You have some nerve showing up an hour late, Mara said to him.
Sorry, maam, he said. Someone from your organization gave me bad directions.
Bess immediately began playing with her hair, looking in the opposite direction, away from the driver and Mara. I thought for a minute that the floats late arrival might be another attempt at sabotaging the carnival and parade, but quickly realized it had to do with Bess.
I nudged her with my elbow and whispered, Did you give him the directions?
Nan - cy, she whispered back. Oh my gosh shush dont draw any attention to me. You are going to get me in some serious trouble. I thought they were good directions.
Mara continued, I dont care what directions you were given or who exactly gave them to you, but you are late, and I want a price reduction on the alterations.
I cant do that, he said. Youll need to contact the home office and negotiate a rate change with them.
I leaned back over to Bess, who still was not acting normal, and filled her in on all the new information I had about the notes and Deirdre and Josh and the missing money. I showed her the fro-yo stand note and told her about Joshs car accident.
We have more notes than we know what to do with, I said. What is it with people and notes? Its like they actively hate text messages.
Josh and Deirdre didnt do it? Bess asked.
The evidence doesnt support them as suspects anymore. They had access to the money, but their motives dont hold up. Their actions are certainly bizarre, and I still dont trust either of them wholly, but I feel like they told me the truth for the most part.
I wouldnt want to be in Joshs position with the car accident, but Im glad everyone is okay, said Bess. As we watched Mara argue with the driver, Bess kept hanging her head, ashamed that shed given bad directions.
And what about Mara? I asked, nodding in her direction as she paced back and forth behind the driver, yelling into her cell phone, demanding a discount from the person on the phone.
It wasnt Mara, she said. Shes been complaining about this float all day and how the money for it was in the cash box and was stolen too. She had to pay for it out of pocket, even though shes getting reimbursed by Mr. Steele later today. Shes not losing money, but she was really mad about the cash box situation. The carnival is still paying for the float, so why would she steal the money to make herself pay out of pocket?
Good point, I said. Seems like a lot of emotional anguish and stress to put yourself through just to steal a few hundred dollars.
Mr. Steele exited the school and approached the driver and Mara, which reminded me that George was somewhere inside, running her chemistry test for us. He walked quickly toward the pair, pulling out a wallet, counting out cash even quicker. Mara hung up the phone and argued some more with the driver, but they were too far away for us to hear exactly what was said. Eventually, Mr. Steele handed the driver a wad of cash and spoke to Mara quietly as the driver unloaded the float from the back of his trailer and into the parking lot.
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Did you see that? I asked Bess. She didnt have to pay after all. Mr. Steele did. Out of his own pocket.
Mara walked over to us, snapping her fingers. Bess, I need you to hop up there, she said, pointing to the float. Please check on our alterations, pronto. Before this hooligan leaves with his trailer. Then she leaned in closer and said, Did you see Mr. Steele pay for everything right away?
I did, Bess said, appeasing her.
This missing cash box ordeal has been a real nightmare for all of us today. I just hope the parade goes off without a hitch.
Bess smiled at Mara, before running across the parking lot to the float. She climbed the stairs of the boat-shaped vessel and walked around the deck. She checked the railing, pulling and pushing on it. She measured the throne and the platform and tested the sturdiness of the flagpole that rose up out of the center. Everything seemed to be sturdy and to her liking. She lifted a thumb in the air to Mara, who gave her a thumbs-up back. Then Bess looked at her hand and ran back across the parking lot to us. She was close to out of breath when she reached us. She lifted up her hand.
Only thing is that the paint is still drying in certain areas. Her entire hand was covered in red paint.
Mara sighed and covered her eyes with her hands. This is just another disaster.
Its not that bad, Bess said. We could get a hair dryer and hold it to the wet spots. Or it might even be dry by the time we start the parade.
A voice passing by interrupted us. It was Mr. Andrews, the baker.
