by Mary Amato
which now is wet and chewed.
Mr. Crew laughed. “Great poem, Taz! The rhythm of your poem matches the rhythm of your dog running back and forth! I almost feel like I’m there, playing fetch with him, too. And I love how you use alliteration in the first line. Who knows what I mean by that?”
Edgar couldn’t think about alliteration at the moment. He was stuck on the fact that Taz had written another dog poem.
Possible clue: Taz has written three poems so far, and all three are about his dog. A clue? Maybe not. If my mom would let me get a dog, I’d probably write a lot of great poems.
Since he wasn’t about to turn in his poem about Destiny, Edgar had to write another rhythm poem to turn in to Mr. Crew.
Think…think…think…
Why can’t I
think…think…think…
I think my
brain…brain…brain
is going to
shrink…shrink…shrink
It needs a
drink…drink…drink
of magic
ink…ink…ink
that drips with
rhyme…rhyme…rhyme
So I can
find…find…find
A poem in
time…time…time!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Secrets have a way of making the heart beat faster, and so Edgar’s heart was galloping as he walked back to Ms. Herschel’s room. He pulled his secret—the poem for Destiny—out of his pocket and slipped it onto the top shelf of her cubby.
“We’re having indoor recess because of the rain, Edgar,” Ms. Herschel called out. “What’ll it be today? Would you like to sign out a game?”
Edgar popped out from behind the cubbies. “Can I sign up for computer #1?”
She nodded and he sat down at a computer in the back corner. From there, he could see the whole room at once. A perfect set-up for spying.
Note: Ms. Herschel is at it again. Is her coffee cup ever empty? I don’t think so.
Taz came in next. “I get computer #2!”
Ms. Herschel stopped him. “Last indoor recess somebody set the alarm clock on the computer to play ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ during my afternoon class.”
“That wasn’t me!”
“I didn’t say it was! I’m just reminding you and Edgar to use the computer appropriately.”
Taz settled next to Edgar. The keychain he had been looking at earlier was hanging from his belt loop! Edgar tilted his head so he could get a better look. It was one of those keychains with a mini frame and in the frame was a picture of Taz’s dog, Bandit, a German shepherd with a thick brown coat and black around his big brown eyes. Edgar recognized him right away. When Edgar and Taz were in the second grade, Bandit followed Taz to school. Taz couldn’t get him to go home. Bandit trotted right beside him and sat next to Taz’s desk. Everybody begged to let Bandit stay, but Mrs. Clint said no way. Taz’s mom had to come and carry Bandit out, and he wimpered like he was really going to miss Taz. Edgar remembered going home that very day and asking his mom for a dog like Bandit.
So the keychain belonged to Taz; it wasn’t stolen. He wondered if Patrick knew that.
Wait a minute! Taz’s dog was named Bandit. Was that a clue or a coincidence? Was Taz training him to be a fellow criminal? Perhaps Edgar should be looking for paw prints rather than shoe prints!
Edgar looked back at his own computer, so Taz wouldn’t catch him spying. He typed in the word “iris.”
As he was scrolling through the various articles about irises that had popped up, more kids came into the room. A group followed Patrick over to his desk. Patrick was whispering about something, probably telling them more about chromatography, and then he called out to the teacher. “Ms. Herschel, can I take the note from the thief home and run fingerprint tests on it? My dad said he’d show me how to do it with a chemical solution called ninhydrin.”
“That sounds like real forensic science, Patrick!” she said. “Be my guest.”
Patrick looked at Edgar and smiled. Edgar did not smile back.
Girls came—Maia and Gabriela among them—and joined the group around Patrick’s desk. Destiny walked in and headed straight for her cubby.
Edgar held his breath. Destiny’s back was to him, so he couldn’t see her face, but he knew by the way she was standing still that she had found the note and was reading it. She turned around, and Edgar quickly focused back on his screen.
Did she like it?
Edgar wanted to find out, but he didn’t want to risk looking at her.
He forced his brain back to the crime . . . and to Taz.
So far all he was learning from the computer was that an iris grows from a bulb and takes its name from the Greek word meaning rainbow. Not very good clues.
Edgar glanced over at Taz’s fingers on the computer keyboard.
Taz bites his fingernails! I thought I was the only one who did that. What does he have to be nervous about? Maybe he is the thief and he is nervous that I will find real evidence against him.…
Edgar leaned back in his chair and pretended to yawn. If he tilted his head to the left, he could just see what was on Taz’s screen.
Taz was reading an article:
What to Expect When Your Dog Has Osteosarcoma
Edgar froze. He didn’t know what osteosarcoma was, but it didn’t sound good. Taz was hunched forward, scrolling down through the article.
Quickly, Edgar turned his computer screen slightly away from Taz and typed in the question: What is osteosarcoma?
The answer came up: Bone Cancer.
Edgar stared at the words. Then he logged off. Quietly, he took his notebook and went to his desk.
Does Bandit have cancer? If I was Taz’s best friend, I’d ask him. Should I ask him even if I’m not his best friend? What if I ask him and it just makes him sad?
