A Note from Donna
Can you keep a secret? Seriously, it’s huge.
This book you’re holding: it’s the newest book by famed mystery author Sarah Weaver. You may not recognize her name, because she used to write under the pseudonym, or fake name, Mason Briggs. Mason Briggs’ noir mystery stories were set in the 1950s and featured a tough-guy private eye named Owen Quinn. Then Mason (well, really, Sarah) died, and there were no more books. At least that’s what everyone thought.
That’s where we come in. Me, Curtis (my brother), and our friends Ruben and Chevon. Well, us…and a ghost.
Let me explain. There was this ghost haunting Ruben’s grandpa’s bookstore, and it communicated with only us. We didn’t know why we’d been chosen, but we decided to call the ghost Ghostwriter, or GW for short. It took us a while to figure out, but GW turned out to be the ghost of Sarah Weaver. And she had some unfinished business: a lost manuscript. It was up to the four of us to track it down. GW released all these amazing characters from books to give us clues, which was super helpful and spoiler alert we found her manuscript…but it was unfinished. She wanted us to write the ending!
Why us? Well, in the part of the manuscript Sarah finished before dying, she'd created four kid detective characters named Doris, Ben, Yvonne, and Charles, who were eerily similar to the four of us (me,
Ruben, Chevon, and Curtis). With Sarah’s guidance, we had to solve the book’s mystery while also writing it. Talk about tricky. Working together, we tracked the clues and suspects, and figured out whodunit!
When we published the book, we used Sarah’s real name instead of Mason Briggs so she’d finally get the credit she deserved. To read the “long-lost mystery” of The CobaltMask, just turn the page!
—Donna (Ruben, Chevon, and Curtis too)
Chapter 1
Like most twelve-year-olds, Ben Harris loved nothing more than being in the middle of the action.
And here he was. At what was sure to be the event of 1955, if not the biggest event his town had ever seen: the unveiling of the Springfield History Museum’s latest acquisition, the priceless Cobalt Mask.
The entire room buzzed in anticipation. Everyone who was anyone was there. The rich and famous, the movers and shakers, and perhaps the most infamous of them all: Owen Quinn, the private eye who hadn’t met a case he couldn’t solve.
“Thanks again for bringing me, Uncle Owen,” Ben said as he tugged on his bow tie. He’d never worn a tie before, let alone a whole tuxedo. He even borrowed some of his best friend’s hair grease to smooth back his dark brown hair. “This is really neat.”
Ben had been to the museum plenty of times on field trips. He and his classmates would be crammed into exhibits. But this time was different. The entire area was cordoned off with a velvet rope. Most of the dressed-up crowd was gathered by the ancient mask. But Ben was excited to get up close to his favorite exhibits: the stone tablets that were centuries old and the shiny suits of armor.
“Glad you’re enjoying yourself, kid,” Owen said as his piercing blue eyes focused on a waiter nearby. “You’ll liven up the place. These events can be pretty boring. Although it’s always good for me to
make an appearance—maybe rustle up a few clients. The Springfield elite never seem to behave, which is very good for my business.”
No kidding, Ben thought. His private investigator uncle was more in demand than the Springfield police. Owen Quinn always got results. Practically every week his picture was on the front page of the Springfield Gazette. Last year, he was even named Springfield’s Man of 1954.
Which was exactly why Ben wanted to follow in Owen’s mighty footsteps. He and his friends had recently formed their very own Mystery Club. For the first few weeks, they had read detective novels and listened to Ben’s favorite show on the radio, The Adventures of Detective Grant. Until, finally, a classmate needed their help. Her dog had gone missing.
“We solved our first case!” Ben had been waiting all day to share the details with his uncle. “I’m happy to report that Pickles the cocker spaniel was found safe and sound at the tennis court.”
“That’s great!” Owen leaned in. “Tell me, how did you crack it? Maybe I can pick up some pointers.”
Ben couldn’t help but laugh. His dream was to work alongside his uncle one day. Maybe they’d even be partners. He could see the sign on their office door now: owen quinn & nephew.
