The sky is the color of ten thousand goldfish. What if the reds and oranges and golds of the setting sun were caused by the last rays of light bouncing off all the goldfish spirits flying around in heaven?
Who knows what really happens to fish or to people or to butterflies after they die? Maybe everything has a spirit and every spirit has a color and it just can’t be seen all the time.
Edgar’s neighbor Mr. Timmid was out, raking leaves. He stopped and leaned on his rake and looked at the sky, just like Edgar was doing. Edgar’s heart squeezed. He remembered when Mr. Timmid’s wife had died. Edgar was a second grader at the time and it was the only funeral he had ever been to.
Is Mr. Timmid thinking about his wife’s spirit? Is he missing her with all his might? He must be lonely. I sort of forgot about her, which makes me feel bad. I wonder how many people, at this very moment in time, are sad? I wonder how many people are looking up at the sky?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Overnight, dark thunderclouds had invaded, and now the rain was pounding on top of the school bus like it was trying to get in. An ominous morning. As the bus pulled into the school parking lot, Edgar peered out to see if any criminal-looking types were lurking around the school’s entrance.
The car ahead of them pulled up to the curb, and Destiny hopped out, running so she wouldn’t get wet. She and Maia weren’t even carpooling in the rain together, Edgar noticed. He wondered if Destiny’s parents knew that she had lost her best friend in the world. Or was she hiding it from them, too?
As he got out of the bus, Edgar tried to think of something nice he could say to cheer her up, but his mind was blank.
“Good morning!” Mr. Browning said as he walked by with his broom.
Edgar said good morning and then thought about Ms. Barrett. Had Mr. Browning said anything to her about the card she gave to him? Did he love her back?
When Edgar turned the corner, he saw Ms. Barrett with a frown on her face. Maybe if she smiled more, Mr. Browning would like her. But then again, maybe the reason she wasn’t smiling was because he didn’t love her in return! It was all very confusing.
When Edgar arrived at his classroom, Kip was guarding the door. “Patrick says you can come in, but nobody can touch anything,” he said.
“Another crime has been committed!” Patrick said importantly. He was at the board, where another note was taped, measuring the distance from the floor to the note.
Edgar kicked himself for not getting there earlier. Why couldn’t he have been the one to find the note?
“What was stolen?” Destiny asked.
“Come in and have a seat, everybody,” Ms. Herschel said. “The beautiful silk iris—the flower—that I had in my pencil cup is gone. Mr. Crew gave me that last Christmas.” She read the note again for all the newcomers.
“To pluck the bloom” was a clever way of saying “to steal the flower,” Edgar thought. The thief certainly was poetic! Ms. Herschel had said it was an iris. Maybe that was important. He whipped out his notebook.
An iris was stolen! I wasn’t expecting this. Why an iris? Think…think…think…
“When did it happen, Ms. Herschel?” Maia asked.
“The flower was here when I first arrived. Then, it happened the same way . . . I left the room to get coffee, and when I came back it was gone,” Ms. Herschel said.
Coffee again! When will this woman learn?
Patrick put away his tape measure and turned to face the class triumphantly. “I’ve just verified my theory! The thief taped the note in approximately the same place he did last time.”
“What does that mean?” Kip asked.
“See how I have to reach to touch it? Well, that means the thief is probably taller than average.”
Everybody looked at Taz.
Taz laughed. “What would I want with a flower?”
“And look!” Patrick said, crouching down and pointing to the floor. “More shoe prints with an ‘O’.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Taz argued. “Your shoe prints are there, too, Patrick. I got here first, and when I saw the note, I went to find Ms. Herschel.”
Edgar looked at the new message. “Like I said before, Taz couldn’t write that good if he tried!”
Patrick smirked and handed Ms. Herschel her measuring tape. “Can I tell about the handwriting analysis I did?”
“I already analyzed!” Edgar said. “Anybody could see it’s not his!”
