Mystery of the Secret Message (4 page)

“No, I didn’t. Maybe it was just an accident,” said Henry.

“Maybe,” said Jessie. But she doubted it.

B
rrr!” said Jessie, buttoning her jacket up to her chin. “It sure is cold!”

Winter was definitely in the air at the Farm Meadow Nursery. Swags of greenery were looped along the fence. Tiny white lights twinkled in the evergreen trees.

The Aldens had driven to the nursery with their grandfather to pick up decorations for the festival. Today they would begin decorating the square with greenery. The festival was only three days away.

“It’s supposed to be cold,” Benny told Jessie as they walked among the potted spruce and fir trees. “Who ever heard of a hot Winter Festival?”

Jessie held tightly to the strap of her tote bag. Even though there were few people around, she wasn’t taking any chances.

Benny saw his sister grip the strap. “Are you sure somebody tried to grab your bag yesterday?” he asked.

“Positive,” she replied. “Whoever it was pulled hard. That person definitely wanted this bag. But the only thing I carry in it is the festival notebook.”

“Why would anyone want your notebook?” Benny asked.

“I don’t know,” Jessie replied. She’d be glad when the festival was over. Being her grandfather’s assistant was a lot of responsibility.

Violet caught up to them. She had been taking pictures. Now she snapped Benny standing beside a small fir tree.

“The tree is just your size!” she said, laughing.

The three of them found Henry and Grandfather loading holly branches into the trunk of their car.

“Ouch!” Henry cried. “The points on this holly are going right through my gloves.”

“Be careful,” Grandfather warned. “Let’s load the wreaths next.”

The Aldens stacked pine wreaths on the backseat. A bushel of pine cones was placed on the floor.

“The town square is going to look so pretty,” Jessie said as they all squeezed into the car.

They drove from the nursery to town. Today Grandfather had special permission to drive up the lane into the square. Once they were in the square, everyone hopped out of the car.

“Let’s pile the greens next to the statue,” Grandfather directed, unlocking the trunk. “The rest of my decorating committee should be here soon.”

Benny was staring at the statue. His mouth fell open. “Look!” he cried.

Jessie gasped.

“Oh, no!” Violet exclaimed.

The Minuteman had been painted a bright, cheery red. Red paint coated the statue, from his bronze toes to the top of his musket.

“Oh, my,” Grandfather remarked.

Dawn Wellington rushed into the square. “Mr. Alden,” she said breathlessly. “I tried to call you, but your housekeeper said you were out. Isn’t it awful?”

“A terrible prank,” Grandfather agreed.

Just then, Mrs. Turner came out of the drugstore. “Mr. Alden! When I got to work this morning, that’s what I saw!”

Violet noticed a red-smeared can in one of the trash cans.

“Here are the paint cans,” she said.

Henry turned to the waitress. “We asked Mr. Kirby if he could store the cans for us until today. He told us to leave them outside and he would put them away.”

“I left early yesterday,” said Mrs. Turner. “I remember seeing your paint things by the door.”

“That’s where we left them.” Henry touched one of the statue’s red-painted boots. “It’s still sticky. It wasn’t painted that long ago.”

“Probably early this morning,” Grandfather said. “Good thing it’s water-based paint. Since it’s not dry yet, it should wash off.”

“I’ll get some soap and water,” Dawn offered, and dashed across the square to her studio. She returned with two buckets filled with hot, soapy water and several scrub brushes.

The Aldens got right to work. With Dawn and Grandfather’s help, the statue soon went from tomato red to its normal bronze color.

“Did you see anyone this morning?” Henry asked Dawn when they were finished. “Anybody who looked suspicious?”

She shook her blond ponytail. “No one. I came in early because I wanted to get started on the souvenir booklet. I planned to take shots of the square in the morning light. What a shock to see this bright red statue!”

“Well, it’s over and done with,” Grand-father said. “Let’s get on with the festival preparations.”

