Smashie McPerter and the Mystery of Room 11

by N. Griffin

  “Yes,” said Smashie, extracting her own Investigation Notebook from her sash. “That means between noon and twelve twenty-five. Oh, we are so good at investigating! Let’s write that down!”

  And they added the information enthusiastically to their notes.

  “It is too bad we have to exonerate Mr. Carper,” said Dontel. “Because otherwise he fits perfectly.”

  “Exonerate,” breathed Smashie pleasurably, and she added the word to her list.

  “Mr. Carper had access and motive. Who else could have both?”

  “Dontel, you are excellent at Investigator Language,” said Smashie. “Let’s write down access on the word list, too.”

  “All right.” They did.

  “Now, let’s think,” said Smashie.

  “Who had access to the room when no one else was there?” Dontel began.

  Smashie joined in. “And who also hates hamsters —?”

  She broke off.

  “What?” said Dontel.

  Smashie gulped. She blinked her eyes rapidly.

  “Dontel!” she whispered.

  It couldn’t be.

  But there was nothing to be done for it.

  Sadly, underneath her heading Suspect List, Smashie carefully printed:

  “We have to launch a full investigation,” said Smashie miserably. “We have to question me closely.”

  “Smashie, it was not you!”

  “How do we know?” Smashie wailed. “Maybe the kids are right and I am as awful as they think! Maybe I just don’t remember! I forget things all the time! Look at how I am with my hoodie! This is exactly what Mr. Potter was warning me about yesterday on the bus,” she said, flinging an arm toward the front of the bus. “It is all catching up with me!”

  “Smashie, you forget things like hoodies and permission slips,” said Dontel. “You don’t forget things you do.”

  “I do, too!” cried Smashie. “I forget things I do all the time! I was so busy thinking about ideas for a Bug-Luring Suit once that I put a yogurt away in my dresser instead of the fridge, and I only realized it a week later, when it got smelly! I forget other things, too, like to set the table when my mother asks me to and where I put the mail when I came in from school. I —”

  Her mind was a tornado.

  She must have crept through the darkened school, she thought. Maybe she had even had a Thief Suit on! While she was snatching her hoodie from its spot, her hand must have crept out toward Patches’s cage and —

  “The class is right to hate me!” she cried.

  “They are not!” Dontel’s voice was insistent. “Smashie! You can’t be the wrongdoer!”

  “Yes, I can be! We can’t be put off the trail of me just because we like me!”

  “Smashie.” Dontel took her shoulders in his hands and looked into her eyes. “You could not possibly be the thief.”

  “Of course I could! I fit the clues exactly! Why wouldn’t it be me?”

  “Because,” said Dontel in low, burning tones, “you are scared of Patches’s feet.”

  Smashie stared at Dontel.

  “You would never, ever touch him,” Dontel continued. “Not on purpose. You would be too worried about touching his feet! Even if you wanted Patches gone more than anything, I don’t believe your scaredness would let you pick him up and take him.”

  Smashie sat frozen, staring hard at her friend.

  “You are right, Dontel,” she said at last. “I am very frightened of Patches’s feet. I would rather do most anything than touch them.”

  “That’s what I’m saying!” said Dontel.

  But Smashie was not ready to let herself off the hook just yet.

  “But what about me being so forgetful?” she asked.

  “You never, ever forget things you think, Smashie. And stealing Patches would have taken a lot of thinking. It is nothing like that yogurt situation.”

  “I do always remember about things I think,” Smashie admitted. “I remember things you think, too, Dontel.”

  Dontel nodded.

  “Yes,” he said. “You do. Come on, Smash. Let’s strike you off the list.”

  “All right,” said Smashie. And with a tremendous sense of relief, she crossed herself out.

  “I think,” said Dontel, “we’d better calm down with our thinking.”

  He was right. Smashie dearly loved letting her thoughts run away with her, but sometimes, like now, they ran too far and when they did, it was awful. It was just very hard to tell in the moment, sometimes, which way it was going to go.

  “Thank you for clearing my name, Dontel,” she said.

