Jones & Parker Case Files Read online

  “Was this your idea?” I asked. “I mean . . . making it huge?”

  Eugene nodded proudly.

  “I see you’ve used an infinite number of lights.”

  Eugene plugged one light set into another. Then he carefully stepped over a cord lying by a set of presents. “The lights are quite finite. There are exactly 12,801.”

  “Wow. And one,” Matthew Parker echoed.

  Eugene pointed to a yellow light on top of a tree. “A single star. It flickers.”

  I nodded. “Cool.”

  Matthew stood with his hands on his hips. “So when do we get to see it lit up?”

  “The sensor is set so the lights are on from dusk to dawn, so if the weather report is correct, it should be activated tomorrow night around 5:42 p.m.,” Eugene said. “But since you’re here, would you like a sneak peek?”

  “Would we!” both of us cheered.

  Eugene twisted his lips as he surveyed the magnificent display. A squirrel ran along the top of a nearby fence. Eugene looked at the sky, graying with the evening.

  “Let’s wait another 15 minutes for maximum effect.”

  Matthew and I sat on the chilled ground waiting for the time to pass. Once it did, Eugene circled around a large reindeer covered with lights.

  “Prepare yourself!” he shouted as he plugged a single cord into the power box.

  Fwump! We could actually hear the 12,801 tiny lights ignite, all at once.

  Our eyes grew large as the technological wonder lit up around us like lights in a football stadium.

  “Oooo,” I said.

  “Whoa,” Matthew said.

  “Excellent,” Eugene said.

  The squirrel covered its eyes.

  The yellow star on top of the tree flickered.

  Then the lights shut off. Completely.

  Eugene’s mouth dropped. “What?!” He leaned down to check the cord, but before he reached the box—Fwump!—the lights came back on.

  “Oooo,” I said.

  “Whoa,” Matthew said.

  “Excellent,” Eugene said.

  The squirrel was frozen.

  The yellow star flickered.

  Then the lights shut off again.

  Eugene bent down and quickly unplugged the cord. He crumpled to the ground. “Oh no, oh no, oh no. I must figure out the cause of this problem before everyone arrives tomorrow night.”

  Eugene plugged the display back in, stood up, and started checking all the electrical cords.

  “You guys can go. I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”

  Matthew and I exchanged a glance.

  “No,” I said. “We’re gonna stick this out with you as long as we can. If there’s one thing your Christmas lights remind me of, it’s that Jesus came to earth so we could walk in His light and help one another.”

  Eugene smiled. “I would be most appreciative. Junior detectives may be just what I need.”

  Together, the three of us checked the cords throughout the display, searching for any evidence. Of course, without the lights steadily on, it made it very difficult. A half hour later, we all stood staring at the snowmen, the trees, the reindeer, the presents, and the sometimes-flickering star.

  The squirrel had clearly lost interest and was gnawing on a dark nut. I noticed both Eugene and Matthew eyeballing him.

  “Hey,” Matthew said, “sometimes on our Christmas tree there’s a malfunctioning light in the chain that makes all the others blink. Could there be a bad light in your chain?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Or maybe something’s wrong with the breaker,” I suggested.

  Eugene thought about it, but then shook his head. He checked the plug again. “To borrow the colloquialism, there should be more than enough amperage for this circuit.”

  Matthew and I just stared at each other.

  Suddenly, the squirrel popped up behind the power box. Eugene jumped from surprise and lost his balance. He fell back and knocked over the reindeer guarding the power box. Snap! Crash! Matthew and I ran to help him.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

  Then Eugene froze.

  “What?” Matthew said.

  Eugene nodded. We looked behind us. The remainder of the Christmas light display shone brightly. Everything looked perfect.

  “I see no rhyme nor reason to this,” Eugene said.

  “Maybe the lights on the reindeer drew too much extra power from the outlet,” Matthew said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “No, the key to this mystery isn’t in the power. But I know what it is.”

  Do you know what caused Eugene’s Christmas lights to shut off?

