16
“Reporters?” said Principal York, sounding skeptical. “I don’t have time for this nonsense, children. Aren’t your parents expecting you home?” The principal was a man in a hurry, eating a banana-and-mayo sandwich and, for some reason, trying on costume jackets.
“No, sir. We usually don’t show up till supper’s served,” said Nelle. “What are the costumes for?”
“If you must know, I am playing King Lear in this year’s agricultural festival. And I’m late for rehearsal.”
Truman saw the office had been cleared of evidence, so he plopped himself down on the big chair in front of the principal’s desk and dangled his feet. “Perhaps you’ll have some time for the Monroe Journal.” He poised his pencil over his notebook just like a real journalist.
The principal eyed Nelle, whose father was, in fact, the editor of the paper. “It’s true,” said Nelle. “Truman won a big contest last year for a story he wrote. We’re doing a report on the burglaries. We’re junior . . . detectives.”
“Detective-journalists,” corrected Truman.
“We already know about the pecans and the snake, sir,” added Big Boy.
The principal looked flustered. He knew Truman was persistent, and that arguing often took more time than playing along. “What . . . do you children want to know?” He smiled through gritted teeth.
“Weeeell . . .” Truman said in a long-drawn-out way that he hoped suggested he knew more than he actually did. “It’s obviously an inside job. A student, I suspect . . . do you have a fear of snakes?” He watched the principal closely, looking for a reaction. Clearly the principal did not care for Truman’s eccentric ways.
“Or of pecans?” added Big Boy. “Or of—”
“Sir,” interrupted Nelle. Even though she had a reputation as a bully on the playground, she could be soft and kind when she needed to. “We’re just trying to get at the truth. Do the students have anything to fear? I worry for their safety.”
The principal sat back in his chair. “No, we believe it was just a childish prank. And no, I am not afraid of snakes or pecans. As for who played the prank, the students in question no longer attend this school, and that is all I can say on the matter.”
Truman leaned in. “Then you do know who did it? Have any arrests been made?”
The principal waved him off. “No arrests have been made, there’s no story here, and it’s against policy to release any names to the . . . press. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am expected down at the community theater for rehearsals!”
Truman, Nelle, and Big Boy walked quietly through town, weaving between the old oak trees that grew down the middle of Alabama Avenue. Clouds of dust kicked up by horse-drawn wagons gave a dingy look to everything, coating store windows and wooden porches in red powder.
“Well, that got us nowhere,” said Big Boy glumly.
Truman would have none of it. “Inspector, to solve the case, you have to read between the lines. He seemed like he was avoiding the truth. Former students? Troublemakers looking to even the score, is more like it. I think Mr. York was hiding something.”
He stopped suddenly in the middle of the road, his thoughts racing.
“What is it, Tru—Mr. Holmes?” asked Big Boy.
Tru turned to a dust-covered store window and wrote the word suspects on the glass. “We need a list of suspects. Who around here is always getting in trouble?”
Nelle didn’t have to think long. “The boys over at Hatter’s Mill, for one. Billy Eugene and all them . . . Hutch, Doofie, and that awful Twiggs Butts.”
“What about Wash Jones? He’s always acting suspicious,” said Big Boy.
“Blind Captain Wash Jones?” said Nelle. “He’s old. I don’t think he ever went to that school. Oh, and he’s blind, dummy!”
“It was just an idea,” said Big Boy.
“What about . . . bullies?” Truman said.
Big Boy and Nelle looked at each other.
“What?” asked Truman.
“Well, there’s um . . . Boss,” said Big Boy.
“Why don’t I know about this brute?” asked Truman.
“’Cause he mostly hangs out over in Mudtown. You don’t wanna go messin’ with Boss,” said Big Boy.
“It’s not worth it,” added Nelle.
Truman’s interest was piqued. “Why, what’s he like?”
“He’s the meanest kid in all of Monroe County,” said Nelle. “He’s only twelve, but I know grownups who are scared of him.”
“Why, I bet he could eat three kids the size of Truman and still be hungry,” said Big Boy.
“Oh, nonsense,” said Truman. “One thing I learned on the river is that if you don’t act scared, you can actually talk to anyone. I’ve seen all types of dangerous folks on that steamboat. Some of them turned out to be downright friendly.”
“Truman, do you even know how to fight?” asked Nelle.
Truman took out his deerstalker cap and put it on. “One doesn’t have to fight when one uses one’s brains. I have an idea. Why don’t you two go talk to Billy Eugene and his pals and leave this Boss to me.”
“You’re crazy, Truman,” said Nelle.
“That’s why I’m the brains and you’re the brawn,” he said.
“That don’t make a lick of sense,” said Nelle. “But if you wanna get the snot kicked outta you, be my guest.”