to the office and spot Mrs. Klein, sipping a coffee on the bench at the side of the gym, an empty plate beside her. René and I walk over to her.
“You got invited,” I say.
Mrs. Klein just smiles. “Good cake, too, not too sweet. I hate it when the icing is a solid brick of butter and sugar.”
“Really, eh?” Her icing description makes me suddenly think of something. “Mrs. Klein, you saw the brick that was on the accelerator. Did you tell reporters it was red?”
“Yes, it was kind of a rusty red, though. Old looking, you know?”
“Did it have a dent in the middle?” Renée asks.
“Yeah.”
“Did it have the word Standard stamped across it?” I add.
“Uh-huh. I never paid attention to bricks before, but that’s exactly what it looked like.”
“Thanks!” Renée and I chime out together. We dash back to the main office. Just outside the door, Mr. Mason’s still standing there, finishing his cake.
“Mrs. Watier, could you come here?” Renée calls.
Inside the office, Mrs. Watier touches Mr. Moody’s elbow as she leans in to whisper something in his ear. He nods and she steps out the door to join us.
Mr. Mason heads to the bin with his empty cake plate.
“No, please stay, Mr. Mason,” I grab his arm as he moves toward the exit. “This concerns you, too.”
“I should get back to work,” he grumbles.
“Mrs. Watier,” I start when she joins us, “the brick that was on the accelerator of the Beetle came from Mr. Mason’s special supply.”
“He told us that he keeps strict inventory because they are reclaimed,” Renée continues.
“He insisted that none of them were stolen,” I add.
We make our sixth mistake of the day as I finish. “Therefore, we conclude that Mr. Mason was the one who drove that car into the school building using one of his special reclaimed bricks. He wanted the work.”
day three, mistake seven
“That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Mason sputters. “I get jobs based on quality workmanship. I don’t commit crimes to get them. If you ask me —” His muttering gets interrupted as Mr. Ron strolls toward us.
“Hey, kids! Hey, George!” He holds one huge hand up in a stop-sign hello. The other hand holds onto his plate of cake. “Never met a frosting that I didn’t like.” He takes a forkful in his mouth and grins a pink-icing smile. His grin drops as he sees the angry look on Mr. Mason’s face.
“Just because nobody stole any of my bricks,” Mr. Mason continues, “doesn’t mean I vandalized the school. I gave one to Ronnie here. He wanted it for an ashtray for his mom. Ya don’t see me accusing him of that car crash because of it.”
“Yup, yup.”
On a sudden inspiration, I reach up and touch the grey mark across Mr. Ron’s forehead.
“Ow! Stop!” He ducks away.
“That’s a strange bruise,” I say. “It’s shaped almost like a steering wheel.”
We all turn to stare at Mr. Ron, who wipes his mouth with a sleeve.
“You never gave your mother that ashtray,” Renée pipes in. “You bought her a glass one yesterday. We saw it.”
Mrs. Watier and Mr. Mason both turn to Mr. Ron, waiting for a logical explanation.
“Yup, yup. Thought she’d like a reclaimed brick. Old and tough, just like her. But she didn’t.”
“What did you do with the brick, then?” I ask.
“Um, um, don’t really remember …” His face turns blotchy red.
“When did you give him the brick?” Renée asks Mr. Mason.
“Geez, I don’t know. Started working on that wall Monday … yeah, that’s it, had to be Monday night.”
“And did he leave your house around midnight?” I ask.
Mr. Mason squints at Mr. Ron now. “Around then, yeah.”
“So he left, carrying the brick, probably walked past the school and saw the Beetle in the parking lot,” I say.
“But why did you put the brick on the accelerator to drive it into the school?” Renée asks.
“I never put that brick on the accelerator to drive the Beetle into the school.”
“Yeah, some punk must have done it,” Mr. Mason says. “What d’ya do with the brick, Buddy?”
“Did your mother put it on the accelerator?” I ask. “She doesn’t have it anymore, does she?”
“Maw would never …” I expect him to keep denying everything, but instead he crumbles. “I … I … I didn’t put the brick on to crash the Bug into the school on purpose. Just like you said, I saw the Beetle that night all on its own in the parking lot. No one was around. I just wanted to peek to see if the interior had changed. I love Beetles.”
“You learned to drive in one,” I add.
“Not very well,” he says. “Whoever drove that car there left the keys in the ignition. I’m not a criminal or anything. I just wanted to give it a spin for old times’ sake.”
“You drove the Beetle?” Mr. Mason asks.
“Yeah, perfectly! But then, when I went to park it, I accidentally gave ’er gas and it slammed it into the school.”
“You crashed it? You’re lucky you weren’t hurt,” Mrs. Watier says.
“Then you put your Mom’s birthday present on the accelerator to make it look like vandalism?” I ask.
Mr. Ron rolls his head from side to side as though he wants to deny it. But finally, he can’t. “I didn’t want everyone to know what a bad driver I am. So I turned the ignition again and put the brick on the pedal. I never meant to get any one else in trouble. I hoped the school would get a new gym. That it would all work out.”
“You said you weren’t a criminal. Yet you dognapped Pong and asked for a ransom. Where are you keeping him?” Renée asks.
Mr. Ron furrows his brow. He looks genuinely confused. “Is that one of the dogs you were walking the other day?” he asks.
“Yes. What did you do with him?” I ask with as firm a voice as I can muster.
“Nothing, I swear.”
I dig my fists into my hips and try to stare him down. One of
