by F. C. Shaw
Now for the third time, Auntie Ei chuckled aloud. She apparently found Eliot’s impersonation of a bloodhound on the trail rather amusing. He scampered on his hands and knees, his nose pressed to the carpet. He wore such an earnest expression, and his shaggy hair flopped about so like a dog, that he caused everyone to laugh, including Auntie Ei.
Watching Auntie Ei laugh almost made Rollie forget about their fight. When he remembered it, he regretted it. He wanted to make amends with her just so life would not be awkward together. But there were some things he needed to sort out, one being whether he still trusted her.
“We’ve got five minutes to go!” Mr. Wilson announced as he read his pocket watch. “Fact: Then it will be a new year!”
When it was finally time, the group shouted the countdown together: “Ten, nine, eight . . . ”
Rollie noticed Cecily standing next to Wesley by the fire. He joined them.
“ . . . five, four, three, two, ONE! Happy New Year!”
A commotion erupted not only in the Wilson house but also out in the neighborhood as everyone rang in the New Year. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson shared a tender kiss. Stewart shyly kissed his girlfriend, Alice, on the cheek. She blushed. Edward boldly kissed his girlfriend, Beth, on the lips—she slapped him back with a blush and a giggle. Wesley and Cecily stood by each other, awkwardly shuffling their feet.
“Rollie, tell your sisters to leave me alone!” Eliot begged as he cowered behind Rollie. “They keep trying to kiss me!”
“Hey, stop that, Lu and Daph!” Rollie scolded. “I’ll tell Dad what you’re trying to do.”
With giggles, Lucille and Daphne backed off.
“Time for crackers!” Mr. Wilson announced, passing the box around.
According to British tradition, crackers were a part of almost any festivity. Crackers were a tube wrapped in colorful foil-like paper. Two people pulled on either end and the cracker tore in two with a crack or pop. One person would get the bigger half and thus get the special prize and fortune inside.
Rollie grabbed a yellow one and immediately turned to Cecily. “Be my partner?”
Cecily’s green eyes snapped from Rollie to Wesley and back. “Oh, uh, I was going to be Wesley’s partner.”
“I need a partner,” said Eliot.
Rollie turned to Eliot. Each boy gripped the end of the cracker with his fingers. On three, they both pulled. The cracker split with a pop, confetti sprinkled the carpet, and Eliot was left with the bigger piece. He pulled out a paper crown and placed it proudly on his head. Then he read his fortune aloud.
“You will find success in all your endeavors. Crikey!” Eliot beamed. “Perhaps this means I’ll solve the prowler mystery.”
“Shh!” Rollie cautioned with a nervous glance at Auntie Ei; luckily, her attention was focused on her brother.
Uncle Ky treated the family to a little singing. In a clear tenor voice, he sang Auld Lang Syne. The family applauded when he was finished, and he gave a little bow.
As the night grew older, the neighbors and girlfriends headed home. Mrs. Wilson told the family not to clean up the party mess until tomorrow. They headed upstairs to get ready for bed. Cecily was invited to stay again since her older teenage brother was out partying. He thought his parents’ absence gave him permission to do so; Cecily said she knew he would pay for his rowdy escapades when their parents returned next week.
The Wilson household slept in until around ten the next morning. Rollie was the first to wake while his roommates slumbered on. His tummy growled with hunger, so he wrapped himself in his robe and slipped downstairs. In the dining room, he found Uncle Ky sipping his morning tea, reading the Daily Telegraph newspaper, and humming a tune.
“Oh, good morning, Rollin, and happy New Year. Have some tea?”
Rollie poured himself a cup of tea and sat down at the long, empty table.
“So, Rollin, how are you enjoying school—at the Academy, that is?”
“I love it. It’s a lot of work, but I love my teachers and everything I’m learning.”
“Good, good. Being happy—that’s important, you know.”
“Have you ever been to Sherlock Academy, Uncle Ky?”
