by Charles Tang
“Delicious!” Jessie praised, licking brown-sugar frosting from her fork.
Henry ate slowly. He was thinking about Violet’s missing camera bag. So many strange things had happened in the town square lately. Was one person causing all the trouble?
Just then Grandfather came back. “That was certainly a strange call,” he said quietly.
“What was it about?” asked Henry. He sensed his grandfather’s concern.
“The person on the other end said, ‘Tell the town council to put the statue in the museum, or else!’ ”
“That is strange,” Benny agreed. “Who was it?”
Grandfather shrugged. “It was a man. His voice was muffled, but . . . well, it sounded a little like Rick Bass.”
A chill rippled down Jessie’s spine. Rick was supposed to help decorate that afternoon and he never showed up. Was he planning to make a threatening phone call instead?
When the phone rang again, everyone jumped.
“Don’t answer it,” Violet begged.
“I have to find out who it is,” Grandfather said, leaving the table once more.
The Aldens were tense until their grandfather returned.
“Was it that man again?” Benny asked.
“No.” James Alden heaved a big sigh. “It was Ron Shiplett, the manager of the construction crew I hired to build the festival booths.”
Jessie opened her notebook, her pencil posed over the page. “What did he want? I’ll write it down.”
“He’s canceling!” Grandfather answered. “I have no idea where I’ll get another construction crew on such short notice. So much has gone wrong. The festival is only two days away and I need a new clown and anew construction crew!”
For the first time, Grandfather really sounded worried.
The next morning, Grandfather dropped the children in town.
“I’ll be back soon,” he told them. “I’ll pick you up by the town hall.” Then he drove off to an appointment.
The Aldens were supposed to find someone to play the clown. They planned to ask around the shops.
But when they stepped into the square, a shocking sight met them.
The town square was a mess.
Their decorations had been torn down. Scraps of boughs and battered wreaths lay scattered around the square. Trampled holly had been stuffed in the trash cans.
“Oh, no!” Violet exclaimed.
“The phantom strikes again.” Henry picked up a twisted wreath. “Grandfather will have to go back to the nursery and buy more greenery.”
“Maybe we can save some of this,” Benny suggested.
He walked over to the trash can near the town hall and lifted out a pile of holly.
Then he gave a cry. The others ran over.
“Look what I found!” Benny reached in and pulled out a familiar gray bag.
“My camera!” Violet unzipped the bag. Her camera was still there. Even her rolls of film were still stored in special pockets along the padded sides.
Jessie set her tote bag behind the bench.
“Why would someone take Violet’s case and then put it in the trash?” she asked.
Henry was puzzled, too. “If the thief didn’t want the camera, then what did he want?”
Violet drew in a breath. “The message photograph! I put it in the pocket with my film.” She hastily checked the bag. “And it’s missing!”
Henry snapped his fingers. “That explains why our things were gone through yesterday. Someone wanted that photograph bad enough to steal it!”
“Was it the person who sent the photograph?” Jessie mused. “Or the person who was supposed to receive it?”
“How come no one ever sees anything?” Henry wanted to know. “The statue was painted, the door numbers switched, and our decorations were ruined — all by an invisible person!”
“It’s the phantom of Greenfield Square,” Benny said.
Jessie shook her head. “It’s no ghost. The person is too smart to get caught, that’s all.”
At that moment, Rick Bass sauntered up. “Hey, guys,” he greeted. “Isn’t it a shame about the decorations?” He clucked his tongue.
“Where were you yesterday?” Jessie asked.
“I got tied up,” Rick replied. “Sorry I couldn’t make it.”
Benny wondered why Rick kept his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. Could he be hiding something, like red paint under his nails?
Henry noticed this, too. “I have a jacket just like yours,” he said to Rick. “I wore it yesterday.”
“I know,” Rick said, embarrassed. “I came out to mail a letter. I saw your jacket by the statue and thought it was mine. When I put it on, I realized it was too small.”
