Ben Winters - The Mystery of the Missing Everything

Dear Mr. Piccolini-Provokovsky,

went the email so far.

My name is Ida Finkleman, and I serve as Band and Chorus instructor at Mary Todd Lincoln Middle School. Certain of my students are engaged in a project that I feel you will find most intriguing. It involves

Involves? For heaven’s sake, Ida. She tapped Delete a bunch of times, and wrote the sentence again.

It showcases an impressive display of talent, an impassioned plea, and a mighty animal of the forest tumbling down a flight of stairs.

That seemed about right.

The rest of the email gave a precise and detailed description of the “Save Taproot Valley” video project; a bit of background on Chester and his academic career thus far; and, of course, the most important part of all. The request.

Satisfied at last, Ms. Finkleman crossed her fingers and hit Send.

“Excuse me? Hey, sorry…” Tenny cracked open the door and peered into the janitor’s closet in the basement. “Um…”

“Eh? Who’s that?”

Janitor Steve, in black work pants and a thick denim shirt, was seated on an upside-down mop bucket, combing out the bristles of a double-wide broom. “Just keeping the old broom clean,” he said, gesturing for Tenny to enter. “Clean broom, clean floor. Clean floor, clean mind. Clean mind…” He paused. “Clean pants? I don’t know. What do you want, kid?”

“Huh? Oh… right. Okay…”

Tenny hadn’t thought about how to start this interrogation. He was just glad to be down here, and not to be spending another lunch period fielding the same annoying questions over and over, from Tucker and Ezra and all the rest of ’em.

“So, what’re you doing back, man?”

“Oh, you know, long story…”

Tenny was so sick of the conversations, and the whispers, and the rumors… oh, man, the stupid rumors. He’d been expelled for fighting. He’d been expelled for stealing. He’d given everyone at St. Francis Xavier—kids, teachers, maintenance staff, everyone—the chicken pox… on purpose.

“This might sound kind of weird,” he said to Janitor Steve. “It’s about the trophy.”

“Oh?” Janitor Steve stopped cleaning and cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Do you know something about it?”

“I sure do,” said Janitor Steve, heaving himself up from the bucket and carefully hanging his broom back on the wall.

“You do?”

“Yup.” He turned and looked right at Tenny. “I know who stole it, and why.”

As Janitor Steve told Tenny Boyer what he had to say, Bethesda was cornering her own next suspect at the top of Stairwell #1. She extended her arm to the banister, blocking Lisa Deckter from going down. It was just the two of them in the empty stairwell; everyone else had already gotten their lunches and gone outside.

“Hey,” said Bethesda. “We need to talk.”

“Okay,” Lisa replied warily, tearing the wrapper off a gluten-free health and energy bar. Bethesda, in her mind, pulled down the brim of her battered detective’s fedora, readying herself for a daring gambit. Lisa had no alibi that Bethesda knew of, plus a compelling motive, having placed second behind Pamela in the gymnastics tournament. It was time for a classic tactic from the private investigator’s tool kit: the big bluff.

“I know, Lisa,” Bethesda said coolly. “I know what you did.”

Lisa’s mouth dropped open, and she lowered the health bar slowly from her lips.

“H-how…,” she stammered. “How did you know?”

Whoa, Bethesda thought, startled. That worked great.

“Wait. What?”

“I’m telling you, kid.” Janitor Steve deepened his voice, like a camp counselor at a bonfire. “The person who stole that trophy wasn’t a person at all.”

“So—you mean—it was…” Tenny scratched his head, confused. “A robot?”

“No.”

“A shark?”

“No!”

“Um…”

“Why don’t I just tell you. It was the vengeful spirit of Little Ronnie Farnsworth.”

“Wait. What? ”

Janitor Steve nodded gravely. “Ronnie Farnsworth was a boy who went here when I did. Everybody picked on him a lot, because he talked to himself and smelled kind of weird. Ronnie always swore he’d have his revenge.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah. And now, starting at the beginning of the semester, I’ve been hearing him, banging on things, making all sortsa eerie noises in the pipes. Also, I think he moved my ladder.”

Tenny didn’t really believe in ghosts, but Janitor Steve was giving him the heebie-jeebies. “So, this Ronnie guy. When did he die?”

“Die? Oh no, he’s fine. He drives a bus, over in Bellville. He’s actually in my book club. It’s his spirit, kid. It’s his vengeful spirit that haunts us. Or, haunted us. I actually haven’t heard a peep from that old ghost since he got the trophy. Not a peep.”

“Huh. Well, uh—thanks, man. Thanks a lot.”

“Sure thing. Hey, leave the door open a crack, will ya? Fumes.”

“I mean, of course I wanted that gymnastics trophy. I wanted it bad.”

Bethesda held her breath and leaned against the stair rail, tense with anticipation as Lisa’s confession unspooled. “It’s so big and beautiful. Plus, you know what the runner-up got? A gift certificate to Pirate Sam’s.” She looked ruefully at her gluten-free, nut-free, egg-free soy bar. “I can eat literally nothing there.”

“And thus you made your fateful decision,” Bethesda proclaimed, thrusting one finger into the air. “You had to have the trophy for your own!”

“Wait. You think I stole it?”

Not only did Lisa use the same words Kevin McKelvey had, she stared at Bethesda with the same expression—an open-mouthed mixture of confusion, shock, and pain.

“Of course I didn’t steal it! Why would I steal something I let Pamela win in the first place?”

“What?” Now it was Bethesda’s turn to be confused. “What do you mean, you let her win?”

“That’s what I was just telling you. It’s so important to Pamela to be the best at everything. So I purposely messed up my back handspring, so she could win the trophy.

“Oh. Well, that’s…” Bethesda smiled weakly. “That was really nice.”

“Seriously, Bethesda? You think I stole it?”

“No. No… I just.” Don’t say it, Bethesda. Don’t say it. “You know. You’re one of a number of possible suspects.”

Lisa made a disgusted, huffing noise, said, “ Excuse me,” and pushed past Bethesda. “Good luck with your mystery,” Lisa called back over her shoulder, the cold words echoing in the stairwell.

School ended at three p.m., and Bethesda had arranged to meet with Tenny by the picnic tables at precisely 3:02 to carefully review everything they’d learned so far. By 3:07, she was glancing nervously at the door, bracing herself for the possibility that he wouldn’t show, or—considering how weird he was being lately—that he would show, but act so distant and unhelpful that she’d wish he hadn’t. But at 3:09 Tenny shuffled out, gave a warm little wave, and sat down.

“All right,” said Bethesda, laying out her index cards in a neat square in front of her. “Tell me everything.”

“Okay… let’s see…”

Carefully, point by point, they went over their interrogations of the last three days. Tenny described his game of Horse with Guy Ficker, skipping over his sorry lack of basketball skills. He explained about Guy’s monthly dinner with Natasha’s family at Pirate Sam’s, and said how Todd Spolin had appeared on the playground, somewhat oddly, out of nowhere. Bethesda said “hmm,” but reminded him that Todd wasn’t even on their suspect list—he never had a key.