The Tattletale Mystery

by Gertrude Chandler Warner

  Benny, who was pouring gravy onto his roast beef, suddenly looked up. “I helped, too,” he reminded them.

  “You sure did.” Henry nodded. “You figured out that Josiah Wade was the one standing guard.”

  Violet lifted green beans onto her plate. “We stopped in to tell Mrs. Spencer about it. But she wasn’t home.”

  “What I can’t understand,” put in Henry, “is what the Mona Lisa Gallery has to do with a snapdragon mystery.”

  “Milly Manchester’s the key,” said Benny. “I just know it.”

  The others had to admit Benny was right. All the clues had something to do with Milly.

  Jessie started adding everything up on her fingers. “There’s the message on the paper airplane. Didn’t Milly and Mrs. Spencer pass messages like that in school? And how about the snapdragon in Mrs. Spencer’s pansy bed? Milly became an artist because of a snapdragon.”

  “She even put them in her paintings,” Benny reminded them.

  “Don’t forget about Leonardo da Vinci,” put in Violet. “He was Milly’s favorite artist.”

  “Even the Mona Lisa Gallery has a connection,” Henry pointed out. “Mrs. Spencer always wanted Milly to enter their contest.”

  Jessie nodded. “I bet that’s where we’ll find the missing piece of this puzzle.”

  “Speaking of the gallery,” said Grandfather, as he reached into his pocket, “I have something you might find interesting.” He pulled out a square white envelope and handed it to Violet.

  Curious, Violet put down her fork and opened the flap of the envelope. Pulling out a white card, she read aloud the words in fancy gold script: “ ‘To James Alden and Guests, You are invited to the opening-night exhibit of works by Margaret Longford, winner of the annual art contest sponsored by the gallery. Mona Lisa Gallery. Greenfield Town Square.’ ”

  “I’m on the gallery’s mailing list,” explained Grandfather.

  “Oh, Grandfather!” cried Violet. “That’s tonight! Are you going?”

  “Well, I just might,” said Grandfather, his eyes twinkling. “If I have some company, that is.”

  Violet clasped her hands together. “It would be wonderful to go to an art show.”

  “And we can look for clues while we’re there!” Benny was so excited, he was bouncing in his seat.

  James Alden smiled at the children’s eager faces. “I’m not sure you’ll get a chance to do much detective work,” he warned them. “I have a hunch the gallery will be packed to the rafters tonight. From what Edmund tells me, Margaret Longford’s paintings have caused quite a sensation.”

  Henry lifted an eyebrow. “Edmund?”

  “Edmund Rondale’s the owner of the Mona Lisa Gallery,” Grandfather told Henry. “He takes great pride in discovering new artists.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to go!” cried Violet. She sounded very excited.

  Soon enough, the children were coming down the stairs, ready for their night out. Jessie was wearing a pale pink skirt and a white blouse. Violet had a lavender ribbon in her hair that matched her frilly lavender dress. Benny had changed into a gray blazer and navy trousers. And Henry was wearing a maroon blazer and gray trousers.

  “My, what a fine-looking group!” said Mrs. McGregor, smiling fondly at the children.

  “We wanted to look especially nice for the art show.” Benny gave his neatly combed hair a little pat.

  James Alden was adjusting his tie in the hall mirror. “No one will ever guess you’re on the trail of a mystery, Benny.” He smiled over at his youngest grandson.

  “No one except the Tattletale!” Benny said.

  “I wonder if the Tattletale will be there tonight,” Violet said, climbing into Grandfather’s station wagon.

  “It’s hard to say.” Henry, who was sitting up front beside Grandfather, looked over his shoulder. “But we’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

  As they pulled into the busy parking lot, Jessie said, “You were right, Grandfather. I think everyone in Greenfield is headed for the art show.”

  Violet looked around uneasily at all the smartly dressed people making a beeline for the Mona Lisa Gallery. She was shy and meeting new people often made her nervous. As they crossed the square, she slowed her step.

  Grandfather put a comforting arm around his youngest granddaughter. “It’ll be worth braving the crowds,” he assured her. “Edmund says Margaret Longford’s paintings are the finest work by a new artist that he’s ever seen.”

