by Dan Poblocki
“So I guess you are into stuff like that,” said Sylvester.
“If you mean ‘really cool stuff,’ I guess I am.” He puffed out his chest. “And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll invite you next time. A fine cultural experience might do you some good,” he said, nudging his friend’s shoulder. “Anyway, after the show and a late dinner, Times Square was a little bit quieter than I’m used to. My dad and I were walking up Broadway back to his apartment when this big, burly guy totally knocked into me. I nearly fell over. The plastic bag he’d been carrying slipped out of his hand and fell to the sidewalk. A glass bottle inside the bag shattered. My dad and I paused as the man grunted in annoyance. He immediately scooped up the mess and tossed it in the nearest trash can. We started to walk away when the man called out at us, ‘Don’t tell me you’re not even going to apologize!’
“I could tell my father was biting his tongue, since the man was the one who’d crashed into me. But my dad managed to politely apologize, and we continued to walk away.
“‘That’s not good enough,’ the man called out. ‘You owe me another juice.’ Not wanting to cause any trouble, my dad said, ‘Fine. How much?’
“The guy didn’t hesitate. ‘Fifty bucks.’”
“Fifty dollars?” said Viola. “What kind of juice was it?”
“That’s what I wondered,” said Woodrow. “The man explained that he’d just come from his gym. And he looked like it. He had huge muscles. He told us that the juice had been a special shake with protein powder and all sorts of exotic vitamins in it. That’s why it cost so much money.
“Not wanting to hand over a wad of money on the street, my dad offered to walk to the man’s gym to buy him another one. The guy agreed and then told us that his gym was all the way over on Eleventh Avenue.”
“That’s practically the Hudson River,” said Sylvester.
Woodrow nodded. “My dad started to get nervous. I could tell he didn’t want to follow a stranger anywhere. But we were scared that if we just tried to walk away, he’d follow us home. And there were no cops around—believe me, I looked. Because as we stood there, something about the situation felt strange.”
“You think?” said Viola.
“It started to stink … like a scam. This guy just happened to bump into me on a nearly deserted street. He just happened to drop the drink he was carrying. It just happened to be a really expensive drink that was only available four avenue blocks away. I knew we needed to figure out a way to outwit this guy, to prove that he was lying. Suddenly, it came to me. All I needed was right there on the street with me. Do you guys know how I called his bluff?”
“The broken juice bottle?” asked Rosie.
Woodrow nodded. “Nonchalantly, I wandered over to the trash can where the man had tossed his plastic bag. ‘What was the brand of your drink?’ I asked. ‘Maybe we can find it at a store around here instead.’ My dad threw me a look that said I should keep quiet, but it was too late. I’d already pulled a piece of the man’s bottle from the bag. The label revealed that the supposedly expensive protein drink was actually an ordinary bottle of apple juice.”
“Whoa,” said Rosie. “What did he do then?”
“The guy knew he’d been caught. He took a few steps away, mumbled ‘never mind,’ and took off around the corner.
“My dad made me promise to let him handle that sort of thing from now on. But he did buy me an apple juice on the way home to reward me for my detective work. It cost a lot less than fifty bucks!”
6
A NO LONGER SECRET SOCIETY
Early the next day, Sylvester, Viola, Woodrow, and Rosie were called to Principal Dzielski’s office. Together, they sat nervously and waited in silence for what felt like too long. Had they done something wrong, they wondered?
Finally, Ms. Dzielski swung the door open and strode into the room. She wore a brown tweed pencil skirt and a white blouse with ruffles running down the front. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, which made her usually kind face look severe and a bit older than her fifty years. “Hello there” was all she said. She crossed briskly to her desk and sat down. She folded her hands and leaned forward.
