“No, she doesn’t play marbles,” said Philip. “Who would she play marbles with? Your mother?”
“No, my mother doesn’t play marbles. She plays diapers.” Emery gave an abrupt laugh. “I don’t even play marbles. Come to think of it, nobody I know plays marbles.”
Mr. Felton explained. “She means when Philip drives her crazy, Emery.”
“Oh. Like when I make my mother lose her mind, Philip and I can find it for her,” said Emery.
“Exactly,” said Mr. Felton.
“Can we finish the advertisement, please?” Philip complained.
“Sure. Is there anything else you want on the flyer? Decide and when you’re done, I’ll take it to the copy store and get a bunch for you, and you can give them out.”
The boys drew masks, guns, knives, and handcuffs. Emery even drew an Indian.
“Why’d you draw an Indian?” Philip asked. “What’s he got to do with being a detective?”
“I drew it ‘cause I draw Indians good,” Emery replied with a shrug.
Philip couldn’t argue with Emery’s logic, so the Indian stayed.
Philip added a couple of sentences at the bottom, and by the time the boys finished with the flyer darkness had fallen. December didn’t leave much time for outdoor detective work. The two boys distributed the flyers Sunday morning and went home to Philip’s house to wait for his phone to ring and bring them their first case, but the day passed and no mystery came their way. Monday morning, the boys headed for school together.
Chapter Four
When Philip took his seat in Class 4-329, he found a paper sticking out from under his desk where he stored his books. He recognized it right away—one of the flyers he and Emery distributed the day before. PHILIP’S AND EMERY’S (in a circle) DETECTIVE AGENCY. At the bottom it read; WE SOLVE MYSTERIES. YOU LOSE IT, WE FIND IT. Someone had crossed out some things and added other things. The flyer now read: PHILIP’S AND EMERY’S DEFECTIVE AGENCY. WE CAN’T SOLVE MYSTERIES. YOU LOSE IT, IT STAYS LOST. Philip motioned to Emery whose desk sat across the aisle from his.
“Did you do this?” Philip whispered.
Emery shook his head. He looked past Philip and said, “Uh-oh.”
Philip turned and saw Jason Mahoney walk up to his desk. The teacher, Mr. Ware, stood in the hall talking to Tyler Ryan’s mother, who had shown up unexpectedly and much to Tyler’s surprise.
“I hear you guys are detectives,” said Jason with a smirk.
Philip didn’t like Jason. Not too many people in the class did, but no one dared to let him know it. He never did his homework and didn’t care what Mr. Ware did about it. He did very little work in class. He bothered classmates anytime he felt like it. Nothing stopped him—not scolding, visits to the principal’s office, or letters home. It seemed he didn’t care about anything.
“We’re just playing,” said Emery from behind Philip.
“You know you put this on my mother’s car?” asked Jason, glowering and lifting up the paper on Philip’s desk. “Did you solve any mysteries yet?”
Emery kept talking. “We found my Superball on Saturday.”
Some children listening in laughed. Philip glared at Emery and hoped he would keep quiet.
Tyler walked back inside the room with an angry look on his face and took his seat. Mr. Ware moved into the doorway, his back to the class, still talking to Tyler’s mother.
“Can you help me find something?” Jason whispered.
“Sure,” said Emery. Philip knew Jason planned to say something stupid.
“I lost my two front teeth when I was five. Can you find them for me?” A big grin lit up Jason’s face.
Some of the children laughed again.
“It’s none of your business what we do,” Philip whispered back as soon as he saw Mr. Ware reenter the room. Jason gave Philip a dirty look and went back to his seat.
The class focused on Mr. Ware and watched him search around on the top of his desk. He seemed puzzled, but said nothing. He lifted his head, frowned, and looked out over the class.
“You know what to do,” he said. “You should be working on your journals, one whole page. It should be easy to fill up a full page after a weekend. Write down what you did these past couple days and write in complete sentences, please. Get to work while I look for something. We’ll start on the class novel in a little bit.”
