Trashed!, page 10
Arthur’s dad nodded. “Right. I thought of that too.”
“But now,” Arthur went on, “it looks like, if somebody really didn’t want their name known, they’d have to eliminate you too, Dad.”
“Arthur!” Mom said.
“Sounds like something from an old movie,” Dad said.
“I’m being logical,” Arthur said. “Isn’t logical good? In school they say it is.”
“I like logical,” Mom said. “I don’t like being scared to death.”
“If it’s any help,” Dad said, “consider this. The most expensive item in the store is priced at around five thousand dollars. And the penalty for, uh… eliminating a person, a person such as me, is life in prison. So for half of five thousand dollars—the consigner’s cut of the sale? Not worth the risk. Now, if we had some massive diamond or something… but we don’t.”
Ramona stood up. “I’m done with dinner.”
“I see that, Ramona,” Mom said. “Would you like to clear the table while you’re up?”
“Not especially,” Ramona said.
“Ramona?” Dad frowned.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t.” Ramona picked up her own plate.
“Thank you for clearing the table, Ramona,” Mom said.
Ramona put her plate on the counter, returned to the table, collected her mother’s plate and then her father’s. “I can be logical too,” she said, “if you care.”
“We care,” Dad said. “What are you thinking, Mo?”
“I am thinking,” Ramona said, “that the Red File and Grandma’s pearls disappeared around the same time—so it’s logical that the same person swiped both.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
At bedtime Arthur and Watson agreed that Ramona’s logic wasn’t logical.
“Lots of things happen at the same time that have nothing to do with each other,” Watson said. “Right at this moment, for example, I’m balanced on your bedpost swishing my tail while Officer Bernstein is arresting a bad guy and Veda is herding the niños. But that doesn’t make those things related.”
Arthur sat up against his pillows. “Wait a sec. How do you know what Officer Bernstein and Veda are doing?” He was hoping Watson’s supernatural powers were improving.
“Those were just examples,” Watson said. “In Kenya some lion is probably eating some zebra, while out in the ocean on some cruise ship, a handsome young man is about to propose to a beautiful young woman. And those things aren’t related. Or maybe in the Wild West, a cowboy is about to lasso a bull, while in Rome a chef is about to pull a perfect pizza from the oven. But those things—”
“I get the idea, Watson,” Arthur said. He was kind of wondering how Watson knew about cruise ships and Kenya and cowboys. Supernatural powers? But he didn’t ask. Watson seemed to be in a chatty mood, and he, Arthur, was sleepy.
“I don’t suppose anyone has brought in your grandmother’s pearls for the store to sell?” Watson asked.
Arthur lay back down. “I don’t think the thief would be that dumb,” he said. “Either Dad or Grandpa might recognize those pearls. And Grandma’s there too, sometimes. Anyway, for a fact, we don’t know that the pearls and the Red File disappeared at the same time. Grandma’s pearls might’ve been gone for a while. She only noticed now because Mom asked for them.”
“Yes, yes, I see,” said Watson. “And whether the mysteries are related or not, you have your work cut out for you. One teacup found and two things missing—the Red File and the necklace. I think, Detective Popper, that you had better get busy.”
Arthur stifled a sigh. Watson was ordering him around again. But maybe it wasn’t a bad thing? Sometimes Arthur wasn’t sure what to do with himself, and now he had someone to tell him. True, Watson was only a dead rodent. But she was full of ideas.
“I wish the mysteries seemed more important,” Arthur said. “The teacup is chipped. Dad can re-create the Red File from memory. Grandma hardly ever wore those pearls.”
“Do you wish someone were dead? Someone besides me, that is. Then you could solve a murder mystery,” Watson said.
Arthur thought of his dad, the talk about “eliminating” him because he knew what was in the Red File. “No, definitely not,” he said. “Good night, Watson.”
“Good night, Arthur. Sweet dreams.”
* * *
Arthur’s grandmother had read him stories where dreams predicted the future. Arthur’s own dreams, as best he could remember, were mostly a useless jumble.
