The Case of the Locked Box

by Lewis B. Montgomery

  Jazz picked up a small brass padlock. “This is the kind that’s on the cashbox.”

  Milo took it from her. Two tiny keys hung from the lock. They looked just like the key on Jazz’s string. Hmm . . .

  “Can I help you?” the man behind the counter asked.

  Milo held up the padlock and keys. “Do these keys only open up this lock?”

  “What else are they supposed to do?” the man asked. “Sing and dance?”

  “No, I mean—suppose I had another lock just like this, but I lost the keys. Could I use these keys on that lock?”

  “Sorry,” the man said. “Those locks all look the same, but they’re not. Only one set of keys fits each lock.”

  So the lock at school could only have been opened using one of the two keys it came with, Milo thought.

  Or, of course—

  “How about picking it?” he asked.

  The man gave him a sharp glance. “Picking it?”

  “If we lost the key,” Jazz said hastily, elbowing Milo. “Could we open the lock with a paper clip or something?”

  “A paper clip?” The man looked offended. “This is a good lock for the price. Now, if you want to saw it off . . .”

  Milo laid the padlock on the counter, along with the cashbox they had chosen. “That’s okay. We’ll just buy a new one.”

  As the man rang up their order, he asked, “Lose keys a lot? I can make you extras in case you lose these too.”

  “You can?” Jazz asked.

  The man jerked his thumb toward a sign that said WE COPY KEYS. “As many as you want. Lowest price in town.” He laughed. “That’s a joke. We’re the only place in town that copies keys.”

  Milo and Jazz exchanged a glance.

  “Do you do a lot of those?” Jazz said. “Padlock keys, I mean?”

  Milo knew what she was thinking. Omar’s key had been home with him all week—but what about before this week? Had the thief sneaked off with Omar’s key and made a copy?

  But the hardware man shook his head. “Can’t remember the last time anyone brought one in. Two’s usually enough. And padlocks are cheap to replace.”

  Not that cheap, Milo thought as they handed over a month’s allowance for the cashbox and the lock.

  As they left the hardware store, Jazz said, “It sounds like nobody could have opened that locked box without the key. I’m almost starting to believe I did it!”

  Something was nagging at Milo. Something that the hardware man had said. But what?

  Pushing the thought aside, he patted Jazz’s shoulder.

  “Somebody broke into that cashbox,” he said. “So we know it can be done. And I’m going to find out how.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Milo rubbed his hands over his face and tried to focus on what his teacher was saying. He couldn’t stop yawning. He’d stayed up late trying everything he could think of to break into their locked box. He’d even tried the paper clip.

  But he couldn’t do it. At least, not without smashing the lock, knocking off the latch, or wrecking the whole box. And none of those things had happened to the box that had held the money.

  Hoping he’d think of something during school, Milo had brought the model cashbox in and stashed it in his desk. But he hadn’t gotten any new ideas. And every time he looked at it, he felt more frustrated. Somebody knew how to open it without a key. That somebody just wasn’t him.

  Hmm . . .

  Maybe he was doing this all wrong. What he needed was expert help!

  As soon as he had free time, he slipped to the computer at the back of the room. He typed in lock picking and scanned the search results.

  Bingo!

  “There’s only one possible answer,” Milo told Jazz when they met at recess to walk to the trial. “Sneek!”

  Jazz looked confused. “Huh?”

  “S-N-E-E-K,” Milo spelled out. “It’s a Dutch town where they hold the world lock-picking championship.”

  “There’s a championship for that?” Jazz asked.

  He nodded. “I found it online.”

  “Don’t they all get arrested?”

  “No, they just do it as a hobby. They’re not allowed to pick anyone else’s lock without permission.”

  Jazz frowned. “What are you saying? You think someone at our school is a secret lock-picking champion?”

  “Hey, you never know,” Milo said. “We’ve got kids with skills. What about that second grader who can burp the whole alphabet song?”