The children dug reluctantly inside their desks for their journals, and one by one they started writing.
“Make sure you tell all about your detective agency,” Jason whispered from the lonely corner of the room where the teacher had moved his desk.
“Jason, your journal, please,” said Mr. Ware in a tired voice.
So even Jason put pencil to paper, but only to draw, and the class worked quietly. Philip noticed, though, that Mr. Ware continued to search all around the top of his desk, his face looking increasingly worried the longer he searched.
At lunch, everybody ate quickly and rushed out of the lunchroom to the schoolyard to play. Emery came up to Philip. Both boys wore heavy coats they left unbuttoned.
“I keep getting teased about being a detective,” said Emery. “A kid I don’t even know from another class teased me. I don’t like being teased. I don’t want to be a detective anymore. I quit.”
“Emery, you’re always like this. Don’t listen to other people. How do you know we won’t get a mystery to solve and go right out and solve it?”
“Who’s gonna give us a mystery to solve?”
“I don’t know. Somebody who lost something. I’ll bet when we get home we got some phone calls.”
“Nobody’s gonna call two kids if they lost something important.”
“Maybe they lost something unimportant.”
“If they lost something unimportant, why would they care if they ever found it again?”
“Maybe it was an unimportant thing they liked a lot.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t like to be teased. Can’t we play something else so nobody teases us?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but something else. Without flyers on cars.”
“You want to quit because Jason has a big mouth?”
“Shhh,” Emery warned and pointed. They’d walked near a crowd of boys. Jason stood in the middle of the crowd. Philip and Emery edged closer to investigate the commotion. Jason held some kind of electronic game in his hands. Philip noticed Jason’s thumbs dance up and down.
“Whoa,” cried Jason. “Did you see that!”
“What’s he got?” Philip asked Tyler, who stood next to him.
“He went across the street and came back with a Color Screen Pearl Quest,” Tyler answered. “It’s really neat.”
“You mean right now? He just bought it?” Philip asked.
“Yeah. It cost thirty dollars,” said Tyler. “He showed everybody two twenty dollar bills he said his father gave him, and then he went to the store and came back with the game.” A small electronics store stood across the street from the schoolyard.
Jason looked up and saw Philip. “People who can’t afford Pearl Quest start detective agencies,” he said, a mean smile on his face. Jason’s crowd laughed and followed him to another part of the schoolyard.
“I’ve had it,” Emery announced. “I’m quitting the detective agency. People keep laughing at us.”
“Emery, come on. Don’t quit being a detective,” said Philip. “I won’t have any fun alone.”
“I don’t have any fun being teased,” said Emery. “Do you like being teased?”
“No, but they’ll stop.”
“Jason won’t,” Emery insisted. “He’ll have something to say whenever he sees us. I’m quitting.”
“Why do you have to be such a baby?” Philip snapped, angry at Jason for spoiling his fun.
“I’m not a baby,” Emery snapped back. “I just don’t like being teased. You’re a baby. You cry more than me.”
“I don’t cry.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, you do. I saw you. Remember when you . . .”
“Oh, Emery, shut up,” Philip said and walked away. He stood by himself until the bell rang and everyone lined up to go back inside for the afternoon.
Chapter Five
Mr. Ware stood in front of the class with his arms folded as the children settled into their seats. To Philip, Mr. Ware looked angry. He’d seen the same expression more than once on his mother’s face. Philip scanned the quiet classroom and knew from the faces of his classmates he wasn’t the only one who thought the teacher looked angry.
“Boys and girls,” said Mr. Ware. “I don’t even want to think about what seems to have happened in our classroom.”
Philip listened closely.
“I had an envelope on my desk this morning when I went out into the hall to talk with Tyler’s mother. When I came back into the room, I couldn’t find the envelope on my desk. I spent the rest of the morning looking for it, and now I’ve spent the entire lunch period looking for it. It isn’t here. I would hate to think anyone in our class would take something off my desk, but I don’t know where else it could have gone. Maybe one of you picked it up by mistake.” He held up a long white envelope.
