On the Case
Page 10
All at once the title of Finnster, Private Eye, didn’t seem right anymore. Madison felt that woozy sensation that she always felt before getting really, really emotional.
Stephanie sensed that Madison was upset.
“Oh, Maddie, what’s wrong? You’re turning purple.”
“I’m a big faker,” Madison blurted. “What was I thinking? I’m no Major DeMille. It was a joke to think I could do this. How embarrassing. I’m a faker!”
“No,” Stephanie said. She reached over and put her arm around Madison’s shoulder. “Don’t give up. You are not a faker. It ain’t over till it’s over.”
“Easy for you to say,” Madison said.
“I have an idea. Why don’t you confront Penelope with the bag as evidence? She’ll be forced to tell the truth. Who knows? Maybe she is the guilty one.”
“How do I do that?” Madison asked.
“Ask her what’s in the bag,” Stephanie said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to see if she’s telling the truth or not. Then you’ll know whether or not she had anything to do with taking the sheet music. People often give themselves away. If she seems nervous or agitated when you question her—”
“You really are a good detective, aren’t you?” Madison interrupted.
“I told you. Nancy Drew,” Stephanie said with a shrug.
Just then, the front door flew open and Dad rushed inside clutching a bottle of wine and a pint of cherry ice cream, Madison’s favorite.
“Where’s dinner?” he joked.
“Ready when you are,” Stephanie said. “Madison has been a huge help.”
Madison smiled.
“Should we tell Dad?” Stephanie whispered in Madison’s ear.
Dad looked curious. “What are you two whispering about?”
“Dad, Stephanie and I were talking about my detective work,” Madison said seriously. “I’m on a case at school.”
“You’re on a case?” Dad asked. His eyes widened. “That sounds serious.”
“That’s what I said,” Stephanie said.
They spent the rest of the evening sharing conjectures about who could have committed the school theft. Stephanie had the best ideas. Dad came up with some theories of his own. Both Stephanie and Dad reminded Madison, however, that she needed to be careful doing her “detective work.”
Stephanie’s exact words were: “Just don’t accuse someone without the evidence—and give people the benefit of the doubt. Don’t assume someone’s guilty—ever.”
By the time Madison left Dad’s and Stephanie’s for home, she had creeping doubts about her ability to see the thing through to the end.
Could she really solve this crime?
When she got home later that night, Madison started work on another new file.
On the Case
Rude Awakening: I feel like a calculator. Everyone’s counting on me to solve this mystery… and I just don’t have a clue.
Well, maybe it’s not everyone. Some people are counting on me. And I have a few clues, but they involve actually confronting people and asking them if they’re guilty and I don’t know if I’m up for that job. I thought being a detective happened in the shadows. I’m a little more comfortable there. It’s like the play we did at school. I am way happier being BEHIND the scenes, not onstage.
The pressure is really on.
I hope that tomorrow I don’t blow it.
Chapter 13
MADISON WOKE UP EARLIER than early on Thursday morning. She wasn’t hungry, but she headed down into the kitchen anyway. Inside her head she heard a voice say, So what makes you think you’re such a detective, Smarty-Pants? Madison thought the voice had the distinct ring of Ivy Daly’s. Ivy would have said something just that nasty.
There was no time for doubt, Madison thought, trying to reassure herself. She had a case to solve!
Unfortunately, Madison was dying to tell Aimee all about the case so far—and how she felt about it. If only, she thought, Aimee didn’t hate mysteries so much. Madison needed her support more than ever. What use was success in anything if you couldn’t share it with your best friend in the whole wide world?
Madison had dragged her laptop into the kitchen. Since it was a little while before school, she logged on and sent a quick note to her keypal.
From: MadFinn
To: Bigwheels
Subject: It’s D-Day
Date: Thurs 21 Oct 7:17 AM
It’s here.
The moment of truth.
D-Day for me (Detective Day).
Thanks for e-mailing me your thoughts about the case. I know you think Mr. Olivetti had something to do with it, but I’ve decided Penelope HAS to be the guilty one. She has the most evidence (even if it is soft) against her. It had to be her bag, right? No matter what my stepmom says.
So I found out from my friend Egg that his sister Mariah has art class on the second floor at school today around the same time that I have a class up there. So I’m going to wait in the hallway and hope that Penelope will be by her side like she always is. Then when the moment is right I can ask Penelope about the bag. Good plan, huh? The Crime Time website has a Sneaky Sneak section with sample questions, so I wrote them down. I’m channeling Major DeMille to give me the courage. Will you please cross your fingers and toes for me 2?
What do you think? Send me an e-mail ASAP.
Yours till the case closes,
Maddie
Much later that morning, up on the second floor at school, Madison followed through with the plan she’d described to Bigwheels. She pretended to look at a display cabinet outside the art studio, stalling for time and hoping to catch sight of Mariah and Penelope. There were a few moments left before the second bell rang. Mariah had still not appeared.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, Madison saw Penelope strutting down the hall. She was alone. And she was carrying the black bag with her!
Madison couldn’t believe her good luck. Not only was this the perfect opportunity to confront the suspect, but the suspect had the evidence right there.
