On the Case (From the Files of Madison Finn, 17) (3 page)

That’s when she got her big idea.

“Mom!” Madison said. “I think I might know where your keys are.”

Taking the stairs two steps at a time, Madison raced up to Mom’s bedroom. Phinnie followed her. She looked all around before she discovered the thing she was seeking—along with a whole bunch of other things.

There in Mom’s closet, way in the back corner, was a small pile of random objects.

On the very top of the pile were Mom’s keys, right next to Mom’s other green fuzzy slipper.

“Phinnie!” Madison said, laughing. “You’re some thief! You have Mom’s keys, slipper, her scarf, two or three of those rawhide chew toys I thought you’d eaten already, your missing collar tags, a tennis ball… yuck!”

Madison recoiled. The tennis ball was still wet with dog drool even though it hadn’t been touched in a while.

By now, Mom had joined them in the closet. “I had no idea our dog was such a little pack rat.”

“Me, neither,” Madison said.

“Rowrroroooooo!” Phin barked as if he knew what they were saying.

Madison handed Mom the missing keys. “Here you go,” she said.

Mom shook her head with disbelief. “You saved the day, honey bear,” Mom said, grinning.

“See?” Madison smiled. “I told you
Crime Time
was good for something.”

Mom pocketed the keys. “Okay, okay. Finish up your homework, and then let’s eat.”

Madison gave Mom a kiss on the cheek and skipped into her bedroom. Phin followed close behind. Madison popped the recovered disk into her computer.

Crime Time


Rude Awakening:
Snoop and ye shall find. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but I think I may have a knack for solving mysteries. I know locating a missing disk and keys isn’t like finding some bank robber, but it’s a start.


Move over, Major.


Madison DeMille is on the case.


T
HE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, MADISON F
ound herself back in the media lab. She decided to finish her homework before heading to her afternoon flute lesson with Mr. Olivetti. Try as she might, however, Madison’s laptop distracted her. Instead of studying, she found herself surfing. She opened her e-mailbox.

Dad sent the first e-mail.

From: JeffFinn


To: MadFinn


Subject: Fwd: Fwd: Read This


Date: Tues 12 Oct 10:09
AM


Hey, Maddie,


Stephanie and I are looking forward to dinner tonight. Steak and fries, as requested--your favorite.


Have you heard this one? Why did the skeleton cross the road? Because the chicken dared him! She said the skeleton had no guts!!!


Couldn’t resist.


Love, Dad


P.S.: Call me when you get home from school and I’ll pick you up.


“Oh, Dad,” Madison moaned to herself. “So lame.”

Dad was always sending her bad,
bad
jokes, especially around the holidays. She quickly hit
DELETE
and moved on to the next e-mail.

From: GoGramma


To: MadFinn


Subject: Miss You


Date: Tues 12 Oct 12:11
PM


How are things in Far Hills, my dear? Your mother has not written or called in DAYS and I was a little worried. I know how often you check your mailbox online so this is the best way to get in touch. I’m the same. Still playing cards with Mabel and knitting that afghan I promised you for this winter. I found the perfect sky-blue yarn.


Write back when you can! Love to my favorite pug.


xoxoxo


Gramma


Madison made a mental note to tell Mom about Gramma Helen’s message. She knew the truth: Gramma had probably called once, gotten a busy signal, and then given up and imagined the worst. She did that sometimes.

Another e-mail had a Fall Fling-a-Ding sale coupon attached from Boop-Dee-Doop, Madison’s favorite online store. Perfect! Madison thought. She had just been ogling a pair of cute corduroy pants with flowers embroidered near the cuff. She saved the e-mail and clicked on the next message.

It was from her long-distance keypal, who sounded worried.

From: Bigwheels


To: MadFinn


Subject: HELP!!


Date: Tues 12 Oct 1:58
PM


Where are you?!! I wrote you two different e-mails from school this
AM
and they came back to me undeliverable. Are you having probs w/ur tweenblurt.com address? I know sometimes mail comes back when the server is too busy.


INYH. My parents are arguing again. Only this time I think it’s for real. Is this the beginning of the Big D for me? Even worse, my little sister is throwing these huge tantrums l8ly too (she is SOOOO annoying. When she whines she sounds like a sick Muppet). I feel like I’m in the middle of this huge mess. What a crummy place 2 be.


Please go online l8r so we can talk.


I’ll be in our usual room CHTTRBX tonite after 6 my time, ok? Can u do it? Be there or B(2).


Yours till the web sites,


Victoria aka Bigwheels


Madison knew she would probably be at Dad’s after six, but she hoped she could find time to chat with Bigwheels anyway, maybe on Dad’s computer. She hit
SAVE
to make sure she didn’t forget the time or the name of the chat room.

“Shhhh! Someone will hear us!”

Madison turned abruptly from her laptop. Someone squealed somewhere among the stacks of books behind the place where Madison was sitting.

“I said, shut
up
!” another voice yelled.

The voice sounded familiar, but Madison wasn’t sure whose it was.

She leaned to the side of her chair, craning her neck to get a view of whoever was talking. But now she couldn’t make out any real words—just hushed tones and giggles. She got up slowly from her seat and slid behind a tall bookshelf. Nose to nose with a shelf of biographies, Madison held her breath so she wouldn’t make a sound. She could hear bits and pieces of conversation from where she stood.

“They’re rare!” one girl said. She spoke in a deep whisper.