  “No problem,” Dontel replied. “I got your back, you got mine.”

  The bus ride over, Smashie and Dontel stood outside the doors to the Rebecca Lee Crumpler Elementary School with the rest of Room 11, waiting for the bell to signal that it was time to enter the building.

  Joyce was standing at the foot of the steps, her pink backpack on her back.

  “Hello, Joyce,” said Smashie.

  Joyce raised her chin. “I’m going to go stand with Willette,” she said, deliberately not looking at Smashie. “She understands how I’m feeling about Patches.”

  And off she clomped.

  Smashie’s shoulders slumped.

  “Just remember we’re working on it,” said Dontel comfortingly, his hand on her shoulder. “The kids’ll come around.”

  “Not if we don’t solve this case.” Smashie’s voice was troubled.

  John Singletary came up beside Dontel. “Marquise,” he greeted him.

  “Singletary.” Dontel nodded back.

  “Don’t look now,” John said, “but Mr. Awful is back.”

  He was right. Mr. Carper was leaning against the building nearby, talking to Miss Dismont. “Big day today, huh?” he was saying. “What with the TrueYum Grocery Mart nutrition assembly.”

  “I suppose,” said Miss Dismont. Miss Dismont was a beautiful woman in her middle fifties, plump with a loaf of curly red hair and a pair of kangaroo earrings dangling from her ears. Miss Dismont was famous for her love of kangaroos. The earrings were just one of her many marsupial-themed accessories. Kangaroos leaped across her curls on shining hair clips and sprang across the tote bag in which she carried her books and papers. Even the license plate on her convertible read, KANGA-RU. But best of all, during the hour her class had mathematics each day, Miss Dismont wore an enormous kangaroo brooch that positively sparkled with red and green gems. The kangaroo’s pouch was filled with silver numerals that spilled out of it like a set of mathematical joeys. As enthusiastic mathematicians, Smashie and Dontel loved Miss Dismont’s brooch. In fact, although she loved Ms. Early, Smashie sometimes wished she could visit Miss Dismont’s math class to see her and her kangaroo in action.

  But of course Miss Dismont was not wearing the brooch now. She kept it in her desk and only took it out when it was time for math.

  “All these people out with the flu are going to kick themselves for missing this opportunity — I mean, this assembly,” said Mr. Carper. “That virus is really ripping through this place.” His lip curled a bit at the sight of the students waiting to enter the building. “Doesn’t help to have all these children around, does it? Germy, sticky little things.”

  Miss Dismont looked at him askance. “The rest of us are pretty fond of them, actually.”

  “Whatever. At least having so many teachers sick keeps me in business. I had Early’s little fiends yesterday —”

  “Please not again, please not again,” John muttered.

  “And today I’m in for Bean in the kindergarten.”

  “Slap my hand with your hand, my friend,” said John, and he and Dontel slapped hands.

  “It is too bad for the kindergarten, though,” Smashie said.

  “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it,” Mr. Carper went on. Miss Dismont edged away. “Kindergartners, ugh. They’re even shorter and stickier than the rest of them. Still,” he added with elaborate casualnes
s, “I suppose a lot of the day will be taken up with the assembly?”

  “Not for kindergarten, Mr. Carper,” Miss Dismont told him. “They only come to school for a half day. They go home at a quarter past twelve.”

  “What!” cried Mr. Carper. Then he cleared his throat and smiled at Miss Dismont. “I suppose,” he said, giving a little laugh, “that no one would mind if I stuck around for the show, anyway. I’m quite a fan of nutrition —”

  Miss Dismont raised her eyebrows.

  “And, to be honest with you, Miss D., Mrs. True is rather a . . . good friend of mine.”

  “I’m sure it would be fine, Mr. Carper,” said Miss Dismont, eyeing him. “If you’re a fan of nutrition.”

  “You know what’s funny?” Mr. Carper asked. “I’m sure you noticed that I’m wearing a red sweater-coat today. I know, I know, red suits me, blah, blah. But what’s crazy is that I wore a red sweater the day I posed for my dental ad, too! Can you believe?”

