The Astounding, Daring, and
Thoroughly Thrilling Adventures of Jake and Carl
Click.
Is this thing on? Testing,
1, 2, 3…Testing, 1, 2, 3.
Okay, we’re good.
It is
[“I can’t believe you’re actually
recording this.”
“Shhh, you’re messing it up!
When else am I going to get this opportunity?
I mean, it’s not like there are too many crimes that go on around here.
So just play along, will you?”]
Some people might wonder why Carl would wear a broken watch instead of getting a new one. Carl and me, we laugh at those people behind their backs—they obviously don’t realize that this is a first edition Sheriff Sky collectible from, oh, about five and a half years ago now when the show first began airing. We discovered it when Carl’s older brother smashed the television set with a baseball one summer. The show was part of the local station’s attempt to “bring back the golden age of radio,” or something like that. We were hooked. It’s remained our favorite ever since, even after Carl’s dad bought a new TV set. That watch there is gonna be in a museum one day.
I had one too until just the other day (or maybe it was even today, as I’ve said, I have no idea what the time is), though mine was red instead of blue and would occasionally give a half-hearted twitch to let me know that it was still alive. For all I know, it’s now smashed at the bottom of Miller’s Ravine, never to be seen again.
Okay, Carl says I have to explain this accent. Sorry, it’s kind of a habit now. I don’t actually talk like this but I really like the Old West because of the Sheriff Sky show and I just find the accent more appealing. Besides, it fits the whole crime-theme we’re going for. So, let’s just deal with it, okay? Now, back to my story.
“Jake?” Carl asks, interrupting my thoughts.
[“Whoa, that’s just taking it too far.
Tag lines? Really Jake?”
“Carl!
Don’t interrupt! Just read the lines I wrote out for you.”
“I still can’t believe you scripted
this.”
“It’s just these opening lines.
All radio dramas are scripted.”
“But this isn’t radio—this is real life.
We’re locked in a furnace room for crying out loud!”
“Yes, but real heroes never show their
fear in the face of adversity.”
“Oh brother.”]
“Hmm?” I
answer, examining the scuffed toe of my cowboy boot.
You don’t see this kinda footwear too often around Oak Rise Falls, it not
being exactly what you’d call the country ‘round here.
More like the suburbs—concrete buildings stretching on for miles and them
all looking exactly the same. These
boots, though, are genuine leather.
My pa got them for me when he went on a work trip to
“How exactly did we end up here?” Carl asks. “I mean, I remember being brought down here and those guys giving their super spooky warning and all that, but how did we go from reading those comic books at the supermarket—sorry, general store—to being locked in the school furnace room?”
[“Why do I
have to sound like the stupid one here?
I remember everything.”
“I need it as an intro.
Now will you please stop
interrupting?”]
Carl’s a great sidekick and all, but a bit slow with this detective stuff. I sometimes worry that he doesn’t have the stomach for crime like I do. Okay, now he’s laughing. Well, Carl, if you don’t like my narration, you don’t have to listen. He says to go on. I glare at him first, but since I have nothing better to do, I clear my throat and begin.
**********
Well, it was a Tuesday just like any other Tuesday. It’s late May so the heat has begun to creep in, that kind of early summer heat that curls around the trees and lays low over the land, making everything seem distorted like it’s underwater.
[“That’s real pretty, Jake.”
“Oh be quiet.”]
The heat brought with it that summertime feeling, when you get that itching to go out and do well, nothing, really, but to go out and do something other than sit behind a desk for too many hours each day staring blankly at your algebra. This brings us to Mr. Silverman’s math class, fourth period. (Technically, it’s a pre-algebra class but it doesn’t sound as good to say “staring blankly at your pre-algebra.” That sounds childish, which is not what we’re going for here.)
So, I’m sitting at my desk trying to focus on what Mr. S is saying about functions but really I’m just watching the hands on the clock, wondering how I’m going to make it to the end of this day. I can’t even think about summer right now, that would be disastrous seeing as it’s still three and a half long weeks away. I must’ve dozed off or something since next thing I know there’s a book slamming down just inches away from my face. I look up, dazed, to see Mr. Silverman standing there.