Viola’s heart raced. She tried to plan a counterargument in case Ms. Dzielski accused them of misconduct. Sylvester’s mouth had gone dry. All he could think about was the water fountain in the hallway just outside the office. Rosie simply sat still. There was no reason to jump to conclusions. Right? And Woodrow thought about the video game he’d been playing the night before, trying to come up with a solution for beating the horde of bad guys who’d kept defeating his character: Razmore, the Drab.
“I understand you four have made a name for yourselves,” said Ms. Dzielski at last. She smiled. “Congratulations. I read the article in the Herald.”
“Thanks,” said Viola, tentatively speaking for the entire group.
“I was thinking it might be a fun idea to have you all talk to your peers about your experience. What do you say?”
The four glanced at one another, unsure what to think. Sylvester spoke up. “You mean, like, in the auditorium?”
“Absolutely,” said Ms. Dzielski. “It would be inspiring for the other students to hear how you figured out the clues in the clocks.”
“But everybody already read about it in the newspaper,” said Woodrow. “Why do we have to talk about it even more?”
“Well … you don’t have to.” The principal leaned back. She looked at him as if she wanted to peek inside his head. “I thought maybe you’d like to share —”
“I don’t really want to,” Woodrow interrupted. The rest of the group stared at him in shock. “We’re a secret society.”
“Secret society?” Ms. Dzielski chuckled. “There’s nothing secret about you kids anymore.”
“We’ll think about it, Ms. Dzielski,” said Rosie, trying to smooth over Woodrow’s rudeness.
The principal stared at them for a moment. “Fair enough,” she said. She looked as if she were about to let them go, when, wearing a curious expression, she asked, “How much do you really know about the Timekeepers of Moon Hollow?”
None of the group knew what to say. The question hinted that there was more to the clock clues than what they had learned. Viola was the one to speak up. “We know what we told the newspapers.” She blinked, and with a careful, blank tone added, “Why? Do you know something else about them?”
Ms. Dzielski sat up straight. “Me?” She took a deep breath, and something hidden deep inside her seemed to shift. She smiled again. “I just really wish you would consider sharing your story with the rest of the school. This town needs more kids like you.”
After the principal dismissed the group, they paused in the quiet hallway. “Is something wrong?” Viola asked Woodrow. “I thought we all agreed it was okay to talk about what we found.”
Woodrow crossed his arms. “I guess I just didn’t expect people to pay so much attention. Everyone has been staring at me all day long.”
“I thought you liked the girls staring at you,” said Rosie, raising an eyebrow.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. This whole thing is … strange. I liked it better when it was just ours.”
“But you didn’t feel this way yesterday,” Sylvester said.
Woodrow was quiet for a moment. Then he shrugged. “When I got home last night, my mom and her new boyfriend, Bill, were sitting on the couch watching television. Bill started asking me all sorts of questions. About the Timekeepers. About our mystery club. I didn’t want to answer him. Then, I realized I didn’t want to answer anyone.”
“I’m sorry,” said Viola, feeling especially guilty. “I had no idea this was going to weird you out. I wouldn’t have let my mom write about us in the paper.”
“What’s going to happen when Darlene’s interview with us is finally published?” Sylvester asked.
“How about we just forget it for now,” Rosie suggested. “We still have our mysteries. Let’s focus on thos
e and ignore the rest of it. Okay?”
The group agreed that their mysteries would belong to them and only them, no matter who asked.
7
THE MYSTERY OF THE BROWNIE BANDIT
(A ??? MYSTERY)
By the end of the week, school gossip had begun in full force. Each member of the group was suddenly very popular at lunch. Everyone wanted to sit with them, which was nice at first, but by Friday afternoon, even Viola, who had the gift of gab, was tired of it—especially after the group pact to keep the mysteries to themselves. The four desperately needed a distraction.
After school, the group gathered at the Knox house, sitting on the floor in Woodrow’s bedroom. Before Viola had a chance to call the meeting to order, Sylvester began scratching at his ankles. “What’s wrong with you?” Woodrow asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Sylvester, pulling up the cuff of his jeans. “I’ve been really itchy lately.”
