The Case of the Vanishing Painting
Page 3
Yes, it sure was. It gave me an idea.
I pulled out my detective journal and started scribbling.
Mila came over. “What’s going on, Jigsaw? Have you figured something out?”
“Helen’s sling!” I exclaimed. “I may have figured out the HOW.”
“What?”
“HOW,” I repeated. “Not what. Helen might be the thief! If she can make pens disappear, maybe she can make paintings vanish.”
Mila rocked back and forth, thinking. “OK, Jigsaw. Let’s say that maybe, just maybe, Helen did hide the painting in her sling. I suppose she could have rolled it up and put it in there. But WHY?”
“You said it yourself at my house yesterday,” I told Mila. “Friends look out for each other.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So add it up,” I replied. “Helen is best friends with Geetha. Helen knows that Geetha is shy. She knows that Geetha wouldn’t want to display her artwork for everyone to see.”
I continued excitedly. “Stringbean was talking about ants. He said that ants were just like people.” I double-checked my notes. “Stringbean said, ‘They help each other out.’”
Mila broke into a smile. “Helen made the painting disappear, just like in that magic trick.”
“And she did it,” I said, “not because she was mean. Helen was trying to help a friend.”
Mila punched me in the shoulder. “I think you might be on to something.”
“We still need proof,” I said, rubbing my shoulder. “Have you signed Helen’s cast yet?”
“Yes, all the girls have.”
“Rats and snails. OK then, I guess I’ll have to sign it,” I decided.
“Why?” Mila asked.
“I need to get a look inside that sling,” I told Mila. “If Helen hid the painting in her sling, I’d bet my last magnifying glass that some of the paint rubbed off.”
Chapter
11
Parents’ Night
Mila and I cornered Helen out on the playground during recess. I asked to sign her cast, peeked inside the sling, and there they were. Just as I had suspected.
Paint smudges.
“Hmmm,” I murmured. “I wonder how that got there?”
I looked Helen in the eye.
“Sloppy painter, I guess,” she explained.
“On the inside of your sling?” Mila asked pointedly.
We told Helen what we thought. That she had taken the painting, and why she had taken it. “You were trying to protect a friend,” I said. “I understand that. But I think you did the wrong thing.”
Helen didn’t deny it.
“That’s why you kept asking me about the case,” Mila said. “You were worried that we might figure it out.”
Helen frowned. “Things didn’t work out like I planned.”
Mila spoke up. “If you are willing, Helen, we might have a better idea.”
* * *
It was Parents’ Night. And our plan was set. We just needed to cross our fingers and hope. Well, maybe we needed to cross our toes, too.
I drove to the school with my parents and my brother Nicholas, who was in fifth grade. We had to park two blocks away because the parking lot was full. Inside, the school was a mob scene. It was strange to see so many big people in the halls. Everything seemed much smaller than usual.
My parents went to Nick’s classroom first. The fifth-grade rooms were on the other side of the building. “I’ll wait in the cafeteria,” I told them. The PTA was raising money with a bake sale. I thought I’d help them out by buying a couple of cupcakes. “Have you got a dollar?” I asked my dad.
Then I went to find Mila. She was already chatting with Helen and Geetha. “Did you tell her yet?” I asked Helen.
Helen gulped. Then she told Geetha about how she “stole” the painting.
“I didn’t plan it,” Helen explained. “The art room was open. So I went in and rolled up your painting. I hid it in my sling, then stuffed it in my cubby when everyone was outside for recess.”
Geetha was confused. And, as usual, very quiet.
“I did it for you,” Helen explained. “I knew you didn’t want to show your painting in the art show.”
Geetha studied the tops of her feet. Her head bobbed up and down in agreement.
“Helen brought the painting with her,” Mila said hopefully. “I have some tape. We could still hang it up with everybody else’s artwork.”
Geetha glanced briefly at Mila. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t do that.”
“Geetha,” I said, “you have so much talent. I think you’re a great artist.”
“You do?”
“Everybody does,” Mila said.
“Jigsaw and Mila are right,” Helen urged. “You have a special talent, Geetha. You should be proud of it. Come on. I’m your best friend in the world. Would I steer you wrong?”
Geetha’s mouth twitched, as if it were deciding what to do.
“Trust me,” Helen said. “Be brave. Just this once, let all these people, and your parents, see what great work you do.”
The corners of Geetha’s mouth lifted slightly. Finally, she agreed.
In a flash, we unrolled Geetha’s painting and hung it with all the others. The art show was amazing. It took up the whole hallway leading to the gym.
“Yours is the best one,” I told Geetha.
She looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, “Thank you, Jigsaw.”