Part of the mystery was explained. But Henry still didn’t know who had taken Violet’s camera bag.
Jessie was thinking the same thing. “Did you see anybody around the statue yesterday afternoon?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not a soul. Hey, I found something I want to show you guys.”
“Where is it?” Jessie asked. She wasn’t sure she trusted Rick.
“In the museum,” Rick replied.
“We have to meet Grandfather soon,” said Henry.
“This will only take a minute. Follow me.”
Rick led the way through a side door of the town hall. He pulled the door shut and skipped down a flight of steep stairs. At the bottom, the cement landing was musty-smelling.
Violet sneezed.
“It is kind of moldy in here,” Rick said apologetically. “Old buildings are damp.”
He unlocked a second door. Leaving this door open, Rick entered the shadowed interior.
The Alden children followed cautiously.
“Watch your step,” Rick warned.
Violet couldn’t see much. Dim light filtered through two narrow windows near the ceiling.
She turned around, bumping into a dark, hulking shape.
“Oh,” she said, startled.
CHAPTER 7
The Greenfield Spy
Violet! What is it?” Henry cried, next to her.
But Violet was frozen in the darkness. She was afraid to move. The dark shape did not move, either.
“Wait, I’ll get the light.” Rick pulled the chain of an overhead light.
When she saw the “monster,” Violet giggled nervously. It was a black wool cape thrown over a coatrack.
“I thought it was a person,” she said.
“That’s Mr. Phineas T. Goodbody’s opera cape,” Rick said. “He donated it to the historical society many years ago. I haven’t found a place for it yet.”
Jessie could see why. Every square inch of the cramped space was crowded with objects. Hats topped towers of books. Papers overflowed from a huge wooden desk. Unpacked boxes and bags sat on the floor.
“Wow!” Benny exclaimed. “Look at all these neat things!”
“And I have to sort every piece of it,” Rick said, riffling through a stack of papers. “Here’s what I wanted you guys to see.”
Carefully he smoothed an old yellowed sheet. It was a drawing. Faint writing had been scribbled above the figure of a soldier.
“That’s the Minuteman statue,” Jessie said.
Rick nodded. “This is Franklin Bond’s original sketch for the statue. Can you read what he wrote at the top?”
Benny tilted his head. “I can read some, but this writing is too squiggly.”
Rick laughed. “Yes, old script is hard to read. Franklin says that Josiah Wade was a teenage spy during the Revolutionary War. Josiah carried secret messages in the hollow buttons of his coat!”
“A spy!” Benny cried. “So there was a spy in Greenfield!”
“That was a long time ago,” Henry said meaningfully. He knew Benny was thinking about the person who sent the message photograph. Now that the photograph had been stolen, they should be suspicious of everyone, including Rick Bass.
“You were right,” Violet said to Rick. “Josiah w
asn’t a soldier. But why did Franklin Bond make a soldier statue?”
“I think it was his little joke on the town,” replied Rick. “Franklin wanted to be a great artist. He accepted the statue job because he needed money.”
“I thought Mr. Bond liked Josiah Wade,” Jessie remarked.
“He did,” Rick agreed. “They were great friends, despite their age difference. According to the notes on this drawing, Josiah gave Franklin a gift when he was a boy.”
“What was it?” Benny asked.
Rick shook his head. “Franklin doesn’t say. I think he liked keeping secrets. But I believe I can find the present.”
“Where?” asked Violet, glancing around the cluttered room. How could anyone find anything in this mess?
Rick tapped the drawing. “See that little box penciled lightly near the statue?”
Violet bent closer. Now she could read the old-fashioned handwriting. “ ‘The Statue’s Secret,’ ” she read aloud. “What does that mean?”
Benny felt a current of air hit his face. Had someone opened the outer door?
Rick grinned broadly. “I’ll bet a piece of Mrs. Turner’s apple pie that Josiah’s gift is hidden inside the statue! That little box is a secret compartment!”
