Framed (4 page)

D
ark clouds loomed overhead when Griffin and Ben arrived at school the next day, but the threatening storm was mild compared to the thunderheads on Savannah’s brow.

She was waiting for them outside the front entrance. “You won’t
believe
who came to my house yesterday!” she seethed. “Animal control! They read Celia White’s column! They think Luthor’s dangerous!”

Griffin and Ben exchanged a pained expression. They agreed with animal control 1,000 percent, but they didn’t dare admit that to Savannah.

Ben cleared his throat carefully. “Did they get a good look at him?”

“Of course!” She was indignant. “And those so-called animal experts couldn’t see what a gentle creature he is. How could you gaze into those
big, beautiful eyes and miss the kindness and compassion?”

Griffin shrugged off a strangled look from Ben and turned back to Savannah. “So what happens now?”

“We’re allowed to keep him in the house and in the backyard so long as the gate is closed. But if he’s caught outside our property, except in a full harness and a muzzle, he can be impounded. That’s the word they used —
impounded
. Like he’s a shipment of bad bananas from South America.”

“Look at the bright side,” Ben offered lamely as they entered the building.

Savannah wheeled on him furiously. “How could there be a bright side? Luthor is a strong, free, vital creature who needs open space to roam and explore! For him, this will be like a prison sentence!”

“Exactly,” Ben explained. “Every single thing has gone wrong this year.”

Griffin raised an eyebrow. “And that’s the bright side?”

“Well,” Ben reasoned, “you have to admit it would be pretty hard for life to get much worse.”

A bloodcurdling shriek echoed throughout the building. All conversation halted in mid-word.
Everyone froze. There was sudden silence except for the thump of a few textbooks hitting the floor. Ferret Face popped up from Ben’s collar, scanning his surroundings in alarm.

Heads turned in the direction of the noise. Hundreds of pairs of anxious eyes peered down the corridor that led to the office. The cry had been pure primal agony. What was happening at their school?

Ben turned white to the ears. “What was
that
?”

“Come on!” Griffin led the charge through the halls, dodging shocked students. They pounded past the cafeteria and rounded the corner toward the front entrance.

A crowd was already assembling at the main display case, pointing and speaking in urgent whispers. Mr. Clancy was there, holding back the swarm, perspiration trickling down to his blue and white headband.

Dr. Egan burst from the office in a state of high agitation. “Out of my way!” bawled the principal in an echo of the original scream. He waded through the throng and began to work at the lock on the glass panel, trying key after key from a large ring.

Griffin ran up. “What happened?” he asked a
tall student who seemed to have a good vantage point on what was going on.

It was Tony Bartholomew. “Somebody stole the Super Bowl ring,” the eighth grader replied angrily. “
My
Super Bowl ring!”

“But how?” asked Ben, watching the distraught principal searching for the right key. “The case is locked up tight.”

“Not my problem,” Tony said grimly. “All I know is somebody owes me one Super Bowl ring.”

At last, the principal was able to open the lock. He slid the panel aside and reached his hand in. Griffin wiggled to the front for a better view.

The view was clearer, but not better. It was true. Art Blankenship’s Super Bowl ring was indeed gone. In its place on the black velvet was a small object — pink plastic and shiny silver wire. It was —

Griffin goggled. No. Impossible —

Dr. Egan’s beefy hand closed on the item. He brought it out of the case and examined it. His wild eyes found Griffin in the crowd.

Griffin was in a state of shock. He stared at the piece, unable to believe his eyes.

“What is it?” whispered Ben, who was too short to see what the principal was holding.

“A retainer,” said Griffin in a strangled
voice. Engraved on the plastic palate were five letters:

G. BING

“I want that ring back,” the principal ordered. “Now.”

“I don’t have it.” Griffin was barely able to conjure the breath to get any sound past his lips. “I didn’t take it.”

“How do you explain the retainer, then?” Dr. Egan demanded. “Since the first day of school, every time you open your mouth, that thing falls out. Well, you should have kept your mouth shut while you were stealing the ring! Because now your retainer proves that you’re guilty.”

“I’m not! The case was locked!”

“That wouldn’t be a problem for an experienced burglar,” the principal accused. “Locks have never stopped you before, have they?”