Maybe Taz cracks jokes to cover up the fact that he is worried about Bandit. He must have a hard time concentrating in school. And on top of it, everybody thinks he is a thief!
Never fear, Taz! I will prove your innocence.
OFFICIAL INTERVIEW
WITH MR. CREW
EDGAR:
Mr. Crew, which of the teachers at this school is the biggest coffee drinker, besides Ms. Herschel?
MR. CREW:
That’s an interesting question. Why do you ask?
EDGAR:
I’m just doing my job, sir.
MR. CREW:
Well, I know the staff lounge is usually full of coffee drinkers in the morning, but I brew my tea in my room, so I really don’t know. I think Mr. Browning makes the coffee, but I’m not sure. You could ask him. You’d better go to class or you’ll be late, Edgar.
IMPORTANT CONCLUSION:
Mr. Crew has gray hairs in his mustache if you look up close.
OFFICIAL INTERVIEW
WITH MR. BROWNING
EDGAR:
Mr. Browning, do you or do you not make the coffee in the staff lounge?
MR. BROWNING:
I do, Edgar. I’m usually the first one here, so I make a pot, grab a cup, and get to work. I need my coffee almost as much as Ms. Herschel!
EDGAR:
Aha! So, the two of you are the biggest coffee drinkers?
MR. BROWNING:
Well, she is first to the pot after me.
EDGAR:
Thank you, Mr. Browning. I just have one more question for you. Do you know if Ms. Barrett drinks coffee?
MR. BROWNING:
Ms. Barrett? Yes, she does. She takes cream and sugar.
EDGAR:
Aha.
MR. BROWNING:
Aha what?
EDGAR:
Aha nothing. I have to go to class.
IMPORTANT CONCLUSIONS:
1. Ms. Herschel is a well-known coffee hog.
2. Mr. Browning is in love with Ms. Barrett. When I mentioned her name, this look came into his eyeballs.
3. If I ever fall in love, I’m
wearing sunglasses so nobody can tell.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The rain had stopped, but the afternoon sun was still hiding behind the gray clouds, as if it knew there was more rain to come. As soon as Edgar arrived home, he put his crime investigation notebook in his backpack and hopped on his bike. Dodging the big puddles and driving slowly through the shallow ones, Edgar rode to Taz’s street. Hopefully he’d see Taz and he could strike up a conversation. He could tell him that he didn’t believe he was the thief—at least that might cheer him up.
As Edgar approached the house, he saw Taz and Bandit in their front yard. What luck! Bandit was peeing on a tree! Edgar pulled his bike behind the mail carrier’s van and peeked out.
Everything was looking normal. Maybe Edgar had jumped to conclusions. But then Bandit stumbled. Edgar held his breath. Slowly, too slowly, the dog limped a few steps and sat down. After a few seconds, Bandit went down on his front paws, too. Taz stood, looking at him.
I don’t know much about dogs, but I don’t think they usually lie down in wet grass.
Edgar looked up. What Taz did next almost broke Edgar’s heart. He sat next to his dog in the soaking grass. Gently, he stroked his fur and said something that Edgar couldn’t hear.
Edgar didn’t move a muscle.
After another minute, it began to drizzle lightly again. Taz stood up and called Bandit’s name. Bandit turned his head to look at Taz, but he didn’t get up.
Taz crouched down and tried to pick him up.
Edgar almost couldn’t bear to watch. He wanted to help, but how could he?
Taz went inside and got his older brother. Together they lifted Bandit up and managed to carry him into the house.
Edgar gripped the handlebars of his bike, his face wet. He turned his bike around. And there, on her bike, was Destiny.
He could tell by the look in her eyes that she had witnessed the whole scene with Taz and Bandit.
“Bandit has cancer,” she said. “He’s dying.”
Edgar stood, holding onto his bike in the drizzle. “I know. I saw Taz reading about it on the computer. How did you find out?”
“My mom is friends with Taz’s mom,” she explained.
They both looked at Taz’s house. The hood of Destiny’s red raincoat was up, her face serious and dark. “You left that poem in my cubby, didn’t you,” she said.
A little jolt ran through Edgar. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I recognized your handwriting.”
He hadn’t thought of that.
“Are you the thief?” she asked.
“Me? Why would you think that?”
“Because the thief leaves poems and because you always look suspicious and you write good poems, too.”
Edgar felt himself blushing. “I thought you might be the thief.”
“Me?” She smiled, one tooth missing on the side.
“I thought Taz might be the thief, too,” Edgar said. “But I don’t think so anymore.”
“I don’t think so either. Taz was upset when Slurpy disappeared, but he didn’t want to show it.” Destiny hesitated and looked again at Taz’s house. “We should do something for him.”
Edgar agreed. “I thought about telling him I think he’s innocent. I thought that might make him feel better.”
She parked her bike and pulled a notebook and pencil out of her backpack. “Let’s write him a poem. We’ll make it funny because Taz likes funny stuff. I write a line. You write a line,” Destiny said. “We have to make it quick or it’ll get too wet.”
We know you’re not the thief.
We know you’re not the robber.