“It was a team effort,” Ben stated proudly. “Doris created a timeline of the disappearance. Charles discovered the doggy door was broken. Yvonne pointed out that the fine red dust on Pickles’s favorite ball came from the red clay on the town tennis court. And I pieced it all together.” Ben puffed out his chest with pride.
“Look at you! Just like your uncle.” Owen gave him a nod of respect. “Although I prefer to work alone.”
And just like that, Ben felt deflated. But he wouldn’t give up. He’d prove to his uncle that he could be a real private investigator. He and his friends simply needed more cases to solve. A little more practice.
“See that man in the gray suit?” Owen pointed across the room. “He hired me to find his missing brother. Turns out, his brother wasn’t missing. He was just hiding from his family!”
Owen laughed as he picked up a few pieces of shrimp from a passing tray. Ben hesitated as the waiter, dressed in a white jacket and black tie, bent down to place the platter in front of him.
“Go on,” Owen said. “It’s one of the best parts of shindigs like this: the free food!”
Ben smiled as he took the last four pieces of jumbo shrimp from the tray.
“Come on, kid.” Owen slung his arm over Ben’s shoulder. “Let’s take a look at this mask everybody is talking about.”
With so many people crowded around the mask, it took a few minutes to make their way over. Ben had assumed something hundreds of years old would be broken and made of gray stone. Instead, the bright cobalt-blue mask shimmered under the lights. The shape of a face was flawless, without a single dent or blemish. More than a dozen bright red rubies outlined the eyebrows and formed a V on the forehead. Ben had never seen anything so spectacular in his life. It was stunning.
“Wow,” he finally said, nearly at a loss for words.
“I hear you,” Owen agreed. He let out a long whistle. “Must be worth a pretty penny.”
More like a million dollars, thought Ben.
The low murmur of the crowd suddenly stopped. Ben turned to see that everybody’s attention had shifted to a tall blond woman entering the room. She was dripping with diamonds. Dressed in a stylish dark blue double-breasted suit jacket and dramatic floorlength gown, she made her way over to Owen.
“Owen!” She held out her arms to Ben’s uncle. “How are you enjoying the Cobalt Mask?”
Owen shrugged. “It’s pretty.”
She let out a little laugh that seemed forced. “Pretty? I know a couple of buyers who would pay a small fortune for it.” Her steely green eyes settled on the mask.
“Too bad the museum’s not selling it.” Owen popped the last shrimp in his mouth.
The woman sighed longingly. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” Her attention shifted over to the corner. “Oh, duty calls. Owen.” She gave him a slight nod before she flipped her hair and left.
“Who was that?” Ben whispered to his uncle.
“Genevieve Marcus. Owns half of downtown and has eyes on the other half. She’s smart, but don’t get on her bad side.”
Ben studied the woman, who was smiling and laughing with a group of men in tuxedos. “Are you on her bad side?”
Owen shrugged. “Depends on the day. Lately?” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yes.”
Another waiter appeared with a tray full of mini quiches. He was in his midforties, with slicked-back brown hair and a thin mustache. His eyes narrowed as he approached the duo.
Ben instantly got a bad feeling in his gut. He edged backward as the man towered over him.
Owen reached for a quiche. His eyes grew wide as he recognized the waiter. “Jimmy! You’re out?”
Jimmy gave Owen a tight smile. “Last month.” He extended the platter down.
Owen reached for a quiche then Jimmy turned his attention to Ben. “Quiche?”
Ben took another step back. There was something off about the waiter. Ben could only shake his head in reply. Jimmy gave Ben a smirk before he moved on to the people beside them.
Ben waited until Jimmy was out of earshot before he questioned his uncle. “What did you mean when you said that Jimmy was out?”
Owen studied Jimmy as he made his way around the room. “Prison. I was the one who figured out he was behind a rash of burglaries. I turned the evidence over to the police, and Jimmy Bones was put behind bars.”
“So…” Ben looked around the room. “I’m guessing you’re also on his bad side?”
