I sighed. I had heard it all before. If Dad only realized that this lecture had never changed a thing in the past and never would in the future. I was on a mission, and he would just have to accept that. He continued on for the next ten minutes. That was followed by a period of uncomfortable silence. I sat with my lip buttoned up. It was no use trying to defend either Sam or my chosen profession. It was hopeless.
When we finally pulled up in front of school, I was relieved. Time to escape. I reached for my backpack and was just about to make a hasty exit when I felt a hand on my arm.
“Wait a minute,” my dad said. “You make me so crazy sometimes.” He let out a long sigh. “Listen, as hard as it is to say this, your mom and I are amazed at some of the things you’ve accomplished in the past couple of months. You’ve done some things that even the police weren’t able to do. Reading about my own son in the newspaper, or seeing him on TV, or watching him accept an award for heroism from the mayor . . . these are some of the things that make a father proud.”
This was nothing short of a breakthrough moment for me and my dad. I wasn’t quite sure where it was headed. Was he finally ready to accept the fact that I had this gift and that it would be criminal to ignore it?
“I’m just afraid that you’re going to wake up ten years from now and wonder where your childhood went. I’m glad to hear that you got involved in this school play. Those are just the types of activities I’d like to see you doing. So that’s why I want you to permanently close up this agency of yours. It may be hard at first, I know, but in the long run, when you discover other new and interesting hobbies, you’ll thank me.”
Just when I thought we were at one of those milestones in a person’s life where all the stars align and there’s a meeting of the minds, I realized that nothing had really changed. I would continue to sneak around and solve cases for classmates, and my dad would continue to give me grief.
“Aren’t you glad we had this little talk?” he said. “Maybe this was all supposed to happen. I have a feeling that you were supposed to sleep through your alarm so we could have this moment.”
I forced a smile as I stepped out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”
“I want you to consider what I said, Charlie. Well, actually, there’s nothing to consider. You don’t really have an option. It’s going to happen. I was just hoping I could convince you to buy into this willingly. See you tonight.” And with that, he was off.
I stood at the entrance to the playground and shook my head. What started out as a discussion with real possibilities had turned into another downer. It reminded me of a situation that Sam Solomon had once found himself in—Episode #47—The His and Hearse Caper. This was the story of a mortician who, instead of cremating bodies, was part of a black-market operation that was selling corpses to unscrupulous medical schools for their cadaver collections. Instead of presenting grieving families with urns containing the ashes of their dearly departed, they would receive the ashes of animal remains. This case, a particularly gruesome one, had shaken Sam and had caused him to question his decision to enter the detective profession. Filled with doubts, he decided to consult his mentor, Amos Poindexter. Amos ran the agency years before and left it to Sam upon his retirement. And every so often, Sam would visit his old boss when he needed some advice. The retired P.I. could see that his protégé was confused and battle-fatigued. He advised Sam to close up the agency for a while before he was no longer able to run it. Amos suggested that he settle down, meet a nice girl, and start a family. “Do it before it’s too late,” the old man told him. “Don’t wait like I did.” As you might guess, Sam failed to listen to this advice.
It seemed obvious to me that my dad was pulling an Amos Poindexter. He wanted me to walk away from my passion, while still in my prime, in order to find other interests. I could no more close up shop than Sam could. He respected the advice from his old boss but managed to work through his difficulties and eventually persevered. And, fortunately, there were several more adventures to follow. What about me? Well, even though it might be ill-advised, when the play was over, I fully intended to continue on despite the mandate from my dad. I had operated the agency without my parents’ blessings in the past, and I would continue to do so.
“Hey, Charlie,” a voice called out. It was Henry. He was waiting for me on the playground. “You weren’t on the bus, so I thought you were sick or something.”
“No, I overslept and my dad had to drive me,” I said. “Hey, did you hear about the burglary at that pet shop this morning?”
“Yeah, my mom said something about it at breakfast. Why?”
I looked around to make sure we were alone. I was about to propose a hypothesis, and if it proved to be wrong, I didn’t want to be second-guessed by nosy classmates.
“Get this. I stayed up late last night to listen to The Sam Solomon Mystery Theater.”
Henry looked surprised. “Sam’s on the radio? Since when?”
“This just happens to be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the original old-time radio series featuring the world’s greatest detective.”
Henry wasn’t impressed. He was tired of hearing about Sam Solomon. I was guilty of dropping Sam references into conversations on a daily basis—make that, on an hourly basis.
“What about it?” he asked.
“Would you believe that last night’s show may have inspired the burglar who hit that pet store last night?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “Whoever pulled off the heist was probably listening to the show, and by leaving the SS business card behind, he’s trying to make some kind of statement about Sam. Aren’t you the least bit curious about it?”
The bell rang. We scooted inside and headed to our lockers.
“Frankly, no.” Henry worked the combination on his locker. “What difference does all of this make? It’s not as if you can do anything about it. It’s a job for the police.”
“What if the Charlie Collier, Snoop for Hire Agency just happened to investigate the matter?”
