Back in Ben’s bedroom, they scanned the piece of paper Mr. Powell had written on. That way, they could zoom in on the document to examine it letter by letter. They could also put it next to the costume destroyer’s note on the computer screen, so they could compare the two.
But they didn’t actually need all that advanced technology.
Just by glancing at the two pieces of handwriting, they could tell that it was very unlikely the same person had written them both. Mr. Powell’s printing was very distinctive. It looked quite different from the writing on the note.
“I kept trying to think of a way to get him to write ‘Vikings Rule,’ but I couldn’t think of one,” Ben said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Hannah said. “It seems obvious that Mr. Powell didn’t write that note.”
“Unless he disguised his handwriting,” Corey noted. “An artist might have really good control of his finger muscles. And we came around asking about Rocky the Ram, so he might have been on to us.”
“He didn’t seem like someone who would run over a mascot costume and then throw it into a fire,” Hannah pointed out. “He seemed really nice.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Corey said. “And his comments about football were not very nice.”
“That’s true, but I think I agree with Hannah. I’m pretty sure Mr. Powell didn’t do it,” Ben concluded.
“Yeah, I don’t really think he did it either,” Corey admitted. “But at least we got to do our first handwriting analysis.”
Hannah stared at the computer screen. “You know, I think I can read the personality of the person who wrote down this address.”
“Really?” Corey said. “What kind of personality do you see?”
“Artistic,” Hannah said, grinning. “And nice.”
Ben and Corey laughed.
“You know,” Ben said, “when we were talking to Mr. Powell about the incident twenty-five years ago, I started thinking that could be the key to this whole thing.”
“How?” Hannah asked.
“I don’t know.” Ben shook his head. “But it’s too big of a coincidence to not be important. I think we need to find out more about what happened back then.”
Corey opened a folder on Ben’s desk and took out photocopies of the two newspaper articles they’d found at the library. “This is everything the library had. And we checked the Internet. Where are we going to get more information about something that happened twenty-five years ago?”
“Well,” Ben said, “Ricky Collins said his dad remembered all about it.”
Corey raised his eyebrows.
That night, after they’d gone home to eat dinner, the members of Club CSI met in front of the bakery where Mr. Collins worked.
They stood out in front on the dark sidewalk. Inside, the bakery was brightly lit. They could smell bread baking.
“How do we even know he’ll be here?” Corey asked.
“Well, we don’t know for sure,” Ben said. “But I heard Ricky say his dad works the night shift. So this seems like a good chance to talk to him without Ricky being around.”
They tried opening the front door, but it was locked. “Come on,” Ben said. “There must be an employees’ entrance around back.”
They walked down a narrow gap between the bakery and the building next door. At the back of the building they found a door and then tried the handle. The door opened. The smell of baking bread wafted out into the night air.
Corey took a deep breath. “Mmm,” he said. “I wonder if they give free samples.”
As they stepped in, a man dressed in white pants, a white shirt, and a white apron walked up to them. He had flour on his hands and arms.
“The shop’s closed, kids,” he said. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“Actually,” Hannah said politely, “we were wondering if we might speak with Mr. Collins.”
The man looked surprised. “I’m Mr. Collins. How can I help you?”
It was easy to see where Ricky got his size—his dad was a tall, large man. Ricky’s face was shaped more like his mother’s, though.
“We’re in class with your son, Ricky,” Corey said.
“And he mentioned you remembered the time twenty-five years ago when Rocky the Ram was destroyed,” Ben said.
Mr. Collins nodded. “Yeah, I remember that. What did you want to know?”
“Well, we were wondering . . . ,” Hannah began.
But just then the back door opened.
It was Ricky.
“Hey, Dad, I brought your ‘lunch,’” he said, holding up a bag. Then he noticed the members of Club CSI. “What are you dorks doing here?!”
“Hi, Ricky,” Corey said. “How ya doin’?”
Mr. Collins took the bag. “Ricky, your friends want to hear about the Rocky the Ram thing. The one from twenty-five years ago.”
“I’m sure they do,” Ricky said. “But Charlie and I are going to win those tickets, not you three.” He glared at them.
Club CSI got the message.
“Okay, I guess we’ll just see you at school,” Ben said, heading toward the door. “Thanks, anyway, Mr. Collins.”
“Thanks?” he asked. “What for? I didn’t tell you anything.”
Ben was already outside. Hannah followed him out. As he reached the door, Corey turned back.
“You don’t give out free bread samples, do you?”