“Mr. Jennings,” he says in that stuck-up way of his. “Kindly refrain from snoring in my class, it’s hardly becoming.” I go red in the face as he adds, “See me for detention after school.”
So, after suffering through two more periods I have to drag myself back to Mr. Silverman’s class. I’m dreading this, thinking he’d probably make me clean the desks or something which I hate since he uses this awful cleaner that stinks to high hell. I get to his classroom and the door’s closed, so I crack it open, about to go in, when I hear something and stop. Mr. S is standing in the far corner by his desk, wrapped up in his phone cord, talking rapidly in a low voice.
“Yeah, I’ve got the money. So the plans are all set for the . . . yes, I said I’ll bring the money and the other . . . items. But you’re sure that you can pull this off? I want this to go smoothly—I don’t want him to suspect a thing. Oh, he deserves it. Okay, just let the other guys know and be ready to pull off this kidna—Mr. Jennings, how long have you been there?”
I nearly jump out of my skin. “Oh, I-I just got h-here Mr. S-Silverman. For my d-detention, like you said.” He looks at me hard as I try my best not to look suspicious. My mind is racing—did he say “kidnap”?
He seems to think that I didn’t hear anything important and flaps a hand at me, turning back to his phone. “Well, you got off easy this time, Mr. Jennings. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
**********
So I skedaddle out of there fast as I can and meet my best friend—that’s Carl here—by the bike racks. “C’mon,” I say and we race our bikes over to the general store (also known as the True Supermarket—I’ve always wondered about the name).
“What just happened?” Carl asks as we slow down at the entrance of the large parking lot that separates the store from the street. As we approach, the sign winks on. The bulb behind the “T” burnt out a couple of years ago and they never replaced it, so that now the sign reads “rue” when it’s lit up, which I don’t find very uplifting. “I thought you had detention.”
So, I fill him in. “Have you heard of anyone in particular being kidnapped or planning on being kidnapped lately?”
“Don’t think so,” Carl answers, frowning a bit. So we leave it at that for the moment and head to the aisle with the comic books. The incident is still tickling the back of my mind but I can’t really do anything until I hear about something happening. I’ve learned through experience that the police aren’t really inclined to listen to young boys. Like that time when Carl and I thought we had discovered alien tracks down behind the sandpit in the playground. It turned out that they weren’t really alien tracks (they were from Marcy Ward walking around in her new scuba-diving flippers), but the police didn’t even investigate, which I felt was highly unprofessional of them. We’re doomed if the aliens ever do decide to make an attack.
**********
Later, we’re at Carl’s house waiting for the Sheriff Sky
program to come on. After the
familiar opening song, this comes on: “News flash: Sheriff Sky disappeared
around
Carl turns off the radio. “D’ya think?”
“I don’t know. But I’m definitely gonna find out. C’mon, Sheriff Sky needs us!” I rush out of the door, not forgetting to grab my water pistol from where it sits besides Carl’s on the counter. We carry these with us everywhere (well, except to school ‘cuz they’re not allowed).
**********
We arrive at the school on our bicycles but everything is closed and locked seeing as it’s almost dinnertime. Dusk is settling in now, and the sun is dipping towards the horizon. I decide that we can still look for clues, seeing as Mr. S was planning the crime on the premises. We’re around back now, near the chain link fence that keeps kids in the playground and other people out. The fence runs perpendicular to a brick wall against which all the dumpsters kind of slump.
“Jake, I don’t see anything here.” Carl says. I’m inclined to agree with him when I hear something on the other side of the wall. I motion for Carl to be quiet and we scramble on top of the dumpsters to try and see over.
On the other side of the wall is a small alleyway. There are doors that seem to be the back entrances to a string of small businesses that line the street: Giorgio’s Pub, McIntire Antiques, and Le Tourterelle Beauty Salon. There are three figures in dark suits standing beside a bunch of crates. They look very shady—the type that might be involved in a kidnapping.
“You got him?” One of them asks—a man’s voice.
“All packed up. Not a sound. Where should I put ‘im?” Another man, I notice.
“The trunk. And be careful. I’m looking to get a nice sum offa’ this one. Let’s go.”
“What if someone sees us?”
“Are you kidding? This town shuts down at dinner time.”