  Violet smiled up at her grandfather and quickened her pace. She was eager to see Margaret’s paintings.

  As they entered the gallery, a tall man in a tuxedo rushed over. “James! I was hoping you could make it.” He put out his hand.

  “I always enjoy coming to your gallery, Edmund,” said Grandfather, shaking hands. He introduced the children to the owner of the Mona Lisa Gallery.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Rondale,” Henry said politely, speaking for them all.

  “Please call me Edmund. Everyone around here does.”

  Benny glanced over at all the guests crowded around the paintings. He saw one familiar face. It was Mrs. Turner. When the waitress spotted Benny, she smiled and waved her hand. Benny waved, too.

  Violet followed Benny’s gaze. “I didn’t know Mrs. Turner liked art,” she said in surprise.

  “I didn’t, either,” said Jessie. “But I guess everybody wants to see Margaret Longford’s work.”

  “Will all those people buy paintings?” Benny wanted to know.

  Edmund laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised, Benny. Everybody’s very impressed with this year’s contest winner.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer. “The art world’s just buzzing. It won’t be long before Margaret Longford makes quite a name for herself.”

  “If the paintings are half as good as you say, Edmund,” responded Grandfather, “I just might buy one myself.”

  “The paintings in this room will be on exhibit all week,” Edmund told Grandfather. “But if anything strikes your fancy, I’ll tag it and you can pick it up when the show’s over. Of course, we have a number of Margaret’s canvasses in the back room that haven’t been framed yet. If you decide to purchase one of those, you can take it away with you tonight. Then you can get it framed later.”

  Grandfather nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “We have our usual assortment of sandwiches and pastries, of course,” Edmund went on. He gestured to a long table where Janice Allen was busy pouring coffee for the guests. “Please help yourselves.” With that, the gallery owner hurried away.

  “I can’t wait to get a close look at the paintings,” Violet said, feeling less shy now.

  Jessie nodded. “I’m curious to see them, too.” Then she noticed Benny eyeing the refreshment table. She guessed what was coming next. “You want something to eat. Right, Benny?”

  “I am getting kind of hungry,” Benny said, to no one’s surprise. He looked at his grandfather expectantly. “Is it all right, Grandfather?”

  James Alden chuckled. “Edmund said to help yourselves.”

  Henry knew there was no stopping his little brother. “Come on, Benny,” he said, and led the way over to the table in the corner.

  While Grandfather mingled with the other guests, Violet and Jessie threaded their way through the crowds to see the paintings. Violet caught her breath as she gazed at a canvas splashed with color. “Oh, how beautiful!” she breathed.

  Jessie nodded. “No wonder everyone’s so impressed.”

  As they moved from painting to painting, Jessie and Violet kept a sharp eye out for any clues. Although they didn’t mean to eavesdrop, they couldn’t help overhearing what people were saying about Margaret Longford’s work.

  “Just look at the bold swirls of the brushstroke!”

  “Magnificent!”

  “This artist is one of a kind.”

  Jessie smiled over at her sister. “One day your paintings will be hanging here, Violet.”

 
“Do you really think so?” Violet asked her, hopefully.

  Before Jessie had a chance to answer, Henry and Benny came rushing up. “Did you find anything suspicious?” Benny wanted to know. He swallowed a bite of his eggsandwich.

  “Not a thing.” Jessie shook her head. “Grandfather was right. It’s hard to look for clues when it’s so crowded.”

  Violet looked over at Henry and Benny. “Did you strike out, too?”

  “Not exactly. We came across something kind of ... weird,” Henry said, and Benny nodded in agreement.

  Full of curiosity, Jessie and Violet quickly followed Henry and Benny, weaving their way around the guests. On the far side of the room, Henry pointed to the wall, where a sheet of paper had been pinned.

  “Everybody who entered the contest is on that list,” he said. “And guess who got an honorable mention?”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Violet, her eyes widening when Henry placed his finger under Janice Allen’s name. “But ... Janice told us she couldn’t draw. Remember?”