We rushed back to room 201. Ms. Gleason was moving around the room, talking to different parents. Joey was right; it was funny to see big Mr. Maloney sitting in a kid-sized chair. Stringbean Noonan was showing the ant farm to his parents. Danika’s folks were leafing through her writing journal, smiling and proud. Joey Pignattano, of course, was snarfing down a brownie.
And nobody bought Eddie Becker’s painting. I guess the price was too high—by about $84.50.
Go figure.
Another mystery was solved. “This was a good case,” Mila said to me. “Everyone raved about Geetha’s painting.” She nodded to Geetha, who was laughing with some other kids. “I think she’s happy.”
I thought so, too.
I guess happy endings aren’t just for fairy tales and children’s books. Like right here, today, in room 201. With the help of some good detective work!
Our Toughest Case
It reads “Theodore Jones” on my birth certificate. But, please, do me a favor. Don’t call me that. My real name is Jigsaw.
Jigsaw Jones.
The way I see it, people should be able to make up their own names. After all, we’re the ones who are stuck with them all our lives. Right? I get it. Our parents had to call us something when we were little—like “Biff” or “Rocko” or “Hey You!” But by age six, we should be allowed to name ourselves.
So I did. I took Jigsaw and tossed “Theodore” into the dumpster. These days, only two people call me Theodore. My mother, when she’s unhappy. And my classmate Bobby Solofsky, when he wants to be annoying. Which is pretty much all the time. Bobby is a pain in my neck. Let me put it this way. Have you ever stepped on a Lego with your bare feet? There you are, cozy and sleepy, shuffling down the hallway in your pajamas, when suddenly—YOWZA!—you feel a stabbing pain in your foot.
What happened?
The Lego happened, that’s what.
In my world, that Lego is named Bobby Solofsky.
And I’m the foot that stepped on it.
So, please, call me Jigsaw. After all, it’s the name on the card.
Mila is my partner and my best friend on the planet. I trust her 100 percent. Together, we make a pretty good team. We solve mysteries: lost bicycles, creepy scarecrows, surprise visitors from outer space, you name it. Put a dollar in our pockets, and we’ll solve the case. Sometimes we do it for free.
But the Hat Burglar had us stumped.
We were baffled, bewildered, and bamboozled. There was a thief in our school, and I couldn’t catch him. Or her. Because you never know about thie
ves. It could be anybody—he, she, or even it. That’s true. It happens. We once caught a ferret red-handed. Or red-footed. Or red-pawed. Whatever! Point is, the ferret did it. But in this case, no matter what Mila and I tried, nothing worked. The mystery stayed a mystery. It was our toughest case yet. And by the end, the solution very nearly broke my heart.
But let me back up a bit. It all began last week, on a frosty Tuesday afternoon …
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The Case of the
Vanishing Painting
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Read more Jigsaw Jones Mysteries
by James Preller
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The Case of the Hat Burglar—New!
The Case of the Smelly Sneaker
The Case of the Bicycle Bandit
The Case of the Glow-in-the-Dark Ghost
The Case of the Mummy Mystery
The Case of the Best Pet Ever
The Case of the Buried Treasure
The Case of the Disappearing Dinosaur
The Case of the Million-Dollar Mystery
The Case of the Bear Scare
The Case of the Golden Key
The Case of the Haunted Scarecrow
About the Author
James Preller is the author of the popular Jigsaw Jones mystery books, which have sold more than 10 million copies since 1998. He is also the author of Bystander, named a 2009 Junior Library Guild Selection, Six Innings, an ALA Notable Book, and Mighty Casey, his own twist on the classic poem, “Casey at the Bat.” In addition to writing full-time, Preller plays in a men’s hardball league and coaches Little League. He compares coaching kids to “trying to hold the attention of a herd of earthworms.” He lives in Delmar, New York with his wife, three children, cats and dog. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1 Going Buggy
Chapter 2 What’s That Smell?
Chapter 3 Playing with Ideas
Chapter 4 Vanished!
Chapter 5 The Gobstopper
Chapter 6 Spill It, Joey
Chapter 7 Detectives at Work
Chapter 8 Saved by the Bell
Chapter 9 The Suspect
Chapter 10 Crumbs
Chapter 11 Parents’ Night
Excerpt: Jigsaw Jones: The Case of the Hat Burglar
Read more Jigsaw Jones Mysteries by James Preller
About the Author
Copyright
A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK
An imprint of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271
JIGSAW JONES: THE CASE OF THE VANISHING PAINTING.
Copyright © 2004 by James Preller. All rights reserved.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-250-20765-4 (trade paperback) / ISBN 978-1-250-20766-1 (ebook)
Illustrations by Jamie Smith
Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto
First Feiwel and Friends edition, 2019
Originally published by Scholastic in 2004
eISBN: 9781250207661
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