Voices at Whisper Bend (5 page)

Kids slid into their seats without noise. It sounded like Mrs. Alexander's news was worse than unfinished fractions.

“Sometime between Friday afternoon and this morning,” Mrs. Alexander said, “a person or persons unknown entered the school cellar.”

No, Charlotte thought. Please no.

“He, she, or they removed all the metal that this class has collected. From what we can gather, it might be worth a pretty penny if someone tried to sell it,” Mrs. Alexander went on. “The principal informed the mill, and today's delivery has been canceled.”

“Wow!” “That stinks!” “Doggone!” “No fair!” Voices bubbled up around her, but Charlotte couldn't say a word. Who could have done such a thing?

She looked around. She liked most everybody in her class. Oh sure, Sophie Jaworski could be a pill, but she wouldn't have done this. She'd have gotten too dirty.

Charlotte had watched what Sophie brought in for the drive. One or two tin cans each day, scrubbed as clean as Ma's dishes. And everybody else had worked hard. The Cussick twins had brought in nearly as much scrap as she and Betsy had. Some boys who lived near Braddock Avenue had even collected from the stores. It couldn't be somebody in the class.

Then her eyes fixed on Paul Rossi. His dark hair was overgrown as usual, and he brushed it back from his eyes in a way that looked sneaky to Charlotte. That boy was always getting in trouble. Look at those stories he brought in from the newspapers. He loved crimes and criminals. And stealing was a crime.

“Class, class, please. Settle down.” Mrs. Alexander blinked the lights and the room grew quiet. “I'm glad to see that you're all as distressed as I am. This is a deplorable incident, and we will discover the culprit. In the meantime, we need to make a decision—shall we discontinue our scrap drive until the thief is found, or shall we redouble our efforts and make sure to improve our security?”

“Keep going, keep going.” The class burst into noise again.

Mrs. Alexander raised her hands. “We'll take a vote. All in favor of continuing to collect metal, please raise your hands.”

Every hand shot in the air. Charlotte had never been prouder of her friends.

At recess, even though it was a sunny day and made for games, most kids stood around in clumps. Charlotte and Betsy stood close to the low red-brick wall that enclosed the school yard, whispering. “I feel so bad,” Betsy said. “We'll never find as much junk as we did at Mrs. Dubner's.”

Before Charlotte could answer, a commotion across the school yard caught her attention. She folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “Look at him, look at that Paul Rossi.”

He stood on the seesaw, right in the middle, with his arms flung out. He shifted from side to side, banging the wooden ends down.

“Showing off as usual,” Betsy said. “Don't bother with him.”

“But don't you see, Bets? Everybody else is talking about the theft. Paul's acting like nothing happened. That's suspicious.”

“No, that's Paul. He's a goofball. Hey, Charlotte, do you have to fix dinner for your ma today, or can we start cleaning out my attic for scrap?” Betsy pointed across the yard to the cellar door. “I'd like to refill that room with metal as quick as we can.”

“Sure, we can work this afternoon. Ma already fixed a casserole. But Bets, I don't just want to collect more metal. I want to find the scrap we already collected and get it back.”

“You think we could find it?”

“I don't know. I'm just so mad! I
hate
what's happened. Stealing's bad enough. But stealing from the war is like
treason.
” Her fingers curled into a fist and she smacked it against the rough red bricks. “I'd like to find the person who did this. I'd show him.”

Charlotte glared at Paul Rossi, who now hung from the monkey bars. She hadn't noticed before, but he had a bruise on one cheek. From sneaking around in the dark? “There's got to be a way …”

“Away to
what
? Charlotte, what are you up to?”

“I'm going to figure out how to catch our thief, that's what. We'll bait a trap, then we'll stand guard and catch him red-handed.”

“You're nuts, Charlotte Campbell. You've been reading too many of your ma's mysteries.”