Uncle Ky folded the newspaper. “I believe I have. When was it? Oh, yes, when it first opened—how many years ago was it? Ten years ago, I think. I attended the opening ceremony that Eileen hosted.”
“She hosted a ceremony? I wasn’t sure when she got involved with the school.”
“Oh, yes, she’s been involved since the beginning—even before, I suppose. She wanted me to be involved too, but I knew it wasn’t for me. I knew I would just end up letting her down later on, you know.”
“I think you’re swell to do what you want and not care what other people think.”
“Thank you, Rollin, that’s very kind of you to say so. I never considered myself swell, as you put it, but I suppose I am, now that you mention it. I’ve learned not to let others define who I am. I define myself.”
Rollie sipped his tea and thought about this. “Sherlock Holmes believed that, too. He never let other people’s opinions stop him from being who he was. And there were a lot of people who thought his methods were a little crazy.”
Uncle Ky nodded. “You are correct. He defined himself as a detective, Mr. Holmes did. Because he defined himself, he was the best! I have a feeling you are a lot like Mr. Holmes, eh?”
Rollie smiled. “I hope to be, but I do care a little what other people think of me. I care a lot about what Auntie Ei thinks of me. Right now we’re in a fight though.”
“I noticed you were not as chummy with each other as you usually are. Don’t worry, ol’ boy, you’ll make up. She’s not as crusty as she seems on the outside.” He winked.
“I know.” Rollie sighed. “I just don’t like when she keeps secrets from me.”
“Ah, yes, she does like her secrets, that sister of mine.” Uncle Ky leaned his elbows on the table. “I know some of her secrets, you know.”
Rollie’s eyes widened. “About me?”
“Perhaps. I know a secret about your lineage.”
“Really? She mentioned my lineage a while ago, but she won’t tell me anything else about it.”
“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it until you are of age. Seventeen, I think, but I could be wrong—”
“Good morning, gentlemen.” Auntie Ei entered the dining room, eyed Rollie, then sat down next to Uncle Ky, and poured herself a cup of tea. “You seem to be engaged in an interesting conversation.”
Uncle Ky winked at Rollie. “Yes, indeed, we were discussing New Year’s resolutions. Do you have any, Eileen?”
“I never make resolutions—I make goals.”
“What’s the difference?” asked Rollie.
Auntie Ei glanced at him. “A resolution is wishful thinking; a goal is an intentional plan. I am very intentional, therefore I make goals, not resolutions.”
“Maybe your goal this year should be to keep fewer secrets,” Rollie mumbled.
“And your goal should be to cease this nosey behavior and to stop ransacking a certain relative’s bedroom!” Auntie Ei shot back.
“My goal is to win at least one more singing competition,” Uncle Ky added. He cleared his throat and launched into a song.
“Stop it this instant!” Auntie Ei snapped. “I have a headache.”
Rollie sighed in exasperation. Leaving his tea behind, he stormed out of the dining room. As he climbed upstairs, he calmed down. So far he did not like how this new year was starting out.
He did not like Auntie Ei’s keeping secrets about him. He did not like those letters that seemed to indicate she was not his avid supporter the way he had thought she was. Yet she was right about him searching her bedroom. It was a breach of the etiquette and respect between them. Rollie did feel sorry for doing it.
; He also did not like not knowing what Herr Zilch’s secretary was up to by painting that wall in the vacant house. Uncle Ky and his encouragement were the only redeeming things about the day so far. When he entered his room, he found one more thing he did not like.
“Eliot, why are you messing up my books?”
Eliot sat on the floor by the bookcase. He had emptied the shelves and was rearranging the books. “I’m arranging your books the way they should be arranged: in alphabetical order by author’s last name, just like any respectable library.”
“See the labels on the shelves? That’s how I arrange my books.”
Eliot shook his head. “This rating system is too subjective to your opinions! That’s no way to arrange a bookcase. The rule is in alphabetical order by—”
“Fine! Do whatever you want with my books.” Rollie threw himself into the chair at his desk.