“Penelope?” Madison called out, her voice sounding a little hoarse.
Penelope turned.
“Maddie?”
She smiled when she saw Madison. “What are you doing here? I thought this art class was just for ninth graders. Wait—you are in seventh grade, right?”
“I’m not in art class,” Madison said quickly.
“Oh,” Penelope said, looking a little confused.
Madison had to talk fast. She didn’t have much time.
“Um… Penelope, can I ask you something?” she asked. “Why do you carry that bag everywhere?”
“This bag?” Penelope frowned. Madison wondered if she were gazing at the face of a guilty girl.
“What is it with you and my bag?” Penelope sighed. “This is, like, the tenth time you’ve asked me about it,” she said.
Madison gulped. “Oh, well… I just… I just think…”
“I mean, why do you carry that bag?” Penelope asked. Her sweet voice had turned a bit sour.
“I’m sorry,” Madison stammered. She needed to come to the point. Penelope was getting edgy. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I just… well…”
“Well, what? Look. I have to get to class. The bell is about to ring,” Penelope said.
“You know about the theft in school?” Madison asked. She couldn’t believe she’d said it so plainly.
“Yeah. So? What does that have to do with my bag?” Penelope asked. She didn’t bat an eyelash.
Madison’s palms felt a little clammy. She needed to see what was inside the bag before she could know for sure that Penelope had had nothing to do with the school crime. The plan wasn’t working out as well as Stephanie had said it would. Madison tried to regroup.
“The bag and the theft may be connected,” Madison said, trying her best to sound like a real detective. “The sheet music that was stolen was hidden inside something, obviously. A bag fitting
your description was spotted near the scene of the crime.”
“Oh, my God, who are you? Nancy Drew?” Penelope said.
“No… I’m just looking for answers. Can you explain to me why your bag was in Mr. Olivetti’s classroom?”
Penelope blinked. “Huh?”
“Tell me the truth. Is this your bag or Mr. Olivetti’s bag?” Madison asked seriously.
“Are you kidding me?” Penelope said. “It’s my bag. And it was in the music room because I left it there after ensemble rehearsal.”
“Um… can I see inside the bag, please? Just for a sec?” Madison asked.
“Maddie!” Penelope said. Her face scrunched up so that her eyes turned to slits. “Oh, I get it. You think I stole the sheet music and hid it in my bag? Is that what you think?”
Madison took a breath. Kids passed by in the hallway, knocking into her with their book bags and elbows. It was hot. What was she doing there? What was she thinking? What was she asking?
Madison wanted to run. Run! Run!
“I think… um…” Madison started to explain.
“Look, Madison, there’s nothing in my bag but a lot of junk. You can look if you really want to,” Penelope said. “But all I have in here is a wadded up T-shirt, some books, and a few pens with no caps on them…”
Penelope opened up her bag and showed Madison its contents, item by messy item.
Madison froze as she reviewed Penelope’s things. “That’s it? Really?”
“That’s all I have in my bag right now. I can’t believe you thought I was the one who stole the music,” Penelope scoffed. “I mean, I guess I could have stolen it and sold it on the black market,” she added with a laugh.
Madison nodded. “I guess—”
“Yeah, right,” Penelope said. “Come on!”
The second bell finally rang.
“You know, Maddie, I thought you were so nice before,” Penelope said. “But now I’m thinking that maybe I was wrong. Wait until I tell Mariah…”
“No, please, I’m sorry—” Madison started to say, but she stopped. She felt as if she had fuzz on her tongue. She felt unable to say another word.
Penelope turned and headed into the art studio, leaving Madison standing alone in the hallway long after the bell had stopped ringing.
Madison stood there staring at the door to the art room. She stood and stood, staring and rocking on her heels.
“Miss, do you have your hall pass?”
A hall monitor shouted in Madison’s face, breaking her trance.
Madison stared at the monitor.
Of course she had no hall pass. But what was worse was the fact that Madison had no criminal.
Penelope wasn’t guilty. She hadn’t stolen the sheet music. Her bag wasn’t Mr. Olivetti’s bag. Madison knew the truth now. And so, after all the guessing games, the theories, and the Crime Time questions, Madison was right back where she’d started.
Nowhere.
The hall monitor let her off easy. Madison didn’t get written up, and she didn’t get Detention. Instead, she headed to Mrs. Wing’s classroom to help work on the school website for the remainder of her free period. There, Madison was able to download photos and material onto the site and try to get her mind off the case, the suspects, and the nonsuspects—at least for a little while.
While she was in the technology lab, Madison tried to access her e-mailbox, but Mrs. Wing came into the room, and the computer froze.
Madison sighed. Finnster, Private Eye, had made the mistake of accusing the wrong suspect. Now, bad luck was following her.
After the free period ended, Madison wandered through the rest of the school day in a fog. She couldn’t focus on anything for more than thirty seconds. What was wrong? Her whip-smart detective sensibilities had turned to Jell-O. In the middle of science class, during one of Mr. Danehy’s yawn-inducing lectures, she looked down at her notebook to see a list of names she’d scribbled only half consciously.