Owen leaned against a large pillar. “Comes with the territory, kid.”
Ben never realized how much danger his uncle was in by being a private investigator. It made sense: he caught bad guys. Ben doubted criminals were very forgiving.
Surveying the room, Owen caught sight of Sergeant Belson of the Springfield police. He was wearing a rumpled tuxedo and a grimace on his face. “Owen, a pleasure as always.”
But the way he said it made Ben think it was anything but a pleasure.
“You’re looking spiffy, Sarge,” Owen replied as he took in Sergeant Belson’s disheveled appearance.
“Nice party. Light on food, though.” He ran a hand through his graying hair.
Owen looked around. “They had shrimp but must’ve run out.” He gave Ben a wink. “I’m afraid you’re too late…much like your police work.”
Sergeant Belson pursed his lips. “Witty as always, I see. Enjoy your night.” He gave Owen a curt nod before walking away.
Ben could practically feel the coldness between the two.
“So are you on his ” Ben began.
“Don’t say it.” His uncle shook his head.
“I’m sensing a pattern.” Ben was surprised. He’d thought everybody idolized his uncle as much as he did.
Owen sighed. “You’d think Belson would be appreciative for all the work I do for him, but some people can’t handle others getting the attention. What should matter is having a case solved.”
“But the attention can be nice, right?” Ben asked.
A few weeks ago, Owen had received the key to the city from the mayor. There were cameras and reporters everywhere. More than a hundred people showed up in the town square to celebrate Owen. Ben couldn’t imagine anything better.
“It is nice,” Owen admitted, but his attention was across the room. “I’ll be right back.” He gave Ben a smile before walking away.
Ben took in the scene. He drank it all up as if this were the most delicious glass of fruit punch he’d ever tasted. It almost felt like a dream. He was hanging out with the most important people in town. He heard whispering that even the governor was here.
This was what he wanted for his future. Solving crimes. Getting keys to the city. Attending fancy events. Being on the front page of
the newspapers. Ben didn’t care how many bad sides he’d be on—he was going to be a private investigator just like his uncle. His hero.
CRASH!
Ben jolted at the loud noise that thundered a few feet way. It sounded as if a thousand tin cans had hit the floor at once. He turned and saw that an ancient suit of armor had fallen from its display.
The guests hurried over to watch as security guards scrambled to upright the armor. But a few minutes later, voices started calling out.
“No!”
“It can’t be!”
“Help! Police!”
The room was so chaotic it took Ben a moment to figure out where to look.
He turned and saw the display case.
It was empty.
The Cobalt Mask had vanished.
Someone had stolen it!
Chapter 2
“I can’t believe you were there!”
The Mystery Club was gathered in Ben’s bedroom the next morning. He hadn’t bothered to clean it. A heap of clothes lay on the floor, and a half-built model airplane was scattered on the desk along with his homework.
Charles, Ben’s best friend, continued, “It’s all our parents could talk about at breakfast.”
“It’s all anybody in this town can talk about,” Yvonne chimed in. She sat down and curled her legs on what looked to be the only clear area of Ben’s blue-carpeted floor. “The stolen mask and that the great Owen Quinn was hired by the museum to find it.”
“Who else were they going to ask—Sergeant Belson?” Charles said with a laugh as he flipped the collar on his tan jacket. Besides Ben’s uncle—who always wore tailored suits and his signature fedora— Charles was the sharpest dresser Ben knew. He often had on cuffed jeans and a crisp white T-shirt. “Owen told the newspaper he’d find it in a week.”
“Ben, tell us everything that happened!” Doris exclaimed as she plopped down next to Yvonne. She opened her green spiral notebook to a clean page.
“Why are you taking notes?” Charles asked.
“You never know what Ben might have noticed,” Doris replied with a shrug. She pulled out a freshly sharpened pencil from the pocket
of her full skirt. “Maybe something that could help.”
“We just found a missing dog. What if, for our next case, we help Owen find the mask?” Charles said with a faraway look in his eyes. “We’d be heroes.”
