Tattletale Mystery (7 page)

“Mrs. Spencer will be so upset if her daughter really is involved in this,” Jessie said, sighing.

“They would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it wasn’t for a tattletale.” Benny reached for one of Mrs. McGregor’s homemade potato chips. A tattletale by the name of Janice Allen, that is.”

Henry had to admit it ruled out any possibility that Mrs. Spencer had planted the clues. It still seemed likely that Janice was the Tattletale. But if she knew Margaret had done something underhanded to win the contest, why wouldn’t she just tell Edmund about it? After all, Janice had entered the contest, too, hadn’t she? Something didn’t add up.

“The problem is,” Jessie put in, “how can we prove Milly’s the real artist of the snapdragon paintings?”

Violet, who had been thinking quietly, spoke up. “I have an idea how we can prove it, but ... it will depend on Grandfather.”

The others stared at her, puzzled.

“What’s your idea, Violet?” Benny asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“I’d rather not say anything yet,” Violet answered. “Just in case I’m on the wrong track.”

The children quickly finished lunch, then raced into the house to find Grandfather. As James Alden listened to his grandchildren, he looked more and more shocked.

“Even
this
painting might be one of Milly’s,” Violet was saying. She held up the landscape her grandfather had given her and pointed to a bright pink flower in the corner. “A snapdragon was Milly’s only signature.”

Grandfather got up from his desk and began to pace all around the den. “I can’t believe this,” he said. “If it’s true, Margaret Longford has done a terrible thing.”

Henry agreed. “She put her name on someone else’s work.”

Benny had something to add. “What about Jem Manchester? He’s up to no good, too. His aunt didn’t want him to sell her paintings.”

Grandfather stopped pacing. “Are you sure you want to remove the top layer of paint, Violet?” He gave the landscape another admiring glance.

Violet nodded firmly. “I’m certain there’s another painting underneath, Grandfather.

See how the background’s a different color around the edges?” She ran her finger along the sides of the canvas. “If my hunch is right, there’s something underneath that’ll prove the paintings are Milly’s.”

Jessie added, “If we don’t get proof soon, Milly’s paintings will be gone.”

“I’ve learned that my grandchildren’s hunches are usually right. But it’ll take an expert to remove that top layer of paint without damaging whatever’s underneath.” Grandfather gave the matter some thought. “I think Edmund Rondale is the man for the job.”

Henry wasn’t too sure about this. “But he’s so busy with the art show this week. Do you think he’ll have time to work on it?”

“Unless I miss my guess, Edmund will
make
time for it. After all, his gallery sponsored the art contest. And Edmund’s an honest man. He’d want to put a stop to an artist passing off someone else’s work as her own.” With a sudden thought, Grandfather added, “I have an appointment downtown. Why don’t I drop the painting off at the gallery on my way.”

“What do you think is under that landscape, Violet?” Benny asked after Grandfather had hurried away the painting tucked under his arm.

“The real artist, Benny,” Violet said, smiling mysteriously. “The real artist of the snapdragon paintings.”

It was almost dinnertime when Grandfather phoned, asking the children to meet him at the gallery right away. He sounded very mysterious.

The four Aldens got on their bicycles and pedaled as fast as they could to Town Square. When they arrived, they spotted Mrs. Spencer coming out of the bookstore.

Benny ran forward. “You’ll never guess what, Mrs. Spencer,” he cried, bursting with news. “We’re on our way to the Mona Lisa Gallery — to solve the mystery!”

Mrs. Spencer gasped. “Really?”

“We can’t be certain we’ll solve it,” Henry added honestly. “But we’re keeping our fingers crossed.”

“I can hardly believe this!” Mrs. Spencer’s face broke into a big smile.

Jessie had a thought. “Why don’t you come with us, Mrs. Spencer.”

“Oh, yes!” urged Violet. “It would be so nice if you were there. Just in case we really do solve the mystery, I mean.”

Mrs. Spencer was quick to agree. “I’m meeting Rachel for dinner. Just let me run and tell her what’s happening,” she said, pointing to the Greenfield Real Estate office. “Then I’ll be right there.” With a cheerful wave, she hurried off.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Violet said, “I hope Mrs. Spencer won’t be disappointed.”

