Monsters and Mischief (8 page)

“Every piece of American paper currency is the exact same size,” said Woodrow. “So if one twenty-dollar bill was a smaller size than the others, that means the bill was a fake.”

“A fake?” said Sylvester, impressed. “You mean, like counterfeit money?”

“Exactly,” said Rosie. “Mom was upset because she’d gone to the pharmacy to pick up some stuff after work. She paid the cashier with a one-hundred-dollar bill and got a lot of change back, including that twenty. Then she went next door to the grocery store. She picked up food for dinner, but when she went to pay, the grocery store cashier wouldn’t accept her money.”

“Let me guess,” said Viola. “The cashier noticed the smaller size of the twenty, and realized it was a fake?”

Rosie nodded. “My mom was able to pay with her debit card, but she still left the store angry and embarrassed. She immediately went back to the pharmacy to show the fake bill to the store manager. After a brief discussion, the manager brought over the cashier who had helped my mom earlier. My mom was about to shrug it off and call the whole thing an honest mistake, when suddenly the cashier got really defensive. He said that my mom was trying to swindle the store and get him in trouble. My mom was so shocked, she didn’t even know what to say. The manager didn’t know what to believe, and so he
did nothing. More frustrated than ever, my mother left the store with the fake bill stuck in her pocket.

“My mom said she wouldn’t have noticed the difference in the money if the grocery store clerk hadn’t pointed it out to her. She wondered why the pharmacy cashier had become so defensive, when clearly, it was an easy mistake to make. I immediately thought of an answer.
Can you
?”

“It wasn’t a mistake at all,” said Woodrow. “The pharmacy cashier gave your mom that fake bill on purpose.”

“But what would giving a fake bill to Mrs. Smithers accomplish?” Sylvester asked.
“
Was the pharmacy cashier just being mischievous
?”

“I’d say he was more devious than mischievous,” said Viola. “He’d just stolen from Rosie’s mom, after all.”

“Stolen?” said Sylvester.

“By giving Mrs. Smithers a
fake
bill, the cashier had basically added an extra twenty dollars to his register — the real twenty-dollar bill that was supposed to go to Rosie’s mom,” said Viola. “How easy would it be for the cashier to stick that extra twenty in his pocket later?”

“Pretty easy,” said Woodrow.

“That is so sneaky!” said Sylvester.

“And totally illegal,” said Rosie.

“So what’s your mom going to do about it?” Sylvester asked.

Rosie shrugged. “There’s nothing she really can do. The cashier cashed in — this time. But my mom said she takes comfort in knowing no one gets away with that kind of thing for long. Bad behavior always comes back to bite.”

17
THE HORROR IN THE DRESSING ROOM

 

When classes finished, Viola and Rosie met the rest of the
Villain
cast in the auditorium. Instead of calling the group to the stage for a warm-up, Mrs. Glick told everyone that the costume co-coordinator, a broad-shouldered and square-jawed young man named Joey, had arrived to test out some of the outfits they would wear during the show. Joey called several members of the group at a time to come into the wings and search the clothing racks for the costumes he’d brought them. Soon, it was Viola and Rosie’s turn. Joey handed the girls a couple of frilly, Victorian-looking dresses and pointed down the stairs to the dressing room hallway. Rosie carried her green gown with trepidation, remembering Clea’s ghost story about the Lady in Green’s curse. Even though the Question Marks had successfully debunked Clea’s claims, Rosie couldn’t help but worry about the ghost.

Downstairs, the girls found most of the dressing rooms being used by the boys in the cast. Near the end of the hall, where the fluorescent lights flickered weakly, they located a room where a few
of the girls were changing. Unfortunately, the one person they didn’t wish to see greeted them as soon as they stepped through the door.

“Well look who it is,” said Clea. “The stars of the show.”

Viola and Rosie said hi to everyone, then moved off to a private corner.

“I’m glad you two are here,” Clea continued. “I was just telling the others about my new mystery club. We’re called the Question Troop.”

“
The Question Troop
?” Viola said, turning red. “That’s almost exactly the same as —”

“We heard all about it,” said Rosie, squeezing Viola’s shoulder. She forced herself to smile.

“Oh, good,” said Clea with barely concealed pleasure. “Word is spreading. I suppose if anyone in our class needs help solving a mysterious occurrence, they’ll come straight to us.”

