Henry plopped down in the seat behind me. “Get out. I don’t believe you.”
“I plan on conducting some interviews first thing in the morning,” I said. “How could I do that if I had gotten grounded?”
Henry sat back in his chair. He seemed flabbergasted. I knew that he was trying to picture me standing up to my parents, but he was obviously having a difficult time imagining it. Good sense told him it was impossible.
“Okay, gang, let’s get started,” Mrs. Jansen said. “Quiet, everyone.”
Henry slapped me on the shoulder. “Tell me the truth,” he whispered.
I turned halfway. “Eugene drove me home. What did you think happened?”
“I knew it,” he said—loud enough for the entire class to hear.
Mrs. Jansen stood at the front of the room with her arms folded. “Mr. Cunningham, would you like to share your comments with the rest of us?”
“No, not really,” Henry said.
“Stand up,” she said. Mrs. Jansen had one rule in class—there could only be one person speaking at any one time—either her or one of us.
Henry slowly got to his feet. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Henry,” she said. “I want you to know that.”
Mrs. Jansen was our favorite teacher by a long shot. No one else even came close. And we all hated it when she told us she was disappointed in us. Personally, I would have much preferred if she had yelled at us, or punished us, or publicly humiliated us. But to say that she was disappointed in us? Now, that was the worst thing imaginable.
Henry dejectedly slid back down into his seat.
“Okay,” Mrs. Jansen said. “Let’s get to work.” She walked over to her desk and picked up a glass of water about three-quarters full. She held it up for everyone to see. “Here we have an ordinary glass of water.” Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out something. Likewise, she held it up. “And this, if you can see it, is a cork. I’m going to put the cork into the water to see what happens.”
Stephanie Martin, the nodder, raised her hand.
“Yes, Stephanie?” Mrs. Jansen said.
Stephanie jumped to her feet. “The cork will float,” she said.
Mrs. Jansen smiled. “Well, I think we all know that the cork will float. At least, I hope so. I actually wanted to see if it does something else.”
Stephanie, still nodding like one of those bobblehead dolls, returned to her seat. She was too clueless to realize that she had just been shut down…even in a polite way.
“Now, watch the cork carefully,” Mrs. Jansen said.
We all watched it ever so slowly drift from the center of the glass to the side. So that was it? That was the big show? I didn’t get it.
“Did you see that?” Mrs. Jansen said. “Who can tell me what just happened?”
Scarlett raised her hand.
“Yes, Scarlett.”
“It just kind of floated over to the side,” she said.
“Exactly. But who can tell me why?”
It suddenly got very quiet.
I had an idea why, but I decided to play dumb. I fought the urge to raise my hand.
Mrs. Jansen looked around. No takers. “The cork will always float to the highest point,” she said. “And since the water level is highest on the sides, that’s where it drifts to.”
A few classmates glanced in my direction. They were smiling. I knew exactly what they were thinking. They were delighted that Mrs. Jansen had stumped me. It didn’t even seem to matter that they hadn’t figured it out themselves. How do you like that? I was now kicking myself for not raising my hand. Of course, I knew that the cork would drift to the highest point. Duh. Well, I’d show them. Next time they wouldn’t know what hit them.
Mrs. Jansen continued to hold up the glass. “We’re not done,” she said. “Who can tell me how we can make the cork float in the center of the glass? Or is that even possible?”
Sherman cleared his throat.
“Sherman, do you have a guess?” Mrs. Jansen asked.
“It’s a trick question. It can’t be done,” he said.
“Oh, but it can be done,” she said. “Who can tell me?”
For the next five minutes we were forced to endure a litany of lame attempts. No one was even close. Mrs. Jansen seemed disappointed that she had apparently stumped everyone. Not everyone, I thought.
“Looks like I’m going to have to tell you,” she said.
I started to raise my hand. Then, just as quickly, I pulled it back down. A few minutes ago, I was certain that I would jump at the next chance to show up my fellow classmates. Now, for some reason, I was getting cold feet.
“Charlie, did I see your hand up?” Mrs. Jansen said.
“No,” I said. “I mean…yes.”
“So tell me, how we can make the cork float in the center of the glass?”
I stood up slowly. I could feel every eye in the room on me at that very moment. Well, here goes, I thought.
“Here’s what I’d do,” I said. “I’d fill the glass to the very top. Fill it with as much water as it can possibly hold. Then drop the cork in. If you did it right, a meniscus will form at the top of the glass. That’s where the water seems to form sort of a convex shape above the glass. Since the highest point is now in the middle, the cork will float right there and won’t drift over to the sides.”
All heads turned to Mrs. Jansen.
“Let’s find out if he’s right,” she said. She lifted out the cork and set the glass down on the front desk. Then she picked up a small pitcher of water and poured enough to fill the glass to its brim. She dropped the cork back in. This time it didn’t move. It stayed right there in the middle. “Looks like Charlie’s done it again,” she said.