“Well, you’re in a fine mood,” Eliot mumbled sarcastically. “Don’t get too peevish with me. It was your Aunt Eileen’s suggestion I reorganize your bookshelves.”
“What!” yelled Rollie, his face heating.
“She brought it to my attention and suggested I right it.” Eliot slid a few books into place on the top shelf. “And I’m very glad she did, though I would have noticed this disarray sooner or later.”
“She only suggested it to get back at me,” mumbled Rollie.
Wesley stretched in his sleeping bag. “Are you alright, mate?” he asked with a yawn.
“I’m frustrated,” muttered Rollie.
“About this mystery next door?”
“Yes, and more.” Rollie peered through his binoculars and out the window.
“I’m sure Zilch’s secretary will show up again.” Wesley pulled on his robe. “We’ll figure this out. In the meantime, I need to do more homework.”
****
“Rise and shine, sleepy-heads!” Mrs. Wilson sang through the hall. She was greeted with moans and groans from the rest of the sleeping family. “It’s New Year’s Day and you know what that means!”
“What does that mean?” Eliot asked excitedly. He had grown to expect great things from the Wilsons.
“It means we have to take down all the Christmas decorations and pack them away in the basement,” Rollie said without enthusiasm. “It’s not that fun.”
“Anything is fun with your family,” Eliot said. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. I think I’ll spend the holidays with you every year if you don’t mind.”
“Count me in too.” Wesley beamed. “I only have one sibling, so hanging out with this lot is great fun.”
Rollie got dressed and led his friends down to breakfast. Silently, he ate his hash browns and avoided looking at Auntie Ei. He hated being in this foul mood, especially on New Year’s Day, but at the moment there were too many things weighing on him.
And he decided he hated secrets.
Mr. Chad’s Clue
“She’s back!” Rollie whispered, rousing his friends just after midnight. It had been four days since the secretary’s last return to the mansion.
Everyone, including Cecily, crowded around his window. Through it, they spotted Zilch’s secretary surveying the walls in the study next door. Since the drape was still open, they had a clear view of her. She again wore a long, black coat and black knit cap. Her brassy hair trailed down her back.
“Is she going to paint more?” Cecily wondered quietly.
“The paint supplies are still there,” Wesley noted.
“Why is she painting one wall at a time?” asked Eliot. “What a waste of time! Just do it all at once.”
“She ran out of time before,” Rollie replied. “I bet tonight she’ll finish the room.”
They watched her grab the paintbrush, dip it in the can of paint she had just opened, and turn back to the wall. It took her about fifteen minutes to paint the wall. Just as she was painting around the window, she paused. Suddenly, she peered out.
“She sees us!” Rollie hissed, dropping to the floor.
Everyone else hit the floor also. They lay on their sides and breathed heavily, full of anxiety and the fear of being spotted. The light from next door dimmed then went off completely.
Cautiously, Rollie eased up and peeked over the top of his desk. “She’s gone and she closed the drape.”
The others scrambled up.
“I’m sure she saw us,” murmured Cecily.
“She knows we know,” Wesley whispered solemnly. “This is serious.”
“What can she do to us?” Eliot replied flippantly.
The other three locked eyes with him.
“It’s not what she’ll do, it’s what Herr Zilch will do,” said Rollie.
Eliot’s dark eyes widened with fear. “What will he do? How can we be safe? Should we tell your parents?”
“Shh!” Rollie cautioned. “No, we’ll tell Headmaster Yardsly when we go to school for orchestra rehearsal tomorrow.”
Without another word, Cecily returned to Lucille and Daphne’s bedroom, and the boys scrambled back under their covers. While they lingered awake for a while, they did not speak to each other. They did not need to; they were all thinking the same thing . . .
. . . Herr Zilch knew they knew.
****
Knock-knock!
“COME IN!”
The young sleuths entered Headmaster Yardsly’s office. They had arrived at Sherlock Academy a few minutes before orchestra rehearsal to talk with their headmaster, and they were relieved to find him in.
