儿童英语读物 The Tattletale Mystery CHAPTER 3 A Mystery Perks

“The Aldens!” Mrs. Spencer looked surprised. She stood at the door, wiping her hands on an apron. Her snowy white hair was pulled back into a bun. “Back again! Did you forget something?”

Jessie shook her head. “We didn’t forget anything, Mrs. Spencer,” she said. “We just ... wanted to ask you about something.”

“If you’re not too busy,” Violet quickly put in.

“Oh?” Mrs. Spencer looked around at them in surprise.

Jessie said, “This is going to sound a little weird, but —”

“A strange message landed in our backyard!” Benny blurted out before Jessie could finish her sentence.

Henry added, “On a paper airplane.”

“A message on a ... a paper airplane?” The elderly woman looked startled. “I don’t believe it.” She went into the kitchen and sat down at a table. The Aldens joined her.

“I know it must sound very odd,” admitted Violet. “I mean, you were just telling us about your school days, and how you passed messages on paper airplanes. But ... it really did happen.”

“And we were wondering if it has anything to do with you, Mrs. Spencer.” Jessie pulled the message from her pocket and passed it across the table.

“Another thing,” added Benny. “Do you have any snapdragons in your garden, Mrs. Spencer?”

Mrs. Spencer caught her breath. “Any ... what?”

“Snapdragons.”

Benny’s words seemed to frighten Mrs. Spencer, and she stared wide-eyed at him. Her eyes grew even bigger when she looked down and read the strange message.

Jessie glanced at Henry. There was no doubt about it. It was about Mrs. Spencer. The look in Henry’s eye told her he was thinking the same thing.

“Do you have any idea who wrote that message, Mrs. Spencer?” Henry asked.

But their friend didn’t answer.

“Mrs. Spencer?” Jessie asked again. “We were wondering if you knew who the Tattletale might be.”

Mrs. Spencer still didn’t answer. She seemed to be in a daze.

Violet rested a hand on Mrs. Spencer’s arm. “If something’s wrong,” she said softly, “won’t you let us help?” She hated to see their friend so upset.

“We’re good detectives,” Benny couldn’t help adding.

“I have no idea who this Tattletale person is,” Mrs. Spencer said at last. “How could anyone know about all the ... the strange things that have been happening? I haven’t breathed a word of it to anyone.” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Is it true, then?” Henry wanted to know. “Is there really a mystery?”

Looking pale and shaken, Mrs. Spencer nodded. “You won’t be able to make any sense of it, though” she said. “After all, I can’t make any sense of it, and I knew Milly Manchester all my life.”

The children looked at one another in surprise. “Wasn’t Milly your friend from school?” Jessie asked.

“Could you tell us more about her?” urged Henry.

“Oh, it happened such a long time ago,” Mrs. Spencer told them, a faraway look in her eyes. “Milly and I were just young girls when we spotted that bright pink snapdragon.”

The Aldens inched their chairs closer. They wanted to catch every word.

“You see, somehow it had managed to seed itself right in the middle of my mother’s purple pansies.” A slow smile spread across the elderly woman’s face. “We laughed so hard. We thought that snapdragon was playing a great joke on those pansies, and Milly got out her sketch pad and drew a picture of it.” Mrs. Spencer paused. “That was the day she decided to become an artist.”

“Because of a snapdragon?” Benny found it hard to believe.

“It made Milly realize that anything’s possible,” said Mrs. Spencer, smiling over at Benny. “And she never forgot the reason she became an artist. Instead of signing her paintings, she put a bright pink snapdragon somewhere in each one. She said it was the only signature she needed.”

“Then Milly really did become an artist?” Violet asked.

“A truly gifted one,” answered Mrs. Spencer, “even though she never sold a single painting.”

“Why didn’t she sell any?” Henry wondered.

“Milly simply wasn’t interested in fame and fortune.” Mrs. Spencer shrugged a little. “Believe me, I always encouraged her to enter her paintings in art shows. There’s a contest sponsored every year by the Mona Lisa Gallery here in Greenfield. I told her she’d be a shoo-in to win. I figured if she’d only put her paintings on display, it wouldn’t be long before art dealers and collectors were beating a path to her door.

“But Milly didn’t want to spend her time like that, promoting her work,” Mrs. Spencer went on. “She just wanted to spend her time painting, even if it meant never having any money. And that’s exactly how she lived her life — right up until the end.” Mrs. Spencer sighed deeply. “I’m afraid my dear friend passed away a few months ago.”

“Oh!” Jessie cried. “How sad.”

“Milly lived a long and happy life,” Mrs. Spencer assured them. “Nobody can ask for more than that.”

“Do you have any of Milly’s paintings, Mrs. Spencer?” Violet asked. “I’d love to see them.”

