by N. Griffin
Once more the active door of Room 11 was flung open. Mr. Carper, as promised, was back.
“Don’t you want to step along to the teachers’ lounge for a coffee?” He beamed at Ms. Early. “Not very nice to sit alone in an empty —”
Then he noticed the children. He scowled.
“Oh,” he said. “They’re here? Shouldn’t they be outside for morning break?”
“We are having a silent indoor morning break, Mr. Carper,” said Ms. Early.
“Oh, that’s right. They’re being punished. Terrif.” He scowled. “Say, Ms. Early,” he said, flashing his smile once more, “you still look a little peaky. Not quite up to snuff. If you want to push along home, I’d be glad to take over for you. Had a grand time in here yesterday.”
“What?” squawked Joyce.
“Come again?” said Alonso.
“Aren’t you still with the kindergarten, Mr. Carper?” asked Ms. Early.
“Oh, we’ll smoosh your class in with them. The aide can handle it. What you need is rest. Out of here and home on the couch. Come on. Let’s get you packed up.”
“But he hates us,” said Charlene.
“Maybe he hates kindergarten more,” said Smashie to Dontel.
“I think,” said Dontel, eyeing Mr. Carper, “it’s more that he likes Ms. Early.”
“I’m quite well, thank you, Mr. Carper,” said Ms. Early, her tone clipped. “And I’m afraid we’ll have to chat another time. This really is supposed to be a silent recess.”
“I think you should forget that,” said Mr. Carper. “Take them outside to run around a little in the fresh air and give the germs a chance to air out of this place.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Oh, fine,” said the substitute. “I’ll come back at lunch.”
“Shoot, man,” John muttered as Mr. Carper left, “have some pride.”
Silent break was over, but the class’s mood had not improved.
Smashie and Dontel, subdued, hunched over their pinhole cameras once more.
“We have to solve this case, Smash,” said Dontel. “The whole class is furious with us.”
“I know.” Smashie was miserable. “I’m an awful investigator. I don’t deserve to wear this Investigation Suit.”
“Don’t talk like that, Smashie,” said Dontel. “Honest, our thinking was super. We were deducing stuff very logically. We were just wrong is all.”
“How are we ever going to solve it?” Smashie was in despair. “We are back to everybody having an alibi, and we have run out of kinds of motives!”
“Maybe the perpetrator is a scientist,” said Dontel. “Not a mad one. But maybe one who wants to study why hamsters have that kind of feet.”
Smashie shuddered.
Ms. Early addressed the class. “I know it will be a challenge for a few of you to finish your cameras without glue,” she said. “You will have to use tape as a temporary measure.” She drifted to a stop by Smashie and Dontel’s table. “I’m also noticing that a few of you still need to cut the aluminum foil for the aperture. I trust you and your partner to make good decisions about who should use the scissors. For example, if you know you struggle with sharp things, you could ask your partner —”
“Take the hint, Smashie,” Dontel muttered. “Pass me those clippers.”
Ms. Early, overhearing, nodded slightly.
Smashie’s face grew stormy. “I’d like to work the scissors, please.”
“Smashie —”
Smashie narrowed her eyes. “Pass me the scissors, please.”
Dontel did. Smashie cut.
The inevitable ensued.
“Ms. Early,” Dontel called, “I think Smashie needs to go to the nurse.”
“It’s just a little scrape,” said Smashie, showing Nurse Wattley her hurting finger. The worst of the throbbing had stopped, and there was just a small bead of blood gathering at the tip.
“That’s right. A one-Band-Aider this time, Smashie. Pick your poison.” The nurse held out the jar of Band Aids. Smashie choose a red one printed with balloons.
I need a cheerful Band-Aid, she thought, what with it being so terrible down in Room 11.
“Yow,” she said, flinching as Nurse Wattley put peroxide on her cut and wrapped her finger. “You must be sick of my class, Nurse Wattley.”
“Not really,” said the nurse. “Why should I be?”
“Billy in here yesterday, me today. We’re taking up a lot of your time.”