They head around the corner with some of the crates. I hear car doors slam. Neither of the men that spoke had sounded like Mr. S but they could always be in cahoots.
“C’mon,” I whisper. We clamber off the dumpsters, hop on our bikes, and race down to the end of the block. A large truck is just turning the corner. It’s white—no markings of any kind. There are no license plates either. Dangit, that would make this so much easier. “Don’t let it out of your sight!” I tell Carl, pedaling furiously after the truck. There isn’t too much traffic at this hour but there’s enough to hopefully hide the fact that we’re tailing them. Or trying to tail them. The truck starts up a hill and we begin to drop further and further behind.
We lose sight of the truck at a busy intersection when we’re stopped by a red light. I want to keep going but Carl points out that we’d probably be better off returning to the scene of the crime and doing some investigating. I suspect this is partly because he doesn’t feel like going full speed on a bike for much longer but, since I’m pretty tired too, I don’t object. I guess there’s a reason high speed chases don’t usually involve bicycles.
We slowly make our way back to the school and lock our bikes up outside of Le Tourterelle. It’s getting dark and the streetlights have just turned on. After looking around outside the storefronts and finding nothing, I decide it would be a good idea to visit the owners of the shops bordering the alleyway. You know, interrogate the suspects and all that. We head into Giorgio’s.
**********
Since it’s a Tuesday night, the pub isn’t that crowded. A couple of businessmen sit scattered around the place sippin’ their drinks. Giorgio himself sits behind the counter. I know he’s Giorgio because he’s got that sloppy-yet-authoritative look of a guy that’s been running a bar for a long time—well, that and he’s got a plastic nametag saying as much. He’s a large guy with dark stubble and a red apron slung around his waist. According to the hearsay around the schoolyard, he used to be a famous wrestler or a policeman or an army general, something big and strong, though now the little hair he has left on his head is tending towards grey and his beer belly protrudes over the top of his apron. At the moment he’s polishing a glass. I stride right up to him, not forgetting to turn on my recorder first.
“Mr. Giorgio. We have reason to believe that someone around here is involved in the kidnappin’ of the esteemed Sheriff Sky. What do you know?” I lower my voice, “It’ll go better for you if you tell the truth, if you know what I mean.”
He raises his head and seems startled to see us. Supposedly he damaged his hearing when he was in the navy or something so maybe he didn’t hear me. “Hey, what are you boys doin’ in here? You’re not over twenty-one and I ain’t gonna serve you nothin’.”
I patiently clarify our purpose. “We’re not here as customers, we’re here as investigators. So spill, what’ve you got?”
“What’s that? You spilled something? I’m not cleaning up after you.”
“No, no. We want to know about the kidnapping. Sheriff Sky’s kidnapping.”
“What was that? Is that lazy boy napping on the job? I’ll go teach him to shirk his work!”
Carl kindly writes down what we want to know on a napkin and hands it over. “Well shoot, I forgot my glasses at home today.” He squints hard, holding the napkin about an inch away from his nose. “Kidnap? Who was kidnapped? Why didn’t you call the police or somethin’?” Carl points again to the napkin. He reads further, “Sheriff Sky—oh you’re talking about that whatchamacallit, that radio show, right? My grandkids listen to that. Wait, you’re here because Sheriff Sky was kidnapped?” He throws his head back and roars with laughter, his belly shaking. “Boys, Sheriff Sky ain’t real, see? And if he was, I definitely wouldn’t be involved in a kidnapping. See, I used to be a policeman back in the day and…” We leave him to finish telling his story to a willing customer.
As we leave I scoff, “‘Sheriff Sky ain’t real.’ A lot he knows.”
**********
A bell jingles above the door as we walk into McIntire Antiques. The shop is cluttered with all sorts of old expensive junk jumbled together on rows of shelves. We wander towards the back of the store and ring the little bell that sits on the counter between a box of faded photographs and a single baby shoe.
“Coming!” a voice calls as an older lady emerges from the back room, “Hello there. Now, what can I do for you boys?”
