Mystery at the Ballpark (6 page)

The next morning, the Aldens arrived at the dugout early, and Benny headed for the locker room. He was surprised to see Mr. Jackson fumbling with the combination lock on his locker.

“Oh, hello, Benny,” Mr. Jackson said nervously, smoothing his gray hair. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He quickly moved away from the locker and wiped his hands on his overalls.

“What are you doing?” Benny asked curiously.

“Just checking the lockers,” Mr. Jackson answered. He tried to smile, but his voice was tense.

“What for?” Benny persisted.

Mr. Jackson avoided looking at him. “Well, I … I’m thinking of repainting them,” he stammered. “The paint’s getting pretty chipped in spots, you know.”

Benny looked at the gleaming row of bright green lockers and frowned. Chuck had told him that the lockers had been freshly painted a few months ago! Was Mr. Jackson lying to him? Was he really trying to break into his locker?

Later that morning, Jessie stopped to refill her water bottle and saw Mr. Jackson deep in conversation with Mrs. Sealy.

“I can’t wait to see the look on Coach Warren’s face,” Mr. Jackson said.

“Neither can I,” Mrs. Sealy agreed. “He’s going to be in for the shock of his life.”

Chuck blew his whistle just then, signaling the end of break time, and Jessie returned to the playing field. Were Mr. Jackson and Mrs. Sealy plotting something? Mrs. Sealy called it “the shock of his life.” Were they going to do something that would embarrass Coach Warren? Surely neither one of them would have any reason to sabotage the team, would they? But what was the big secret? Jessie thought about it all morning, and couldn’t come up with any answers.

It wasn’t until they were eating lunch at the long picnic table that Nicole nudged her. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re so quiet!”

Jessie hesitated. Was this the right time to bring up what was really bothering her? She glanced around the table. Only Nicole and Michael had joined the Aldens for lunch. The others had preferred to sit under the shade of a giant elm tree. Maybe if they all put their heads together, they could come up with an explanation.

“I think we need to clear the air,” she said softly, and everyone turned to look at her. “There’ve been some strange things going on lately …” she began.

“I’ll say,” Benny interrupted her. “Someone’s been going around stealing teddy bears!” He missed Stockings and continued to look for him every day.

“I know, Benny,” she said sympathetically, “but I’m talking about more than just teddy bears.”

“Weird things have been happening right from the start,” Henry spoke up. “Remember when Ann’s bat was missing and ended up in Susan’s locker?”

“And that was just the beginning,” Violet said. “Jessie’s glove was taken, and someone tried to trick her with a phony one.”

“I never did get back my glove,” Jessie said.

“I think it will turn up.” Nicole gently squeezed her friend’s arm.

“Yeah, maybe the same person who took your glove took Stockings,” Benny piped up. “Maybe they’ll feel so bad about taking them, that they’ll return them both.”

“And we nearly missed the game with the Pirates yesterday because so many things went wrong.” Michael looked serious. “First someone cut the cables to the van, and then the keys were missing.”

“Plus Chuck got lost a lot out in the country,” Violet reminded him. “I’m surprised we made it there in time.”

“Do you think it’s just a string of coincidences?” Nicole asked. She took a bite of her sandwich. It seemed hard to believe that someone would really want to sabotage the team.

“I think it’s more than that,” Henry said. “So many things have happened that it seems like more than just a run of bad luck.”

“Something else happened at the game,” Michael said suddenly. “I didn’t think of it before, but did anyone notice number thirty-eight on the Pirates team? A short kid with sandy hair?”

“I think I did,” Benny said. “What about him?”

“I’ve seen him before.” Michael paused and looked around the table. “All of us have. He was buying a soft drink with Chuck the other day in the store.”

“That’s right!” Violet burst out. “I knew he looked familiar!”

“But what does that mean?” Jessie asked. “Do you think Chuck is involved somehow in everything that’s gone wrong?”

“I hate to think so,” Henry told her.