But before anyone could move, Sylvia Pepper flew out from her shop. “Do you see that?” she demanded, pointing to her doorway with its address numbers.

Benny realized immediately what was wrong. “The numbers are backward,” he said. “It should be two-one-one, not one-one-two.”

“Exactly!” Sylvia screeched. “When I got to work this morning, someone had switched the address numbers. Everyone’s addresses are wrong!”

Sure enough, the brass numbers over every shop door were out of order. Dawn’s shop, number 209, was now 902. All around the square, the address numbers were mixed up.

“I don’t understand,” said Dawn. “I thought Greenfield was a nice, quiet town. That’s why I moved here.”

“It
is
a nice place,” Violet said, defending her town. “These things have never happened before.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem very nice now,” said Sylvia. “When my lease is up, I might look for another location for Sylvia’s Blooms.”

James Alden put out a calming hand. “Let’s not panic,” he said. “This is just a practical joke.”

Dawn looked uneasy. “But the person did all this without being seen. It’s like a phantom.”

“The phantom of Greenfield square,” Henry said. It
was
strange that no one saw the vandal.

“The culprit is probably miles away,” said Grandfather.

Benny wasn’t so sure. But there was a way to find out.

Red paint was hard to clean off. At home last night, he had to scrub a long time to remove the red paint from under his fingernails. The person who painted the statue must have red fingernails, too.

“Do you want us to look for whoever did it?” he asked his grandfather.

“Thanks, Benny. But I think we should work on the festival. I’ll fix the address numbers right now.”

“We’ll unload the decorations,” Henry offered.

The Aldens walked over to the car. Grandfather fetched a small toolbox and went back to Sylvia’s shop. The children gathered armloads of greenery. They heaped the decorations at the base of Josiah Wade.

“Something strange is going on,” Jessie remarked as she straightened an evergreen garland. “Who would paint the statue?”

“Or switch the address numbers?” Henry wondered. “Why mess up the square when the festival is just days away?”

Benny carefully placed holly branches on the brick pavement. “Maybe somebody doesn’t want the festival.”

“Who wouldn’t want a fun celebration?” asked Violet. “And for such a good cause, too.”

“I guess everyone doesn’t feel the way we do about our town,” Henry said, glancing at Cooke’s Drugstore. “I’d like to ask Mr. Kirby what he did with our paint cans.”

When the last wreath was stacked neatly beside the statue, Grandfather came over.

“Since we’ve been working extra hard today, let’s have lunch in the drugstore,” he suggested.

“I sure could use a piece of Mrs. Turner’s apple pie.” Benny had eaten all the crackers Mrs. McGregor packed in his knapsack.

Jessie laughed. “Well, you’ll have to last long enough to eat a sandwich first.”

Inside the drugstore, Henry said to Jessie, “Could you order me a tuna sandwich? I want to talk to Mr. Kirby.”

“I’m coming, too,” Violet said.

Mr. Kirby didn’t look happy to see them. “What can I do for you?” he asked Henry.

“Yesterday we left some paint supplies,” Henry said. “We asked you to keep them for us overnight. You said to leave them outside and you would bring them in.”

“Right,” Mr. Kirby said. “When I locked up last night, I didn’t see any paint cans. I thought you had taken them home after all.”

Returning to their stools, Henry whispered to Violet, “Somebody took the paint cans! Then that person came back after everyone was gone and painted the statue.”

“But who?” asked Violet.

After apple pie with cinnamon sauce, Mrs. Turner’s new creation, the Aldens returned to the square.

“Where are the people who are supposed to help decorate?” Jessie asked Grandfather. She flipped through her festival notebook. “Dawn Wellington, Rick Bass, Sylvia Pepper, Mr. Ames the hardware store owner, and Ms. Reit from the jewelry store are on the committee.”

Grandfather checked his watch. “They were supposed to meet here at two-thirty. Maybe they forgot. I have a meeting, but first I’ll pop into the shops and remind everyone.”