“How nice for you,” said Viola, through gritted teeth.

Rosie worried that things were starting to get ugly. She didn’t want to give Mrs. Glick a reason to expel anyone from the cast. “Did you guys figure out who stole your stuff yet, Clea?” Rosie asked.

Clea glared at Viola. “We’re working on it. Closer and closer. Paul believes that it’s someone who’s good at being tricky, maybe even someone we know.” She plucked a piece of fuzz off her lapel and flicked it away. “If there’s something
we’ve all learned recently, it’s that the villain might be the person you’d never suspect. He might even be one of your closest friends.”

Out in the hallway, someone started screaming. Clea’s eyes went wide, and even though she stood closest to the door, she froze and simply stared at it. But Viola sprang into action. She dashed forward, clutched the knob, and swung the door open.

Evan Gleeson was huddled against the far wall. He was staring down the hallway, where the fluorescent lights had given out and darkness had taken over. He looked like he’d seen the Lady in Green herself. “What’s wrong?” Viola asked.

At the sound of her voice, Evan snapped out of it. “T-Tall Ted,” he stammered. “I think I saw him down there in the dark. He limped away from me and went through the door to the boiler room.” Soon, the other boys in the cast crept up behind Evan, looking curious and a little shocked. “I knew I shouldn’t have taken one of those stones. He came to take it back from me!”

“Shh,” Viola said. “We don’t want to scare him away.”

“Scare
him
away?” said Evan.

Viola felt someone push by her. Clea was walking steadily down the hall toward the boiler room door. “Come on, you guys. The Question Troop is on the case.”

Rosie came up beside Viola. Glancing at each other, they didn’t have to speak to know that they weren’t going to let Clea beat them to the punch. They took off after her. Some of the cast followed.

When they arrived at the boiler room, Clea slowly reached out to open the door. A musty smell crept out of the pitch-black room. If there was a light inside, no one knew where to find the switch. “Shoot,” said Viola. “I left my flashlight upstairs.”

“Hello?” Clea called into the darkness. “Who’s in here?”

For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then, to everyone’s surprise, a low growl echoed out into the hallway. The group froze as the sound grew louder and higher. A scraping sound moved around inside the veil of black. Rosie imagined toenails dragging on concrete.

Someone in the group screamed. Someone else slammed the door. Then, like a flock of nervous birds moving all at once, the entire cast of
The Villain’s Web
raced back to the stairwell and up to the stage.

Joey, the costume co-coordinator, found them crowded together backstage. Evan told Mrs. Glick what he’d seen. Mrs. Glick and Joey went down to explore, but they found nothing unusual.

After the hubbub died down, Joey offered to escort the cast downstairs so they could collect
the costumes from the dressing rooms. Mrs. Glick promised everyone that they had only allowed their imaginations to get the best of them. When the cast made it back up to the stage, the director asked them to sit in a circle and take out their scripts.

Clea’s friend Paul Gomez reached into his backpack, then let out a yelp. Everyone jumped. “Someone stole my wallet!” Paul cried. “It was in the front pocket earlier. And now it’s gone!”

Rosie was impressed by Paul’s news, but she felt strangely unsympathetic. Maybe it was because Paul was part of Clea’s
Question Troop
. Or maybe Rosie was just starting to feel villainous….

“Hmm,” she whispered to Viola. “Maybe Tall Ted took it.”

“Oh man!” said Sylvester, crouched on the lawn at the Four Corners. “I wish I’d been there.” Viola, Rosie, and Woodrow huddled nearby as the sun descended beyond the horizon across the Hudson. After all the drama, the play rehearsal had let out early. When Viola had gotten home, she’d called an emergency meeting of the mystery club.

“Me too. That all sounds really exciting,” said Woodrow.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Rosie asked.

“About what?” said Viola. “Clea or the monster?”

“Aren’t they one and the same now?” said Woodrow with a smirk.

“Tall Ted and Clea Keene might indeed be monsters,” Viola agreed, “but in completely different ways. Strangely, I think Ted will be easier to deal with.”

“How do you figure that?” said Sylvester.