“I did some real handwriting analysis.” Patrick smiled. “Yesterday after school, I looked carefully at the first note the way a real forensic investigator would. I looked at connecting strokes, and line quality, and spacing of words and letters, and pen pressure on both downward and upward strokes. And I realized that the handwriting looked extremely regular and the pressure on each letter looked exactly the same. I hypothesized that the note was printed by a computer with a font that looks like handwriting instead of being real handwriting! I checked the fonts that we have on our computers here at school, and it is an exact match for the font called “Frost Special.”
“Wow! Great detective work, Patrick!” Ms. Herschel exclaimed.
“That’s just the beginning,” Patrick said. “I realized that I could use chromatography to determine exactly what brand of printer ink was used. You see, ink isn’t just one color. It looks black, but really it’s a mix of different colors. Each color has a different particle size. And if you dissolve the ink in a certain way you can see the particular spectrum of colors, which is sort of like the ink’s signature. So I dissolved the ink and made this. It’s called a chromatogram.”
He held out the thief’s first note. The ink had bled into a kind of rainbow of yellow, blue, red, and purple.
“That’s chemistry, Patrick!” Ms. Herschel said.
“I know.” Patrick smiled. “This morning before school, I did a chromatogram of the ink we use at this school, and it’s a perfect match.” He held up another chromatogram. “I checked with Mrs. Peabody and I found out that all the ink used by the school’s printers is the same brand, and it’s not a brand that people can order outside of the school system, which means that the notes had to be printed at school.”
“Excellent work!” Ms. Herschel exclaimed.
“I’m not making an accusation yet, but since the thief used a computer to print the notes, I have proven that even somebody with sloppy handwriting could be the thief.” Patrick looked pointedly at Edgar and then at Taz.
Patrick has used fancy ways to figure out that the thief is tall and used the school computer to write the notes! Patrick’s important scientific father is probably helping him. I hate him and all his fancy words and ways.
I don’t want to believe Taz did it. But I will have to keep my eye on him. Kip is also a suspect again, since the only reason I took him off the list was his handwriting.
“Patrick, you have done some nice detective work. Like I said, let’s all keep an open mind,” Ms. Herschel said.
Maia raised her hand. “Don’t forget it’s Star of the Month talent day!”
“That’s right,” Ms. Herschel said. “Our Star of the Month is Gabriela. Before we start our science lesson, Gabriela will have her moment to shine. Gabriela, are you ready?”
Gabriela and Maia hopped out of their seats and went to the front of the room. Maia explained why she was dancing with Gabriela and handed Ms. Herschel a CD, which Ms. Herschel popped into her computer. As soon as guitar music filled the room, the two girls faced each other and began to dance.
Edgar’s mind was racing. Why didn’t he think of measuring how high on the board the note was taped?
Wait! The thief doesn’t have to be tall. It could be someone short who is standing on something or jumping. What about Kip? He could use his skateboard to stand on. I bet Patrick didn’t think of that! Kip could have done it before anyone saw him.
Or maybe it’s Clarice Stolnup and she stood on a chair! I should keep my eye on her, but it’s too hard since she’s not in my
classes. For sure, I’ll keep an eye on Taz and Kip.
Why oh why are we born with only two eyeballs anyway?
In a snap, he realized one thing: Destiny could not have committed the crime. Edgar had seen her getting out of her mom’s car after the crime had already been committed.
He looked at her. She was sitting perfectly still, watching Maia and Gabriela dance.
Right now, I’m watching Destiny. It’s like she is wearing a mask that looks happy on the outside, but I can tell she’s crying on the inside because Maia is dancing with Gabriela.
I’m glad that Destiny is not the thief! Then she’d be a criminal on top of being sad, and being sad is enough for one person.
I guess I’m wearing a mask, too. Everybody who looks at me just sees this perfectly happy normal boy, but inside I am upset about how Patrick keeps beating me.
