Tattletale Mystery (8 page)

Jem inched his way closer to Margaret and looked over her shoulder. As he got a glimpse of the photograph, his mouth dropped open.

“Well, Margaret,” Edmund said sternly. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Margaret didn’t answer. Instead, she wheeled around to face Jem. “This is all your fault!” she cried, almost shouting. “I told you not to come to the gallery. Didn’t I warn you it would look too suspicious? But oh, no, you had to come anyway, didn’t you? You just couldn’t resist giving one of your big sales pitches.” Margaret shook her finger at him. “You’re a fool, Jem Manchester! Your aunt was a brilliant artist. Her paintings would’ve sold without any help from you.”

Jem’s eyes darted from side to side. He opened his mouth several times as if about to speak, then closed it again. Finally he let out a sigh and said, “All right, it’s true. My aunt painted every last one of them. But she had no business putting a condition in her will!” He sounded upset. “There’s nothing wrong with a guy wanting to make a few bucks. I should’ve been able to do whatever I wanted with her paintings!”

He stopped talking for a moment. Then he gave a little shrug. “Anyway, no harm done,” he said, suddenly trying to make light of everything. “Why don’t I just gather up my paintings and get out of your way.” Then, with a few quick strides, he went over and took a painting down from the wall.

But Mrs. Spencer wasn’t having any of that. “Not so fast, Jem Manchester! Aren’t you forgetting something? As I recall, Milly’s will makes it clear that if you try to sell her art, her paintings become the property of the Greenfield Public Library.”

Replacing the painting, Jem headed for the door, muttering to himself. As he left, he called out, “You won’t be seeing me in here again!”

“I’ll count on it,” replied Edmund.

When the door slammed shut, the gallery owner turned to Margaret. “I can’t believe you’d take credit for someone else’s work,” he said. “How could you do something like that?” Edmund sounded more disappointed than angry.

Rachel had an opinion about this. “For the money, no doubt.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Just like Jem Manchester.”

Margaret’s dark eyes suddenly flashed. “That’s not true! Every dime from those paintings was going to Jem,” she shot back. “It was always about the money with him. It never was for me.”

Edmund lifted his hands in bewilderment. “Then ... why?”

Violet thought she knew the answer. “You wanted to make a name for yourself in the art world, didn’t you?”

Margaret looked down shamefully. “Yes, I did want to make a name for myself,” she acknowledged. “My family always told me I was wasting my time painting. They wanted me to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a lawyer.” She swallowed hard. “I figured if I could win the art contest and get some good reviews from the art critics, my career would take off, and my family would finally accept my decision to become an artist.”

“So you went along with Jem’s plan to sell his aunt’s paintings,” concluded Jessie.

Margaret didn’t deny it. “I was shocked when Jem first mentioned it. Milly had taught me so much, and she’d always been so kind to me.” Her voice wavered. “I just couldn’t imagine betraying her like that — passing her work off as my own. I told Jem I wouldn’t do it. And I meant it, too.”

“But then you changed your mind,” put in Henry, urging her on.

“I really didn’t want to do it.” Margaret looked close to tears. “But my father refused to pay for my art studies at the college anymore. I was desperate to prove to him I could make it as an artist.”

Margaret told the rest of the story quickly. Jem had concocted a scheme to make everyone believe his aunt’s works of art had been destroyed in a fire. Then Margaret signed her name to the paintings and entered them in the art contest sponsored by the Mona Lisa Gallery. It seemed simple enough. After all, Milly had never put her paintings on display anywhere, so very few people had ever seen them.

“Jem’s plan seemed foolproof,” finished Margaret. “So I agreed.”

“Nothing’s ever foolproof, Margaret,” said Edmund. “Now you’ll have to suffer the consequences of your actions.” His voice was stern. “It’ll be a long time before the art world will trust you again.”

Margaret didn’t have a reply to that. She just hung her head and stared at the floor.

Janice spoke up. “If you really want to stay in the art program, Margaret, you could put yourself through school. Lots of people do. Of course, it’s not easy working
and
going to school,” she added. “But it’s worth it.”

“I ... I never thought of doing it on my own,” Margaret said, a faint note of hope in her voice.

