by Mary Amato
“A metaphor is when you use one thing to describe another, like the thief is a cat,” Maia said.
“Or happiness is a flower,” Gabriela suggested.
“Yes!”
“I don’t get it,” Kip said.
“Think of candy,” Destiny suggested, and Kip’s eyes lit up. “Then think of something else that’s really fun, like a party. Then squash the two things together: Candy is a party in my mouth. That’s a metaphor.”
“Nice one, Destiny,” Mr. Crew said. “So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re each going to think of a subject that we want to write about, then come up with a metaphor to use, like the thief is a cat, and write a poem.”
“Can we work with a partner?” Maia asked.
“Sure, but before you start, I’m going to make you sit for two minutes in absolute silence to let your ideas and thoughts come out. Think of your imagination as a seed; silence is the water that helps it to grow.”
The moment the room grew quiet, Edgar walked up to Mr. Crew’s desk.
“Edgar, it’s time to sit and think,” Mr. Crew whispered.
Edgar lowered his voice as far as it would go. “But I really need to search the school. I have reason to believe the thief might strike again.”
Mr. Crew nodded. “I see. But if I let you go, then I’d have to agree to let everyone go. And if everyone went, we wouldn’t get any poetry writing done.”
“I can live with that,” Edgar whispered.
“Tell you what. Write a poem. Maybe if we have a minute or two left at the end, and if you have a specific place you’d like to search, I’ll consider it.”
Edgar walked back to his seat.
Big problem. I don’t have any ideas. I don’t even like poetry. These teachers who expect us to concentrate when there’s a thief running loose are crazy.
Sometimes when I look at a blank piece of paper, my stomach hurts.
Mr. Crew just said if we don’t get a poem finished in class he wants us to do it tonight. The pressures are piling up.
“Would anyone like to share a poem before we get dismissed for lunch?” Mr. Crew asked.
Maia raised her hand. She and Gabriela read the poem they had written together.
Goldfish
Underneath dark water
A fish is dancing light.
When the light goes out
The day becomes night.
“That was terrific, girls!” Mr. Crew exclaimed. “Light is a metaphor for a goldfish! And what do you think they mean by ‘When the light goes out the day becomes night?’ ”
“They’re saying it’s sad when the fish disappears,” Patrick offered.
“Yes! Beautiful! Who wants to go next?”
Kip was practically jumping out of his seat. “I wrote one about my skateboard,” he said.
My Skateboard
My board is a bird
and I ride on its back.
We fly out of half pipes
and get lots of air.
When I do a 360
and grab the nose,
then my bird
is my flying chair.
“Fantastic! Love it! Two metaphors—your board is a bird and a chair! Bravo!” Mr. Crew looked like he was going to explode with happiness. “Who’s next?”
Taz raised his hand. Edgar was amazed. Was he the only one who was having trouble concentrating?
“Mine is about my dog,” Taz said with a grin.
Dog Breath
A monster lives inside my dog
Its smell is worse than death.
It comes out when he kisses me
Its name is Big Bad Breath.
While the class was laughing and Mr. Crew was giving Taz a standing ovation, Patrick wrote another entry in his crime notebook. Edgar watched him nervously.
I didn’t get anything done in this stupid class. No good observations. No poem. I am a failure. I am giving up.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Don’t get any closer!” Patrick yelled. “I’m documenting some important evidence.”
Recess just went from bad to worse. Patrick was busy and official, aiming his camera at a shoe print in the mud. The girls were gathered around him.
“Do you think that’s the shoe print of the thief?” Maia asked.
Patrick checked the picture in his viewfinder. “I’m going to present my evidence to the whole class after I have analyzed everything.”
“It’s Taz, isn’t it?” Maia said. “He thinks everything is one big joke.”
“Well, he might not be laughing when I’m done.” Patrick looked up at Edgar. “I’ve already done two interviews to verify the exact time of the crime and have come up with some important conclusions. What have you done?”
Edgar walked away.
“I’m going to crack this case!” Patrick called after him.
Patrick’s voice pierced, but Edgar fought to keep walking steadily on, as if nothing were wrong. At the bottom of the playground, he sat down in the grass.
I pretended I couldn’t hear Patrick because of wax build-up in my ears. He has such good ideas, it makes my teeth hurt. But giving up would be like handing him a big bowl of victory with whipped cream on top.
Patrick seems to think it is Taz. I shall do an official interview right now and come up with some important conclusions of my own! I will ask Taz a series of brilliant questions and watch his eyeballs carefully. If he is guilty, his eyeballs will show it. Eyeballs never lie!
Edgar saw Taz crouched next to the tree stump on the other side of the basketball court. Trying to look nonchalant, Edgar sauntered over and stood next to him. Taz was looking at a butterfly that was resting on a blade of grass. The wings were blue with tiny dots of black and white and red along each edge.
OFFICIAL INTERVIEW
WITH TAZ RASKEL
EDGAR:
I have a question for you.
TAZ:
My mom said I shouldn’t talk to strangers.
EDGAR:
I’m not a stranger.
