“But what if it’s the journal that’s phony?” said Izzy. “What if Middlewich wrote it just to make people change their minds about him?”
“It’s a question of character,” I answered. “Remember how I said that the historical accounts of Silas Middlewich didn’t match the facts we could deduce about him from the scroll? The whole point of the treasure hunt only makes sense once you realize that Middlewich was a good guy.”
“You know,” said Jack’s dad, “I bet that journal would be worth something to local historians. Hey, it might even pay for a few cans of paint!”
As it turned out, Jack’s dad was right and wrong. Right, because the journal certainly did turn out to be of interest to historians. Wrong, because the sale of the journal at auction a few weeks later didn’t pay for a few cans of paint. It paid for the entire renovation of the house.
Once everything was sorted out, I returned to my toolshed to write up my notes and sit in my Thinking Chair. The journal is currently on display in a museum. It’s strange to think that something that was once so secret is now gawked at every day by kids on school trips. And it’s also strange to think that I was able to help a Victorian regain his proper place in history.
Case closed.
CHAPTER ONE
I don’t know about you, but I always find it odd when I see my teachers outside of school. It’s as if you don’t expect them to have a life beyond school doors. In your head, they’re always chugging coffee in the teachers’ lounge—never filling up shopping carts at the SuperSave.
So I was surprised when, one weekend, Miss Bennett showed up at my toolshed. She teaches the grade below me and runs the book club I go to once a week after school.
As usual, the Saxby Smart—Private Detective sign fell off the door the second she knocked, and as usual I found myself apologizing for being unable to nail a simple piece of wood to a door. I tossed the sign into a corner, undecided on whether or not I should use a bigger nail next time or just give up on having a sign altogether. Paint it! I should paint the words on the door! Of course! Why didn’t I think of—
Anyway, I let Miss Bennett sit in my Thinking Chair, and I perched on my desk. It was the middle of spring, and the various gardening supplies I’m forced to share my shed with were giving off the aroma of cut grass. I could feel my hay fever coming on.
Miss Bennett is, as far as I can tell, the youngest teacher in school. She’s certainly one of the most popular. If the adjective “willowy” didn’t exist already, you’d have to invent it specifically for her. She has eyes that look as if they’ve been borrowed from a cartoon deer, and a mop of frizzy blond hair that’s constantly struggling to free itself from the little elastic band holding it in a ponytail. She was the last person I would’ve expected to bring me one of the weirdest cases I’ve ever come across.
“How can I help you?” I said. I had my arms in a sort of thinking pose, so as to look properly detective-like and on the ball, brain-wise.
“I’m not sure where to begin,” said Miss Bennett. “I mentioned this problem in the teachers’ lounge, and several teachers suggested I come and talk to you.”
“I see.” I wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing to be talked about in the teachers’ lounge. “So, what kind of problem is this? Has a crime been committed?”
“Well…” said Miss Bennett, her face taking on a sort of er-um-I-dunno expression, “more like a sort of non-crime, really. In fact, a whole series of non-crimes.”
“You’ve come to see a private eye about a crime not being committed?” I said.
“It’s like this,” she explained. “Over the past few weeks, six of my students have had intruders in their homes.”
“Ah! So each house has been broken into?”
“Noooooo. There’s been no sign of forced entry.”
“Ah! So stuff’s been stolen?”
“Noooooo. Well, some cash has gone missing. But there could be other explanations for that.”
“Ah! So burglars have been caught in the act, before they could escape?”
“Noooooo. Nobody’s been seen.”
“So…” I said, my eyes narrowing. “Let’s recap. Six of your students have not had break-ins, have had nothing stolen, and have not spotted any sketchy-looking guys lurking in the bushes. Hmm, yes, I can see that they’d be worried.”
“I know it sounds crazy, Saxby, but each of these six is convinced that someone has been in their house.”
Now it was my turn to use the er-um-I-dunno expression. “Why?”
