Edgar Allan's Official Crime Investigation Notebook (8 page)

During math class, Edgar spied on Kip. Kip's leg was jiggling against his desk, but his leg always did that. He turned his attention to Taz and noticed something suspicious. Taz was staring at something in his hand instead of paying attention to the lesson. What was it? Something else he stole? Edgar had to get a look.

Edgar made a silent apology to his friend the pencil, and then he broke off the tip.

“Ms. Herschel?” He raised his hand. “May I sharpen my pencil?”

“I saw you break it!” Patrick whispered. “What are you doing?”

“None of your business,” Edgar whispered back.

Patrick raised his hand. “I need to sharpen mine, too.”

“Boys. I'm in the middle of a lesson! You may both sharpen your pencils when I'm done.”

Ms. Herschel went on with the lesson. As soon as it was over and the assignment to begin work was given, Edgar and Patrick both jumped up. Edgar raced to the sharpener, purposefully
not
passing by Taz's desk. Patrick
followed him. Edgar was so mad, he couldn't hold his pencil straight, and he had to try three times to get it sharp.

“What are you doing?” Patrick whispered angrily.

“What are
you
doing?” Edgar whispered back.

On the way back to his desk, Edgar took a chance. He passed by Taz's desk and glanced over without moving his head so that Patrick couldn't see.

Taz was staring at a keychain!

Quickly, he slid into his seat and pretended to begin work on his math. Two seconds later Patrick leaned over and whispered, “I bet he stole that keychain, too!”

Edgar's pencil broke again.

Ms. Herschel set her coffee cup down and mouthed the words, “Get to work,” at Edgar.

Edgar looked at her coffee cup and a fresh idea filled him to the brim. He grabbed his notebook and hurried to his teacher's desk.

Ms. Herschel is finally seeing the light.


Edgar closed his notebook and let his new theory percolate. Another teacher is stealing Ms. Herschel's possessions because Ms. Herschel is a coffee hog. An original theory, Edgar was sure. He watched the clock. He wanted to be first out the door, so that he could be the one to tell Mr. Crew about the latest theft.

Edgar was first out the door, with Patrick at his heels.

“Look! It's the thief!” Patrick yelled.

Edgar turned to look, and Patrick sped ahead, laughing.

By the time Edgar arrived at Mr. Crew's classroom, Patrick had already showed him the thief's message. When everyone was seated, the teacher asked Patrick to read it again to the entire class. “Listen to the meter as he reads it,” Mr. Crew said. “Meter is the rhythm of the poem. Listen to how this poem sounds. ‘Whose room this is I think I know.'
Ba bum, ba bum, ba bum, ba bum
.”

Patrick read the poem.

“Why do you think some poets use meter or rhythm?” Mr. Crew asked.

“Because they like hip hop,” Taz said.

“Because it gives the poem a beat,” Maia said.

“Yes! Any other ideas?”

“It's like a heartbeat,” Destiny said.

“Yes! Rhythm is all around us and
in
us. The heartbeat is the first thing we hear, even before we're born! We
hear our mother's heartbeat and it connects us. Everybody sit down and listen.” He drummed a rhythm on his desk with the palms of his hands. “Come on, connect to the rhythm.”

Taz was first. He started thumping the rhythm on his desk. Everyone else joined in. At first, Edgar didn't want to participate because he felt so cheated out of being first to the room, but the rhythm was like a voice, calling him to join in. When Edgar began drumming, he felt as if he had become a part of some big, living thing that was outside and inside himself at the same time.

As a group, they began to drum faster and louder, each student certain the principal was going to come in and tell them to stop.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!” Mr. Crew said to the beat.

“Booming in the room!” Taz yelled.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!” Mr. Crew chanted. “Booming in the room!”

They all started chanting. “Boom! Boom! Boom! Booming in the room!”

The beat began to slow down and get softer and softer and finally it came to a stop.

“Let's boom it again,” Taz said.