  What are the clues?

  Turn to the “Case Solved!” section on page 106 to find out.

  AS A DETECTIVE, you must learn to look under the surface of the facts. Don’t just settle for the obvious.

  I was explaining this to my sidekick in mystery solving, Matthew Parker, when Penny Wise nearly plowed over us.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Penny said as she ran backward, her big green eyes apologizing. “I’m running late. I have to water some plants and then go see Wooton at Whit’s End before 4 o’clock.”

  “No problem,” I laughed. “It’s good to see you.”

  Matthew waved as Penny turned around, ran up the sidewalk, and entered a small, dark house.

  “It’s nearly 90 degrees, and she’s still wearing a sweater and a hat,” Matthew said. “I don’t get it.”

  “She always wears a sweater and a hat,” I said. “She says it’s her trademark.”

  “I wonder if it’s also her trademark to faint from the heat.”

  That’s when we heard Penny scream. On instinct we rushed to the house and pushed the front door. It swung open, and we were hit with a blast of air-conditioning—a welcome relief from the hot outdoors. Penny was standing with a watering can in her hand, pointing to some potted flowers. The can looked as if it were about to fall from her shaking hand.

  Matthew and I both followed Penny’s gaze across the room. There, on the kitchen counter, sat a row of small plants. “They’re dying!” Penny exclaimed. “I was watering Mr. Henri’s plants while he was on vacation in Paris, but—oh no! Look what I’ve done. I’ve killed his plants!” Water from the can had puddled in the cups of flowers and was overflowing in the pot below.

  Mr. Henri runs the art gallery where Penny works. He had moved to America from France a few years ago.

  Matthew walked to the plants in question and flipped over the spotty, browning leaves in his fingers. “Yep, they’re dying. I think they’re violets.”

  “Violets!” Penny exclaimed. “As Mr. Henri would say, ‘How apropos!’ He told me that violets are supposed to symbolize modesty and humility. I told him that I could handle the plants as easily as he could eat a baguette. Now look at this! It should have been simple, right?”

  Matthew shrugged. Penny put down the watering can and rubbed her forehead with her hands. She was clearly killing the plants, but my heart went out to her. After all, she was trying to do the right thing.

  “You don’t need to fret, Penny,” I said. “We can solve this mystery. Matthew and I happen to be detectives.”

  “That’s right,” Penny said, looking distraught. “And in this case, it’s a mystery about the murder of innocent plants.”

  I took charge. “Matthew, why do you think they’re violets?”

  Matthew touched the plants again. “Partially because they have these soft, fuzzy leaves. But mostly because they’re . . . violet.”

  Penny’s eyebrows shot up. “You guys really are into deduction, aren’t you?” She held up her right thumb. “I just don’t have a green thumb. Look at it. It’s like a little soldier that delivers death to all things leafy.”

  I grabbed Penny’s thumb and pushed down her arm. “You’re being too hard on yourself. We just need to figure out what happened. Did Mr. Henri leave you any instructions?”

&nb
sp; Penny shook her head. “Just to water the plants for two weeks while he’s away. I’ve been here every two to three days without fail.”

  I walked over to the blinds on the opposite side of the room. With a slight pull on the string, the sun pierced through, bouncing off a metal decoration of the Eiffel Tower and bathing a nearby fern with light.

  Matthew’s lip twisted. “Maybe the room wasn’t getting enough sunlight.”

  “I doubt that.” I switched the blinds back to their original position. Sunlight still basked the room with a warm glow. “The room is relatively bright. Certainly not dark enough to cause the kind of damage that has appeared on those plants within a couple of weeks.”

  “You watered all the plants?” Matthew asked.

  “I treated them all the same,” Penny assured him. “I showered them with love and water.”

  Matthew pressed his fingers into the soil of one of the violets. “The soil is pretty damp, and it’s not packed down too much. And the pot matches the plant size.”

  I stared at Matthew. “How in the world would you know that?”

  He shrugged. “I learned it in earth science. I got an A.”