But that night must have been different.
The next morning when he woke up, he was thinking of the pearl necklace and that phrase he’d heard so much: “just sitting around in the jewelry box.”
When he sat up and rubbed his eyes, he saw the teacup across the room on its shelf, and a phrase popped into his head: the perfect crime.
Like “rigor mortis,” this was probably something he’d heard in a movie on TV.
Rigor mortis is the way a body stiffens up after it dies.
The “perfect crime,” Arthur thought as he pulled on shorts, sniffed his T-shirt, and tugged it over his head, was one you could commit knowing for sure you’d never get blamed.
And why would that be?
Maybe because no one knew it had happened, no one knew that there’d even been a crime at all.
Okay, Arthur thought, but why did my dreams put that into my head?
Arthur went into the kitchen, smiled at his mom, poured himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes (A treat! On sale two-for-one at Ideal Market!), poured milk into the bowl, sat down, and ate.
He was slurping the last of the very sweet milk when an answer came.
“Mom!” he said, and his voice was so sharp that she startled and sloshed the coffee she’d been sipping.
“Oh my goodness, Arthur, you scared me,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
Arthur blinked. He couldn’t believe it. Maybe all that blood-to-brain had worked? “I think I figured it out!” he said.
Mom nodded, rose from her chair, tore off a paper towel. “That’s great, honey. I’m glad. Something to do with school? Math homework?” She dampened the towel with tap water, then dabbed at the spot of coffee. “Do I need to change my blouse, do you think?”
Ramona came in. “Are there more Frosted Flakes, or did Arthur eat them all?”
“There’s another whole box, Ramona,” Mom said.
Ramona glanced up. “I can’t reach it,” she announced.
Still fussing with her blouse, Mom said, “Arthur, would you get the cereal down for Ramona, please?”
Arthur got up from the table and pulled the Frosted Flakes from the shelf. Apparently, Mom did not care that he had figured it out. Aloud he said, “Maybe Officer Bernstein will care.”
Ramona was in a good mood. “Sure,” she said. “I mean, everyone likes Frosted Flakes.”
“I think my blouse will do,” Mom said. “It’s not like I have to go to court. Oh, and good for you on your homework, Arthur. High five?”
Arthur had no idea what his mom was talking about, but he high-fived her anyway.
“Remember Edie is coming over after school, Mom. Are you coming home early, or will Dad be here?” Ramona said.
“Oh, shoot, that’s right,” Mom said. “Someone will be here, Ramona. Some responsible grown-up, I mean. I just don’t know who.”
Arthur, meanwhile, was making plans. I’ve got to take a look in the jewelry case at the store, he thought, and talk to Grandma, and ride down to Pearl Street on my bike. Maybe Veda will come with me.
Later I’ll explain to Mom. I’ll explain to everybody.
Probably I’ll get some kind of reward!
For once he felt good about himself, not quite the glowing sense of accomplishment Jennifer Y felt, but better than usual. Maybe I’m good at something besides customer service after all.
“See ya tonight, Mom. Bye, Mo,” he said.
Ramona looked up. “ ‘Mo’?”
But Arthur was out the door, grabbing his backpack, and hurrying down the stairs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
That day during library time Arthur tried to return The Legend of King Arthur.
“How did you like it?” Mrs. Danneberg asked. “The plot’s tricky, didn’t you think?”
“It is,” Arthur said.
“I especially like the part where Arthur meets the man in the moon,” Mrs. Danneberg said.
“That part was good,” Arthur agreed.
“Arthur.” Mrs. Danneberg leveled a stare. “I made that up. It’s not in the story. You didn’t read it, did you?”
Arthur was embarrassed. “I… couldn’t get into it,” he said. He had heard his mom say this before about books; he thought it sounded good.
“Did you try, Arthur?” Mrs. Danneberg asked.
“I did!” Arthur said, but his cheeks were hot, which probably meant he was blushing.
Mrs. Danneberg raised her eyebrows over the stare.
