Mystery of the Queen's Jewels (9 page)

BOOK: Mystery of the Queen's Jewels

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“That's good, because I was pretending to be a gangster â Ambrose Prince's part. I've just found out he's leaving the show, and I'm taking over the starring role. It's a dream come true!”

“Speaking of dreams, I have some news of my own,” said Donna, who had just entered the living room.

Everyone turned to look at her. She was carrying a small stack of fliers, which she passed around.

“ â
Opening Soon: Madame Russo's Wax Museum
,' ” said Jessie, reading aloud.

“I'm opening my own museum back in the United States,” said Donna. “I just found a location for it, and I've signed all the papers to get it started. One day my museum will be as famous as Madame Tussaud's.”

“So this is your secret plan to get rich,” said Benny.

“And that's why you knew so much about the wax museum,” Violet added.

“Yes,” Donna said. “I've been reading books about waxworks and visiting there every day. But I didn't want anyone to know, because I was afraid someone might steal my idea before I'd gotten everything arranged.”

“Aren't there already wax museums in the United States?” asked Benny.

“There are, but none is as popular as Madame Tussaud's.
Mine
will be,” Donna said.

The guests at the Cheshire Inn spent the rest of the afternoon celebrating their successes. Andrew had gotten a starring role in a play. Donna's wax museum would be opening soon. And the Aldens had solved yet another mystery.

On Monday morning, the Aldens packed up their suitcases and said good-bye to Donna, Andrew, and Mrs. Brown. They were quite sad to be leaving London. They had had such a good time.

Mrs. Brown had called for a cab to drive them to the airport. When they arrived there, a porter took their luggage, except for the pieces they were carrying on with them, like Benny's red backpack.

Jessie found a television screen that listed all the departing flights. “There's ours,” she said. “It's leaving from gate 6A.”

“That's this way,” said Henry, pointing down a long hallway. The Aldens walked until they came to a counter with a sign over it saying “6A.” Behind the counter stood a woman in an airline uniform. Grandfather handed her their tickets and she checked them in.

“Is that our plane?” Benny asked, looking out a large window.

“Yes,” the woman said. “We'll be boarding in a few minutes.”

The Aldens took their carry-on bags over to a group of chairs by the window. They had just sat down when a voice right behind them said, “Hello, Aldens!” Grandfather and the children turned around to see Charles Finchley.

“Charles! What are you doing here?” asked Jessie.

“I came to see you off!” said Charles with a big smile. “I can only stay a few minutes, because I have to get back to the museum.” He took off his wrinkled raincoat and hat and laid them on a chair. Then he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “I'd like to exchange addresses, so that we can stay in touch.”

“That would be nice,” said Violet.

Charles picked up his raincoat and checked all the pockets. “Oh, dear, I seem to have forgotten my pen.”

“I've got one,” Benny said, reaching into his red backpack and pulling out a blue marker.

Charles tore the paper in half and wrote his name and address on one piece. Then he gave the other piece of paper and the marker to Henry, who wrote down the Aldens' address. Then they traded papers.

“We'll write as soon as we get home!” said Jessie.

“And I can paint you a picture,” said Violet.

“We could even write you a letter on the airplane!” Benny said.

“That sounds lovely.” Charles sat for a few minutes with the Aldens, watching the airplanes landing and taking off. Then he looked at his watch. “I'd better be going now,” he said, pulling on his raincoat. Then Aldens waved good-bye as Charles headed down the hallway.

“Flight 125 is now boarding,” a voice said over the loudspeaker.

“That's us,” said Jessie.

As the Aldens turned back to their seats to collect their things, they spotted something on one of the chairs. It was Charles's hat.

“Oh, no!” said Benny. “Not again!”

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Albert Whitman & Company

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Park Ridge, Illinois 60068

www.albertwhitman.com