Before Benny could say anything, Dawn Wellington and Sylvia Pepper came into the museum. Benny wondered if they had heard Rick talking about the statue’s secret.
Rick jumped with surprise. “Ladies,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re looking for Mr. Alden,” Dawn replied. “Is he here?”
“No,” Henry said. “Grandfather is still trying to find a construction crew.”
“That’s what I wanted to see him about,” Sylvia said in her bossy tone. “I heard the original contractors backed out, so I hired another crew. They’ll be here tomorrow.”
Jessie was amazed. Sylvia Pepper didn’t seem like the type to help Grandfather with the festival.
“And I wanted to tell Mr. Alden that we can salvage most of the decorations,” Dawn said. “We’ll just make the garlands shorter. Sylvia and I can fix the wreaths.”
“This is terrific,” Rick said. He walked over to them, leaving the drawing on the table. “Mr. Alden will be pleased. He’s worked so hard on the festival.”
Rick and Dawn began talking about the vandalism of the past few days. Sylvia moved over to the table.
Jessie watched her. There was something odd about that woman.
Just then Sylvia dropped her purse. Its contents spilled all over the table.
“I’m so clumsy,” she muttered. As she picked up lipsticks and coins, she stared intently at the drawing. The woman’s eyes grew round.
She acts like she’s seen that drawing before, Jessie thought.
But how was that possible? Rick Bass had only discovered Franklin Bond’s papers yesterday. How could Sylvia Pepper have seen that drawing before?
And how, she wondered, did Sylvia know the construction crew had canceled?
“Now we have two mysteries to solve,” Benny said. “The one about the message photograph. And now the mystery of the statue.”
Jessie tied a ribbon around a bag of oatmeal cookies. “Don’t forget the strange things happening in the town square lately,” she said.
“Okay. Three mysteries.” Benny took a fistful of cookies from the large tin on the kitchen table. He put three in a small plastic sack, then ate one.
“Benny Alden!” Violet scolded, laughing. “We can’t sell a bag with a cookie missing. People want to buy a full bag.”
“Mrs. McGregor’s oatmeal cookies are worth more than four for a quarter,” Henry said. “But Violet’s right, Benny. Make sure four cookies go in each sack.”
“And no more in your stomach,” Jessie added.
The Aldens had been working since dinner, helping Mrs. McGregor make her famous oatmeal-raisin cookies to sell at the refreshment booth at the Winter Festival.
The housekeeper retired to her room when the children volunteered to bag the cookies.
“I hope we make lots of money from Mrs. McGregor’s cookies,” Benny said.
“And from the pictures Violet will take,” Henry added. “There should be enough money to fix the statue’s base.”
“Do you think the town will vote to move the statue?” Violet asked.
“Who knows?” Henry shrugged. “Grandfather will bring the ballot box home and count the votes himself tomorrow night. And on Saturday, he’ll announce the result.”
“Grandfather is working awfully hard on the festival,” Benny said. “We haven’t seen him much all day.”
“That’s because he’s busy talking to people,” Henry explained. “It’s a big job, putting on this festival.”
“I’m glad we’re able to help,” said Violet. She plopped another bag in the carton on the floor.
“He’s been gone since dinner,” Jessie said, glancing at the clock. “I hope he doesn’t get home too late tonight.”
“You’ve kept Grandfather organized,” Henry said to her.
“Well, I write everything down,” Jessie said modestly. “And put it in the notebook.” Suddenly she clapped her hand over her mouth.
Violet looked at her in concern. “What is it, Jess? What’s wrong?”
“The festival notebook,” she whispered. “I left it in town!”
“It’ll be okay,” Henry assured her. “We’ll get it tomorrow.”
Jessie shook her head. “No. I can’t leave it there, Henry. The person who’s been wrecking the square might find it. He could use it to do more damage.”
