Vanished!

by James Ponti

  “So that’s good,” he said. “That means he’s a viable suspect.”

  “No, it’s not good,” said Margaret. “Because I don’t want him to be guilty. He’s nice. Really nice. He just helped me finish writing my song.”

  “I don’t want it to be him either,” I replied. “But we have to follow the clues, which means we have to consider him a suspect.”

  The lab had twenty computers arranged on four long tables. We were set up side by side, which let us look at each other’s monitors while we were digging around Chat Chat. For something that had started off as a class project, it was amazing. It had a nice design and was easy to use. It’s no wonder it was so popular.

  Chat Chat was set up so that each student had their own page and could join different circles. Circles could be classes, clubs, or simply groups of friends. Each student also had a bulletin board to post notes and pictures. We went through our list of potential suspects one by one, starting with Becca, because she was the only one we knew for certain was a Megatherium.

  “She’s in circles for all of her classes, the orchestra, and a coding club,” I said, looking at her page. “Nothing seems suspicious.”

  “What’s on her bulletin board?” asked Margaret. “Pictures with friends? If so, could they be other Megatheriums?”

  “It doesn’t look like it,” I replied. “There’s a picture from her summer science camp at Stanford and a few with the Washington Youth Symphony. But that’s it. She seems to use it for information and not socializing.”

  I clicked through her different circles, and then something caught my eye. “Is this significant?” I asked Margaret.

  She leaned over from her computer to look at mine. “What?”

  “Whenever she posts a message in the orchestra circle, rather than using her name she uses this.” I pointed at a message telling everyone about a change for an upcoming performance. At the bottom was a music staff with five notes. “Is it from a specific song or something?”

  Margaret looked at it and ran through the notes in her head. After a few seconds she smiled.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s her name,” she said. “The notes are B-E-C-C-A.”

  “Clever,” I said. “She’s mean, but she’s smart.”

  “Smart enough to pull all these pranks without leaving any clues?” asked Marcus.

  “No one’s that smart,” I said. “They always leave a few crumbs.”

  Next we looked into Victoria. Her bulletin board was filled with pictures that looked like they were taken for a fashion magazine.

  “What circles is she in?” asked Margaret.

  “None except for the one with her friends,” I said. “No classes or clubs. She’s the opposite of Becca; she only uses it for socializing.”

  “Anything in the pictures to connect her to Lucy or the Megatheriums?” asked Marcus.

  “No pictures, but listen to this note she posted on her bulletin board about a month ago,” said Margaret. “ ‘Instead of forgiving you, I think I’ll just go straight to making you regret your mistake.’ ”

  “Not very subtle, is she?” I said.

  “No, she’s not,” answered Margaret. “It’s got to be directed at the Megatheriums.”

  “You could be right,” said Marcus. “But even if it is, it would be hard to prove.”

  “Let’s assume that it is,” I said. “That was a month ago and the pranks started last week. Why wait?”

  “She’s got to plan them,” said Margaret. “Get her people in on it.”

  “You think she had help?” asked Marcus.

  “This group would do anything for her,” Margaret said, pointing to a picture of her lunch bunch on what looked like a trip to the beach.

  “Make sure to check each of their pages,” said Marcus. “If any of them are involved, maybe one of them slipped up and left us something to find.”

  “Look at how much fun they’re having,” I said. “And compare that to Yin’s pictures. He’s alone in all of them.”

  I flipped through an online album and in every picture Yin was wearing his Baltimore Orioles cap and standing by himself posed next to some object or in front of some building.

  “It’s kind of sad,” said Margaret.

  “He said that the Chiangs take him someplace every Saturday. It looks like he takes a picture at each one and posts it.”

  “Don’t let your emotions affect how you consider the evidence,” Marcus said. “Just because you like him and don’t like Victoria doesn’t change the facts of the case.”

  We both nodded and started going through Yin’s pictures looking for anything that might connect him to Loki or the pranks. The first was one of him at the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum standing next to the capsule that carried the Apollo 11 astronauts back from the moon. In the next he posed in front of several rows of bronze sculptures. Each sculpture was of a girl standing at attention but with no head. There were just thirty headless bodies.

  “Where’s that?” Margaret asked.

  “I think it’s the Sculpture Garden,” I replied. “It’s right next to the museum where my mom works.”

  “It’s a sculpture called Puellae,” said Marcus. “It’s by a Polish artist named Magdalena Abakanowicz.”

  We both gave him a stunned look.

  “How on earth do you know that?” asked Margaret.

  “Do you remember the part where I’m a special agent with the Art Crime team and have art history degrees from Harvard and Georgetown? I had to actually study to get those.”

  Margaret and I shared an impressed look.

  “Anything else you want to tell us about it?” I asked.

  Marcus shrugged and added, “Puellae is Latin for ‘girls.’ ”

  “It should be Latin for ‘creepy sculptures,’ ” said Margaret. “Sometimes I don’t get modern art.”

  “With some artists, that’s the point,” said Marcus.

