The others gathered around to see Violet’s mysterious photograph, which was of the town square. In the center was the Minuteman statue.
“Are you sure you didn’t take this?” Jessie asked her sister.
Violet shook her head. “I didn’t take any shots in town.”
Henry pointed to an odd blank space in the upper half of the photograph. The white space cut off the top of Josiah Wade’s upraised musket.
“What happened there?” Henry asked.
Violet knew a little about the developing process. “The film might have been under-exposed,” she replied.
“What does that mean?” asked Benny.
“Something could have been wrong with the film. Or maybe there wasn’t enough light that day. One thing for sure,” Violet added firmly, “this is definitely not my picture.”
“Check and see if you’re missing a picture,” Henry said. “How many were on that roll?”
“Twelve.” Violet quickly counted her stack of photographs. “There are thirteen pictures here, so I’m not missing any.”
“We should take the extra picture back to the drugstore,” Jessie said. “Maybe Mr. Kirby knows who it belongs to.”
Just then Grandfather came out of Sylvia’s Blooms, the florist shop next door to Cooke’s Drugstore. A tall, dark-haired woman walked out with him, talking all the while.
When Grandfather saw the Aldens, he waved them over.
“You children remember Miss Pepper?” he asked.
The Alden children nodded politely and said hello.
Sylvia Pepper was hard to forget, Jessie thought. The woman had shiny black hair pulled back in a tight bun. Red-rimmed glasses framed her snapping dark eyes. Scarlet lipstick matched her silk dress.
Ignoring the children, Sylvia went on with her conversation.
“Don’t you agree, Mr. Alden?” she demanded.
“Well — I — ” Grandfather began.
“My building is one of the oldest in Greenfield,” she said, waving scarlet-tipped fingers as she talked. “It would be logical to put the Minuteman statue in front of my store, don’t you think?”
“I really can’t say,” Grandfather said. “It’s up to the townspeople to decide whether the statue will be moved.”
“I’d plant flowers around the statue,” Sylvia rattled on, not listening. “Wouldn’t pink petunias be nice?”
Jessie started to giggle. The thought of Josiah Wade, Greenfield’s Revolutionary War hero, standing in a tub of pink petunias was just too funny.
When Sylvia looked at her sharply, Jessie turned the laugh into a cough.
“We’ll know if the statue will be moved the day of the festival,” Grandfather told Sylvia. “Thanks for displaying our poster in your window.”
“Don’t forget I’m also donating decorations for the festival,” Sylvia reminded him. “I hope you’ll remember that when you decide where to move the statue.”
“We don’t want to move the statue,” Benny piped up. “We like it in the square. It’s always been there.”
Sylvia Pepper noticed him for the first time. “Well, it’s time for a change. That’s the trouble with this town. Everything has been exactly the same for the last two hundred years.”
“I think that’s what’s great about Greenfield,” said a new voice. “That’s why I moved my business here.”
Everyone turned to see a slender woman coming across the square. She wore jeans and a bright orange sweater. A yellow scarf held back her long blond ponytail.
“Miss Wellington,” Grandfather greeted. “I don’t believe you’ve met my grandchildren. This is Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny.”
“Are you the new photographer?” Violet asked. Grandfather had told her a professional photographer was coming to Greenfield.
“Yes, I am. And please call me Dawn,” she said. “I don’t have my sign up yet, but my studio is open.”
Violet stared at the small building on the other side of Cooke’s Drugstore. It was nice having a real photographer in town. Maybe Dawn would give her some pointers.
“What do you think about the statue?” Henry asked Dawn. “Should we move it?”
“I’m new here,” the young woman replied, “but I believe the statue ought to stay in the square. It belongs there.”
“We think so, too!” Benny answered for the Aldens. “But Miss Pepper doesn’t!”
“Benny,” Grandfather said. “We’re all entitled to our own opinions.”
Sylvia Pepper turned a dull red. “Well!” she said huffily. “Some people can stand around gabbing all day, but I’ve got a business to run!”
With that, she wheeled and went inside her shop, slamming the door.
“Gosh, I hope I didn’t make her mad,” Dawn said. “I’d like us to be friends.”
“I’m sure you will,” Grandfather said smoothly. “Sylvia can be a little forceful at times, but that’s just her way.”
“I have to get back to work myself,” said Dawn, heading toward her studio. “Please come see me. I love company.”