“That’s half the problem,” said Miss Bennett. “There’s nothing they can be sure of. It’s a feeling. They’re positive that things have been moved, ever so slightly. Objects examined, closets opened, desks rifled through. Things like that.”
“Couldn’t they just be, I dunno, oversensitive or something?”
“I might think that too, but six of them? In the same class? Within a few weeks? That seems very odd. And none of them is the type of kid who makes stuff up.”
“Hmm, yes, I see your point. But couldn’t it also be a case of one person saying something, and the others picking up on it?”
“No,” said Miss Bennett. “This only came to light because we were having a class discussion the other day. One of the girls, Sarah, happened to mention this strange feeling she and her mom recently had, and then the five others spoke up and said they’d experienced exactly the same thing. None of them had mentioned it before, because at the time they all thought, as you would have, that it was nothing more than an isolated oddity.”
“You said that money’s been stolen?” I asked.
“Yes, four of these six say that they or their parents have had small amounts of money go missing. A ten-dollar bill, or some loose change they thought they’d left in a particular spot. Again, nothing that’s really definite. With no break-ins and nothing else taken, they all thought they’d simply misplaced the money. But now, because this has happened six times, the missing money suddenly looks like a sign of deliberate theft.”
“It certainly does,” I said. “But what kind of thief leaves no trace of breaking in, takes nothing but small amounts of money, and only takes money four times out of six?”
“Precisely,” said Miss Bennett. “Now do you see why I came to you? My whole class is really worried about this, and so am I. We’re all wondering who’s next.”
“Haven’t any of their parents gone to the police?”
“And tell them what?” said Miss Bennett. “There’s still no actual evidence of any crime being committed. What could the police do?”
“Good point,” I said. I hopped off the desk and onto my feet. “Well, I can honestly say that this is the weirdest problem anyone’s ever come to me with. Ever.”
“So…you don’t think it can be investigated?” asked Miss Bennett.
“On the contrary,” I said. I tried to sound confident, but to be perfectly honest, I didn’t feel the least bit confident at all. This case seemed totally baffling, even before it had begun! However:
“I’ve yet to turn down a genuine mystery,” I said, “and I don’t intend to start now. Saxby Smart is on the case!”
CHAPTER TWO
When you’re a brilliant detective like me, you can’t afford to let anything pass you by. You never know when a clue or a connection or a significant fact could turn up and blow a case wide open. You must always be on the lookout. Always.
On Monday morning, I was about as on the lookout as a dead possum. The pollen count was at an all-time high, and my nose was at an all-time low. I slouched to school, cursing my parents’ DNA for passing on the hay fever gene to their only child! I couldn’t decide which were runnier, my eyes or my nostrils. I was not in the best condition to observe and deduce.
Even so, taking my usual route across the park at 8:40 a.m., I noticed something very strange. If you’ve read my previous volume of case files, you’re well aware of that low-down rat, Harry Lovecraft. He’s in my class, but, as I li
ke to say, the rest of us out-class him in every way, ha ha. Harry Lovecraft is my archenemy, a sneaky, smarmy, shiny-haired weasel who’s about as trustworthy as a starving cobra in a box full of white mice. If there’s a dirty trick to be played in the playground, he’ll play it.
So I was naturally suspicious when I saw him taking his usual route across the park, chatting amiably to a group of younger kids. Believe me, that low-down rat Harry Lovecraft never chats amiably to anyone, least of all kids in the grades below him. Tricks them out of their lunch money, yes, but chats amiably, no.
I walked faster and caught up with the group. They seemed to be talking about wizards, frog people, and something called a “Grand Croak Toad Belcher.”
“What are you ubb to, Lovecraft?” I said.
“Deary me, Smart,” oozed Harry Lovecraft, “is that allergies, or has someone finally given you the smack in the face you deserve?”
The kids around him giggled. Some of them were from Miss Bennett’s homeroom, and the rest from the other class in that grade.
I tried to think of a witty comeback. I couldn’t. “Just shudd ubb, Lovecraft,” I said. “You’re ubb to something.”