  Benny nodded. “I wonder why she lied to us.”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” said Henry. “It seems kind of strange. Don’t you think, Jessie?”

  Jessie didn’t answer. She was thinking hard. Suddenly she said, “There’s something else that’s strange. When Janice said good-bye to Watch today, she called him by name. What I can’t figure out is how she even knew Watch’s name. I’m sure we never told her.”

  Henry, Violet, and Benny had thought nothing of it. But now they wondered about it, too.

  “We always leave Watch at home when we go to the library,” Henry commented.

  Benny nodded. “Dogs aren’t allowed in the Greenfield Public Library.”

  “Maybe somebody else told her about Watch,” Violet offered.

  Benny thought this was possible. “Watch is a very nice dog. Everybody in Greenfield likes him. I bet they talk about him all the time.”

  “Or ... ” said Jessie, “maybe Janice was there the day the paper airplane flew into our yard. Maybe she heard us calling Watch.”

  Slowly, the others understood Jessie’s meaning.

  “You think Janice might be the Tattletale?” Violet asked in surprise.

  Still glancing at the list, Jessie nodded. “It’s possible. She has been studying art history in school,” she pointed out.

  “If Janice lied when she said she couldn’t draw,” Henry reasoned, “maybe she was trying to throw us off the track. So we wouldn’t suspect her of being the Tattletale, I mean.”

  Violet looked confused. “But why would Janice leave a trail of clues for us to follow?”

  “One thing’s for sure,” said Benny. “Now we have two Tattletale suspects.” When he saw their puzzled looks, he added, “Janice Allen and the ghost of Milly Manchester.”

  Henry looked as if he wanted to argue with Benny but there was no time. Grandfather was waving them over. James Alden was deep in conversation with Edmund and an attractive young woman with straight blond hair. The woman, wearing a pale yellow dress, looked vaguely familiar to Jessie.

  “Your paintings are wonderful,” Violet said shyly, as Grandfather introduced the children to Margaret Longford.

  “Thank you.” Margaret reached out to shake hands with Violet. “I hear painting is a hobby of yours.”

  “And she’s good at it, too!” put in Benny. He sounded proud.

  A flush of crimson crept over Violet’s face. “I still have a lot to learn,” she said modestly. “But I do love to draw and paint.”

  “That’s what really matters,” said Edmund. “When you look at Margaret’s paintings, you just know she loves to paint more than anything in the world. You can see it in the brushstrokes and the vibrant colors. That’s what makes her paintings so special.”

  “Just like Milly Manchester!” Benny chimed in. “Milly liked painting more than anything, too.”

  Margaret’s smile suddenly faded. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that name.” She seemed annoyed by Benny’s remark. “I’ve never met Milly Manchester.”

  Edmund thought for a moment. “I believe she was a local painter.” He looked over to where a middle-aged man was talking to a small group of people. “Isn’t that her nephew, Jem Manchester?”

  They followed Edmund’s gaze to a man dressed in a checkered sports jacket and charcoal trousers. His dark hair was slicked back, and he was gesturing to the paintings with a sweep of his arm.

  Just then, a voice said, “Yes, that’s Jem.” As Mrs. Turner joined their group, she told them, “He runs a car dealership in town.”

  Jessie caught Henry’s eye. What was Jem Manchester doing at a gallery? According to Mrs. Spencer, Milly’s nephew had no interest in art.

  “I’m not surprised he’s in sales,” remarked Edmund. “He’s quite the smooth talker. I overheard him praising Margaret’s paintings, saying they’ll be worth a fortune in a few years. Comments like that can’t hurt business.”

  Margaret didn’t look at all pleased. “My paintings will sell without anyone’s help,” she snapped. Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

  Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny exchanged looks of amazement. Why was Margaret Longford so upset?

  “I certainly didn’t mean to insult anyone,” Edmund remarked, puzzled.

  “Margaret’s from a wealthy family,” put in Mrs. Turner. “She probably doesn’t understand what it takes to run a business.”

  Edmund changed the subject. “I’ll duck into the back room, James, and wrap that painting of yours.” Then he hurried away.

