by Laura Dower
Mrs. Wing pushed open the classroom door and the departing class of eighth-grade students flooded into the hall. As the crowd filtered out, Egg, Drew, and Madison pushed their way inside, where Mrs. Wing had written out the class work on the board. It was a free day. Everyone worked on an assigned topic that helped him or her to tackle Internet problems or surf the web for information.
The day’s topic had Madison doing a happy double take.
Written across Mrs. Wing’s chalkboard were two questions.
Where are the best places to look for online information?
How can the Internet help us all to be better detectives?
What an omen! Madison thought. She couldn’t believe that that subject was coming up that day, of all days. Being a detective was in.
“I’m going to check out the FBI website!” Drew announced.
“That’s so cool,” Egg said. “I’m going to try a search engine.”
As excited as she was by the topic, Madison just stared at her computer. Finally, she typed in the web address for Crime Time. It was the ideal place in which to get tips on being a detective. Madison could do the assigned class work and read about old Crime Time episodes at the same time (as long as Mrs. Wing wasn’t looking, of course).
As she surfed the Crime Time site, Madison’s brain buzzed with theories on the school theft. Madison knew that Penelope seemed guilty, but she also knew that Mr. Olivetti seemed nervous, as if maybe he were guilty, too. It had turned into a plot right out of a TV mystery movie. The thief could be anyone.
After Mrs. Wing’s class ended, Madison decided that she needed to start interrogating suspects. First would be Mr. Olivetti. Madison worked up the nerve to confront him that afternoon at her flute lesson. Maybe his music room had more clues hidden in it. She would find out.
Unfortunately, when she showed up outside Mr. Olivetti’s classroom, there was no Mr. Olivetti.
She spotted a hastily written note taped to the door.
Student! I had an emergency and had to leave the building, so no private lesson. I am sorry. Please reschedule with school secretary.
Thank you.
Mr. Olivetti
Madison tried the door. It was locked.
Drat.
She couldn’t believe it. An emergency? Didn’t Mr. Olivetti realize that collecting evidence was the true emergency? She peered into the room through the glass door, hoping some clue would jump out at her.
But the room was dark.
This is awfully convenient, Madison thought as she stood in front of the music room. “I decide to question Mr. Olivetti, and he disappears!”
The longer Madison stood there thinking, the more she began to wonder if maybe—just maybe—Mr. Olivetti himself had something to do with the theft. What if his sudden “emergency” were in fact merely a plan to divert attention while he… committed more crimes?
This wasn’t just the plot of any ordinary mystery movie of the week. This was way better.
Whatever the case, Madison needed to reschedule her flute lesson. She headed down to the school secretary’s office, as Mr. Olivetti had requested in his note. Maybe she could get another lesson tomorrow.
The school secretary at the desk was Dot. She was busy making copies.
“Can I help you?” Dot yelled over the loud hum of the copy machine.
“My name is Madison Finn. I am one of Mr. Olivetti’s students,” Madison said.
“Oh, yes,” Dot said, turning off the copier. “Mr. Olivetti said that he would be sending kids down here to have their music lessons reassigned. Let me see where I put his calendar. Just a sec…”
She disappeared into the side room and came out with a datebook.
“Looks like tomorrow is mostly free,” Dot said. “Can you do that?”
Madison nodded emphatically. That was perfect. The sooner she could interrogate Mr. Olivetti, the better.
“So, we’ll just pencil you in here for three-thirty, okay? Anything else I can help you with?” Dot asked, smiling.
Madison was about to turn and walk away, but she stopped herself.
“Actually, yes, there is something else,” Madison said. “I know… well, I heard… that some very important material was stolen from the school…”
“Oh? You heard?” Dot said.
“Yes,” Madison stammered. “And… well, I was wondering if you had any more details about the theft. Like, are there any suspects?”
“I’m sorry, Madison, but school policy doesn’t allow me to give you any of that information.”