TAZ:
You’re stranger than you think! Ha ha ha.
EDGAR:
When exactly did you arrive at school today?
TAZ:
I got here at exactly the time I got here.
EDGAR:
Which was when?
TAZ:
Which was when I got here. Ha ha ha!
EDGAR:
That’s not really an answer.
TAZ:
It was a joke, lil mystery dude.
EDGAR:
Oh. Please just call me mystery dude.
TAZ:
Okay lil mystery dude.
EDGAR:
I have another question. Do you or do you not like fish?
TAZ:
Only on a bun with tartar sauce.
Taz with pizazz
waz here.
IMPORTANT CONCLUSION:
Do not stand too close to Taz when you are interviewing or he will take your pencil and write in your notebook.
The bell rang, signaling the end of recess.
“Hey Edgar, does this wing look like it got a rip in it?” Taz asked.
Edgar crouched and looked. The butterfly was opening and closing its wings but not taking off.
“I hope you’re okay, lil butterfly guy,” Taz said.
During recess today, Taz showed concern for a seriously wounded butterfly. Not what you’d expect from a criminal. Perhaps he is doing this to throw me off. I will superglue myself to Taz’s side. If he is hiding something, I will find it out in the next hour or my name isn’t Edgar Allan.
CHAPTER FIVE
When the bell rang, announcing the end of recess, Taz raced inside. Edgar ran after him, staying just far enough away that Taz wouldn’t see him. Where was he going in such a hurry? Perhaps he wanted to steal something from another teacher before the afternoon classes started, Edgar thought.
Taz turned down the hall toward the main office. With his short legs, Edgar
had to walk extra fast to keep up. By the time he arrived in the office, Taz was behind the counter asking Mrs. Peabody a question.
“I understand. Certainly, Taz,” Mrs. Peabody was saying. “Here you go.” She handed the phone to Taz.
Who was Taz calling in the middle of the school day, Edgar wondered?
“It’s like Grand Central Station in here!” Mrs. Peabody said. “Edgar, what do you need?”
“Um,” Edgar glanced at a student who was sitting in a chair with an ice pack on his head. “I was wondering if you have a tissue? My nose is running.”
Mrs. Peabody handed Edgar a tissue. “Go to class.”
“Hi Mom, it’s me,” Taz said into the phone. “I was just wondering if you had any news . . . I know, it’s just that I can’t stop thinking about it. . . . Okay . . . okay . . . bye.”
When Taz handed the phone back to Mrs. Peabody, he looked upset. He rushed past Edgar, out the door.
“Mrs. Peabody, what was Taz talking about?” Edgar asked.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she said.
At that moment, Patrick popped up from behind the counter. He smiled at Edgar and then turned to Mrs. Peabody. “Thank you for letting me look through the Lost and Found box,” he said. “My umbrella isn’t here.”
“Go to class, both of you!” Mrs. Peabody shooed them out the door.
“You’re spying on Taz, too,” Patrick said as they walked toward the fifth-grade hallway.
“How did you get here ahead of me? I thought I was the only one following him,” Edgar said.
“At the end of language arts, I heard Taz ask Mr. Crew if he could call his mom, and Mr. Crew told him to go to the office after recess. So before recess was over, I asked permission to go to the office.” He smiled. “Did you like the Lost and Found idea?”
Edgar didn’t like any of it.
“I have a theory why Taz is upset. Do you?”
“Yes, I do,” Edgar said. “A big theory.” Actually he wasn’t sure.
“What is the next phase of your investigation?” Patrick asked. “Do you even have one?”
“Yes, I do,” Edgar said.
“I have an interview to do,” Patrick said.
“I have an interview to do, too,” Edgar said.
“Interview with who?”
Patrick asked this question just as they were passing Ms. Herschel’s room. Edgar stopped and stuck his head in the door. “Ms. Herschel. May I speak with you . . .” He glanced back at Patrick. “In private?”
“Very briefly,” Ms. Herschel said.
Edgar closed the door in Patrick’s face.
OFFICIAL INTERVIEW
WITH MS. HERSCHEL
EDGAR:
Ma’am, in your exact words, when exactly was Slurpy stolen?
MS. HERSCHEL:
Edgar, I appreciate how seriously you’re taking this, but I already went over the story.
EDGAR:
I need to establish the exact time of the crime, ma’am. What time did you arrive at work?
MS. HERSCHEL:
You can call me Ms. Herschel, Edgar. Like I said, the fish was here when I arrived at 7:45. At 8:20, I went to get some coffee. When I came back at 8:55, it was gone.
EDGAR:
How do you think the thief got in?
MS. HERSCHEL:
Well, I left my door unlocked.
EDGAR:
I see. Does the principal know that you are careless about locking up and that you are drinking coffee on the job, ma’am?
MS. HERSCHEL:
Go to class, Edgar.
IMPORTANT CONCLUSION:
For a cup of coffee, Ms. Herschel will risk the life of a helpless fish.
When Edgar arrived at Mr. Crew’s for the afternoon social studies lesson, Patrick whispered. “What did you interview Ms. Herschel about?”