Your float is not a disaster, he said with eyes on Mr. Steele. Not having a food stand, now that is a disaster. His hands were fists by his side, and they pumped in the air as he walked up behind Mr. Steele. He tapped the other mans shoulder, forcing him to turn around.
Joshua, how nice to see you, Mr. Steele said, tucking his wallet into his back pocket.
Not so nice, Mark. Not so nice at all.
Youre not still going on about this food stand business, are you?
I am still going on about it. Im downright furious with you.
Why is this my fault? asked Mr. Steele.
You knew I wanted a table, and you sold them out before even letting me know they were for sale. That, my dear friend, was not smart. My baked goods are the finest in River Heights. And this is the River Heights Festival.
Both men raised their voices to tense levels, shouting at each other, drawing a lot of attention from passersby. Mara enjoyed watching Mr. Steele be put in his place, but Chief McGinnis stood back for a bit, waiting to see if the men could settle their differences calmly. As I watched Mr. Andrews, I realized he was a clear suspect in this case. Although no one had seen him here at the carnival, Mrs. Gruen had mentioned how upset he was this morning, and it seemed his anger had not subsided. Especially toward Mr. Steele.
Finally Chief McGinnis stepped between the men, holding them apart as they continued to yell at each other. Mara told us she was going to check on the parade party to see how their decorations were coming along. Bess and I stood by the ticket booth, watching the men argue about the food stand.
Do you think Mr. Andrews stole the money? I asked Bess.
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Its possible, but unlikely, Bess said. Why would he?
Not sure. We need to find Ned and ask him if he saw Mr. Andrews poking around this morning. Its the only way to know for sure if hes a true suspect. Someone would have seen him here. I know Mrs. Gruen saw him early this morning at his store.
Nancy, do you think well ever find out who stole the money? asked Bess, wiping her paint-covered hand on a towel.
Im not sure, Bess. Every time I think we get going in the right direction, some- thing comes along and makes it more complicated.
Right, she said. Like the notes and the threat of sabotage.
Exactly. And the scariest part of all is that I dont have any suspects for any of it the notes or the money.
Youll figure it out, Nancy. You always do.
I hope so. We need to find George and Ned and regroup because the parade is starting soon, and I have a feeling whatever happens next will happen right before the parade.
The men finally calmed down and walked away in opposite directions as Chief McGinnis still stood between them. I wasnt sure how hard Chief was looking into all the facts, or how closely he was scrutinizing alibis, but he certainly seemed to be making less headway on the case than I was. Then again, he didnt officially know I was heading up my own investigation, something he would never allow. I needed to keep focused on the facts and follow them wherever they led me. Mr. Steele and Mr. Andrews made my job more difficult with this feud theyd created and more than likely distracted Chief from the missing money.
Chief McGinnis looked at me with worried eyes, almost like he was asking me to help him solve this case as soon as possible. He smiled at me, and I smiled back. I couldnt help but read into his smile, Please help me, Nancy, before something else happens.
I looked back at him and thought, I am trying, Chief. I am trying.
BLACK SMUDGES REVEALED
The ticket booth had finally closed, sold out of tickets, as Ned helped shut it down and lock it up. His father, James Nickerson, helped too, keeping an eye on everyone else, making sure no one suspicious was hanging around the booth.
Hello, Mr. Nickerson, I said. Its wonderful to see you.
Hello, Fancy Nancy, he said.
Bess and Ned and Mr. Nickerson all laughed when he said this.
All right, I said, my hands out, halting conversation. I have enough unanswered questions and mysteries floating around today. I dont need everyone calling me that name all day long.
Sorry, Nancy, Ned said.
Yeah, sorry, Nancy, said Bess.
You know, Mr. Nickerson said, back in my days as a hard-hitting investigative reporter in Washington, a nickname given by friends and family was a sign of loyalty. Maybe you should embrace your new name?