“It looked like this.” The teacher paused, but no one said anything. “It had some money in it.” The class buzzed a moment. “It had forty dollars in it.” This shocked the class into silence. “If anyone did take it off my desk by mistake, please put it back any time. You won’t get into trouble because I’m sure you made a mistake. You don’t have to be embarrassed about taking it by mistake.” He paused, but no one moved. “If you can’t return it in front of everyone, I understand. You can put it back when the room’s empty. I’ll leave the door unlocked tomorrow morning. Come early or do it at lunch, but I would like the envelope back by tomorrow after lunch at the latest.”
Philip’s mind raced as Mr. Ware turned to the blackboard and wrote an assignment for the class. A missing envelope with forty dollars in it! Finally, a real mystery! Philip’s stomach dropped as the sight of Jason playing with his new Pearl Quest game exploded into his mind. Philip turned to look at Jason. Lots of heads turned and gave Jason a glance. Jason didn’t seem to notice. He busily drew pictures in his notebook. When he looked up, he seemed surprised to find so many people staring at him. Philip couldn’t turn away quickly enough, and his eyes locked onto Jason’s. He heard Emery’s voice whisper, “You better stop looking at Jason. The teacher’ll see, and Jason won’t like it. He’ll do more than tease us.”
Philip dove back into his notebook and began writing down the math problems from the board. Missing money. Jason spending thirty dollars at lunch. Would anyone tell on him? Probably not. Everyone would be afraid to, Philip guessed. He knew Jason’s father didn’t live with him any longer, and Jason always claimed his father gave him money to spend. Mr. Ware would never be able to prove Jason took the money. Philip paused as he worked and peeked again at Jason, horrified to see Jason still looking his way. Philip spun his head back to his work, but the mystery of the forty dollars stayed on his mind all afternoon.
At three o’clock he and Emery started home from school. When they reached the first corner, two blocks from their street, Jason approached them.
“Why’d you keep looking at me when the teacher said somebody stole his money?” he asked.
For a moment Philip felt frightened, but he noticed how different Jason sounded now. He sounded worried; very worried; maybe even frightened. He obviously didn’t want to be thought of as a thief. Well, he was a thief, Philip knew. As he did his school work after lunch, Philip thought about the mystery and remembered how Jason was the only one to get out of his seat when Mr. Ware left the room. He got out of his seat when he came to tease him and Emery about their detective agency. So he had to be the thief. It couldn’t be anyone else.
Before Philip could answer, Jason said, “I didn’t take the money. I had money from my father. I bought my new game with my own money. Everybody looked at me like I stole the money, but I didn’t take it.”
“Bad luck you brought your money to school today,” said Emery.
“Yeah,” said Philip quickly. “You had bad luck is all. Nobody told the teacher about you having the money, though.”
“Somebody will. I know they will.” He looked at Philip.
“Come on, Emery,” said Philip. “Let’s go home.” He and Emery walked away quickly.
“It better not be you. You better not tell on me,” Jason called after them. “Either one of you. You better not.”
Chapter Six
When Philip reached home, his mother had a message for him.
“Mrs. Moriarty called,” she said. Mrs. Moriarty was Philip’s favorite neighbor. She lived alone and was always very friendly—and generous—to Philip. “She got your flyer, and she has a mystery for you to solve.”
Philip’s eyes opened wide. “She really does? What is it? What happened?” He tossed his book bag on the sofa next to his mother, who sat with little Becky in her lap, feeding her a bottle of milk.
“Your book bag, please. It goes up in your room.”
“I know. I will. What’s her mystery?”
“She didn’t say, Philip. I told her you’d walk down to see her when you got home.”
“Great. I’ll go now,” said Philip, running out the door.
Behind him he heard his mother call, “Your book bag . . .” but he kept on going.
