Nobody could argue with that.
CHAPTER 7
A Shrinking Footprint
At the dress rehearsal that evening, the Aldens sat in the audience with Aunt Jane and Ray Shaw. The play was fall of suspense—the children watched as Lady Chadwick tracked down clues to find the thief of a priceless diamond necklace. In the final act, with all the suspects gathered together, Lady Chadwick summed up the case. “I came across a footprint in the dried mud,” she said. “After making a plaster mold of the print, I soon discovered it fit someone’s shoe exactly. In fact, the thief is in this very room. I believe the butler did it!”
The Aldens suddenly looked at one another in surprise. “Did you hear that?” whispered Benny.
“Yes,” Jessie whispered back. “There’s a mistake in the play!”
Henry nodded. “If Lady Chadwick made the mold when the mud was dry—”
“The footprint would’ve shrunk!” finished Violet.
Jessie agreed. “It would never fit the butler’s shoe exactly.”
As the curtain went down, Aunt Jane turned to the director. “What a wonderful play!” she said, clapping along with the children. Ray looked pleased. “I just hope it goes half as well on opening night.”
Backstage, they found everyone gathered together in one of the dressing rooms. The cast and crew were helping themselves to the hot and cold food set out on a long table. The children followed the line of people slowly around the table while Aunt Jane went over to congratulate Fern Robson.
After helping themselves to the different dishes, the Aldens sat down in a corner with their heaping plates. “Did you get some of Aunt Jane’s sweet-and-sour meatballs, Benny?” Violet asked. “They’re really good.”
Benny nodded as he crunched into a pickle. “Should we tell Ray?” he asked. “About the footprint, I mean.”
“Let’s hold off on that for now,” Jessie suggested, as she looked around at all the smiling faces.
Henry was quick to agree. “Everybody’s having such a good time. It’d be a shame to spoil it.”
Just then, something caught Violet’s eye. “Don’t all look at once,” she said, “but isn’t that Gil Diggs talking to Ray?”
One by one, the other Aldens looked over. “That’s Gil, all right,” Jessie said in surprise. “I wonder what he’s doing here?”
“Beats me,” said Henry. “He’s not exactly a big fan of the Trap-Door Theater.”
A moment later, Aunt Jane sat down beside Benny. “I was just having a chat with Gil,” she said. “Guess what he told me?”
The children were instantly curious. “What was it, Aunt Jane?”
“He’s planning to turn his movie theater into a children’s playhouse!”
Benny’s eyebrows shot up. “A playhouse?” he echoed. “You mean, like our boxcar?”
Aunt Jane smiled a little. “Not exactly, Benny. Instead of showing movies in his theater, he’ll be putting on plays for children.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Henry said, thoughtfully.
“Gil stopped by to get some pointers from Ray,” Aunt Jane explained. “Apparently, he got a loan from the bank. Of course,” she added, “it’ll mean shutting his theater down for a while to build a stage. But Gil thinks it’ll be worth it.”
Jessie suddenly understood. That’s what Gil had meant on the phone: he was talking about shutting down his own theater!
The Aldens looked at one another. They were each thinking the same thing. They could cross Gil Diggs off their list of suspects.
“Ah, there you are, Jane!” Ray hurried over with Tricia Jenkins. “I wanted to introduce you to our contest winner.”
Aunt Jane held out her hand. “So nice to meet you, Tricia. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a play more,” she said with a warm smile. “By the way, do you know the children? This is Henry and—”
“We’ve met,” Tricia broke in, barely looking over.
Jessie and Henry exchanged glances. It was clear Tricia wasn’t pleased to see them again.
“That surprise twist in the last act was brilliant,” Aunt Jane went on. “I never saw it coming!”
Ray nodded approvingly. “Tricia has a real gift for keeping an audience on the edge of their seats. Right, Fern?” he added, as the actress joined their group.
“Yes, it’s a wonderful play,” Fern agreed, looking over at the author. “One thing, though, Tricia. I always try to understand the character I’m playing. Maybe you could shed some light on Lady Chadwick’s hat.”