Jessie nodded. “He said he hadn’t been in the office when the keys were missing, but he was lying. I saw him walk out of the office a few minutes earlier, and Mr. Jackson was with him.”

“Wow,” Benny said softly. “Mr. Jackson might be involved, too.”

“Why do you say that, Benny?” Henry asked.

Benny told them about Mr. Jackson snooping around his locker that morning.

“There’s something else you don’t know,” Jessie said. “I heard a really strange conversation between Mr. Jackson and Mrs. Sealy this morning. It sounded like they were planning a surprise for Coach Warren—but not the kind of surprise you’d look forward to,” she said grimly.

“Mrs. Sealy said she hates baseball, but she’s always around,” Nicole pointed out.

Violet frowned. “A lot of things about her don’t make sense.” Suddenly she remembered something else. “Remember when we saw her in the store that day and she said she hadn’t been on the playing field? She wasn’t telling us the truth! I
know
she’d been over here. She had red mud all over her shoes.”

“You know, she must have been here when the van keys were missing, too,” Nicole added.

“How do you know that?” Michael asked.

Nicole leaned forward eagerly. “Because Susan passed around a bag of brownies in the truck. She said her aunt had dropped them off for us that morning.”

“That’s right!” Jessie said. “So now we have three suspects, Chuck, Mrs. Sealy, and Mr. Jackson.” She paused. “But I still can’t figure out why any one of them would want to hurt the team.”

“Mr. Jackson doesn’t think girls should play baseball,” Benny piped up.

“And Mrs. Sealy thinks Susan is wasting her time playing with us,” Nicole offered. “She thinks she could be painting pictures.”

“What about Chuck?” Benny asked.

Henry shrugged. “Maybe Chuck is secretly rooting for the other team because he has a friend—that little boy—who plays for them.”

There was a long silence. “I think we have a long way to go before we solve this mystery,” Jessie said.

“You’re right,” Violet told her. “But let’s do it before anything else gets stolen.”

On Saturday morning, the Aldens trooped into the kitchen for an early breakfast. “I made waffles,” Mrs. McGregor said as they settled around the oak table. “I know you want to get an early start for the fairgrounds.” It was the day of the annual Greenfield flea market, and the children had invited Michael and Nicole to join them.

“What’s a flea market, anyway?” Benny asked, pouring a tall glass of orange juice.

“It’s like a giant yard sale,” Jessie told him. “People come from all over town and set up booths to sell things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Just about everything. Furniture and dolls and antiques …”

“Oh.” Benny looked disappointed.

“Cheer up, Benny,” Violet said teasingly. “There will be lots of good things to eat, like homemade cookies and cakes and doughnuts.”

“Oh, good!” Benny said, polishing off a waffle and reaching for another. “Then I know I’ll like it.”

Half an hour later, they met Michael and Nicole and headed for the fairgrounds. “This is going to be fun,” Nicole said. “I can hardly wait to get there.”

“And guess what,” Michael spoke up. “Did you see the notice in today’s paper? Someone’s selling baseball cards and autographs!”

“Let’s head there first,” Henry said.

The fairgrounds were crowded when the children arrived. Everyone was excited by a display of gingerbread houses. “Oh, they’re pretty,” Nicole said. “They look just like something out of Hansel and Gretel.”

“But I bet they’re really expensive,” Violet said. She had brought her allowance money with her in case she wanted to buy something.

“Maybe we can learn to make them ourselves,” Jessie suggested. The Aldens always loved to figure out how to do things on their own.

Benny asked the woman behind the booth, “Can you eat the houses?”

She laughed. “I certainly hope not. Each one of them took almost a whole week to decorate.”

“C’mon,” Henry said, putting his arm around his younger brother’s shoulders. “Let’s take a look at those baseball cards.”

A large group was gathered around the baseball card vendor’s booth, and Michael recognized a familiar face. “See that woman in the red dress?” he whispered to the others. “Isn’t that Susan’s aunt—the one who’s always hanging around the field?”