But by the time school let out, Charlotte had a plan. She and Betsy talked about it all the way home, figuring out the details.

As they were saying good-bye, Robbie caught up with them. “I know how we can catch the thief!” he said.

Betsy and Charlotte laughed and rolled their eyes at each other. Betsy headed home.

“Stop making faces, Charlie. I do know how to catch him. I have a plan. And it's perfect.”

“Let me unlock the door first, buster.”

“But, Charlie, it's a great idea. It's sure to work.” Inside, he raced for the bathroom, but he was bouncing with excitement when he got back. “You know down at the mill, how they have those giant magnets?”

“So?” Charlotte set her books on the kitchen table.

“Okay. We need to get one of those magnets. And we'll carry it around and when we feel a tug, we've found the thief's hideout.”

“That's ridiculous. Do you know how heavy those magnets are? Your whole class couldn't lift one. It takes a crane.”

“We could too lift one. I'm gonna ask Ma. She'll get one for us from the mill. Just you wait and see, Charlotte Campbell. You're not the only person around here with a brain.”

The next morning before school, kids again stood around talking quietly about the theft. Charlotte and Betsy stood close together in a sunny corner next to the low brick wall whispering, polishing their plan. “It's good we hadn't started cleaning out our own houses yet. We'll have lots of stuff for bait.”

Charlotte pointed to Paul Rossi. He and some other boys were smacking each other's hands. It looked like a game of some sort. “Him. I know he's the one. So all we have to do is make sure he hears us talking about all the junk we've still got in our cellars. How we'll put it outside ready to haul tomorrow night. Then we stay up late and watch. When he shows up to steal it, we catch him.”

“Catch who?” Sophie Jaworski asked. “That teacher?”

Charlotte's head snapped up. How had Sophie sneaked up on them? “What teacher?”

Sophie lowered her voice. “Mr. Costa. You know the one. He's new this year. Teaches science to the eighth grade.”

“How do you know him, Sophie?” Betsy asked.

“I don't. But my sister has him. He's mean. He really stinks. She and her friends think he's the one. I listened outside her door last night. One of Helen's friends says Mr. Costa could be working for that Italian dictator guy, you know, Mussolini. Mr. Costa is Italian.”

“So's Paul Rossi,” Charlotte whispered to Betsy. “Could be they're working together.”

Betsy shook her head. “A teacher? Come on, Sophie.”

“I'm telling you, Helen and her friends have it all figured out. You know how that history teacher, Mr. Debevec, has signed up for the Marines, and Mrs. Alexander's son is training to be a Navy pilot?”

“What's that got to do with Mr. Costa?” Charlotte asked.

“Well, he's young like them, and he's not married either. So how come he didn't sign up to fight?” Sophie lowered her voice to a sly whisper. “Maybe he's a traitor. Or maybe he's just a yellow-bellied slacker. Either way, he's rotten enough to steal our metal.”

“Gosh, Sophie,” Betsy said. She shook her head. “Do you really think a teacher would steal the metal?”

“Somebody did. That scrap didn't walk away by itself. So my sister and her friends are gonna keep their eyes on Mr. Costa. Shh.” Sophie put her hand to her lips and pretended to turn a key, then walked toward another group of girls.

“That Sophie, she's nuts,” Charlotte said. “She's blabbing to the whole school, but she wants us to keep quiet. Besides, it's got to be Paul Rossi.”

“I don't know, Charlotte,” Betsy began. She stopped talking as two big eighth-grade boys came right up to her.

“You Betsy Schmidt?” one asked.

His voice had an ugly sound. Charlotte reached for her friend's hand and Betsy took it.

“Yes. I'm Betsy.”

“We're watching you. Me and my friends, we're gonna keep you in our sights all the time. You and your Kraut family.”

“Wait a minute,” Charlotte said. “What do you mean,
Kraut
?”

The boy sneered at her. “Lousy German. Stinkin' Nazi. You understand them words?”