Tricia blinked in surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the flowers,” said Fern. “It must mean something that Lady Chadwick wears them on her hat.”
“It means she likes carnations.” Tricia shrugged. “It’s as simple as that.”
“You mean marigolds,” Fern said. “Those are yellow marigolds on her hat.”
“No, they’re carnations, aren’t they?” Tricia argued.
“Marigolds,” Fern said, shaking her head.
“Well … whatever,” said Tricia, shrugging.
“I’m surprised at you, Tricia,” Fern told her. “You underlined ‘yellow marigolds’ in your script. How could you forget?”
“Honestly, Fern!” Tricia snapped. “Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything? Lady Chadwick is fond of yellow marigolds. End of story.”
Jessie caught Henry’s eye. Why was Tricia getting so upset?
“Alice Duncan liked them, too,” Benny was saying. “Yellow marigolds, I mean.”
Tricia seemed startled by Benny’s remark. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know about that,” she said, fiddling nervously with her necklace. “I never had the pleasure of meeting Alice Duncan.”
Violet couldn’t help noticing the gold heart on the chain around Tricia’s neck. The heart was engraved with the letters P.J. Something seemed oddly familiar about the initials. But Violet couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.
“Well, I think Alice would be very pleased if she knew yellow marigolds appeared in the winning play,” Aunt Jane remarked. “They were her favorite flower.”
Ray chuckled. “Alice was quite a character, wasn’t she? And how about that old typewriter of hers? Now, there’s a real antique!”
Aunt Jane nodded. “The keys kept sticking, but that never stopped Alice.”
“I prefer a computer, myself,” Tricia said, her voice cold. “I can’t imagine using an old typewriter that doesn’t print w at all.” With that, she turned and walked away.
Jessie stared after her, puzzled. Nobody had mentioned the typewriter wouldn’t print w. How did Tricia know?
CHAPTER 8
Something Smells Fishy
“We should tell Ray about the footprint,” Benny insisted, as they worked in Aunt Jane’s vegetable garden the next day.
“I think so, too,” said Jessie, shaking the dirt from the roots of a weed. Henry nodded. “We’ll tell Ray about it the next time we see him.”
“I’m sure it’d be easy enough to change the script,” Violet added.
Henry sat down on a rock. “Wow, that afternoon sun sure is getting hot,” he said. “I vote we cool off in the pond.”
“I second that!” said Jessie. “Let’s clean up here, then we can change into our swim suits.”
As they put the garden tools away in the shed, Henry noticed that Jessie’s gaze was fixed on the old typewriter.
“What is it, Jessie?” he asked.
“I was just wondering how Tricia knew about Alice’s typewriter,” she said. “That it wouldn’t print w at all, I mean. I’m sure no one mentioned it.”
Henry, Violet, and Benny had thought nothing of it. But now they wondered about it, too.
“That is weird,” said Violet.
Jessie nodded. “Tricia must have met Alice.”
“Do you think she told a lie?” Benny wanted to know.
“I doubt it,” said Henry, “and I’ll tell you why. If she had been a frie
nd of Alice’s, Aunt Jane would have met her before last night.”
“Good point,” said Jessie, as they stepped outside. “Aunt Jane said she knew all of Alice’s friends.”
“Not all,” Benny argued. “Aunt Jane didn’t know P.J.”
“Who?” Jessie looked puzzled, but only for a moment. “Oh, you mean the friend in Alice’s appointment book.”
Violet suddenly whirled around. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?” Benny wanted to know.
“I knew there was something familiar about the initials on Tricia’s necklace,” Violet explained, her voice rising with excitement. “The letters p and j were engraved on the gold heart she was wearing.”
Benny scratched his head. “But … Tricia’s name begins with a t, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but Patricia starts with a p,” Violet pointed out.
“Oh, I get it!” cried Benny, catching on. “Tricia is short for Patricia.”