The Man With The Plan had been confronted with the unexpected many times. He’d been surprised, astonished, even blown away. But never had he been so completely and utterly blindsided to the point where he could not even find the words to defend himself. He stared at the retainer,
incapable of believing his own eyes. He could barely work up any anger at Dr. Egan for putting the blame on him. With this kind of evidence against him, he almost blamed himself.

“I lost my retainer a few days ago,” he managed finally. “Ask anybody. All my friends know.”

“You mean your accomplices?” the principal challenged. “Not the most reliable witnesses.”

“Somebody must have found it, and they did this to frame me!”

“All I know,” Dr. Egan told him, “is that a major piece of sports history is missing, an item of jewelry worth tens of thousands of dollars. If you don’t hand it over, I’m going to have to take this to the next level.”

All Griffin could say was, “It wasn’t me.”

The principal addressed his students. “Everyone — back to your lockers. This doesn’t concern you.” His furious gaze fell on Ben and Savannah. Pitch, Melissa, and Logan inched forward to support their friend. “And I
certainly
hope it doesn’t concern any of you.”

He marched Griffin into the office and slammed the door.

“Lottie,” he said to his secretary, “call the police.”

I
t was not the first time that Detective Sergeant Vizzini had visited the Bing house. He had been there investigating the stolen Babe Ruth card and had also stopped by after the zoobreak incident.

His dark eyes panned the familiar surroundings of the kitchen. “New curtains. I like the color,” he approved. “Brings out the wood stain of the cabinets.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Bing anxiously. It was an automatic response. Curtains were the last thing on her mind. “Officer, I know Griffin has had issues in the past. But this time he’s telling the truth. His retainer has been gone a few days now — long before that ring disappeared.”

Vizzini nodded. “I believe you.”

Mr. Bing frowned. “Well, in that case, what are we doing here? Why is Griffin in trouble?”

“Here’s the thing,” the cop told them. “I believe that’s what your son told you. Whether or not he told
you
the truth — well, that’s a different matter entirely.”

“No, it isn’t!” Mr. Bing was triumphant. “We’ve ordered a replacement retainer. That’s hard evidence! Just call the orthodontist to check.”

“Already done.” Vizzini flipped open a ring-bound pad. “The requisition left Dr. Torelli’s office with the overnight paperwork after closing yesterday — just about the same time the burglary at the school must have taken place.”

Griffin spoke up for the first time. “You think I went straight from a break-in to the
orthodontist
?”

“The office has late hours on Monday and Thursday,” the detective read from his notes. “Yesterday’s last patient didn’t leave until — let’s see — nine twenty-two p.m.”

“That’s crazy!” Mr. Bing exclaimed. “You don’t order a four hundred–dollar dental appliance without taking some time to look for the old one first!”

“Unless you’re trying to manufacture an alibi for the theft of something worth a lot more,” Vizzini countered.

Mrs. Bing was bug eyed. “You’re not just accusing him of a burglary! You’re accusing him of using his own parents to cover it up!”

The detective leaned back in his chair, looking suddenly tired. “One of the first things they teach you in the police academy — you’ve got to see the big picture. You can’t get locked into any one version of the crime.”

“He’s a twelve-year-old kid, not Al Capone!” Griffin’s father exploded.

“A twelve-year-old who’s already made a lot of so-called experts look like clowns. Me, for instance. Considering Griffin’s past pattern of behavior, can you honestly rule out the possibility that he’s responsible?”

The Bings hesitated.

Griffin was in agony. His parents
knew
the retainer had been gone since last week!

“I didn’t do it,” he said in a small voice.

“Maybe,” the cop said evenly. “For one thing, I can’t explain how you got into that display case. The lock shows no sign of tampering, and Dr. Egan insists he was in control of all keys. Does that mean it couldn’t have been you? You’re a resourceful kid, Griffin Bing. I underestimate you at my peril. And believe me, that’s not a compliment.”

“We stand by our son, Detective Vizzini,” Griffin’s mother said firmly.

The cop sighed. “Here’s what happens now. We search your house for the missing ring. It should go pretty fast, since my men already know the place. In the meantime, Griffin has to stand before a judge —”

Mr. Bing looked alarmed. “Aren’t you taking this a little too far?”

