15
When they got within spitting distance of Monroe County Grammar School, Truman saw the broken glass by the front door. Callie and the other teachers were directing the students through a side entrance.
“Do you think it’s connected, Sherlock?” asked Big Boy, looking through the magnifying glass.
“Just like a button to a jacket,” he said as he slipped into the line. Truman broke away from the flow of traffic as soon as Callie wasn’t looking. He walked calmly over to the front door, where Hudson, the old janitor, was sweeping up.
“Morning, Hudson,” he said, tipping his cap. He started scanning the ground for clues.
“Mornin’, Mr. Truman,” said Hudson, staring at his odd cap. “Sure is a mess this morning.”
Truman spotted something on the steps among the broken glass.
“Hello . . .” he said to himself. He leaned down and picked up a small rock and studied it. He reached into his pocket and took out the other rock he’d found minutes before. They were about the same.
Hudson noticed the stones. “Jus’ toss ’em over by the flagpole with the rest of ’em.”
Truman followed Hudson’s gaze over to a small rock garden around the pole. All the rocks were about the same size and color.
“The plot thickens,” he said, rubbing the stones. “Thanks, Hudson.” He ran over to join up with the others in line.
“Well?” asked Big Boy. “Any clues?”
Truman nodded, holding up the rocks. “What do you see?”
Nelle grabbed Big Boy’s magnifying glass and examined the rocks. “They’re . . . the same?”
“My conclusion exactly, Watson. Two broken windows on the same night? Any fool can see they’re connected.”
When Truman pointed out the rock garden to them, Nelle and Big Boy had to agree. “I would conclude that they struck here first, got an appetite for recklessness, and went into town for more.”
“Ain’t these rocks kind of small to break a winda?” asked Nelle, sucking on her pipe.
“Isn’t a bullet small?” answered Truman. “The more important question is not how, but who.”
“Who?” asked Big Boy.
“Exactly,” said Truman. “An angry student? A bitter teacher? We need to find out if something was stolen from here too.”
“Maybe the school has more brooches,” said Big Boy.
“Maybe your brain is a brooch, Big Boy,” said Nelle.
“Pay attention,” Truman said as they approached Cousin Callie. She wore her collar too tight and it made her look like she was always about to pass out. She was not in a good mood, as usual. Keeping the children in line was like herding cats, and she disliked cats.
Truman tried to talk to her. “Callie, I was wondering—”
“Truman. Can you not see how busy we are? This unfortunate accident has put us all behind schedule.”
“Well, about the accident, do you know who—”
“I am in such a state. Get back in line!” she yelled at another student who’d wandered two steps off.
“But, Callie, who—”
Callie grabbed Truman by the collar of his jacket and stared daggers at him. “Do. Not. Cause. Trouble. And take off that silly hat.”
Truman, red-faced, nodded. Nelle and Big Boy stared at the ground and shuffled along.
“She’s still mad because I can read two grades higher than her other students,” he hissed to Nelle. “Sometimes, I have to pretend not to know things just so she won’t look bad!”
“Go see if she’ll talk to you, Big Boy,” said Nelle.
Big Boy was not about to do that. Callie scared him.
Nelle crossed her arms. “I don’t think she knows anything anyways. Maybe I will do a little detecting on my own.”
At lunch, Nelle bypassed the teachers and went straight back to Hudson, the janitor. She had a hunch he knew more than he was letting on; he was often the first one in and the last one out at night. He must have seen something.
“Excuse me, Hudson. How are you on this fine day?” Nelle said, all smiles.
Hudson viewed her suspiciously, puzzled that two children would greet him in one day when most tended to ignore him.
She smiled at him with her big hazel eyes. “I was wondering . . . if you had an opinion on who mighta done this horrid thing to our school.”
Hudson looked at her uneasily. He wanted to avoid trouble. “Well, Miss Nelle, I don’t rightly know. From the way them kids is talkin’, they think it’s the boogeyman that done it. Nothin’ stolen, just a mess of pecan shells all over Principal York’s office. Plus”—he glanced around to see if anyone was listening—“someone drew a giant snake on the chalkboard.”
“Another snake!” said Nelle.
Hudson nodded. “Strange goings-on, if you ask me.”
Nelle’s eyes went wide with excitement. “What’d it look like?”
Hudson shrugged. “It were too simple a pitcher to tell what kinda snake. It just looked like a giant S. With pink eyes.”
“Pink eyes?” she asked.
He dug around in his pocket and produced a piece of pink chalk. “Closest thing to red, I suppose.”
Nelle was excited to report her findings to the others. As soon as school was over, she, Truman, and Big Boy met up by the swing set to discuss the case.
Truman grew excited as Nelle told him about the pecans and especially the snake drawing. “Those are two very important clues, Watson. It means that (a) the suspect has access to a pecan tree, since there aren’t any here, and (2) he or they have something against the principal, and (c) . . . he must like snakes. Maybe they belong to some kind of secret snake society”—he snapped his fingers—“the Red-Eyed Snake Gang!”
“You mean pinkeye,” said Big Boy, chuckling to himself. “My baby sister gave me pinkeye once.”
“Maybe it was some farmer’s kid?” said Nelle, unsure.
“What farmer’s kid is going to break into a school and leave pecans behind? And why would he want a cameo brooch?” Truman paced back and forth. “And what does the snake mean anyways? Is it a warning of some kind?”
“Heck, everyone likes pecans. Maybe the brooch was a gift for his mom?” said Big Boy.
Truman ignored him. “We need to interview Principal York and find out who his enemies are.”
“I don’t think anyone likes the principal,” Nelle said. “But who would play a joke on him?”
“Somebody who’s either above the law or just playing a prank. In any case, we must interview the principal and narrow down the suspects,” said Truman.
“And how we gonna do that? We cain’t just waltz in there and start asking questions,” said Nelle.
Truman took out his notepad. “We can if we pose as reporters.”