Super Puzzletastic Mysteries

by Chris Grabenstein

  First, decoding the cipher.

  Second, how the person responsible had gotten into and out of the locked room.

  And third, who was the person responsible, along with their motive for impersonating a ghost.

  Kevin’s brother, Braden, shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and looked at the floor.

  “Braden?” said Mrs. Byrne. “It was you?”

  When Braden didn’t say anything, Kevin spoke.

  “I think he did it for me,” he whispered. “If you solve this latest cipher, you can see why.”

  Braden looked up and nodded at his brother, but neither spoke. Tara took Kevin’s hand and pulled him into the living room to talk in private. They only needed a minute to confirm they both had the same idea.

  “You start,” Kevin said when they got back to the others.

  “Braden, who we call Salmon as a code name from its Irish Gaelic meaning, knows how to do the same type of magic as Sanjay,” Tara said. “Misdirection. That’s when you get people’s attention so they’ll look one place while you do something in another place without them seeing it.”

  “If we assume there isn’t really a ghost,” Kevin said, “there had to be a trick.”

  “A trick made us think of the magician,” Tara said, “and how Braden loves magic. Remember the first coded message appeared before the door was locked? Anyone could have gone inside the room and put the paper in the typewriter.”

  “But we heard the typing,” Mr. Byrne said.

  “Misdirection,” Tara said.

  “It was probably his cell phone,” Kevin said, looking at his brother, who nodded. “He turned on a recording of the sound of typing keys on his cell phone, which he didn’t have with him at the table where we were eating either meal. Because of our family rule about no electronic devices at the table, we didn’t notice Braden’s missing phone as strange. His phone must have been near Dad’s office, hidden somewhere.”

  “In the entryway cabinet,” Braden mumbled, speaking for the first time.

  “But we locked the door of the room,” Mrs. Byrne said. “Misdirection from the sound of the typing keys is one thing, but getting a message into the typewriter through a locked door?”

  “The second message wasn’t in the typewriter,” Tara said. “Braden had the note with him when we opened the door.”

  “Impossible,” Mr. Byrne said. “We all saw the note in the typewriter.”

  “Did you?” said Braden. A hesitant smile was on his face. “One of the main principles of misdirection is to make people see what you want them to see. I called out ‘look!’ and pointed. But then I blocked your view with my body as I ran forward. You believed there was a note because of my words and actions, but I was the first person to reach the typewriter. I had the note in my hand. I’d printed it out earlier, after writing it using an app on my phone with a typewriter font. When I held up the paper, you all assumed I’d pulled it from the typewriter, because that’s what made sense based on your expectations. You believed what made sense, not what you really saw.”

  “Why?” Mrs. Byrne asked.

  “Read the latest note,” Braden said.

  “It’s the same rail fence cipher,” Kevin said. “There’s an extra line, but the same idea. However, the hash markings on the top are the opposite direction of the first cipher. You can decode it in the same way—and then read the letters backward.”

  “Decoded,” Kevin said, “here’s the first string of letters:

  “N-E-R-D-L-I-H-C-R-U-O-Y-E-R-O-N-G-I-U-O-Y-E-K-I-L-E-M-E-R-O-N-G-I-T-N-O-D.

  “Backward, that’s DONTIGNOREMELIKEYOUIGNORE-YOURCHILDREN.

  “With spaces between words, DON’T IGNORE ME LIKE YOU IGNORE YOUR CHILDREN.”

  Braden shrugged. “Kevin got it right. I did it for him. You missed his sixth grade graduation, Mom. You missed most of the things that were important to him. Ever since you and Dad went to work at that start-up, you’ve been away all the time. Most of the time it’s cool, but the important stuff?” He shrugged. “When I took your jewelry, I thought you’d be worried that a thief had gotten inside the apartment with Kevin inside all alone, and you’d realize that it wasn’t cool to leave him on his own so much. But all you did was get upset at building security. I felt bad for Ms. Weber when I heard you yelling at her.”

  “Stealing your mom’s jewelry wasn’t the answer,” Mr. Byrne said, shaking his head.

