Trashed!, page 12
Meanwhile, it was pretty awkward standing there with Ramona glaring at him.
So, with a final scowl, he retreated.
“And stay out!” Ramona called, slamming her door after him—a mistake because it made Arthur even madder.
I will find that teacup! he thought. And I will get it back! But I will have to be sneaky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
That night at bedtime Arthur told Watson what had happened with the teacup, why it wasn’t back yet. “But now it’s in Ramona’s room,” Arthur said. “She more or less admitted that. I just have to find it.”
Without her hangout, Watson was lounging on top of a Sherlock Holmes book, A Study in Scarlet. “What a puzzle,” she said. “How could my teacup have belonged to Edie?”
Arthur lay on his bed, facing the opposite wall. His knees were up, his ankles on the headboard. It was the blood-to-brain position.
“I don’t know,” he said to the ceiling. “Maybe just another Ramona lie, but everything got crazy all of a sudden, so I never asked more, and anyway Ramona wouldn’t have answered. At dinner she wouldn’t even pass the milk.”
“Sibling rivalry is the worst,” said Watson. “And did she get in trouble?”
“Hardly at all,” Arthur said. “My parents totally spoil her. I wish for once they’d spoil me.”
“Perhaps you should talk to Edie,” Watson said.
“Talk to a first grader?” Arthur said.
“She’s a witness, and you’re a detective,” Watson said. “It’s part of the job.”
Arthur didn’t want to talk to Edie, but he didn’t want to say that either. Instead he told Watson what he’d learned from Grandma, that the jewelry seemed to be stolen from people when they hosted book group.
“So the thief is someone in the book group,” Watson said.
“Or someone connected somehow,” Arthur said. “But it can’t be Susana Malarky, and it can’t be Molly Hart, either. Because their stuff was stolen.”
“By that logic, it’s not your grandmother,” Watson said.
“Well, of course not,” Arthur said—a little annoyed.
“It could be your mother, though,” Watson continued.
“Watson!” Arthur pulled down his legs and spun around on his back. “My mother’s not a thief.”
Watson’s tail swished furiously, and she sat forward. “A detective can’t let emotional relationships interfere, you know. A detective considers all options.”
“Not that one,” Arthur said.
“If your mother did it,” Watson said, ignoring Arthur’s words, “that would explain why your father won’t tell you the names in the Red File. It’s to protect her.”
Arthur closed his eyes. “No, Watson. Just no.”
“All the same, I think you should ask her,” Watson said. “And about the teacup, talk to Edie. That teacup may not matter to you, Arthur. But it does matter to me. Besides, it’s darned uncomfortable on this shelf without it.”
* * *
Kids at Arthur’s school couldn’t check their phones in class, which is why Arthur didn’t get his grandma’s text till Friday lunchtime: Sand yong gpa Xaviey Zacry. Dose help u?
Translating Grandma’s texts was a little like decoding Grandpa’s UUI entries. This one meant: “Sandy Young’s grandpa was named Xavier Zachary. Does that help you?”
Yes! Arthur texted back; then he added a whole bunch of hearts and roses.
So now he knew, or thought he knew, that the pocket watch Mr. Worth had bought had probably belonged to Sandy Young’s grandfather, because his initials—X and Z for the first and middle names, Y for “Young”—were engraved on it. And that meant, probably, it had been stolen from Sandy Young’s house when she’d hosted the book group in February, just like Molly Hart’s bracelet had been stolen in November, Susana Malarky’s earrings in January, and Grandma’s necklace at book group on Monday night.
The case was coming together. Even better, the thief couldn’t be Juan. Juan wasn’t in book group. It was only coincidence that he’d helped clean Grandma’s house on Saturday.
Arthur felt good, for once. He imagined solving the case, the glowing sense of accomplishment, telling Veda, bragging to the guys at lunch.
“Hey, Arthur.” On her way to sit with her usual peeps, Veda interrupted these thoughts. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back about Juan, but—”
“Don’t worry about it, Darth,” said Arthur, “but listen. Can you come with me somewhere tomorrow afternoon? It’s important. I’ve been detecting.”
Veda looked confused. “Your grandmother’s necklace?”
