The Mystery of the Runaway Ghost Read online

  The four Alden children were busy in the kitchen. They had offered to prepare the picnic supper while Grandfather and Fran sat outside and chatted about old times.

  “I wish the runaway ghost would give us a clue,” Benny added.

  Henry looked up. “Wait a minute!” he said. “You might be onto something, Benny.”

  “Ghosts don’t exist, Henry,” Violet said. “Remember?”

  “Yes, but Fran’s painting of the runaway ghost is real,” explained Henry.

  “Of course!” Jessie said. She jumped out of her seat and gave Henry a high five. “Maybe that’s where the third riddle is leading us!” The four Aldens made a beeline for Fran’s living room.

  No one spoke for a moment as they stared up at the bell around Buttercup’s neck. Then Violet said, “Fran’s hunch was right. The mystery really is connected to Buttercup.”

  “I don’t understand,” Benny said. “Where’s the treasure?”

  Violet looked thoughtful. “Maybe the painting is the treasure,” she said.

  Henry shook his head. “I doubt it. Fran says the painting’s not worth very much.”

  “There must be something we’re not seeing,” insisted Violet.

  “Maybe Lottie was right,” Jessie suggested.

  “About what?” Benny asked.

  “About the mystery just being a parlor game,” said Jessie. “Maybe Anne just made it up to entertain her children, and there isn’t a real treasure at the end.”

  “And maybe the clues just lead to the painting of their treasured pet,” Henry said slowly, figuring it out as he talked.

  “Then Buttercup’s the treasure?” Benny looked confused.

  Henry shrugged a little. “It’s beginning to look that way.”

  But Violet wasn’t so sure. She had a nagging feeling there was more to it than that. Could the answer lie somewhere in the painting itself?

  “Wow, there sure are a lot of people here,” Benny said as he looked around the park.

  Everyone was enjoying the beautiful evening. But no one was enjoying it more than the Aldens and their friends. With the band playing nearby, they ate their supper and talked and joked. Even Nelson, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, was all smiles. People said hello as they passed, and many of them knew Fran and Nelson by name.

  After they had finished eating, Grandfather headed over to the covered stage to listen to the music with Cora and Reese. Fran went for a stroll along the creek with her son. Henry, Jessie, and Benny started a game of croquet.

  Violet decided to sit it out. She wanted to look at the gallery brochures she’d brought with her. She thumbed through them quickly, then settled on one about great American artists. The painting on the cover of the brochure caught her attention. “Hey, look!” she called to the others. “Here’s a painting of a croquet game!”

  Benny, Jessie, and Henry crowded around to study the picture. Three young ladies in hats and long dresses were playing croquet. A young man in a brown jacket and beige trousers was on one knee, placing a croquet ball on the grass. He was wearing a straw hat, and he had a mustache.

  Benny giggled. “They’re dressed just like the people in Fran’s photo of Homer.”

  “I guess that was the style back then,” Henry said.

  Violet leaned in for a closer look at the people’s faces. Then she gasped. “That’s them!” she said.

  “Who?” asked Jessie.

  “That’s Selden and Anne!” Violet said, excitedly. “They look just like that in the missing photograph.”

  Jessie took another look at the painting. “Now that you mention it,” she said, “that man does look a lot like Selden.”

  “And see the lady in the background?” put in Violet. “The one in the brown dress? She sure looks like Anne, don’t you think?”

  “Why isn’t Homer in the painting?” Benny wanted to know. “He was in the photograph.”

  Henry, who was sprawled out on the blanket, propped himself up on one elbow. “This is getting stranger and stranger. What does it say in the brochure, Violet?”

  Violet couldn’t help laughing at herself. “I never thought to read the article.” As she quickly scanned the brochure, she came across something that made her eyes widen.

  “What is it?” Henry asked.

  “Well, maybe this is just a weird coincidence,” Violet began, “but the artist who painted this was named Winslow Homer!”

  Everyone was so surprised that no one said anything for a minute. Then Benny asked, “Are you sure Homer wasn’t his first name?”