“But Betsy's not—” Charlotte began. Betsy squeezed her hand tightly.

The other boy stuck his finger right under Betsy's nose. “You tell us. If you ain't a Kraut, where'd you get your last name?”

“My great-great-grandparents came from Germany. But that was a long time ago.”

“See.” The first boy glared at Charlotte. Then he turned his attention to Betsy. “It's just plain rotten, how they let scum like you into the U. S. of A. Don't make another move, or you'll be sorry.”

“Who are you calling scum?” Charlotte demanded. “You leave Betsy alone. Her brother's fighting for the U. S. of A.”

She tugged Betsy's hand and they ducked away from the boys toward the door.

Betsy's face had turned pale and her blue eyes looked wet.

“Come on, don't listen to them,” Charlotte said. “They don't know anything. The one in the blue sweater, Frankie Zalenchak, he's a bully, always picking on younger kids. And that Danny Merkow just sticks with Frankie because he likes to sound tough.”

“But they called me a Kraut, Charlotte. I can't help my last name.” The tears spilled over and Betsy rubbed at them with her fists.

Charlotte flung her arm around Betsy's shaking shoulders. “They're crazy, Bets. Your family's been in America for a long time. If anybody's a foreigner here, they are.” She turned and glared at the boys, but they had their backs to her and couldn't see.

“Oh, no. Look, Charlotte. They're going after my cousin Pete. They got into an argument with Pete last week, and now it's starting up again. He's got a temper. They're going to get him in trouble. Charlotte, we've got to—”

The bell rang, and just in time. Another minute and war would have erupted in the school yard.

As they marched back to their classroom, they passed the cellar door. Mr. Willis knelt on the floor with a screwdriver in his hand. As she stepped closer, Charlotte could see that he was installing a new lock on the door. Well, good.

“Look, Bets,” she whispered. “The new metal we collect will stay safe. We'll collect so much, nobody will dare say another word about your last name.”

Betsy shook her head like she didn't believe Charlotte. “What if they talk to their parents? What if somebody says something to my dad at the mill? He's got a temper just like Pete's.”

“All the more reason for us to collect the most metal of anybody. And find the real thief. Once we catch him, we'll be heroes. Come on, we'll drop the first hints now, when we get close to Paul Rossi's desk.”

“I don't know,” Betsy said.

“Well, I do.” Charlotte stepped quickly past Sophie and the Cussick twins. She was practically leaning on Paul's desk. “Okay, Betsy, let's stack it all in my back alley tomorrow night. Wednesday,” she added loudly, just in case Paul wasn't listening the first time. “We'll have a ton of metal by then. We'll show them. Nobody can beat the team of Campbell and Schmidt.”

C
HAPTER
5

S
USPICIOUS
C
HARACTERS

The commotion didn't stop when Charlotte got home. Robbie and his friends had been busy, too. “I got two ideas about the thief,” he announced to Charlotte. “Two real good ones.”

“Oh, come on,” Charlotte said. “You're in fourth grade.” She unlocked the back door. How did nine-year-olds come up with suspects?

“Just 'cause we're smaller than you doesn't mean we're dumb.” He stomped inside behind her and slammed down his books on the kitchen table.

“Okay, who's on your list?”

“I'm not gonna tell.”

Oh, great. Mr. Stubborn. “Please, Robbie. You were good at finding scrap. You might be good at finding the thief, too.”

“You mean it?”

“Come on, tell me. Who knows, if you're right, we might catch the thief in the act. How about that?”

He grinned. “Okay Most of my class thinks one thing. But I'm not ready to make up my mind yet. I'm still looking at the clues.”

“What clues? Who does your class think took the metal?”

“Wagon Willie.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Wagon Willie. You know, the janitor.”

“You mean Mr. Willis? Why would he …”

“He already goes around collecting stuff. All summer long, he pushes that big wagon of his around the streets collecting stuff to sell.”