“Well, don’t look at me,” said Chuck. “I didn’t take it either. I went to the boys’ room and it was gone when I got back. Ask Megan, here she comes—she was here when I got back and the box was already gone.”
Megan and Jennifer came back inside followed closely by Tyrone—he’d stopped talking about Megan’s arm falling off or strange diseases attacking her. Megan had a more normal-looking bandage on her hand this time. Chuck waved at them to come over.
“Megan, tell them that I was in the restroom when the money box disappeared.”
Megan snorted a laugh. “I can’t tell them that. The money box wasn’t even on the table when I got here.”
“Yes, it was!” Thorny almost shouted. “I just closed it when you asked about a purple T-shirt.”
“Well, I don’t remember. But I wasn’t looking for a money box. I just wanted a purple shirt.”
“You were the only one here when the box disappeared.” Thorny’s voice trembled as he spoke. I think he felt the evidence piling up against him, even though Whiz had already said he didn’t do it.
“Nobody else was at the table,” huffed the high schooler. “And I didn’t see any money box.”
“But you were here when it vanished!” Thorny yelled.
“No, I wasn’t! You and Chuck were here when I came up to the table and you guys were here when I left.”
“That’s right,” added Megan’s friend Jennifer. “Did you see her carrying away a big ol’ box full of money? Did she stick it in her pocket . . . or up her sleeve? I don’t think so. Thorny might have put it in one of the T-shirt boxes so he could get it later. In fact . . . come to think of it . . .” She stopped talking and looked at Chuck. “Chuck carried a box into the kitchen before he went to the restroom. I saw him.”
“Is that so?” asked Officer Van Dyke. He looked at Chuck.
Bonnie and I looked to Whiz. We expected him to jump in and save our fellow middle schoolers, Thorny and Chuck. But he just stood there, silently soaking it all in.
“Did you carry a box into the kitchen, Chuck?” Officer Van Dyke moved closer to Chuck.
“Yes, sir . . . several boxes . . . the empty ones,” Chuck answered very slowly. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. You can check the boxes.”
“That will not be necessary,” stated Whiz, finally getting back into the game. “But, to be thorough in our investigation, we must inquire about Tyrone’s whereabouts.”
The high schooler—who’s twice as big as me and Whiz, maybe combined—bristled. “Oh, really, Whiz kid? You need to ‘inquire’ about my ‘whereabouts.’” He was speaking in air quotes—something my sister started doing when she was in the tenth grade, also.
“Indeed, I do, Tyrone,” said Whiz, not the least bit intimidated by a guy whose growth spurts must’ve had growth spurts.
“Okay, fine,” said Tyrone. “After I bought my raffle ticket, I wasn’t near the table . . . or even this side of the room. I was working on stage sets . . . moving things around for the shows. Everybody saw me helping with the raffle when all the commotion started back here.”
“Ha!” laughed Chuck. “A very convenient alibi. My big sister told me that you’re trying to get enough money to go on that theater-class field trip to New York. The cashbox had over five hundred dollars in it.”
“That’s why I’m here. The PTO is paying me and if I won the raffle, that’s fifty more dollars,” Tyrone replied. “That would go a long way toward the field trip.”
“Maybe Tyrone did steal it,” said Megan, suddenly turning on her friend who’d been so worried about her injury.
“Yeah,” exclaimed Jennifer. “Five hundred dollars would pay for the whole New York trip—with some left over.”
“Artists don’t steal,” Tyrone replied. Somehow, he didn’t look so big and intimidating as he said this.
“This is so confusing,” said Bonnie. “Are all your cases this complicated, Whiz?”
Agent M didn’t respond. His big brain was off doing its big brain thing again.
“Let’s summarize this,” said Officer Van Dyke. He cleared his throat. “We have Thorny closest to the cashbox all morning; Chuck with him, but leaving the scene around the time it disappeared. Megan was at the table either just before, during, or just after—but nobody saw her carrying the box away. Jennifer was in and out of the kitchen and saw Chuck stash empty boxes. And last, but not least, Tyrone was in the vicinity, with motive, but has a pretty good alibi, if enough people vouch for his working on stage.”
“You have summarized the pertinent facts quite accurately, sir,” offered Whiz. “The people facts, anyway.”
“Thank you, Whiz. It’s always nice to get the blessing of the Tanner-Dent Detective Agency.”
Officer Van Dyke was kidding, but he does listen to us when the other police officers won’t.
“Ah, here comes my backup.” Officer Van Dyke looked up toward one of the doorways as Patrolman Bailey entered the center. “I want you all to grab some chairs and make yourselves comfortable as Patrolman Bailey and I interview each of you—separately.”
A small crowd had gathered. I guess they figured our interviews were more of the day’s entertainment. Sort of like one of those CSI shows on TV.
“Interviews will not be necessary, sir,” said Whiz. “I know where the cashbox is . . . and who took it.”
We all looked at Whiz.
“Okay, Whiz,” Officer Van Dyke asked. “Who did it?”
“Thorny did it,” yelled someone from the back of the crowd.
“I did not!” Thorny yelled back.