Not at all. Everyone knows how much I hate that name, and I will find out who is behind it. If its the last thing I do. I couldnt believe how much I sounded like Chief McGinnis and his clichéd and cheesy one-liners. I almost sounded like a villain. This nickname thing was bothering me, but I had to keep my focus on the case I was working on.
Well, I hope you find out who took the money first, Ned said.
Yeah, these were some serious allegations I heard about, Mr. Nickerson said.
Thats, why Im here. Mr. Nickerson was the publisher of the River Heights Bugle, our local newspaper. Like my newspapers motto, I am committed to truth in journalism. We must find the thief, so Neds innocence will be proven. He seemed a little too interested and excited about the missing money.
We will find the thief, Mr. Nickerson, I said. Im working on a few angles right now.
Absolutely, Bess said. Were waiting for George, who might have a solid lead for us. I couldnt believe Bess had blurted out the fact that we might have some secret evidence. This was exactly the type of thing that Mr. Nickerson was waiting to hear. We needed to protect our information, so as not to scare off potential perpetrators. By telling Mr. Nickerson that we had evidence, we might as well have asked him to write an article about the case itself and publish it in the newspaper tomorrow.
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I turned to Ned. I have a question for you.
What is it? he said.
Do you remember seeing Mr. Andrews poking around the ticket booth this morning? I know you saw Deirdre, Josh, and Mara, but did you by any chance see Mr. Andrews?
Nope. Why? Ned asked.
Do you really think Joshua Andrews had something to do with this? Mr. Nickerson asked, concerned and inquisitive. I would find him hard to believe as a suspect.
Im not sure, I said. I keep thinking Im on the right track, but my leads are drying up faster than a drought. I wanted to steer the conversation away from the case, but Mr. Nickerson was too interested to let it go.
I stared at Bess for a while, hoping to get her attention. She finally looked over at me, and I widened my eyes as if to say, We have to leave and get away from them right now.
However, Bess must have misinterpreted my facial expression, as she continued to give away our information on the case.
George is working on analyzing one of the notes as we speak, she said. We might have a black smudge of some kind that could direct us toward a new suspect.
Black smudge? Mr. Nickerson repeated. Interesting.
Dont get any ideas, Mr. Nickerson, I said. You are not writing any article on this mystery. Were only speculating on possible information right now. All our initial suspects seem to have alibis. Except Mr. Andrews, which is why I want Ned here to find out more.
What do you need me to do? asked Ned. I want to help you clear my name. I will do anything it takes.
Okay. Sounds good. I need you to buddy up to Mr. Andrews and find out why hes so upset with Mark Steele. They had an argument earlier, and it seemed pretty serious, I said. I already knew why the two men were mad at each other, but my goal in asking Ned to do this served several purposes. It kept him and his father busy and only directed them to information I already had. I wanted to stay in charge of the investigation and not have too many people going off on their own, trying to help.
I saw that, Mr. Nickerson said. When I was parking my car, I saw Chief McGinnis breaking up their argument and stepping between them.
It got a little heated, I said.
Any possible motives for the fight? Mr. Nickerson asked.
Maybe, I said, still trying to be vague and keep Mr. Nickerson subdued.
Im on it, Ned said. Leave it to me. Im your man for the job. Ill get to the bottom of it. It was cute, seeing him excited about his mission, although I already knew what information he would find out. Do you think we have a shot at recovering the money?
The sooner we can isolate the thief, the better shot we have at finding the money. So we need to work fast, I said. You get going on your mission, Ned.
Ned and his father finished closing down the ticket booth and headed off into the carnival to find Mr. Andrews. Maybe Mr. Nickerson would use some of his old-school reporting techniques to uncover more evidence for us than I expected. In any case, they were no longer hounding me for information, and Bess couldnt give away any more of our evidence.
Bess grabbed my arm and shook it, pointing toward the school as George ran like a track star out of the building, headed right toward us.
Look, Bess said. If she doesnt slow down, shes going to run right into us. You know how incredibly uncoordinated she can be sometimes.
Bess, I said, shocked. Be nice!
