The Case of the Ruined Ram Read online

  Others were not only hard to match, they were hard to read.

  “Some people in this class have terrible handwriting,” Kayla complained as she stared at the slips of paper.

  “We’re not here to judge the quality of the handwriting, just to match the samples,” Miss Hodges reminded them.

  At the end of the period, everyone agreed it’d been another fun class, kind of like doing puzzles.

  But Ben was thinking it was more than just fun. It could be very useful for figuring out who left the note on the tree near the bonfire.

  Unfortunately, Charlie was thinking the exact same thing. Ben heard him say to Ricky as they were leaving, “We should get handwriting standards from the chief suspects.”

  “Great idea, partner!” Ricky said, slapping him on the back.

  Not if Club CSI could get them first . . .

  Chapter 10

  Jefferson High School was on the other side of town, so Hannah, Ben, and Corey went home first to get their bicycles. It wasn’t easy talking to one another while they rode, but they managed to shout a few sentences when they were on quiet streets.

  “What exactly are we going to say to these football players?” Hannah yelled.

  “Yeah,” Ben said. “We can’t just walk up to them and ask if they destroyed Rocky the Ram.”

  “I figured we’d play it by ear,” Corey replied.

  “I think we should have some kind of plan,” Hannah said.

  They rode on in silence for a block or two.

  “Corey, you’re the football player,” said Ben.

  “Right,” Corey said. “I remember.”

  “So, maybe you can use that,” Ben suggested.

  “Okay,” agreed Corey. “Good idea.” Then he tried to figure out how he could use being a football player to talk to the high school guys.

  The football team was out practicing on their field. Club CSI locked up their bikes and then walked over to the football field. When the players took a break, Corey led the way over to a few of them.

  “Hey,” he said. “Kind of hot for practice.”

  “Nah, it’s okay,” said one of the players. He grabbed a bottle of water and took a long drink.

  “I was kind of thinking of going out for football when I get to high school,” Corey said. He didn’t mention he’d be going to Woodlands, not Jefferson. “Is it a lot harder than junior high football?”

  “The guys are a lot bigger,” one of them said.

  “They tackle harder,” another added.

  “And the coaches are much, much meaner,” said a third. They all laughed.

  Corey laughed too. “Hey, great game against Woodlands last Saturday, by the way.” It killed Corey to say this, but he wanted to get them talking about last weekend.

  “Thanks,” one of the players said. “We had a good day.”

  “And the Rams had a lousy one,” another player said. More laughs.

  “Maybe they were upset about their mascot being burned,” Corey said. “That was pretty crazy. I wonder who the mastermind behind that was.”

  He was hoping maybe the players would start talking about the destruction of Rocky the Ram. Ben and Hannah could watch them carefully to see if they looked sly or proud. Or if they quickly grinned. Something that would give them away. Maybe they’d even brag about burning the costume.

  But they didn’t do any of those things.

  “That was terrible,” one of the players said, shaking his head.

  “Horrible,” another added.

  “Yeah, that was not cool at all,” a third said. “Those mascots work really hard. I liked Rocky the Ram.”

  “That dumb note made people think we did it,” another player said. “Which is ridiculous. We’re on the team to win football games. Not play stupid pranks on people.”

  “Yeah, I really hate it that people think we did that,” the first player said. He looked at Corey, Ben, and Hannah. “Hey, you don’t think we did it, do you?”

  Corey shook his head. “No way. Of course not.”

  Hannah said, “I guess maybe people think the rivalry between Jefferson and Woodlands just got out of hand.”

  A big player said, “To tell the truth, the biggest rivalry was between the mascots. Our Viking and their ram.”

  Some of the players laughed. “Yeah,” one of them said. “Steve really hates Rocky the Ram for some reason.”

  “Who’s Steve?” Hannah asked.

  “The guy who wears the Viking costume,” another player explained. “At the game against Woodlands last year, he actually got into a fight with Rocky. We had to separate them. Luckily, they couldn’t really hurt each other with those big heads on.”

  All the players laughed.

  Ben thought of something. “We saw a lot of cool cars in the parking lot. Do some of you guys have your own cars?”

  A few of the guys nodded proudly.

  “Does Steve?” Hannah asked.

  They weren’t sure, but a couple of them thought Steve did have his own car. Or at least access to his family’s car.

  Hannah looked around and noticed the player they’d seen behind the tree at the pep rally. She managed to get Ben’s attention, nodding toward the player.

  “Well, let’s not bother these guys anymore,” Ben said to Corey. “Let’s go.”

  “Thanks, guys,” Corey said. “Good talking to you.”

  “Maybe we’ll see you on the team in a couple of years,” one of the players said.

  “Yeah,” Corey said. “Maybe.”

  “Try to get bigger,” the player suggested. Some of his friends chuckled.

  Hannah, Ben, and Corey hurried over to where the player from the pep rally was sitting by himself. He saw them coming and ran out onto the field. An assistant coach blew his whistle. Break was over.