“Billy Kamarski?” Nurse Wattley threw away the Band-Aid wrapper. “He wasn’t in here yesterday. I haven’t had that boy in here all year.”
Smashie stared at her. Then she leaped from the table.
“Thank you, Nurse Wattley!” she cried.
“My Band-Aids are your Band-Aids, Smashie. But don’t run down the hall!”
But Smashie was too excited to walk, for, once again, she had solved the case of Patches, the missing hamster!
“Billy Kamarski?” Dontel whispered incredulously as Smashie arrived breathlessly back at Room 11. “Billy stole Patches?”
The class was cleaning up and getting ready to line up for lunch.
“Yes!” Smashie whispered back fiercely. There was no time to lose. “His alibi is a sham! He never went to the nurse yesterday at all!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Smashie!”
“I know!”
“He lied!”
“Yes!” Smashie leaped about. “It all fits, Dontel! Who was the one who was so eager to give Willette his own oatmeal carton?”
“Billy!”
“Yes! And not because he wanted the class to think he was nice —”
“But because he used hers to smuggle out Patches!”
“Yes! And Billy walks home after school, so at the end of the day, he could have doubled back just as easy as Willette to pick Patches up from his hiding place by Mr. Bloom’s office.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Smash.” But Dontel’s happy grin turned to puzzlement. “Why, though? Do you think it was just a prank?”
“I suppose so,” said Smashie. “Only, I keep thinking about what we were saying yesterday. He really isn’t acting like he usually does after a prank.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
“Well, maybe he got overwhelmed with this on top of the glue thing or something. I don’t know why he did it,” said Smashie, drawing herself up. “But I do know that, this time, we’re right.”
“So what’ll we do?” asked Dontel.
“Tax Billy with his crimes!”
“I am a little nervous about that,” Dontel admitted. “It didn’t go so well when we taxed Willette.”
“It will this time,” said Smashie confidently. “We had better bring our Investigation Notebooks to lunch, Dontel. You can put yours in one of my pouches if you want.”
The class was in the hallway, ready to file to the cafeteria. Miss Dismont’s class was just ahead of them.
“Did you find that brooch, Miss Dismont?” asked Ms. Early.
“Nope,” said Miss Dismont sadly. “But we managed to have math without it.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” said Ms. Early.
“Thanks.”
As the two women spoke, Smashie and Dontel sidled up to Billy. Now he stood sandwiched between them in line, his lunch bag clutched in his hands.
“Hello, Billy,” said Smashie darkly.
“How are you, Billy?” asked Dontel in equally dolorous tones.
“Fine.” Billy licked his lips. “What’s going on? Why are you two looking at me like that?”
“We’d like to sit with you today, Billy,” said Smashie.
“You would?” Billy asked cautiously. “Why?”
“We just would,” said Dontel.
“We think we could have a good conversation with you.”
“About what?” Billy quivered. His face, already pale, grew paler still.
Smashie fixed him wi
th a look. This was no time for sympathy. She deepened her voice. “Various things.”
“Okay, Room 11,” Ms. Early called. “Here we go.”
But before she could turn to lead the line of children to the cafeteria, a hand appeared over her shoulder and tapped it. Ms. Early sprang into the air and whirled around.
It was Mr. Carper.
“Dude,” muttered John.
Ms. Early wilted. “You startled me, Mr. Carper,” she said.
“My apologies.” Mr. Carper looked at the key in her hand. “You haven’t locked up, have you?”
“Yes,” said Ms. Early. “I am through with having drama in Room 11. Nobody is getting into that room while we are out.”
“Is that really necessary?” Mr. Carper glanced through the window in the door to the back of the room. “Haven’t all of your hamsters already been taken?”
He chuckled.
Ms. Early did not.
“Hey, hey, hey,” said Mr. Carper, laying a hand on her arm. “Whoa. Hold up.”
“Mr. Carper,” said Ms. Early, “we are in a hurry. All right, class. File.”
Mr. Carper released her arm and stepped aside to let the children pass, banging his fist gently on the locked door.