“Thorny is innocent and I can prove it!” Whiz exclaimed.
“How?” Bonnie asked, just as I was about to ask the same thing.
Officer Van Dyke, who usually takes charge but had been pretty quiet during most of this little show, looked at Whiz. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” replied Whiz.
“Well, Van Dyke,” laughed Patrolman Bailey. “It looks like I wasted my time responding to this call. Whiz and his trusty sidekick have it all wrapped up.”
I’ve been called Whiz’s sidekick more than once around Jasper Springs.
“He’s often right, Bailey, so let’s listen to him.” Officer Van Dyke then got a very serious look on his face. “Be careful accusing someone of a crime, Whiz, but who do you think did this?”
“Watch who squirms, sir,” he replied quietly.
For the solution to this story, please turn here.
The Magic Day Mystery
by Bryan Patrick Avery
Stop him!” someone shouted. “Don’t let him get away.”
A pack of shrieking first graders rumbled out of the gym and into the hallway. They nearly trampled me as they hurried down the hall. Just ahead of them, a small white rabbit bounded down the corridor.
“Our exhibit is getting away!” screamed a terrified six-year-old.
The speedy white rabbit hopped around the corner to escape the mob, which now included several older students. A moment later, I heard a scream, followed by a loud crash. I ran down the hall to see what had happened.
Grace Owens, seventh grade class president, lay sprawled on the floor. Around her, several toppled first graders struggled to get to their feet. The rabbit was nowhere to be seen.
Grace stood up and brushed off her leggings and oversized T-shirt. She shook her head as she walked toward me, wading through the sea of fallen first graders.
“First graders,” she sighed. “I really do think Magic Day is just too much for them.”
I nodded. Magic Day had been a school tradition at George Roberts Elementary ever since Arthur Waldini joined the faculty decades ago. Each year, Waldini put on a magic show for the students. Soon, students began bringing their own magic tricks to perform or to display in what was called the Magic Fair. This was all, of course, before Mr. Waldini, physics teacher, became the world-famous Great Waldini.
After Waldini left, gaining fame at the Magic Castle in Holl
ywood, the school kept up the tradition. Now every year, the second Tuesday in May is Magic Day.
“I’m looking forward to your show later,” Grace told me. “Everybody is.”
Without Mr. Waldini on staff anymore, the school hired a professional magician each year to perform. This year, because of my newfound celebrity, Principal Greeley asked me, Marlon “the Magician” Jackson, to perform.
That’s right. I’m twelve and I’m a professional magician.
I should probably explain. When the drama club teacher saw how serious I was about magic, she email-introduced me to Waldini. We corresponded almost every day for months. He became my mentor and even got me an opportunity to perform at the Magic Castle.
The crowd at the Castle, of course, was stunned to see a black seventh grader, dressed in magician’s robes and sporting an afro, performing magic on that classic stage. The place is like the Carnegie Hall for magicians. It’s hard to get a gig there. Anyway, the club taped my segment, and when it was replayed on several daytime talk shows and YouTube, I’d become a minor celebrity, at least in the magic community.
I checked my watch. I had come to school extra early to get prepared. I only had an hour before the first bell rang.
“Marlon!” A voice echoed down the hall. “There you are, man. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on! I want to show you something!”
Jose Hernandez ran up to us.
“Hey, Grace,” he said, a little too loud.
Grace grimaced. “Morning,” she replied.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You have to see this!” he said.
“See what?” Grace asked.
Jose looked at Grace, then at me. He grabbed my arm.
“Excuse us,” he said.
Jose dragged me down the hall toward the gym.
“Jose?” I protested. “I’ve got to get ready for my show—”
“Just wait till you see this,” he said. “You’re gonna love it.”
The gym was nearly deserted. Folding tables lined the walls, leaving a large open space in the center of the floor. When it was time for the shows the students would sit in the center. The tables along the walls would be used to display items kids had brought (like, oh, a white bunny rabbit in a cage with the door wide open) for the Magic Fair, which is sort of like a science fair but for magic. A few students had already set up their exhibits.
Jose raced to a table at the far end of the line. He pointed to a small black case on the table.
“Well,” I asked. “What is it?”
“Just open it, Marlon,” he insisted.
“This better be good.”
I unzipped the case, lifted the lid, and looked inside.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well, what?” I asked. “It’s empty. I mean the velvet lining is pretty but . . .” I turned the case toward him.
Jose’s mouth flew open. His eyes bugged and his bottom lip quivered. I thought he might be having a heart attack or something.
“No, no, no, no, no,” he finally sputtered. “This can’t be happening.” He dug around in the box. He shook it. He held it upside down and shook it some more.
“Um, Jose?” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing in it.”
He put down the case. He looked like he might hurl.
“My dad is gonna kill me,” he said.
“Why?” I asked. “What was in the case?”
“My grandfather’s antique cups and balls set. The one he took to Buckingham Palace!”
“Oh.”