I stared straight down at the top of my desk. I wasn’t certain what the reaction would be from other students. I didn’t really want to know. I would have thought that after we had successfully saved all those exotic birds from certain death, these kids would see just how important reasoning skills could be. It wasn’t just about solving riddles, it was about using your brain for bigger things. I wished I could make these kids see that. If they really wanted to, they could have learned something from these experiences so that the next time Mrs. Jansen tossed out a brainteaser, they might actually be able to solve it.
I knew one thing for sure—no matter how good it felt to solve these problems, the reaction from my classmates seemed to take some of the fun out of it. It was nothing like the rush I would get when a satisfied customer shook my hand after another successful case. Finding the solution to a brainteaser in class was different. At times, I didn’t know why I put myself through this. Maybe I should just back off and let Mrs. Jansen answer all of her own brain busters. But in my heart I knew that I couldn’t do that. I had to solve these problems—even if I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t help myself.
My only consolation was knowing that I wasn’t alone. There was someone else out there with the same problem—Sam Solomon. Even when he thought that sharing a piece of information might make his life miserable, he just had to do it. When Sam accepted an assignment, he would see it through no matter what. And there were plenty of times when he knew that presenting his findings to his clients would make his life very unpleasant. But, like me, it was out of his control. Sam was a man of his word, and no matter the consequences, his clients always got their money’s worth. It was just like what happened in Episode #26—The Unfriendly Fire Caper. It was probably Sam’s lowest point.
Sam had been hired by an insurance company to investigate the death of a firefighter who had died a hero while battling a blaze. The firefighter’s widow and six children were in line for a $50,000 life insurance payout. Sam discovered that the firefighter had been at a bar when the blaze broke out. He had been drinking heavily and was in no condition to drive, let alone fight a fire. Sam knew that if he shared these details with the insurance company, it would void the poli
cy. But what was he to do? Sam ultimately made the tortured decision to report his findings to his client. And as you might guess, for some time, Sam became a rather unpopular figure in his own community. Following the case, he began sending a few dollars each week to the widow to help her offset expenses.
As I thought long and hard about the decision Sam had made, I realized what my mission in life was. I had been given a gift, and it would be wrong—no, make that unthinkable—not to use it. I made a pledge there and then that if I were able to use my reasoning skills to solve a riddle or a problem or a brain buster or that million-dollar question that would blow the lid right off a case, then it was my obligation to do so. I took a deep breath, lifted my head, and looked around. This was a new Charlie Collier—one who was confident enough to deflect the jeers and the taunts and the criticisms of others. If these kids had been in my position, then they would have understood completely. And since they weren’t, then there was nothing I could do to change it. This was my destiny. And I planned to live it to the fullest.
CHAPTER 7
The Thyme Bomb Caper
I got up early on Saturday morning. It wasn’t my normal routine, but this was a new day for Charlie Collier, Snoop for Hire. My mission had begun. I was focused, confident, and unflappable. It was all about the client.
I called Henry and Scarlett and asked them to meet me at the intersection of Wellington and Ottawa at ten fifteen. It was midway between school and the address of our first person of interest—Zachary Kasper. According to Sherman, Zach was Josh’s best friend. If we were going to locate our missing person, we would need to interrogate those people who knew him best.
When I arrived at the meeting point, Scarlett and Henry were waiting for me. Apparently our little squabble with Scarlett a few days ago regarding her punctuality had paid off. I was hopeful that I wouldn’t have to immediately break up some silly altercation between the two of them, but when I rode up, things were relatively calm.
“Now who’s the one late for an appointment?” Scarlett said.
I looked at my watch. “It’s ten sixteen,” I said. “Give me a break.”
“Well, just see that it doesn’t happen again,” she said with a smirk.
Henry was smiling. He was enjoying the show.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get serious. Here’s what’s on tap for today.” I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket. “We’re headed to 414 North Kenmore Avenue, the residence of one Zachary Kasper—Josh Doyle’s closest friend. If anyone knows where Josh is, he will.”
“Don’t you think that people have already talked to him?” Scarlett said.
“I guess so. What’s your point?”
“My point is that he’s probably already been questioned by Sherman’s mom or the police, and if he hasn’t told them where Josh is, what makes you think he’ll tell us?”
Scarlett was probably right. Since Zach would have been a likely source of information, he already had to have been questioned by countless folks. And since Sherman came to us for help, then obviously Zach had been tight-lipped.
“But you forget about Charlie’s amazing interrogation skills,” Henry said tongue in cheek.
“Very funny,” I said. “Listen, I realize that Zach has probably already been asked a lot of questions by a lot of people…and I also assume that he hasn’t provided the kind of information that these same people were looking for…but my guess is that everyone he’s talked to was an adult. If he’s going to open up, he’d be much more likely to do so to a kid, don’t you think?”
Scarlett looked skeptical. “I don’t know.”
“Charlie, if he knew us, then maybe your theory would be correct,” Henry said. “But this guy doesn’t know us from Adam. Why would he talk?”
We weren’t getting anywhere debating whether or not a person of interest would talk or not. We wouldn’t know until we found him and actually asked our questions.
