“You rock, Hector,” I said, giving him a fist bump.
Hector smiled. “I know.”
I moved closer to get a turn at the manuscript. “You know we don’t have time for you to read the entire thing, bro.”
“I’ve read it already,” Frank said, not looking up from the pages.
“Of course you’ve read it,” Hector said. “I’m sure you guys have read all the Sherlock Holmes stories tons of times.”
“No, I mean I’ve read this particular manuscript,” Frank explained. “The university scanned in the pages and uploaded them to their website.”
Hector shook his head in disbelief. “Then why am I risking my new job to show you this?”
“Because you’re a great friend,” I replied, patting him on the shoulder. “Remember?”
Frank carefully flipped another page. “Because seeing this in real life, turning the actual pages, that’s way better.” He turned another page. “It’s a connection to the author himself. It’s like touching history.”
Hector leaned over Frank’s shoulder. “Wait, that’s different handwriting. Is this a fake or something?”
Frank shook his head and turned another page. “Parts of the manuscript were written by Doyle’s secretary.”
“Of course you know that,” I chuckled.
Frank tried to turn the next page but it pulled away from the book. It wasn’t bound like the others. “Uh-oh,” he said as the loose page dangled between two fingers.
“Oh, man!” Hector’s eyes widened. “What did you do, Frank?”
My brother shook his head. “I didn’t do anything. It was already loose.” He gingerly set the page beside the open book. Then he placed a finger onto the next page. With the slightest effort, that page pulled away from the binding. “This one is loose too.”
“Dude, stop ripping pages out of the book!” Hector ordered.
“They were never attached to begin with,” Frank explained. “Are they supposed to be like that?”
“I don’t know,” replied Hector. “I never touched the thing.” He buried his face in his hands. “This was a bad idea. I am so fired.”
Something seemed weird about the loose pages. I leaned in for a closer look. “The paper color doesn’t quite match the rest of the pages, does it?”
Frank turned to one of the attached pages and laid the loose page over it. The loose page was yellowed like the others, but not quite the same shade. It was lighter.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my retractable magnifying glass and pulled the loose page aside. I carefully examined the writing. It was completely flat. When I zoomed in on the writing on the attached page, the ink was raised, ever so slightly.
“I don’t think this page is part of the original manuscript,” I reported. “I think it’s a forgery.”
Frank had pulled several more loose pages away from the binding. He ran a finger along the inside seam of the book. “I can feel several thin edges here,” he said. “I think the original pages were cut out.”
“So someone stole pages from Doyle’s manuscript?” I asked.
3
GROUND ZERO
FRANK
WHO ARE YOU TWO?” LIEUTENANT Wolfe asked as she approached Joe and me. She hadn’t stopped glaring at us since the police had arrived at the museum. “You look like Frank and Joe Hardy, but you can’t be them.” She shook her head. “Oh, no. Because I told those boys, just this morning, in fact, that I didn’t want to see them near any investigation of any kind.”
“We’re not investigating,” Joe explained. “We’re witnesses.”
“Witnesses who happen to be in a museum after hours,” she added.
Joe opened his mouth to reply, but I nudged him with my elbow. Luckily, one of the many police officers took her aside to report his findings.
Joe, Hector, and I had decided to call Hector’s boss first. Josh Jenkins wasted no time getting to the museum and confirming that the manuscript pages in question were indeed forgeries. Josh had insisted that we stick around while he called the police. Wearing his own set of white cotton gloves, he continued to study the manuscript while Lieutenant Wolfe and several other officers searched the museum for signs of a break-in.
Josh was tall and thin. He had dirty-blond hair and one of those faces that made him seem younger than he probably was. He looked more like one of our friends than an assistant director of a museum.
Lieutenant Wolfe held out an open palm toward me. “I need your car keys and consent to search your vehicle.”
“You want to search my car?” I asked.
“I have probable cause,” Wolfe replied. “With you two being here . . . well, let’s just say that I don’t believe in coincidences. Plus, it’s in your best interest to cooperate.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “But it’s already open. The rear passenger door doesn’t lock.” I glared at my brother. The last time he borrowed my car, one of his friends shut the door on a hockey stick. Both the stick and the door latch broke in the process.
Joe raised his hands. “I really am saving up to get it fixed. Promise.”
Wolfe nodded to one of the officers. He marched to the back of the museum, no doubt to give my car the once-over.
“Look, Lieutenant, we’re just Sherlock Holmes fans,” I explained. “That’s all.”
“It’s true,” agreed Hector. “That’s why I invited them to see the manuscript.”
The woman crossed her arms. “Big enough fans to take a little souvenir?”
“If we stole the pages, we wouldn’t have called Hector’s boss when we discovered the forged pages.”
“That makes sense,” said Josh. He took off his gloves and joined us. “Although I’m not happy about them being here, I’m glad they let me know about the theft.”
“Are you sure that the manuscript didn’t just come that way?” Joe asked. “Maybe the university lost the pages a long time ago.”