Arthur nodded. “It’ll all make sense tomorrow. I promise.”
Veda looked skeptical. “I can meet you at the store after lunch, I guess. Text me in the morning.”
“Bring your bike,” Arthur said.
CHAPTER FORTY
Arthur wasn’t on the store’s schedule after school that day, but he stopped by the office on his way upstairs. Maybe he could talk to Grandpa B the way Veda wanted him to. Arthur didn’t like confrontation. But maybe he could find the courage.
As it turned out, though, Grandpa wasn’t there. Instead Arthur found Dad, behind his desk, and Mrs. Merdle. She had made herself comfortable, and Arthur could tell right away that Dad wished she would let him get back to work.
Dad had to be polite, though. She was a good customer.
“Amy came by to return one of Ramona’s earrings,” Dad explained. “It seems Edie wore it home yesterday by mistake.”
“Clipped in her hair like a barrette,” Mrs. Merdle said. “I told her I was bringing it right back today. I wouldn’t want anyone to think my granddaughter was a thief.”
“Innocent mistake,” Dad said. “I’ll be sure Ramona gets it, not that she’ll even notice. She has a ton of junk jewelry in that box of hers.”
“It’s been very nice to see you, Mrs. Merdle,” Arthur said. “I’m going upstairs to get a snack and—”
“Hey, Arthur,” Dad said as if he’d just had a great idea. “How about if you show Amy, Mrs. Merdle, I mean, that walnut table we’ve got out front? Didn’t you say you might need something for your new dining room, Amy?”
Arthur did not want to show Mrs. Merdle the walnut table. He wanted a snack, Cheez-Its if there were any. But then he had an idea of his own: if he asked Mrs. Merdle about the teacup, maybe he wouldn’t have to talk to Edie.
“The walnut table is a beautiful piece, Mrs. Merdle,” Arthur said. “Super antique. Also I believe we can offer a very fair price.”
“Way to close the sale, Arthur,” Dad said. Then, to Mrs. Merdle, “I taught him everything he knows.”
Mrs. Merdle smiled. “You’ve got this store in your veins, Arthur. From both sides of the family.”
“Take a look and see what you think.” Dad stood up and smiled brightly at Arthur. Arthur translated the smile: “I owe you one, bud.”
The walnut table was the same one where Arthur and Veda usually worked on Sunday afternoons. Now he led Mrs. Merdle through the store to its spot in Dining Room Furniture.
“It is lovely,” Mrs. Merdle said, “but perhaps a little large. I sold my house, you know. Now I live in a condo.”
“Shall I keep an eye out for something smaller?” Arthur asked. “We get new inventory all the time.”
“You are so good at customer service, Arthur,” Mrs. Merdle said.
Arthur was tired of hearing this but still said, “Thank you.” Then, “Uh… if you don’t mind? I have kind of a funny question for you too.”
“Really? And what’s that?” Mrs. Merdle asked.
The whole thing—how the teacup had showed up out of nowhere, how Grandpa had said he recognized it, how it was a hangout for the mouse who was haunting him but now Ramona had stolen it—was too much to explain.
So Arthur simplified. “Do you know if Edie used to have a teacup with a dancing bear on it? A chipped teacup, I mean. No saucer.”
If Arthur had expected anything, it was that Mrs. Merdle would say no, and he would have to talk to Edie after all. He certainly did not expect what actually happened, which was that Mrs. Merdle suddenly looked sick.
“Are you okay?” Arthur asked.
“Fine,” Mrs. Merdle said quickly, but she didn’t look fine. “I probably should have eaten lunch, is all. Now.” She swallowed. “What about Edie and a teacup? I don’t think I remember any teacup. No, I’m sure that I do not.”
Arthur shrugged. “Okay. It’s just something Edie said to Ramona.”
“What did Edie say to Ramona?” Mrs. Merdle asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” Arthur said. “Just that she used to have this teacup. I can check with Edie if you don’t remember.”
“Don’t do that,” Mrs. Merdle said quickly. “It… isn’t that I don’t remember. It’s that there is no such teacup.”
Not for the first time, Arthur thought, Grown-ups are weird.