  “Who’d’ve thought,” said Miss Dismont.

  “I know, right? I mean, I never put it together. I wonder if Mrs. True will notice.” He chuckled and shook his head. Then his face grew set. “Well, I’ll make sure she does. I’m ready to star in that circular.”

  “Circular?”

  “Don’t tell me you aren’t gunning for it, too. You all are. But it’s my time, Miss Dismont. I can feel it.”

  “Can you,” said Miss Dismont. “You’d better ring the bell now, Mr. Carper. It’s time for us to go in.”

  “Fan of nutrition,” said John disgustedly. “What does he take us for?”

  “Yay! Ms. Early is back!”

  “We missed you, Ms. Early!”

  “It’s been crazy in here!”

  “I missed you, too, Room 11,” said Ms. Early. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  Tall and elegant, Ms. Early was Smashie and Dontel’s favorite teacher of all the teachers they had ever had. She had a tremendous amount of style and wore clothes that draped and whooshed as she moved about the room. But the best thing about Ms. Early was that she loved thinking as much as Smashie and Dontel did, and she believed firmly that all children should be encouraged and expected to think the best thoughts they could.

  “We have a lot to do,” she said now, standing before the class, “and I’d like us to have a good productive day of work. However”— she looked firmly at the children —“I know from Mrs. Armstrong that yesterday was less than perfect.”

  “It’s Billy’s fault!”

  “He’s gluing people!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Yeah!”

  “I am not!”

  Mrs. Early held up her hand.

  “No accusations,” she said. “That creates an atmosphere of suspicion and then no one can do his or her best work.”

  The children cast their eyes down.

  “And in addition to the gluing,” said Mrs. Early, “I was very sad to hear about Patches’s disappearance. I know you are all upset about that as well.”

  The class nodded.

  “Except for Smashie,” said Joyce.

  “I am too upset!” cried Smashie.

  “I’m sure you are,” said Ms. Early.

  “When I find out who took him —” said John.

  “I’m sure no one took him, John,” said Ms. Early. “I’m sure he just got out somehow. Some defect in the cage door, perhaps. We must all keep our eyes out for him today.”

  “But Smashie told us he had to have been stolen, Ms. Early,” said Jacinda.

  Ms. Early looked at Smashie.

  Smashie swallowed. “I might be wrong about that,” she said, uncomfortable with the fib but mindful of not blowing their cover as investigators. Her voice was rather strangled.

  “That’s not what you said yesterday,” said Charlene.

  “Yeah,” said Cyrus. “You went on and on about how Patches had no thumbs.”

  “Well, I think Smashie is right,” said Alonso. Smashie cast him a grateful look. “I think Patches was stolen!”

  “So do I,” said Charlene.

  “Me too!” said Siggie. “I was going to bring my guinea pig in to show the class, but I’m not now.”

  “I don’t blame you,” said Willette.

  “It’s awful to know that something bad could happen any minute in Room 11!” cried Joyce. “We could be glued or . . . or . . . hamstered . . . or worse!”

  “Children,” said Ms. Early, “this is exactly what I mean by creating a culture of suspicion and blame. Why, we’ve worked all year so far to make a wonderful community. Let’s not spoil that now with false accusations and worry.”

  The children subsided, although they still eyed one another uneasily.

  “Sorry, Ms. Early.”

  “You’re right, Mrs. Early.”

  Smashie and Dontel exchanged glances.

  “We had better solve this case soon,” muttered Dontel. “Before Room 11 is messed up forever.”

  “And I must say, I am dismayed and disappointed at your behavior yesterday,” Mrs. Early continued. “I like to think my students are well behaved and focused on learning, whether I am with them or not. Mrs. Armstrong will be in before morning break to discuss things further, and together we will discuss consequences for Room 11.”

  John coughed and counted. Once again, five children turned wide, staring eyes on Billy, who, if anything, looked even paler and more ill than he had the day before.

  “Howsomever,” Ms. Early continued, looking in puzzlement at the starers, “you know I do not believe in holding grudges. So I think we should all put the whole situation to one side until Mrs. Armstrong comes to meet with us.”

