“Then how did it get that color?” Milo asked.
“I’m not sure,” Jazz admitted. “But I think it was some kind of dye.”
“A dye? But that means . . .”
“Someone turned the pool purple on purpose! And that means . . .”
Milo grinned. He knew exactly what his partner was about to say.
“We’ve got a case!”
The pool reopened the next day. A sign at the front desk said the purple water was safe to swim in. The color was filtering out, and soon it would be back to normal.
Jazz dipped a toe in the pool. “It’s not really purple anymore. More like . . . lavender. Or lilac.”
“I don’t care if it’s polka dot,” Milo grumbled. He was stinging from the brush-off they had gotten when they tried to question the pool manager. He bet nobody ever told Dash Marlowe, “Run along!”
“Here comes Chip,” Jazz said. “Let’s talk to him.”
Chip still carried his clipboard, but he’d lost some of his swagger. He eyed them glumly.
“What’s wrong?” Jazz asked.
“The manager chewed me out,” Chip said. “She said if I paid as much attention to the pool as I did to my hair, it would still be blue.”
“Your hair?” Milo asked.
“The pool.” Chip looked injured. “I don’t see how it’s my fault.”
Jazz said, “What happened, exactly? You came in to open up the pool . . .”
Chip nodded. “Right on time. The water looked perfectly normal. I went through the list—”
“The list?” Jazz asked.
“My checklist of jobs to do.” He tapped his clipboard.
Peering over his elbow, Jazz skimmed through the list. “Locker rooms,” she read aloud.
“That’s when it happened,” Chip said. “I went in to tidy up. When I came out, the pool was purple!”
“How long were you in there?” Milo asked.
“Ten minutes. Fifteen, tops. Well . . . I don’t know.”
Milo glanced sideways at Jazz, thinking of the mirrors in the locker rooms. Chip loved looking at himself.
Jazz said, “So anyone could have walked in—”
“But they couldn’t!” Chip said. “I locked the gate behind me. It has to stay locked until opening time.”
“Does anyone else have a key?” Jazz asked.
“The manager. That’s all.”
A big splash and shrieking interrupted them. “No horseplay!” Chip yelled, striding off.
Puzzled, Milo looked at Jazz. “You don’t think the manager . . .”
Jazz shook her head. “I doubt it. And I don’t think Chip did it either. He seems too upset.”
“But nobody else has a key.” Milo pointed to the fence. “And look how high that fence is. Nothing to hold onto, either. It would be tough to climb over that.”
“Maybe Chip forgot to lock the gate behind him?” Jazz said.
“Maybe,” he agreed.
She frowned. “But who would want to turn the pool purple?”
“Someone who likes purple?” He narrowed his eyes. “Where were you yesterday morning?”
“Milo! Be serious!”
He grinned. “Seriously . . . I’m hungry. Let’s go get a snack.”
“Already?” Jazz rolled her eyes.
As they walked across the concrete, Milo added, “Anyway, whoever put the purple in won’t do it again.”
“Why not?” Jazz asked.
“Because it got the pool closed for a whole day!” he said. “Nobody wants that.”
Jazz stopped short. “That’s it!”
“What?”
“Maybe someone wanted to shut down the pool,” she said.
He frowned. “How come?”
“I don’t know. But if they did, turning it purple worked.”
Hmm. She had a point.
Chip had gotten to the snack bar ahead of them. He leaned against the counter, smiling at Vanessa as Ben glowered in the background.
As they came up, Milo heard Chip say, “I think this is my better side, don’t you?” He struck a profile.
“Cheered up fast, didn’t he?” Milo said to Jazz.
She didn’t answer.
“Jazz?” He turned.
A few steps behind him, she stood frozen and staring—straight at Ben.
“Are you okay?” Milo asked.
Jazz didn’t answer. Instead, she marched up to the counter. “Ben, wasn’t yesterday your day off?”
Tearing his eyes away from Vanessa and Chip, Ben turned. “Huh? Um . . . yeah.”