I will focus my attention now on Taz and Kip and see if I can uncover any clues. I have to rely on my own brain.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
During math class, Edgar spied on Kip. Kip’s leg was jiggling against his desk, but his leg always did that. He turned his attention to Taz and noticed something suspicious. Taz was staring at something in his hand instead of paying attention to the lesson. What was it? Something else he stole? Edgar had to get a look.
Edgar made a silent apology to his friend the pencil, and then he broke off the tip.
“Ms. Herschel?” He raised his hand. “May I sharpen my pencil?”
“I saw you break it!” Patrick whispered. “What are you doing?”
“None of your business,” Edgar whispered back.
Patrick raised his hand. “I need to sharpen mine, too.”
“Boys. I’m in the middle of a lesson! You may both sharpen your pencils when I’m done.”
Ms. Herschel went on with the lesson. As soon as it was over and the assignment to begin work was given, Edgar and Patrick both jumped up. Edgar raced to the sharpener, purposefully not passing by Taz’s desk. Patrick followed him. Edgar was so mad, he couldn’t hold his pencil straight, and he had to try three times to get it sharp.
“What are you doing?” Patrick whispered angrily.
“What are you doing?” Edgar whispered back.
On the way back to his desk, Edgar took a chance. He passed by Taz’s desk and glanced over without moving his head so that Patrick couldn’t see.
Taz was staring at a keychain!
Quickly, he slid into his seat and pretended to begin work on his math. Two seconds later Patrick leaned over and whispered, “I bet he stole that keychain, too!”
Edgar’s pencil broke again.
Ms. Herschel set her coffee cup down and mouthed the words, “Get to work,” at Edgar.
Edgar looked at her coffee cup and a fresh idea filled him to the brim. He grabbed his notebook and hurried to his teacher’s desk.
OFFICIAL INTERVIEW
WITH MS. HERSCHEL
EDGAR:
May I ask you a question?
MS. HERSCHEL:
Is it about the division, multiplication, subtraction, or addition of fractions?
EDGAR:
It is about the subtraction of an iris from this room.
MS. HERSCHEL:
I thought so.
EDGAR:
Who would you say is the worst of all your enemies, ma’am?
MS. HERSCHEL:
I don’t really have any enemies, Edgar.
EDGAR:
What about coffee?
MS. HERSCHEL:
What about coffee?
EDGAR:
Everyone knows you drink a lot of it, ma’am. Other teachers might want some coffee, too. Perhaps you are known as a coffee hog. Perhaps another teacher is stealing your prized possessions as revenge for the fact that you hog the coffee.
MS. HERSCHEL:
Edgar, I believe you are the first person in the entire world to call me a coffee hog.
EDGAR:
I would say it takes one to know one, ma’am, but I don’t like coffee.
MS. HERSCHEL:
You’re one of a kind, Edgar.
EDGAR:
Thank you. Do you know what Mr. Crew drinks?
MS. HERSCHEL:
Tea.
EDGAR:
Exactly.
MS. HERSCHEL:
And what does that have to do with this?
EDGAR:
He’s never had anything stolen from his room, has he?
MS. HERSCHEL
No.
EDGAR:
Maybe you should switch.
IMPORTANT CONCLUSION:
Ms. Herschel is finally seeing the light.
Edgar closed his notebook and let his new theory percolate. Another teacher is stealing Ms. Herschel’s possessions because Ms. Herschel is a coffee hog. An original theory, Edgar was sure. He watched the clock. He wanted to be first out the door, so that he could be the one to tell Mr. Crew about the latest theft.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Edgar was first out the door, with Patrick at his heels.
“Look! It’s the thief!” Patrick yelled.
Edgar turned to look, and Patrick sped ahead, laughing.