“Here we go again—another case without a paying client. How long do you think we can operate like this? Charlie, we’re not public servants. We’re paid professionals. And we ought to get paid accordingly.” He sneered. “And have you forgotten, the agency is temporarily closed. We’ve got play practice. We don’t have time for any of this.”
For a minute there, I actually had forgotten. I hated the thought of passing up what promised to be a monster case. When Gram suggested that we might be able to assist the authorities, I was somewhat interested, but I wasn’t quite ready to drop everything and jump in. But since Sam Solomon had entered the mix, everything had changed. A few days ago, I even had myself convinced that I’d be able to survive a few weeks away from the agency, but now I was second-guessing my decision to participate in the play. If it turned out that there was a clear connection between last night’s radio drama and this morning’s burglary, then I might have to politely decline the invitation from Mr. Miles to participate in his production. I hated to do that to him, but playing a private detective onstage paled in comparison to actually participating in a real caper.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” Henry said as he grabbed books from the top shelf of his locker.
“It’s so frustrating,” I said. “Something big may be happening and I can’t do anything about it.”
Henry dropped his books onto the floor and grabbed me by the shoulders. “You don’t have to do anything about it. Let the police handle it. I’m sure they’ll be able to figure everything out without our help. Just be patient.”
“But they don’t know what I know,” I said. “They don’t know the connection between Sam Solomon and this latest crime spree.”
“Charlie, you know what your problem is?” Henry said. “You’re going through withdrawal. Now that the agency’s closed up for a
few weeks, you don’t have any problems to solve, so you’re grabbing at some meaningless story in the news. Let it go. Concentrate on learning your lines for the play. You’re soon gonna find out that’s a bigger job than you think.”
How could I make Henry see that this wasn’t some meaningless story in the news? This was really important. I needed to talk to Eugene in the worst way. He’d know what to do.
“You know what you need?” Henry said. “A good brainteaser. It’ll get your juices flowing and you’ll forget all about this pet store burglary.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Trust me.” He smiled. “In the year 1901, a man was forty years old. In the year 1906, he was thirty-five years old. How is this possible?”
As we walked to our first class, I was trying to figure out a way to contact Eugene, not trying to solve Henry’s dumb brainteaser. It looked like I was on my own now. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t worked solo before. I had done so plenty of times. I could do this. Heck, I would do this. Since we had different first-period classes, we were just about to split up when Henry poked me on the arm.
“So, what’s the answer?”
I just glared. I had no time for petty word games.
“Give up?”
I sighed and shook my head. “If a man is forty years old in 1901 and thirty-five years old in 1906, the explanation is simple. The years are B.C.E., not C.E. Are you happy now?”
CHAPTER 10
The Wurst Case Scenario Caper
For the rest of the school day, I obsessed over the Sam Solomon connection. I don’t think I took a single page of notes in any of my classes. That wasn’t like me, but how could I concentrate when I held a key piece of information for an ongoing crime investigation and was unable to share my theory? Somehow I had to get out of play practice so that I could head over to Eugene’s. He was the only person I knew who had listened to all three Sam Solomon episodes. If there was any connection between the first two programs and the crimes committed the day after each had aired, then we were on our way to solving this mystery.
During lunch and recess, Henry and I didn’t speak. He was either upset that I had solved his brainteaser with so little effort or he wasn’t ready to take on another case without a client and, hence, without payment. When we walked into Mrs. Jansen’s science class, the last period of the day, I knew that I was getting closer to taking some action, but which action, I couldn’t say. Should I tell Mr. Miles that I wasn’t feeling well? Should I make up some excuse about having to get home early? I just wasn’t sure what to do. As much as I wanted to prove myself as a leading man, especially to Scarlett, I felt as though I was being pulled into a caper not of my choosing.
“Okay, gang, settle down,” Mrs. Jansen said. “We’re going to start out today with a chemistry brain buster.”
I noticed a few of the kids glancing in my direction. So what else was new? But I wasn’t sure that I was in the proper frame of mind to solve a brainteaser just then. I had other things to occupy my time. I couldn’t be bothered with middle school riddles.
“Here we go. Put your thinking caps on now,” she said. “Two men walk into a diner. The first one says, ‘I’ll take a glass of H2O, please.’ The second man says, ‘I’ll have a glass of H2O too.’ A short time later, the waitress returns with their orders. Each man downs his drink. Within minutes, one of the men is dead. What happened?”
Although I had no real interest in participating, Mrs. Jansen, as she always managed to do, was starting to reel me in. I fought the urge to solve this one. I had bigger fish to fry. But I began to imagine the scenario that she had described.
“Okay,” she said, “who can tell me what happened?”
Sherman raised his hand.
“Sherman, what do you think?”
“I’ll bet that one of the men drank it too fast and choked to death,” he said.
Mrs. Jansen smiled. “Good guess, but no. Who else wants to try?”
Henry, who sat directly behind me, poked me in the back. “Watch this,” he said as he raised his hand.
“Henry, what exactly happened in that diner?” Mrs. Jansen said.
Henry stood. “I’m guessing that the men were spies and the waitress was actually a double agent. And so she put poison in one of their drinks.”
