The expression on Scarlett’s face was confusing. It wasn’t welcoming, I knew that. It was more skeptical than anything else. Maybe she wasn’t upset. Maybe she doubted my abilities to pull this off. Well, I’d just have to convince her that I was more than capable of handling this challenge.
Mr. Miles pointed to where he wanted me to read.
I let out a long breath and jumped in. “You’re not making this job easy for me, Miss Ramsey. All the evidence points to you as the murderer. The cops have suspended their search. They’re not even lookin’ for anybody else. I need something . . . anything.”
Scarlett stood opposite me. “I told you. You have to find that bookie. He’s my alibi. I was with him when my parents disappeared. He’ll swear to it.”
“He’ll swear to it? Gimme a break. Do you really think he’s gonna tell the cops that he was taking bets—and risk going to jail—just to save your neck?”
“He has to,” she said. “He just has to.”
“Don’t count on it. And even if we do find him, once he’s on the witness stand, the prosecution will eat him alive.” I sighed for effect. “He’s not what you’d call a credible witness.”
“He’s my only chance. If you can’t find him, my life is over. The cops don’t believe he exists. They want to pin it on me. It makes their job easier. Especially that detective.”
I was beginning to think that I could actually do this. “What detective?”
She paused momentarily as if thinking. “Reynolds. Lieutenant Reynolds. He has it in for me.”
“Now why would you say that?” I asked. “The man’s probably just doing his job.”
Scarlett waved her arms dramatically. She was good—really good. “Don’t you understand? He despises women like me—wealthy socialites. He’s a civil servant who obviously hates his job . . . along with his tiny salary. And so, he takes it out on people with money.” She sighed. “I may have my faults, but I’m no murderer.”
“Listen, I have a few friends in the department. Let me rattle some cages and see if I can get a gander at the evidence.”
“And if not?”
“Then I reel in some of my favorite snitches,” I said. “I won’t rest until I find your bookie friend or something that’ll get you outa here, lady. It’s the least I can do for a paying client—a well-paying client at that.”
Mr. Miles started chuckling. Oh no, did he think my performance was laughable? Did I blow my big chance?
“Wonderful, just wonderful,” he said. “Scarlett, beautifully done. And Charlie, let me say this. You definitely have some natural talent. I can see that. You’re like a piece of clay. But I think I can spin you around on my pottery wheel and mold you into an exquisite vase.” Except he pronounced vase the funny way—like how it sounds when it rhymes with Oz.
I wouldn’t call it a ringing endorsement, but at least I appeared to be in the running. I noticed Henry now seated in the front row of seats. What was he doing up here? I was sure he had left. Then all at once, he started waving his arms. It appeared he wanted to get Mr. Miles’s attention.
“Mr. Miles. Oh, Mr. Miles,” he yelled out.
“Yes, can I help you, young man?”
“Is it too late to audition for the play?” he asked.
What was going on here anyway? Was this the same kid who wanted nothing to do with this production? Why had he suddenly done an about-face? Henry was up to something.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Henry Cunningham.”
“And what part were you interested in?”
“The police detective—Lieutenant Reynolds.”
Mr. Miles glanced at his watch. “I suppose we have a few minutes left. Why don’t you come on up here.”
Henry sprinted to the front and hopped up onto the stage.
“Oh, by the way,” Mr. Miles said, “let me remind all of you that if everything falls into place, I will be deciding which of you will be receiving speaking roles this evening. When you arrive for school tomorrow morning, look for a cast list on my office door.”
Henry was now standing opposite Mr. Miles.
“Okay, now, Mr. Cunningham, let me find an appropriate passage for you,” he said as he began flipping through pages. “Ah, yes, right here.” He handed the script to Henry.
“I have a question,” Henry said. “What’s my motivation?”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. She was just starting to figure out what Henry was up to.
“Well, that’s a very good question,” Mr. Miles said. “Every actor should know his motivation.” He pressed his finger to his lips and paused. “Let’s see now. You’re a hard-nosed, veteran cop. Been with the force for as long as you can remember. You’re respected, but feared by your subordinates. Your job is to locate supporting evidence that will convict Rebecca Ramsey. You don’t particularly like her. You don’t like her kind—a wealthy heiress who’s never worked a day in her life. A guilty verdict would be a feather in your cap—and would bring some personal satisfaction as well.” He smiled. “How’s that?”
“Perfect,” Henry said. “Couldn’t be better, sir. I was made for this part.” He sneered at Scarlett.
And believe it or not, Henry went on to give a pretty respectable interpretation of the character. At one point, it was almost as if he wasn’t even acting. I had to hand it to him. Henry was living his greatest fantasy—a chance to be mean to Scarlett and get away with it.
CHAPTER 4
The Loan Arranger Caper
Henry and I made it a point to get to school early the next morning. We were anxious to see who had been selected for Mr. Miles’s production. As we got closer to his office door, we noticed a crowd of kids camped out in the hallway. The cast list still had not been posted.
