by A. J. Low
“If we can even call them that,” Eliza said.
“The letters are addressed to Uncle Fidel, and tell him to stop writing his book,” Wendy said, frowning at Eliza.
“And while Uncle Fidel is clearly meant to think something will happen to Luis if he doesn’t stop writing, it’s never made clear what,” Nazhar said. “Almost as if the letter writer knows the police cannot get involved if he is vague.”
“The letters are written as poems,” Jimmy said.
“Terrible-rhyming-couplets,” Watson added.
“The letters were originally sent to Alejandro to give to Luis to pass to his dad,” Wendy said. “The letter writer knows where Alejandro lives but not where Uncle Fidel lives.”
“No, he is clearly trying to cover his tracks by not sending the letters directly to Uncle Fidel,” I said.
“Why do you say that, Sherlock?” Nazhar asked.
“Whoever this person is clearly knows Uncle Fidel well enough to know he’s writing a book and where his son goes to school. It is reasonable to assume that this same person might know where they live as well,” I said.
“We also have all the letters sent to Uncle Fidel, as well as the letters sent to Alejandro, and they all have the same carefully constructed handwriting, so that no handwriting analysis can be made,” Eliza said. “I wonder why the person didn’t just type out the letters on a computer and print them out?”
“That’s something that has been puzzling me as well,” I said. “It would have been easier to just let a computer mask your handwriting instead of going to all this trouble. Why bother?”
There seemed to be more questions than answers. It was extremely frustrating but challenging at the same time!
“And finally, we have this pencil rubbing of what we think the letter writer’s actual handwriting looks like,” Wendy said. “I still think it says ‘and they tease bunny’, which I know doesn’t help us at all.”
We stared at the sinister letters and envelopes in the middle of our circle.
“Maybe it’s aliens who broke the space-time continuum,” Wendy said finally.
Everyone stared at her.
“What? Sam’s the only one who can talk about aliens?” Wendy replied.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “You cannot break the space-time continuum. You can, however, bend it. But we have seen no evidence of any of this, Wendy. Don’t be silly.”
“How come when you and Dad talk about it, it’s not silly?” Wendy said.
“Because when we talk about it, it’s based on SCIENCE!” I said, striking the pose that Dad and I usually made when we said “SCIENCE!”
“I think these clues might all be dead ends, Sherlock,” Nazhar said.
“I don’t think that’s true, Nazhar,” I said. “I just need some time to put everything together.”
“He-needs-Milo-and-double-chocolate-Khong-Guan-biscuits-to-think,” Watson added.
Eliza, Nazhar and Jimmy went home and I stared at the letters for a long time. I knew I was missing a piece of the puzzle, but I didn’t know what that piece was.
“Hey, Sam, I almost forgot. We got a letter from Uncle Fidel,” Wendy said, digging into her bag and pulling out a letter. “He’s inviting us to the Asian Children’s Literature Prize nomination ceremony tomorrow at the National Library. I think Nazhar, Jimmy and Eliza received invites too.”
She handed me a letter and I looked through it. “I think you gave me the wrong letter, Wendy. This isn’t from Uncle Fidel, it’s from—”
I stared at the letter. I couldn’t believe it.
“Does this look familiar to you?” I asked Wendy, showing her the letter.
Wendy squinted at the letter for a while.
“It does,” Wendy replied. Her eyes widened. “Do you think…?”
“I do,” I said.
We were definitely going to the nomination ceremony, and I was going to prove who had been sending sinister letters to Uncle Fidel!
“You’re wearing THIS to the ceremony?” Wendy asked incredulously.
“Yeah! Dad helped me pick my outfit! Nice, right?” I said, straightening out my green polka dot bow tie and pressing down my blue shirt and brown checkered pants neatly.
“Has Mom seen you?” Wendy continued.
“Yeah, she did. She asked if Dad helped me pick my outfit. Why?” I said.
“Never mind,” Wendy said, shaking her head. “At least Watson looks good.”
“I-always-look-good,” Watson replied. He had a tuxedo with a black bow tie on. I thought it was too plain.