Mr. Crew laughed. “If you read a poem with meter, the rhythm helps you to connect with the poem, with the message of the poem, and even with the poet. A poem is a connection. Everybody take a minute, and get silent. Try to hear a rhythm. Then try writing a poem with that rhythm.”

Edgar sat very still and tried to get in touch with his inner rhythm. The silence was electrifying. His heart was
thumping a mile a minute, probably because he was still mad at Patrick.
Ba bum, ba bum, ba bum, ba bum
. He looked around. Taz had his eyes closed. He wondered what he was thinking about. He looked at Destiny. She had her eyes closed, too.

The rain was still coming down, plunking against the windows with a rhythm of its own. Edgar watched the water streaming down in little rivers.

He looked at Destiny again. Even with her eyes closed, she looked sad to him. Would she look sad to anybody else? Or just him because he knew her secret sadness?

Edgar looked at the sentence Mr. Crew had painted above the board. “A poem is a gift.” A remarkable idea occurred to Edgar. What if he left a poem in her cubby? . . . He took out a sheet of paper.

Stopping by Your Cubby on a Gray Day


It's raining now. I think I hear


Each droplet falling like a tear


I spy your pain and want to say


You're not alone! So never fear!


Careful not to let Patrick see, he folded the paper, wrote Destiny's name on it, and put it in his pocket. Now his heart was pounding louder than ever. Would he have the guts to follow through with it?

“Edgar, it looks like you're finished,” Mr. Crew said. “Would you like to read yours?”

“No!” Edgar yelped.

“Destiny, how about you?” Mr. Crew asked.

Destiny looked down. “No, thanks.”

Mr. Crew paused with a smile, waiting to see if either of them would change their minds. Then, he looked out at his class.

“What about you, Taz?”

Taz grinned. “Sure.”

Edgar switched gears in his brain, away from thinking about Destiny back to Taz. Before he had come up with his new theory about a coffee-loving teacher taking revenge on Ms. Herschel, Taz was his prime suspect. Edgar had to follow through with the coffee lead, but also, he had to keep focused on his classmates.

Taz read his poem.

Fetch

I fling it far across the field
.

My dog goes chasing after
.

He grabs it in his slobberjaws

and runs back even faster
.

Next time I play fetch with my dog
,

a stick is what I'll use
,

instead of mom's new oven mitt
,

which now is wet and chewed
.

Mr. Crew laughed. “Great poem, Taz! The rhythm of your poem matches the rhythm of your dog running back and forth! I almost feel like I'm there, playing fetch with him, too. And I love how you use alliteration in the first line. Who knows what I mean by that?”

Edgar couldn't think about alliteration at the moment. He was stuck on the fact that Taz had written another dog poem.

Possible clue: Taz has written three poems so far, and all three are about his dog. A clue? Maybe not. If my mom would let me get a dog, I'd probably write a lot of great poems.


Since he wasn't about to turn in his poem about Destiny, Edgar had to write another rhythm poem to turn in to Mr. Crew.

Think…think…think…


Why can't I


think…think…think…


I think my


brain…brain…brain


is going to


shrink…shrink…shrink


It needs a


drink…drink…drink


of magic


ink…ink…ink


that drips with


rhyme…rhyme…rhyme


So I can


find…find…find


A poem in


time…time…time!


Secrets have a way of making the heart beat faster, and so Edgar's heart was galloping as he walked back to Ms. Herschel's room. He pulled his secret—the poem for Destiny—out of his pocket and slipped it onto the top shelf of her cubby.

“We're having indoor recess because of the rain, Edgar,” Ms. Herschel called out. “What'll it be today? Would you like to sign out a game?”

Edgar popped out from behind the cubbies. “Can I sign up for computer #1?”

She nodded and he sat down at a computer in the back corner. From there, he could see the whole room at once. A perfect set-up for spying.

Note: Ms. Herschel is at it again. Is her coffee cup ever empty? I don't think so.


Taz came in next. “I get computer #2!”

Ms. Herschel stopped him. “Last indoor recess
somebody set the alarm clock on the computer to play ‘The Star Spangled Banner' during my afternoon class.”

“That wasn't me!”