“We’re talking about FrogWar BattleZone,” piped up one of the kids. “You collect the figures and paint them. We’re all making our own battleboards.”
I glared at Harry Lovecraft as best I could with my bloodshot, pollen-bloated eyes. “You’re never into FrogWar,” I said. “Whadd sneaky liddle plot are you haddching now?”
Harry Lovecraft took a step closer to me. Clipped to his jacket was the latest mini MP3 player, a model that had only hit stores about a week ago.
“That’s the trouble with busybodies like you, Smart,” he said and then sneered. “You always think the worst of people.”
“No, not peeble in general,” I sneered back. “Just you.”
I turned to leave. Or rather, to carry on walking ahead of them. I’d only gone a few steps when I turned back with a question for Harry.
“Your birthday’s not for three more muddths, is it?” I said.
“What?” blinked Harry, confused. “Planning a surprise party for me, are you?”
I walked on. Despite having a sneezing fit that lasted all the way to school, I was secretly congratulating myself. I now had two reasons for thinking that Harry Lovecraft might somehow be involved in these mysterious non-break-ins I was investigating—two coincidences that made me suspicious.
Have you spotted them?
The two coincidences were:
Harry Lovecraft’s little FrogWar group included a number of Miss Bennett’s students. Under normal conditions, he’d never be nice to those kids. Was there a link between his sudden interest and the non-break-ins experienced by Miss Bennett’s class?
Some money had—probably, apparently— gone missing. And Harry Lovecraft suddenly owned an MP3 player he couldn’t have bought earlier than last week, when it came out. From past experience, I knew he was enough of a low-down rat to resort to petty theft.
The problem was, how could Harry Lovecraft be linked to these “un-crimes”? As far as I knew, he hadn’t suddenly gained the ability to walk through walls (which this phantom-like burglar seemed to be doing).
On the plus side: these un-crimes clearly showed a great deal of careful sneakiness—a classic Lovecraft trademark!
BUT! On the minus side: being so careful and sneaky seemed like sort of a waste, if all that got swiped was some cash. If Harry Lovecraft wanted cash, he usually just pulled another lunch-money scam.
BUT! On the plus side: news of another lunch-money scam hadn’t reached me all semester. So Harry Lovecraft’s sudden flaunting of new goods made a link with the un-crimes all the more likely.
BUT! On the minus side: would even that low-down rat turn to actual burglary? I’d never seen him go that far, ever.
By the time I reached school, not only was my nose gunked up with snot, but my brain was gunked up with a jumble of confusing and contradictory thoughts. Before attendance sign-in, I hurried over to Miss Bennett’s class and asked that the six victims of the un-crimes stay behind at recess.
There were three items on my To Do list:
Talk to these six, and find out more about each individual incident.
Keep a close eye on H. Lovecraft.
Get hold of more tissues. The ones I’d brought from home were already reduced to damp shreds.
While our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Penzler, was handing out exercises for the first lesson of the day, I leaned across to the desk beside me and had a quiet word with my friend George “Muddy” Whitehouse, as follows:
Me: (checking that neither Mrs. Penzler nor H. Lovecraft was looking my way) Muddy, I’m going to be busy with a case during recess. Can you keep a close eye on Harry Lovecraft for me?
Muddy: Will do! Awesome! I’ve got some homemade spy gear with me.
Me: Why do you have to keep bringing spies into everything?
Muddy: Spies are cool.
Me: So are fridges, so what? We are not spies. This is detective work.
Muddy: (making a face)…It’s kind of like being spies.
Me: No, it’s not, it’s—(waving hands around). Just forget about spies. Watch Harry Lovecraft. Don’t let him know you’re keeping tabs on him, okay? Be casual. Be subtle.
Muddy: Casual and subtle, check. (Pause) The seagulls fly south over Moscow.
Me:…What?
Muddy: It’s what spies say.
Me: Oh, shut up.
Mrs. Penzler: Saxby, less chatter please!