We arrived at the Asian Children’s Literature Prize nomination ceremony. It was held at The Pod at the top of the National Library on Victoria Street and there were already tons of people there. Some of them were even famous!
“Look, there’s Nazhar, Eliza and Jimmy,” I said, pointing and waving. They were all formally dressed as well. Jimmy was wearing his dinosaur batik shirt!
“Excellent. Now we just need to wait for Uncle Fidel and Luis.” Just as I said that, I spotted the Alvarado family. Auntie Maria Olga was wearing a nice black dress, while Uncle Fidel looked distinguished and elegant in a handsome grey suit. However, instead of looking relaxed, he looked tense. I also noticed that he kept a firm hold on Luis’ shoulder and wouldn’t let his son stray far away from him. He wouldn’t have to worry about Luis’ safety for much longer!
Officer Siva was here as well, probably also invited by Uncle Fidel. Even though he was there in an unofficial capacity, he still wore his police dress uniform.
I wandered through the thick crowd, trying to find the person responsible for all this. After a few minutes and much polite excusing, I found her. Even from a distance I could see that the shirt she was wearing had a dark purple ink stain on the front pocket. I recognised stains like that because Dad had them all the time when his fountain pen leaked into his pocket. It was a dark purple stain that matched the purple ink stain on the envelope that Alejandro had received from the letter writer!
I stepped in front of her and stuck my hand out. Wendy was by my side and had signalled the rest of the Supper Club to join us.
“Oh! Hello there, little boy. Aren’t you cute,” Yvonne Zhang said as she reached out to shake my hand. Instead of wearing an evening dress, like most of the women at the nomination ceremony, she was clad rather casually in an Oxford men’s shirt and black slacks. The purple ink stain was even more prominent up close.
“I’m really glad to meet you, Ms Zhang,” I said. “My sister Wendy and I are big fans of your new book Why Peas Taste Green.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nazhar politely request that Uncle Fidel, Auntie Maria Olga and Luis join us as well.
“Oh, how wonderful,” Ms Zhang said. “I love meeting my young fans. Do you want me to autograph your copy? You did buy one, right?”
“Is it true that unlike other authors, you write your stories on sheets of paper, using a pen?” I asked, evading her questions.
“That’s true. I dislike modern technology. I still use a pen and paper for everything,” she said. “All these other authors are always using the Internet for research and word processing programmes to write. They can’t even spell properly any more! I don’t have a computer at home, and I refuse to get one of those terrible smartphones that keep you connected all the time.”
“You must spend a lot of money on paper,” I said.
“Yes, I only use high quality paper,” Ms Zhang replied. “If not, the ink from my fountain pen would soak through.”
By this time, Nazhar, Eliza, Jimmy, Watson and the Alvarados had gathered around Wendy and me.
“Oh. Hello, Fidel,” Ms Zhang said frostily. “I didn’t expect you to attend. I heard that you’re having problems with your next book? You might want to consider spending more time at home writing it rather than attending nomination ceremonies, perhaps?”
“And perhaps you might want to try working harder at your horrible poetry!” I said as I pointed a fing
er at Ms Zhang accusingly.
“Sherlock! What are you doing?” Uncle Fidel asked, looking shocked.
“She’s the one that has been sending you sinister letters, Uncle Fidel!” I said.
“What a terrible thing to accuse me of, little boy,” Ms Zhang said. “What proof do you have? I could sue!” Her eyes had narrowed and her fists were clenched tightly at her sides. A bunch of reporters showed up out of nowhere.
“Well, for one thing, you have Alejandro’s home address,” I said.
“Alejandro? The boy from that international school who wrote about my book for his book report? So what?” Ms Zhang said.
“It isn’t easy to find out a kid’s home address, especially with the precautions that his parents and the Enterprise International School have taken,” I said. “The only way you would have his address is if he gave it to you after receiving permission from his parents.”
“He did. But the only time I wrote to him was to thank him for his nice letter,” Ms Zhang insisted. “That proves nothing!”