Behind Smashie, Willette sniffed. “Those had better be some good cupcakes, Smashie.”
“They are,” Smashie promised. “I really am sorry, Willette. With any luck, I’ll have something even better than cupcakes for you by the end of lunch, too.”
Smashie and Dontel herded Billy to a small table in the back of the cafeteria. He sat between them, facing front, while they straddled the bench on either side of him.
“We know what you did, Billy,” said Smashie into his right ear.
“We have evidence and everything,” said Dontel into his left. “The jig is up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But Billy’s mouth trembled as he spoke, and he crumbled a lemon square in his fingers. “Is this about the glue?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” said Smashie. “This is about Patches.”
The lemon square fell from Billy’s fingers.
“We know you were not with Nurse Wattley at lunchtime yesterday,” said Smashie.
“And we know you smuggled Patches out of Room 11 in Willette’s oatmeal carton.”
“We even found the spot by Mr. Bloom’s trailer where you hid him until the end of the day.”
Billy’s shoulders sagged. “I didn’t mean to take Willette’s carton,” he whispered. “I thought I grabbed mine.”
“So you admit you are the swiper of Patches?” said Smashie.
“Yes,” Billy said dully. “You got me.”
“But why did you do it, Billy?” asked Dontel. “Why would you bother pulling another prank?”
“It wasn’t a prank!” Billy whipped his head back and forth to look at them both. “I had to do it! Don’t you see? Didn’t you see the way he looked at him?”
“Who?” asked Dontel.
“Mr. Carper!” Billy’s voice was anguished. “He kept saying how awful Patches was! He kept saying he couldn’t stand hamsters and that Patches was disgusting!”
“Well, not everybody likes hamsters, Billy,” said Dontel. “Smashie here, for example —”
“Dontel.”
“Sorry, Smash.”
“Smashie doesn’t like Patches a regular amount,” said Billy. “But Mr. Carper really hates him.” He gulped and his face creased with anguish. “Didn’t you see how he kept glaring at him and snarling at him and wouldn’t let any of us near him? And even after he said we weren’t allowed near Patches’s cage, he kept making mean faces in Patches’s direction. It was like he wanted to get rid of him right then! I couldn’t leave the poor little guy in there with a creep like that. I didn’t trust Mr. Carper not to do something awful. When he said he had fed Patches after we came back from Mrs. Armstrong’s office”— Billy shook his head —“I didn’t believe him. I hated the thought of Patches going hungry! And then I worried that if Mr. Carper really did feed him —” Billy broke off, biting his lip. “I couldn’t help but think that maybe he had poisoned him.”
“Billy,” Smashie said kindly, “I think you have let your imagination run away with you.” It was nice to be the one saying that to someone else, rather than having it said to her.
“I think so, too,” said Dontel.
“I know how it is,” said Smashie. “Don’t feel bad. I do it all the time.”
Billy’s eyes were haggard. He shook his head. “But Mr. Carper really is awful,” he said. “All he cares about is his hair!”
“Where is Patches now?’” asked Dontel.
“Behind the equipment bin outside the gym,” Billy admitted. “I brought him back to school today. I was going to put him back in his cage, but then we had silent morning break again, and also Mr. Carper keeps coming by our room —”
“I’ll say,” said Dontel.
“And I just couldn’t take the chance.” Billy gulped and lowered his eyes. “I was going to return him when the coast was clear — honest.”
“I bet you hoped that everyone would be so happy Patches was back that they would stop being mad at you, too,” said Smashie.
Billy hesitated, then nodded. “It stinks when everybody is mad at you.”
“We know,” said Smashie sadly. “But it is no fun to be glued, either,” she added, remembering how hard it had been to unstick Alonso.
Billy’s shoulders sagged. “I’ve told you — that wasn’t me,” he said.
“Tchah,” said Smashie.
“You don’t have any proof it was him, Smash,” said Dontel. “And I for one really don’t think it was.”
“Thank you,” Billy said.