“Taking things too far,” Vizzini replied, “is your son’s trademark. Anyway, it’s just a preliminary session to set a hearing date.”

“That’s even worse!” Griffin blurted.

Vizzini was unmoved. “Right from the beginning, a dozen different cops told you that one day your luck would run out. You think we were making it up? We’re not that creative.”

They were, however, punctual. Within the hour, six uniformed officers were riffling through drawers, tapping walls, searching cupboards, and running metal detectors along baseboards while the family waited out on the lawn.

“Well, Griffin, give us a heads-up,” Dad said wearily. “Any chance they’re going to find it?”

“Of course not!” Griffin snapped. “I thought you trusted me!”

“We
do
trust you,” Mom soothed. “It’s just that most parents don’t even go through this once. Our street is starting to look like the parking lot of the police station.”

“It’s different this time,” Griffin insisted. “Whatever happened to that ring, I had nothing to do with it.”

The preliminary hearing was scheduled for the next day at ten a.m. Everything about the courthouse seemed as if it had been designed to make Griffin feel small — the massive stone building, the towering marble columns, the security checkpoint, where uniformed guards directed visitors through a metal detector, like at an airport.

Police officers were everywhere, along with judges, jurors, lawyers, and people on trial, some even in handcuffs.

“I don’t belong here,” Griffin said to his parents. In the soaring atrium, his voice sounded high-pitched, like a four-year-old’s.

“You don’t have a thing to worry about,” his father replied grimly. “You didn’t take that Super Bowl ring, so all you have to do is tell the truth.”

Dad was trying to sound upbeat and positive, but when he went off to ask directions to courtroom 235, he looked like a man marching to his own execution.

At last, they located the right room. Their lawyer was already there — Dalton Davis of Davis, Davis, and Yamamoto. He looked like Griffin felt — very dark and very serious. Together, the four of them spent the longest forty-five minutes of Griffin’s life on a hard, wooden bench, waiting their turn to appear before the judge.

It wasn’t much like the legal dramas Griffin had seen on TV. There was no prosecutor, no witnesses. In fact, the only other people there were Judge Koretsky herself and a stenographer with lightning fingers who typed every single word, including
ahem
and stomach gurgles.

Judge Elaine Koretsky was an incredibly compact woman, probably in her midfifties. Despite her small size, though, she radiated power and a no-nonsense attitude. She spent a few minutes glancing at papers in a file folder before turning her attention to Griffin. “Why don’t you tell me your version of what’s happened here?”

“Well,” Mr. Davis began, “as I hope we’ve established —”

“I’d prefer to hear it from Griffin,” the judge interrupted.

It was the umpteenth time Griffin had told this story. He should have had it letter-perfect by now. But he began to falter as he watched the judge’s deepening frown.

When he was finished, she asked the one question he had no answer for: “So how did your retainer wind up inside the locked case where the ring used to be?”

“I can’t explain it,” he admitted, his face crimson. “I only know I didn’t put it there.”

The judge was not unkind, but her words fell like bombs. “You are convincing, but so is the evidence against you — especially in view of your past pattern of behavior.”

“Griffin has never been convicted of a crime,” Mr. Davis put in quickly.

“Maybe not,” she returned, “but he’s a regular trivia question in the police department quiz bowl league. I’m setting a hearing date for October twenty-ninth. If that ring should happen to turn up before then, it would make all our lives a lot easier. Especially yours, Griffin.”

Griffin could only shake his head.

“In the meantime,” Judge Koretsky went on, “I’m
notifying the school district that you are being removed from Cedarville Middle School. Until this matter is resolved, you will be attending the JFK Alternative Education Center.”

Griffin was aghast. “You mean
Jail For Kids
?”

The judge glowered disapprovingly. “It’s not jail. I’ve seen jail. You don’t want to see it, too. JFK is the alternative program for secondary school kids in the county. Its students are there for various reasons — educational, social, behavioral, and legal.”

Mr. Bing stood up. “What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

The judge smiled. “That still counts. This isn’t a sentence. I think it’s a good idea to take Griffin out of the atmosphere where his problem is percolating.”

“What about all my friends?” Griffin protested.

“Perhaps you could use a rest from them as well. And vice versa.” The crack of the gavel made it official. “We’re adjourned until October twenty-ninth.”