Chandler examined it carefully. He had once worked at a natural history museum and knew quite a bit about animal pelts. “Impossible, Miss Agatha, it’s too soft,” he said. “Beaver fur is much denser.”
“So what sort of animal does it come from?”
Mr. Cornwell gave it a disdainful glance. “Judging by the poor quality, it looks like the common muskrat . . .”
The others looked at him questioningly.
“Muskrat,” he repeated. “It’s a large rodent that wallows in lakes and rivers and is hunted for its cheap fur.”
“Fascinating! But what is it doing here, in Madame Hofstetter’s imperial suite, if it’s such a worthless piece of fur?” asked Agatha.
“Perhaps it was left by a previous guest,” the butler hypothesized.
“I think we can rule that out,” Agatha said. “The housekeeping staff vacuumed every inch of this carpet. If they found a piece of somebody’s fur coat or anything else that was left by a guest, they’d undoubtedly bring it to the reception desk.”
“Exactly,” confirmed Mr. Cornwell.
Dash tapped his fingers on the table. “How long are you planning to keep us guessing?” he asked, impatient.
Agatha smiled at him, then turned to Madame Hofstetter. “You told us before that when you returned to your suite, you found the magnetic cards sitting on top of the safe, as though the thief were trying to return them to you—or show off how clever he’d been,” she recalled. “I could be wrong, but my instincts tell me he also left this scrap of fur that Watson found!”
“Why would he do that?” asked Chandler.
“Maybe it’s his signature,” replied Agatha. “I read in the Manual of Criminology that some criminals leave behind a personal clue to build up their reputations.”
This set off a heated discussion, which only ended when Dash, who was frantically doing research on his EyeNet, called for silence.
“You’re right, genius cousin!” he shouted, ecstatic. “Ratmusqué is the nickname of a famous Canadian thief who retired from criminal activity a decade ago. Rat musqué is the French term for muskrat. He specialized in jewel thefts and always left a little piece of fur behind to mock the police!” He continued to read off the screen while the others listened intently.
They learned a lot of unusual things about the infamous Ratmusqué. His real name was Rick Moriarty, and he had voluntarily surrendered to police because he just wasn’t enjoying his life of crime anymore. He’d been granted his freedom in exchange for his expertise and the return of the stolen goods; he’d never sold or spent anything, but kept all the jewels stashed in his woodshed.
Dash broke off. “Give me a break!” he exclaimed. “The rest of the data is classified top secret. Why would they do that?”
“What does it matter?” said the manager, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. “We know who stole madame’s jewels . . .”
“. . . and it was a mouse who loves opera!” Chandler concluded.
Madame Hofstetter laughed at the butler’s joke and embraced him, which made Chandler blush like a baby.
“There’s only one problem,” said Agatha
. “Right now, all we have is a theory, because the security cameras didn’t record anyone leaving the hotel during the concert. How did our thief manage to sneak out the jewels? Did he have an accomplice?”
“Surely there’s a list of audience members,” Dash said. “Am I right, Mr. Cornwell?”
The manager fiddled nervously with his cravat. “Unfortunately all they had to do was pay for their tickets,” he said with regret. “There’s no master box office list.”
“So now we’ll never know the truth!” Dash groaned. “We’ve lost him forever!”
“Unless . . . ,” whispered Agatha.
“Unless?” echoed everyone hopefully.
The girl’s face lit up. “Of course!” she cried. “Why didn’t I think of it sooner?” She tugged on Dash’s sleeve and ordered, “Call Scarlett right now. She’ll be able to tell us where to find Ratmusqué—and the stolen jewels!”
CHAPTER SIX
On Ratmusqué’s Tail
“Sorry, Agatha, I didn’t get any good leads,” Scarlett’s voice said on the phone.
“Change of plans,” replied Agatha, beaming. “Can you by chance see a FedEx office nearby?”
“Yes, there’s one just down the street. What do you need?”
“Cozy up to the staff and find out if there was a package sent yesterday morning to a Rick Moriarty.”
“Will do. Anything else?”
“Yes, please get the delivery address.”
“Okay, little cousin. I’m on it!”
Agatha handed the EyeNet back to Dash. Only then did she realize that everyone was gaping at her.
“Perhaps you’d like an explanation?” she asked with a shrewd smile.
Everyone nodded in silence, inviting her to speak.
“I put together several pieces of the puzzle,” she began, “and realized there was only one way to get the jewels out of the Overlook during the concert: seal them in an envelope, leave it at the front desk, and take advantage of the express post.”
“The FedEx guy who knocked you over?” asked Dash.
Agatha nodded. “The very same.”
“Indeed, there’s a FedEx pickup every day at twelve thirty,” confirmed the manager soberly. “Even when there’s a matinee concert!”
“But you said the video cameras didn’t see anyone come or go!” Dash objected.
“No one suspicious,” clarified Mr. Cornwell. “We don’t consider hotel staff and service people who come and go daily suspicious. They’ve been carefully screened!”
Chandler gazed proudly at Agatha and reasoned aloud, “So once the package containing the jewels was taken away by the courier, Ratmusqué just sat down and watched the performance. When it was over, he left with the rest of the audience. No one would have been able to single him out in that crowd!”
Agatha winked. “Genius, right?”
“You’re the genius, young lady!” Madame Hofstetter thanked her with a smothering hug in her ample arms. “If you recover my precious jewels, I shall perform a special concert at your home!”
She was so happy that she went out onto the balcony to sing an aria at top volume. Even over the roar of the falls, her high notes rang out.
“I almost—almost—hope this mission fails,” Dash whispered to his cousin, turning his head so Chandler wouldn’t hear. He was watching the diva, enraptured.
Five minutes later, Scarlett called in with good news. “I’ve got the address the package was sent to,” she announced. “What do we do next?”
“Start the chase!” replied Agatha.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Scarlett sounded delighted.
They said a quick good-bye to Madame Hofstetter and left the hotel. Scarlett was waiting outside in her van, the motor already running. As they buckled their seat belts, a huge, shiny, black SUV pulled up next to them. The window lowered with an electric hum.
“Did you think you were going to take all the credit?” said Mr. Cornwell. “Follow us!”
He used the plural because the grumpy security guard was driving, his hulking shoulders hunched over the steering wheel. Scarlett shot him a defiant look and stepped on the gas, heading north on the highway.
Her passengers filled her in on their findings. Scarlett paid close attention to every word, but when she heard Ratmusqué’s name, her hands shook with excitement. If Chandler hadn’t reached out to steady the steering wheel, they would have run right off the road. “The notorious Ratmusqué? The most elusive thief in the world?” she exclaimed. “This will be the scoop of my life!”
Dash gave a slight cough. “Remember, dear cousin, this mission is top secret . . .”
“Well, ther
e goes my Pulitzer Prize!” Scarlett shrugged. “But you should know, I’m so proud to be part of this thrilling adventure!”
She stepped on the gas, handing a road map to Agatha. “Could you please navigate?”
“No problem! Where are we going?”
“You won’t believe this, but Rick Moriarty lives in one of Canada’s beauty spots: the Muskoka District, also known as the ‘land of lakes’!”
Agatha studied the map, stroking her nose with a fingertip. “Found it!” she cried. “I remember the guidebook description. ‘A region surrounded by wilderness: pine forests, lakes, windswept islands, and other natural wonders’!”
“Yes, but how far away is it?” Dash asked impatiently. “Give me his address, and I’ll plug it into the EyeNet’s GPS.”
Scarlett did a quick mental calculation. “We’re less than two hours from Toronto, and then it’s two more to Pine Lake, one of the biggest lakes in Muskoka. We should reach Ratmusqué’s cabin just before sunset!”
Her calculations were right on the money.
Mr. Cornwell’s black SUV was on their tail, they passed a sign saying WELCOME TO MUSKOKA just as the sun reached the horizon, painting a vivid orange trail on the lake.
The scene was breathtaking. The hillsides were covered with red maples, golden oaks, and dark pines, like a beautiful landscape painting. Rustic log cabins were scattered along the lakeshore, with docks jutting into the sun-gilded water.
They turned onto a winding back road that skirted the edge of Pine Lake. They hadn’t seen anybody for several miles, and dusk was falling fast, so Scarlett sped up.
And so she didn’t see the man on horseback . . .
“Scarlett, watch out!” Agatha dropped the map, bracing both hands on the dashboard.
Scarlett slammed on the brakes. The van screeched to a halt with a smell of burned rubber.
Behind them, the SUV’s horn blared.
“Are you out of your mind?” Mr. Cornwell raged, poking his head out of the window. “Who taught you to drive?”
Scarlett didn’t respond; she had a worse problem to deal with. The horseback rider she’d nearly hit was wearing the bright red coat of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police!
The officer dismounted, approached the van, and checked Scarlett’s license. “You’ve earned yourself a large fine, Miss Mistery,” he said calmly, pulling out his traffic ticket book. Then he added in the same relaxed tone, “And I’ll need to impound your vehicle, eh?”
They were practically at the doorstep of Ratmusqué’s cabin. This couldn’t be happening!
Agatha racked her brains for a solution, but before she could speak, Mr. Cornwell jumped out of his car and started to argue with the Mountie officer.
Agatha winced. The hotel manager was making a big scene. “Did you hear what I said?” he shouted. “We’re tracking a jewel thief! Surely you’ve heard of the infamous Ratmusqué? If you don’t let us through, he might slip through our fingers, and we’ll never catch him again!”
The Mountie requested more details. As Mr. Cornwell described the theft, Dash bit his nails, and Scarlett apologized over and over to Chandler and Agatha. Only the hotel security guard stood off to one side, impassively watching the scene from behind his dark glasses.
“Okay, I’ll go check this o
ut,” the officer said. “If you’re telling me lies, I’ll be forced to take you all down to the barracks.” He got back in the saddle, slipped his gun out of its holster, and took off at a brisk trot.
The cars followed him up to a boat launch next to the lake. The Mountie signaled that they should park there and pointed to a white cottage screened by a thicket of trees. “Wait here in absolute silence,” he ordered in an authoritative tone as he urged the horse down the dirt road to the cabin.
As soon as he disappeared behind the trees, Agatha turned to the manager. “Madame Hofstetter requested us not to inform the police,” she rebuked him. “Now everybody will know about the theft and Eye International’s involvement!”
“Who cares about confidentiality?!” replied Mr. Cornwell vehemently. “What matters is catching the culprit. My hotel’s good name is at stake!”
Chandler gave his knuckles a menacing crack, which was echoed by the security guard.
Their standoff was interrupted by Scarlett, who sat on a wooden bench. “It’s all my fault,” she said bitterly, pulling off her cowboy hat. “This time I’ve really blown it . . .”
“So I’m not the only screwup in the family,” said Dash, sounding pleased. He regretted his words as soon as he spoke them and patted Scarlett on the shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, cousin. The Mountie is already galloping back!”
The Canadian officer reined in his horse, waving a gold bracelet in the air. “Follow me!” he shouted. “I need backup!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Under a Billion Stars
As the group sped down the dirt track, the Mountie told them what had happened at the cottage.
When he knocked on the door, he’d heard suspicious noises coming from inside. Drawing his gun, he had entered just in time to see a figure escape out the window with a package tucked under his arm. He shouted at him to stop, but the figure disappeared like lightning into the thick underbrush.
On the table, the officer spotted some papers and a gold bracelet engraved with the initials H. H.
“Helga Hofstetter,” Agatha breathed.
“He left it behind in his hurry to get away,” concluded the Mountie. “But this confirms your suspicions.”
Dash smiled at Scarlett. No one was thinking about speeding tickets now and, with a bit of luck, they’d catch Ratmusqué soon. She let out a sigh of relief.
“Follow me in,” said the officer as he dismounted. “You’ll see with your own eyes!”
The first one inside was Mr. Cornwell, who kicked the door open and strode through the room to rifle through the papers on the table. “These are architect’s plans for my hotel!” he yelled, enraged. “And look at these photos! That rascal had it all organized, down to the last detail!”
Dash looked at the pictures, which showed the Overlook from every possible angle. Agatha picked up some magazine articles on Madame Hofstetter, and a book of instructions for electronic safes.
They had the hard evidence right in their hands!
Chandler looked out the window, where stars were beginning to show in the sky. “How are we going to catch the thief, Miss Agatha?” he asked doubtfully.
“That’s not your problem,” stated the Mountie. “I’ve radioed headquarters in Toronto, and within three hours, these woods will be full of policemen combing the whole area.”
“Three hours?” Agatha echoed in shock. “Are you joking? We can’t give Ratmusqué that much of a head start!”
“We have a mission to accomplish,” protested Dash, crossing his arms.
Mr. Cornwell burst into laughter. “What do you think you can do, kid?” he said, stroking his goatee. “There’s nothing but miles of forest out there. Do you think you’ll find Ratmusqué by groping around in the dark?”
As Dash complained, Agatha grabbed Scarlett’s road map and spread it out on the table. She tapped her nose, trying to concentrate amid all the commotion. During the trip, she’d noticed a place with a curious name near Pine Lake. “Here it is!” she rejoiced, jabbing her finger onto the spot. “I bet Ratmusqué is hiding out here!”
Everyone turned to stare at her. How could she know?
“We’ll need some flashlights,” she continued. “And hiking boots.”
Dash looked at the spot his cousin was pointing at. It was in a park in the rocky hills they had seen from the road. “‘Dark-Sky Preserve’?” he read, baffled. “What’s that?”
Scarlett's ears pricked up. “Great idea, Agatha!” She nodded. “That would be the ideal place to hide out at night
! And the entry trail passes right near here!”
“Could somebody please fill me in?” grumbled Dash.
“The Dark-Sky Preserve is an area protected from the interference of artificial light,” said Scarlett. “Astronomers go there to observe the stars without needing big telescopes. It will be completely dark there.”
“Come on, you guys!” Agatha urged. “Let’s grab what we need from the van and get going!”
They left the cottage and hurried back up the dirt road.
As they prepared for their nocturnal trek into the hills, they were joined by the Mountie, Mr. Cornwell, and his security goon.
“We’re coming with you,” announced Mr. Cornwell. “Reinforcements are on the way, but we can’t let you go out on your own with that dangerous criminal hanging around.”
“We’re trained and we’re armed,” said the officer, touching his holster. The security guard grunted, patting his pocket.
Scarlett looked them up and down. “Arrgh,” she groaned. “All right, well, three more pairs of eyes might be useful . . .”
Agatha said good-bye to Watson, who was curled up for a nap in his carrying case, and snapped on her flashlight. The others had already started down the path. Scarlett took the lead, feeling confident in her natural surroundings.
They walked stealthily through the forest for a mile or so. The thick foliage and distant hooting of owls made the night seem even spookier.
At one point, they crossed a small stream and the ground became slippery with mud. Scarlett signaled for the group to stop and knelt down, shining her flashlight to illuminate a trail of footprints heading uphill. “We’ve got you now, Ratmusqué!” she whispered in satisfaction.
“Are you sure these prints belong to our man?” asked Mr. Cornwell.
“They’re fresh.”
“How fresh?”
“Less than an hour.”
The Heist at Niagara Falls Page 4