Ben Winters - The Mystery of the Missing Everything

“He said… hold on, let me get this right.” Bethesda’s father put on a respectable pirate voice to deliver the message. “‘Aye, those fam’lies were here on that Monday evenin’, at six bells, and no doubtin’ it, matey. Every one of ’em, just as always, tho’ the wee lassie arrived late as usual.’”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks.”

So Natasha and Guy’s alibis held up. Big whoop. Bethesda wasn’t in the mood to think about the mystery. She wasn’t in the mood, in fact, to think about anything at all. She basically spent the next four hours on the couch, eating but not really tasting the pizza she ordered for dinner. She did a little studying for the upcoming blizzard of quizzes, flipping through her math notes, scanning a couple chapters of The Last Full Measure . She turned on music but turned it off right away. All the songs she liked reminded her of Tenny, and of all the things she didn’t feel like thinking about, she felt like thinking about Tenny least of all.

When her parents got home, she was still on the sofa. “Well?” she said, muting the episode of You’re Going to Wear That? she was sort of watching. Her father didn’t answer, and her mother shook her head sadly as she plopped down next to Bethesda on the sofa. “What happened?”

“Everybody went crazy for Marilyn Sokal’s spare ribs, is what happened,” said Bethesda’s father glumly. “They were the big hit of the night.”

“Only because she’s a partner, honey,” said Bethesda’s mom.

“Really?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Yours was the best. No question.”

After Bethesda’s father went upstairs, they sat quietly for a moment or two, Bethesda’s mom easing out of her pinchy black work shoes, Bethesda turning something over in her head.

“Mom? Was Dad’s really the best?”

Her mom shot a quick look at the stairs. “Well… let’s just say sometimes you have to bend the truth a little bit, if that’s what doing the right thing requires. Know what I mean, baby doll?”

When she was alone again, an image appeared in Bethesda’s mind, as vivid as if she were watching it on a 3-D screen: Chester Hu outside the Main Office, standing perfectly still with his hand at the doorknob, summoning the courage to stride in there and face Serious, Permanent-Record Big Trouble, just to save Taproot Valley for Marisol Pierce and the others. Chester, his head in a muddle but his heart swollen by a sense of nobility, preparing to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

Bethesda Fielding rose from the sofa. She knew what she had to do.

Meanwhile, in a house across town, a pair of eyes was once again staring deeply into a mirror in the upstairs bathroom. “I know what I’ve got to do.” The eyes peered searchingly at their reflected image, as if the mirrored glass could reveal not just a face, but a soul . “I know what I’ve got to do.”

“What? Did you say something in there, hon?”

“No! God! ”

There was a third person who was up late that night with worry. Reenie Maslow, faced with the prospect of the Week of a Thousand Quizzes, was studying even more than usual these days—by herself, with her tutor, with her mother, with her older sister. All she did was study. Even now, long after the rest of the family had gone to sleep, she was studying, flipping again and again through her flashcards on binomials. But it was useless. Her mind kept replaying that afternoon, at the picnic benches. And that Friday afternoon, at the library… and the time on their bikes…

It wasn’t going to be fun. But Reenie knew what she had to do.

“Ihave a confession to make.”

Bethesda stood at the mirror, practicing the words she would say in the principal’s office, and how she would say them.

“I have a confession to make.”

She tried saying it slowly and quietly, with head down and chin very slightly quivering, as if on the brink of tears. “I have… a… confession… to… to… make…”

She tried saying it really, really fast, the awful truth bursting forth like water from a dam. “Ihaveaconfessiontomake!”

She tried saying the words boldly and proudly, standing upright and squaring her shoulders, as if making not a shocking admission, but a valiant declaration. “I have a confession to make!”

Ultimately Bethesda decided to keep it simple. She would calmly explain to Principal Van Vreeland that it was she, Bethesda Fielding, who broke the trophy case and stole Pamela Preston’s trophy. And then she would suffer what would surely be a wide-ranging and diverse menu of consequences. Watching on Monday morning as everyone went off to Taproot Valley without her would be just the beginning.

Bethesda had sworn she’d catch the crook and save the trip. She had failed the first part, but she could come through on the second: she’d take the blame so the rest of the kids could go. She fixed her hair in black barrettes and smoothed her purple dress. (She’d decided to dress all in black, then discovered that her only black skirt was from an old witch costume, and decided purple was close enough).

“I have a confession to make,” she said, one last time, then trudged off to school and certain doom.

“Bethesda! Bethesda!”

She halted, mid-trudge. Who was that?

“I have a confession to make!”

She was at the corner of Friedman and Devonshire, T minus ten minutes from certain-doom time, when she heard the wild and desperate voice that was shouting her name. And saying her line.

“I have a confession to make!”

It was Victor Glebe, running toward her down Friedman Street in big, ungainly strides, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He caught up to Bethesda and stood panting at her side for a long moment, slightly hunched over, breathing hard.

“It was… it was me , Bethesda,” Victor managed at last. “I did it. I’m…” Victor took one last heaving breath and straightened up. “I’m so sorry.”

Bethesda rocked on the balls of her feet, her mind alight. Her purple dress rippled lightly in the gentle fall breeze.

Victor did it! I don’t have to fake-confess!

Taproot Valley is saved!

A last-minute coup from Master Detective Bethesda Fielding! And the crowd goes wild!

There was just one question. “Victor, why would you steal Pamela’s trophy?”

“Huh?” Victor squinted at Bethesda, confused. “No. No! I didn’t do that .”

Argle bargle.

“So, what are you confessing to?”

“I’m your inscrutable tormentor.” Bethesda looked back at him, confused. “Your unfathomable adversary? Wreathed in shadow?”

“What?”

Victor sighed. “I’m the one who filled your locker with Silly String, Bethesda. And I let the air out of your bicycle tires. I wrote those notes. I’m really sorry.” Victor produced a heavily dog-eared student-edition Roget’s Thesaurus from his backpack. “And remorseful. And contrite. And compunctious.”

“I get it!”

Bethesda snatched away the thesaurus, resisting the urge to toss it in the gutter. Bethesda had been friends, or at least friendly acquaintances, with Victor Glebe since they were seven years old, and had never known him to be anything but quiet, serious, and rigorously polite. She certainly didn’t think him the type to commit petty acts of vandalism, or go around threatening people. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m scared of the dark, Bethesda.”

“What?”

“And snakes. And horses. I really don’t like horses.”

“So, you mean… oh, Victor. Seriously?”

Bethesda’s irritation softened. She imagined what Victor must have been going through these last few weeks. What he must have been going through since they entered Mary Todd Lincoln as sixth graders, two years ago, and people started talking about Taproot Valley. What a relief it must have been for the long-dreaded week of outdoor education suddenly to be canceled. And here she was, trying to get it un-canceled!