Heroes? Ben liked the sound of that. If they did help find the Cobalt Mask, he’d really impress his uncle.
“Go on.” Charles sat on Ben’s blue plaid bedspread. “Don’t leave us hanging.”
All three of his friends focused on him.
“It was intense,” Ben finally said. “After the mask was stolen, there were so many people running around and shouting. Sergeant Belson locked down the entire room so we couldn’t leave. Then the police came and started questioning people. They considered us all to be suspects.”
“The police thought you could’ve stolen the mask?” Yvonne’s brown eyes went wide.
Ben shook his head. “No, they didn’t ask me anything.”
“But that’s a good thing!” She studied his disappointed face. “Why are you upset you weren’t questioned?”
Ben was embarrassed that the police had let him go so easily, because he was “just a kid.”
“I’m not. It’s just, I figure it would’ve been good to see what a real interrogation was like. Maybe get some tips.” Ben had done his best to observe how his uncle studied the empty display case and the suit of armor that had crashed to the ground. How were the two connected?Ben had wondered.
But then his mother had come to pick him up. She didn’t think a crime scene was a good place for a twelve-year-old. So the most
exciting evening of his life had been cut short.
“This has got to be Owen Quinn’s biggest case yet,” Doris commented. Her head was buried in her notebook.
Ben peered over her shoulder. She had written Mystery Club Case #2: The Case ofthe Stolen Cobalt Maskat the top of the page in her neat cursive.
The Mystery Club had started when Ben and Charles who spent their lunches talking about the episode of The Adventures of Detective Grant they’d listened to the night before on the radio spotted new graffiti on the stalls of the boys’ bathroom at school. It was Ben who noticed the smudges. Charles deduced that the person doing it was left-handed. As a left-hander himself, Charles was familiar with pen marks and smudges on his papers from his hand brushing over fresh writing. They reported their theory to the principal, who didn’t take them seriously until a teacher caught a student, who just happened to be left-handed, trying to leave graffiti outside the gym.
That was it. They were hooked on finding clues and making deductions. So they decided to make it official and start their own mystery club. Ben and Charles invited Yvonne to join not just because her parents were best friends with Ben’s parents, but because she also happened to be the smartest kid in school. Yvonne always carried a stack of books—and she’d read them all! Yvonne had told Ben that she wanted to be a journalist when she grew up, and since journalists and detectives were both in pursuit of the truth, she’d joined the club. While Ben saw himself as the leader of the group, he had to admit that Yvonne was probably the brains. Okay, not probably—she was.
Doris was the last member to join. She was Charles’s younger sister, but it was Yvonne who’d invited her. Yvonne had spotted Doris in the library poring over detective novels. Doris noticed everything and wrote her findings down in her notebook. She was usually the one to keep the club organized and on task.
“Who do you think did it?” Doris asked, getting down to business like usual. She wrote SUSPECTSin big letters on the next page.
“Yeah, did you see anybody suspicious last night?” Charles asked Ben.
Ben thought for a moment. He had been surrounded by some of the wealthiest people in town, along with the mayor and police sergeant. Why would any of them steal the mask and risk going to jail?
“Oh, wait.” Ben remembered something. Or, more accurately, someone. “There was a waiter last night who had just gotten out of prison.”
Charles clapped his hands together. “Well, there we go. He has to be a lead suspect, right?”
“Right,” Ben replied. Honestly, Jimmy Bones seemed like the only person who could’ve stolen the mask. He had a criminal past. There was something about him how he’d glared at Owen and intimidated Ben by towering over him that didn’t sit well with Ben. But maybe it was too obvious for it to be Jimmy. Just because he was out of prison didn’t mean he was still a crook. “Maybe. I don’t know…”
“I have an idea.” Charles had a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. It was a look Ben knew well. Charles got it whenever he decided to delay his homework to go play pinball down at the diner. It was something that happened a lot.
“What?” Ben asked hesitantly.