  “I think that’s a great idea, Ms. Early,” said Jacinda.

  “We will focus on our work,” said Ms. Early. “And those of you who are staring, cut it out this minute, please.”

  The starers stopped.

  “Grr,” said John.

  “Good hard work,” said Ms. Early robustly. “That will get us back to normal. Where are my third-grade scientists?”

  “Right here, Ms. Early!” the children cried.

  “Excellent,” said Ms. Early. “Then let’s start building our pinhole cameras!”

  “Hooray!”

  “You’ll work in pairs and help each other make your cameras. Cyrus, please pass out the instructions. Alonso, please distribute the oatmeal cartons.”

  The children leaped to get ready.

  Ms. Early appeared at Smashie’s elbow. “Smashie,” said Ms. Early in a low voice, “what kind of suit is that?”

  “Well,” said Smashie, looking at her feet, “it is kind of a complicated suit. To help me think.”

  “I see,” said Ms. Early. She raised her eyebrows slightly but said nothing more.

  “I feel terrible,” Smashie whispered to Dontel. “I feel like I am fibbing! And I think Ms. Early might be onto us.”

  “I don’t think she is,” said Dontel. “But I think she is worried that you might have plans.”

  “Well, I do,” said Smashie.

  Alonso came by their table with the box of oatmeal cartons. “Thanks, Alonso,” said Dontel. He took the containers with his and Smashie’s names as them.

  “No, thank you for helping me get unstuck yesterday,” said Alonso earnestly. His hand, recovered from the gluing and Smashie’s and Dontel’s arduous ministrations, still looked a little raw. “That Billy!”

  It was clear that despite Ms. Early’s words, many still shared Alonso’s sentiments. Over at his table, the kids were all paired up for work except Billy, who sat alone, twirling his pencil unhappily over his page of instructions.

  “He looks like he feels pretty bad,” said Dontel.

  “Well, I haven’t heard him say sorry,” said Alonso grimly. “He’s got to learn when he’s taken his pranks too far!”

  “Yes,” said Dontel, “but I kind of think he’s telling the truth when he says it wasn’t him.”

  “Tchah,” said Alonso.

 
; The door to the classroom swung open.

  “Hello, kids.” It was Miss Dismont. She smiled across the room at Ms. Early. “Glad to see you’re back on your feet,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Ms. Early smiled. “Me too.”

  “Are your students in gym, Miss Dismont?” Smashie asked.

  “They certainly are,” said Miss Dismont. “I’m getting the room ready for our math explorations. And after that we’re starting our unit on cartography! I’m very excited.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Cyrus.

  “Aren’t you going to wear your kangaroo brooch for math, Miss Dismont?” asked Smashie. “You always do.”

  “Well, I want to, Smashie,” said Miss Dismont. “That’s why I’m here. Ms. Early, you haven’t seen my brooch, have you? I’ve looked all over this morning and can’t put my hands on it. I’m heartbroken. My brother gave that to me for Christmas years ago.”

  “I haven’t seen it,” said Ms. Early. “But don’t worry. It’ll turn up. Things always do.”

  “That’s true, Miss Dismont,” said Smashie fervently. “I lose things most every day and I almost always find them again.”

  “Thanks, Smashie,” said Miss Dismont. “I’ll hold out hope. I’m sure it got into one of my schoolbags. Well, I’d better be off to pick up my class. And I’ll be by after lunch to borrow that map, Ms. Early, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course,” said Ms. Early.

  “Thank you. Good-bye, Room 11!”

  “Good-bye, Miss Dismont!”

  “Ms. Early!” said Jacinda. “It’s just like Joyce said! Now Miss Dismont’s brooch has been stolen!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Children!” Mrs. Early’s voice was sharp. “You are jumping to silly conclusions and I will not have it. What happened to using your heads? Are you going to think there is a thief in our midst every time a pencil goes missing?”

  “No, Ms. Early.”

  “No, Ms. Early.”

  “Then settle back to work. My heavens.”

  The children cut and measured and snipped, but some of them were still muttering.