“Really?” Madison said. “Well, it’s not like I’m asking you to tell me anything important. Can’t you tell me a little bit about what happened? I have heard conflicting things and…”
“No can do,” Dot said, clicking her tongue. “Sorry, sweets. That’s not information we make available to students. Once the problem has been resolved, then I am sure Principal Bernard will make everything known to the students.”
Madison wanted to scream. How could she be a good detective if she wasn’t even able to figure out what it was that she needed to detect? She needed corroboration of the identities of her suspects. She needed the evidence. She needed a way to convince Dot that she was more than just any old student. Madison Francesca Finn was the one person who could solve this crime.
“Look, Madison, I’d love to spill the beans,” Dot said with a wink. “But the truth is I don’t know anything. An investigation with the school panel is strictly hush-hush. So, you’d better be on your way, dear.”
Madison hung her head and walked out of the secretary’s office. She headed back toward her locker.
As her luck would have it, Ivy was standing nearby. She was going through papers in her bag. Luckily, the drones were nowhere in sight.
“Hello, Ivy,” Madison said, trying to be nice as she walked by.
“Why so bummed out?” Ivy asked. “Did Hart just dump you?”
Madison whirled around and stood toe-to-toe with the enemy.
“I’m so sick of you,” she growled at Ivy.
“You’re sick of me? I’m sicker of you! Just get lost,” Ivy snapped.
“You get lost,” Madison said.
Ivy cracked up. “Oh, you mean lost like you?”
“Why are you always following me?” Madison asked.
“Excuse me?” Ivy said with disbelief. “I’m following you?”
“That’s right!” Madison said. “Wherever I go, you’re there. I think you’re following me. I just want you to tell me why!”
Madison chuckled to herself. This was an old detective trick she’d read about on the Crime Time site. The trick was to accuse someone of following oneself. It was an ideal way to throw people off the trail or smoke criminals out of their hiding places. Madison waited to see what the technique would do to Ivy.
“Follow you? Like I would ever follow you!” Ivy said, practically spitting. She tossed her hair and walked down the hall without once looking back.
Madison watched Ivy shake her hips as she took off. For a moment, she wished that Ivy were the school thief. It would be a lot of fun to catch the enemy red-handed.
Madison opened her locker and stuffed the homework she needed into her orange bag. She took an extra minute to straighten up the books and other objects inside the locker.
Taped inside the door, Madison saw a teeny photo of Major DeMille that she had downloaded from the Internet. He was smiling.
Madison smiled right back at him. “I’m working on my suspect list,” she whispered to the picture. No one was close enough to her locker to hear.
One by one, Madison convinced herself, she would knock the suspects off the list for good.
She wouldn’t stop until she was able to catch the real thief—and prove herself a real detective.
On Tuesday afternoon, Madison was grateful to see that Mr. Olivetti had returned to school for his regular (and rescheduled) lessons.
She put on her detective’s thinking cap and app
roached the music room cautiously. There was work to be done.
“Hello, Miss-a-Madison!” Mr. Olivetti called out. “Have-a-you been practicing your scales?”
Madison nodded. She didn’t say much at first. She took her flute out of its case and prepared to warm up. Her plan was to play a few scales, get tired, sit down, take a drink of water, and then start right in on the questioning. She would ask Mr. Olivetti about everything.
Ask questions. Expect answers.
She had every last detail planned out to the exact minute.
But Madison wasn’t prepared for what actually happened: it was Mr. Olivetti who insisted on sitting down to talk.
“I must-a-tell you what-a-happened to me yesterday,” Mr. Olivetti confessed.
Madison was all ears.
“I felt so bad to leave-a-my students like that. But I was too upset to teach anymore. You see, I had some private and valuable materials stolen from me.
“You did?” Madison said, playing it straight.
“Yes, I had this old sheet-a-music,” Mr. Olivetti explained. “Ancient papers. A family heirloom. I had the sheets packaged in acid-free paper at the store and picked them up before school one-a-day, but, then, poof!”