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Shes my cousin, said Bess. I can say shes uncoordinated and get away with it. Now if you called her uncoordinated, then thered be a problem.
I knew immediately that George had found something on the note. She had been gone for a while, testing out her new science toy, but now she was a track star, bolting from the building toward us. I could tell by the look on her face surprise and glee that she was excited and couldnt wait to get to us. George finally slowed down and took a minute to catch her breath.
Why are so many people running today? I asked. George, Bess, Mara, Mr. Steele. Everyone is running everywhere. You would think we were all running from a fire.
I found George started to speak, but couldnt finish her sentence.
Please spit it out, Bess said. We know that you found something good.
I found something, said George. Then she continued, The note.
Thats rather vague, Bess said. Please give us more than that.
What was it? I asked. What did you find out? What is it about the note? Come on, George. Take a few big breaths.
I cant just follow come with me, George said. She turned and walked back toward the school, huffing and puffing. Her excitement about whatever shed found was overwhelming her to the point where she couldnt communicate at all. Bess and I followed her back across the parking lot to the school, hoping that whatever George had found would be helpful to the case. The culprit was having a field day sending out clues that drove the investigation in all directions.
What, were not going to run back to the school now? asked Bess. You looked like a track star. Bess struck a pose, making fun of her cousin.
We all exchanged looks and laughed. Bess knew she could push our buttons to alleviate the tension that was building up all around us. The longer we went without solving the crimes the notes, the missing money the more people depended on us to vindicate them and prove they werent suspects.
We finally reached the school, trying not to let anyone see us sneaking around, especially Mr. Steele. No one was allowed to be in the school on the weekends unsupervised, so we needed to be extraordinarily careful. All the teachers seemed to be back at the carnival. The coast was clear. I counted to three before signaling Bess and George to duck inside the school door. We snuck down the hallway to the biology lab, where George had her new toy set up next to a microscope. We closed the door behind us. I placed a piece of black construction paper over the window in the door to shield us from any possible passersby.
On one of the lab tables, under the microscope, was the latest blue note from the fro-yo stand.
What is this monstrosity? Bess asked, pointing at Georges new gadget next to the microscope.
The machine looked like a toaster. It was silver with black buttons and a door that was closed, but could be opened up on the side like a drawbridge. Georges bedroom was filled from floor to ceiling with devices like this one. She loved the latest in technology, especially anything that came with a computer chip.
Its an EDCS, George said.
Sounds like some kind of disease, said Bess. Am I going to catch the flu or something?
It stands for Element Disintegration Chemistry Set, I said. I think. I could be wrong. George, why do all your science toys have extremely long names?
Its my new high-tech NASA-developed Element Disintegration Chemistry Set. She looked annoyed at Bess, but was also a little bit annoyed at me. We were always teasing her about her hobby, but really only because we werent interested in the technological or scientific. Trust me, she said, when I say that, Bess, you will not catch the flu from this device.
How does it work? Bess asked.
George took out a tiny test tube from a recently opened box. She dropped a sliver of the note to the bottom before adding a drop of inky-looking fluid and an ounce or so of water on top, then mixed it all together by swirling the tube. She held it high in the air for us to see. The paper and solution didnt look any different to me, but held back any judgment until George finished her presentation.
I took a small piece of the note that had the smudge on it, mixed it with a special solution compound, and then set it in the circular wheel of the EDCS. George opened the drawbridge door to the toasterlike machine. Inside was a wheel, where she placed the test tube before closing up the door. Next I set it on high, and it spins the sample around under high temperatures. She punched a black button on the machine as it made a whirring sound. Then it analyzes and computes the individual elements in the solution and prints out a report, telling you what it could be. Sometimes its specific. Sometimes its general. Depends on the complexity of the sample.
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How long does it take? I asked.
Seconds, said George. At that moment the machine began to print out a tiny piece of paper. George ripped it off the machine and handed it to me. Ive run this test three times now, and it comes back the same every time.