“What do you think our chances are?” Henry said.
“Based on the competition, I think we have as good a chance as anybody.”
“And Scarlett?”
“Scarlett’s a shoo-in,” I said. “That’s a no-brainer.”
We sat on the floor to wait for the announcement. We didn’t have much time. Classes were scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. We were all hoping to know our fate before then. I could feel my heart racing. It was the same sensation I would get when I was immersed in a case. As each minute passed, I could feel myself getting more anxious. I wiped my hands on the front of my pants. They were clammy. I hated the waiting. I wished I could handle it better—like Sam Solomon.
Sam was the master of patience. Just consider Episode #44—The Loan Arranger Caper. In this case Sam had been hired by the family of a man whose business had failed. The distraught businessman, whose credit made it impossible to get a bank loan, made the fateful decision to seek out the services of a Mafia loan shark. When the man was unable to repay the loan and suddenly disappeared, Sam decided to penetrate the seedy underworld of loan-sharking. He posed as a down-on-his-luck gambler in need of a temporary cash fix. But his timing couldn’t have been worse. A police raid interrupted the transaction, and Sam was arrested for interfering with an ongoing police investigation. His private investigator’s license was suspended, and he spent the next week waiting to hear if the suspension would be permanent.
So if Sam could wait out a potentially life-altering decision, then I was happy to give Mr. Miles all the time he needed to announce his cast.
“Maybe we should just go and stop back at lunch,” I said.
But before Henry could respond, the door to Mr. Miles’s office began to open, and a moment later he appeared. He seemed surprised by the turnout.
“I didn’t realize you all were out here,” he said. He pulled a rolled-up piece of paper from his sport coat pocket and smiled. “This is it.” He grabbed a pushpin from the bulletin board on his door and was just about to attach the list when he stopped and turned toward us. “Now mind you, this was a very
difficult decision. If you didn’t receive a speaking role, don’t be discouraged. I promise that everyone will be onstage.” He turned back and posted the list. “Okay, kids, have at it.”
Mr. Miles was unprepared for the response from the assembled throng. He was nearly swallowed up by the crowd but did manage to squeeze through and escape to his office.
Henry immediately began to muscle his way to the front of the line. I, on the other hand, waited several feet back. No need to tackle the mob. Nothing was that important. A minute later, Henry had returned. He was sporting an ear-to-ear grin.
“Well?” I said.
“There was never a doubt. You’re in. I’m in. And what’s-her-name is in.”
“Really?” I said. “Henry, do you realize what this means? It’s my chance to win over Scarlett. When she sees me in action on that stage, anything’s possible.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, partner. You might think this is real life, but I guarantee that she sees it as two people reading lines that someone else wrote. And nothing more.”
I knew he was right. Every so often I’d get my hopes up that Scarlett might see me not as some weight-challenged classmate who solved capers for fellow sixth-graders, but rather as a suave and debonair mystery man. I knew it was a long shot—and by long shot, I meant beyond the realm of possibility—but I had to keep my hopes up.
“Excuse me, Charlie, do you have a minute?” It was Mr. Miles.
“Sure,” I said.
“Will you excuse us, Henry, I’d like to have a word with our new leading man.”
“Not a problem, sir,” he said. “See you in class, Charlie.”
I waved good-bye to Henry and followed Mr. Miles into his office. He pointed to a chair opposite his desk.
“Well, first let me tell you how happy I am that you decided to take me up on my invitation to audition. A person with your credentials is a perfect fit for Nick Dakota.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your confidence, but I know I have a lot to learn.”
“And that’s what I’m here for,” Mr. Miles said. “But first, I wanted to share something with you—something I think you’ll find really interesting.”
I wasn’t sure what was coming. I assumed it was good news. Although whenever a teacher asked you to step into his office, it usually meant that you might soon need the services of a good attorney.
“Charlie, would you believe that we have something in common?”
“What’s that?”
“Actually, we have mutual friends—two of them.”
I smiled. I didn’t know who he was referring to.
“Would you believe that Eugene Patterson and I are old fraternity brothers?”
I sat up in my chair. This was getting interesting. “Really? I didn’t know that.”
“And what if I told you that I could have been your grandfather?”
Now, wait just one minute. This was starting to get weird. “What do you mean exactly?”
Mr. Miles sat back in his chair and laughed. “Well, not really, I guess. But your grandmother and I did date years ago. Actually, it was only one date. She met your grandpa Jim about a month later and the rest is history.”
It was hard to imagine Gram with anyone else. Grandpa Jim was my mentor. He taught me so much. He was the one who introduced me to Sam Solomon. And that in itself changed my life. Without Grandpa Jim’s influence, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I think about him a lot—whenever I think about Sam Solomon.
“That’s pretty interesting,” I said.
“And your grandmother is just as pretty today as she was back then. You might not know this, but she was a real looker in her younger days.”
