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Authors: Gertrude Chandler Warner

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BOOK: The Mystery of the Stolen Music
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Benny didn't see anything special about the papers. He opened his mouth to say so but decided not to.

Violet moved closer for a better look. “They
are
wonderful,” she said.

The woman turned to face them. When she saw Melody, her face reddened. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I — uh — You're Ms. Carmody!”

Melody smiled. “Yes,” she said. “How did you know?”

“I've — uh — seen your picture,” she explained. She sounded very nervous. “I'm Janet Muller,” she went on. “I own an antique store in town.”

Melody smiled. “Well, this Mozart score is certainly an antique,” she said.

Benny knew about keeping score in baseball, but he didn't think that had anything to do with music. “What does she mean, ‘this Mozart score'?” he asked Violet.

“It's a written piece of music, which musicians play from,” his sister explained.

“And this one even has Mozart's signature on it,” Janet Muller said. “See, right here. Isn't it beautiful?”

“Yes,” Jessie marveled. “It really is.”

What was so exciting about a man's name on a piece of paper, Benny wondered. He stood on tiptoe for a better look. “I can't even read his name,” he said.

Violet pointed out the letters of the composer's last name. “It says
Mozart
,”
she told him.

“Mozart, Mozart,” Benny sang. “Doesn't he have more than
one
name?”

“Indeed, he does,” Victor Perrelli's voice boomed. “His whole name is Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgang Gottlieb Mozart.”

Benny's eyes grew wide. “That's some name!” he said.

Victor laughed. “It's a good thing I don't have a name like that. I'd never remember it,” he said. Then he wandered off again, humming.

“No one ever called him by his full name,” Janet Muller put in. “He was known as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”

“Where'd they get the Amadeus part?” Benny asked.

“Amadeus is the Latin form of Gottlieb,” Melody explained. “I guess his family decided they liked it better.”

“How did you get hold of the score?” Janet asked.

“We have Bob Weldon to thank for that,” Melody answered. “We play a lot of Mozart's music. Bob talked a museum into loaning us this original score to take on tour.”

“This whole thing is so exciting,” Janet Muller said. She leaned close as though she were about to share a secret. “I collect autographs.” She opened the book she was holding. On each page was a signature. “Here's the famous Victor Perrelli's,” she said proudly. She thrust the book toward Melody. “May I have
your
autograph?”

Melody stepped back. “You don't want my signature,” she said. “I'm nobody famous.”

“Someday maybe,” Janet said. “You just never know. I'll bet Mozart never realized something he wrote would be so valuable.”

Melody took the book and the pen Janet held out to her. “Well, if you put it that way,” she said, and signed her name.

Janet Muller looked at the signature. She traced Melody's name with a forefinger. “Thank you,” she said.

“Thank
you
,”
Melody responded. “You are the very first person who has ever asked for my autograph.”

Once again, Janet studied the Mozart score. “Aren't you afraid someone will steal it?” she asked. “I mean … is there security or anything? Someone watching it?”

Melody said only, “It's safe.”

“Oh, look!” Janet said. “There's Abner Medina!” She raced off, her autograph book open to a blank page.

“Who's Abner Medina?” Benny asked.

“The best percussionist in the country,” Melody answered.

“Percussion? Like drums and things?” Jessie asked.

Melody nodded.

Benny moved his hands as though he were beating a drum. “I'd like to do that,” he said.

Henry laughed. “You make enough noise as it is,” he teased.

“It's only noise when you're not good,” Melody said. “I think Benny would be good.”

Benny made a
so-there
face at Henry.

Everyone laughed.

Melody looked at her watch. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I'm as bad as Victor. I get involved and forget what I'm supposed to do. I have to go. If I don't practice, I'll never be able to play my solo.” She told them all good-bye, and, promising to see them soon, she hurried away.

The Aldens turned their attention back to the Mozart score.

“What did that lady mean when she said this was valuable?” Soo Lee asked.

“The score is worth a lot of money,” Henry said.

“What makes it worth so much?” Benny asked. “It's just a bunch of papers with musical notes on them.”

“It's very old,” Henry said. “Mozart was born in 1756, over two hundred years ago.”

“Wow!” Benny exclaimed.

“Mozart is one of the greatest composers ever,” Jessie added. “And this music isn't a copy; it's in his own handwriting.”

“You won't believe how young he was when he started writing music,” Violet said.

“How old?” Benny asked.

“Five years old,” Violet told him. “He was probably composing music in his head before that.”

Amazed, Soo Lee and Benny looked at one another. Mozart was younger than either of them when he began writing music!

Benny leaned in for a better look at the score. “He didn't write this one when he was five,” he said. “It's too neat. There's nothing crossed out or erased.”

“Mozart didn't make mistakes,” Violet said. “The music just flowed out of his mind onto the paper.”

Benny shook his head. “I could never do that,” he said. “Even in my mind, I make mistakes!”

CHAPTER 4

The Missing Score

L
ater, at home, the Alden children sat around the kitchen table drinking hot chocolate. Soo Lee, who was staying overnight, was with them.

“That was a great party,” Jessie said.