Mrs. Spencer had something to add. “Milly thought you were a fine painter, Margaret. She always hoped you’d develop your own style one day.”

“Milly was always a good friend to me,” said Margaret. She stood twisting her hands. “I’m so ashamed of what I’ve done.” Looking truly regretful, she turned and walked slowly from the gallery.

“I can’t believe it!” said Mrs. Spencer, shaking her head in wonder, “Thanks to the Aldens, I can finally hang Milly’s portrait on my wall.”

After leaving the gallery, Edmund had invited everyone to join him at Cooke’s Drugstore for a quick bite to eat. Now Mrs. Spencer, Rachel, Janice, Edmund, Grandfather, and the children were sitting together at the long counter, feasting on huge bowls of Mrs. Turner’s chili.

“Uncovering that portrait was a surprise to everyone,” Jessie admitted. Then she gave her sister an affectionate nudge. “Everyone except Violet, that is.”

“It was just a hunch,” Violet said modestly as Mrs. Turner filled her water glass. “I was fairly sure there was another painting under that landscape. And I remembered that Milly might have painted over her self-portrait. At least that’s what Mrs. Spencer thought.”

“That was great thinking,” Henry praised his sister.

Swallowing a bite of his roll, Benny said, “But now you don’t have a painting for your room, Violet.”

“The important thing,” said Violet, smiling over at her little brother, “is that now Mrs. Spencer has Milly’s portrait to hang on her wall.”

“What wonderful grandchildren you have, James!” Mrs. Spencer remarked.

Grandfather smiled proudly. “You won’t get any argument from me!”

“I’ll have that portrait framed for you right away, Mrs. Spencer,” Edmund promised. He reached out and patted the elderly woman’s hand. “It’s the least I can do after all that’s happened. And, of course, you’ll get your money back for that landscape, James.” Edmund sighed. “I can’t help but feel partly responsible for what Jem and Margaret tried to do. After all, it was
my
gallery that sponsored the contest.”

“Nobody blames you, Edmund,” Grandfather assured him. “Everyone in town knows you’re an honest man.”

Edmund held out his cup as Mrs. Turner poured the coffee. “Jem’s plan
was
almost foolproof,” he remarked. “Of course, he didn’t count on the Aldens coming along and figuring everything out.”

“They’re first-class detectives, that’s for sure!” said Grandfather.

“We like solving mysteries,” said Benny. The other Aldens agreed.

But they knew the mystery was still not fully explained. They still weren’t sure who the Tattletale was.

Henry spoke up. “There’s something I don’t understand. You entered the art contest, right, Janice?” When she nodded in reply, he questioned, “Then why did you tell us you couldn’t draw?”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Janice smiled a little. “I guess I was feeling a bit discouraged at the time. You see, I had my hopes pinned on winning that contest. When it didn’t happen, I began to wonder if I was just kidding myself about making it as an artist.”

“Your paintings show real talent, Janice,” Edmund assured her. “There’s no reason to doubt yourself.”

Benny had a question for Janice, too. “How did you know Watch’s name?”

Janice looked puzzled.

“In the Town Square,” Benny explained, “you called Watch by his name. But you’d never met him before.”

Janice laughed. “You’re the clue to that one, Benny. You got a book from the library about dogs a while ago. Remember? When you were checking it out, you told me all about Watch.”

Benny grinned sheepishly. “I forgot about that.”

Henry and Jessie looked at each other. If Janice wasn’t the Tattletale, who was? Could Benny have been right all along? Was the ghost of Milly Manchester behind everything?

“Something baffles me, too,” put in Mrs. Spencer. “How did you ever get hold of that snapshot of mine, Janice?”

Benny thought he knew the answer. “Rachel probably gave it to her.”

“Right,” said Rachel, looking surprised that Benny knew that. “Milly’s portrait meant so much to you, Mother, I decided to do something about it. When I heard Janice was in the art program at the college, I asked her if she’d paint another portrait for you.”

“But I had no idea what Milly looked like,” put in Janice. “I’d never even met her.”

Rachel nodded. “She needed a snapshot. So I took one from your album when you weren’t looking, Mother. I wanted the portrait to be a surprise.”