“Whoa,” said Rosie, examining a row of red bumps running up Sylvester’s leg. “You’ve been bitten.”
“Bitten?” said Woodrow. “By what?”
“I’m not sure,” said Rosie. “It doesn’t look like a mosquito. And a spider bite would hurt, not itch. Maybe strange insects live in that basement of yours. Have you ever heard of tiger crickets?”
“No …,” Sylvester answered slowly. “Do I want to?”
“Of course! I could come over and help you track them down. I’ll bring my biology kit to collect samples.”
“Uh, great,” said Sylvester, trying to put the thought out of his head. He pulled his pant cuff down tightly and squeezed his ankle.
“So what did you want to tell us, Viola?” Woodrow asked.
“My mom was listening to the police scanner yesterday,” Viola said, perking up. “I wanted to share her story with you guys to see what you thought.”
“Go ahead,” said Sylvester. “Shoot.”
“You guys know Naomi’s Bakery on Main Street, right?” said Viola.
“I love their chocolate chip cookies,” said Rosie, her eyes lighting up.
“Their brownies are even better,” said Sylvester, still tugging at his pant cuff. “In fact, that’s where my parents buy their baked goods for the diner.”
“Those brownies are award-winning,” Woodrow chimed in, his eyes glassy as he pictured them. “They’re gooey and fluffy at the same time, with an almost-crisp top. I wish we had some right now.”
“We sell out every day,” Sylvester continued. “And my mom says that Naomi Klipkin is really protective of her recipes. Supposedly her grandmother left them to her and only her. She doesn’t share them with anyone. In fact, she told my mom that she keeps her recipe-card box locked up in a safe at the bakery.”
Viola sighed. “It’s interesting that you mention that, because according to my mom, someone has broken into her store several times this week.”
“Oh no,” said Rosie. “That’s terrible. Did they steal a lot of money?”
“Not money,” said Viola. “Brownies!”
“Someone has been stealing the brownies from Naomi’s Bakery?” Woodrow asked, baffled. “What is wrong with people?”
Sylvester laughed. “The brownies are that good!”
Viola continued. “Three mornings this week, Naomi came into work and found that the trays of brownies she’d baked late the night before were empty. There was no sign of forced entry. The bandit had left only crumbs.
“Naomi’s sister, Sadie, who works at the bakery, lives across the street. She has a perfect view of the entrance. On the third morning, Sadie claimed that she saw someone coming out of the front door carrying a large parcel. She presumed it was a box filled with brownies.”
“Did she say who the person was?” said Woodrow.
“Sadie claimed it was Vernon Haynes, the owner of the only other bakery in town. His store, Moon Hollow Sweets, is over on Spencer Street.”
“A bakery rivalry!” Sylvester proclaimed. “Of course!”
“Sadie accused Vernon of stealing Naomi’s goods so that he could analyze them and acquire the recipe to drive her out of business,” said Viola.
“That’s quite an accusation,” said Rosie.
“So what did Vernon have to say for himself?” Woodrow asked.
“He told police that anyone with half a brain would know that Sadie was lying,” said Viola.
“But how?” asked Sylvester.
Rosie spoke up. “If Vernon wanted to get his hands on Naomi’s brownies, he wouldn’t have had to steal them once, let alone three times in a week. All he’d have to do is buy some.”
“Exactly,” said Viola. “And the police weren’t buying Sadie’s story either. They believed she was jealous of Naomi’s business and was trying to sabotage it.”
“But what proof did they have?” asked Woodrow.
“Sadie claimed she saw Vernon coming out of the store carrying the parcel of brownies,” said Rosie. “But if he’d done that, he would have left some sort of evidence of breaking in, right? Since the brownies disappeared without any signs of forced entry, they knew the thief had access to the store.”
“Sadie works there, so she must have a key,” said Sylvester. “Since she lives across the street, she could get in and out late at night without anyone noticing.”