“No wonder you’ve looked so awful, Billy,” said Dontel. “First people are angry because they think you are the gluer, and all the while you were worried about your plan for Patches. And then you had to worry about getting caught.”
“Yes,” said Billy. “I’ve been worried about Patches this whole entire time.” He looked at them in despair. “Are you going to rat me out?”
“Heck,” said Dontel. “It’s not like you took Patches for a bad reason. You were only trying to protect him. Right, Smashie?”
Billy looked at them hopefully. “Please, you guys. The kids’ll hate me forever if they find out.”
“You really love Patches, don’t you?” Dontel asked.
“Yes,” Billy said in a low voice. “Almost Too Much.”
“What do you think, Smashie?”
Smashie stared across the lunchroom.
“There is more than one mystery afoot here is what I think,” she said slowly.
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” said Dontel. “Two mysteries. The Patches mystery and the glue mystery. And now that we’ve solved the Patches mystery, we have to work on the glue one. I —”
But Smashie’s gaze remained faraway. “No,” she said. “That is not our priority.” She stood up. “I am going to the teachers’ lounge this minute.”
“Why?” asked Dontel.
“To ask Ms. Early if I can convene a court of law in Room 11 after recess!”
“A court of law?” Dontel was incredulous. Billy uttered a low cry and clutched his head. “Why?”
“Because stealing is wrong, of course!” Smashie cried, swinging her gaze to the boys at last. “People who steal ought to get their comeuppance!”
“Smashie!” cried Dontel.
“Come on!” said Smashie, grabbing up her lunch box. “There’s no time to lose!”
Stunned, Dontel only shook his head.
“Fine!” cried Smashie. “If you don’t care that two out of three mysteries are finally solved —”
“Three mysteries?” cried Dontel. “What do you mean, three?”
But Smashie was already gone, Billy’s despondent sobs sounding behind her.
Smashie sped around the corner and immediately met a little knot of adults heading he
r way. The group included Mrs. Armstrong and a stout, older woman with an extremely complex hairdo, whom Smashie recognized as Mrs. True, come to attend the TrueYum Grocery Mart nutrition assembly scheduled for one o’clock.
“We are so grateful for your sponsorship of this assembly,” Mrs. Armstrong was saying to Mrs. True as Smashie neared. “As you are the town’s foremost woman of business, it means the world to have your imprimatur on our nutritional studies.”
Mrs. True smiled in a queenly way. “It is my pleasure,” she said. “We at the TrueYum want only what is best for the kiddies.”
“Too kind,” murmured the knot of adults. “Too humble.”
It would be terrible to get into trouble right now, Smashie thought, and forced herself to slow to a rapid walk, her arms and legs scissoring hectically toward the teachers’ lounge.
“I trust that the actors playing the Kumquat and the Honeydew Melon have arrived?” asked Mrs. True as Smashie passed the group.
“Yes,” Mrs. Armstrong replied. “As has the entire troupe of Asparagus Dancers.”
“Splendid.”
Arriving at the teachers’ lounge at last, Smashie beat a loud tattoo on its door and poured her wishes into Ms. Early’s wary ear.
“No,” said Ms. Early firmly. “After the accusations you made this morning, I’m not inclined to let you wreak more havoc in Room 11, Smashie.”
“Please, Ms. Early! Please!”
“I said no, Smashie. Who are you accusing now?”
“I will reveal all at the trial, Ms. Early! I promise! I just know I am not making a mistake this time!”
“You thought you were right last time, too,” Ms. Early pointed out.
“Yes,” Smashie admitted, “but —”
Ms. Early held up a hand. “No,” she said. “I’m sure you mean well, Smashie, but I will not risk more children having their feelings hurt. Room 11 is in enough upheaval as it is.”
“That is why I want to do this! I want to un-upheaval us!”
“No,” said Ms. Early again, her voice even more emphatic. “And let this be the end of it, Smashie. You don’t want your classmates even angrier, do you?” With a warning look, Ms. Early closed the door to the teachers’ lounge.
Smashie stared at the door, anguished. What could she do? Ms. Early was resolute.