“It proves that you had his address!” I said. “And when you sent the sinister letters through him, you made him think it was part of the Chain Mail game!”
Ms Zhang sputtered in anger.
“One of the things that I couldn’t figure out, which Eliza pointed out, was why someone would bother to disguise his or her handwriting. Wouldn’t it be easier to just use a computer and print the sinister letters out?” I said.
“The person used a ruler to painstakingly write out each letter,” Wendy said. “It took a very long time.”
“Ms Zhang, you just said you hate technology, and that you don’t even have a computer at home,” Eliza said.
“Many people don’t have computers at home,” Ms Zhang said. “I’m not going to stand here and be accused of this nonsense. Fidel, you should be ashamed of yourself, getting kids to do your dirty work!”
“Stop blaming my dad!” Luis yelled loudly. “You’re a bad, bad person!”
Startled, the crowd in the room suddenly fell silent. All eyes were now on us.
It was time for my grand reveal.
“Wendy, if you don’t mind,” I asked my sister.
Wendy handed me the two sheets of paper.
“Do you recognise this letter, Ms Zhang?” I asked, showing her the letter.
“It’s…it’s the letter I wrote in response to a child writing to me about how much she loved my new book,” Ms Zhang said nervously. “Where did you get it?”
“You wrote it to me!” Wendy said angrily. “You’re very competitive, even in this letter. ‘Be the best, no matter what.’ Even if ‘no matter what’ means threatening your competitors’ children!”
“And do you recognise this, Ms Zhang?” I asked again, holding up the letter with the pencil rubbing.
“I most certainly do not,” Ms Zhang said.
“Uncle Fidel, if you look closely at both of these sheets of paper, you’ll realise something very obvious,” I said, handing Uncle Fidel the two sheets of paper.
He took them both and stared closely at them.
“The handwriting is the same! And the paper is the same kind of high quality paper!” Uncle Fidel yelled out. He passed the two sheets of paper to Auntie Maria Olga who gasped in shock.
“We couldn’t figure out what the pencil rubbing said at first. Wendy thought it said, ‘and they test fumbly’ or ‘and they tease bunny’, didn’t you, Wendy?” I asked my sister.
Wendy nodded vigorously; she was still glaring at Ms Zhang.
“But what it actually said was ‘and they taste funny’—a line from Why Peas Taste Green!” I said triumphantly. “You must have accidentally used a piece of paper that had been underneath another sheet of paper that you had used to write your story. You pressed so hard that you left an indentation on the lower sheet.”
“Yvonne, how could you do something so terrible,” Uncle Fidel said.
By this time, a huge crowd had gathered around us and they were all muttering and shaking their heads in disbelief.
“It’s your own fault!’ Ms Zhang said. “I was the bestselling children’s author until you moved here two years ago with your family. I wasn’t really going to do anything to your son, but I thought if you were worried enough about him, you wouldn’t be able to finish your book in time to submit it for the Asian Children’s Literature Prize next month!”
“And you thought if you could win that award, you would regain your popularity, didn’t you?” I said.
“Yes! And I would have gotten away with it too, if not for you kaypoh kids!” Ms Zhang shouted.
“Ms Zhang, I think perhaps you should come with me,” Officer Siva said.
He carefully took hold of Ms Zhang’s arm and led her away.
“You can’t do anything to me! I haven’t done anything illegal!” Ms Zhang shouted furiously, attracting even more attention.
Most of the reporters followed Officer Siva and Ms Zhang out of the ballroom.
“Wow, Sherlock, you really are a fantastic detective,” Uncle Fidel said.
“Ready, Watson?” Jimmy asked.
“I-am-ready,” Watson said.
“He’s Singapore’s Greatest Kid Detective!” Jimmy shouted.
“Only-when-he-does-not-have-to-play-sports,” Watson said.
A photographer took a picture of Jimmy and Watson as I cringed behind Uncle Fidel.
About two months later, after Uncle Fidel’s new book How to Build a Spaceship with Your Son was published, Mom came into my room while I was testing camouflage patterns on Watson.