This was bad. Jose’s grandfather was Felipe Hernandez, the famous Mexican magician who had performed for heads of state and royalty all around the world. When he died, he left his entire magic collection to Jose’s father. The most prized item in the collection was a cups and balls set Señor Hernandez had used to perform for Queen Elizabeth II. The handmade copper cups were painted blue and inscribed with various Mayan symbols. As a magic lover (some would say freak) I knew they were one of a kind and totally priceless. Now they were missing.
“The cups and balls?” I asked. I was sort of flabbergasted. “The royal cups and balls?!! How did you convince your dad to let you bring them?”
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t know I took them. We’ve got to get them back, man!”
I looked around the room. More students had begun to come in and claim places at the tables.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll find them.”
I tried to sound confident, even though, inside, I was freaking out almost as much as Jose was on the outside.
Jose followed me backstage. I stuffed my magic case and my costume into a closet just behind the curtain.
“Okay,” he said. “Where do we start?”
“Maybe we should tell Principal Greeley,” I suggested.
“No! We can’t do that! The first thing she’ll do is tell my parents. We have to find them ourselves.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me everything you did today, up to the second we discovered the cups and balls were missing.”
“Okay,” he said, squinting hard. “I got up. Had breakfast. Froot Loops. I, uh, caught the bus. Got off the bus. Came in here, set up my table. Went out into the hall. Saw you with Grace. Grabbed you, and we came straight here.”
“You didn’t stop anywhere?”
“No. I wanted to get a good table. The royal cups and balls set is a primo exhibit.”
I looked around the gym. I wasn’t exactly sure what made the table he picked a good table but I kept that thought to myself.
“And then?” I asked.
“Uh . . .” He thought for a moment. “That’s it.”
“So how did you end up in the hall instead of in here guarding your family heirloom?”
“Oh, that was because of the rabbit. It got away from the first graders. Thing jumped out of its hat, cleared the cage, and took off running into the hall.”
“Yeah. I saw.”
“It was chaos, man. Everybody went running out after it.”
“Including you.”
Jose nodded.
“I just left my stuff on the table and went out into the hall. That’s when I saw you and Grace.”
I picked up the case.
“You’re sure the cups were in here when you left?” I asked.
“Positive. They’re heavy. And the case weighs almost nothing.”
He was right. The empty case was very light.
“Okay, who knew you were bringing the cups to school?”
“Nobody,” Jose said. “I haven’t shown them to anybody. Besides you, I don’t think anybody at school even knows Felipe Hernandez is my grandfather.”
I looked around the room again. I was out of questions. I had only one idea, and I didn’t think it was a very good one.
“Well, let’s go find the first graders,” I said.
“You think they stole the cups?”
“I doubt it,” I answered. “But what if that rabbit getting loose wasn’t an accident?”
We found the first graders still wandering the hall searching for their rabbit. A boy named Colin was crouched down looking underneath the lockers. I knew his name was Colin because someone had stitched his name on the inside of his shirt and his shirt was inside out.
“Colin, can I ask you something?” I said.
He looked up at us.
“Not now. I’m looking for our rabbit.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s what I want to ask you about.”
“He got away.”
Jose sighed loudly.
“Yes,” I said. “But how?”
Colin lowered his head and studied the tops of his shoes.
“Colin?” I prodded.
“I didn’t do it,” he said. “I swear.”
I squatted down so I wouldn’t be towering over him.
“I believe you. Can you tell me who did do it? W
ho let the rabbit out?”
“It was Benny!” Colin blurted and then he ran off down the hall.
I had a few more questions, like, you know, “Who is Benny?” but I wasn’t in the mood to chase after a six-year-old kid. Jose and I watched Colin race down the hall. When he turned a corner and disappeared, Jose sighed again.
“Great. Now all we have to do is find a first grader named Benny.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” I said.
I walked down the hall a short way.
“Hey, Benny!” I shouted. “Is this yours?”
A smaller-than-average first grader ran over to us. His light brown afro bounced as he moved.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Are you Benny?”
He nodded. I reached over and plucked a small red sponge ball from behind his ear. His mouth dropped open. I handed him the ball.
“Wow,” he said. He studied the ball, grinning from ear to ear.
“Now,” I said. “Can you answer a question for me?”
He nodded but didn’t look up from the ball.
“Why did you let the rabbit out of its cage?”
“I didn’t.” He studied the ball more closely.
“Benny?” I said. “Are you telling me the truth?”
Benny slowly looked up at me. He nodded. Then, out of nowhere, he started crying.
“Hey, that’s okay,” I said, trying to soothe him.
He cried louder. Jose inched away from us.
“Unh-unh,” I told Jose. “You’re staying right here.”
He gave me another one of his sighs.
Benny tried to explain, but through the crying and blubbering, I couldn’t understand a word he said.
“Look,” I explained. “You’re not in trouble. My friend lost something very valuable in all the excitement when the rabbit got out. We’re just trying to figure out if there’s a connection.”
Benny took a long sniff and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. I pulled a multicolored (and very long) handkerchief from my sleeve and handed it to him. He wiped his nose with it, blew his nose, and wiped again. Then, he held it out for me to take back.
Super Puzzletastic Mysteries Page 15