  “Quite sure, Benny,” said Violet. “It says that Winslow Homer painted the Croquet Scene in 1866.”

  “That’s the same year The Runaway Ghost was painted,” Henry pointed out.

  “Fran said she doesn’t know much about Selden’s friend,” Jessie said after a moment’s thought. “Maybe she just assumed Homer was his first name, since that’s what Selden called him.”

  “That makes sense,” agreed Henry. “Homer was a common first name in the olden days.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Violet’s eyes were huge. “Selden’s friend was the great American artist, Winslow Homer!”

  Jessie put one hand up to her mouth. “Homer’s not in that Croquet Scene because … he was painting it!”

  “Then … that means — ” began Benny.

  Henry cut in. “It means Fran’s painting is worth a fortune!”

  “I just wish we could compare this picture with the missing photograph,” Violet said. “Then we would know for sure if it’s really Selden and Anne in the Croquet Scene.”

  “Let’s look for it when we get back,” Henry said. “Maybe we have sharper eyes than Fran.”

  “We’ll never find it,” said Benny. “Somebody stole it.”

  “Well, we ought to try to prove it before we tell Fran,” Jessie said. “Remember what Nelson said about getting her hopes up.”

  The others agreed.

  When the concert ended, Fran invited everyone back to Shadowbox for dessert. It was already dark when they joined the streams of people leaving the park.

  Back at Shadowbox, everyone followed Fran to the living room. She flipped on a light switch and light filled the cheery room. Fran stepped through the doorway, then she stopped abruptly when she noticed someone sitting in one of the buttercup-patterned chairs.

  It was Lottie. She was holding a large, flat package wrapped in brown paper on her lap, and there was a suitcase beside her chair. Violet wondered how long the young artist had been sitting all alone in the dark.

  “Lottie?” said Fran. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m afraid I have to leave,” Lottie answered nervously. “There’s been a … a family emergency.”

  “Oh, dear!” cried Fran.

  “Is there anything we can do?” asked Violet.

  “Do you need a ride to the airport?” offered Nelson.

  Lottie shook her head as she got up. “A friend of mine agreed to give me a lift.”

  Everyone offered their sympathy — everyone except Benny. He wasn’t paying attention. He was staring at the painting above the fireplace. It was exactly as it had always been, Shadowbox peeking out from among the trees and Buttercup grazing nearby. And yet, the youngest Alden was sure there was something wrong. When he took a step closer to the painting, he noticed what it was.

  The number one was missing from Buttercup’s bell!

  CHAPTER 10

  A Message from the Past

  “It … it’s gone!” exclaimed Benny.

  Everyone turned to him. “What’s gone?” Jessie asked.

  “The number one on Buttercup’s bell!” Benny was staring at the painting with wide, unbelieving eyes.

  “Oh!” Violet came up behind her little brother. “Benny’s right. The number one has disappeared!”

  The Alden children looked at each other, their eyes round. What on earth was going on? Did this have something to do with the mystery riddles?

  “But how
could…” Fran’s eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the painting.

  Before the children could answer, Grandfather said, “Maybe it’s not the same painting.”

  Fran sank down into a chair. “I … I don’t understand.”

  As Reese placed a gentle hand on Fran’s shoulder, Cora turned to Grandfather and said, “Are you implying someone stole the original painting and … and replaced it with a fake?” She looked doubtful.

  Henry and Jessie exchanged glances. Had someone else figured out that the painting was a treasure?

  “Why in the world would anyone steal it?” argued Nelson. “That old painting wasn’t worth a thing.”

  “It was to me,” corrected Fran, burying her head in her hands.

  “And to anyone hoping to make some quick cash,” put in Henry.

  Nelson looked over at him. “Quick cash?”

  “Selling it to an art collector, I mean,” Henry explained.

  “Someone like Rally Jensen,” Jessie added, watching Lottie closely. “I bet he’d pay a lot of money for that painting.”

  Fran slowly lifted her head. “What? Why?”