Nicole watched as a dark-haired woman backed out of the crowd and headed toward another booth. “That’s her, all right. I wonder what she was doing at this booth?”

“It can’t be because she likes baseball,” Jessie said. “She thinks it’s a waste of time.”

“Well, I think it’s the most fun game in the whole world,” Benny said loudly.

“You’re right,” Henry said, laughing. “Now let’s see the cards for ourselves.”

They had been sorting through bins of cards for a few minutes when Benny suddenly grabbed Jessie’s arm. “That’s it!” he said hoarsely.

“That’s what?” Jessie said blankly. She was looking at a baseball card that pictured Hank Aaron and listed his 733 home runs.

“Your glove!” Benny said, continuing to tug at her. “The one Aunt Jane gave you.”

“What—where?” Now he had her full attention.

Benny pointed silently to a slightly battered glove just out of reach on a display shelf. The autograph was clearly visible—Hank Aaron.

“Can I see that glove—the one on the left?” Jessie asked the man running the booth. She was so excited her hands were trembling. How in the world had her glove ended up here? Had someone stolen it from the dugout and sold it?

“This is a nice glove. I can give you a good price on it.”

Jessie turned it over thoughtfully in her hands. It certainly looked like her glove! But she wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t accuse the man of stealing it! “I …I had a glove just like this one,” she said finally. “My aunt gave it to me.”

“You mean you had a glove signed by Hank Aaron,” the man said in a friendly voice.

“That’s right!” Jessie said.

“So do lots of people,” he replied, arranging a stack of baseball caps.

Jessie was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“The big-name players sign lots of gloves. Everybody knows that.”

“I didn’t,” Jessie said softly. She slipped her hand inside the glove. There was a little rough spot inside that rubbed against her knuckle—just like her glove.

Was it hers? And anyway what could she do? Even if it was, there was no way she could prove it.

“How much is it?” Henry asked. He had seen the look on his sister’s face, and he was determined to buy the glove for her.

But when the man told them the price, it was very high.

“Oh, no,” Violet said softly. “Mine was stolen.” She knew there was no way they could afford that. “Maybe if we all saved for it,” she began doubtfully.

“You say you had a glove that was stolen?” the man asked Jessie. When she nodded, he went on, “That’s really a shame. Tell you what I can do. I’ll set this one aside until you’ve earned the money.”

“Really?” Jessie asked, her face lighting up. “Thank you.”

Later that afternoon, the children visited a booth filled with beautiful leather belts and handbags. Violet ran her hand over a tan belt, so soft it felt almost buttery. A young girl with a ponytail sitting on a stool said proudly, “I made that one myself.”

“It’s so pretty,” Violet said. “Look, Benny, it has a cowboy design carved into it.”

Benny touched the belt. “It’s nice. How did you get it so smooth?”

“I have a secret ingredient,” the girl told him smilingly. She reached for a saltshaker on the countertop. “Salt.”

“Salt?” Violet and Benny said together.

The girl nodded and stood up. “When you want to soften leather, you soak it for awhile and then rub salt into it. Instead of being hard and stiff, it makes the leather soft, as if you’ve been wearing the belt for awhile.”

Benny stood silently for a moment, thinking. That was what Michael had said when they’d found traces of salt on Jessie’s glove—the fake one that someone had put in her locker. And Mr. Jackson always kept a saltshaker in the dugout. Was he the guilty one?

Toward the end of the day, the children ate hot dogs in the shade.

“Do you think that was really your glove?” Nicole asked her.

Jessie shrugged. “I’m not sure. It certainly looked like it and felt like it.”

“But that still doesn’t explain how it got here,” Violet pointed out.

“We’re never going to figure that part out,” Michael said. “At least not until we catch the thief.” He sipped some apple juice through a straw.

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Henry leaned forward. “Maybe we shouldn’t just sit back and wait for the thief to strike again.”

“But what can we do?” Violet asked. “We can’t catch him until he commits another crime.”