  My sidekick never stops amazing me.

  Penny threw up her hands in exasperation. “Well, here’s one girl who’s gonna have to spend a gazillion dollars on replacement violets at Gower’s Flowers.”

  I looked at the browning plants once more, at the sunlit window, at the watering can, and then at Penny. “I don’t think you should do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if you do, the same thing will happen again.”

  Do you know why the plants are dying?

  What are the clues?

  Turn to the “Case Solved!” section on page 107 to find out.

  CLUES AREN’T ALWAYS objects you find. Often clues reveal themselves in what you see and hear.

  My sidekick, Matthew Parker, and I were taking the day off, because the carnival had come to Odyssey . . . and you don’t need to be a detective to realize that means fun!

  Our families had met just outside the ticket booth, where Matthew and I each bought five tickets to get started. We were on our way to the first ride when we (literally) ran into three well-known troublemakers—Jay Smouse, Valerie Swanson, and Vance King. I accidentally bumped into Jay and dropped my tickets.

  “Watch where you’re going, Sherlock,” Jay said.

  I quickly picked up the tickets and stuffed them into my front pocket.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Let’s go, Matthew.”

  I had only taken a few steps when my stomach dropped. I pulled out my tickets and counted. Only four. I counted again and felt my pockets. Nothing.

  “What’s wrong, Em?” Matthew asked.

  “I’ve lost a ticket.”

  Matthew took the tickets from my hand. “You have a red one—that’s for the Tilt-N-Whirl. The blue one’s for the House of Mirrors. Yellow is for the bumper cars, and orange is for the Zipper.”

  “I’m missing green—the Ferris wheel.”

  Matthew and I scoured the area. Then we exchanged glances and turned our heads toward . . . the three bullies who were walking away. It wasn’t often they all hung out together. They had a difficult time getting along with just about everyone, let alone one another. But the carnival has a way of building bridges.

  Matthew and I ran over and stopped them in their tracks.

  “Don’t take another step!” I said.

  Vance smirked. Valerie raised an eyebrow. Jay frowned.

  “What’s this?” Vance asked.

  “Emily’s missing a ticket for one of the rides,” Matthew said.

  “And this is our problem why?” Valerie sneered.

  “Because,” I said, “you guys saw me drop my tickets. I can’t help but wonder if one of you snatched one.”

  Jay narrowed his eyes. “You calling us thieves?”

  I put my hands in the air. “If I’m wrong, I owe you all a cotton candy. But let’s face it. Matthew and I have solved dozens of cases these past few years, and each one of you has been involved in more than one.”

  Vance sighed. “Once a villain, always a villain.”

  Matthew shook his head. “We know that’s not true. But you have to admit, history speaks for itself.”

  Vance grinned and turned to me. “All right. You’re a detective, right?”

  “Right.”

  Jay pointed to Matthew. “And you’re her lackey?”

  Matthew protested. “No, I’m her sidekick. I mean, partner.”

  “Well, if you’re good at what you do, surely you know you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Valerie muttered.

  Jay grabbed Valerie’s arm. “Wait. I want free cotton candy. Let’s let them see how wrong they are.”

  Valerie rolled her eyes.

  Vance pulled his wallet out of his pocket. “Well, I’ve got plenty of money on me. I don’t need to steal.” He popped open the wallet, revealing a stack of purple tickets. “I’m playing games; that’s all. No rides. So just purple tickets.”

  Valerie gave in and reached into her back pocket, pulling out a rainbow array of tickets. “Here are mine. As you can see, I bought only one of each color.” She flicked the green ticket. “So this Ferris wheel ticket is obviously mine, not yours.”

  “And it couldn’t have been me,” Jay said. He pulled his tickets out of his pocket, one at a time. “The black one’s for the Tornado, the blue for House of Mirrors, the red for Tilt-N-Whirl, the pink for Wipeout, and purple for playing some games. I’m staying away from the Ferris wheel because I don’t like heights.”

  I looked at Matthew. “What do you think?”