Me: Sorry!
The second the bell rang for recess, I zipped over to Miss Bennett’s classroom. I talked to each of the six one by one, and made careful notes. Here are the results:
INCIDENT 1
Student’s name: Maggie Hamilton
Date/time/location: April 24th/between 10 a.m. and 1 p.m./14 Meadow Road
What happened: Maggie’s mom came home, thought several things had been moved—computer keyboard, address book by kitchen phone, pile of bills; $20 on front-hall table gone. Mom has large jewelry box in bedroom—untouched.
Any other relevant info: Mom and Dad think Mom’s just mistaken (neighbor says she saw Mom get home at 11:30 a.m., Mom thought she hadn’t returned until 1 p.m.); Dad was away on business all that week; Mom works afternoons at the SuperSave.
INCIDENT 2
Student’s name: Patrick Atwood
Date/time/location: May 1st/in the morning, “sometime after 10:15”/26 Avon Street
What happened: Files and papers on desk disturbed; drawers rifled through.
Any Other Relevant Info: Patrick’s mom works from home—this happened on the only day of the week she’s not there; very worried that “intruder” knew this and/or was watching the house.
INCIDENT 3
Student’s name: Sarah Hardy (she was the one who’d first mentioned the “un-crimes” in class)
Date/time/location: May 8th/“must’ve been between 9:45 and noon”/Park Court, Apartment 2
What happened: Stuff around computer moved; trash basket in living room “in wrong position”; pile of change on hallway bookshelf gone; $10 bill from Mom’s bureau gone (credit cards untouched).
Any other relevant info: Mom thinks Sarah’s two older sisters stole the money; sisters grounded; sisters not happy. Only Sarah noticed the other items being moved—sisters distracted by high school classes, Mom distracted by daily hobby of shopping(!); Mom calls Sarah’s suggestion of an intruder “ridiculous.”
INCIDENT 4
Student’s name: Thomas Waters
Date/time/location: May 15th/“sometime late morning”/36 Field Lane
What happened: Drawers left slightly open; box of old paperwork disturbed; kitchen trash can moved; $20 in singles and change gone from teakettle in kitchen(?!), but Mom has convinced herself she used this money for Chinese takeout the week before.
Any other relevant info: Thomas’s mom suspicious when returned home from appo
intment; Thomas’s dad always at work from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m.; Mom works with Maggie Hamilton’s mom at the SuperSave in the afternoons and is friends with Liz Wyndham’s mom down the street.
INCIDENT 5
Student’s name: Liz Wyndham
Date/time/location: May 22nd / before 12 p.m. / 45 Field Lane
What happened: Work desk disturbed; angle of computer screen changed; closets searched through.
Any other relevant info: Liz’s mom works part-time from home—only leaves house a couple of times a week due to medical stuff; Liz asked nosy Mrs. Huxley from across the street if she’d seen anything that day (“she misses nothing”)—Mrs. H. claimed Liz’s mom left house at 9:20 a.m., came back at 10:50 a.m., left again at 11:05 a.m., and returned home again at 12! But Liz’s mom says she was out all morning, from 9:20 on. Liz is worried about her mom!
INCIDENT 6
Student’s name: John Wurtzel
Date/time/location: May 29th /“had to be between 10:15 and 11:45 a.m.” / 177 Deadman’s Lane
What happened: Cupboard door in dining room ajar; laptop closed when it had been open; bills pinned to bulletin board slightly moved; glass bowl on mantelpiece emptied of loose change.
Any other relevant info: John’s parents are divorced—Dad is an office manager, Mom is an artist who spends almost all day every day in her studio in the attic. Mom thinks Dad turned up and moved stuff around just to confuse and annoy her(!).
Looking through these notes on the way back to my class, lots of interesting links and possibilities jumped out at me faster than a pouncing tiger. Links involving dates, times, even the nature of the incidents themselves.
The Treasure of Dead Man's Lane and Other Case Files Page 7