“Let’s just go find out for ourselves,” I said. “We have nothing to lose. C’mon.”
We made it to 414 North Kenmore Avenue in under twenty minutes. When we arrived, we found ourselves staring at a run-down two-flat. There was a broken picture window on the first floor. There were more weeds than grass in the front lawn. We had to steer our bikes around a broken bottle on the sidewalk. I noticed an uneasy look on Scarlett’s face. We needed to make this a quick visit.
I climbed the stairs, managing to avoid a rotted-out step, and spotted the name Kasper written in an almost-illegible fashion on a piece of paper taped just below the top doorbell. I pressed it. The voice of an older woman came through a tiny, distorted speaker.
“What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Zachary.”
“Zach,” she yelled.
I waited for a few moments, wondering if they had forgotten about me.
“What?” a voice called out. It had to be Zach. He didn’t sound particularly happy.
“My name is Charlie Collier. I’ve been hired to look into the disappearance of Joshua Doyle.”
“You sound like a kid,” Zach said.
I decided to ignore the comment. “I was told that you and Josh were friends. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
“Listen, I don’t know where he is.”
“I promise not to take more than five minutes of your time,” I said.
“You don’t get it. I said I have no idea where he is,” Zach insisted.
I wasn’t going to give up. “The police apparently haven’t been much help. And Josh’s mom is really upset. Please,” I pleaded.
In previous investigations, I had learned to adopt a relentless approach. I would never give in. I refused to accept no or no comment. I would continue to ask questions until I got the answers I wanted. If the interviewee was hoping that I would just go away, then he or she was mistaken. Zach Kasper would come to this realization sooner or later.
Zach sighed. “All right,” he said disgustedly. “Five minutes. No more.”
A second later, the buzzer sounded. I pulled open the door and was just about to climb the stairs to the second floor when I looked back at Henry and Scarlett. I reached back outside and hit the buzzer again.
A few seconds later, a rather irritated Zach replied. “Now what?” he said.
“Zach? I have two associates with me. Can they come up too?”
“No,” he snapped. “Come alone or go away.”
I whispered to Henry and Scarlett, “He’ll only talk to me. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” I knew they wouldn’t be happy about being squeezed out, but what could I do? Those were the rules.
The hallway was dimly lit, but the peeling paint was still visible. As I approached the Kasper apartment, something slithered by me and ran over my shoe. I chose not to look. I was relieved when a door up ahead opened and a skinny guy with wild hair, who looked to be about seventeen or so, poked his head out.
“You are a kid,” Zach said.
I extended my hand. “Charlie Collier, Snoop for Hire.”
Zach shook his head and smiled. “You’re kidding me, right?” he said.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” I was determined to get what I had come for.
“C’mon,” he said.
As we passed through the living room, a woman who must have been his mother eyed me suspiciously.
“What’s he want?” she asked Zach.
“He’s trying to find Josh.”
“Josh isn’t here,” she said sternly. “Why won’t anyone believe us?”
“He knows that, Ma. Let me talk to him. It’s all right.”
Zach led me into his bedroom and motioned for me to sit down. I immediately noticed the posters that filled the walls. One of them featured a woman kneeling next to a lifeless body with the words Kent State, Never Forget.
On another, a teenage boy, dressed in 1920s garb, held a younger boy on his back. The words at the bottom read He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.
On still anothe
r poster, a young Asian man stood in front of a wall of tanks in Tiananmen Square. I recognized that one. The words at the bottom read Take A Stand—Preserve Human Rights.
Knowing what I did about Josh, it was easy to see why he and Zach had become friends. Their causes were slightly different, but their values were similar. And they always seemed to be on the side of the underdog.
“Now, what makes you think I know where Josh is?” Zach said.
“His brother told me you might be able to help.”
“Well, I can’t help you,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in weeks.”
“When did you talk to him last?” I asked.
“It’s been over a month now.”
“Did he say anything about where he might be headed?”
Zach sighed. He walked to the window and looked out.
“He told me he wanted to get the public’s attention—that he had to stop a cruel and inhumane practice. And he would do so even if it meant breaking the law.” He turned to face me. “People don’t understand Josh. He loves the earth and all its creatures and just wants to save them.” He picked up a baseball from the top of his desk and flung it at the wall, leaving a mark. “Our world is so screwed up. Step on the little guy. Destroy the earth. That’s what we’re doing. And then there’s people like Josh who seem to get it. And what happens? They treat him like a criminal and throw him in jail.”
“Is that what happened?” I said. “Is he back in jail?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I had a feeling that Zach was telling me the truth. He really didn’t know where Josh was. He’d been pretty forthcoming. If he did know anything, I think I’d have been able to tell.
“So, if you had to track him down in an emergency, where would you start?” I said.
Zach sat on the edge of his bed. “Odds are he’s trying to save something—or stop something. And knowing Josh, he probably broke some laws—if you want to call them laws. I’d check all the jails in the area.”
The Camp Phoenix Caper Page 6