What did you find, George? I asked. Something good, I hope. We need a good lead. I took the paper from her and began to read it.
Look in the microscope first, George said, pointing to the microscope.
I leaned over the microscope and peered down the lens at the blue note. I wasnt exactly sure what I was supposed to be looking at. The letters in the note were very large, like in an oversize print book for old people with bad eyes. The note looked like it was in high resolution. At the edges were smears or smudges of something dark, darker than the pen used to write the note. I moved the paper around to examine every inch of it.
What I am looking for? I asked. I had a feeling it had to do with the smudges.
Look at the smudges, George said. I compared them to the ink used in the letters and they dont match. So the smudges are a special kind of ink. Look at the results again.
I stepped away from the microscope and reread the printout analysis. Bess stepped up to the microscope and looked down too.
The printout read:
Commercial ink compound
Example: Ballaster Ink
What does this mean exactly? I asked.
According to my research and my EDCS, its no ink from any kind of printer or copier or pen. I thought for a while maybe it was grease or oil from a car.
Which might point to Deirdres boyfriend, Josh, Bess said. Because of the car accident.
But the ink is too light, George pointed out. The ink in the note is special too. Apparently, that comes from a fountain pen. Its an ink source that you have to special order online to be able to refill the pen.
So the smudges are also ink?
Yes, said George.
But not fountain pen ink, Bess said.
Correct, said George.
Other than pens and printers, what else uses a lot of ink that is highly specialized? I asked out loud, brainstorming.
I dont know. My new machine didnt say. Just said it was a commercial ink generally purchased in large quantities, George said.
And what did you find out about this Ballaster Ink? I asked.
Nothing, George said. I called the local office supply store, but they didnt carry it. I asked to speak with the store manager, and shed never heard of it.
Back to square one, Bess said.
Not necessarily, I said. This is good work, George. We know that whoever wrote this note uses a fountain pen with ink that has to be special ordered. The person also has access to a very specific kind of commercial ink called Ballaster Ink.
How is any of this helpful? asked Bess.
It helps us to build a profile. It helps us to look for clues. Who do we know who uses a fountain pen? Who do we know has ink on their fingers all the time? These are questions we should be asking ourselves. Really good work, I said.
Suddenly Besss cell phone rang, and all three of us jumped. We desperately tried to quiet our laughter, so that Bess could answer her call. I shushed us all enough with one of my hands over Georges mouth. She had the most trouble controlling her laughter. Bess answered her call, still laughing herself.
What? she asked, her laughter falling away fast. What happened? Why cant you tell me? Okay, Ill be right there. She hung up and turned to us.
Who was it? George asked.
Spit it out, Bess. What happened? I chimed in.
Im not sure, she said. That was Mara. She wants to see me right away.
Why? I asked.
I dont know. All she said was to meet her in the girls bathroom near the gym immediately. She told me not to tell anyone. She said it was an emergency.
She didnt say why? asked George.
No, Bess said.
Did you hear anything else? I asked.
I heard other voices in the background, Bess said.
What did they sound like? What were they saying? I asked.
They sounded like they were crying.
We stood there for a minute in silence, mulling over all the erroneous leads and clues we had collected all day. Everything kept running us in circles until we all looked up at the same time. We knew suddenly what that call from Mara was about.
At the same time we all said, The parade.
George packed up her machine as Bess and I put away the microscope and took the note with us. We ran out of the school and across the parking lot, passing in front of the ticket booth, heading toward the gymnasium. The parade was starting soon, and the girls bathroom was where the girls were getting dressed and doing their makeup.
As we made our way through the crowd, I saw Mr. Nickerson and Ned sitting on a picnic bench with my dad. All three of us slowed down, so as not to draw attention to ourselves. We didnt want them to suspect that there were any problems. We needed to stop, say hello, and be cool and calm, so we could slip away to the gymnasium. I hoped that George could be smooth enough not to give away any of our leads.