“We should go talk to your uncle. Now!” Charles hopped up from the bed. He took a comb out of the back pocket of his jeans and ran it through his slick pompadour hairdo. Charles was always making sure his hair looked real swell.
“Wouldn’t Owen be too busy with finding the mask to talk to us?”
Yvonne asked.
“He’s never too busy for his favorite nephew,” Ben stated proudly.
“You mean only nephew,” Doris replied with a snort.
Ben knew the fastest way he was going to become a better detective—and maybe help find the Cobalt Mask—was to learn from the best.
And there was nobody better than Owen Quinn.
Ben opened the door to his bedroom. “Come on, let’s go!”
Chapter 3
“He’s all the way at the top,” Ben told his friends as they climbed four flights of stairs to the highest floor of the redbrick office building in downtown Springfield where Owen Quinn had his office.
“So cool!” Charles pointed to the frosted-glass window that read quinn detective agency. “This is where some of the city’s toughest cases have been cracked.”
“Are you sure this is okay?” Yvonne asked again. She nervously smoothed the tiny braids twisted into a coil at the back of her head.
“It’s fine,” Ben replied. “I stop by all the time.” Even though he was secretly worried that, for the first time, his uncle might be too busy for him.
“Plus he might need our help,” Charles stated. “Five brains are better than one, right?”
“That’s assuming we’re all functioning with full brains,” Doris teased.
Charles grabbed his sister and began tickling her. “Who’s your favorite and smartest brother?”
“Richard. No, Paul, George!” Doris let out a laugh and squirmed away from Charles’s reach.
Charles snorted. It was true that he didn’t have the best grades of the group, but he had something more important: he had the charisma of a private investigator. Everyone liked Charles. He was
the most popular kid in school. Whatever Charles thought was cool, others in their class were quick to agree.
“Can we please get down to business?” Yvonne asked, unimpressed as usual with Charles’s clowning around.
Doris took a step back to tighten her high ponytail. “Do you really think Owen would want our help?”
Ben shrugged. He knew his uncle liked to work alone. But Ben had been there when the mask was stolen. There must be something they could do to assist the great Owen Quinn.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Ben knocked on the door.
He felt relief that his uncle was smiling when he greeted them.
“What’s cookin’, kids? C’mon in.”
His uncle seemed…relaxed. Not that Ben ever saw him rattled, but with the priceless mask missing, he must’ve been a little stressed.
Unless he’d already found it.
“Uh…nice office.” Doris grimaced.
Ben took in his uncle’s messy office. There were folders piled high on the file cabinet in the corner. Trinkets from all over the world— snow globes from London and Paris, small hand-carved sculptures from Mexico—littered Owen’s large dark wooden desk. But Owen didn’t need a clean office to solve cases.
A smile spread across Ben’s face. Just another thing he had in common with his uncle. He decided that the next time his mom told him to clean his room, he’d inform her that he was just training to be a private eye.
Ben shook his head knowing that would not go over well.
Owen sat at his desk. Behind him was a giant bulletin board filled with maps, written clues, and mug shots of suspects. Ben and his
friends made themselves comfortable on the chairs and couch usually reserved for clients.
“Did I ever tell you about my last case?” Owen began as he propped his feet on the desk. “It was a doozy, I tell ya. I almost didn’t make it out of there. Picture it: I was in the back alley of this jazz club after I got my evidence of their illegal gambling outfit. I was completely boxed in. No way out.” Owen paused to laugh. “These two goons thought they had me, but here’s what they didn’t count on: I had positioned a few associates in the dumpster. The tables were turned in a jiffy, and they went upstate for five to ten.”
“That’s so cool!” Charles exclaimed, impressed.
“Just another day in the life of a private investigator,” Owen replied.
“What’s going on with the Cobalt Mask?” Doris asked, bringing them back to the reason why they were there.
“Yes! Any leads?” Charles chimed in.
“It’s real cool that you’ve been hired to find it,” Yvonne added.
“Ah, yes, this case is a puzzling one.” Owen tapped his fingers against his chin. “At first I thought it was an inside job. I talked to all the people who worked at the museum, like security and tour guides, since they had access to the mask. I had a nice, long chat this morning with the curator.”