You’re just like us, a normal kid,
Who likes to spit and slobber.
As soon as Edgar wrote the last line, he wanted to kick himself. It was stupid. Destiny wouldn’t like the spit and slobber part. But she laughed. She ripped the page out of the notebook, folded it up, and handed it to him. “Quick. Put it in his mail slot.”
“What if he hears me and looks out and sees us?”
She put her backpack on. “We’ll make a getaway. I’ll hold your bike so it’s ready.”
The mail slot was waiting. Edgar slipped the poem under his jacket to protect it from the rain, ran across the street, and popped it into the mail slot on Taz’s door. When he came back, he hopped on his bike and they both began to pedal like crazy. Side by side they rode for a block on the wet pavement as fast as they could. Edgar was running out of breath, but he had never felt so good. He looked over and Destiny was smiling. She felt good, too.
They came to a fork in the road. Destiny lived to the right, and Edgar lived to the left.
Far off, the sky rumbled.
“See you tomorrow, Edgar,” Destiny said.
“Yeah,” Edgar said.
They each turned and rode home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Edgar walked in the back door his mother yelped. “You’re dripping wet, Edgar! Why didn’t you come home as soon as it started to drizzle?”
“Because he left his brain in his cubby,” Henri, proud owner of a middle-school locker, said as he poured himself a glass of milk.
Edgar smiled. “Mom, you should get Henri’s eyes checked. He can’t seem to see brilliance when it’s standing right in front of him.” He took the glass of milk that Henri had just poured, drank it, and said, “Thanks!”
Henri was speechless.
Dinner that night was his favorite. Tortellini tossed with olive oil and parmesan cheese. He ate every bite. Henri hogged the conversation again, but Edgar didn’t care. Something had happened to him. Something big. He had written Destiny a poem that made her feel better. And together they had witnessed a profound and beautiful scene when they saw Taz try to care for Bandit with such love. Then they had written a poem to make him feel better, too. Mr. Crew was right. A poem was a gift.
After dinner, he took his notebook outside and sat on the concrete steps. The air was damp, but he didn’t mind. The sky, dramatic and brooding, was folding over itself in different shades of gray. He wondered if Bandit was still alive and if Taz was watching over him.
I know that everything has to die, but sometimes I wonder why it has to be that way? Why can’t it be that everything lives a really long time? Like hundreds of years? Perhaps I will be a doctor in addition to being a detective, and then I can find a cure for cancer.
I just looked at my own hand holding this pencil, and I thought, some day I’m going to die and then this hand will turn to bones.
I think there’s something in me that’s stronger than bones. My spirit. I don’t think it has any one place in my body where it lives. I think it swirls and floats and zips around inside me. It’s the moving part of me, the part of me that feels. When something really big is happening—either in a sad way or in a joyful way—I think my spirit expands and fills up my whole body. That happened today in a sad way when I saw Taz with Bandit and again in a happy way when Destiny and I left that poem for him. When we were riding our bikes together, my spirit was filling up my whole body. Even the puddles looked like works of art.
Destiny could feel it, too. Eyeballs never lie.
Edgar pulled out his notebook. He closed his eyes and let a great silence wash over him. Then he opened his eyes and wrote a poem. He read it over to himself. He crossed out a few words and chose better words. He read it again. Satisfied, he took his notebook into the living room. His parents were sitting on the floor, practicing a new card trick. Rosy was jumping up and down in her special Baby Bouncer harness that was attached to the doorjamb.
“I just wrote a poem,” he said.
They looked up.
“Do you want to hear it?” he asked.
“Sure. Let ’er rip,” his dad said.
Edgar read.
Inside
by Edgar Allan
There is a you
inside you
stronger than bone
lighter than wind.
It shine
s like sunlight
through green magnolia leaves.
Ride through the rain,
it whispers.
Don’t be afraid,
it whispers.
If a friend needs you,
sit down next to him
even if the grass
is wet.
His parents were silent. Then his mother smiled, her eyes brimming. “Wow, Edgar.”
“Wow indeed,” his dad said. “That was beautiful.”
Even Rosy had stopped bouncing and was looking up at him, her toes just touching the floor, her big eyes filled with wonder.
“Thank you.” Edgar took his notebook with him into the kitchen and helped himself to an extra large bowl of ice cream with whipped cream on top.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next morning on his way to the bus stop, Edgar saved three worms from drying out by picking them up and putting them back in the wet grass. The bus was late, so he had time for a quick entry.
Maybe the reason people have pets is because it feels good to take care of something even if you know it might die someday. The good weighs more than the sad.
Perhaps if my parents knew that I was saving worms, they would finally buy me a dog.
On the ride to school, the wheels of his mind turned faster than the wheels of the bus. Today was Friday. What would the day bring? Another crime? More interesting conversations with Destiny? A clue from Taz that he had received their poem and that it had cheered him up?
When his bus pulled up, Destiny was standing by the flagpole. As soon as Edgar got off the bus, she walked over.
“Do you think the thief struck again?” she asked.
“I was just wondering about that,” Edgar said.
“Great minds think alike,” she said, and they walked in.