“Then how come you were here?”
Ben looked startled. “What?”
“You were here,” Jazz pressed. “When we found out that the pool was closed. But it was your day off. Vanessa said so.”
Ben shot a glance at Vanessa. Chip had moved on to talk to the lifeguard on duty, and Vanessa was busy grilling burgers. As Ben looked at her, a red flush crept up his neck.
“I just stopped by for a minute,” he mumbled. “I had stuff to take care of.”
“What kind of stuff?”
Ben turned even redder. “Stuff. Just stuff. Okay?”
Before Jazz could push further, Milo dragged her away.
“Why did you do that?” she said. “I was really getting somewhere.”
“Yeah. Getting on his nerves,” Milo said. “It looked to me like you might get a corn dog up the nose.”
“Don’t you think it’s suspicious? Ben wasn’t supposed to be here, but he came in anyway—right around the time the pool turned purple.”
“But why would he want to close the pool down on his day off?”
Jazz frowned, then brightened. “Maybe to get Vanessa off work, too. I think Ben wants to ask my sister out.”
Milo thought that was the dumbest reason he had ever heard. Still, it was possible. Teenagers did weird things.
“Ben doesn’t like Chip much,” Milo pointed out. “Maybe he did it to get Chip in trouble.”
Jazz nodded. “Or maybe both. How can we prove it, though?”
Milo pictured her trying to wring a confession out of an angry Ben. Quickly, he said, “We don’t know for sure that it was Ben. We should look for clues.”
“Like what?”
He thought. “Well, how did he get in without a key? Maybe if we peek in his backpack, we’ll find lock-picking tools.”
“Maybe.” She looked doubtful. “Or he could have sneaked the key away from Chip. Or maybe there’s a place where you can crawl under the fence?”
“Fine. Show me, then,” Milo said grumpily. He still felt hungry. Why couldn’t Jazz have let him get a bag of chips before she started bugging Ben?
Not wanting the lifeguards to notice them, they left the pool area and circled the fence from the outside. Jazz walked slowly, looking closely at the bottom of the fence.
Milo slapped a mosquito away. He felt hot and sticky. Peeking through the fence, he spotted Spencer, ready to jump off the high dive. The water below looked cool and inviting, though still faintly purple.
“Milo! Look at this!” Jazz crouched near the fence, pointing at something in the grass. Milo went over to look.
“Purple dribbles!” he said.
Jazz nodded. “This must be where Ben—or somebody—got in.” She eyed the fence. “But how? There’s nowhere to squeeze under here.”
“Maybe he didn’t actually get in. He could have thrown the dye over the top.”
“How? In a bottle?”
“Sure,” Milo said. “Or a balloon. Like a water bomb.”
“But wouldn’t they have found it in the pool?” Jazz asked.
Milo thought of his airplane kit. “What if he flew it over in one of those little airplanes? By remote control? And did a loop-de-loop to dump it out—”
“Oh, Milo.” Sighing, Jazz flopped backward in the grass, staring up at the branches of the tree above her.
An instant later, she sprang to her feet again. Before Milo could ask wha
t she was doing, she was scrambling up the tree.
“Uh . . . Jazz?”
“Hang on!” she called down. “I’m looking . . .”
He craned his neck. “Looking for what?”
No answer. Then, just as he was about to ask again, her voice floated down.
“Wow. I can’t believe it. Wow. Milo! Come up and see!”
Milo clambered up the tree. He could see Jazz through the branches above him, dangling something big and floppy.
Hauling himself up next to her, he saw what it was: a long, skinny plastic tube wound up like a garden hose. It had been clear, but now it was stained purple.
“You were right,” Jazz said. “Ben didn’t need to get in the pool area at all. He climbed the tree, poked the tube over the fence, and poured the purple dye straight down the tube into the pool. He pulled the tube back out—”
“Dribbling purple on the grass,” Milo put in.
“—then rolled it up, left it in the tree, and walked away,” Jazz finished. “Pretty smart, huh?”