“Who’s that?” Doris took out her notebook.
“She was in charge of putting the exhibition together,” Owen explained. “She had access to the mask all night.”
“So she took it?” Ben asked.
It wouldn’t surprise Ben that his uncle had solved the most important case in the history of Springfield in less than twenty-four
hours.
“I don’t think so,” Owen said. “She had an alibi.”
“An alibi?” Charles’s shoulders slumped.
“Someone who can account for her whereabouts to make sure she’s telling the truth,” Yvonne explained.
“I know what an alibi is. Detective Grant talks about them all the time!” Charles frowned at Yvonne.
“Just trying to help.” Yvonne smiled at him.
“You’re a smart kid,” Owen said to Yvonne. He looked over to Charles. “All you kids are.”
This caused Charles to sit up a little straighter.
Owen continued, “The curator was nowhere near the mask when it was taken. I have witnesses who were with her at the time.”
“Do you have any other leads?” Doris asked. She wrote LEADS? at the top of a fresh page in her notebook.
“Yeah, what about Jimmy Bones?” Ben threw out to his uncle.
“Talked to him as well. He said he was in the kitchen when the mask was stolen and swore up and down that he’s on the straight and narrow. But in this job, there’s always another lead,” Owen said with a sly grin. “Even if I haven’t found the mask yet. The key to investigative work is persistence. Never give up.”
“Never give up,” Doris repeated. She wrote it out in capital letters and underlined it. “Any other advice?”
Ben and his friends leaned in, ready to absorb all the wisdom the famous Owen Quinn was willing to share with them.
“You need to listen.”
“I hear you,” Ben agreed.
“Then you have to figure out what’s not being said.”
“Ah, right…” Ben nodded, even though he wasn’t sure what that meant.
But if he nodded along and pretended to understand his uncle, maybe Owen would be so impressed he’d ask for them to help.
“How do you know where to look for clues?” Doris asked.
“Whenever I listen to Detective Grant on the radio, he always says looking for clues is all about the details,” Ben added.
“Detective Grant is fiction,” Owen reminded him. “Nothing like solving a real case. I wish I had a staff of writers to help me out. I just have to rely on my wits.” Owen tapped his forehead. “There’s this sixth sense I have when I examine a crime scene. The evidence practically calls out to me.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re more successful than the police,” Ben added.
“That’s exactly what the Springfield Gazette said after I caught the crooks that held up the bank last year.” Owen suddenly stood, as if he finally remembered something.
Like the fact that the Cobalt Mask was still missing.
He grabbed his fedora and trench coat off the coat rack. “As much as I enjoy chatting, it’s time for me to get back out there.”
Ben followed his uncle to the door. “C’mon, Uncle Owen, what can we do to help? Anything you need! We’ll do it.”
Owen patted Ben on the shoulder. “I appreciate the offer, but this is a high-profile case, kids. I best play this one solo. Maybe next time.”
Ben forced a smile as his uncle ushered them out of his office.
“I like that moxie, though. You kids sure do have character. Well, see you around.” With that, he hurried down the stairs and out of
the building, leaving the Mystery Club behind.
Chapter 4
If the delicious milkshakes at Joe’s Diner couldn’t shake Ben out of his funk, nothing could.
The Mystery Club had gathered in their favorite corner booth an hour after visiting Owen’s office. Bill Haley and His Comets’ “Rock Around the Clock” played on the jukebox. A few teenagers gathered around a pinball machine in the back. Ben overheard the other customers whispering about the Cobalt Mask.
It was all he could think about too.
“Here you go.” Mimi, dressed in a light blue waitress uniform, placed their food on their table. “Two strawberry milkshakes, one vanilla…and an omelet.”
“That’s mine.” Charles patted his stomach. “Solving crimes makes me hungry.” He scooped up a giant forkful of his cheese omelet.
“Everything makes you hungry,” Yvonne said with a shake of her head. “Besides, we don’t have a case to solve.”