The hair throws me off. She’s dressed just as someone’s grandma ought to be dressed—bulky knitted sweater pinned with a gigantic brooch, a long flowing skirt, lots of large glass necklaces, flat penny loafers, and spectacles on a chain perched on her tiny face. But then there’s the hair. It’s lilac, a shade that would be appropriate for those little tasteless sprinkles they put on top of cupcakes, not a color that belongs on someone’s head.
“Um, hi. I’m Jake Jennings and this is my friend Carl.” Carl is still gaping at the woman’s hair. I poke him in the ribs. “We were wondering if you had noticed any suspicious activity around here in the last hour or so.”
“The last hour? Well no, dear, sorry. I was over at Le Tourterelle getting my hair done. See, the salon just opened and I was trying to be friendly and give them business. Unfortunately, the owner, Elise Beaufort, was out at the time and her assistant messed up with the hair dye, as you can see,” she smiles at Carl who looks sheepish, “It was supposed to be black, but I’m not too disappointed—this color is kind of fun!”
Carl looks like he’s about to explode with laughter and I know I have to get him out of there fast. “Well, thanks for all your help!” I smile as I drag Carl out the door.
**********
“I’m looking forward to hearing these purple-hair-dying French accents,” Carl laughs as we head into Le Tourterelle.
“Hello,” a voice says to our right. We look up, and up, and up. A tall slender woman stands there, chestnut hair up in an impeccably styled hair-do. “Are you boys here for an appointment?”
“No ma’am,” I answer. “We’d like to speak to Ms. Beaufort.”
“That’s me,” she smiles. “What did you want to speak about?”
“Wait a second,” Carl interjects. “Aren’t you French? Why don’t you have an accent?”
“Actually, I’m an American, born and bred.
From
“I’m Jake,” I say, settling down at one of the stations. “And this here is Carl.” I notice that the counters are extremely well organized. Everything is labeled and arranged.
Ms. Beaufort reaches over and picks a piece of string off of Carl’s sleeve. “Sorry, I’m a bit of a neat freak. I’m very detail-oriented. I suppose it helps in my line of work—beauty is a very precise art, you know. Styling hair or curling eyelashes is like, oh, like creating a masterpiece.”
“I’m sure.” I smile indulgently. “I was wondering if you could tell us where you were the last hour? Mrs. McIntire told us you just recently returned from somewhere. Also, have you noticed any suspicious activity? See, we think there was a crime that took place hereabouts.”
“A crime?” she asks, her eyes widening. “What sort of crime?”
“A kidnapping, ma’am,” I tell her gravely.
“Oh dear!
Well actually, I was over in
When we leave, Carl looks disappointed. “Dangit—I really wanted to hear a French accent!”
**********
It seems that we’ve hit a dead end and I’m feeling kind of depressed. Carl notices and suggests that we check out the alleyway before we head home. We head around the end of the block and are just about to turn the corner into the alley when I stop and pull Carl back. I hear voices. Slowly, we peek around the corner and see that the truck has returned. As we watch, the engine fires up. “Holy mackerel!” I whisper as we race to get our bikes.
This time the truck drives a bit slower and we have the cover of night to hide us. We pedal hard, following it out of the city and up into the hills that sit towards the east. We’re falling behind but luckily there isn’t anyone else out here so we can still see the truck’s lights in the distance. The truck slows down a bit more and takes a small dirt road that winds up around the mountainside.
Carl pants, “Hold on, I recognize this road! My dad took me and my brother here that time we went camping. This is out near Miller’s Ravine—it’s so cool, Jake! It just drops straight down and there’s nothing but rocks at the bottom.”
“Cool,” I agree, breathing hard. Biking uphill on an unpaved road is no small task. I just remind myself that I’m doing this for the Sheriff.
“I think they’re stopping,” Carl hisses at me. We decide to leave our bikes behind a bush and we creep up through the trees. There is a clearing up ahead, lit by the car’s headlights. There seems to be some sort of cave at one end, carved into the rock face of the mountain. To the left of the cave, the ground seems to disappear, and then there’s just darkness. I gulp. I’m just slightly, you know, a little bit, I mean, not really, but kind of, like, the tiniest bit imaginable afraid of heights.
[“He used to refuse to walk down the
three steps leading down from his front porch because it was too scary.”
“Hey!
That’s when I was little.
Those steps were terrifying for a four-year-old.”]