  Jazz stopped and looked at him. “Is that what you’re going to tell the jury?”

  Milo grinned. “No. But I learned something else about lock picking. Something I do want to tell the jury.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I found out that it’s easy to tell if a lock’s been picked. No matter how good someone is at picking locks, they always leave scratches or dents.”

  Jazz lit up. “So if the lock has marks, that shows the thief didn’t use a key!”

  “Which means anybody could have done it,” Milo agreed. “Not just you.”

  He couldn’t hold in the grin that spread across his face. Once he proved the lock was picked, the trial would be over. There might even be time for a game of foursquare before recess ended.

  As they rounded the corner to the classroom where the trial would be held, a buzz of voices spilled out into the hall.

  “I heard she used the money to buy her pet pig a solid gold tiara!”

  Jazz froze.

  “A diamond collar is what I heard. Maybe the tiara was for her.”

  “That’s silly,” someone else said. “Jazz doesn’t wear stuff like that. Anyway, it was her idea to raise money for the garden in the first place.”

  “I bet she planned it all along!”

  The sound of Chelsea’s voice seemed to make Jazz’s feet come unstuck from the hallway floor. She marched into the classroom, head held high.

  As Milo followed her in, Chelsea was telling everyone, “Now that I’m going to be president—”

  “What do you mean, you’re going to be president?” Jazz demanded.

  The room fell silent.

  Folding her arms, Chelsea faced Jazz. “That’s what happens when a president’s a crook. The president gets kicked out, and the vice president is the new president.”

  “I am not a crook!” Jazz said.

  Chelsea and Jazz glared at each other.

  Just then, the principal came in with an older girl. The girl was carrying the locked cashbox and a wooden gavel. Milo realized she must be the judge.

  The principal sat down at the back of the room. The girl walked to the front, set the cashbox on the desk, and brought her gavel down.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  “Court is in session,” she announced.

  The students scrambled for seats. Milo moved toward the cashbox, but the judge pointed her gavel and said, “Sit!” He sat.

  Before starting the trial, the judge chose the jury by picking twelve names out of a bag. The jury members took their places to the side.

  The judge scanned the front of the classroom. “Where is the defendant?”

  Jazz raised her hand.

  “You are charged with stealing more than a hundred dollars of school garden money from this cashbox,” the judge announced. “How do you plead?”

  Milo stood. “My client pleads not guilty, your honor.”

  The judge explained that each side would make a short opening statement. Since Chelsea, as prosecutor, had to show that Jazz was guilty, she’d go first.

  Chelsea rose and turned to the jury. “It’s obvious Jazz did it. Everybody heard her say she was the only one at school who had the key.” She sat down, looking smug.

  “Defense?” the judge said.

  Milo stood.

  “Jazz was the only one with a key,” he said. “But the thief didn’t need a key. The lock was picked—and I can prove it.” He pointed at the cashbox on the desk. “May I, your honor?”

  The
judge nodded.

  Every eye in the room was on Milo as he peered at the dangling padlock.

  It didn’t have a single scratch.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Milo stared at the undamaged lock.

  The judge leaned over for a look. “What do you see?”

  “N-n-nothing,” Milo stammered. “But—but—that’s impossible!”

  He turned the padlock over, but there were no scratches or dents.

  Finally, the judge asked if he had anything else to say in Jazz’s defense. Miserably, Milo shook his head. As he slunk back to his seat, he saw the jury members whispering to each other.

  “Thanks anyway,” Jazz said. “It was a good idea.”

  It was more than just a good idea, Milo thought stubbornly. The lock must have been picked. How else could the money disappear from the locked box? Magic? This was Westview Elementary, not Hogwarts!

  The trial continued. Chelsea called Billy to the witness stand. He bounded to the front of the room, beaming.

  “It was your idea to put Jazz on trial,” Chelsea said. “Right?”

  Billy nodded.

  “So you think she stole the money.”