“I mean, I opened it,” he said, “and so forth.”
“How about if you try it for another week, Arthur?” Mrs. Danneberg pushed the book back. “And promise me you’ll read at least the first chapter. If after that you still ‘can’t get into it,’ I will understand.”
Arthur liked Mrs. Danneberg, even if she was an eye roller. He did not want to disappoint her. “Okay, Mrs. Danneberg. I will.”
The bell rang, and Arthur waited for Veda outside the library. He hadn’t seen her before school, and he had a lot to explain. As soon as she caught up, he started in.
Veda listened a little, then scrunched her eyes and shook her head. “Wait, wait, wait, Arthur. Slow down! Who committed the perfect crime? I don’t understand.”
Arthur paused in his explanation. “We-e-ell…,” he said. “I guess I don’t know who exactly. Not yet anyway. But someone did. And then they stole the Red File to, like, to cover it up, cover their tracks. You know what the Red File is, right?”
“Of course I do,” Veda said. “And you told me it got lost. But who would steal it?”
Apparently detectives not only needed to be smart; they also needed to be patient. “Veda,” Arthur said in the calm voice of a preschool teacher, “that is pre-cise-ly what I am trying to ex-plain.”
Meanwhile, around them, kids streamed by on their way to class, and above them the hall clock’s second hand kept circling. Ninety seconds till the bell rang, eighty-five seconds, eighty… The crowd in the hallway was thinning out. Already they would have to hurry or be late to class.
“Look—there’s no time right now,” Arthur said. “Can you come over on Saturday? We can ride our bikes downtown.”
“I don’t know, Arthur. Maybe,” Veda said.
“Are you still mad at my family?” Arthur asked.
“Maybe.” Veda glanced up. “Bell’s gonna ring—see you!”
And she took off running.
The bell’s echo had faded by the time Arthur ducked through the door to his classroom, but Mr. Racker was facing the whiteboard and never noticed he was late. Maybe this is a good sign, Arthur thought, and he was optimistic for the rest of the morning. At lunchtime, he even thought of telling the guys what he’d tried to tell Veda. Since he’d been razzed about the teacup, he worried that his status with them was shaky. Maybe if he told them he was solving a mystery, they would be impressed?
But by the time he sat down at the usual table, he’d decided against it. Wouldn’t Zeke give him grief about jewelry the way he had about the teacup? And besides, the whole thing was complicated. He hadn’t been able to get even Veda to understand, and Veda already knew how the store worked, knew about the Red File too.
The explanation can wait, Arthur thought. Maybe till they see me on the TV news!
* * *
Arthur stopped by the store after school. He wasn’t scheduled to work, but he had detecting to do.
In Electronics, Jennifer Y was helping someone sort through power cords. She was still moving like her knees were stiff, Arthur noticed.
“Hey, Arthur.” She grinned, then turned back to her customer. “It really depends on the connector,” she said. “It’s for a tablet, right?”
Arthur made his way through Office Supplies and Holiday till he got to the jewelry case by the counter. The gold pendant earrings were still there. Arthur tried hard to remember the woman who had pointed them out to him, said they looked like the ones her mother gave her, but he had helped a lot of customers since then. She had bought a bowl, he thought. For a wedding present? Oh, and hadn’t she said she’d never been in the store before?
The other customer’s name, Molly Hart, he remembered because she’d been in only last week. Now he found the bracelet she had pointed out. Her aunt had given it to her? Something like that. Anyway, it, too, “just sat around in the jewelry box.”
Hadn’t Molly Hart been a new customer as well?
“I didn’t know you were into vintage jewelry, Arthur. Are you looking for something in particular?” Randolph was behind the cash counter, finishing up a receipt.
“Not at the present time,” Arthur said. “But may I see that bracelet?” He pointed. “Oh, and those earrings, too?”
Randolph fussed in the drawer, found the key, opened the case. “These?” He handed the items to Arthur. “You have excellent taste, sir. Shall I wrap them up, or would you like to wear them home?”