As he hurried down the street, he thought of Emery. Should he stop by and get him? No, Philip decided. Emery had quit being a detective. Why should he share this real mystery with someone who didn’t really want to be a detective? He didn’t need Emery. He would solve this mystery all by himself.
Philip rang Mrs. Moriarty’s doorbell. When Mrs. Moriarty opened the door, she smiled at him. “Boy, do I need you.”
Philip walked into the warm house. It felt good to finally take off his coat.
“Here, give it to me,” said Mrs. Moriarty.
“No, no. I know where to hang it,” said Philip. He wasn’t usually so careful about hanging up his coat, but Mrs. Moriarty moved slowly, and Philip didn’t want to wait for her to hang up the coat and come back. He wanted to hear about the mystery now.
Mrs. Moriarty sat on her sofa and when Philip returned she offered him a Hershey Bar. Philip liked Mrs. Moriarty because she was the only grownup in the world who liked candy as much as he did. “Take one, Philip,” she said. “Me, too. It will help us to think.”
Philip took the Hershey Bar from Mrs. Moriarty and ripped off the paper.
“What’s your mystery?” asked Philip, chomping into the chocolate.
“Well, little man, I got your flyer yesterday. I have it hanging on my refrigerator. I never thought I’d need a detective so quickly. Well, I went to the post office today and bought a book of stamps, and after I bought the stamps I went to the drug store for a pack of batteries and these Hershey Bars. I came home and emptied my purse of the stamps and put everything I bought on the dining room table. Then I went to answer the phone. It always rings at the worst times. When I got back, the batteries and candy were there but no stamps. I’ve looked all over the house. Nothing.”
“And you want me to find the stamps?”
“I do, indeed.”
Philip and Mrs. Moriarty looked at each other.
“Now what?” asked Mrs. Moriarty.
Philip thought back to his finding the Snickers behind his closet and finding Emery’s Superball—his two most successful cases. “Let me look around first,” said Philip. It would give him some time to think.
“I already looked everywhere I can imagine,” said Mrs. Moriarty to Philip’s back as he bent over and looked behind a living room chair.
“Where did you say you put everything down?”
“On the dining room table.”
“Oh. I guess I should look in there, then,” Philip said.
“It would be a better place to look than the living room, I think,�
�� Mrs. Moriarty said with an understanding smile.
Philip circled the big shiny wooden table. As he walked, he thought. Stamps couldn’t roll like the Superball into some hole, but they could blow somewhere. “Did you have the windows open?” Philip asked.
“Too cold. I had the windows closed,” said Mrs. Moriarty.
Philip nodded. The table sat right out in the open, so the stamps couldn’t fall behind anything like Emery’s candy bar did.
Philip stopped walking around the table and looked at Mrs. Moriarty. “All you did was go to the telephone?”
“I came in. I put everything down, the stamps, the batteries and the box of candy.”
“A box! You bought a whole box?”
“Twenty-four bars. Twenty-two now. Then I picked up the box to take it to the kitchen and put it in the refrigerator. The phone rang. I put the box down and answered the phone. Then I put the candy and batteries away, but couldn’t find the stamps.”
Philip walked into the kitchen. When he walked out again, he had a wide smile on his face and held his hands behind his back.
“Don’t tell me . . .” Mrs. Moriarty began.
“Ta-da! Your stamps,” said Philip grandly and, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat, he produced the tiny book of stamps.
Chapter Seven
“Philip! How did you do that?” asked Mrs. Moriarty, genuinely amazed at Philip’s success.
“I listened to what you said. The stamps had to be somewhere. When you said you bought a box of candy, I got an idea. Maybe you put the box down on top of the stamps. And you did. You bent the stamp book cover when you scrunched the stamps in your purse. One stamp got unpeeled a little and the sticky part stuck to the bottom of the candy box. When you put the candy box into the refrigerator, the stamps went with it.”
“Philip, that’s wonderful. How very clever of you. You have real talent. Have you solved any other mysteries?”
“I found a lost candy bar and Emery and I . . . I figured out what happened to his Superball. Today we had a mystery in school.”
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