“Yeah, but we caught him!” Milo said. “I can’t wait to show the manager.” He reached for the tube.
Jazz pulled it away. “No. It stays here.”
“But it’s evidence—”
“It proves how the pool got turned purple,” Jazz said. “It doesn’t tell us who.”
“Fingerprints?” Milo said.
“Anyone that clever probably wore gloves.” She shook her head. “Besides, I’ve got a better idea.”
“What?”
Instead of answering, Jazz asked, “Why would Ben leave the tube behind?”
Milo shrugged. “He’s a litterbug?”
His partner smiled. “Or maybe he was planning to come back and turn the pool purple again.”
“You mean—”
Jazz nodded. “We need to stake out the tree and catch him in the act.”
“But how do we know when he’s going to come back?” Milo asked. “I don’t think our parents would be happy if we started living in a tree.”
She frowned. “Well . . . yesterday it happened in the morning. . . .”
Milo leaned against the tree trunk, thinking. “Maybe we could smoke Ben out. You know, do something to make him come back.”
“Like what?”
Milo grinned. “Watch me.”
Leaving the plastic tube behind, they climbed down the tree. Milo led the way to the snack bar, where Vanessa and Ben were dealing with a late-afternoon rush.
Spencer and Noah stood in line ahead of them. Spencer was saying, “Swimmer’s ear? I had that once. Itched like crazy!”
“Mine isn’t so bad,” Noah said. “I just can’t go in the deep end for a while.” The girl in front of them left with an ice-cream bar, and Noah stepped up to order from Ben.
Milo nudged Jazz. “Here goes.” He raised his voice. “Those police really work fast, don’t they?”
Jazz looked at him. “Uh . . . yeah!”
“I mean, the pool only turned purple yesterday, and they already have a suspect,” he went on loudly. “Chip says they’ve almost nailed it. They just have to find one thing.”
“Really?” Jazz said. “What?”
“Chip didn’t say.” He sneaked a glance at Ben, then bellowed, “SOMETHING TO DO WITH HOW THE PURPLE STUFF GOT IN THE POOL.”
Milo turned to peek at Ben again. Ben was staring straight at him.
Just then, a voice behind Milo said, “You don’t have to shout.” He spun around.
It was Carlos. Milo stared.
Over his trunks, Carlos wore a white T-shirt. At least, it had once been white. Now it had stains all down the front.
Big, splotchy, purple stains.
“What?” Following Milo’s gaze, Carlos glanced down at his stained shirt. “Oh, yeah . . .” He smiled in an embarrassed way. “Fina shot me with her grape juice. I keep telling those girls not to hold their juice boxes so tight.”
Speechless, Milo nodded.
“What’s with all the yelling?” Carlos asked. He looked at Jazz. “You two having a fight?”
“No,” Jazz said, “We were just—”
“We have to go!” Milo cut in.
He dragged Jazz out of earshot to the far end of the pool.
“What was that about?” she said.
“Didn’t you see his shirt?”
“He said it was grape juice.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s true,” Milo argued. “And Carlos wanted to shut down the pool. Remember? Noah said he hated having to bring the twins here and not getting to swim. He said that he’d be happier if they just closed it down.”
Jazz glanced back toward Carlos. “He was probably exaggerating.”
Milo shook his head. “Didn’t you notice? When Chip said the pool was closed, Carlos was the only one who didn’t seem upset. He seemed pretty happy to go skateboarding.”
Jazz looked thoughtful. “That’s true.”
“So now we have two suspects,” Milo said. “What do we do?”
“Nothing,” Jazz said.
“Nothing?”
“I mean, nothing different,” she told him. “Both of them heard you, right?”
“I guess so.”
“You guess so? I bet people heard you two towns over,” Jazz said. “So, we do what we were going to do anyway. Stake out the tree. And see who comes.”
They decided the culprit probably wouldn’t go back for the tube while the pool was open. He’d wait till everyone was gone to get rid of the evidence.
