“Look!” cried six-year-old Benny. “Watch is sniffing out clues.”
Benny was drawing a picture of his dog, Watch.
Ten-year-old Violet looked over at her little brother’s drawing. “I can see that,” she said with a smile. “He’s following a trail of footprints.”
The real Watch was curled up nearby in the grass. He enjoyed looking for clues but he liked naps, too.
“Dogs make very good detectives,” added Jessie, who was twelve. “That’s a great idea for a T-shirt, Benny.”
The youngest Alden held up his picture. “You really think so?”
Henry gave Benny the thumbs-up sign. “I bet your design wins first prize!” he said. At fourteen, Henry was the oldest of the four children.
It was a sunny afternoon and the Aldens—Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny—were sprawled out on the grass in the backyard. Their favorite mystery book series was holding a contest. The best design to go on the front of a T-shirt would win a copy of the latest Detective Club book—autographed by the authors themselves, Mila Jones and Jake Winston.
“That’s a great design, too, Violet!” Jessie was admiring her sister’s drawing of a girl looking through binoculars.
“Thanks, Jessie.” Violet was sorting through a pile of broken crayons. “I just need a crayon to color the girl’s headband.”
Henry held out a purple crayon. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
“How did you know?” Violet asked.
“Oh, just a hunch,” Henry said. Everyone knew that purple was Violet’s favorite color. She almost always wore something purple or violet.
“I’m almost done, too.” Henry was adding a big X to mark the spot on his treasure map drawing.
Jessie looked over her own drawing. “I’m not sure what color to make my clubhouse.”
“How about red?” said Benny.
This made Jessie smile. “Red like our boxcar?” She thought for a minute, then picked up a red crayon. “Sounds good to me.”
After their parents died, the four Alden children had run away. For a while, their home was an empty boxcar in the woods. But then their grandfather, James Alden, found them, and he brought his grandchildren to live with him in his big white house in Greenfield. And the boxcar had come along, too. Now it had a special place in the backyard. The Aldens often used it as a clubhouse.
“I sure hope we win,” said Benny.
“The Detective Club books are very popular,” Violet reminded her little brother as she gathered up the crayons. “The publishing company will probably get thousands of entries.”
“That’s true,” said Jessie. “Mila Jones and Jake Winston write great mysteries.”
“Will you read another chapter tonight, Jessie?” Benny asked. The children were in the middle of The Twisted Clue, the latest in the Detective Club series.
“Sure, Benny,” Jessie said. “We all want to know what happens next.”
There was nothing the Aldens loved more than a mystery. They’d solved many of their own.
“I sure could use a cold glass of lemonade,” Henry said.
“I’ll second that!” Benny jumped to his feet. “Know what else would hit the spot?”
“Mrs. McGregor’s chocolate chip cookies?” Henry guessed. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, Benny.” The youngest Alden was known for his appetite.
But Benny wasn’t listening. He was already racing full-speed across the lawn, with Watch close behind.
In the kitchen they found Mrs. McGregor having a cup of tea with her good friend, Mrs. Dawson.
“Perfect timing!” Mrs. McGregor smiled at the children. “Still warm from the oven,” she said, holding out a plate of cookies.
“Pull up a chair and join us,” Mrs. Dawson invited them. “It’s been way too long since I’ve seen the Aldens.”
Jessie was wondering about something. “Are you still working at the Penner place, Mrs. Dawson?” She was pouring lemonade into three tall glasses and one cracked pink cup. It was Benny’s favorite cup. He had found it when they were living in the boxcar.
Mrs. Dawson brushed back a wisp of silver hair. “Oh, yes. I’ve been a housekeeper out there for years,” she said, stirring cream into her tea. “When Nate Penner died, I wasn’t sure if my services would be needed anymore. But after the accident…” Her voice trailed away.
Henry lifted an eyebrow. “Accident? What happened?”
“Amanda tripped over a loose stone in the walkway,” Mrs. Dawson told them. “I’m afraid she sprained her ankle.”
“Who’s Amanda?” Benny asked.
“Nate Penner’s granddaughter,” answered Mrs. Dawson. “Amanda inherited the house from her grandfather. She’d lived in Chicago but she moved back to Greenfield to live here after he died.”
“Do you think Amanda will be okay?” Violet wondered.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Dawson assured her. “But right now, she can only get around on crutches. I’ll be staying on as housekeeper until she’s better.”
“What will you do then, Mrs. Dawson?” asked Jessie. “Will you look for another job in Greenfield?”
“That’s a good question,” said Mrs. Dawson. “I’ve always dreamed of opening my own bookstore. But … I don’t know if that will ever happen. It costs a lot of money to start a business.”
Mrs. McGregor was quick to agree. “It’s not easy, that’s for sure.”
“I’ve managed to save a bit of money, but not nearly enough. So I will definitely be looking for another housekeeping job,” Mrs. Dawson said with a sigh. “Amanda only needs me until the end of the summer.”
Mrs. McGregor said, “You can always put a notice up on the job board in the grocery store.”
“Actually, I’m doing that very thing today,” said Mrs. Dawson. “Not for me—for Amanda. She needs somebody to remove the stones from the walkway behind the house. She doesn’t want anyone else to fall and get hurt.”
“Maybe we could lend a hand,” volunteered Henry.
“Of course,” said Jessie.
Benny and Violet nodded in agreement.
“Well, that’s very kind of you to offer,” said Mrs. Dawson. “But … just so you know, it’s hard work.”
Mrs. McGregor laughed. “If there’s anything these children love, it’s work.”
The Aldens didn’t mind at all. “We’d like to help,” Violet said.
“We can come over first thing in the morning,” said Henry.
Mrs. Dawson looked grateful. “Well, don’t worry about packing any sandwiches,” she said. “I’ll make lunch for all of you and Amanda.”
Mrs. McGregor poured her friend another cup of tea. “Speaking of Amanda,” she said, “is she still interested in writing?”
The question seemed to catch Mrs. Dawson off guard. “What?”
“I remember her grandfather was always so proud of the awards she won at school,” Mrs. McGregor said.
The Aldens were instantly curious. “Amanda won awards?” Jessie asked.
“She was a very talented writer,” said Mrs. McGregor. Then, turning to her friend, she asked again, “Does Amanda still enjoy writing stories?”
As Mrs. Dawson reached for the cream, it slipped from her hand. “Oh, how clumsy of me!” She slapped a hand against her cheek.
“That’s okay.” Mrs. McGregor mopped up the cream with a napkin. “I’ll get some more.”
“No, no. I should be going anyway.” Mrs. Dawson pushed back her chair. “I still have, um … errands to run.” After thanking Mrs. McGregor for the tea, she dashed away.
Jessie stared after her, puzzled. She had the strangest feeling Mrs. Dawson had spilled the cream on purpose. But why? |