I was starting to get creeped out. It wasn’t as if Mr. Miles had said anything wrong. It was just hard to think about my grandmother as a looker . . . even though I had seen pictures of her when she was a teenager, and she did look pretty good. But I’d rather not think about those things. It was like seeing your parents kiss. I mean it was nice that they still got along and all, but I wasn’t a fan of their public displays of affection. Spare me.
“So, please say hello to your grandma and Eugene the next time you seem them. Will you do that?”
“I will.”
“Just tell them that Thad says hi.”
“I’ll do that,” I said as I slid out of my chair and headed for the door.
“Remember. We start play practice next Monday after school. See you then.”
I waved and slipped out. I was sure hoping we wouldn’t be having any more conversations like that anytime soon. I tried to picture Mr. Miles as my grandfather. Then I spent the rest of the day trying to get that painful image out of my head.
• • •
When I got home from school that day, I looked for my grandmother. I wanted to tell her about my conversation with Mr. Miles. I found my mom in the kitchen cutting up vegetables for dinner.
“Mom, do you know where Gram is?”
“Shhh,” she said. “Just a minute.” She leaned in and turned up the volume on the radio. The local news was on.
“Police continue to investigate the burglary early this morning at Vito’s Italian Bakery on the east side,” the newscaster began. “When owner Vito Dalesandro opened up the shop this morning, he discovered that a cash register drawer had been jimmied. More than twenty-five hundred dollars was taken. But more interesting than that—the thief also made off with at least a dozen loaves of bread. Anyone with information is asked to contact the Oak Grove Police Department. In other news—”
My mom reached over and turned off the radio. She shook her head. “To think that something like that could happen right here in our little town is . . . is very disturbing.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Charlie, what did you ask me before?”
“I was wondering where Gram was.”
“She’s in her room, I think.”
“Thanks.” As I made my way to Gram’s room, I thought about this new crime wave. First, several Persian rugs were stolen, and then exactly one week later to the day, a bakery is burglarized. It didn’t seem to me that there was a connection between these two crimes since they were so different. I was convinced they had to be random acts. I decided not to mention the bakery theft to my grandmother. Whenever a crime went unsolved around here for a few days, she had it in her head that our little agency should assist the authorities. Who knows? She might end up being right, but now was not the time to mount a new investigation. I needed to concentrate my efforts on the play.
And if I even suggested to Henry that we take an active role in solving either crime, I knew exactly what he’d say. He’d lecture me about the evils of taking on cases without a paying client. But that never mattered to me. It was never about making money. For that matter, if it were up to me, I doubt if I’d even charge people for what we do. I always got such a rush whenever we successfully solved a really tough caper that no amount of money could ever match it.
I tapped lightly on my grandmother’s door. I wasn’t sure what she was up to, so I didn’t want to startle her.
“Who goes there?” a voice said from behind the closed door.
“It’s me, Gram, Charlie. Can I come in?”
The door flew open and standing there was my grandmother decked out in a meter maid uniform.
“Do you have a minute?” I said.
She put her arm around me. “Come with me. I gotta make my rounds. We can talk on the way.”
I followed her down the hallway, into the kitchen, and past my mother, who did a double take when she saw what Gram was wearing. We then proceeded out the back door, through the yard, and into the garage. Gram flipped on the overhead light and immediately leaned down to look at the driver’s side front tire on the minivan. There was a chalk mark on it.
“Just as I thought,” she said. She pulled out a sma
ll pad of paper from her back pocket, flipped over a few pages, and began scribbling. “Why people ignore these signs is beyond me. It’s as if they can’t read.” She pointed to a rake hanging on the back wall. “It says right there—four-hour parking. What’s wrong with these people?” She ripped off a page and inserted it under one of the front windshield wipers. “So, what was it that you needed?”
“I wanted to tell you that I bumped into a friend of yours today.”
“A friend of mine? Who was it?”
“He told me to tell you that Thad says hi.”
Gram leaned back against the car and smiled. “Thad? Thad Miles?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good old Thad. I haven’t seen him in the longest time.” She slipped the pad of paper back into her pocket. “Don’t tell me he’s still teaching?”
“Yep.”
“And directing plays?”
I nodded. “Actually, he’s directing a new one—one that he wrote himself.”
“You don’t say.”
“And you’ll never guess who the leading man is,” I said.
Gram shrugged.
“Moi.”
She clapped. “You? I didn’t know you could act.”
“Well, the jury’s still out on that one,” I said. “To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t even have considered it, but Mr. Miles personally invited me to audition for the part since one of the main characters is a private detective. And I won the role.”
Gram hugged me. “Oh, Charlie, that’s so exciting. And a private detective—how perfect. Have you told your folks?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, you tell them when you’re ready. I won’t spoil it.” She thought momentarily. “You know who you have to tell all this to?”
I shook my head.
“Eugene. He’ll get a real kick out of you playing a private eye. He can probably give you some pointers. Eugene was in a few plays in college. That’s how he and Thad met.”
The Copycat Caper Page 4