Are you sure your camera bag is missing?” Jessie asked Violet. “Maybe you took it into the drugstore.”
Violet shook her head. “I left it here, with our coats and things. I can’t believe someone would steal it.”
“Well, somebody did,” Henry said grimly.
Benny hated to see his sister so upset. “Don’t worry, Violet. Let’s go look in the drugstore, just in case.”
But Mrs. Turner wasn’t able to help them. “I know that gray bag of yours,” she said to Violet. “You didn’t bring it with you today. I’m sure you just left your bag at home.”
Violet smiled weakly, but she felt awful. Her camera wasn’t at home; she’d been taking pictures most of the day. She should have been more responsible with her belongings.
As the Aldens went back outside, they met Dawn Wellington on the sidewalk.
“Hi, kids,” she said cheerfully.
Sylvia Pepper came across the square. She brought a box of red ribbons. “For the wreaths,” she said.
A few seconds later, Mr. Ames and Ms. Reit joined Sylvia.
“Greenfield Decorating Committee reporting for duty,” Dawn joked, giving a snappy salute. “All present and accounted for.”
“Everyone but Rick Bass,” Jessie said. “I wonder where he is.”
“He’s probably just late,” Henry said. “We’ll ask if anyone has seen Violet’s camera bag.”
But no one had.
Violet had hoped someone had seen her bag by the statue and taken it inside for safekeeping. But her camera seemed to be gone forever.
Benny inspected everyone’s fingernails. He didn’t see any telltale red paint. Sylvia Pepper always had bright red fingernails.
The rest of the afternoon, they draped garlands around shop windows. Each door was graced with a ribbon-tied pine wreath. Even the lampposts sported sprigs of holly.
When they were finished, the decorators stood back to survey the square.
“Too plain,” Sylvia said, frowning. “I’m going to add flowers and bows to my door.”
“I like the simple wreaths,” Dawn said. “It looks like New England. I think Josiah Wade would approve.”
The mention of Josiah Wade made Jessie think about Rick Bass. He hadn’t shown up. Had something happened to the museum curator?
Benny also glanced at the statue, tall and stately in the late afternoon sun. If only the Minuteman could talk. He would ask Josiah who took his sister’s camera bag. But he knew statues couldn’t speak.
When he heard about the theft that evening at dinner, Grandfather was very understanding.
“These things happen,” he told Violet. “When the festival is over, we’ll get you another camera.”
“And we won’t stop looking for the stolen one,” Henry promised. “Your camera just didn’t walk away.”
“But I’m supposed to take pictures at the festival,” Violet protested. “That’s my job at the Alden booth. Without my camera, we’ll have to do something else for the festival.”
She hated to let Grandfather down. She knew he had a lot on his mind. The man who was supposed to play the clown had gotten sick. Grandfather needed to find another clown.
Benny had an idea. “You’re a good artist, Violet. Maybe you could draw people in front of the statue.”
“Thanks, Benny,” Violet said, smiling. “But I doubt I can draw that well.”
The phone rang.
Grandfather got up to answer it. “Don’t worry,” he assured Violet as he left the dining room. “We’ll think of a solution. We Aldens always solve our problems.”
Mrs. McGregor came in with a freshly baked layer cake.
“It’s butter pecan,” she said before Benny could ask. She cut thick slices for each of the children. “You can think better after you’ve eaten cake warm from the oven.”
“Delicious!” Jessie praised, licking brown-sugar frosting from her fork.
Henry ate slowly. He was thinking about Violet’s missing camera bag. So many strange things had happened in the town square lately. Was one person causing all the trouble?
Just then Grandfather came back. “That was certainly a strange call,” he said quietly.
“What was it about?” asked Henry. He sensed his grandfather’s concern.
“The person on the other end said, ‘Tell the town council to put the statue in the museum, or else!’ ”
“That is strange,” Benny agreed. “Who was it?”
Grandfather shrugged. “It was a man. His voice was muffled, but . . . well, it sounded a little like Rick Bass.”
A chill rippled down Jessie’s spine. Rick was supposed to help decorate that afternoon and he never showed up. Was he planning to make a threatening phone call instead?