Violet stared at Henry. “Jessie’s right. We can’t take that chance.”
“Let’s go get it,” Henry suggested.
“Grandfather’s not home yet,” Jessie said. “I hate to cause him more trouble.”
“I didn’t mean in the car,” Henry said. “You and I can ride our bikes. It won’t take long. Benny and Violet, you should stay here and let Mrs. McGregor know that we’ll be right back.”
Quickly, Henry and Jessie scrambled into their jackets and slipped out the back door.
Jessie was glad when they reached the lane leading into the town square. She parked her bike next to Henry’s.
“Where did you leave the notebook?” asked Henry.
“Behind the bench by the town hall,” Jessie replied, pulling her jacket tighter. A sharp wind had sprung up. “I put it there when Benny found Violet’s camera. Then, with all that talk about the hidden compartment in the statue, I forgot about it.”
“We’ll get it now and hurry home,” Henry said, heading across the pavement.
“It’s so quiet out here,” Jessie said, listening to the soft thud of her sneakers on the bricks.
The town square was lit by lampposts at all four corners. The tall, dark Minuteman statue was illuminated by a spotlight.
Then another, stronger light slashed across the square.
Henry stopped. “Someone’s there!” he whispered. “He has a flashlight!”
The light switched off abruptly, leaving the square shadowy.
Jessie saw the figure run away from the statue. It was a small person, with a flowing ponytail.
It looked like Dawn Wellington.
CHAPTER 8
A Scrap of Red
Quick!” Henry said, grabbing Jessie’s wrist, and the two flew across the pavement.
It was getting darker and the town hall cast a long, spooky shadow. At last they reached the bench.
Jessie’s tote bag containing her notebook was leaning against one wrought-iron leg. She snatched it up.
“I wonder if that person was looking for your notebook, too,” Henry said as they hurried toward the parking lot.
“I don’t know,” Jessie said over her shoulder.
Their footsteps fell softly on the worn bricks, but something didn’t sound right. Henry stopped, causing Jessie to stop, too.
Behind them, more footsteps rang out, then died.
�
�Someone’s back there!” Jessie whispered. “We’re being followed!”
Henry thought so, too. “Let’s get on our bikes and head home,” he said quietly.
Henry opened the back door for Jessie. Grandfather hadn’t returned and Mrs. McGregor was in her room. Benny, Violet, and Watch were waiting in the living room. Watch thumped his tail in greeting.
Jessie buried her face in the dog’s thick fur. She was glad to be home.
“Who was that person lurking around the statue?” she asked Henry.
“It was definitely a woman,” said Henry. “It looked like Dawn, but why would she run away? She could see it was just us.”
“What about that other person?” Jessie asked. “The one who was following us.”
“You don’t think that was Dawn coming back?” asked Henry.
Jessie shook her head. “The footsteps sounded different. Heavier.”
“If you’re right, then maybe we scared off the phantom of Greenfield Square,” Henry said. “But we still don’t know who it is. But one thing is for sure: we should keep an eye on Rick Bass, Sylvia Pepper, and Dawn Wellington. They’ve all acted strange.”
“Tomorrow we can look for clues. You two can help us, okay?” Jessie suggested to Violet and Benny. “Maybe we’ll find something around the statue.”
“Good idea,” Henry said. “We have to work on the festival anyway.”
The festival was the day after tomorrow. Henry wondered if the event would take place after all.
The next morning the Aldens rode into town with Grandfather.
“We have a lot of work to do today,” James Alden said. “It’s my job to keep everyone on schedule.”
“And it’s my job to keep you on schedule,” said Jessie. The notebook was close by her side. She wasn’t going to let it out of her sight until the festival was over.
“Wow!” Benny exclaimed as they came into the square. “Look at all the people!”
A blue truck was parked next to the statue of Josiah Wade.
“The construction crew is here,” Henry said.
“Yes, this is the crew Sylvia Pepper hired to build the booths,” Jessie said.