There are lights in the cave too and we can see the silhouettes of people moving around. It looks like just two of them. “They must have the Sheriff somewhere in the cave!” I tell Carl. “Take out your water pistol, we might need them. Now here’s the deal, we’ve got to go in there and take them by surprise, free the Sheriff, and get outta here. Ready?”
“Wait just a second. D’ya really think it’s smart to go busting in on a den of bad guys like this? I mean, we’re only kids…”
“Carl, look. I know this could be dangerous, but we have to save the Sheriff. He would do the same thing for us if we’d been kidnapped. Now, on the count of three. One, two, three!”
We run up to the cave entrance, our water pistols flashing. Two men are inside, black masks over their heads, clutching beer bottles and surrounded by crates. There’s no sign of Sheriff Sky anywhere. They must have him somewhere else.
“Put your hands where I can see them!” I yell, pointing my water pistol at one of the men. God, I’ve always wanted to say that.
“What the—? They’ve got guns!” he yells.
“Easy, now,” the other one says, raising his hands. “I’m sure we can just work this out.”
“Are the police having kids do their dirty work now?”
I ignore them. “We won’t be working anything out. You’re gonna tell us what you did with Sheriff Sky. Or else…”
“What did he say? Sheriff Sky? Who the hell is that?”
Carl barks, “Don’t play dumb! If you tell us where he is, no one gets hurt.”
“Don’t shoot! We’re telling you, we don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I warned you,” Carl says, letting loose a powerful explosion of water straight into one of the men’s eyes. He howls in pain—full blast, those guns hurt a LOT.
The second one drops his hands, “They’re water guns! I can’t believe it—c’mere, you!” He lunges at Carl’s ankles.
“Carl, run!” I yell. We bolt into the trees, one of the crooks hot on our heels. I’m running blindly, stumbling over rocks and branches, when I feel a hand catch my wrist.
“Gotcha, you little bugger!” the man yells. I yank my arm away and, when I do, my Sheriff Sky watch breaks off in his hand. He swears and hurls it down, down, down into the ravine. I feel a pang of regret but then I’m running again, trying to get away. Brush is crashing underfoot and I can’t tell where I’m going. Suddenly, I burst out into the clearing again, and beside me is Carl. Before I can react, strong arms seize me. I kick and claw but I can’t break free.
“You got the other one?” the man holding me yells to his partner.
“Yep. Man, these kids won’t stop kicking. Where’s that packing tape we had?”
They bind and gag us and throw us into the back of the truck. I can’t believe this is happening. Now we’re in the same predicament as Sheriff Sky. Oh man, what will my mother say?
I can hear the crooks outside discussing what they’ll do with us.
“We have to put them somewhere—I don’t want to risk being charged for kidnapping. What we’re doing already is risky enough.”
“I know. Should we bring them back to town? We can ask the boss what to do.”
“No, I’d rather no one else knew about this. I don’t want to get blamed if anything goes wrong. I know—d’ya think you can jimmy the lock on the school? We could stick ‘em in one of the rooms or something. When they’re found, people will just think they locked themselves in.”
“Good idea. Let’s get outta here.”
**********
We’ve been sitting in the trunk for a while as the crooks slowly drive us back to town. I’m trying to formulate ways to escape, but am having a hard time figuring out just how we were going to get out of the packing tape. This hasn’t ever happened on the Sheriff Sky show before. I attempt to tap out a message to Carl in Morse code, but he will have none of it. I think he might be mad.
[“Hey, someone had to be worried
about our safety! We were
completely at the mercy of the bad guys at that point.”
“Yeah, but they said they were just gonna leave us in the school.”
“Sometimes I think you should be a little less trusting of people.
Especially crooks.”]
The car comes to a stop and I hear doors slam. After a bit, the back of the truck is opened and the two men hustle us out. They bring us down to end of the sixth grade hall to an unmarked door. I watch with fascination as one of the men inserts a thin wire into the key hole and jiggles it around until the door gives way. They lead us downstairs into the dark and switch on a faint bare bulb that is hangin’ from the ceiling.