“… Never find out,” the other girl said. Her voice sounded more like the screaming wheels of a roller coaster.

Madison could make out a few other scraps of conversation in between: “bag,” “music,” and “Don’t tell.”

Who was there? What were they talking about?

Madison bit her tongue and peered through the books on the shelves. Could she identify the two speakers? For a brief moment, Madison thought it might be Poison Ivy and one of her drones, Joan or Rose, but she couldn’t be sure. Her mind raced.

What am I doing here? Madison thought. I never eavesdrop. Why am I eavesdropping? Who’s over there? Maybe I should just turn the corner and speak to them? What is the big secret? Maybe it’s nothing. I’m being so nosy. What am I—?

Madison gulped.

She realized that the voices had stopped. All at once, she dropped to her knees and pretended to be reading a book on the bottom shelf, called
Astrophysics Made Easy.

Like anyone would believe she was actually reading that.

“Hide it,” the nonsqueaky voice whispered.

Madison’s ears pricked up again.

“So-o-o-o-o-o much fun!” the other voice said.

Madison realized she could see who was talking through the books on the bottom shelf. She saw a pair of funny blue loafers next to a pair of ratty-looking tennis sneakers with pink shoelaces.

Whose shoes were those?

What would Major DeMille have done in a situation like this? Madison wondered. Her detective instincts clicked into action. She needed to identify the sneakers and then investigate. Madison stood up slowly, brushed off her pants and took a deep breath. She walked to one end of the tall bookshelf and quickly looped around the other side.

“Excuse me,” Madison said as she turned.

“Yeah?” A boy in a gray sweatshirt stood there holding a giant encyclopedia. “What are you looking at?”

“Um,” Madison felt herself flush. “I thought… you were…” she stammered. “I thought… I heard… girls…”

“Geek,” the boy grunted under his breath.

“Eighth grader,” Madison mumbled back.

But she didn’t have time to be offended. Turning on her heel, she glanced around the library. Where had the girls disappeared to?

She spotted a torn slip of paper on the floor of the library. Had the mystery girls dropped it?

The time and address of an appointment were written in scrawled handwriting with big loops on the y and q
.

Friday at 4 @ 411 Marquette Street

Marquette Street! Madison knew that address. It was near her house on Blueberry Street. She looked closely at the piece of paper. There was an image there, too, that she couldn’t make out. It looked like a photograph. Was it a picture of a tree? Or was it a picture of the top of someone’s head?

Madison wandered back to her bag and laptop, still open in the carrel where she’d been sitting.

“All alone?” someone said.

Madison turned and saw Ivy standing there.

“Where’s Hart?” Ivy asked.

“Huh?” Madison replied.

“Sure,” Ivy snarled. “Play dumb. Look, I don’t know what is going on with you and Hart Jones, but I think you had better just back off. Okay?”

Madison blinked. “What are you talking about?” she said.

“You know,” Ivy said, pursing her lips as if she were about to spit. “You know.”

“I don’t know,” Madison said. “Ivy, I don’t know what you’re—”

Ivy held up her hand to stop Madison from finishing her sentence. “Don’t even bother,” she said.

Ivy spun around and headed toward the other side of the library.

Madison collapsed onto the chair by her laptop, still clutching the sheet of paper she’d found on the floor.

What was going on around there?

Slowly, she pulled her belongings together and packed them neatly into her orange bag. It was three-thirty. She pulled her flute case out and laid it on top of everything else, and then she went downstairs to the music room.

Mr. Olivetti was late, as usual. Madison sat on a stool in the middle of the room, tapping the ground with her foot. She lifted her flute and began to play.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Madison recoiled at her own playing. It was if she’d forgotten how. Her mind was on other things.

Marquette Street.

Madison thought again about the ratty sneakers and the squeaking voice. Where had she heard that voice before? It wasn’t Ivy’s.

Or was it?

“Miss-a-Finn!” Mr. Olivetti raced into the music room carrying an oversize briefcase. While most other male teachers wore plain ties and pants, and didn’t wear jackets, Mr. Olivetti wore a bright red bow tie and a sharp-looking suit. He spoke in a thick Italian accent. “My-a-goodness,” he said. “I’m-a-so late!”

“No prob,” Madison mumbled.

“So, we are ready to make-a-some music, yes?” Mr. Olivetti asked.

Madison nodded. “Yes,” she said.

“We have much to do, Miss-a-Finn,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “Let’s-a-start with tone. Can you hold a middle B-natural?”

Madison smiled. She nodded. “I can try,” she said, positioning the flute in front of her.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Mr. Olivetti made a face, as if he’d eaten a lemon.

“Ahhh,” he said slowly. “After this-a-we practice scale work. Two octaves, yes?”

Madison nodded again. It was harder than hard to relearn a musical instrument. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to be there. Watching
Crime Time
and hanging out at home with Phinnie were a lot more fun.

After the lesson was over and Madison was certain she had no spit left (flute-playing always dried out her mouth), Madison headed for home. She stopped in the locker room first to see if maybe Fiona was there. Fiona usually finished up her soccer practice around four o’clock.

Fiona was not in the locker room when Madison arrived. Madison sat down on a bench and readjusted the books and laptop in her bag. She would be homeward bound after all.

Just as she got up to leave, however, she saw the sneakers—the ratty sneakers with the pink laces that she had seen in the library before. They were planted neatly under a bench directly facing Madison, next to a row of clogs, shoes, and more sneakers.