Yardsly stood behind his large, cluttered desk. He was dressed in a charcoal-gray suit and a red tie. In one hand he held an antique black telephone, with the other hand he tapped the receiver.
“OF ALL THE IMPERTINENT THINGS!” he hollered. “I apologize for my impatience, but our phones have been down all day! I’m told that it may be a couple days until the phone line is repaired. SO INCONVENIENT! It’s because of all this blasted snow.”
He slammed the phone down on the receiver and shoved it aside. Turning to his students, he smiled. “Here for orchestra rehearsal, eh? Anything I can do for you?”
Rollie, with the interjected help of his friends, told Yardsly about Zilch’s secretary painting the wall and about how she had spotted them last night. He ended by telling about the hidden journal.
Yardsly’s eyebrows rose high in surprise. “GOOD WORK! Where is the journal? Did you bring it with you?”
“We wanted to finish reading it for clues,” said Rollie.
Yardsly smiled. “I appreciate your wanting to help, but it would be best to let the Yard experts study it as soon as possible. As for the secretary, there is no doubt she will report you to Zilch. This worries me.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your safety is my top priority. I will post Euston to guard your house, Rollie. Are the rest of you staying with the Wilsons right now?”
Wesley and Eliot nodded.
“I’ve been staying a few nights, but I live right down the street,” Cecily informed him.
“STAY with the Wilsons,” Yardsly advised. “Euston will watch over things. He’ll investigate the vacant house, too—I’ll give him a key to those padlocks on the front door. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe with him. I may send someone to check on all of you in a few days, unless the phones get repaired. Then I’ll just ring you.”
With this new assurance, the sleuths relaxed and headed to the teachers’ lounge for rehearsal. Miss Gram had slid aside the furniture to make room for chairs and music stands. A few other classmates sat in their assigned seats and tuned their instruments.
Mr. Chadwick A. Permiter greeted them at the door. “Happy New Year, kiddos!” The young American teacher bumped knuckles with each of them. “Or do you guys say ‘Merry New Year’?”
“That sounds funny!” Cecily giggled. “Why would
we say that?”
“Well, you British say Happy Christmas.”
“You didn’t go home to New York for the holidays?” Rollie asked.
“Trying to get rid of me, huh?” Mr. Chad teased. “Nah, this year my family came here to visit me. They saved me a long trip home, and I gave them some English culture.”
“Have they enjoyed their visit here?” asked Cecily.
Mr. Chad shrugged. “Yes and no. They’ve enjoyed hanging out with me and meeting Gwen, but they have not enjoyed driving on the wrong side of the road and having to convert dollars and cents to pounds and pence.” He ushered them into the room. “Better get set up before Gwen starts growling.”
“She growls?” Eliot asked in disbelief.
“Oh, yeah. Don’t let that pretty little exterior fool you. Beneath that frilly disguise are claws.”
“What are you saying about me, Chadwick?” Miss Gram cooed.
“Only that you’re the sweetest creature ever.” Mr. Chad smiled at her, then turned to the students and bared his teeth in warning.
Everyone stifled giggles. Miss Gram tapped her baton on her music stand.
Rollie, Cecily, Wesley, and Eliot made up the strings group in the orchestra—they all played the violin. A few years ago, Rollie and Cecily had signed up for lessons with a local violinist named Mrs. Trindle in the hopes of being more like Sherlock Holmes. They had quit lessons when they started at Sherlock Academy in August. They hadn’t really minded quitting since neither cared much for the strict and overly perfumed Mrs. Trindle. But now they were a little excited to pick up their bows again and scratch out some music.
“Is everyone tuned?” Miss Gram checked over her small orchestra of fifteen students. “Let’s run through the music.” She indicated the sheet music on each stand and tapped her baton again. “Five, six, seven, eight!”
In response, a commotion of noise filled the small room. Miss Gram frowned, Mr. Chad winced, and the students nearly dropped their instruments.