Lieutenant Wolfe’s eyes widened. “Excuse me.” She rounded on my brother. “I know you just didn’t ask him an investigative question. As if you were a detective on this case.”
Joe cringed. “Uh, I guess not.”
“Well, whoever asked,” said Josh, “for the record, I did check every page when the manuscript arrived. It’s all part of the job.”
“Every single page?” asked the lieutenant.
“I read the entire thing,” replied Josh. He nodded at Joe and me. “I’m a big Sherlock Holmes fan too.”
The lieutenant sighed. “All right, we’ll keep searching the museum for signs of a break-in or a stash spot for the pages.” She glanced down at her phone. “Hector Cruz, I’ll need to speak to you some more.”
“Me too,” agreed Josh.
The officer who’d been sent to check out Frank’s car walked up to Wolfe. “Lieutenant, the car was clean,” he reported. “No sign of any manuscript pages.”
“Hardy brothers, go home,” Wolfe ordered. “Your part as ‘witnesses’ for this investigation is over . . . for now. And I don’t want a word of this to end up in tomorrow’s paper. We’re keeping this quiet for now.” She eyed Joe in particular. “Understood?”
Joe nodded. “Of course.”
“And one more thing.” She leaned forward. “The Bayport Police Department does not need your help. Remember that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
She nodded. “Good answer. But if I find out that you’re investigating this case . . . well, let’s just say that I can get a couple of material witness warrants real quick. I can hold you in a cell for questioning for . . . well, who knows how long.”
One of the officers walked us out of the front of the museum. We had to walk around the entire building to get to my car. When we reached the back, I noticed that the homeless man and his stash were gone. Either the police presence scared him off or they had him simply move along to a shelter. The white van was gone too, leaving my car easy for the police to spot (and search). Joe and I climbed in without a wor
d and drove for home.
“What if—” Joe began.
“Don’t start,” I warned. “You heard what she said.”
“Yeah, sure,” Joe said. “But we were right there at the scene of the crime. Ground zero.”
My brother was right. My mind was already buzzing with questions about scenarios, suspects, and motives. Sherlock Holmes and his partner, Dr. Watson, wouldn’t hesitate if a mystery landed in their lap like this.
“You know what Holmes would say right now?” Joe asked, practically reading my mind.
I smiled. “The game is afoot.”
“That’s right,” agreed Joe. “And it is!”
“It may be,” I said. “But you heard what the lieutenant said. We can’t investigate anything if we’re stuck in jail. I don’t think she was joking about those material witness warrants.”
“Yeah, she seemed pretty serious,” said Joe. “That newspaper article really got under her skin.”
“Look, let’s sleep on it,” I suggested. “We can talk to Hector tomorrow at school, but that’s it for now. Deal?”
“Deal,” agreed Joe.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the way home. But if I know my brother, his mind was in overdrive, working all the angles of the case. I know mine was.
I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. As we climbed out, I noticed something in the backseat.
“You left stuff in my car again,” I told my brother.
“No, I didn’t,” Joe replied.
“Backseat.” I tapped the rear window.
Joe peered through to see the sheet of paper. “It’s not mine.”
I shook my head and laughed as I opened the back door. I didn’t notice the page’s yellow tint under my dim dome light. But a chill ran down my spine when I picked it up and got a closer look. I turned it over to see familiar handwriting on the other side.
“Oh, man,” I muttered.
Joe jogged around the car to see what I held. His eyes widened when he caught a glimpse.
“Dude,” he said.
It was one of the missing manuscript pages.
4
UNEXPECTED GIFT
JOE
MAYBE HECTOR SET US UP,” Frank suggested as he drove us to school the next day. “You know, as a prank.”
“Almost getting us arrested is a pretty big prank. And not a very good one,” I said.
“Well, he didn’t know about our morning visit from Lieutenant Wolfe,” said Frank. “So he wouldn’t know it would get us in so deep, so quickly.”
That was true. Frank and I had decided to keep that little conversation to ourselves. Otherwise, our friends would never let us hear the end of it.
“I don’t think it was Hector,” I said. “First: he wouldn’t have called his boss. Second: how could he slip the missing page into your car? He was with us the entire time.”
“And the cops searched my car,” Frank said with a scowl. I could tell he didn’t like the idea of them going through his property. “The page had to have been left after the search.”
“Think it was one of the officers?” I asked. “They could’ve planted it.”
“I can’t see any of the Bayport police planting evidence,” replied Frank. “And even if they did, what would be the motive? Why say that the car was clean when they could’ve arrested us on the spot?”
“Or stopped us on the way home,” I added.
“Right,” Frank agreed as he turned into the school parking lot. He pulled to a stop and climbed out.
I had been trying to talk Frank into going into full investigation mode, no matter what the lieutenant said. With the missing page in our possession, I didn’t see any other options.
“Okay, you have to admit it,” I said as I followed Frank across the parking lot. “We’re in the middle of this now. We have to investigate.”