But weird or not, Mrs. Merdle was a good customer. “Sure, Mrs. Merdle. Absolutely,” he said.
“And I don’t want you hectoring my granddaughter about this either,” she went on.
What is hectoring? Arthur wondered. “Right. I would never do that, Mrs. Merdle,” he said.
“Promise me, Arthur.”
Arthur didn’t think Mrs. Merdle looked insane exactly, just intense. “I will not hector Edie,” he said. “I promise.”
Color returned to Mrs. Merdle’s cheeks. “Excellent,” she said. “You forget all about that teacup, Arthur. That teacup does not exist.”
* * *
Upstairs eating Cheez-Its at the kitchen table, Arthur got out his phone and looked up “hector,” which turned out to mean “harass, bully, or intimidate.”
I would never harass, bully, or intimidate Edie—or anybody else, either, Arthur thought. Not even the guys at the lunch table. And for a fact he was insulted that Mrs. Merdle would say that to him.
On the other hand he might still ask Edie politely about the teacup. Because the teacup did exist, whatever Mrs. Merdle said, and now he really wanted to know what the story with it was, and why Mrs. Merdle was acting weird too.
But first he had some questions for his mom.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
It was Dad’s turn to clean up that night, so after dinner Arthur followed his mom to her office and stood in the doorway as she sat down at her desk and fired up the computer.
“Mom?”
“Oh!” Mom started and spun around in her swivel chair. “You scared me, kiddo!”
“Sorry.” Arthur stepped into the room, wiped the bangs out of his eyes.
Mom cocked her head at him. “Do you need a haircut?” she asked.
“No,” Arthur said.
“We could take care of those bangs right now,” Mom persisted. “I’ve got scissors in my desk and—”
“No!” Arthur kind of liked his long bangs. “Anyway, don’t you have to be, like, a professional to cut hair?”
“Not technically,” his mom said. “I mean, scissors meet hair—snip, snip. I guess maybe to do a good job it takes a professional.”
“Can we wait, then?” Arthur said.
Mom shrugged. “I guess. Are you okay, though? What do you need? I was just going to get a little work done, but…”
Across the room from Mom’s desk was a flower-patterned sofa that had come from the store. Arthur sat down on the edge and said, “It’s about your book group.”
“Uh… said no child ever?” Mom said. “What in the world?”
Arthur smiled. “Grandma said basically the same thing yesterday.”
“You talked to her about book group too?” Mom’s eyebrows approached her hairline.
Arthur plunged ahead. He had thought about how to word this question but hadn’t really come up with a solution. “So what I want to know is,” he began, “are there any, like, shady characters in your book group?”
Mom didn’t answer right away, and Arthur continued. “Not Molly Hart,” he said. “And not Sandy Young. And not Susana Malarky, either. I mean, maybe they’re shady, but if they are, I don’t care. They don’t count.”
Mom seemed to be too surprised to speak, so Arthur added, “Oh, and not Grandma either.”
“What about me? Can I be shady?” Mom asked.
“For a fact, I don’t have proof,” Arthur said, remembering what Watson had said. “So maybe.”
Mom shifted in her chair. Arthur wondered if that was a sign that she was nervous. Could Watson be right? But she was his very own mother!
“Huh,” Mom said at last. “Well. I’m a little confused, Arthur. But now I’m wondering, does all this have something to do with Grandma’s missing necklace?”
Arthur said, “No!” because the question surprised him, but right away he backtracked. “Maybe? But why would you even ask?”
Could she really be the thief? he wondered.
Mom said, “Arthur, you are not the only one who can put two and two together. I know from Dad that your grandpa thinks Maria’s friend Juan might have taken the necklace. It would be like you to try to prove he didn’t.”
Arthur took a breath, relieved. “Oh good. So you didn’t steal it.”
“Why would I?” Mom said. “I can borrow it anytime I want.”
This answer seemed disappointing. “Is that the only reason?”
“Also because stealing is wrong, Arthur. But as for your question, how about if you define ‘shady’?”
Arthur thought for a second. “I guess I mean likely to be a criminal, uh… untrustworthy.”