Outside the gallery, Benny’s shoulders suddenly slumped. “Uh-oh,” he said. He took a step back and pointed to a sign in the window: CLOSED FOR DINNER. WILL OPEN AGAIN AT 7:00. “Looks like we’re too late.”

“Don’t worry, Benny,” Jessie assured him. “Grandfather said he’d be here.”

No sooner had Jessie spoken than the door of the gallery swung open. “Hi, kids!” Janice Allen greeted them with a smile. “Your grandfather asked me to keep an eye out for you. He’s in the back with Edmund,” she said, ushering them inside.

Sure enough, the children found their grandfather in the back room, having a cup of coffee with the gallery owner.

“I knew you wouldn’t waste any time,” Grandfather said, smiling as they came into the room. “We were hoping you’d get here before the others.” He looked relieved. So did Edmund.

“Others?” Henry looked surprised.

“Your grandfather suggested getting Margaret Longford and Jem Manchester over here on the double,” explained Edmund. He was sipping his coffee, his shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows. “I don’t know what this is all about,” he added, “but if something dishonest is going on around here, I want to get to the bottom of it.”

The gallery owner gestured toward a large worktable covered with rags and bottles of solution. “I removed the top layer of paint from the landscape. Would you like to take a look at what I uncovered?”

When the Aldens nodded eagerly, Edmund went over to the worktable. He held up a portrait of an elderly woman with soft gray eyes and silver hair.

“Oh, wow!” Benny cried excitedly. “Milly Manchester!”

“Isn’t that the self-portrait Milly was painting in Mrs. Spencer’s snapshot?” Henry wondered, finding it hard to believe.

Jessie nodded. “I’m sure of it!” she said, astonished.

“That’s the real artist of the snapdragon paintings.” Violet didn’t seem a bit surprised by what Edmund had uncovered.

“Self-portrait?” Edmund looked puzzled. “Milly Manchester painted this?” When the children nodded, he added, “But ... why would Margaret paint over someone else’s work?”

Henry spoke up. “We don’t think it was Margaret who painted over it.”

“Mrs. Spencer told us that Milly sometimes painted over her own finished work,” explained Jessie. “If she was short of cash to buy new canvas, I mean.”

Edmund put the portrait down. As he turned around, he raised a hand. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Margaret Longford’s signature was on the landscape.” He looked at each of the Aldens in turn. “Surely you’re not hinting that ... that Margaret signed her name to someone else’s work.”

“We don’t want to believe it,” said Violet. “But it looks that way.”

“And not just the landscape,” put in Benny. “All the paintings in the gallery are Milly Manchester’s.”

“At least, that’s what we think,” added Jessie.

Edmund looked stunned. “I ... I can’t believe Margaret would do such a thing.” He shook his head. “You must be mistaken.”

“My grandchildren are seldom wrong when it comes to solving mysteries,” Grandfather said firmly.

As muffled sounds of conversation came from the gallery, Edmund rolled down his shirtsleeves. “I guess it’s time to ask a few questions,” he said, sighing deeply. Then, with a worried look on his face, he led the way out to the gallery, the portrait under his arm.

“What’s this all about, Edmund?” Jem Manchester, who was standing with Margaret and Janice, was quick to confront the gallery owner. “You expect me to drop everything and come running down here on a moment’s notice? I’ve got a business to run, too, you know!” He seemed a little rushed and out of breath.

“The next showing isn’t until seven o’clock.” Margaret sounded every bit as annoyed as Jem Manchester. “What’s going on, Edmund?”

Benny put his hands on his hips. “Those paintings aren’t supposed to be sold!” he blurted out.

Jem Manchester laughed, throwing back his head. “Now, that’s a good one!”

“It’s true,” Benny said stubbornly. “Those are Milly Manchester’s paintings.”

A startled look crossed Margaret’s face. But only for an instant. With an angry toss of her head, she turned to Edmund. “I certainly hope you didn’t ask me down here to listen to this nonsense.”

