The Case of the Mysterious Handprints (5 page)

“And the second half?” asked Encyclopedia.

“You had to write a word with
three
double
letters in a row,” Arty said. “Everyone flunked that half.”

Sally looked at Encyclopedia. “We should give Arty back his twenty-five cents. We didn’t help him.”

“Wrong,” corrected Encyclopedia. “We can help him. I know who broke the wristwatch.”

WHO?

(
Turn to
this page
for the solution to The Case of the Hard-luck Boy.
)

E
ncyclopedia and Sally were tossing a basketball Saturday morning when Omar Boxlittler telephoned.

“Encyclopedia, I need you!” Omar wailed. “Milly-Dilly has been stolen!”

All summer the kids in the neighborhood had been hearing reports about Milly-Dilly. She was a watermelon, the superstar of Omar’s melon patch.

“I’ll be right over,” Encyclopedia promised. To Sally he said, “This could be a juicy case.”

The detectives rode the number nine bus to the farmlands north of town. Omar met them
at the stop near his home. He looked so down at the mouth that Encyclopedia could scarcely see his chin.

Omar mumbled a greeting and led the detectives across ripening fields to a patch of ground behind his house. The ground was covered with huge watermelons. The biggest lay under tents.

“Dad let me have the patch last year on my tenth birthday,” Omar said. “The soil is too sandy for a cash crop. He wanted to see what I could grow.”

“They’re the largest watermelons I’ve ever seen,” Sally said in amazement.

“The ordinary store watermelon weighs between eighteen and thirty pounds. The smallest one in my crop this year is a hundred and twenty pounds,” Omar said proudly.

“What’s your secret?” Encyclopedia asked.

“The seed,” Omar answered. “The seed makes the difference, plus the right amount of water. For a good fertilizer, I use my mom’s horse, Milly.”

He stared at the watermelons a moment. “I owe a lot to Milly,” he said solemnly.

“Do giant watermelons sell well?” Sally inquired.

“No way,” replied Omar. “They’re hard to ship, and buyers don’t like lugging them from the supermarket. I raise them just for the shows.”

“There must be a lot of money in the shows,” Sally observed.

Omar shook his head. “The winners get only ribbons. But one seed from a champion can bring more than the price of a necktie. Of course, there’s always some cash in spitting.”

He explained. Last year’s county champion, Mr. Keil, sold several seeds from his prize watermelon to spitters. They took them to the national watermelon spitting championship in Wisconsin.

“Using his seeds, Anna and Ada Bemus placed second in the two-person spit,” Omar said. “They had a combined distance of fifty-two feet, one inch.”

“No wonder someone snatched Milly-Dilly,” Sally said. “Where was she growing?”

Omar pointed to an empty tent. “I keep the fastest growers under tents to avoid sunburn,” he said. “Yesterday Milly-Dilly weighed in at a hundred and sixty-four pounds. She was growing at the rate of three pounds a day. Sometimes in the evening I’d sit here and
drink a root beer and watch her grow.…”

His voice faltered. He suddenly seemed near to tears.

Recovering himself, he said, “I planned to enter her in the watermelon festival in Glenn City on Monday. Even if she didn’t win, I’d keep her seeds. I reckoned that in three years I’d be able to produce a two-hundred-pounder.”

“Whom do you suspect?” Encyclopedia asked.

“Russ Dallas, Clive Huey, or Dave Longs-bury,” Omar answered. “They’re high school kids who live on farms near here. They grow watermelons for size, too.”

“How about clues?” Sally asked.

“I found a book in the bushes down by the road,” Omar said. “Wait a second.”

He ran into the house and came back with the book. He handed it to Encyclopedia.

Encyclopedia read the title:
Fifty Greatest Baseball Players of the Twentieth Century.

“Dave, Clive, and Russ have been checking on Milly-Dilly every day,” Omar said. “The way I see it, one of them took to hiding in the bushes, waiting for my folks and me to leave the house together. He read the book to pass the time. Last evening we all went out to dinner.
He sneaked behind the house, cut Milly-Dilly from the vine, and made off with her. Then—”

“He hid her in the bushes by the road,” Sally broke in, “while he went for his truck. But he forgot about the book and left it behind. Doesn’t that make sense, Encyclopedia?”

Encyclopedia rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Which one of the three boys follows baseball?”

“They’re all baseball nuts,” Omar answered. “And they all have heroes. Babe Ruth is Dave’s, Ty Cobb is Russ’s, and Ted Williams is Clive’s.”

Encyclopedia opened the book and glanced down the table of contents. There were chapters on Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, and Ted Williams.

“The thief was afraid Milly-Dilly would beat his watermelon at the festival on Monday,” Sally grumbled. “Let’s question Dave and Russ and Clive.”