Edgar zipped his lips and sat down. Determined to keep his powers of observation as sharp as possible, he looked around the room, on the alert for suspicious behavior.
Mr. Crew was making a cup of tea with the electric teapot he kept on his counter. Perhaps if Ms. Herschel switched to tea, he thought, there would be no more robberies.
Gabriela walked in next with a shoe box full of small wooden animals from Oaxaca, Mexico. Since they were studying Mexico, and since Gabriela had just moved from Mexico, she had mentioned her collection and Mr. Crew had asked her to bring it in.
“¡Fantástico!” Mr. Crew said. “Why don’t you set them up on the shelf in the back.”
Most of the students gathered around the bookshelf to watch Gabriela unwrap and set out each colorful piece. Edgar joined them, and Patrick followed closely.
“I hope no one steals them,” Maia said. Gabriela looked worried.
“Don’t worry, Gabriela,” Patrick said. “I’m on it.”
“These are cool,” Taz said, picking up a bright blue and orange dog.
“I’m on it, too,” Edgar said, but nobody heard him.
In art, which was Edgar’s final class of the day, as everyone was busy painting the papier mâché masks they had made, Edgar watched Taz for signs of suspicious behavior. Taz painted a fake mustache on his own face and had to wash it off, but that was the only excitement.
While Taz was at the sink washing up, Edgar had a brainstorm. Maybe Slurpy was not the only victim. He knew for a fact that the kindergarten room had a whole tankful of goldfish! Had anyone thought to ask if another classroom was hit? Perhaps if he interviewed Ms. Barrett, the kindergarten teacher, he could come up with the evidence that would link Taz to that crime!
He glanced at Patrick who was concentrating on his mask project. Patrick probably hadn’t thought of this! If Edgar acted quickly, he could be the one to solve the mystery before the school day ended.
Edgar set his paintbrush down and walked up to his art teacher’s desk. “May I go to the bathroom, Ms. Cassatt?”
“It can’t wait?”
“I’m afraid not,” Edgar said.
She handed him a pass, and he walked out.
OFFICIAL INTERVIEW
WITH MS. BARRETT
EDGAR:
May I ask you a few questions, Ms. Barrett?
MS. BARRETT:
As you can see, I am right in the middle of reading a story to my class, Edgar.
EDGAR:
It’s a matter of life and death.
MS. BARRETT:
Make it very, very quick.
EDGAR:
Do you enjoy drinking coffee?
MS. BARRETT:
I don’t see how this can be a matter—
EDGAR:
Please, ma’am. Just answer yes or no.
MS. BARRETT:
Well, yes, but—
EDGAR:
Aha! And when you get your coffee, do you or do you not leave your door unlocked?
MS. BARRETT:
Edgar, what is all this about?
EDGAR:
Your missing goldfish, ma’am.
MS. BARRETT:
None of our fish are missing.
EDGAR:
Oh.
MS. BARRETT:
Where should you be right now, Edgar?
EDGAR:
Art.
MS. BARRETT:
Go to class, Edgar.
IMPORTANT CONCLUSION:
Ms. Barrett should smile. She is kind of mean for a kindergarten teacher and her face is getting permanent frown wrinkles.
By the time Edgar returned to the classroom, art was almost over.
“Edgar, you’re falling behind,” the art teacher said. “Everyone but you is ready to add the feathers and beads. I think you’ll have to come in during recess tomorrow and paint.”
Edgar looked around the room. The masks on every table were screaming with bright colors. His was plain white.
“What about right now? I can do it right now,” Edgar said.
“Too late.” The teacher turned her attention to dismissal. Edgar put away
his materials and gathered up his stuff. He went back to Ms. Herschel’s room to get ready for final dismissal and wait for his bus number to be called.
“Ms. Herschel,” Patrick said loudly. “Since I don’t have to ride the bus, can I stay and do more investigating?”
“Great idea, Patrick,” Ms. Herschel said.
“My dad is going to want to hear every detail,” he went on. “He’s a forensic chemist, you know. The police consult him for information about stuff like fingerprints and poison and crime stuff.”
Edgar’s bones rattled with jealousy. Last year in Ms. Brooks’s class, Patrick’s dad, Mr. Chen, came and made a mysterious powder in a test tube turn green and then explode. He was dressed in a black suit that looked like something from a James Bond movie.
“My dad is a pilot, and my mom is a lawyer,” Taz said.
Ms. Herschel started asking other kids about their parents, and Edgar held his breath, hoping that if he didn’t breathe much, he would be invisible and Ms. Herschel wouldn’t call on him.
“What about your parents, Edgar?” Ms. Herschel said. “What do they do?”
Edgar’s stomach dropped.
“They’re clowns,” Patrick said.
Ms. Herschel laughed. “No, really. What do they do?”
Destiny, who also remembered Edgar’s parents from last year’s class visit, explained that they worked in the Clown Care Unit at Children’s Hospital, and that their job was to tell jokes and sing funny songs to cheer up sick kids.