“Poof?” Madison repeated.
“The package-a-disappeared. I think someone-a-took it,” Mr. Olivetti said.
“Where did you leave it? On your desk?” Madison asked.
“No, no,” Mr. Olivetti said, “I-a-had it in my briefcase.”
“Your briefcase? The black one?” Madison asked.
“Yes. You know the black one I-a-carry?” Mr. Olivetti said.
Madison nodded. She was adding up the clues inside her head. But just when she thought she was about to figure everything out, someone barged into the music room.
“Whoops! I thought this was my lesson time,” the person said.
Madison blinked when she saw who was standing there.
It was Lana Waldorf.
“Oh, hello, Madison,” Lana said meekly. She turned back to Mr. Olivetti. “Um… I brought you those papers you needed…”
Mr. Olivetti smiled. “Fine, fine. I think your lesson is in a half hour.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lana said. As she turned to leave, Lana stared hard at Madison.
Something was going on. Madison could feel it. What was Lana doing there?
The wheels inside Madison’s head began to churn some more.
Lana had already been caught doing something wrong at the clinic, earlier that week. What if she were up to no good again, right here at school?
Madison’s mind raced.
Major DeMille would have said that Lana was a confessed thief who had now been caught at the scene of yet another crime! She had to be added to the list of suspects. Right?
“So, where was I?” Mr. Olivetti said.
He continued talking about the missing package as if Lana had never put in an appearance. Madison wasn’t really listening to him anymore, though. Her mind was on the suspect list.
Penelope? Maybe.
Ivy? Maybe.
Lana? Maybe.
But Mr. Olivetti?
As he continued talking, it seemed increasingly unlikely to Madison that Mr. Olivetti would have stolen his own sheet music—or even faked its disappearance.
Solving this mystery was a lot trickier than she had thought it would be.
Eventually, Madison returned her thoughts to the flute, and Mr. Olivetti resumed his instruction. He let her stay for a few minutes over her normal time to finish playing a short piece.
On her way out, Madison saw Lana again, sitting on the floor outside the music room. Lana had her books spread around her while she tried to finish homework.
“Hi, Madison,” Lana said as Madison walked by.
Madison tried looking into Lana’s eyes. Was that a guilty stare coming back at her? There was no way to know. It had been a lot easier to prove Lana guilty when she had had cat hair on her sweater, Madison thought.
Madison said a quick hello and then strolled right past Lana and turned toward the bank of lockers on the first floor. As she walked along, Madison heard whispering from around a corner. She slowed down to listen.
The voice was Ivy Daly’s.
“I can’t believe I got away with it!” Ivy said.
Madison gasped. Got away with it? Got away with what? What was Ivy talking about? Got away with stealing? Was this proof that Ivy had something to do with the theft?
Without thinking, Madison charged around the corner.
“Got away with what?” Madison said, confronting Ivy. “What did you do?”
Ivy and the drones were too shocked to speak for a moment. But then, Ivy laughed—and the drones laughed, too.
“Got away with wearing this top, you dummy!” Ivy snarled. “What did you think?”
Madison wanted to melt into the floor. Almost instantly, her palms got sweaty.
Usually, at a time like that, running away was Madison’s best option. But now she wasn’t able to run. Her feet felt frozen in place.
“Gee, Maddie, are you eavesdropping in the halls?” Ivy asked. “Since when did you become such a snoop?”
Madison still couldn’t move—and she couldn’t answer the accusation, either. Ivy pronounced snoop as if it had been the worst thing in the world.
And it felt as though it were.
“You should mind your own business, Madison,” Rose Thorn added.
“Yeah, and keep to yourself, too!” said Phony Joanie.
Poison Ivy shook her head. “Pathetic,” she said. “Just pathetic.”
As she walked away, hanging her head, Madison felt her chest throb. She hadn’t felt so slammed by Poison Ivy and her drones in weeks.