Violet nodded. “I have a hunch Tricia is P.J.”
“If you’re right, Violet,” said Jessie, “then Tricia really did lie about not knowing Alice.”
Benny frowned. “I wonder why she’d do something like that?”
“Beats me!” Henry shrugged. “I think I’m too hot to think straight right now.”
With that, they hurried off to change into their swim suits. For a while, they put all thoughts of the mystery aside as they splashed about in the pond near their aunt’s house. It wasn’t until they were heading back across the clover fields, towels flung over their shoulders, that Jessie suddenly snapped her fingers.
“Tricia isn’t the only nickname for Patricia!” she cried.
Henry stopped. “What are you talking about, Jessie?”
“Remember that ad for a typist? The one that fell out of Alice’s appointment book.”
Henry nodded. So did Violet and Benny.
“What was the name in the ad?” Jessie asked.
Henry thought for a moment. “Wasn’t it Patty?”
“Exactly,” said Jessie. “And Patty is another nickname for—”
“Patricia!” cried Violet, in sudden understanding.
This got Henry thinking. “Tricia did change her nickname,” he recalled. “At least, that’s what Ray said.”
“Maybe she thought Tricia had more pizzazz than Patty,” guessed Benny.
“Wait a minute,” said Violet. “Are you saying it was Tricia’s ad in the paper?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure,” Jessie answered. “But it’s possible Tricia and Patty are the same person.”
“Then that would mean Alice hired Tricia to type up her plays,” Henry concluded.
They had to admit it was possible. Didn’t Aunt Jane say that Alice hired a college student? And didn’t Tricia earn money for school on her computer?
“I don’t get it.” Benny frowned. “Why would Tricia lie about it?”
“That’s a good question, Benny,” said Henry.
“We can’t be sure Tricia and Patty are the same person,” Violet pointed out.
“You’re right,” Jessie was forced to admit.
“I guess there’s no way of proving it,” added Henry.
“I know a way,” cried Benny racing ahead. He called back over his shoulder, “Come on!”
As soon as they got back to the house, the youngest Alden headed straight for Alice’s appointment book. When he gave it a shake, the ad fell out onto the kitchen table.
“What’s up?” Henry asked, trying to catch his breath.
Benny handed him the newspaper clipping. “I think we should call this number.”
Henry slapped his brother a high-five. “You’re a genius!”
Benny grinned. “I guess I am.”
Jessie, Violet, and Benny gathered around as Henry dialed the number in the ad. He held the receiver up so they could all listen. With their heads close together, they heard the message on the answering machine: “Hi, Please leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”
“There’s no doubt about it,” Jessie said, as Henry hung up. “That was Tricia’s voice.”
“This is getting stranger and stranger,” said Benny.
“It sure is.” Violet poured lemonade into four tall glasses. “If Tricia was hired to type Alice’s plays, why would she keep it a secret? There’s nothing wrong with helping Alice, is there?”
“No,” said Henry. “Not if that’s all it was.”
“You think there’s more to it than that?” Violet wondered.
“Got to be.” Henry sounded very sure. “Why else would Tricia want to keep it a secret?”
Nobody said anything for a while. They were all deep in thought as they sat around the kitchen table, sipping lemonade.
“It does seem strange,” Jessie said at last. “It’s almost as if Tricia’s hiding something.”
“That’s not all that’s strange,” said Henry, who was staring at the last entry in Alice’s appointment book.
Benny was swirling the ice cubes in his glass. “What is it, Henry?” he asked.
“There’s something weird about this last entry.”
“What’s weird about it, Henry?” Benny wanted to know. “Alice bought shoes that didn’t fit. You said that yourself the other day.”
“I said that then. Now I’m not so sure.”
“What are you thinking, Henry?” Violet wondered.
“Alice didn’t write ‘shoes won’t fit’—she wrote ‘shoe won’t fit.’ ”
Jessie inched her chair closer. “You’re right,” she said, glancing at the appointment book. “It does say shoe—not shoes.” She looked from Henry to the entry and back again. “That is a bit weird.”