  “The earrings are only hidden,” said Braden. “I didn’t do anything with them. But that first idea didn’t work. After the Hindi Houdini moved into the building and he learned I was into magic, he talked to me about the principles behind successful illusions: misdirection and a good story that fits the audience. That gave me the idea to try something else. Since Kevin loves codes, I knew he’d solve a mysterious coded message. And Mom and Dad love to watch scary movies, so I thought a ghost might scare them into making changes.”

  “Were we really away that much?” Mrs. Byrne said to her husband.

  “Temporarily,” Mr. Byrne mumbled.

  “Nearly a whole year,” Kevin said.

  Kevin’s parents hadn’t realized just how much they’d been away. They worked in a place where a lot of people didn’t have kids. Long hours were expected, so the Byrnes meant well, but they’d lost sight of their priorities.

  The Byrnes apologized to the building manager, planned a week of vacation to spend with their sons, and found a balance that allowed them to work long hours but also be there for the important events they’d been missing. Braden was still grounded for half the summer, but he was allowed to go out as long as it was to spend time with his brother or parents.

  Tara, who had never especially liked magic before, now appreciated what it could do. Her parents took her and Kevin to one of the Hindi Houdini’s magic shows, and she didn’t guess how he performed a single trick. Part of her wanted to figure out the tricks like she did codes and ciphers, but, in the end, she decided she liked the mystery better.

  Solution for Surprise. Party.

  Only the low hum of air through the floor vents could be heard as Sherman paced before the torn paper and empty box.

  “Well?” Erica said.

  “Scratch the paper.”

  “What?”

  “With your fingernails.” He pointed to a swath of untarnished paper.

  Erica huffed, but did as told. A scraggly line along the paper’s surface remained.

  “The finish on this paper is so delicate,” Sherman said, “the slightest abrasion scrapes it away. I can’t think of any shipping company that could transport a box like this without scuffing the sides, or corners. As you all can see, there’s little damage to the paper besides where it was initially opened, and the scratch Erica just inflicted.”

  Murmurs in the crowd. The Sorcerer Farnsworth loudly proclaimed, “Well, ain’t that something.”

  “This box wasn’t shipped from anywhere. It was wrapped here. Isn’t that right, Mister Erica’s Dad?”

  Mister Erica’s Dad turned about as red as the wrapping paper. “Now wait just a minute!”

  “Certainly,” Sherman said. Everyone in the room looked to Erica’s father.

  Erica said, “What’s he talking about, Daddy?”

  There was an extended, awkward silence that Sherman interrupted after checking his watch. “A minute has passed. I will continue. There’s a tiny shard of broken glass by the staircase, from a mirror. There are no broken mirrors downstairs, and Mister Erica’s Dad never told any of us to watch where we step, even though he required we remove our shoes at the home’s entrance. Isn’t that right, James?”

  James, with the bandaged foot, stepped forward. “I guess it is. My foot still hurts. Though I appreciate the bandage, Mister Erica’s Dad!”

  Mister Erica’s Dad did not respond.

  “It’s the least you could do,” Sherman said to him, “since you didn’t know your mistake had made it all the way downstairs.”

  “Okay, I’m calling everyone’s
parents now.”

  Sherman stared at his own fingernails. They needed clipping. “Will you also call Erica’s mother and tell her you broke her gift? A mirror of some sort.”

  “You broke my Sea Breeze Blue fashion mirror?” Erica’s face was frozen in a snarl. “Why?”

  “Sweetie, it was an accident!”

  The party crowd gasped.

  The Sorcerer Farnsworth said, “Why give the kid an empty box? That’s cruel.”

  “You’re fired!” Mister Erica’s Daddy said. “Pack up your rabbit and go.”

  This started a shouting match between the two adults in the room. Sherman slipped to the gift table, lifted a slim box in metallic blue paper. He unwrapped it, and only Erica noticed. “Hey, that’s mine.”

  Sherman did not stop, lifting the top from the box, revealing the necklace inside. He held the slim chain so the charm dangled from his fingers. It said “Daddy’s Little Girl.”