“Hmmm,” said Mom. “Well, Susana often claims to have read the whole book when it’s obvious she didn’t, but you said she doesn’t count. And I know with certainty that several members keep their library books long after they’re due. Your grandma definitely does that, but you said she doesn’t count either.”
“How many people are even in your book group?” Arthur asked.
“I think the list is around thirty. But we rarely get that many at meetings. Fifteen is more like it,” Mom said.
So fifteen suspects, Arthur thought, and then he realized something else. “The shady person I’m thinking of”—he spoke his thoughts out loud—“has to be somebody who was at the meeting on Monday, and it’s probably someone who goes to most of the meetings. So do you remember who was there on Monday?”
Mom scrunched up her face, trying to remember. “All the ones you mentioned already. They’re regulars. And Grandma, of course, and me. Oh—and Amy Merdle, which kind of surprised me, since she’s getting ready for the Stomp. Besides that, how ’bout if I think back and write them down? The book was short, and short books usually attract better turnouts. But, Arthur, kiddo, I don’t think anyone in my book group would steal a necklace. Like I said, it’s wrong, but also you’d be so embarrassed if you got caught.”
“What if she knew she would never get caught?” Arthur asked.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Arthur got into bed that night and, light still on, studied the list of names his mom had printed out. There were twenty, including Mom and Grandma.
Besides the ones he already knew about, a couple were familiar: Lily Unger, who was a neighbor of Grandma and Grandpa’s; and Petra Kessler, who had been Arthur’s preschool teacher. Neither one of them seemed shady, but how could he know for sure?
After all, Grandpa thought Juan was shady, just because he was a Latino guy with tattoos.
Maybe I’m asking the wrong question, Arthur thought. Maybe instead I should be asking why someone would steal all that jewelry.
Except that answer seemed obvious. For money, of course. But didn’t the people in the book group already have money?
“Hey, Arthur, good evening.” Watson appeared on the bedpost. “Whatcha got there?”
“It’s a list,” Arthur said, and he explained. “I don’t know who stole the jewelry yet,” he continued, “but I think Veda and I will find Grandma’s necklace tomorrow. I think I know where it is.”
“That’s just fine, Arthur,” Watson said. “You’re becoming a detective at last! Now, how ’bout my teacup?”
Arthur laid the list on his bedside table and turned out the light. “I’m working on that, too,” he said. “It must be in Ramona’s room, but I don’t know where.”
Arthur didn’t explain how Mrs. Merdle had claimed that the teacup didn’t exist. He and Watson both knew it did exist, so what was the point?
“Did you try asking Ramona?” Watson asked.
Arthur said, “That won’t work,” knowing Watson would ask “Why not?” which is exactly what Watson did.
“Because she says the teacup isn’t mine, it’s Edie’s. Only, Edie says Ramona can keep it for now. You know for her friend Bluebell, the cow,” Arthur said.
“But Bluebell isn’t even real!” Watson protested.
“I know that,” Arthur said.
“Why does a cow that’s not even real need her own hangout?”
“I dunno, Watson,” Arthur said. “First graders like Ramona have crazy ideas. Or anyway, Ramona has crazy ideas. She thinks Bluebell’s barn is in her jammie drawer, which… wait a sec.”
“Jammie drawer,” Watson repeated.
“Yeah,” said Arthur thoughtfully. Then, “Yeah! I’ll get your hangout back tomorrow, Watson. I promise. And I think I’ll get my grandma’s necklace, too. Only, that’s not in Ramona’s jammie drawer. It’s somewhere else.”
* * *
When Arthur got up the next morning, no one was around. Mom and Dad must’ve been at work. As for Ramona, Arthur thought she was at tae kwon do. She had as many activities as Veda. It was hard to keep them all straight.
Arthur fixed a bowl of cereal for breakfast, ate it, and texted Veda.
C u at 1, she texted back.
“Ramona?” Arthur called, just to be sure. When there was no answer, he figured it was time to raid the jammie drawer.
Arthur did not enjoy being sneaky. Being sneaky made him nervous. Still, sometimes it had to be done. He thought of Watson and, heart thumping, padded toward Ramona’s room. The door was ajar, and Arthur bumped it open with his elbow, careful not to use the doorknob. In movies, the police often found fingerprints on the doorknob.
