Ben Winters - The Mystery of the Missing Everything

And there was the prime suspect, the real suspect, sitting blithely on a picnic bench, exactly where Bethesda had known she would be—in Bethesda’s seat, at Bethesda’s place, wedged between Shelly and Hayley, her glasses off and folded on the table beside her, her reddish-tannish hair clipped above her ears, a book balanced on her lap. Always reading , Bethesda thought disdainfully, always making sure everyone knows how smart you are.

IOM. Irene Olivia Maslow.

“I know it was you.”

Reenie raised her head slowly and returned Bethesda’s stare unflinchingly.

“You know what was me?”

The picnic-tables crowd looked over at the confron-tation. Most of them were clustered around a laptop Suzie had checked out from Technologies, watching the “Save Taproot Valley” video for the zillionth time. Suzie hit a button, the movie paused on a shot of Braxton with paws outstretched, and everyone’s attention turned to the strange sight of Bethesda Fielding glowering at Reenie Maslow.

“You’re the one who stole Pamela’s trophy.”

In all the mystery books, in all the movies, when the hero swoops in to unmask her nefarious adversary, there’s always this dramatic confrontation, where the bad guy either makes a break for it, or begs for mercy. Bethesda took a big dramatic step backward, waiting for one of those things to happen. But Reenie neither sprinted toward Friedman Street nor fell pleadingly to her knees. Instead she carefully picked up her glasses off the picnic bench, unfolded the stems to put them on, and said, “No I didn’t.”

Bethesda blinked.

“Yes you did.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did !”

Bethesda was feeling less like a world-class detec-tive unmasking her diabolical foe, and more like a kindergartner fighting in a sandbox.

“All right, let’s all just calm down here,” said Chester Hu, rising from his place beside Suzie and stepping toward them, waving his hands for calm. “Bethesda, why do you think Reenie did it?”

“Excellent question!” Bethesda replied, thrusting a finger into the air. In her most resonant, closing-argument voice, Bethesda revealed the powerful evidence she had kept hidden for so long. “In the Achievement Alcove, behind the trophy case, I found three little initials written on the base of the back wall. IOM! As in Irene Olivia Maslow!”

Bethesda stepped backward and crossed her arms: Case closed.

The problem was, no one looked all that convinced.

“Wait— I OM?” asked Pamela, wrinkling her nose with confusion. “Wouldn’t she have signed it R OM? Everyone calls her Reenie.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” added Suzie, and Shelly nodded in agreement.

“Actually,” Bessie Stringer threw in, “Why would she sign it at all?”

“Good point,” said Ezra.

“Well… I don’t know!” Bethesda sputtered. “Ask her !”

But Reenie said nothing. She just sat there and looked at Bethesda, her face blank.

“Also, IOM could stand for a lot of stuff,” put in Rory, smoothing his long black hair with one hand. “Like Ireland’s only mountain. Or interesting oily monkeys.”

Bethesda sighed in frustration. “You guys, come on! Reenie did it! It’s so obvious. ”

Marisol Pierce looked at Bethesda. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really seem all that obvious.”

“Yeah,” Pamela agreed. She made a sour, skeptical face. “Why would Reenie steal my trophy?”

“Because…,” Bethesda started, and then stopped and glanced quickly at Reenie, who sat still and cold as a statue.

“Well, for a lot of reasons.”

“Name one.”

“Well… to… um…”

“Iggy oinked merrily!” Rory shouted suddenly.

“Good one,” said Ezra, and slapped him five.

Suzie started the video again, and everyone turned back to Braxton’s classic pratfall, already in progress. Bethesda stood helplessly, her hands flapping at her sides. Just like that, her big dramatic moment had passed.

Except that, suddenly, Reenie turned and addressed her with a voice coiled tightly as a striking snake. “Bethesda, I am very sorry that your little investigation didn’t work out as you planned it,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you should go around blaming people just because you happen to dislike them.”

“Dislike you?” Bethesda was stunned. “I don’t dislike you! You dislike me !”

“I don’t dislike you. I barely know you.” Reenie stepped carefully around Bethesda, chucked her empty lunch bag in the garbage, and walked toward the door of the school.

“Wait!” Bethesda shouted. She knew she was right and she knew she could prove it. “Wait!”

Suzie paused the movie again, this time on one of the innumerable Pamela Preston close-ups. Reenie stopped at the door, shaking her head sadly, like she was the mature one, tolerating Bethesda’s childish behavior out of sheer pity.

“Pamela’s trophy was stolen from the Achievement Alcove at approximately five forty-five on Monday the twentieth,” Bethesda announced, then pointed dramatically at Reenie. “What were you doing at five forty-five that day?”

“I… well… Mondays…” Reenie thought for a moment, and then her cool-as-a-cucumber attitude abruptly disappeared. Her face got red and she stared at Bethesda with open hostility. “That’s none of your business!”

“Aha!” said Bethesda. All the eighth graders leaned in closer, except Pamela, who snuck a quick admiring glance at her freeze-framed face on the screen. “If Reenie wasn’t stealing the trophy, she’d tell us where she was!”

“Bethesda, no offense, but I’m, like, totally sure you’re wrong,” said Natasha, speaking up for the first time. “Reenie, why don’t you just tell us what you were doing. Then Bethesda will know she made a mistake.”

“Fine. I was… I…,” Reenie began, and then stopped and cleared her throat. She looked caught and helpless, like a mouse in the jaws of a trap. Bethesda felt a fleeting rush of sympathy, quickly drowned in a wave of anticipation. Her moment of triumph was at hand! Bethesda Fielding, Master Detective, would be the hero after all!

“I was at home, with my tutor.”

“Tutor? Why would you need a tutor?”

Reenie looked straight up in the air, took a deep breath, and returned her gaze to Bethesda. “Because I’m way, way behind.”

Bethesda scrunched up her face. “Behind? In what subject?”

“All of them.”

Bethesda’s heart lurched in her chest. Oh, no.

“But… but you’re so smart. You’re always reading. Trying to get ahead.”

Reenie let out a small, rueful laugh. “Get ahead? Hardly. I’m just trying to keep up.”

“But why didn’t you just tell everyone that?”

“Why didn’t I tell everyone?” Reenie laughed again, shaking her head. “If everyone thought you were some sort of genius, and actually they were completely wrong, would you tell them?”

Bethesda opened her mouth and then shut it again. The crowd at the picnic tables was hushed and still. Suzie’s computer went dark and the school’s official screen saver came up, an image of Mary Todd Lincoln wearing a Bluetooth headset. Looking helplessly around the picnic benches, Bethesda’s eyes landed on Tenny, who wore an expression of total disgust—an expression, she knew, that had nothing to do with fish sticks.

“Hey, Bethesda? Someone named Old Filthy Beard called for you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

School was over. Bethesda was sprawled lengthwise on the couch with her face squashed into the pillows, staring into the rumpled green fabric. Her dad was shuttling back and forth to the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on his chili, preparing to knock the socks off everyone at the law firm charity dinner that night. He paused, leaning into the living room from the kitchen door, his chef’s hat at a rakish angle.