  He looked confused. “I never said . . .”

  “Did you say anybody else should be put on trial?” Chelsea pressed.

  “Well, no,” Billy admitted. “But—”

  “Jazz even said she was the only one who could have opened the cashbox. Didn’t she?”

  “I don’t think she meant—”

  “Answer the question!” Chelsea snapped. “Did you hear her say that?”

  Billy looked unhappy. “I guess I did.”

  Chelsea smiled. “I rest my case.”

  When the judge asked Milo if he had any questions for the witness, Milo said, “Billy, you know Jazz. Is she honest?”

  “Sure!” Billy said. Then he hesitated. “I mean . . . I always thought so, anyway.”

  Murmurs came from the jury.

  As Billy stepped down, he tossed Jazz an apologetic look.

  “Do you have any other witnesses?” the judge asked Chelsea.

  Smirking, Chelsea shook her head.

  The judge turned to Milo. “Your turn, then.”

  Milo’s mind raced. His whole plan for the trial had been to clear Jazz’s name by proving that a thief had picked the lock. Instead, he had made her look guiltier than ever.

  Now what?

  Everybody in the school knew Jazz. And everybody—almost everybody—liked her. If she said she was innocent, the jury members would believe her. Wouldn’t they?

  He stood. “Your honor, I call Jazz.”

  Jazz raised her hand and promised to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Then she sat in the witness chair beside the judge and gazed around the room.

  Answering Milo’s questions, she described everything that had happened, from putting away the locked cashbox full of money to opening it the next day and finding it empty.

  “Were you surprised?” Milo asked.

  “Of course I was surprised,” she said. “I was totally shocked!”

  It was time to ask.

  “So . . . you didn’t steal the money?”

  “NO!”

  Milo glanced at the jury. Some of them were giving Jazz skeptical looks. Others didn’t seem to want to meet her eyes.

  “Do you have any more questions?” the judge asked Milo.

  He swallowed. “No. That’s all.”

  It was Chelsea’s turn to question Jazz.

  Yes, Jazz said, she was sure she’d locked the cashbox. Yes, it was still locked the next day. Yes, she and Omar had the only keys.

  “And Omar’s been home sick,” Chelsea said. “Which means that you’re the only one who could have sneaked into the office when nobody was around, unlocked the box, and taken the school garden money. Right?” Before Jazz could answer, Chelsea turned to the jury. “It’s obvious she did it.”

  Jazz looked at Chelsea.

  “Obvious,” Jazz repeated slowly. “You keep saying that. But maybe it’s too obvious.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Chelsea demanded.

  “If I stole the money, why would I lock the cashbox afterward?” Jazz said. “The locked box makes me look guilty. All I had to do was break the lock or take the whole box. Then it would look as if anybody could have done it.”

  Milo wanted to cheer for his partner. Leave it to Jazz to think like a detective, no matter what!

  For an instant, Chelsea looked startled. Then she shrugged and said, “Too bad you didn’t think of that before you stole the money.”

  “I didn’t do it!” Jazz protested.

  Ignoring her, Chelsea faced the jury.

  “We know nobody picked the lock. He proved that.” She pointed at Milo, who winced.

  “And it didn’t just unlock itself,” Chelsea went on. “Someone unlocked it. Someone with a key. And there’s only one person that it could have been.”

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

  The bell rang for the end of recess. The principal stood and announced that they would finish the trial the next day, and kids began shuffling out.

  But Milo didn’t move.

  Chelsea was right, he thought. There was only one person who could have unlocked the box.

  And he was sure now who it was.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “You think Omar stole the money?” Jazz stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at Milo.

  Milo had waited impatiently all afternoon for school to let out so he could tell Jazz his idea.

  “Someone unlocked that cashbox! And we know it wasn’t you. It has to be the only other person with a key.”

  “But Omar hasn’t even been in school this week,” Jazz said.