Ill stop and talk to them, I said. Bess, you go on to the gym and call me as soon as you find out whats happened. I looked at George. George, you okay?
Yeah, why? she asked.
Just checking. Lets try and keep as much information about this whole thing as private as possible for the time being, okay?
Bess ran past everyone, waving briefly, as George and I stopped at the picnic bench.
Fancy Nancy, Dad said, slapping Mr. Nickersons back. Mr. Nickerson had obviously told Dad about how much I hated that name, and they were both having a good laugh about it now.
Dad, I said. Hey. Whats everyone up to? Even though I was worried about George giving away information, I tried to be cool and calm myself, but everything I did or said came out awkward and weird.
George leaned toward me and whispered, You sound so awkward and weird right now. Stop acting weird. Theyre going to find out. Remember what you said to me?
Ned, I said, did you get a chance to talk to Mr. Andrews?
We did, said Mr. Nickerson. Just a little while ago, actually. He was still pushing himself into this mystery. He really wanted to be a part of its resolution.
It wasnt him, Dad said.
What? I asked, looking at Ned.
Our father units took it upon themselves to insert themselves into our unsolved mystery, Ned said. He laughed. I tried to control them, but they think theyre professional detectives or something.
How do you know it wasnt him? I asked.
Well, your dad said that Mrs. Gruen went to the bakery early in the morning, around eight a.m. or so, Ned said. If thats correct, its the same time I arrived at the ticket booth. By the time I opened up, and between all my visitors Deirdre, Josh, and Mara there is no way he closed the bakery, drove over here, stole the cash box, went back to the store, and opened it back up, all without ever being seen.
I was at the bakery this morning too. Around eight thirty, Mr. Nickerson said. Joshua seemed irritated, but not mad enough to steal money.
Hes apparently mad at Mark Steele for not saving a food booth for him to sell his baked goods. He spent all last night baking for today, but found out this morning that all the booth space had been rented.
I looked at George and shook my head. This is bad, I said, speaking softly so only she could hear me. We just might be back at square one.
Oh honey, said Dad, walking over and hugging me. I know that look anywhere. He pinched my cheek. Dont you worry. Everything is going to be okay. Something else will pop up that will trip this thief up so the authorities can catch him or her. The chief has everything under control.
I feel like Im on the right track, though, I said. I just need some more time. Whoever is doing all this will make mistakes, and its just a matter of time.
Nancy, we should get going, George said. You know. To meet Bess.
Now George was being super weird.
Right. Well, we have to run. Bess needs our help in the gym, I said.
Where were you girls coming from? Mr. Nickerson said. It looked like you were leaving the school. He pointed behind us, across the parking lot, to the back entrance of the school.
We found something on one of the notes and had to examine it closer. We needed to use the biology lab, I said.
What did you find out, honey? asked Dad.
One of the notes had a special kind of ink on it that isnt carried in office supply stores. But no one seems to know what it is or where its used, I said.
Ink? Ned said. What kind of ink?
The brand name is called Ballaster Ink, I said.
Mr. Nickersons jaw dropped open. Ballaster Ink? he asked. On the note?
A smudge in the corner, I said.
Ballaster Ink is a brand that a lot of independent publishers use for printing their newspapers. Its less expensive than the ink that the national newspapers use, which allows them to be more competitive. We use Ballaster Ink for the River Heights Bugle.
Our thief is a newspaper reader, I said.
A heavy reader at that. Most people read a newspaper, then wash their hands right away. Someone who was careless enough to leave a smudge of this ink on the note probably reads a lot of these type of newspapers and must have forgotten to wash their hands after they finished one, Mr. Nickerson said.
Excellent investigative reporting skills, Dad, Ned said.
I still got it, said Mr. Nickerson, breathing on his nails and rubbing them on his chest, showing off.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text message from Bess. GET HERE RIGHT NOW, the text read. Then it continued, WE HAVE ANOTHER SABOTAGE.