“Yet.” Ben wasn’t giving up on the Cobalt Mask.
Maybe the Mystery Club could do some investigating on their own. Work on some leads…even though they didn’t have any. But if they found something, anything, Owen would have to let them join him.
“What can we do?” Charles said in between bites of his omelet. “We’re just a bunch of kids.”
“Speak for yourself!” Doris played with the wrapper of her straw. “I’m sick of being underestimated.”
Gooey cheese dripped from Charles’s fork as he paused before taking a bite. “What does that mean?”
“Underestimatedmeans—” Yvonne began.
“Oh!” Ben interrupted. “Owen’s here!”
Owen removed his fedora as he approached the front counter. “Mimi, cuppa joe, please,” he ordered.
Ben knew he didn’t have to get his uncle’s attention. Nothing ever got by him. Sure enough, Owen’s trained eye scanned the diner with its black-and-white-checkered floor and blue vinyl booths and silver high-top stools that lined the counter. He lit up upon seeing Ben and his friends in the corner. He sauntered over, slinging his trench coat over his shoulder.
“Make way.” Ben happily scooched in the booth to leave space for Owen.
“Should’ve known I’d run into you kids here. The shakes are hard to beat.” Owen sat next to Ben as Mimi placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of him.
They’d just seen him an hour ago, but Ben knew his uncle worked fast. “Any new leads on the stolen mask?” he asked.
Owen chuckled. “I like how you get right to it. I was over at the museum talking to the director. He’s the number one honcho there and suspect number two.”
“Oh!” Doris reached for her notebook. Ben knew she didn’t want to miss a single piece of information.
Owen continued, “You see, I found out that attendance has been down at the museum. So I thought that maybe the director stole the mask for insurance money.”
“Insurance money?” Charles asked with his mouth full.
“Basically, the insurance company would pay the museum if something happened to the mask. It was probably worth a lot of money,” Yvonne explained. “Sounds like a pretty solid reason for him to be a suspect.”
Owen nodded. “It’s always important to look at who has the most to gain in a crime. The why someone would do it is their motive. Getting a big pay-out is definitely a huge motive for stealing the mask.”
“That’s so smart,” Charles agreed. “I mean, that makes total sense it would be the museum director.”
Owen shook his head. “It wasn’t him. I read over the insurance papers. It only will pay the museum if the mask was damaged in something beyond the museum’s control, like a fire. Security—or lack of any is a whole different ball game. There has to be a separate investigation to rule out foul play. And everything about this mask being stolen stinks. Something isn’t right.”
“Oh.” Charles grimaced. “So now what?”
Owen paused for a moment. This was the first time Ben had seen his uncle look unsure of himself.
Yvonne leaned in. “Are you worried you won’t be able to solve the case?”
“Yvonne!” Ben cried. “My uncle’s the greatest private investigator in the whole city. Probably the whole world.”
“It’s a fair question,” Yvonne replied bluntly.
“It’s okay. Yvonne is right to wonder. This isn’t an easy case,” Owen admitted. “And I appreciate your vote of confidence, Ben. As I said before, persistence is the name of the game. Don’t worry, I’ll crack it soon.”
Ben gave his uncle a confident nod.
If anybody could solve the case, it would be Owen Quinn. Especially if he had a partner…or four.
“Hey, Uncle Owen, maybe there’s something we can do to ” Ben began, but Owen cut him off.
“Oh boy,” he muttered.
Ben followed Owen’s gaze to the front of the diner. Sergeant Belson was approaching the booth with a friendly smile on his face.
But it wasn’t for Owen.
“Kids.” He gave them each a nod. “Nice to see you, Doris. Jean told me you were going to the park with her later this afternoon.”
“Yes! I can’t wait to oh.” Doris looked around at the group. “Maybe I should reschedule. We’re kind of busy with, ah…”
“It’s okay, Doris,” Charles said. “You should have fun with your friend.”
Ben was confused by the glare Doris was giving her brother in reply. Sarge’s daughter Jean was her best friend. And it wasn’t like they were doing anything else. Or being useful.