By the time Edgar arrived at Mr. Crew’s classroom, Patrick had already showed him the thief’s message. When everyone was seated, the teacher asked Patrick to read it again to the entire class. “Listen to the meter as he reads it,” Mr. Crew said. “Meter is the rhythm of the poem. Listen to how this poem sounds. ‘Whose room this is I think I know.’ Ba bum, ba bum, ba bum, ba bum.”
Patrick read the poem.
“Why do you think some poets use meter or rhythm?” Mr. Crew asked.
“Because they like hip hop,” Taz said.
“Because it gives the poem a beat,” Maia said.
“Yes! Any other ideas?”
“It’s like a heartbeat,” Destiny said.
“Yes! Rhythm is all around us and in us. The heartbeat is the first thing we hear, even before we’re born! We hear our mother’s heartbeat and it connects us. Everybody sit down and listen.” He drummed a rhythm on his desk with the palms of his hands. “Come on, connect to the rhythm.”
Taz was first. He started thumping the rhythm on his desk. Everyone else joined in. At first, Edgar didn’t want to participate because he felt so cheated out of being first to the room, but the rhythm was like a voice, calling him to join in. When Edgar began drumming, he felt as if he had become a part of some big, living thing that was outside and inside himself at the same time.
As a group, they began to drum faster and louder, each student certain the principal was going to come in and tell them to stop.
“Boom! Boom! Boom!” Mr. Crew said to the beat.
“Booming in the room!” Taz yelled.
“Boom! Boom! Boom!” Mr. Crew chanted. “Booming in the room!”
They all started chanting. “Boom! Boom! Boom! Booming in the room!”
The beat began to slow down and get softer and softer and finally it came to a stop.
“Let’s boom it again,” Taz said.
Mr. Crew laughed. “If you read a poem with meter, the rhythm helps you to connect with the poem, with the message of the poem, and even with the poet. A poem is a connection. Everybody take a minute, and get silent. Try to hear a rhythm. Then try writing a poem with that rhythm.”
Edgar sat very still and tried to get in touch with his inner rhythm. The silence was electrifying. His heart was thumping a mile a minute, probably because he was still mad at Patrick. Ba bum, ba bum, ba bum, ba bum. He looked around. Taz had his eyes closed. He wondered what he was thinking about. He looked at Destiny. She had her eyes closed, too.
The rain was still coming down, plunking against the windows with a rhythm of its own. Edgar watched the water streaming down in little rivers.
He looked at Destiny again. Even with her eyes closed, she looked sad to him. Would she look sad to anybody else? Or just him because he knew her secret sadness?
Edgar looked at the sentence Mr. Crew had painted above the board. “A poem is a gift.” A remarkable idea occurred to Edgar. What if he left a poem in her cubby? . . . He took out a sheet of paper.
Stopping by Your Cubby on a Gray Day
It’s raining now. I think I hear
Each droplet falling like a tear
I spy your pain and want to say
You’re not alone! So never fear!
Careful not to let Patrick see, he folded the paper, wrote Destiny’s name on it, and put it in his pocket. Now his heart was pounding louder than ever. Would he have the guts to follow through with it?
“Edgar, it looks like you’re finished,” Mr. Crew said. “Would you like to read yours?”
“No!” Edgar yelped.
“Destiny, how about you?” Mr. Crew asked.
Destiny looked down. “No, thanks.”
Mr. Crew paused with a smile, waiting to see if either of them would change their minds. Then, he looked out at his class.
“What about you, Taz?”
Taz grinned. “Sure.”
Edgar switched gears in his brain, away from thinking about Destiny back to Taz. Before he had come up with his new theory about a coffee-loving teacher taking revenge on Ms. Herschel, Taz was his prime suspect. Edgar had to follow through with the coffee lead, but also, he had to keep focused on his classmates.
Taz read his poem.
Fetch
I fling it far across the field.
My dog goes chasing after.
He grabs it in his slobberjaws
and runs back even faster.
Next time I play fetch with my dog,
a stick is what I’ll use,
instead of mom’s new oven mitt,