“Did you see the papers today, Sam?” she asked.
She showed me the newspaper, and I read that Uncle Fidel had been awarded the Asian Children’s Literature Prize.
“Good for him. He deserves it,” I said. We still kept in touch with Luis and all the kids at Enterprise International School.
“Did you read the part at the bottom?” she asked.
I read: “Yvonne Zhang was disqualified from the award. She moved to Australia, and has stopped writing children’s literature after it was revealed that she had sent sinister letters through Mr Alvarado’s son, as discovered by Singapore’s very own kid detective, Sherlock Sam.”
“It’s no big deal,” I said. “I only did it to help Officer Siva and Uncle Fidel’s family.”
“And because the mystery needed to be solved,” Mom said, kissing my forehead. “I’ll cut this out, frame it and put it with the other clippings in the living room.”
“Speaking of needing to solve mysteries, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said, just as Mom was leaving.
“What did you and Dad do now?” she asked, turning around to look at me.
“Watson, please play the recordings,” I said.
Since that first night Watson had caught Mom taking some Khong Guan biscuits after dinner, I had him check every night to see how often Mom got herself a late night snack. She was in the kitchen pretty much every night, and Watson was playing all of the recordings.
“Sam! I—have you told Dad?” Mom asked. She looked shocked.
“Of course not, Mom!” I said. “This can be our secret.”
I grinned at Mom and stuck out my little finger for a pinkie swear. Mom hooked her little finger through mine and we shook.
“It’s just…by the time I’ve finished cooking, I’m too tired to eat and I get hungry later in the evening,” Mom said.
“I know, Mom. And I also know your favourite biscuit is the lemon cream,” I said, still grinning.
Mom grinned back.
“I guess my son really is Singapore’s Greatest Kid Detective,” Mom said.
“Only because he has the best Mom in the entire world,” I replied.
GLOSSARY
Ang Moh—A Hokkien term that literally means “red hair”. In this book, it is used affectionately to refer to Caucasians or Western culture in general.
Avengers—A superhero team published by Marvel
Comics. Its membership includes Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, Hawkeye, Black Widow and many others. Superman is NOT a part of the Avengers.
Black Carrot Cake—A popular local dish made of white radish that is first steamed, then fried with sweet black sauce, eggs and spring onions. There is no carrot in this carrot cake.
Bras Basah Complex—A shopping complex in the heart of the Bras Basah-Bugis neighbourhood in Singapore, and next to the National Library. It was built in the 1980s and has been nicknamed the “City of Books”.
Chicken Fried Chicken—A southern American dish consisting of a chicken cutlet breaded or coated with flour, and then fried. It is served with a biscuit and topped with country cream gravy.
Chiles Rellenos—A Mexican dish that literally means “stuffed chilli”. It originated in the city of Puebla, and consists of a stuffed, roasted, fresh, usually mild pepper stuffed with melted cheese, and covered in an egg batter. It is usually served in a tomato sauce with a side of Mexican rice and refried pinto beans.
Doctor Who—The long-running British Broadcasting Corporation television series which features the Doctor, an alien time lord, and his human companions. The Doctor travels through time and space using his TARDIS, a British police box-shaped time machine.
Durian Pengat—A traditional Peranakan dessert that is made of rich, warm and sweet durian cream and pulp.
Elementary School—Many international schools in Singapore use the US-style elementary school system, which consists of Kindergarten and Grades 1 through 6. This is the same as Kindergarten and Primary 1 through 6 in local Singapore schools.
Flag Football—A variation of American football. Instead of tackling the ball carrier, opposing players must remove a flag hanging off the ball carrier’s belt. This game is played by younger children so that they may learn to play the game with a reduced chance of injury.
Guacamole—A Mexican condiment and side dish made from mashed up avocados, diced onions and tomatoes, and a hint of lime.
High School—Many international schools in Singapore use the US-style high school system, which consists of Grades 9 through 12. This is the same as Secondary years 3 and 4 and Junior College years 1 and 2 in local Singapore schools.