The sergeant’s gaze shifted to Owen. “I see you’re working hard as usual,” he said with a snort.
Owen leaned back in the booth. “Just enjoying a coffee with my nephew and his pals, Sarge. Last time I checked, that was on the up-and-up.” He gave Sergeant Belson a crooked smile.
Belson clenched his jaw in return.
The tension between the two was obvious. It was just like what Ben had witnessed back at the museum. Why was Belson being so uptight? He should be grateful for all the work his uncle had done for
him. If a case was solved, did it really matter who got to the bottom of it?
But Owen was the one on the front page of the newspapers, not the sergeant. Ben realized that couldn’t sit well with Belson.
The sergeant let out a low sigh. “Well, sorry to cut your fun short, but I’ll need you to come down to the station with me. I have a few questions.”
“Oh really?” Owen looked amused, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Am Ia suspect?”
“Should you be?” Belson crossed his arms as he glared down at Owen.
“No.” Now it was Owen’s turn to clench his jaw.
Ben nearly laughed out loud. Of course Owen couldn’t be a suspect. Belson was probably just jealous that the museum had hired Owen instead of having faith that the police would find the mask on their own.
Neither Owen nor Belson moved. Owen narrowed his eyes at the sergeant, who returned it with his own glare.
Ben could hardly breathe. A quick glance around the table showed that the rest of his friends were as uncomfortable as he was.
Owen finally broke his gaze as he took a sip of coffee. “And if I refuse to come with you?”
“I wouldn’t advise it.” Sergeant Belson tapped his badge, as if reminding Owen who was in charge.
Owen let out a little chuckle. “Don’t get worked up, Sarge. I’m happy to answer your questions.” But Owen didn’t make any motion to stand. Instead, he slowly stirred his coffee with a spoon. “Just let me finish my joe.”
Belson frowned. “Fine, I’ll be waiting outside.”
Once the sergeant exited the diner, the group turned to Owen.
“What’s that about?” Ben asked.
This couldn’t be good. His uncle was being told to go to the police station to be questioned for a crime.
“He’s always giving me a hard time.” Owen picked a piece of lint off his blazer, not seeming to care. “It’s nothing.”
“But it’s thepolice,” Yvonne replied. “Aren’t you worried?”
“Worried?” Owen gave another chuckle. “He’s probably going to question me on what I’ve figured out since I’m always doing the sarge’s job for him. Best go take care of it, though. No one likes a cranky Sarge.” Owen stood, reached into his pocket, and placed a few coins on the counter. “Milkshakes are on me, kids.” Owen flashed his camera-ready smile at Ben and his friends before leaving.
“Is he going to be okay?” Charles asked.
“Yeah, of course,” Ben replied quickly, even though he wasn’t so sure.
“Sergeant Belson didn’t look happy,” Doris said. “He had the same look on his face that he did when Jean and I accidentally knocked over a vase in his house.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Charles said with an excited glint in his eye. “Follow me.”
Chapter 5
“This way!” Charles said as he went behind a tree outside the police station.
Ben, Doris, and Yvonne followed him along the side of the clay brick building. They ducked below a few windows until they arrived at the very back.
“This one is the sergeant’s office,” Doris whispered. She sat underneath the window. “And he’s not very careful.” The window was wide open.
Yvonne grinned. “That’s good news for us.”
Ben slowly rose up until he could peek inside.
Belson’s office was cramped and messy: paperwork towering on his metal desk, photos and folders in crooked stacks on top of his file cabinet. Aha! Further proof that Ben shouldn’t get in trouble for his messy bedroom. Who had time to clean when there were crimes to be solved?
Belson sat at his desk. Owen was seated across from him. Belson flipped through a file, leaving Owen with nothing to do but sit there.
“What’s going on?” Yvonne asked softly.
“Nothing,” Ben whispered.
Ben told himself that this wasn’t a big deal. His uncle often went to the police station to fill them in on a case.
But, somehow, this time felt different.