It was humiliating.
And it got Madison thinking.
What if she weren’t really cut out to be a detective, after all?
Chapter 11
IT WAS A RELIEF when Wednesday morning came. The last place Madison wanted to be was at school. She’d had her fill of flute, Ivy, and the missing-sheet-music mystery. Most of all, she was beginning to doubt whether she had what it took to be a Crime Time sleuth.
Of course, not thinking about the sheet music and her suspect list meant that Madison had to think about other things.
For example, today was the day everyone was going to the movies.
The movies.
Madison wasn’t really going alone. She was meeting up with her friends, and they’d all be sitting together as a group. But in her heart, Madison felt alone.
And, as if things didn’t look (or feel) bleak enough, Egg called.
“Hey, Maddie!” Egg shouted too loudly into the phone, as he often did. “You’re cool with the change in plans, right?”
“What change in plans?” Madison asked.
“Different time, different place,” Egg said. “I’m calling because I wanted to know if you were coming in the van with us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t Hart call you?” Egg asked. “I talked to him last night, and he said he would call.”
Madison sighed. “No, he didn’t call,” she said dejectedly.
She couldn’t believe that Hart not only hadn’t called to ask her to be his “partner” for the group date but he hadn’t even called her as a friend, to pass along information.
He must really have a good reason for not wanting to talk, Madison thought.
“I guess I need a ride,” Madison said. “Who’s going in your car?”
“Me, Fiona, Chet, Dan, and now, Hart,” Egg said. “And you, I guess.”
Madison’s blood began to boil a little. It was bad enough that Hart had not called. But why hadn’t Fiona called, either? And how could Fiona have known about arrangements to have Hart in her car pool for the movies—and not told Madison about it?
“Is your mom driving?” Madison asked. Señora Diaz was Egg’s mom, but she was also Madison’s Spanish teacher.
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��Yeah, we’re taking the monster,” Egg said. “The monster” was Egg’s term for the family van. “My sister Mariah will probably come, too.”
“Your sister?” Madison asked.
“Yeah, she’s coming along as a sort of chaperone,” Egg said. “It was my mom’s idea.”
“Chaperone?” Madison giggled. “Okay. And how is Drew getting there?”
“He’s coming with Elaine,” Egg said with a snicker. “His dad’s driving the two of them.”
“Oh,” Madison said knowingly. Lately, Drew and Elaine had been inseparable.
“So?” Egg asked. “What’s it gonna be?”
“I’m in,” Madison said, buoyed by the fact that she would be driving to the movies with Hart and the rest of the group. She didn’t have to start off the movie date alone, after all. That was good.
It was a relief to stop thinking about solving crimes for one afternoon. Madison and Phin stood outside her closet contemplating a few bold fashion statements for a trip to the movies.
Faded gray zombie T-shirt and painter’s pants? Too tomboyish.
Blue sweater set with peasant skirt? Too girly.
Plain, cropped tank with faded jeans and Far Hills hoodie?
Madison decided on the last combo. The sky was clouding up, and she didn’t want to wear anything too complicated. Getting caught in the rain in this outfit wouldn’t spell disaster.
Madison pulled her hair back into a bun and applied some mascara that she had borrowed from Mom’s vanity drawer. She wasn’t used to wearing makeup, except for lip gloss.
“How do I look, Phin? I have to look good. Do I look good? I have to make an impression,” Madison posed in front of the bedroom mirror while Phin lay on the carpet, panting.
An exasperated Madison tore off the sweatshirt and replaced it with a striped, V-neck sweater. She put on a pair of dangling earrings with mixed colored stones and a bangle bracelet that Stephanie had given her.
“That’s better,” Madison told herself. “I just wish I liked the way I looked. Maybe I need a new wardrobe.”
Madison headed downstairs to wait for the arrival of the Diaz minivan. It was actually a large SUV, the kind of car that Aimee’s environmentally conscious parents were always complaining about.