  “That’s what he wants us to think,” Milo said. “But what if he’s been faking sick so he could sneak into school and steal the money?”

  “Omar? He’s so honest!”

  “Maybe he’s been faking honest, too.”

  “Milo . . .”

  “Can’t you see it?” Milo demanded. “The office lady goes out at dismissal time to help the kids get on their buses. Omar zips in. He takes the money, locks the box back up, and zoom—he’s out the door, and nobody knows he was there. Easy as pie.”

  “Somebody would see him going in or out,” Jazz said.

  “Sure, but they wouldn’t notice him with all the other kids milling around. And if they did, he could say he was going to the office to pick up the work he missed.”

  “What about his family?” Jazz said. “Wouldn’t he get caught leaving the house when he’s supposed to be sick?” “They might have gone out.”

  Jazz shook her head. “I just can’t believe Omar would steal the money. He’s super serious about his job as student council treasurer.”

  “At least we should question him,” Milo insisted.

  Jazz looked troubled, but agreed.

  When they reached Omar’s house, though, no one answered the doorbell. Milo pressed the button again and again.

  “Nobody’s home,” Jazz told him. Let’s go.”

  Disappointed, Milo trailed after her. At the corner, he glanced back. “Hey!”

  “What?” Jazz asked.

  He pointed. “There! At the window! On the second floor!”

  Just for a second, he had seen a face. Now it was gone.

  “I don’t see anything,” Jazz said.

  Milo ran back and pounded his fist on the door. He waited, but nobody came.

  Jazz pulled his sleeve. “Come on.”

  Frustrated, Milo let her lead him off. He’d seen Omar’s face at the window! He was sure of it!

  Now Milo was even more convinced of Omar’s guilt. Omar must have heard them knocking, but he hadn’t answered the door. If he was innocent, why would he hide from them?

  Milo knew so far he’d done a terrible job of defending Jazz. But tomorrow he’d do better. He would show the jury Omar had to be the thief.

>   He worked on his speech till bedtime, then again at breakfast the next morning. He left for school so late, he had to run all the way. He slid into his seat just as the bell rang.

  At recess, Jazz met him inside the trial room. He started to tell her about all the work he’d done, but she interrupted.

  “Omar’s back in school!”

  Milo couldn’t believe his ears. “Really?”

  Jazz nodded. “And—”

  “This is GREAT!” Milo cut in.

  He would call Omar to the stand. Confront him with his crime. Maybe he could surprise Omar into a confession, the way lawyers always did in trials on TV.

  “Listen, Milo—”

  He waved Jazz aside. “Not now, okay? I need to—”

  “Milo! Look!”

  He turned.

  Into the trial room, surrounded by his friends, came Omar . . . in a wheelchair.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I tried to tell you,” Jazz said. “See? He wasn’t faking.”

  All the kids who hadn’t already seen Omar crowded around, asking him what happened.

  “Fell out of a tree,” Omar explained. “Sprained both my ankles, so I can’t use crutches. I couldn’t even come to school until the wheelchair was delivered!”

  Milo’s mind reeled.

  Omar couldn’t possibly be the thief. With two sprained ankles, there was no way he could have sneaked out of his house and walked to school. And he certainly couldn’t have dashed into the office and run away with the money.

  But if Omar didn’t do it . . . who did?

  Omar wheeled up to Milo and Jazz. “That was you two at the door yesterday, wasn’t it? I heard you knocking, but I knew I’d never get downstairs in time.” He grinned. “I have to go bump, bump, bump on my butt.”

  “That’s okay,” Jazz said. “We just wanted to talk to you about the trial.”

  Omar’s grin faded. “I know you’re not the one who took that money, Jazz. That’s not the kind of thing that you would do.”

  “I’m glad you believe me,” Jazz said. “I wish they did.”

  Milo followed her gaze to the jury. What was he going to do? The trial was ending, and he hadn’t been able to knock a hole in the case against Jazz. Would she be found guilty while the real thief went free?