“I’m afraid you’re out of luck, Violet,” answered Mrs. Spencer. “I wish you could see her self-portrait. I was especially fond of it, and Milly left it to me in her will. After she died, I tried to find the painting. But it was never found among her possessions.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “That’s strange.”

“Not as strange as you might think, Henry,” Mrs. Spencer told him. “Milly often painted over her finished works. You see, there were times when she was short of cash to buy new canvas. I imagine that’s what happened to the self-portrait,” she added. “It was always the act of creating that Milly valued, not the finished work.”

Benny asked, “But what about her other paintings?”

“Milly left those to her nephew, Jem Manchester. A lot of people thought that was very odd, of course. She didn’t always get along with Jem, and he’d never taken any interest in art. But he was the only family Milly had, so she left her paintings to him on one condition.”

The Aldens were instantly curious. “What was the condition?”

“That her paintings never be sold,” replied Mrs. Spencer. “Milly always felt her nephew was too interested in money for his own good.”

“Interested enough to sell the paintings?” Violet asked in surprise.

“It’s hard to say. But I guess Milly wasn’t taking any chances. Jem’s not a bad person, but he does place too much importance on money. I think Milly was hoping her paintings would change that. Her real gift to him was an opportunity to appreciate art. Of course, it’s too late for that now.”

“Too late?” Violet looked puzzled.

Mrs. Spencer nodded. “Jem took the paintings up north to his cabin. Somehow a fire started, and all of Milly’s paintings were destroyed.”

“Oh, no!” Violet cried, horrified.

For a few moments, no one spoke. Then Mrs. Spencer leaned closer, as if she were about to share a secret. “It was a few weeks after the fire that strange things started happening.” The elderly woman pushed her chair back. “There’s something I must show you.” And she led the way outside.

Curious, the children followed Mrs. Spencer out to a small garden edged with flowers.

“It’s really beautiful out here,” Violet said admiringly.

“Thank you, Violet.” Mrs. Spencer sounded pleased. “Gardening is a great hobby of mine. And my daughter, Rachel, comes over to help with the weeding now and again.”

Jessie suddenly gasped. “Look!”

The other Aldens looked in the direction she was pointing. “Oh, my goodness!” cried Violet. “That’s ... that’s — ”

“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Spencer cut in, nodding. “It’s a snapdragon.”

Sure enough, a bright pink snapdragon was growing in the very middle of a bed of purple pansies. The four Aldens stared at it in disbelief. Finally Henry gave a low whistle. “Wow,” he said, astonished. “It happened again!”

Mrs. Spencer shivered a little. “It’s the strangest thing.”

Benny squatted down next to the flower bed. “It’s just like before, Mrs. Spencer. Just like when you and Milly found that snapdragon in your mother’s pansy bed.”

“But ... how did it get there?” Violet wanted to know.

Mrs. Spencer was shaking her head. “I have no idea. Oh, I thought it was just a coincidence at first.” She took a deep breath to steady her voice. “But then ... something else happened.”

“What?” asked Benny, his eyes huge.

“Last week I was reading in the park,” she told them. “I got up for a moment to feed bread crumbs to the birds and left my book on the bench. When I sat down again, I found something stuck between the pages.”

The children waited breathlessly while Mrs. Spencer fished around in the pocket of her apron. Benny couldn’t stand the suspense. “What did you find?”

Mrs. Spencer held up a bookmark with a bright pink snapdragon painted on it.

“Ohhhh,” Violet breathed.

They all moved closer for a better look. “I don’t understand,” Henry said, puzzled. “How could a bookmark suddenly appear like that inside your book?”

Jessie added, “Did you notice anyone nearby?”

“I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone.”

“Are you sure?” Henry looked uncertain.

Mrs. Spencer nodded. “Quite sure, Henry.”

“I bet it came from out of nowhere,” offered Benny. “Just like the paper airplane.”

“There must be an explanation for it,” insisted Henry. “We just have to figure out what it is.” Then he noticed something half hidden in the long grass. “Look at this,” he said. He bent down and picked up a shiny gold hair clip.

“What sharp eyes!” exclaimed Mrs. Spencer. “No wonder you children are such good detectives.”

“Is it yours, Mrs. Spencer?” Henry wondered, holding it out to her.

“No, it isn’t, Henry.” She examined it closely, then handed it back to him. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Could it belong to your daughter?” suggested Jessie.

Mrs. Spencer shook her head. “Rachel keeps her hair very short. She’d have no use for hair clips.”

Henry slipped it into his pocket. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might be a clue.

As the Aldens followed Mrs. Spencer back to the house, Jessie noted, “That makes two strange things that have happened: the snapdragon growing in the garden, and the bookmark appearing inside the book.”

Mrs. Spencer glanced back at them. “Three strange things,” she corrected. “There’s something I haven’t shown you yet.”

The Aldens looked at one another. Everything was becoming more and more mysterious.