“We’ll debunk Tall Ted like we’ve done with the other local beastly legends,” said Viola, sounding as if it would be as easy as cleaning her bedroom. “Clea, on the other hand, will not be going away any time soon, especially since Rosie and I have to be in a play with her.”

“But what if Tall Ted really
is
a monster?” said Sylvester.

The four friends glanced at one another. If Rosie and Viola hadn’t heard the sounds coming from the school’s boiler room, they might have been able to laugh off Sylvester’s suggestion. As it was though, they all felt chills.

“We’ll figure him out,” said Viola, with a quick nod. “Easy peasy.”

“In the meantime,” said Woodrow brightly, pushing away the creepy mood that had followed the girls home from school, “my dad sent me an e-mail today. He heard a story down in the city he thought we might all appreciate.”

18
THE CASE OF THE GALLERY GRAB
(A ???? MYSTERY)

 

“Earlier this week, one of my dad’s friends invited him to an art show at a gallery in Manhattan,” said Woodrow. “A gallery is like a really small museum. My dad likes art, so he decided to check it out.

“The artist’s name is Derrick Hyde. He’s pretty cool. My dad attached some pictures of his artwork to the e-mail. Mr. Hyde uses plain old pencil and paper to draw realistic-looking portraits of fictional characters — Harry Potter, Frodo Baggins, Katniss Everdeen — only he makes them appear as if they’re sitting for yearbook photographs.”

“Those sound fun,” said Sylvester. “I want to see them!”

“You and the rest of New York City,” said Woodrow. “My dad said the gallery was super crowded — and hot. He wanted to step out for some air, but as he neared the door, he heard a commotion. Someone had grabbed one of Derrick’s framed drawings from the wall and ran off with it.”

“No way,” said Sylvester.

“That’s so crazy!” said Viola.

“People were shouting, ‘Stop him! Stop him!’ “ said Woodrow. “So what did my dad do?”

“What?” asked the other three.

“He ran after the art thief … dressed in his business suit! He chased him down the block and managed to wrestle the picture away just as the cops showed up.”

“I can’t imagine your dad doing something like that,” said Sylvester, not even trying to contain his amusement. He laughed loudly.

“Well, he did,” said Woodrow. “The cops gave him a ride back to the gallery, where a huge crowd of photographers had gathered to watch the action. Both my father and Derrick Hyde were in the newspapers — he’s sending me clippings in the mail.”

“Wow,” said Viola. “I bet Derrick didn’t realize he was going to be so popular.”

“Yeah,” said Rosie. “Not every artist can say their work has been stolen from a gallery.”

“True,” said Sylvester, “but how many artists would really
want
their work stolen from a gallery? It sounds stressful to me!”

“Some reporters were curious about the thief,” Woodrow continued, “a skinny guy named Eli Sardi. They wondered why he would attempt such a daring heist. Derrick is no Picasso — at least not yet. Eli wouldn’t have gotten much
money for the stolen picture. So the reporters did some research into the thief’s background and discovered that Derrick and Eli both grew up in Garden City, Long Island.”

“What are the chances of that?” said Rosie.

Viola raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested she didn’t believe it was a coincidence. “Go on,” she said to Woodrow.

“The reporters found yearbook pictures of the two boys working together in an art class. Apparently, they had been good friends.”

“So Eli is an artist too?” asked Sylvester. Woodrow nodded. “Well, that might shed some light on why he tried to steal one of his old friend’s drawings. Eli was probably jealous of Derrick’s success!”

“Either that,” said Rosie, “or he was a big fan but couldn’t afford the price tag. Maybe Eli wanted something to remember Derrick by.”

“Those are good theories,” said Woodrow, “but there was more going on in that gallery than everyone knew.”

“Like what?” asked Rosie.

“Some of the gallery patrons reported seeing Eli and Derrick chatting earlier that evening.”

“Were they fighting?” said Sylvester. “Maybe Eli was mad that Derrick wouldn’t give him a drawing for free.”

“Nope. They weren’t fighting. Supposedly, they were laughing and having a good time.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Rosie. “They’re old friends. They were being social.
What made that all fall apart so quickly
?”

“Nothing,” said Woodrow.

“Of course
something
had to have happened,” said Viola.

“Nope. Not a thing happened that night to make their friendship fall apart,” said Woodrow, with a teasing look.
“
How can that be
?”