  But Club CSI was patient. They waited until football practice ended. When they saw the player they wanted to talk to coming out of the gym in his street clothes, they followed him until they could speak to him alone.

  “Excuse me,” Hannah said. “My name is Hannah. These are my friends Ben and Corey. Could we ask you something?”

  The player looked startled. “Oh, hi. I’m Chris. What do you need to talk to me about?”

  “About the pep rally last Friday,” Ben said. “At Woodlands.”

  Chris looked around to see if anyone was listening. No one else was around. “What about it?”

  “We saw you,” Corey said. “Behind a tree. What were you doing there?”

  Chris sighed. It looked as though he were about to confess.

  And he was. Just not to burning Rocky the Ram.

  “My cousin plays in the marching band at Woodlands,” he said quietly. “I really wanted to see her perform. I know I shouldn’t have gone to a rally for the rival team, but she’s so proud of being in the band, and I wanted to support her.”

  “Oh,” Hannah said. “That’s really nice.”

  Nice, but not incriminating, thought Ben.

  Chapter 11

  As they rode their bikes away from Jefferson High School, the three friends talked about what they’d just found out.

  “No one acted at all guilty,” Hannah said, pedaling smoothly to stay near Ben and Corey.

  “And Chris had a good reason to be at the rally,” Corey added.

  “A very nice reason,” Hannah said.

  “Still, we didn’t learn anything that would eliminate the Jefferson football players as suspects,” Ben said.

  “No,” Hannah said, “but I thought the stuff they told us about Steve the angry Viking mascot was really interesting.”

  “Where are we headed?” Corey asked.

  “Let’s go to my house,” Ben said. “We can use my computer to t
ake a closer look at our pictures of the note.”

  “Sounds good,” Corey said. “Race you!”

  He took off pedaling. Hannah and Ben let him go. They already knew he was the fastest. They’d see him at Ben’s house, where he’d probably talk Ben’s mom into giving him a snack.

  Corey’s mouth was full with a chocolate-chip cookie. “That could be just about anybody’s printing,” he said, chewing.

  The three of them were staring at the big monitor on Ben’s desk. On it was a picture of the note the custodians had found pinned to the tree on the morning after the bonfire.

  “See anything unusual?” Ben asked.

  “Well, you can’t really see this in our photo, but I remember the note was on heavy paper. Almost like cardboard or poster-board material,” Hannah remarked.

  “Like the kind we used in art class?” Corey asked. “That time we had to make posters?”

  “Yeah,” Hannah said, nodding.

  “Wait a minute,” said Ben, looking away from the monitor. “That guy protesting at the rally was a retired art teacher.”

  “Mr. Powell,” Corey said.

  “Right. And I think the sign he was carrying was on poster board.”

  Hannah looked doubtful. “I’m not sure that proves much. You can get white poster board just about anywhere.”

  Ben started tapping his computer’s keyboard. “I’m not saying it proves anything. I’m just saying it might be worth talking to Mr. Powell. Ah, here’s his address.”

  Corey said, “He was probably teaching twenty-five years ago when the Rocky the Ram costume was destroyed. Maybe that gave him the idea.”

  “But why would he do it?” Hannah asked.

  “Possibly to stir up bad feelings between the two teams,” Ben suggested. “It could lead them to fight or something, and that might help get football canceled. Then there’d be more money for the arts.”

  Ben printed out the address, put it into his pocket, and stood up, ready to go. Corey and Hannah stood up too.

  “Okay,” Corey said. “I’ll go over to Mr. Powell’s house. But first I’m gonna need another cookie from your mom.”

  Mr. Powell’s house wasn’t big or fancy, but it was nicely taken care of. The front porch had two small statues—one of a giraffe and one of a whale—carved out of wood.

  “No ram,” Corey observed.

  They rang the doorbell. After a moment the door opened. A smiling woman with shoulder-length gray hair stood there. “Yes?” she asked.

  “Hello,” Hannah said. “Is Mr. Powell here?”

  “Yes,” she said. “My husband’s in his studio. Are you old students of his?” She peered at them closer. “Oh no, you’re too young. Well, he’ll be happy to see you. He loves young people.”

  She led them through the house. It was full of artwork—paintings, pottery, mobiles, and more carved statues.

  “Your house is like a museum,” Corey said.

  Mrs. Powell laughed. “A very small one,” she replied.

  They went through the kitchen and out the door to the backyard. “My husband built his own studio out here, as you can see.”

  They certainly did see. Much of the backyard was taken up by a one-story wooden building. It was covered in paintings of animals, plants, stones, and people. The roof had several skylights to let the sunshine pour inside.

  Mrs. Powell opened the door to the studio. “You have visitors!” she called inside. She turned back to Hannah, Corey, and Ben and gestured for them to come forward. “Go on in.”

  As soon as they entered the studio, they could smell paint and clay. It reminded Hannah of art class.

  “Hello!” Mr. Powell said with a big friendly smile. He was wearing an old blue shirt and jeans. He’d been sitting on a stool in front of a canvas, painting a picture of a panther, based on a photo clipped to the easel. He wiped his hands on a towel. “What can I do for you?”