Madison DeMille
Maddie DeMille
Mrs. DeMille
Finnster DeMille
Madison Jones
Mrs. Jones
Hey! Whoa! NO!
Madison immediately scratched out all the names as well as she could, with a black pen. Mrs. Jones? She really was in a fog! Had anyone seen the list? Madison glanced around the room to make sure that no one was looking over her shoulder.
Ivy Daly was too busy talking to her drones to notice.
Chet was halfway across the room.
And Hart, aka Mr. Jones, had his nose in his science textbook.
Madison breathed a sigh of relief. She tore out the notebook page and ripped it into teeny, tiny pieces. If a Bunsen burner in the classroom had been lit, she probably would have burned the pieces and then washed the ashes down the drain.
How could she have written Hart’s name? Madison was letting her guard down. A good detective never did that. She had to find a way to recover.
After class, the last of the day, Madison went back to her locker to retrieve her flute. She’d scheduled another flute lesson for the afternoon. Mr. Olivetti would be waiting.
Originally, Madison had hoped to be able to go to her lesson with good news for Mr. Olivetti about the theft of his old sheet music. She had wanted to pin the crime on Lana or Penelope or even Ivy. But instead, Madison went to her lesson with no suspects at all—except maybe Mr. Olivetti himself. And that was a stretch.
Still.
Madison told herself, stretch or not, that a good detective needed to explore all options, including that of considering Mr. Olivetti the guilty guy. It was possible that he’d staged the entire theft in order to collect insurance money or get his name in the papers or win sympathy, wasn’t it?
Anything was possible.
Major DeMille would have investigated the music teacher, wouldn’t he?
On the way to her lesson, with flute case and bag in hand, Madison decided that she would investigate. She would not give up—not yet. She would do things the Major DeMille way.
The music room was empty when Madison arrived.
It was quiet. A little too quiet.
Then Mr. Olivetti popped out from behind the music-closet door.
“Ah!” he said. “You scared me!”
Madison nearly jumped out of her sneakers, too.
“Miss-a-Finn! I’ve been expecting you,” Mr. Olivetti said.
Something about the way he said that sounded ominous to Madison. Her heart raced. She placed her bag on a chair and opened her flute case.
“Quiet today, aren’t we?” Mr. Olivetti said. He fished inside the top drawer of his desk as he spoke. Then he moved over to a file cabinet and started pulling out different files and papers.
“Are you looking for something?” Madison asked.
Mr. Olivetti nodded. “Uh, yes. I am-a-looking for notes I took at a concert last week. I seem to have mis-a-placed them…”
Madison swallowed.
“Oh?” she said. She steadied herself for further questioning. “Mr. Olivetti?” Madison asked tentatively. “What ever happened to that sheet music that disappeared from your classroom?”
Mr. Olivetti got a blank look on his face. “I told you about that?”
Madison nodded. “Yes, you told me. What happened? Did they ever catch who stole it?”
Mr. Olivetti scratched his nose. He shook his head and stared at the floor.
Madison squirmed as she waited for his response. He was taking a long time to answer, or at least it felt that way. It was like one of those drawn-out moments on Crime Time, right before the guilty party confessed to stealing the rubies or robbing the bank. Madison could almost hear the slow, low theme music playing in the background.
Was Mr. Olivetti avoiding Madison’s question?
Was this a sign of his guilt?
“Oh, Miss-a-Finn,” Mr. Olivetti said, shaking his head. “You got me.”
Madison gulped. “I got you?” she stammered. “What do you mean
?”
Mr. Olivetti just laughed.
But it sent a shiver down Madison’s spine.
Chapter 14
Case Closed
I don’t belong on Crime Time. I belong on that candid video show Gotcha! instead. Even Phinnie is laughing at me.
Mr. Olivetti said “You got me,” but he didn’t mean “You caught me red-handed!” Sure, he was responsible for the whole sheet-music incident. But not exactly in the way I expected.
Mr. Olivetti didn’t steal the sheet music.
He lost it. LOST IT!!!!
Now I’m losing it.
Here’s what he told me: he was sure that the package of sheet music had been swiped from his classroom. He told the school administration so they could look into it. Then everyone started talking. That’s when Lindsay heard about the theft and then Lana got caught with the cat hair and Penelope was carrying the bag and my Crime Time fantasy took over.
Mr. Olivetti said that he had spent the last week panicked about the missing package, but that then just that morning before school he had discovered the sheet music in its package under the seat of his car! It was with him the whole time. When he told me, I just stood there with my jaw on the floor, gasping for breath. I wanted to scream, How could you do this to me?! Of course, he didn’t do anything to me, not really. I did the damage myself. I’m the one with the overactive imagination, after all.
Rude Awakening: Be careful or you’ll poke your Private Eye out.
Stephanie tried to warn me about this. She said that too much snooping could get me into trouble. And she said I should never assume someone was guilty. And what did I do? I assumed. I accused. I goofed.
You know who else was right? I hate to admit it
I already sent Penelope like six e-mails apologizing. She hasn’t responded. She must think I’m a twit.
If I were an ostrich I could bury my head in the sand. But we don’t have much sand in Far Hills.