Jessie said, “Those
are
Milly’s paintings. And we can prove it.”

“Did you say ... those are Milly’s paintings?”

A voice behind them made everyone turn in surprise. It was Mrs. Spencer. She had just come into the gallery with her daughter. Jessie noticed Jem’s eyes shift nervously when he caught sight of the elderly woman.

“It’s true,” said Henry, answering Mrs. Spencer’s question. “Milly’s the real artist.”

Jem smiled over at the Alden children. “It’s nice to see young people taking an interest in art,” he said, although he didn’t sound as if he meant it. “But you kids ought to get your facts straight before you go spouting off.”

Henry squared his shoulders. “The fact is, Grandfather bought a landscape last night,” he said, looking Jem straight in the eye. “Violet was sure there was another painting hidden under it, and —”

“There was!” finished Benny.

Nodding, Violet said in a quiet voice, “Edmund removed the top layer of paint, and he uncovered something that belongs to you, Mrs. Spencer.”

As the gallery owner held up the portrait, Mrs. Spencer cried out in surprise.

Stepping forward, Rachel said, “Milly Manchester left that self-portrait to my mother in her will.”

“If that’s true, why was a landscape painted over it, Margaret?” Edmund demanded. “A landscape with your signature on it.”

Margaret didn’t answer right away. She took a deep breath and tried to collect her thoughts. Finally she blurted out, “It’s not a self-portrait at all. I was the one who painted that picture of Milly. But I never
did
care much for it.” She shrugged a little. “That’s why I painted over it. What’s wrong with that?” she added rather sharply.

“Why would you paint a picture of somebody you didn’t know?” Benny asked, accusingly.

It was a good question. Margaret had made it clear she’d never met Milly Manchester. Why would she paint her portrait? Everyone waited expectantly for an answer.

Margaret struggled to find something to say. “I ... I meant I didn’t know Milly very well. She gave me a few tips on painting, that’s all.”

The Aldens looked at one another in surprise. They had been certain Margaret would confess when she saw Milly’s self-portrait. They hadn’t counted on her trying to bluff her way out of it.

But Henry wasn’t giving up so easily. “What about the snapdragons?”

Margaret blinked. “What ... ?”

“There’s a snapdragon in every one of those paintings,” stated Henry, watching Margaret closely.

Mrs. Spencer glanced around at the gallery walls. “Then they really
are
Milly’s paintings,” she said in an awed voice. “That was Milly’s signature, you know — a bright pink snapdragon.”

Edmund looked grim. “There seem to be some strange things going on around here.”

“I’ll tell you what’s strange.” Jem seemed amused. “It’s strange anybody would think those are my aunt’s paintings.” Then he shook his head sadly. “Her canvasses were destroyed in a fire, you know. Every last one of them. Such a terrible loss!”

“Maybe that’s just what you want everyone to believe,” Henry suggested.

Jem pretended to look hurt. “How can you accuse me of such a thing? I’m a respectable businessman. Why, that would be ... ”

“Dishonest?” finished Grandfather.

“Unless you can
prove
what you’re saying,” Jem responded in an icy voice, “we have nothing more to discuss.”

Edmund glanced over at Jem a little suspiciously, but did not say anything. Then Jessie caught a knowing look pass between Janice and Rachel.

Janice suddenly spoke up. “I believe I can prove it,” she said. “I have something in my purse I think you should see, Edmund.” With that, Janice disappeared into the back room. She returned a moment later, waving a photograph in the air.

Edmund’s face grew grim as he studied the snapshot. After a lengthy silence, he looked up. “How would you explain this, Margaret?” he demanded, passing the photograph to her. “As you can see, it clearly shows Milly Manchester painting her own portrait — with you watching nearby.”

Margaret’s face turned very red as she looked down at the snapshot.

“That sounds like your photograph, Mrs. Spencer,” observed Benny. “The one that was missing from your album.”

“But how in the world did —” Mrs. Spencer began.

Rachel interrupted. “I’ll explain everything to you later,” she whispered. And she gave her mother a reassuring pat on the back.