  “We solved the mystery, Fran,” Jessie explained. “The clues led us straight to The Runaway Ghost painting.”

  Violet nodded. “It turned out to be the treasure.”

  “Only, now it’s gone.” Benny scratched his head. “The number one was on Buttercup’s bell just before we went to the park. I saw it with my own eyes!”

  “That means the painting was taken while we were out,” Grandfather reasoned. “The thief couldn’t have gone far.”

  “You’re right, Grandfather,” said Henry. “The thief is still close by.” He gave Lottie a meaningful look. “And so is the painting.”

  Lottie’s eyes darted from side to side. Then she suddenly rushed toward the door. But Grandfather was too quick for her. “Don’t even think about leaving, young lady,” he told her, blocking the way.

  Fran was so startled she needed a few moments to collect her thoughts. “What’s this all about?”

  As Lottie turned and faced everyone, she forced a tense laugh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Benny eyed her package suspiciously. “What have you got wrapped up there?”

  “Now look here,” Lottie began sternly. “This is my painting. It’s the one — ” She stopped talking. Her shoulders slumped and she sat down in a chair, looking defeated. Tearing the wrapping away from the canvas, she revealed the painting of The Runaway Ghost.

  “I think you have some explaining to do,” said Grandfather.

  After a moment’s silence, Lottie began to speak. “I’m sorry, Fran. I did it for the money. I told myself you’d never notice,” she confessed.

  “But we noticed,” Benny said.

  Jessie looked at Lottie. “You figured out that Selden’s friend was really Winslow Homer, didn’t you?”

  Lottie didn’t deny it. “I studied all about the great American artists. There was no mistaking Winslow Homer’s style — or his signature in the corner of the painting.”

  Fran looked at her, stunned.

  “It’s true, Fran,” Violet said quietly. “Winslow Homer was your great-great-grandfather’s mysterious friend.”

  Fran’s mouth dropped open. She was too shocked to speak.

  Jessie turned to Lottie. “That explains why you wouldn’t show anyone what you were painting in your room. You were making a copy of The Runaway Ghost, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I admit it,” said Lottie. “I took some snapshots of the painting and copied it in secret. I was desperate to make enough money for school. The only problem was time.” She avoided looking Fran in the eye. “I needed time to get the details right.”

  “But Rally Jensen is leaving town tomorrow,” said Henry, urging her on. “So you had to finish quickly.”

  “Yes,” Lottie said, looking surprised that Henry knew that. “Rally was willing to pay a great deal of money for the original painting. It seemed simple enough. Nobody at Shadowbox had a clue this was an original Winslow Homer. So … I figured, what was the harm in making a switch?”

  Violet smiled sadly. No wonder Lottie had been so upset the other night. She must have thought they were on to her when Jessie asked if it was hard making that kind of switch.

  Benny frowned. “Your plan almost worked, too.”

  Lottie looked at Benny and nodded. “I hadn’t counted on the Aldens being such good detectives.”

  “What about the photograph of Homer?” Violet asked. “Did you take it?”

  “Yes.” Lottie reached into her purse and took out the old photograph. “This looks a lot like one of Homer’s other paintings. I was afraid somebody might see this and figure it out.”

  Cora nodded. “And that’s why you were so quick to agree with me about that magazine article,” she guessed. “You didn’t want The Runaway Ghost painting to get any publicity.”

  Henry had something to add. “You even tried to convince us the mystery riddle was just a silly parlor game,” he said.

  Lottie nodded. “I knew there was a treasure hanging right there, above the fireplace. I didn’t want anyone to find out.”

  Fran hadn’t said a word while Lottie had been telling her story. Now she spoke up, her face pained. “I know it isn’t easy putting yourself through school, Lottie. But that doesn’t make it okay to steal.” She looked as if she really couldn’t believe what Lottie had done.

  Lottie twisted her hands in her lap. “I really didn’t want to steal from you, Fran. You’ve always been so kind to me.” Her voice wavered. “I know you won’t believe this, but I was about to put the painting back when you came through the door.”