  “This one’s different from the rest,” I said, looking at the next one. He was in a kayak, and unlike in the other shots, he had a genuine smile. It reminded me of when we were in the practice room, because I felt like we were getting a glimpse of the real Yin.

  “You can tell he loves it,” I said.

  “Loves what?” asked Marcus.

  “Kayaking,” I said, turning the screen toward him. “He told us he loved to go out on a river back home with his dad.”

  “You think that picture was taken in China?” asked Margaret.

  “Not unless Maryland is part of China,” I said.

  Now I was the one who got the strange looks.

  “And you know that because the water looks particularly Marylandish?” asked Marcus.

  “No,” I said as I double clicked the photo to enlarge it. “But if you check out this water tower in the background, you’ll see a picture of a giant crab and a Maryland flag on top.”

  They looked at the image and both nodded. The crab business was big in Maryland and pictures of crabs were on everything.

  “Okay, that’s a good eye,” said Marcus.

  “You’re not the only one with skills,” I joked.

  “There’s nothing suspicious on any of Yin’s circles or on his bulletin board,” said Margaret. “Do you still think he’s a suspect?”

  “As much as I don’t want it to be the case, he has to be,” I said. “His locker is next to Lucy’s, so he could have easily done the superglue. He’s the star of the orchestra, so he could have hacked into Chat Chat from their page. And we know that he used the crawl space to get back by the fire alarm. That’s three for three.”

  “What about motive?” asked Marcus.

  “You heard what Moncrieff Tate said,” I replied. “The Chiangs think Lucy’s jealous and tries to intimidate him.”

  “But Ms. Allo said she’d never seen any indication of that,” Margaret pointed out.

  “Am I the only one who thought that sounded weird?” I asked.

  “In what way?
” asked Margaret.

  “She said they’d hardly ever even spoken to each other,” I replied. “Even if they’re not friends, you’d think that based on the fact that they’re the two best musicians in school and both play the same instrument, they’d almost have to talk to each other more than that.”

  “Unless they’re purposefully avoiding each other,” said Marcus. “Which fits with the theory that she’s jealous of him and wants nothing to do with him.”

  “She’s also the only other person we can connect to all three pranks,” I said. “That means we have to look into her, too.”

  “Really?” said Margaret. “I don’t want her to be the one either.”

  “I thought you had her as suspect number one,” I said.

  “That was before I knew she told the Megatheriums to kiss off,” she replied. “I’m starting to like her more and more.”

  “Well, her Chat Chat page is almost nonexistent,” said Marcus. “There’s virtually no activity on it. She’s in circles for her classes and the orchestra but doesn’t seem active, and the only pictures on her bulletin board are ones that other people have posted and tagged her in.”

  “That makes sense,” I said.

  “Why?” asked Margaret.

  “She wants to blend into the crowd,” I answered. “There are already thousands and thousands of pictures of her online. The last thing she wants is to post one that attracts any commentary from anyone else.”

  We kept looking until the afternoon bell rang. That’s when Marcus gave Margaret and me a ride back to Alice Deal Middle School for the talent show auditions. I took a seat in the auditorium, while she headed backstage.

  Three singers, a dance team, and an aspiring magician all tried out before it was her turn. There were three teachers sitting in the second row and when they called out, “Next,” Margaret pushed a stand-up piano out to the middle of the stage.

  “Margaret Campbell, seventh grade,” she said. “I’ll be performing a song.”

  “Which one?” asked Ms. Sipe, the drama teacher.

  “ ‘I Haven’t Got a Clue,’ ” answered Margaret.

  “You don’t know what you’re going to sing?” she asked.

  It took Margaret a second to understand the confusion. “No.” She laughed. “ ‘I Haven’t Got a Clue’ is the name of the song.”

  “I’m not familiar with that one.”

  “It’s an original composition,” Margaret announced. “This is its world premiere.”

  All three teachers smiled at this.

  She started playing and seemed a little nervous at first. I don’t think she did it as well as when we were in the practice room, but she was still good, and when she finished there was genuine applause.

  “Very nice,” said an eighth-grade English teacher.

  “Thank you,” said Margaret.

  “You wrote that?” asked Ms. Sipe.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, I stumbled in a few places there.”

  “That’s okay,” she replied. “I like it very much, but I think I have a suggestion that might help.”

  “I’d love to hear it,” said Margaret.

  “I think it’s a duet.”

  The other two nodded their agreement.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The song is about friendship,” she explained. “But it’s sung by one person. If it was a duet, then the friendship would come alive in the performance as well as within the lyrics.”

  “Do you know anyone who might be able to sing it with you?” asked another teacher.

  Margaret smiled, turned to the audience, and looked right at me.

  “I think I have an idea.”

  22.

  Tai Shan

  THE NEXT MORNING WHEN WE got to school we went straight to Yin’s locker. It was right next to the empty ones that once belonged to Lucy and Victoria. While everyone else got ready for class, we tried to picture how the first prank could have unfolded.

  “They’re all distracted getting books and talking to friends,” Margaret said. “So even with people around, he could’ve easily stood here and squirted glue into both of those without attracting any attention.”