  Sherman said, “I take it you don’t live with your father. But you could if you wanted. He really wants that. So he does silly things sometimes. Like try not to get shown up by your mom. I don’t think he’s such a great planner. Though I think he does love you.”

  Outside, a horn honked.

  Perky, Sherman said, “That’s my mom. Gotta go.”

  The party crowd seemed stunned and shaken as Sherman grabbed his blazer, and on his way to the door, a slice of sausage-mushroom pizza. “Thanks for the party. It was fun.”

  Sherman trotted outside, and on his way to the street, footsteps pattered behind him. The boy Otis, and Erica’s (former) BEARY Best Friend, Paisley.

  “Hey,” said Paisley, “you think your mom could give us a ride home?”

  Sherman nodded stiffly. “I don’t see why not.”

  Otis said, “I wasn’t having much fun in there. Erica and her dad are a hot mess.”

  “Agreed.” Sherman opened the minivan door. “It doesn’t escape me that many at our school consider me a hot mess, too. It’s why Erica’s father had to insist on my attendance at this gathering, though I’m sure he regrets that now.”

  Otis said, “Okay.”

  Sherman felt it fair to be clear here. “There are other classmates staring through the blinds at this very moment. If they see us ride off together, they will likely associate you to my particular brand of hot messiness. It isn’t always pleasant.”

  Otis and Paisley exchanged looks.

  Otis shrugged.

  Paisley leaped into the vehicle. “I get the back row all to myself.”

  Sherman’s new friends accompanied him without reservation.

  It was the best surprise that day.

  Solution for The Dapperlings

  Milo took a deep breath. “The specimen jars are in the flashlight.”

  “The flashlight?” Meddy started to laugh. The others stared from Milo to Kip to Kip’s bed, where the cabin’s big spare flashlight was now lying suspiciously close to the Senior Dapperling’s rucksack. Kip kept his mouth shut, but it looked a bit like he might want to smile.

  “You took out the batteries and replaced them with our little test tubes,” Milo continued, “which is why you looked like you were going to pass out when I threw the light to Josh and when he shook it when it wouldn’t turn on. All you had to do is sneak the flashlight into your bag and carry it to the mess hall that way.”

  Kip sighed. “Well played, Pine.” He picked up the flashlight, unscrewed it, and upended it over his palm. Two small, cylindrical glass specimen tubes just about the size of a kid’s thumb slid out. “And not so much as a crack in the glass. I thought for sure they were going to get destroyed, the way you two were throwing the flashlight around.”

  As Kip passed the tubes to Milo, Josh groaned. “I should’ve guessed the minute it wouldn’t turn on.”

  “He’s right,” Meddy said, looking down at the tubes. “You guys have never used that flashlight, and of course the counselors would’ve checked the batteries at the beginning of the week.” She frowned. “I’m equal parts impressed and creeped out that this whole thing has been about getting some weird old fungus back.”

  “And now we’re going to go capture some more weird old fungus.” Milo checked his watch. “Five minutes to breakfast. Should we get moving?”

  “Absolutely,” Kip said, somehow able to shift effortlessly back into Senior Dapperling mode despite his recent humiliations. “Thanks for the second chance, Dapperlings. Let’s go win this thing!”

  Milo and the others cheered, but the effect of both apology and pep talk was somewhat dampened as Kip, taking a step toward his personal effects to get dressed, went flying, sprawling headlong and landing flat on his face with no apparent provocation at all.

  Milo bent and examined the knot that connected Kip’s left shoe to his right.

  “Couldn’t resist,” Meddy said, dusting off her hands. “But seriously, it’s out of my system now. Probably. I think. Go Dapperlings!”

  Solution for Codename: Mom

  I grabbed the phone from Dad and punched in the numbers 3-1-4-1-5-9. The phone opened. Dad took it without a word and went back outside to call his friend.

  It was a long wait. Finally, Dad came back. He was smiling.

  “Your mom is fine,” he said. “She had photos on her phone of that guy along with his name and address, everything they needed to find him. It seems like your mom has been worried about this fellow for a while.”

  Mom got home a couple of hours later. For once, Dad had a lot of questions, and not just for her.