  “Then why did you try to make a run for it?” Nelson sounded doubtful.

  “I panicked.” Lottie threw her hands up.

  “Lottie was still sitting here in the dark,” Violet was quick to point out.

  Fran thought about this for a moment. “Yes, I suppose you could have been long gone, Lottie,” she said at last. “You deserve the benefit of the doubt, so I’m not going to call the police. I don’t believe you had your heart in being a thief.”

  Lottie’s face crumbled. “I’m so sorry I betrayed your trust, Fran.”

  “If you mean that,” replied Fran, “then you’ll learn from your mistakes, and you’ll never do anything like this again.”

  Looking truly regretful, Lottie walked slowly from the room and out of the house.

  “I guess it was Lottie ringing that cowbell in the night,” concluded Benny. “But why?”

  Fran raised an eyebrow. “Cowbell?”

  Reese’s face turned red. “No, that was my idea.”

  “It was your idea to scare us?” Benny looked upset.

  Reese looked over at the Aldens sheepishly. “I wanted everyone to think the runaway ghost had come back. I got one of the old cowbells from my mother’s antique store, and I rang it in the middle of the night.”

  “But why?” Cora asked, looking confused. “Why would you do such a thing, Reese?”

  Violet thought she knew the answer. “You wanted your mother to include Buttercup in her article, right?”

  Nodding, Reese hung her head and stared at the floor. “I thought they would if … if everyone was suddenly talking about the runaway ghost.”

  Cora put an arm around her daughter. “I know you were just trying to help Fran, Reese,” she said. “But that wasn’t the way to do it.”

  “I’m sorry if I frightened you, Benny,” Reese apologized.

  “Oh, I knew it wasn’t a real ghost,” said Benny. “Right, Henry?”

  “Right, Benny,” Henry answered, hiding a smile.

  It wasn’t long before everyone was sipping lemonade and munching on chocolate cake. Nelson smiled as he looked over at Winslow Homer’s painting, hanging above the fireplace once again.

  “It really is a remarkable work of art,” he commented.

  Fran seemed surprised to hear this. “
But … you always wanted me to put something a little more modern up there, Nelson. Something with more pizzazz, remember?”

  “Yes, it seems to me I did say that,” Nelson recalled, laughing a little. “On more than one occasion.”

  “Just imagine,” said Cora. “We’re looking at an original Winslow Homer!”

  Nelson took a sip of lemonade. “The past really does hold some wonderful treasures,” he said. The ice clinked in his glass.

  Fran nodded, her face beaming.

  Henry was wondering about something. “What will you do with the painting, Fran?”

  “You’ll have lots of pennies to rub together if you sell it,” put in Benny.

  After a few moments, Fran went over to the fireplace. “This painting should be enjoyed by everyone,” she said, as she buffed the brass plaque attached to the frame. “I’ll make sure The Runaway Ghost finds a home in one of the finest museums in Wisconsin.”

  Nelson opened his mouth as if about to argue. But then he closed it again. He said only, “Whatever makes you happy, Mother.”

  Just then, Fran suddenly exclaimed, “What on earth … ?”

  The others turned to look at her. “What is it?” asked Cora.

  “This plaque’s a bit loose,” Fran said. “And … there seems to be something tucked into a small opening just beneath it.” While everyone watched in amazement, she pulled out a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age.

  “What is it?” Benny asked, bouncing with excitement.

  Fran carefully unfolded the paper, then read the words aloud:

  “Dearest children,

  If you are reading this letter, then you have solved the riddles and found this painting hidden in the Buttercup Room. Although our good friend, Winslow Homer, never laid eyes on our treasured pet, he has managed to capture Buttercup’s likeness exactly — right down to the number one on her bell! It’s enough to make you believe in ghosts, isn’t it?

  Your loving mother, Anne.”

  “So the mystery really was just a parlor game,” Jessie realized. “Anne just wanted her children to have some fun finding the painting.”