“The food was super,” Benny said. “Too bad there's none left. The jelly sandwiches were the best.”

“I liked meeting the musicians,” Violet put in. “Especially Melody.”

“She's nice,” Soo Lee said. “I can't wait to hear her play her violin.”

“You won't have a long wait, Soo Lee,” Henry said. “Tomorrow morning, we'll go to the orchestra's rehearsal.”

“You know what I don't get,” Benny said. “Melody said she had to go practice.”

“All musicians practice, Benny,” Jessie said. “You know that.”

“But what's rehearsal?” Benny asked.

“Practice,” Henry answered.

“So musicians practice for the practice,” Benny said.

Henry laughed. “It looks that way,” he said.

Violet disagreed. “Musicians practice for themselves,” she said. “To get better.”

“It works, too,” Jessie said. “Violet's a perfect example.”

“I wish I could play as well as Violet,” Soo Lee said.

“You will,” Jessie assured her. “It takes time.”

“And practice,” Benny added. He poured himself more hot chocolate. “I have another question,” he said. “How does Victor Perrelli practice?”

They were all silent, thinking.

Finally, Violet said, “A conductor listens to music and thinks about it. That's a way of practicing.”

“What about Mozart?” Soo Lee asked. “How did he practice?”

“His father was a music teacher,” Violet told her. “He learned to play early.”

“But writing music isn't the same as playing it,” Benny said.

“It's like a language,” Henry explained. “You hear it first. Then you learn to speak it. Finally, you learn to write it. And the more you write it, the better you get.”

Soo Lee understood that. Her first language was Korean. She had learned to speak English at the orphanage. Only now was she learning to write it well. She sighed. “Everything takes practice,” she said.

Watch sidled over and put his paw in Jessie's lap. He looked up at her and softly whined.

“It must be suppertime,” Jessie said, and looked at the clock. Sure enough, it was nearly six. “I'll go boil some water for spaghetti.”

Mrs. McGregor, the Aldens' housekeeper, was on vacation, so the children were doing their own cooking.

Henry groaned. “Who can eat after all that party food?” he said.

Benny popped to his feet. “I can!” he answered.

“Now I know why Benny's such a good eater,” Violet said. “He gets so much practice.”

Next morning, Benny and Soo Lee were the first ones out the door. They were anxious to get to the Civic Center to hear the orchestra rehearse. Now that they knew some of the musicians, it would be a special treat to see and hear them play.

At the corner, Benny saw the bus coming. He waved to the others, urging them to hurry.

They picked up their pace, arriving just as the bus pulled in and stopped. The five Aldens piled on.

“The workshops begin after the rehearsal,” Jessie reminded them, when they had taken their seats.

“I'm taking Make Your Own Instruments,” Benny said.

“I'd like to take Music Appreciation,” Soo Lee said.

“I'm going to all the rehearsals,” Jessie said.

“We can go to all the workshops and still hear the rehearsals,” Henry told them. “Each one is at a different time.”

Violet was silent, thinking about the week ahead. On Saturday afternoon, there would be a special children's performance. She hoped to be chosen as a violinist, but she was afraid to mention it. It seemed like an impossible dream. Still, it might come true. She had wished that one of the musicians would ask to hear her play. That had come true. She wondered when she'd have a chance to play for Melody.

“Civic Center,” the bus driver announced.

Saying, “Thank you,” the Aldens hopped off the bus. They raced each other to the Center's big front doors.

The lobby was full of people. Everyone seemed to be in a panic. Orchestra members stood around in small groups talking excitedly. Victor Perrelli paced the floor murmuring to himself. Melody followed a few steps behind. They couldn't hear what she was saying to Victor, but they could tell she was upset.

Janet Muller stood near them. “I was afraid of something like this,” she said.

“What is it?” Jessie asked. “What's happened?”

“The Mozart score,” she answered. “It's been stolen!”

CHAPTER 5

The Search

“T
he Mozart score has been stolen?” Jessie repeated to make sure she had heard right.

“Yes,” Janet Muller said. She wandered away, murmuring, “I knew it. I just knew this would happen.”

Melody saw the Aldens and rushed over.

“When did you discover the score was stolen?” Jessie asked.

“Do you know who stole it?” Benny added.

“Have you called the police?” Henry wanted to know.

Melody held up her hand to silence them. “Wait, wait,” she said. “Who told you the score had been stolen?”

“Janet Muller,” Jessie answered.

“She's jumping to conclusions,” Melody said.

“The score
hasn't
been stolen then!” Violet sounded relieved.

Henry looked at the display case. It was empty. “The score's not in the case,” he said. “If it wasn't stolen, where is it?”

Melody shrugged. “We're not sure,” she said. Then she went on to explain. “Victor took it back to the hotel after the party. He thought it would be safer than leaving it here at the Center overnight.”

Bob Weldon came up beside Melody. “Too bad no one was around to remind the
great
Victor Perrelli not to misplace it,” he said.

Benny nodded. “He forgot where he put it!”

“It shouldn't be too difficult to find,” Henry said.

Melody sighed. “Victor's the only one who knows where it is, and he has completely forgotten.”

BOOK: The Mystery of the Stolen Music
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