Arthur looked at the tag on the earring box. “My ears aren’t pierced, in case you didn’t know.”
Randolph picked up a sharp pencil and aimed it in the general direction of Arthur’s earlobes. “I can take care of that, sir,” he said.
Arthur said, “Ouch. No thanks.”
Randolph took the box back and looked at the tag on the box himself. “The consigner’s name is in the Red File,” he said, “the one that’s missing. Why are you so interested?”
Arthur should’ve been ready for this question, but he wasn’t, and all he could think to say was, “Idle curiosity?” He had heard that in a movie too.
Randolph cocked his head skeptically.
“You don’t know who brought these in, do you?” Arthur asked.
“Me?” Randolph shook his head. “Your dad handles most of the consignments. You know that. Besides, everything in the Red File is—”
“Confidential. I know.” Arthur was tempted to explain what he had figured out: someone, some thief, was committing the perfect crime, stealing jewelry that people hardly knew they owned—jewelry just sitting around in a jewelry box—bringing it to the store to sell, and then collecting the money when it did.
There were a few details Arthur didn’t know, like how many pieces of jewelry the thief had brought in, or how many had sold, or how much all the jewelry was worth.
Then there was the identity of the thief. He didn’t know that, either.
Arthur remembered the pocket watch Mr. Worth had bought, the one with XYZ. That record had been in the Red File too.
“Do you mind if I take a look at the Current UUI box for jewelry?” Arthur asked Randolph.
Randolph stepped forward so Arthur could get at the shelves behind him. “Have at it,” he said and then, to a woman walking toward the cash counter, “May I help you, ma’am? Those badger figurines are sweet. Perhaps you’d be interested in a cabinet to display them?”
Arthur slipped behind Randolph, took the box from its shelf, and flipped through the few cards categorized Jewelry, subcategory Fine Jewelry. These cards represented every item in the locked jewelry case—all the store’s fine (not costume) jewelry. This was the one for the earrings:
011823DJ
S, J, F, E, g
Red
$250
Arthur translated almost without thinking: The earrings had come in on January 18 of this year. His dad had checked them in—D for “Dan” in the first line. The next line meant small [S], jewelry [J], fine [F], earrings [E], and gold [g]. The consigner was “Red,” meaning the name was in the Red File—confidential. And the value was $250.
Next Arthur found the card for the bracelet and looked it over.
111622DJ
S, J, F, Bt, g
Red
$375
There was nothing unusual about either card except that the consigner was in the missing Red File. Oh, and each had come in around the same time of the month. Was that important?
Arthur didn’t know, but just in case he grabbed a piece of paper from the drawer under the cash counter and noted down the dates.
Then he looked for the watch under subcategory Timepieces, but, as he’d expected, it wasn’t there. Since it had already sold, Laura, the bookkeeper, would have moved the record from the Current UUI box by the register to the Annual UUI in the boxes in the office.
Arthur put the box back, told Randolph, “See ya later,” and walked to the office. Inside were his dad and Officer Bernstein, each sitting behind a desk, each looking unusually serious, his dad frowning, Officer Bernstein even sadder than usual.
“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said after a second. “Do you need something? You’ve got the afternoon off, you know.”
“Hello, Arthur,” Officer Bernstein said.
Arthur smiled at Officer Bernstein, said, “Just checking on something,” went to the shelf that held the Annual files, and pulled down the box labeled JEWELRY.
“What are you looking for?” Dad asked.
Arthur was annoyed with his dad for not telling him whether Juan had brought in items to consign, whether Juan’s name was in the Red File, in other words. But fine. If Dad wouldn’t reveal confidential information to his own child, then that same child, Arthur, would go ahead and solve the mystery himself.
“Well, Dad,” he said now, “for a fact, it’s confidential.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Dad didn’t say anything to that. In fact, neither he nor Officer Bernstein said a word as Arthur riffled through the cards in the box, found subcategory Fine Jewelry, then Timepieces, then Pocket Watches, and finally the card he wanted:
