The Mystery of the Secret Message

by Gertrude Chandler Warner

  Mrs. Turner shook her head. “Nope. The bin where we keep the photo deliveries is empty. Violet, you were the last person to pick up photographs from this delivery.”

  “Then we don’t know who lost this.” Violet tucked the mysterious photograph into her own envelope. “If anyone reports a missing picture, please let me know.”

  “I’m sure no one will claim that dull picture,” Mr. Kirby said, turning away.

  “Thanks anyway,” Henry said. When they left the store, he added, “Boy, that guy’s sure not much help. I’ll be glad when Mr. Cooke comes back.”

  Jessie glanced back through the window. Mr. Kirby was dialing the phone again.

  “He couldn’t wait to get us out of there,” she said. “I guess he didn’t want us to hear his phone conversation.”

  “I don’t think he likes kids,” said Benny as they crossed the square to the town hall building.

  Henry agreed. “I think you’re right, Benny. Mr. Kirby is one of those grown-ups who is impatient around kids. Like nothing we say or do is important. Some grown-ups are like that.”

  “I hope you don’t mean me,” said a cheerful voice behind them. “Am I one of those awful grown-ups?”

  Benny recognized the young man first. “Mr. Bass!” he exclaimed. “You’re not awful!”

  Rick Bass pretended to wipe his forehead. “Whew! For a minute there, I was worried you thought I was an old grouch.”

  Jessie laughed. Rick Bass could never be an old grouch. He was too young, for one thing. And he was always smiling. His chestnut hair was the same color as the leaves blowing across the square today.

  “When will the museum be open?” she asked him.

  Rick shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his denim jacket. “When I was hired, I thought I’d have the Greenfield Historical Museum open in a month. I’ve been here three months and I’m still digging my way through the artifacts.”

  “The art — what?” asked Benny.

  “Artifacts are objects. Anything that is part of Greenfield’s history,” replied Rick. “It can be something really old, like a pewter cup from the seventeen-hundreds. Or something not so old, like the first phone book.”

  Just then Grandfather joined them. “Mr. Bass,” he said. “How is the museum coming along?”

  “As I was telling your grandchildren, it’s a bigger job than I thought it would be,” he replied.

  James Alden nodded. “People have been donating items to the historical society for many years. I imagine there’s quite a pile of stuff in the town hall basement.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rick agreed. “But I love rooting through old things. You’d be surprised at some discoveries I’ve made. One is very interesting.”

  Benny was instantly curious. “What is it?”

  “Tell us!” Violet urged.

  “Not today,” said Grandfather. “We must be going.”

  “We’ll be back here tomorrow,” Benny informed Rick. “Will you come see us?”

  Rick made a thumbs-up sign. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  Benny hated being kept in suspense. “Can you give us a little hint?”

  Rick smiled mysteriously. “This town is full of secrets!”

  CHAPTER 3

  The Hidden Message

  We need a new mystery,” Benny said. The four Alden children were sitting and talking in their boxcar, and Benny was feeling restless.

  “We have to help Grandfather with the Winter Festival. We don’t have time to solve a mystery, too,” said Jessie.

  She wrote something in a green binder. Knowing that Jessie was organized and responsible, Grandfather had asked her to keep track of preparations for the festival. As Grandfather’s assistant, Jessie kept notes in the festival notebook.

  “Can’t we do both?” Benny said.

  “Well, Benny, mysteries don’t just fall out of the sky,” Violet said.

  “What about your picture?” asked Benny. “That’s a mystery.”

  “Violet’s picture is just a weird mistake,” said Henry.

  Jessie closed her notebook. “We promised to clean the statue today. Is everyone ready?”

  “I have the lunch Mrs. McGregor packed us.” Violet held up a large wicker picnic basket. She slipped the strange photograph into her basket. Maybe Mr. Kirby had found the rightful owner.

  “And I’ve got the cleaning stuff.” Jessie wheeled her bicycle out from the garage. The tote bag containing her notebook swung from her handlebars.

  She handed Henry the bucket of cleaning supplies to hang from his handlebars.

  Benny climbed on his bike. “Let’s go!”

  The children pedaled quickly in the crisp morning air to the center of Greenfield.

  They parked their bicycles in the lot on one side of the square. Shops and businesses lined two sides. The town hall, with its wide green lawn, occupied the fourth side. In the center of the brick-paved common area stood the statue of Josiah Wade.

  Violet wished she had brought her camera. The square looked so pretty today. The copper spire of the town hall gleamed in the bright sunlight.

  “What a great day,” Henry said.

  “Maybe we’ll find a new mystery,” Benny said hopefully.

  “Work first!” Jessie chided gently. Secretly, she also wished they had a new mystery to solve. Life was so much more exciting when they were searching for clues.

  They unloaded the cleaning supplies at the base of the statue.

  “He sure is dirty.” Jessie swiped a finger over one bronze sleeve. “Well, we’ll make him clean again.”

  She handed the bucket to Henry. “Mrs. Turner in the drugstore should let you fill this.”

  Henry returned a few minutes later with a bucketful of hot water. He squirted in detergent to make suds. Then they each grabbed a brush and began scrubbing.

  After working for about a half hour, the children stopped to eat lunch.

  After everyone washed their hands at Cooke’s Drugstore, Violet passed around turkey and cranberry sauce sandwiches on whole wheat bread. Henry poured them each a cup of hot chocolate from the thermos.

  “And we have oatmeal cookies for dessert,” Violet said.

  “Look how shiny Josiah’s boots are,” Benny said proudly, munching a carrot stick.

  “You did a good job,” said Jessie. “That musket is tough, but I’ve almost got it cleaned.”

  Across the square, a familiar figure emerged from a side door of the town hall.

  “It’s Rick!” Benny said, waving excitedly. “Now he’ll tell us the secret.”

  “Looking good,” Rick Bass said. “I bet old Josiah loves getting a bath.”

  Violet offered him an oatmeal cookie. “You said you know something about the town.”

  “So I did. Boy, these are good cookies. Please give my compliments to your Mrs. McGregor.” Rick’s brown eyes crinkled at the corners. He loved to tease.

  “Rick!” Benny wailed. “Tell us!”

  Rick laughed. “All right! I’ve kept you in suspense long enough.”

  The children leaned forward eagerly.

  “Josiah Wade,” Rick stated, “was not a Minuteman.”

  “He wasn’t a soldier?” Henry asked. “Why is his statue dressed like one?”

  “Good question,” said Rick. “I think it’s a joke the sculptor played on Greenfield.”

  “What kind of a joke is that?” Violet wondered.

  Looking at the children’s blank faces, Rick explained, “I’ve been reading about the history of Greenfield. This statue was created by Franklin Bond.”

  “Here’s the marker,” said Jessie, pointing to a small brass plate at the base of the statue. “It says, ‘Sculpted by Franklin A. Bond, June 4, 1855.’ ”

  “Now, think about these dates,” Rick told them. “Josiah Wade was born in 1763. The Revolutionary War took place between 1775 and 1783.”

  Henry did the math quickly in his head. “Josiah was only twelve when the war began.”

  “Exactly!�
�� Rick was warming to his subject. “Josiah Wade was a teenage boy during the period. He probably remembered the war quite well, but I doubt he actually fought in it.”

  Benny was confused. “Then why would Franklin Bond make Josiah a soldier if he wasn’t?”

  “Franklin Bond grew up in Greenfield,” replied Rick. “When he was a young boy he knew Josiah Wade. By the time Franklin created the statue, Josiah was an old man. Franklin probably listened to Josiah’s stories about the war. Maybe Josiah told Franklin he fought with the patriots.”

  Henry studied the bronze statue. “If Josiah really wasn’t a soldier, then that’s a good joke on us!”

  “Josiah Wade helped form the town of Greenfield, so he deserved a statue in his honor,” Rick said. “A man looks more important in a uniform. But I doubt Josiah Wade ever wore one.”

  Since it was lunchtime, the square was growing busy. Sylvia Pepper came out of her florist’s shop to inspect the Aldens’ cleaning job.

  “Not bad,” she said critically. “I don’t suppose there’s anything you can do about that crumbly old base.”

  “We’ve been trying,” Henry told her. “But little stones keep dropping off. It’ll be great when old Josiah gets a new base.”

  “It would be even better if the statue were moved,” Sylvia said. She eyed Rick Bass. “You’re the town historian, aren’t you?”

  “Actually,” he corrected, “I’m the curator for the new museum.”

  “Well, don’t you agree the statue should be moved? It just clutters the square,” Sylvia said. “My building is the oldest on the square, so it should be in front of my shop.”

  Rick shook his head. “If the town wants to move the statue, I believe it should be part of the museum.”

  “Bury it in the basement of the town hall!” Sylvia said shrilly. “What a ridiculous idea!”

  “I’ve got to go back to work,” Rick told the Aldens abruptly. “Thanks for the cookie.”

  Violet could tell Rick didn’t like Sylvia. She didn’t blame him. Sylvia Pepper wasn’t very friendly.

  Dawn Wellington joined the group. Today her blond ponytail was tied back with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes.

  “The statue really sparkles!” she said.

  “We were just talking about where it should be moved,” Sylvia said.

  “But we don’t know if it will be moved,” Dawn pointed out. “The vote won’t be announced until Saturday. I put in my ballot!”

  “Anyone with any sense will agree the statue should be moved.” Sylvia waved her arm, her silver bracelets jangling. “We want a nice, modern fountain there.”

  “Not all of us,” Dawn said. “I like the square just the way it is.”

  “What do you know?” Sylvia retorted. “You’ve just come here.” With that, she flounced across the square to her shop.

  Dawn bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to make her mad.”

  “She’s awfully touchy,” Jessie observed.

  “I shouldn’t repeat gossip,” Dawn said, “but Mrs. Turner told me that Sylvia’s shop isn’t doing very well. I guess that’s why she’s a little testy.”

  Just then Violet remembered the photograph in the picnic basket.

  “I have a strange picture. Maybe you could tell us about it.” She pulled the mysterious photo out and handed it to Dawn.

  “See? It’s got that funny blank spot near the top,” Benny pointed out.

  Dawn squinted at the picture. “Hmmmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I’d like to try something in my studio. May I borrow your picture, Violet?”

  “Sure. Can we come, too?” Violet asked.

  “Of course.” Dawn led the way into her photography studio.

  They walked past the front room, and through a door with a red light over the top.

  The windowless room contained sinks and counters filled with strange-looking equipment. A single red bulb overhead provided the only light.

  “It’s sure dark in here,” Benny remarked.

  “This is my darkroom,” Dawn explained. “This is where I develop pictures. Bright light ruins unexposed film, so I work with little illumination.”

  Dawn dipped the strange photo into a pan of liquid. Then she turned on a small lamp attached to her counter. Pushing the metal shade to one side, she held the photo over the bare lightbulb.

  “Just as I thought,” she said. “Watch carefully.”

  Slowly, words appeared in the blank space on the photograph.

  CHAPTER 4

  Caught Red-handed!

  Everyone stood still in the dark-room. They stared at the sticklike letters forming before their eyes.

  The letters spelled out a single sentence:

  MOVE IT THE DAY BEFORE

  Benny, who was just learning to read, repeated the strange words in an awed whisper.

  “Amazing!” Henry murmured.

  “How did you know there was something written there?” Violet asked Dawn.

  The photographer turned off the small lamp and flipped a wall switch. The dark-room was suddenly bright.

  “The paper tipped me off,” Dawn said, waving the photograph to dry it. “The texture didn’t feel right.”

  Jessie touched the photograph. “It feels like ordinary paper to me.”

  Dawn smiled. “I learned some tricks in one of my photography classes in college. We would coat a special paper with a chemical solution. With another chemical, we would write or draw on this treated paper. Only you wouldn’t see it.”

  “So the space would look blank,” Henry said.

  “Exactly,” Dawn said. “To make the words or drawing appear, we simply dipped the paper in water. And then held it over a light.”

  “Just like the invisible writing spies use!” Benny exclaimed. “We have a spy in Greenfield!”

  Dawn laughed. “I don’t know about a spy, but someone knows a lot about photography. The paper that picture is printed on is unusual. It’s not used for ordinary developing.”

  “Where would paper like that come from?” asked Jessie. “I mean, Violet’s pictures were printed on regular paper.”

  “You can request it,” Dawn replied. “You can order a certain type of paper when you drop off your roll of film.”

  Violet nodded. “On the envelope you check off the size of your prints and how many. I always order four-by-six prints and only one set. Then if one of my pictures turns out really well, I might order another copy.”

  “Those are called reprints,” Dawn told her. “The big developing labs do all sorts of special services.”

  Jessie stared at the equipment in the dark-room. “I’m confused. How did that strange picture get in Violet’s photographs?”

  “Good question.” Dawn tugged her pony-tail over one shoulder. “Basically, a person drops film off at a store. The store sends the roll of film — along with lots of others — away to a laboratory. The lab develops the film, then sends the prints back to the store.”

  “So the mix-up could have happened at the lab,” Henry guessed.

  “Or at the drugstore,” Dawn added, still holding the photograph. “Would you mind if I kept this, Violet? It’s such a neat example.”

  Violet hesitated. She liked Dawn, but she didn’t want to give up the message photograph. Not until they found out more.

  “I’m trying to find the person who lost this,” she said finally. “Mr. Kirby said he’d let me know if anyone asks for it.”

  Dawn reluctantly handed the photograph to Violet. “If nobody claims the picture, maybe you’d let me have it.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Violet said. “You’ve been a big help.”

  “Yeah,” said Benny. “We never would have found the message.”

  Dawn opened the door to the front room. “I’ll see you kids around. I’m taking pictures for a souvenir booklet about the town square.”

  “We’re having a photo booth at the festival,” Violet said.

  Jessie nodded. “People are going to pose by Josiah’s statue.”
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br />   Dawn smiled. “Good! You can’t have too many photographers at a special event.”

  Outside, the Aldens bubbled over with excitement.

  “A secret message!” Benny whooped.

  “But what does it mean?” Henry asked. “Move what? The day before what?”

  “Who was supposed to get this message?” Violet put in.

  “Who sent it?” Jessie wondered.

  “And how,” Benny added, “did the picture get into Violet’s envelope?”

  Jessie sighed, adjusting the strap of her tote bag. “Looks like you were right all along, Benny.”

  He grinned. “I knew we’d find another mystery!”

  The children talked about the new mystery as they finished cleaning the statue. Jessie was buffing the small brass plate when Grandfather came by.

  “Old Josiah never looked better,” he praised. He held up two cans of red paint. “I found some leftover paint in the garage. How about repainting the benches?”

  “Sure,” Henry said. “We like to paint.”

  When Grandfather left, the children painted the benches. They even had enough paint for the trash cans.

  As they were cleaning the brushes, Jessie said, “I wish we knew more about that photograph. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “We know the delivery man from the photo lab dropped his bag of envelopes in the drugstore,” said Violet. “The photograph probably fell out of someone’s envelope — ”

  “And accidentally got put into your envelope,” Henry finished. “How can we find out who else had pictures in that delivery?”

  “Easy.” Benny wiped his hands on a rag. “Why don’t we go in the drugstore and ask Mr. Kirby?”

  Cooke’s Drugstore was crowded with mid-afternoon shoppers. Jessie recognized Sylvia Pepper. She also caught a glimpse of Rick Bass spinning a rack of greeting cards.

  Henry went up to the pharmacy counter. “Excuse me,” he said politely. “Has anyone asked about the missing picture?”

  “What missing picture?” As usual, Mr. Kirby was busy.

  “This picture. The one that was in my envelope,” Violet reminded him.

  She took the message photograph from her basket. She flashed it briefly, with her thumb over the blank space. She didn’t want Mr. Kirby to see the message.