  “Then he closes his locker and heads that way,” I say, motioning toward the other three that were ruined. “They’re all in a straight line. It would have taken ten, maybe fifteen seconds at the most.”

  We considered this for a moment and then she turned to me and gave me a slightly worried look. “Are we thinking it’s him?”

  I shrugged, but before I could answer, a voice startled us from behind.

  “Is something wrong?”

  We turned to see that it was Mrs. Chiang, who had a suspicious if not outright accusatory look. I had worked out something to say in case we bumped into Yin, but I hadn’t expected her. Luckily, Margaret was (as always) quick on her feet.

  “We’re waiting for Yin,” she said. “We’re supposed to meet him tomorrow at the zoo and wanted to arrange a time.”

  “Oh yes, he mentioned that,” she said, seemingly accepting this explanation. “Yin’s not here today. He has a dress rehearsal at the Kennedy Center. But we can meet you tomorrow at noon. At the front entrance.”

  “Sounds great,” said Margaret. “See you there.”

  We started walking away but she lingered at the locker for a moment, maybe trying to piece together what we might have been doing. Margaret and I stopped near the entrance to the library.

  “I’ll be honest,” she said. “That woman scares me.”

  “Maybe that’s why Yin doesn’t have any friends,” I joked. “Because she scares them all away.”

  “You’re kidding, but there may be some truth to that.”

  “Let’s check the trophy case to see if the smudge is back,” I said.

  I took a step, but Margaret clutched my arm and stopped me. “Not now,” she said. “I think she may be watching us.”

  Sure enough, I looked up and saw that Mrs. Chiang was standing in the hallway next to the door to her class as if she were welcoming her students for the day. But she was looking right at us.

  We locked eyes and she gave us a smile. It was not at all warm or friendly. Still, we smiled back and waved.

  “Okay,” I said as we walked away. “She kind of scares me, too.”

  “If she stands out there like that between classes, then she should have seen who messed with the lockers,” Margaret said.

  I nodded and replied, “Maybe she did and doesn’t want to tell.”

  I didn’t say it out loud, but Yin was moving up my suspect list. Becca and Lucy were also at the rehearsal, which meant that the only prime suspect at Chatham was Victoria, and she might as well have been absent. I think her grandfather must have warned her about us because suddenly she and her friends treated us like we were completely radioactive. No fake smiles to me. No pleas for Margaret to transfer schools. No room for either one of us at lunch.

  Despite days of steady progress and the feeling that we were on the verge of a breakthrough, the week was ending with a thud. Even though I don’t believe in the concept of bad luck, it seemed fitting that it was Friday the thirteenth.

  “You know what the worst part about today is?” I asked as we sat down at a cafeteria table by ourselves.

  “This food?” she answered, plopping her tray on the table.

  “Okay, that is pretty bad,” I agreed when I saw her tray of mystery meat swimming in gravy with carrot slices. “But I was talking about the fact that today’s the last day of Tanner’s suspension. I really thought we’d solve the case before he came back to school. I didn’t think I’d have to face him again.”

  “You’ll be fine,” she assured me. “He’s not going to do anything to you.”

  “I wish I felt as certain about that as you,” I said. “Although, if you’ve noticed, the pranks have stopped while he’s been away from campus.”

  “So you think he might be the one behind it all?”

  “Wouldn’t y
ou rather it be him than Yin?” I said.

  We sat quietly for a moment before she asked, “So have you given it any thought yet?”

  “What?” I mumbled as I swallowed a bite of my turkey sandwich. “How badly he’s going to beat me up?”

  “No,” she answered. “Have you thought about singing with me in the talent show?”

  “You were serious about that?”

  “Of course I was. Ms. Sipe said it should be a duet, and since the song’s about you and me, it seems like a natural fit for us to perform it.”

  “Except for one important detail,” I pointed out. “I can’t sing. I’m total rubbish.”

  “You were in the chorus at your old school,” she said. “And your mom told me you had a beautiful voice.”

  “Of course she said that. She’s my mom. She also hung my crayon drawings on the wall like they were masterpieces. You can’t really trust her analysis of my artistic endeavors.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t feel right to sing it with anybody else,” she said with a sigh. “Forget about it. I just won’t do it.”

  “Don’t do that,” I pleaded.

  “What?”

  “Don’t make me feel guilty.”

  “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” she said. “Although, if you do feel guilty, that might be your conscience telling you something. I think there’s a term for that.”

  “A guilty conscience?”

  “That’s it,” she said. “I wonder what the cure is for that.”

  “I seriously am a terrible singer,” I protested.

  “Apparently your mother, and now your conscience, disagree.” She gave me one of her patented looks and I knew it was pointless to resist.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll think about it.” (I stressed the word “think” to minimize my level of commitment.)

  “Really?” she asked. “And you’re not just saying that? You’ll really consider doing it?”

  “Yes. I will very seriously consider making a fool of myself in front of the entire school by singing a duet with you in the talent show.”

  She beamed. “I’ll teach you the song this afternoon.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I said. “Now, is there anything else my conscience and I can do for you?”