When the phone rang again, everyone jumped.
“Don’t answer it,” Violet begged.
“I have to find out who it is,” Grandfather said, leaving the table once more.
The Aldens were tense until their grandfather returned.
“Was it that man again?” Benny asked.
“No.” James Alden heaved a big sigh. “It was Ron Shiplett, the manager of the construction crew I hired to build the festival booths.”
Jessie opened her notebook, her pencil posed over the page. “What did he want? I’ll write it down.”
“He’s canceling!” Grandfather answered. “I have no idea where I’ll get another construction crew on such short notice. So much has gone wrong. The festival is only two days away and I need a new clown and anew construction crew!”
For the first time, Grandfather really sounded worried.
The next morning, Grandfather dropped the children in town.
“I’ll be back soon,” he told them. “I’ll pick you up by the town hall.” Then he drove off to an appointment.
The Aldens were supposed to find someone to play the clown. They planned to ask around the shops.
But when they stepped into the square, a shocking sight met them.
The town square was a mess.
Their decorations had been torn down. Scraps of boughs and battered wreaths lay scattered around the square. Trampled holly had been stuffed in the trash cans.
“Oh, no!” Violet exclaimed.
“The phantom strikes again.” Henry picked up a twisted wreath. “Grandfather will have to go back to the nursery and buy more greenery.”
“Maybe we can save some of this,” Benny suggested.
He walked over to the trash can near the town hall and lifted out a pile of holly.
Then he gave a cry. The others ran over.
“Look what I found!” Benny reached in and pulled out a familiar gray bag.
“My camera!” Violet unzipped the bag. Her camera was still there. Even her rolls of film were still stored in special pockets along the padded sides.
Jessie set her tote bag behind the bench.
“Why would someone take Violet’s case and then put it in the trash?” she asked.
Henry was puzzled, too. “If the thief didn’t want the camera, then what did he want?”
Violet drew in a breath. “The message photograph! I put it in the pocket with my film.” She hastily checked the bag. “And it’s missing!”
Henry snapped his fingers. “That explains why our things were gone through yesterday. Someone wanted that photograph bad enough to steal it!”
“Was it the person who sent the photograph?” Jessie mused. “Or the person who was supposed to receive it?”
“How come no one ever sees anything?” Henry wanted to know. “The statue was painted, the door numbers switched, and our decorations were ruined — all by an invisible person!”
“It’s the phantom of Greenfield Square,” Benny said.
Jessie shook her head. “It’s no ghost. The person is too smart to get caught, that’s all.”
At that moment, Rick Bass sauntered up. “Hey, guys,” he greeted. “Isn’t it a shame about the decorations?” He clucked his tongue.
“Where were you yesterday?” Jessie asked.
“I got tied up,” Rick replied. “Sorry I couldn’t make it.”
Benny wondered why Rick kept his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. Could he be hiding something, like red paint under his nails?
Henry noticed this, too. “I have a jacket just like yours,” he said to Rick. “I wore it yesterday.”
“I know,” Rick said, embarrassed. “I came out to mail a letter. I saw your jacket by the statue and thought it was mine. When I put it on, I realized it was too small.”
Part of the mystery was explained. But Henry still didn’t know who had taken Violet’s camera bag.
Jessie was thinking the same thing. “Did you see anybody around the statue yesterday afternoon?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not a soul. Hey, I found something I want to show you guys.”
“Where is it?” Jessie asked. She wasn’t sure she trusted Rick.
“In the museum,” Rick replied.
“We have to meet Grandfather soon,” said Henry.
“This will only take a minute. Follow me.”
Rick led the way through a side door of the town hall. He pulled the door shut and skipped down a flight of steep stairs. At the bottom, the cement landing was musty-smelling.
Violet sneezed.
“It is kind of moldy in here,” Rick said apologetically. “Old buildings are damp.”
He unlocked a second door. Leaving this door open, Rick entered the shadowed interior.
The Alden children followed cautiously.
“Watch your step,” Rick warned.
Violet couldn’t see much. Dim light filtered through two narrow windows near the ceiling.
She turned around, bumping into a dark, hulking shape.
“Oh,” she said, startled. |