Henry said, “Maybe this entry has nothing to do with returning a pair of shoes.”
“What else could it mean?” Violet wanted to know.
Henry paused for a moment to sort out his thoughts. “What if Alice was talking about the butler’s shoe?”
Benny blinked in surprise. “Alice had a butler?”
“No, no.” Henry smiled a little at this. “I’m talking about Lady Chadwick’s butler.”
“What are you saying, Henry?” Jessie asked.
“What if Alice noticed the mistake in the play?” said Henry. “Maybe she realized the butler’s shoe wouldn’t fit a mold that was made in dried mud.”
“You think Alice wanted P.J.—Tricia—to make a change to the script?” Violet asked, after a moment’s thought.
“I’m only guessing,” said Henry. “But I think it’s possible.”
“If you’re right,” Jessie concluded, “then Alice must’ve read Tricia’s play.”
Violet thought about this. “Maybe Alice was giving her a few pointers.”
“Could be,” said Henry. “But why would Tricia keep it a secret? That’s the part I don’t get.”
Violet nodded. “There’s something here we’re not understanding.”
“I don’t know what to make of it either,” said Jessie. “Unless …”
“Unless what?” asked Benny.
Jessie’s mind was racing. “I keep thinking about Lady Chadwick’s hat.”
“That it was hanging from the chandelier in the lobby?” said Benny. “Is that what you mean, Jessie?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“What then?” asked Henry.
“I’m talking about the yellow marigolds,” said Jessie. “Don’t you think it’s odd Tricia didn’t remember what kind of flowers Lady Chadwick was wearing?”
Benny nodded. “She called them carnations.”
“Exactly,” said Jessie. “And yet, she underlined ‘yellow marigolds’ in the script. At least, that’s what Fern said.”
Henry was curious. “Where are you going with this, Jessie?”
“Yellow marigolds were Alice’s favorite flower,” Jessie reminded them, hoping they would understand what she was driving at. Seeing their puzzled faces, she added, “Alice always put yellow mari
golds in her plays.”
“You think it’s more than just a coincidence?” Violet wondered. “That Tricia put yellow marigolds in her play, too, I mean.”
Jessie nodded her head slowly. “I think it’s a lot more than just a coincidence.”
“Back up a minute, Jessie,” Henry put in. “Are you saying Alice noticed a mistake—in her own play?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Jessie told him. “It’s possible she wanted to make the change before Tricia typed up the last act.”
Violet’s eyes widened. “You really think Alice Duncan wrote Lady Chadwick’s Riddle?”
“If she did … that means—” began Benny.
Henry cut in. “It means Tricia put her name on Alice’s play.”
“Oh!” Violet put her hand over her mouth. “You don’t really think Tricia would do something so terrible, do you?”
“I don’t want to believe it, Violet,” said Jessie. “But it’s a pretty strong case against Tricia.”
Henry agreed. “It would explain why Tricia lied about knowing Alice.”
“And she could easily have put her name on Lady Chadwick’s Riddle after Alice died,” Jessie pointed out.
“But why would Tricia do something like that?” Violet wondered.
Henry shrugged. “Maybe she saw the contest as a way to make some quick cash.”
Benny was thinking. “I bet Tricia stole Alice’s tapes, too.”
“You might be on to something, Benny,” Henry had to admit. “Chances are, she wanted to make sure there wasn’t another copy of Alice’s play.”
“Still,” said Violet, “I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions.”
Henry nodded. “You’re right, Violet. It’s one thing to suspect someone. It’s another thing to have proof.”
“But we can’t just do nothing,” Benny insisted. “Can we?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions,” Henry said after a moment’s thought. “Aunt Jane has some errands to run in town. Maybe we could get a ride with her to the theater.”
The Aldens weren’t sure what they were going to do. They only knew they had to do something.
CHAPTER 9
Pointing a Finger