  My sidekick shrugged. “It proves nothing.”

  “Aw, c’mon!” Jay shouted. “You’re just trying to get outta buying us cotton candy!”

  “Matthew’s right,” I said. “Jay, my ticket could still be in your pocket. Valerie could have mixed in my ticket with her own, and Vance could have turned in my ticket for more purple ones. Any one of you could have taken it.”

  Valerie put her hands on her hips. “You really do believe ‘once a villain, always a villain,’ don’t you?”

  “Just go to the ticket window and tell them you lost a ticket,” Jay said. “Maybe they’ll give you a new one.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I stated, “because I know what happened to my ticket.”

  “You do?!” Valerie’s eyes grew wide. “This I gotta hear.”

  Do you know what happened to Emily’s ticket?

  What are the clues?

  Turn to the “Case Solved!” section on page 108 to find out.

  THE LONGER A mystery sits untouched, the harder it is to solve . . . so it’s usually best to follow the trail of clues immediately.

  My sidekick, Matthew Parker, and I heard a shout while returning from a hot day at the park. We ran to where we thought it had come from and found Red Hollard’s tow truck propped up on a couple of jacks. His work boots stuck out from under the side.

  “Red?”

  “Stop, thief!” Red shouted from under the truck.

  “Stop who?” Matthew said.

  Red pushed himself out from under the truck. His hair was disheveled. His hands were dirty, and his work clothes were smudged with oil. In other words, Red looked like he always did.

  “What were you screaming about?” I asked.

  “Someone just stole my best screwdriver! I heard ’em run up, saw the shoes, the hand snatch, and then the escape. Whadayathinkathat?”

  Matthew flipped open a notebook and started writing. “The thief took your best screwdriver?”

  “Brushed aluminum with an ivory handle,” Red said. “Had been sitting on the ground by the other tools while I worked. Got it from my uncle Quinton. He’s a junk collector.”

  I peered down the street. “It doesn’t sound like junk.”

  Red followed my gaze. “Wasn’t to me. Probably isn’t worth anything, but I want it back.”
/>   “And we can help you,” I said. “What can you tell us about the shoes you saw?”

  “Black sneakers with a navy-blue stripe,” Red said.

  “Mason South!” exclaimed a red-haired woman who’d obviously been listening to our conversation as she swept the steps of a nearby storefront.

  I walked over and extended my hand. “Sorry? I’m Emily Jones.”

  “I’m Nellie,” she said. “And I know Mason South wears black shoes with a navy stripe. He constantly steals little things from around this neighborhood. But he’s clever, so you’ll have a hard time proving it.”

  She gave us the location of his house.

  “We’ll find your screwdriver, Red,” I said.

  “Thanks. I just want Bessie back.”

  Matthew’s eyebrow rose. “You named your screwdriver Bessie?”

  Red raised his eyebrow. “That a problem?”

  Matthew wrote something in his notebook.

  We jogged all the way to Mason’s house—a simple one-story brick house. We knocked, and a 20-something blond-haired man in need of a shave opened the door.

  Matthew and I introduced ourselves. The young man told us he was Mason South. He wasn’t wearing shoes, but I noticed a black pair with a navy stripe propped up on the wall just inside his entryway.

  “Red Hollard’s screwdriver was just taken from down the street,” I said.

  “And we’re following up on some leads,” Matthew added. “Are those your shoes?”

  “Who cares if these are my shoes?” Mason exclaimed. “My brother Sam has a pair like these. I didn’t take any stupid screwdriver.”

  Just then a sharp beep came from inside the house. Mason turned and shouted, “Sam, will you get that?”

  When no one answered, Mason pushed open the door.

  “I’ve got nothing to hide,” he said. “I’m making some instant coffee. Come in.”

  Mason moved to the kitchen and opened the microwave oven. The door tilted slightly on its hinges. With an oven mitt, he pulled out a glass cup of steaming water. A plastic spoon, which had been resting on the lip, slid into the cup. Hot water sloshed onto the mitt.