brand, and it's not a brand that people can order outside of the school system, which means that the notes
had
to be printed at school.”

“Excellent work!” Ms. Herschel exclaimed.

“I'm not making an accusation yet, but since the thief used a computer to print the notes, I have proven that even somebody with sloppy handwriting could be the thief.” Patrick looked pointedly at Edgar and then at Taz.

Patrick has used fancy ways to figure out that the thief is tall and used the school computer to write the notes! Patrick's important scientific father is probably helping him. I hate him and all his fancy words and ways.


I don't want to believe Taz did it. But I will have to keep my eye on him. Kip is also a suspect again, since the only reason I took him off the list was his handwriting.


“Patrick, you have done some nice detective work. Like I said, let's all keep an open mind,” Ms. Herschel said.

Maia raised her hand. “Don't forget it's Star of the Month talent day!”

“That's right,” Ms. Herschel said. “Our Star of the Month is Gabriela. Before we start our science lesson, Gabriela will have her moment to shine. Gabriela, are you ready?”

Gabriela and Maia hopped out of their seats and went to the front of the room. Maia explained why she was dancing with Gabriela and handed Ms. Herschel a CD, which Ms. Herschel popped into her computer. As soon as guitar music filled the room, the two girls faced each other and began to dance.

Edgar's mind was racing. Why didn't he think of measuring how high on the board the note was taped?

Wait! The thief doesn't have to be tall. It could be someone short who is standing on something or jumping. What about Kip? He could use his skateboard to stand on. I bet Patrick didn't think of that! Kip could have done it before anyone saw him.


Or maybe it's Clarice Stolnup and she stood on a chair! I should keep my eye on her, but it's too hard since she's not in my classes. For sure, I'll keep an eye on Taz and Kip.


Why oh why are we born with only two eyeballs anyway?


In a snap, he realized one thing: Destiny could not have committed the crime. Edgar had seen her getting out of her mom's car after the crime had already been committed.

He looked at her. She was sitting perfectly still, watching Maia and Gabriela dance.

Right now, I'm watching Destiny. It's like she is wearing a mask that looks happy on the outside, but I can tell she's crying on the inside because Maia is dancing with Gabriela.


I'm glad that Destiny is not the thief! Then she'd be a criminal on top of being sad, and being sad is enough for one person.


I guess I'm wearing a mask, too. Everybody who looks at me just sees this perfectly happy normal boy, but inside I am upset about how Patrick keeps beating me.


I will focus my attention now on Taz and Kip and see if I can uncover any clues. I have to rely on my own brain.