“We’ll do that, Grandfather,” Violet said. She was afraid her grandfather was working too hard on this festival.

Henry took off his jacket and left it at the base of the statue. The chilly morning had warmed up.

“We’ll leave our things here. We won’t be gone that long,” he said.

Jessie glanced around the empty square. She could look through any shop window and see the statue. Her bag should be safe here for a few minutes.

The children walked around, reminding the members of the decorating committee. Only Rick Bass wasn’t available. He wasn’t in the museum in the basement of the town hall. No one had seen him all day.

When they were on their way back to the statue, Jessie noticed something odd. Her tote bag was lying in a different spot from where she had left it. She ran to check it. Her notebook was still there.

Benny was hunting for his knapsack. “I put it right here.” He finally found it under a pile of holly.

“Someone’s been in our things,” Jessie told Henry.

Henry picked up his jacket. Sure enough, the pockets were turned inside out. “Someone went through my jacket.”

Violet looked around for her camera bag.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “I left my bag here and it’s gone!”

A
re you sure your camera bag is missing?” Jessie asked Violet. “Maybe you took it into the drugstore.”

Violet shook her head. “I left it here, with our coats and things. I can’t believe someone would steal it.”

“Well, somebody did,” Henry said grimly.

Benny hated to see his sister so upset. “Don’t worry, Violet. Let’s go look in the drugstore, just in case.”

But Mrs. Turner wasn’t able to help them. “I know that gray bag of yours,” she said to Violet. “You didn’t bring it with you today. I’m sure you just left your bag at home.”

Violet smiled weakly, but she felt awful. Her camera wasn’t at home; she’d been taking pictures most of the day. She should have been more responsible with her belongings.

As the Aldens went back outside, they met Dawn Wellington on the sidewalk.

“Hi, kids,” she said cheerfully.

Sylvia Pepper came across the square. She brought a box of red ribbons. “For the wreaths,” she said.

A few seconds later, Mr. Ames and Ms. Reit joined Sylvia.

“Greenfield Decorating Committee reporting for duty,” Dawn joked, giving a snappy salute. “All present and accounted for.”

“Everyone but Rick Bass,” Jessie said. “I wonder where he is.”

“He’s probably just late,” Henry said. “We’ll ask if anyone has seen Violet’s camera bag.”

But no one had.

Violet had hoped someone had seen her bag by the statue and taken it inside for safekeeping. But her camera seemed to be gone forever.

Benny inspected everyone’s fingernails. He didn’t see any telltale red paint. Sylvia Pepper always had bright red fingernails.

The rest of the afternoon, they draped garlands around shop windows. Each door was graced with a ribbon-tied pine wreath. Even the lampposts sported sprigs of holly.

When they were finished, the decorators stood back to survey the square.

“Too plain,” Sylvia said, frowning. “I’m going to add flowers and bows to my door.”

“I like the simple wreaths,” Dawn said. “It looks like New England. I think Josiah Wade would approve.”

The mention of Josiah Wade made Jessie think about Rick Bass. He hadn’t shown up. Had something happened to the museum curator?

Benny also glanced at the statue, tall and stately in the late afternoon sun. If only the Minuteman could talk. He would ask Josiah who took his sister’s camera bag. But he knew statues couldn’t speak.

When he heard about the theft that evening at dinner, Grandfather was very understanding.

“These things happen,” he told Violet. “When the festival is over, we’ll get you another camera.”

“And we won’t stop looking for the stolen one,” Henry promised. “Your camera just didn’t walk away.”

“But I’m supposed to take pictures at the festival,” Violet protested. “That’s my job at the Alden booth. Without my camera, we’ll have to do something else for the festival.”

She hated to let Grandfather down. She knew he had a lot on his mind. The man who was supposed to play the clown had gotten sick. Grandfather needed to find another clown.

Benny had an idea. “You’re a good artist, Violet. Maybe you could
draw
people in front of the statue.”

“Thanks, Benny,” Violet said, smiling. “But I doubt I can draw that well.”