Mystery of the Secret Message (3 page)

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.

E
veryone 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.”

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.

“Oh, that photograph.” The pharmacist drew his bushy brows together in a frown. “I told you kids to forget about it. One dumb photograph isn’t important.”

But Violet knew the photograph
was
important.

“We’d like to track down the owner,” she said. “Could you tell us who was in the store yesterday morning? When the delivery man dropped the bag of envelopes?”

Mr. Kirby made an impatient noise. “Do you kids really think I can remember everyone who was in the store yesterday morning? I don’t even know the people around here. I’m just the substitute. Now I’m very busy.”

Henry took the hint. Mr. Kirby was always too busy to bother with “kids.”

“One more thing,” he said. “Could we leave our paint supplies with you? We’ll pick them up tomorrow.”

Mr. Kirby flapped his hand. “Yeah, sure. I’ll take care of it. Just leave the stuff outside the store.”

“Maybe Mrs. Turner will help us,” Benny said, leading the way to the counter.

Mrs. Turner laughed when she saw the Aldens. “Look at those red hands!”

“We’ve been painting benches,” Benny said. He looked down at his red-smeared fingers.

Henry spoke up. “Mrs. Turner, could you tell us who was in the store yesterday when the photo delivery man dropped the bag? We asked Mr. Kirby, but he couldn’t help us.”

The waitress shook her head sympathetically. “You have to forgive Mr. Kirby. He was hoping to end his stay in Greenfield, but Mr. Cooke called to say he’d be gone another week.” Mrs. Turner lowered her voice. “I think he’s trying to find a job in another town. He keeps phoning to set up interviews.”

“I don’t know why he doesn’t like it here,” Jessie said. “Greenfield is a friendly town.” Much friendlier than Mr. Kirby, she thought.

Henry got back to the question. “Do you remember who was in here yesterday?”

“Sure do. Two of them are here right now.” Mrs. Turner nodded toward the back of the store. “Sylvia Pepper was one. She made a big fuss because we don’t carry her brand of toothpaste.”

“Who else?” Benny prodded.

“The young man who’s running the museum,” the waitress replied. “What’s his name?”

“Rick Bass,” Jessie supplied.

“And that new photographer next door. Dawn Wellington,” added the waitress.

Violet drew in a breath. Dawn had never mentioned being in the drugstore the morning of the photo mix-up.

“The place was a madhouse,” Mrs. Turner went on. “No wonder the man from the lab dropped his delivery sack.”

A line of people waited at the cash register by the door. Sylvia Pepper tapped her foot impatiently. Rick Bass was also in line. Mrs. Turner left to take care of the customers.

“Did you hear that?” Henry said. “Both Sylvia Pepper and Rick Bass were in here yesterday morning.”

“Dawn, too,” said Benny.

“Any one of them could have picked up pictures they had developed,” Jessie stated.

“Not Dawn,” Violet said. “She develops her own film. Why would she send her photos away to a lab?”

“But she really wanted to keep your message photo,” Henry reminded her. “I wonder why she was so interested.”

Violet nodded. Henry was right. Maybe Dawn was the one who sent the message photo. Or was she the one who was supposed to receive it?

Benny was thinking that a hot fudge sundae would hit the spot. “Mysteries sure make me hungry,” he hinted.

Jessie smiled. “Sorry, Benny. Mrs. Turner is busy. And we have to get home.”

The children worked their way through the crowd clustered near the front door.

As Jessie put her hand on the door to push it open, she felt the strap on her tote bag dig sharply into her shoulder. A second, harder jerk nearly knocked her off balance.

She whirled to look back, but there were too many people leaving the store. That yank was deliberate.

Someone had tried to steal her bag!

“Henry! Did you see who tried to grab my bag?” asked Jessie.