It was almost dinnertime, so Milo and Jazz split up. They agreed to meet back at the tree just before the pool closed.
When Milo got home, he found an envelope addressed to him with DM in the corner. A new sleuthing lesson from Dash Marlowe!
Hidden corners. Dark, deserted alleys.
Midnight break-ins.
Criminals are sneaky. They don’t like to do their dirty deeds out in the open, where they can be seen. And so, as sleuths, we often have to depend on circumstantial evidence.
Circumstantial evidence is not direct. It’s not absolute proof. But it can help us infer what happened. (To infer means to look at the evidence you have, think carefully about it, and then draw a conclusion.)
Suppose you saw a man shoot another man. That would be direct evidence. You know what happened, because you saw it with your own eyes.
But suppose you hear a shot. You arrive on the scene a few moments later. . . . You see a man lying on the ground. Another man stands over him, holding a smoking gun. That’s circumstantial evidence.
You can build a strong case around circumstantial evidence. However, you need to be careful, too. What you infer may be what actually took place—or it may not.
Take the example of the smoking gun. What if there were three men? The first man shot the second. Then he tossed the gun to the third man and ran away.
Or maybe there were just two men—and a grizzly bear. One man shot off his gun, scaring the grizzly away. The other man, terrified by the gunshot and the bear, had a heart attack and collapsed.
Speaking of bears and shooting, I’ll never forget The Case of the Gunslinging Grizzly—
But that’s another story.
At dinner, Milo hardly tasted his homemade pizza. He kept thinking about Dash’s lesson.
Ben and Carlos both had motives to close down the pool. And they had both been at the pool the morning it turned purple.
Ben being there on his day off was suspicious. Carlos being there was normal. After all, lots of kids had come to swim that day. Still—he was there.
All the evidence Milo and Jazz had was circumstantial. If their stakeout was successful, though, they’d nab Carlos or Ben trying to make off with the evidence.
And once he’d been caught in the act, Milo was sure, the culprit would confess.
Jazz was already up in the tree when Milo got there. Checking first to make sure nobody was watching, he climbed up too.
The pool was nearly empty now. Pa
rents were folding beach towels and dragging shrieking little kids off to the locker rooms.
Vanessa stood talking to Chip, who was acting odd. First he stood with one hand down and one up to his shoulder. Then he raised one arm and gazed into the distance.
“What in the world is he doing?” Milo asked.
Jazz giggled. “Posing! I think he wants Vanessa to paint him.”
They watched Vanessa wave goodbye to Chip. After a quick chat with Ben at the snack bar, she took off.
Handing Milo the rolled-up tube, Jazz climbed to a higher branch and peered out at the pool.
“Ben should be out any minute,” Milo said. “He’s almost done with—”
“Shhh!”
Startled, Milo looked up at Jazz. She pointed. Instead of getting on her bike and pedaling away, Vanessa was walking straight in their direction. Had she seen them?
Stopping under the tree, Vanessa glanced around.
Then it hit Milo like a flash.
Vanessa had been happy when the pool was closed yesterday. She said it gave her more time to paint.
And she’d been working at the snack bar when Milo mentioned the police. What he had said for Ben’s ears, Vanessa must have heard too.
Milo glanced up at Jazz again. What would she do if the culprit turned out to be her own sister?
Jazz put a finger to her lips. Again, she pointed.
Ben was coming toward the tree.
Milo’s thoughts churned in confusion. Was it Ben after all? Or Vanessa? Could the two of them be in cahoots?
“Hey, Ben,” Vanessa said. “I don’t see anything out here to paint.”
“Paint?” Ben looked blank.
“Didn’t you ask me to meet you here so we could talk about Fun in the Sun?”
“Oh—yeah, I did. But not the way you mean . . . I wanted to talk to you alone, away from Chip, so I . . .” Ben paused, then tried again. “Vanessa, I was wondering if you would like to—”
The Case of the Purple Pool Page 2