“Very creative, Henry,” she said. “I like the way you think. You’re on the right track, sort of. But there’s something else. What if I told you that the waitress gave each man exactly what he had ordered and nothing more?”
The class quieted down. No hands were raised. I sensed that Mrs. Jansen was looking in my direction. I was determined to stay out of the competition, but I could feel the wheels starting to turn in my brain. I tried to recall the exact words she had used. “The first man said, ‘I’ll take a glass of H2O, please.’ The second man said, ‘I’ll have a glass of H2O too.’” I, better than anyone, knew that most brainteasers weren’t math or science problems at all, they were trick questions. You had to examine each word carefully and imagine it standing by itself. You had to consider all angles. And most of all, you had to ignore the obvious. That would always confuse you.
“Did I stump everyone?” she said.
Scarlett looked in my direction. She seemed surprised, and maybe a little disappointed, that I hadn’t cracked this one. The last thing I wanted to do was to disappoint her. I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes. I started to press. Now I really wanted to nail it. A few minutes earlier, I had been completely disinterested. But once I saw that look on Scarlett’s face, I knew that the only way to get her to notice me was to show her that I was head and shoulders, and unfortunately one belt notch, ahead of the others.
“Charlie?” Mrs. Jansen said. “This is usually the time we call on you to enlighten us. What do you think? Don’t tell me we’ve stumped you too.”
I stood up and cleared my throat. I was trying to buy myself more time. I knew that every eye in the room was fixed on me at that very moment. By the looks on some of their faces, I could tell that a few of them were pulling for me. Then there were those who would have been perfectly happy to see me fall flat on my face. Scarlett glanced at me and then looked away. I couldn’t let her down. I just couldn’t. I repeated the key words of the brainteaser under my breath. I could feel my lips moving. And then just as I was about to admit defeat and slink back into my seat, I figured it out.
“Well, here’s how I see it, Mrs. Jansen. By the way, do you mind if I use the blackboard?”
“By all means,” she said.
I confidently walked to the front of the room, grabbed a piece of chalk, and faced my classmates.
“The first man ordered a glass of H2O,” I said. I wrote down H2O on the board. “We all know that H2O is the chemical formula for water. So, the waitress obviously brought him a harmless glass of water. But the second man didn’t make himself clear enough when he ordered. He accidentally asked for a lethal potion. He thought he was ordering water, but the waitress must have thought he said something else. Instead of hearing H2O too,” which I wrote on the board, “she heard H2O2.” I wrote H2O2 on the blackboard and underlined the second number two. “H2O2 is the chemical formula for hydrogen peroxide, which can be fatal if ingested—and unfortunately in this case, it was.”
Mrs. Jansen smiled and then began applauding. In all the times that I had correctly solved brain busters in her class, I didn’t ever recall that type of reaction. A few of my classmates joined in. Scarlett was one of them. I thought I detected the hint of a smile on her face. That was good—very good.
“Charlie,” she said, “not only did you successfully solve this chemistry brainteaser, but you explained it to the class in a clear, concise, easy-to-understand manner. Maybe we should trade places.”
I could sense the stares again. Were my fellow classmates impressed or jealous? I didn’t want to know. I just smiled and returned to my s
eat.
Henry tapped me on the shoulder. “Now you’re makin’ us look bad, partner,” he whispered.
I maintained a low profile for the remainder of class. When your best friend accuses you of showing him up, then what must the others be thinking? I tried to concentrate on Mrs. Jansen’s lecture, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the Sam Solomon program the night before and the pet shop burglary. It was up to me to do something about it. If I were somehow able to help the authorities nab the perpetrator of this crime, then I had to do everything in my power to make it happen. And if that meant missing play practice, then so be it. This was far more important. There . . . I had finally made a decision. I would ask Mr. Miles if I could skip practice today in order to rendezvous with Eugene to discuss the latest crime spree and the possible Sam Solomon connection. He would understand. At least, I hoped he would.
• • •
I poked my head into the auditorium. A few of the kids were milling around the stage. Practice was set to begin in a few minutes. I walked down the hallway in the direction of Mr. Miles’s office. I wasn’t quite sure what to tell him when I got there. I wanted to tell him the truth, but I wasn’t sure if he would think it was a good enough reason to miss practice. I considered illness, injury, and family emergency, and I thought that with a little imagination, I could build a pretty good case for each. But I never liked to lie about things like that. I always figured that if I pretended to be under the weather or injured when I wasn’t, then there were powers out there that would make those things happen. It was the same with a family emergency—lie about it, and it was sure to occur. I didn’t want to tempt fate.
By the time I reached Mr. Miles’s office door, I had decided to come clean. After all, he recruited me for this production because of my real-life experiences. He knew that I was a working P.I. and that conflicts of this nature were bound to happen. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that he would understand completely and would wish me well on my new venture. Before knocking, I rehearsed my little speech. I wanted to be able to fully explain my rationale for missing practice. I would have liked a little more time to prepare my defense, but I knew that Mr. Miles’s office door would be opening any time now, and I had to catch him before he left for practice. I knocked lightly.
The Copycat Caper Page 9