“Now listen well, boys,” one of them says. “We’re gonna unbind and ungag you. Doesn’t matter, no one can hear you from down here anyways. Door’s too thick and it’s all underground. Now look, my friend here has a gun. A real one. We don’t want to have to use it, but we want you to sit still and quiet here until we close that door. Got it?” We nod. “Good. Now just sit tight here and be good boys. Someone will find you eventually, if you’re lucky.” The men chuckle to themselves. Then they remove the tape (a rather painful experience, let me tell you) and leave.
As soon as they’re gone, we try the door. No use, it’s locked again. Carl and I try shouting a bit before we conclude that the crook was telling the truth. No one can hear us. I’m mildly bothered by the situation, but the crooks were rather friendly on the whole, and I’m tired of worrying. I know for a fact that the school janitor comes down here every morning because Mr. S confiscated one of my comic books once and the janitor, Mr. Edwards, told me to meet him here the next morning. He gave me back the comic book—said he had saved it before Mr. S tossed it out because he noticed that it was the special edition issue number 639 of the Sheriff Sky series. He’s a man that takes his job seriously.
So, that brings us to where we are now—sitting in the school basement waiting for someone to find us. There’s something, though, that doesn’t add up. I have a nagging feeling that I’m missing something. And where is Sheriff Sky?
**********
I wake to the scraping of a key in the lock. Carl is blinking the sleep from his eyes. The door swings open, flooding the room with light.
“In heaven’s name! What are you two boys doing down here?” Mr. Edwards asks, gaping at us.
“Mr. Edwards! Oh man, you’ll never believe us. We got caught by these bad guys who also kidnapped Sheriff Sky and they jimmied the locks to the school and pointed a gun at us and told us to stay put down here and thank goodness you found us because I really need to go to the bathroom!” I say in a rush.
“Me too!” Carl chimes in.
Mr. Edwards looks taken aback. “Well you boys go do that. I’m gonna go call Principal Mosley and your parents—they must be worried sick about you.”
**********
A little while later we’re sitting in the principal’s office with our parents, Mr. Edwards, and two police officers. My mother has finally stopped asking me if I’m okay, which I’m a little grateful for because the police are here and everything.
[“His mother was actually
saying ‘How is my little sugarmuffin?
Was he scared by the awful mean old bad guys?
Poor baby, mommy’s here now.’”
“Carl!”]
Anyways, we’re sitting there
with our family, and one of the police officers, Officer Mike Anderson, asks,
“Boys, do you have any idea who kidnapped you?”
“Not exactly,” Carl says,
“but Mr. Silverman, our math teacher, is the mastermind behind it.
See, the reason we were caught was because we were trying to rescue
Sheriff Sky who had been kidnapped.
We saw some men loading crates into this truck and they said that they had got
‘im in there and we followed the truck up to Miller’s Ravine.
We didn’t see Sheriff Sky anywhere, though.”
“Sheriff Sky?” asks the other
policeman, Officer Fields.
“Heck if I know,” I hear
Officer Anderson whisper back.
“And what does Mr. Silverman
have to do with all this?”
Principal Mosley asks.
“Well Jake here heard him
planning a kidnapping with someone on the phone yesterday afternoon.”
“Jake,” Principal Mosley
says, turning to me. “Do you remember exactly what Mr. Silverman said?”
“Better than that,” I reply,
“I have it recorded.” I play it
back for them.
Mr. Edwards begins laughing.
“Mike, you can bring Mr. Silverman in if you want, but that wasn’t him
planning a real kidnapping.”
“It wasn’t?” Officer Fields
asks.
“No.
See, some of us on the staff here were planning on ‘kidnapping’ Principal
Mosley here for his birthday on Friday.
We were going to take him out to dinner.
Mr. Silverman had agreed to organize everything, so Jake here must’ve
just overheard him planning that.
Also, boys, did you not listen to the full Sheriff Sky episode yesterday?”
I’m confused, “No.
Why?”
“Because if you had, you
would have heard that Penny, his secretary, went out looking for him and saved
him from a bunch of ninjas out near Franklin County.”
“Really?
Wow! I didn’t know there were
ninjas in Franklin County!” Carl
exclaims.
“Yep.”
Mr. Edwards smiles.
“Wait a second, if there was
no kidnapping, then why did those men lock up Carl and Jake?”