  “How did you figure out the password?” he asked me.

  “Mom left us a clue,” I said. “That picture of us at the pie-eating contest. Pie sounds like pi, the math constant. The picture on her phone isn’t just us having fun, it’s a math pun. Her password was six numbers, so I put in the first six digits of pi: 3.14159.”

  “A math pun,” he said. “That is so like your mom.” He squeezed her hand. Mom looked tired but happy to be with us.

  “So who was that guy?” I asked. “Rival intelligence agent? International smuggler?”

  “Disgruntled grad student,” Mom answered. “He was going to hold my phone hostage until I had set him up with a fellowship.” She shook her head. “That kind of shoddy logic is why he failed my class in the first place.”

  I crossed my arms and stared at her. I couldn’t believe she thought I’d swallow such a flimsy story.

  “After all I did?” I asked. “After I kept your phone safe and figured out the password and helped to catch this guy? You’re still not going to admit that you’re a spy?”

  “Certainly not,” she said. “Because I’m not a spy.”

  “Right. Because all families have code words like Euclid to signal that everything’s A-OK.”

  Mom raised her eyebrows and gave Dad a look. He cleared his throat and quickly stood up. “I’m off to bed,” he said. “Don’t stay up too late, you two.”

  He left. It was just me and Mom.

  I stared at her. She stared back at me. The seconds ticked by.

  “I’m not a spy,” she said finally. “Here, I’ll put it in writing so you can remember it.”

  She picked up one of Rosa’s crayons and a pad of construction paper. She wrote in big, block letters NOT A SPY!!!

  I got really angry. I thought about all the things that had happened that day and how here she was, treating me like a five-year-old, writing a sign in crayon. She held the sign out to me and, at first, I wouldn’t even look at it.

  “Take it,” she said. “Read and remember, because I won’t have this discussion again.”

  Reluctantly, I took it. It was written in blue crayon on green paper, and she’d put three exclamation points at the end for emphasis. And then I saw it.

  In front of the words was a small horizontal line.

  When read in front of a number, that would be a minus sign. But in front of a variable—a letter—Mom said that you read it as “the opposite of.” Which meant that “- NOT A
SPY!!!” should be read as “the opposite of NOT A SPY!!!”

  I looked up at her. “That’s okay,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I don’t need a reminder.”

  “Good,” she said, taking the paper back from me and crumpling it up. And then she winked.

  My mom is a lot of things: pie-eater, math teacher, and the coolest spy I know.

  Solution for The Red Envelope

  Catherine stands up. “Our question was ‘This man’s name is synonymous with the order of things.’ The answer is ROY G. BIV, the mnemonic for the colors red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. It’s a memory aid for the order of the colors in the rainbow.

  “Mr. Michael gave us three big clues that ROY G. BIV was the right answer:

  “First: the colors. We started with a red envelope and ended with a puzzle picture of a purple envelope. In between, Mr. Michael led us to find green books, messages on yellow paper, and blue bags containing jigsaw-puzzle pieces. The puzzle had a picture of oranges and indigo—deep blue—flowers.

  “Second: the letters. Mr. Michael left us clues with backward letters, dashes, dots, raised dots, numbers, and musical notes that stood for letters. We solved a crossword-puzzle message by combining the first letters of each word.

  “Third: the number seven. We found seven green books, seven yellow messages, and seven blue bags. The note in the puzzle picture mentioned ‘a round seven.’

  “ROY G. BIV: A man’s name synonymous with the order of the colors in the rainbow: seven colors, seven letters.” Catherine stops talking.

  “When did you know the answer?” Mr. Michael asks.

  “I thought I knew when we talked about the northern lights. Tony mentioned ‘almost all the colors of the rainbow,’ and it clicked.

  “I was sure once we found the math book by Sir Isaac Newton. He developed the seven-color spectrum that ROY G. BIV represents. Before Newton, people said the rainbow had five colors. Newton thought that seven was a more elegant number because there are seven notes in the musical scale. He added the colors orange and indigo and used a color wheel to explain. That’s what ‘for a round seven’ means in the puzzle.”