Grandfather checked his watch. “I still have to visit Reit’s Jewelry this afternoon.”
“And we have to go back in the drugstore,” Violet told him. She hadn’t forgotten about the strange photograph.
“When you’re finished, meet me in front of town hall,” Grandfather said, striding across the square.
The Aldens went back into Cooke’s Drugstore. Mrs. Turner was unpacking a carton of first-aid supplies.
Mr. Kirby was talking in a low voice on the phone. When he saw the children, he spoke a few terse words into the receiver and hung up.
Violet put the packet of photographs on his counter. “Mr. Kirby, one of the pictures in this envelope isn’t mine.”
“What do you mean?” the druggist asked, rather impatiently.
Henry figured Mr. Kirby thought they were wasting his time. “Violet counted her pictures,” he said. “She took twelve photographs and there are thirteen in the envelope.”
“Let’s see it,” said Mr. Kirby with a sigh. Violet slid the strange photograph out of the envelope. “Not very interesting, is it?” he remarked critically.
Now Mrs. Turner came over. “I bet that picture fell out when the envelopes got all mixed up.”
“Mixed up?” Henry repeated. “What happened?”
“The man who makes the photo deliveries came at a bad time this morning,” Mr. Kirby explained. “The store was crowded with people and other deliveries. The photo lab man tripped and dropped the box.”
“Envelopes flew everywhere,” Mrs. Turner put in, shaking her head. “Mr. Cooke would never leave boxes in the aisle.”
Mr. Kirby frowned at her. “Everyone pitched in and helped sort out the envelopes. Several customers had come in to pick up their photographs.”
“The picture probably fell out of another envelope,” Jessie suggested. “And that person hasn’t picked up his or her pictures yet.”
Mrs. Turner shook her head. “Nope. The bin where we keep the photo deliveries is empty. Violet, you were the last person to pick up photographs from this delivery.”
“Then we don’t know who lost this.” Violet tucked the mysterious photograph into her own envelope. “If anyone reports a missing picture, please let me know.”
“I’m sure no one will claim that dull picture,” Mr. Kirby said, turning away.
“Thanks anyway,” Henry said. When they left the store, he added, “Boy, that guy’s sure not much help. I’ll be glad when Mr. Cooke comes back.”
Jessie glanced back through the window. Mr. Kirby was dialing the phone again.
“He couldn’t wait to get us out of there,” she said. “I guess he didn’t want us to hear his phone conversation.”
“I don’t think he likes kids,” said Benny as they crossed the square to the town hall building.
Henry agreed. “I think you’re right, Benny. Mr. Kirby is one of those grown-ups who is impatient around kids. Like nothing we say or do is important. Some grown-ups are like that.”
“I hope you don’t mean me,” said a cheerful voice behind them. “Am I one of those awful grown-ups?”
Benny recognized the young man first. “Mr. Bass!” he exclaimed. “You’re not awful!”
Rick Bass pretended to wipe his forehead. “Whew! For a minute there, I was worried you thought I was an old grouch.”
Jessie laughed. Rick Bass could never be an old grouch. He was too young, for one thing. And he was always smiling. His chestnut hair was the same color as the leaves blowing across the square today.
“When will the museum be open?” she asked him.
Rick shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his denim jacket. “When I was hired, I thought I’d have the Greenfield Historical Museum open in a month. I’ve been here three months and I’m still digging my way through the artifacts.”
“The art — what?” asked Benny.
“Artifacts are objects. Anything that is part of Greenfield’s history,” replied Rick. “It can be something really old, like a pewter cup from the seventeen-hundreds. Or something not so old, like the first phone book.”
Just then Grandfather joined them. “Mr. Bass,” he said. “How is the museum coming along?”
“As I was telling your grandchildren, it’s a bigger job than I thought it would be,” he replied.
James Alden nodded. “People have been donating items to the historical society for many years. I imagine there’s quite a pile of stuff in the town hall basement.”
“Yes, sir,” Rick agreed. “But I love rooting through old things. You’d be surprised at some discoveries I’ve made. One is very interesting.”
Benny was instantly curious. “What is it?”
“Tell us!” Violet urged.
“Not today,” said Grandfather. “We must be going.”
“We’ll be back here tomorrow,” Benny informed Rick. “Will you come see us?”
Rick made a thumbs-up sign. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Benny hated being kept in suspense. “Can you give us a little hint?”
Rick smiled mysteriously. “This town is full of secrets!” |