“Not without some proof,” objected Omar, “or we’ll wake up with our eyes shut before we go to bed. Don’t forget, the thief carried Milly-Dilly down to the road. He’s
strong.”

Sally kicked the ground and exclaimed,
“We just can’t give up. Encyclopedia, think of something!”

“I already have,” said the detective. “A simple test ought to show us who is guilty.”

WHAT WAS THE TEST?

(
Turn to
this page
for the solution to The Case of the Giant Watermelon.
)

O
n Friday the rain did not stop falling until three o’clock in the afternoon.

“Let’s go to the beach,” Sally suggested. “No one else will be there.”

Sally was wrong. Merwin Elkberry was there.

Merwin, a sixth-grader, never had to be told to go fly a kite. At the slightest hint of a breeze, he was out scraping the sky with a kite or two.

When the detectives spied him, Merwin was kiting—and fishing. He was using a yellow kite to lift his surf-casting line behind the breakers.

“Any luck?” Encyclopedia asked.

“Two nibbles,” Merwin answered, as happy as if he’d caught a school of kingfish.

“Gosh, Merwin,” Sally said. “You’ve got your world on a string.”

“There’s nothing like kiting,” Merwin replied. “I brought along my fighter just in case the fish went to the movies. Here, hold this and I’ll show you.”

He handed Sally his fishing pole. From a sack on the sand beside him, he withdrew a strange red kite.

“It’s an Indian fighting kite,” he said. “You can’t really call kite flying the national sport of India, but everyone does it.”

The red kite was unlike the usual American kites. It was smaller and lighter. Its string was glass-coated.

“A fighter can fly rings around an ordinary kite,” Merwin asserted.

With three steps and an expert sweep of his arm, he sent the red fighter aloft in the strong wind.

“You win a fight,” he said, “if you can work your kite below the other kite and cut its string. Then, if you can wrap its loose string around the string of your kite, the other kite is yours to keep.”

“You may have a chance to demonstrate,” Sally remarked. “Look over there.”

From behind a point of land to the north a blue fighter kite had appeared. It climbed swiftly. Soon it vanished into the heavy, low clouds.

“Hey, that’s dangerous!” Merwin gasped.

Encyclopedia knew what he meant. Small private planes regularly followed the coastline to the airport. A kite could jam an engine.…

“I’ll bring down that nitwit,” Merwin vowed. He let his red fighter sail higher. With two short tugs he signaled a challenge.

The blue fighter responded. It dived below the clouds as if to do battle.

Merwin was guiding his kite into position for combat when Sally hollered, “I’ve got one!” The fishing rod in her hands was bent and trembling.

For the next few minutes, the war in the sky was forgotten. The two boys showered Sally with advice.

It was all for nothing. The fishing rod snapped straight. Sally groaned. “I’ve lost him.”

“So did I,” Merwin said. His red fighter floated alone in the sky. The blue fighter had been reeled in.

“I’m going to find out who’s to blame for flying a kite into the clouds,” Merwin swore.

“We’ll help you,” Sally volunteered.

“Four people in Idaville fly blue fighters,” Merwin said. “Three are grown-ups who kite only on weekends. That leaves Tessie Bottoms.”

The detectives waited while Merwin parked his kites and fishing gear in the Beach Patrol office. Then all three biked to Tessie’s house.

No one answered the doorbell. Merwin rang again.

“Stay alert, Encyclopedia,” Sally warned. “Tessie is the worst liar in eighth grade. When she feeds her dogs, her mother has to call them.”

“She could move in the best circles without going straight,” put in Merwin. “At the kite club’s tournament in May, she tripped two opponents. She was suspended for six months.”

The door opened. Tessie peered out suspiciously. She wore a bathrobe and slippers. “What is it?”

Sally put it to her right away. “Didn’t you fly a blue kite into the clouds this afternoon?”

Tessie’s nose went up. “Whatever makes you think so?”

“Where were you for the past hour?” Sally persisted.

“Taking a bubble bath,” Tessie said. “I was drying off when the door bell rang.”

“The bubble bath didn’t do any good,” Merwin whispered to Encyclopedia. “Her face still looks as if it were left out all night.”

“You soaked in the tub for an
hour
?” Sally exclaimed.

“Longer—I must be beautiful tonight,” Tessie declared. “I have a heavy date.”

“What a laugh,” Merwin said under his breath. “Not even the tide would take her out.”

Tessie withdrew a fingernail file from the pocket of her bathrobe. As if to show how weary she was of the conversation, she began to file the nails on her left hand.

“You little squirts must be hard up for action,” she said in a bored voice. “Go find something better to do than make up stories about a blue kite in the clouds.”