“But now you have the original portrait, Mrs. Spencer,” Janice pointed out. “Nothing can be better than that.”

“I’m sorry for being so unfriendly the other day,” Rachel said, smiling over at the children. She was a changed person now that the mystery was solved. “I was upset about the strange things that were happening to my mother. I’m afraid I thought it was just a game to you.”

“It was never just a game to us,” said Jessie, shaking her head firmly. “We wanted to help.”

Still smiling, Rachel said, “I know that now. Because of you, my mother can hang Milly’s portrait on her wall.”

“And don’t forget,” added Janice, “the library has a beautiful new art collection. Now everyone in Greenfield can enjoy Milly’s paintings.”

Grandfather nodded. “Jem’s loss is the town’s gain.”

“That man sees nothing but dollar signs!” Mrs. Turner suddenly blurted out as she refilled the saltshaker. “I’m not surprised he planned to keep all the money for himself. Can you imagine? Not a penny to go into Margaret’s pockets.”

When he heard this, Henry was suddenly alert. “How did you know that, Mrs. Turner?” he asked suspiciously. The other Alden children were wondering the same thing.

The question seemed to catch the waitress off guard. “What ... ?”

Henry said, “How did you know they weren’t planning to split the money?”

The saltshaker suddenly slipped from Mrs. Turner’s hand, spilling salt onto the counter.

“Oh, dear, now what have I done?” The waitress looked flustered. “I’ll just go get a cloth. I’ll have this wiped up in a jiffy.” She turned and quickly walked away.

“That was a bit strange, don’t you think?” Henry looked at Jessie, then over at Violet and Benny.

Jessie nodded. “I’ll say.”

“Something just doesn’t seem right,” Henry told them, keeping his voice low. He took another spoonful of chili and chewed thoughtfully. It was almost as if Mrs. Turner knew, somehow, about Jem and Margaret’s plans. Was she hiding something?

Henry suddenly had a thought that hadn’t occurred to him before. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the gold hair clip, the one he had found in Mrs. Spencer’s garden. On a hunch that it just might come in handy, he had thought to bring it along.

“Is this yours, Mrs. Turner?” he asked, holding it up when Mrs. Turner returned.

The waitress smiled broadly. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” Taking the hair clip, she slipped it into her apron pocket. “Thank you, Henry. Where in the world did you find it?”

“In Mrs. Spencer’s backyard,” Henry answered, watching her closely.

A funny look came over Mrs. Turner’s face. “Oh ... that’s quite impossible. Why, I’ve never been anywhere near —”

Henry cut in, “Maybe you lost it when you were planting that snapdragon in Mrs. Spencer’s pansy bed.”

Without saying a word, Mrs. Turner busied herself wiping away the spilled salt. It was as if she hadn’t even heard Henry’s remark. A moment later, though, her cheeks turned bright pink as she became aware of everyone watching her.

“It all adds up,” Henry went on. “You were at our house the day the paper airplane flew into our yard.”

“And you were at the art show, too,” Benny realized.

Jessie was thinking hard. “You even made a comment about Jem. You said he was acting as if there were something in it for him. You were trying to give us a hint, weren’t you, Mrs. Turner?”

The waitress still said nothing.

“You gave us another hint, too,” recalled Violet, “when you pointed to the pigeon on Josiah Wade’s head. You were trying to draw our attention to the minuteman statue, weren’t you?”

After a long silence, Mrs. Turner finally spoke. “I knew you kids were real pros, but I wasn’t counting on this,” she said with a sigh. “I had no idea you’d figure out I was the Tattletale.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Spencer cried out in surprise, putting her hands to her mouth. And the others looked just as astonished.

Mrs. Turner began speaking quietly. “Milly used to stop by the drugstore for a cup of coffee. We’d always have such nice chats. She knew everything there was to know about the history of art. She especially loved talking about Leonardo da Vinci. It was fascinating just to listen to her.” Mrs. Turner stopped to tighten the lid on the saltshaker. “Milly told me how a snapdragon in a pansy bed made her realize that anything’s possible in life. She even drew a sketch of a snapdragon for me. I kept it just to remind me of what Milly had said — that anything’s possible.”