Frank sighed. “Yeah, I hear you.” He held up a finger. “But we have to keep an ultra-low profile. Lower than ever before.”
“Hey, I don’t want to be stuck in a holding cell any more than you do,” I said. “I have a track meet Saturday, remember?”
My brother and I had discussed the case a bit the night before. We had discussed turning the page over to the police. Chief Olaf might’ve believed the page was planted on us, but Lieutenant Wolfe? Extremely doubtful.
We also tried to guess why someone would steal only a few pages from the valuable manuscript. Frank had pulled up the university’s website, and we looked over the scanned versions of the missing pages. Although the author had made some notes in the margins of a few of the pages, there was nothing important scribbled on the pages in question; no secret codes, no clues to long-lost treasure. I even tried putting the original page under a black light to see if there was anything written in a secret ink. I almost brushed it in lemon juice but Frank wouldn’t let me. We searched online for a legend that would connect the pages with some bigger plan but couldn’t find anything. There didn’t seem to be anything relevant in the story, either. The pages seemed to be cut out at random.
No, this seemed to be more about framing us than getting anything out of those pages. And there was no shortage of criminals who would want revenge. The only question was, which one was it?
Frank and I split up and headed for our first-period classes. Luckily, I sat beside Hector in mine. It was up to me to begin the investigation—carefully.
I went into history class and slid into my desk. Hector was already at his.
“Hey,” I said.
“Don’t ‘hey’ me, man,” Hector growled. “Not after last night.”
“You invited us, remember?” I asked.
Hector dropped his head. “I know. I’m more mad at myself than you guys. I should’ve just let you look at the book behind ropes like everyone else.”
“So what happened last night, after we left?” I asked.
“I got fired, that’s what happened,” Hector said.
“Dude, I’m sorry about that,” I said. I wasn’t totally surprised, but it was still a bummer.
“It’s not your fault,” Hector said, shaking his head. “Of course, I only got fired after I told the story to the police three more times.”
“Common tactic,” I said. “They wanted to see if your story matched each time.”
“Oh, yeah, Mr. Detective . . .” Hector reached into his backpack and pulled out a business card. “I’m supposed to call Lieutenant Wolfe if you or Frank ask me any questions.”
“You’re not going to, are you?” I asked.
He smiled and put the card away. “No, don’t worry. But she doesn’t like you two for some reason. What did you do to tick her off ?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “But sorry again about your job.”
“It was such a sweet gig, too.” Hector sighed. “I practically stumbled on it in the first place. And Josh was the best boss I ever had. I basically got paid for hanging out and shooting the breeze with him. Now I gotta see if they’re hiring at the Meet Locker.”
The bell rang, sounding the end of our conversation and the beginning of class. For the next fifty minutes, I learned more than I ever wanted to know about Samuel Adams, Paul Revere, and the whole rowdy gang.
After class, I swung by my locker to exchange books. I’d catch up with Frank later and tell him about the lieutenant asking Hector to snitch on us. I dialed my combination and swung open the door. An envelope rested atop the pile of books and other various junk inside my locker. Someone must have slipped it through the vents in the locker door. Maybe Frank had come up with something about the case that couldn’t wait. I opened the blank envelope, and my eyes widened. A folded, yellowed sheet of paper was inside. I gingerly unfolded the page, but I already knew what it was. It was another stolen page from the manuscript.
The usual between-class hustle carried on around me. No one seemed to notice that I held a stolen piece of literary history in my hand.
I snatched a folder from my locker, emptied its con
tents, and carefully slipped the page inside. I had to find Frank.
I slammed my locker shut and swung my backpack over my shoulder. Clutching the folder to my chest, I moved through the crowd on the way to Frank’s locker.
When I reached the end of the hallway, I almost ran right into my brother coming around the corner.
“I found something in my locker,” he whispered.
“Does it look something like this?” I asked as I cracked open my folder.
He glanced down at the page. “Oh, yeah.”
“Someone is messing with us big-time,” I said. “What do we do?”
Frank opened his mouth to answer but stopped when the intercom speakers crackled to life.
“May I have your attention, please,” said the principal’s voice. “May I have your attention, please.”
Everyone in the hallway paused to listen to the announcement.
“The Bayport Police Department is conducting a surprise locker inspection,” the principal continued. “Please place your backpacks, purses, or any other bags against the wall and make your way to the gym in an orderly fashion.”
My eyes widened. “Oh, man.”
5
CAUGHT ON CAMERA
FRANK
JOE AND I TOOK OFF our backpacks like everyone else around us. Unlike everyone else, I crouched down and removed a stolen artifact from my bag. Joe stepped closer and opened the folder holding the other page so I could slide mine in on top of his. We joined the slow migration of students toward the gym.
“You think they’re looking for the pages?” Joe whispered.
“That’s my guess,” I replied. The high school had been the subject of surprise locker inspections in the past, but they were very rare. This seemed a little too coincidental.
“I have to ditch this folder,” said Joe. “You know they’ll take a special interest in us, for sure.”
Stolen Identity Page 2