“Yeah,” said Woodrow, “but I still don’t understand why she would do it. Stealing the award-winning brownies from her sister isn’t necessarily going to put Naomi out of business, right?”
“True,” said Viola. “But stealing the brownies might have provided a distraction from what Sadie really wanted to get her hands on. Can you guess what it was?”
“The recipes!” shouted Rosie.
“You got it,” said Viola. “After searching Sadie’s apartment, the police found the recipe box, which she had taken from the bakery’s safe. In all the confusion with the missing brownies, no one thought to look for what else might have been missing.”
“She’d stolen the recipes and the brownies?” Sylvester said, almost impressed.
“Faced with overwhelming evidence of her guilt, Sadie confessed,” said Viola. “She admitted she was sick of her sister getting praise for something that their grandmother had invented. She claimed that her grandmother had left those recipes to the both of them, and that Naomi had no right to lock them away from her. She figured that if she blamed Vernon Haynes for stealing the brownies, then when Naomi eventually discovered that her recipe box was missing too, Vernon would look responsible for all of it. By then it would be too late. She’d planned on distributing the recipes online.”
“Wow,” said Sylvester. “I bet Naomi had no idea she had a complete stranger working with her.”
“And her own sister too,” Rosie added.
“Yeah, just awful,” said Woodrow. “That story made me hungry…. Hey, who wants a snack?”
8
THE PINE TREE ABDUCTIONS
(A ??? MYSTERY)
A few minutes later, the smell of popcorn filled the kitchen where the group now gathered. Woodrow opened the microwave’s door moments before the kernels inside the bag might have burned. He was a pro at this.
“My mom told me a story last night,” said Woodrow, bringing the popcorn to the kitchen table. “She thought this would be a good one to share with you guys. She said that at work recently, she’s been investigating this one particular area of the park that is filled with pine trees. Over the past month, someone has been cutting them down.”
“That’s horrible!” said Rosie through a mouthful of kernels.
“I know. And totally illegal. She said that when a colleague was patrolling an area up in the hills, he noticed that there were freshly cut stumps. The trees themselves were missing. Stolen. The next time my mom and her colleague went up to the area, the thieves had taken even more.”
“How would someone do that?” asked Sylvester. “Steal a tree.”
“With a big truck,” Viola suggested.
“But it’s e
asy enough to buy lumber,” said Rosie. “Why steal it?”
“I guess it can get expensive if you need a lot of it,” said Viola. “I mean, why do people usually steal things?”
“Because they can’t afford it?” asked Sylvester.
“That’s what my mom figured,” said Woodrow. “So she and her coworkers put their heads together to think about what someone might do with large tree trunks.”
“You can chop them up!” said Sylvester. “Turn them into boards to build houses.”
“Sure,” said Woodrow. “That was one of their theories. They checked all the local construction sites. None of them were using the type of pine that had been stolen from the park.”
“What about for firewood?” suggested Rosie.
“That would be a LOT of firewood,” said Woodrow.
“Mulch?” Viola suggested. “People use wood chips in their yards for landscaping decoration.”
Woodrow nodded. “They thought of that too. All the local landscapers checked out as well. They had receipts and could prove where they got their supplies from. Eventually, my mom and her coworkers began to wonder if the thieves might have come in from out of town.”
Viola shook her head. “I don’t think so. Whoever it was must be from Moon Hollow.”
“Why do you think that?” asked Woodrow.
“You mentioned that the cuttings have occurred several times. If someone was coming in from outside this area to steal these trees, they would have to come back over and over. Someone would have recognized strange trucks passing through Moon Hollow, even if it was at night, don’t you think?”
“But even if it’s someone from town,” said Sylvester, “wouldn’t we all notice a truck with a huge pine tree tied to its bed?”
“Not if it was a type of truck we’re used to seeing,” said Viola. The group looked at her funny, waiting for her to continue.
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Rosie, “but I don’t remember ever seeing something like that.”