  Ben introduced himself and his two friends. He said they’d seen him at the pep rally the Friday before and that they were interested in his protest.

  “Grow minds, not muscles!” he said with a grin. “You know, I taught art at that high school for thirty-five years. Every year for the last few years, they cut the budget for art and music, until I could barely afford to buy paper and paint for my classes. After I retired, I had the time and freedom to really tell people how I felt about those cuts.”

  “But why protest at the pep rally?” Corey asked.

  “They always seem to have plenty of money for sports,” Mr. Powell said. “You should see what they pay the coaches. More than a lot of the teachers.”

  He picked up a dirty paintbrush and dropped it in a coffee can with a bunch of others. They were soaking in some kind of cleaning fluid.

  “Well, sir, with all due respect,” Corey said, “it seems to me that your slogan isn’t exactly accurate.”

  Mr. Powell looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “Football doesn’t just grow your muscles,” he said. “It grows your mind, too. You have to learn the rules. You have to learn what all the different positions are. You have to memorize complicated plays. And you have to analyze the other team to try to figure out what they’re going to do. There’s a lot of thinking involved!”

  Mr. Powell nodded, impressed. “Well, now, I never quite thought of it that way. Actually, I’ve got nothing against football players. I just wish the school district would give the arts the funds they need.”

  “Maybe you need a different slogan,” Hannah suggested.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Mr. Powell said, smiling.

  “Then you’d have to make a new sign,” Ben said. “What do you use?”

  “I’ll show you.” Mr. Powell rummaged through a stack of papers and materials. Eventually he found a piece of white poster board. “If I’m in a hurry, I’ll just use a marker. But I prefer to paint the signs with a brush. Any time I can turn a chore into an art project, I’ll do it. Just for the fun of it.”

  Ben picked up the poster board and looked at it. “I’ve got to get some poster board for a school project. Where do you buy this?”

  “There’s a terrific art supply store downtown,” Mr. Powell said. “They’re very helpful, and their prices are fair. I get all my stuff there.”

  “Did you hear about Rocky the Ram?” Hannah asked.

  Mr. Powell looked puzzled. “Who?”

  “The school mascot,” Hannah explained. “At Woodlands High.”

  “Oh, right.” He shook his head. “No, I didn’t hear. What happened?”

  “Somebody wrecked the costume,” Corey said. “Threw it on the bonfire.”

  Mr. Powell looked shocked. “That’s terrible! Why would anyone do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Hannah said. “But it’s happened before. Twenty-five years ago.”

  Mr. Powell nodded his head slowly. “That’s right. I remember that. I was teaching then, and some of the students were really upset. Said they should get back at the guys from the other high school who did it. I don’t think they ever did anything, though.”

  “Where did you say that art supply store is?” Ben asked.

  “Downtown,” Mr. Powell replied. “I’m surprised you don’t know about it. It’s been there for years.”

  “Could you possibly write down the name and address for me?” Ben wondered.

  “Sure!” Mr. Powell said agreeably. He found a piece of paper and a pen. Then he wrote down the information and handed the paper to Ben.

  “Thanks,” Ben said.

  After they said good-bye to Mr. Powell and left, Hannah turned to Ben and said, “Handwriting standard?”

  Ben nodded.

  “Well,” Hannah said, “a nonrequested standard is better than a requested standard, but I gues
s it’ll have to do.”

  She grinned.

  Chapter 12

  Back in Ben’s bedroom, they scanned the piece of paper Mr. Powell had written on. That way, they could zoom in on the document to examine it letter by letter. They could also put it next to the costume destroyer’s note on the computer screen, so they could compare the two.

  But they didn’t actually need all that advanced technology.

  Just by glancing at the two pieces of handwriting, they could tell that it was very unlikely the same person had written them both. Mr. Powell’s printing was very distinctive. It looked quite different from the writing on the note.

  “I kept trying to think of a way to get him to write ‘Vikings Rule,’ but I couldn’t think of one,” Ben said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Hannah said. “It seems obvious that Mr. Powell didn’t write that note.”

  “Unless he disguised his handwriting,” Corey noted. “An artist might have really good control of his finger muscles. And we came around asking about Rocky the Ram, so he might have been on to us.”

  “He didn’t seem like someone who would run over a mascot costume and then throw it into a fire,” Hannah pointed out. “He seemed really nice.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” Corey said. “And his comments about football were not very nice.”

  “That’s true, but I think I agree with Hannah. I’m pretty sure Mr. Powell didn’t do it,” Ben concluded.

  “Yeah, I don’t really think he did it either,” Corey admitted. “But at least we got to do our first handwriting analysis.”

  Hannah stared at the computer screen. “You know, I think I can read the personality of the person who wrote down this address.”

  “Really?” Corey said. “What kind of personality do you see?”

  “Artistic,” Hannah said, grinning. “And nice.”

  Ben and Corey laughed.

  “You know,” Ben said, “when we were talking to Mr. Powell about the incident twenty-five years ago, I started thinking that could be the key to this whole thing.”