  Seeing the questioning look on the children’s faces, Grandfather smiled over at them. “I bought one of the unframed canvasses,” he told them. “I just couldn’t resist. Margaret really is a brilliant artist.”

  “Mrs. Turner!” Jem Manchester suddenly came toward them, holding his hand out. “I had no idea you were a patron of the arts.”

  “I could say the same thing about you, Jem,” she responded, shaking hands. Then she introduced the Aldens to Milly’s nephew.

  “The truth is, I’ve never spent much time in art galleries,” Jem confessed, after saying hello to everyone. “But I wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. The whole town’s doing cartwheels over Margaret Longford.” He paused to glance around the room at the colorful canvasses. Slapping a hand over his heart, he said, “Her paintings have absolutely taken my breath away! Superb! No other word for it.” Jem strode off, leaving everyone to stare after him.

  Mrs. Turner laughed a little. “That’s quite a sales pitch he’s giving. You’d almost think there was something in it for him, wouldn’t you?”

  When Edmund returned with Grandfather’s painting, the Aldens thanked the gallery owner and said good-bye. As they were leaving, Jessie turned around for one last look at Margaret Longford. She still had the oddest feeling she’d seen her somewhere before. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on where it was.

  CHAPTER 8

  A Snapdragon Lurks

  When they got back from the gallery, Grandfather wasted no time in tearing the wrapping away from the painting he’d bought. He held up a landscape of clover fields edged with autumn trees that seemed to glow with light and color. In a bottom corner was Margaret Longford’s signature.

  Violet let out the breath she had been holding. “Oh, it’s beautiful!” she said in an awed voice. And the others were quick to agree.

  “I was hoping you’d like it, Violet.” Grandfather smiled over at his youngest granddaughter. “I thought your bedroom would be the perfect place for it.”

  Violet gasped. “You bought this for ... for me?” She looked as if she didn’t quite believe it.

  Nodding, Grandfather said, “I can’t think of anyone who appreciates art more than you do.”

  “How can I ever thank you, Grandfather?” Violet gave him a warm hug.

  James Alden chuckled. “The look on your face is all the thanks I need.” Then he added, “I’ll get Edmund to frame it f
or you after the exhibit.”

  “Your bedroom really is the perfect place for it, Violet,” Jessie said, smiling happily at her sister.

  “It sure is!” Henry was smiling, too.

  “And don’t forget,” put in Benny, “it’ll be worth a fortune in a few years. That’s what Jem Manchester says.”

  Later, as the children sat in Violet’s room, Henry brought up something he had been thinking about.

  “There’s somebody else we might want to include on our list of Tattletale suspects,” he said.

  “Who is it?” they all asked at the same time.

  “Mrs. Spencer.”

  “What ... ?” The others were so surprised, all they could do was stare at their older brother.

  “You don’t really mean that, do you, Henry?” asked Jessie, who was sitting on the edge of Violet’s bed. “You can’t suspect Mrs. Spencer.”

  “We have to consider everybody.”

  “But why would she want to play a trick on us, Henry?” Violet couldn’t believe Mrs. Spencer would do something so awful. “She’s always been so nice to us.”

  “We all like her,” said Henry, “but still ... she could’ve planted all those clues herself. She wants her daughter to move in with her, remember? Maybe Rachel will move in if she thinks her mother’s frightened by all the strange things that are happening.”

  They had to admit that it was possible. Didn’t Mrs. Spencer want her daughter to go back to school and become a nurse? Wasn’t moving in with her mother the only way Rachel could afford to do that?

  “I still think our best suspect is Janice Allen,” Violet insisted. “She even works at the gallery.”

  “And at the library,” added Benny. “Don’t forget, Mrs. Spencer likes to read. So Janice probably knows her.” He thought for a minute. “I bet Janice knows everybody in Greenfield. She even knows Margaret Longford from school. Only ... she calls her Peg.”

  Jessie clapped her hands. “Benny, you’re brilliant!”

  The youngest Alden was perched on the window seat, his arms wrapped around his knees. “Thank you,” he said, grinning.