Carl’s dad interjects.
Then it all fits into place.
I hop off of my mother’s lap—er, I mean the chair yes, that’s it, the
chair—and yell “C’mon” to no one in particular.
Carl is right beside me.
We race down to Le Tourterelle Beauty Salon and burst in the door. Ms. Beaufort looks up, startled.
“Elise Beaufort, you’re under arrest!” I yell.
“What? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Well, you will be once the police get here,” I concede.
“Oh look, and here they are now!” exclaims Carl as Officers Anderson and Fields burst through the door. In the blink of an eye, Ms. Beaufort is up and making a beeline for the back door, in stilettos, no less.
“Get her!” I shout.
Officer Anderson grabs her and holds her arms behind her back. “Sorry ma’am, but it’s necessary, I think. Boys will you please tell us why we’re arresting her?”
“With pleasure,” I reply, relishing the moment. I’ve always wanted to do one of those unveiling scenes like Sheriff Sky does at the end of every episode. This is so cool! “Ms. Beaufort here is fairly new in town. She is also an artist who is very into details. Now, listen. Yesterday, after we saw those men drive away in the truck the first time, Carl and I went around questioning the local business owners here. Ms. Beaufort told us that she had been out of town at the time, buying calligraphy supplies in Eden County. She said that it was dark when she returned and she saw the sign for the True Supermarket all lit up. Now, Ms. Beaufort had supposedly noticed the sign because she was trying to find inspiration for the script of her own sign. She mentioned noticing at the time that the True Supermarket ‘T’ was ‘almost perfect.’ However, the ‘T’ doesn’t light up anymore—a detail that Ms. Beaufort would have picked up on, had her alibi been true. If Ms. Beaufort had been driving back at dusk like she said, she would have seen not the word ‘True’ but ‘rue’ and wouldn’t have mentioned the ‘T’ at all. This alibi was fake.”
“Oh,” Carl adds, catching on. “Also, the first time we saw the crooks there were three of them. We assumed that they were all men because they were all so tall but we actually only heard two of them speak. Thinking back, the third one was just about the same height as Ms. Beaufort here.”
“So?” Ms. Beaufort asks, looking daggers at me ‘n Carl. “Who cares if my alibi doesn’t match up? You don’t even have a crime you’re accusing me of.”
“Actually ma’am, we do,” says Officer Fields, holding up his police radio. “Some of our men just apprehended the two guys who locked up Jake and Carl out in a cave near Miller’s Ravine. They found crates full of very expensive artwork inside, including an extremely valuable portrait of Abraham Lincoln.”
“Oh, so the ‘he’ the crooks were talking about was a painting.” Carl whispers to me.
“Looks like it,” I whisper back, “since Sheriff Sky was with the ninjas in Franklin County.”
“Ms. Elise Beaufort,” says Officer Anderson, clapping handcuffs around her wrists, “you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent.”
“Man, this is so cool!”
**********
Hello there. Well, it’s been a week now and Carl and I are at his house, once again waiting for the Sheriff Sky program to come on. I’ve just gotten my tape recorder back since the police had to hold onto it a while ‘til they could make a copy of the tape for evidence.
“Whew, can you believe all that actually happened?”
“No, it’s like everything’s back to normal. Mr. Silverman’s still giving us a big test tomorrow.”
“Shhh, the program’s coming on.”
“Hello listeners, this is Sheriff Sky here. I’d like to thank everyone who helped Penny find me in Franklin County—now those ninjas are all locked away, safe behind bars. Before we start today’s adventure, I’d also like to recognize two of our listeners, Jake Jennings and Carl Greenburg from Oak Rise Falls.” Carl and I look at each other, we can’t believe what we’re hearing. “These two young investigators helped bring down an elaborate art smuggling operation. Gentlemen, I tip my hat to you. You two are true allies of justice-lovin’ folk everywhere. This is Sheriff Sky, signin’ off. Now, on to our program.”
“Leapin’ lizards! Did you hear that Carl?”
“I-I think so. Wow. Sheriff Sky tipped his hat to us!”
“I know! Now I feel like I can do anything—even that pre-algebra test tomorrow! This is Sheriff Jake, signin’ off. So long, folks.”
Click.