Secret of the Time Capsule Read online

  He wore a badge with his name on it: Hugh Dickerson.

  Brian memorized the name. He knew that sometimes a private investigator doesn’t want people to know that he’s investigating. When he can’t pull out a notebook and write down important information, he uses his memory and makes notes later.

  “You kids run along,” Mr. Dickerson said.

  “Who took the statue down?” Brian asked.

  “My brother Gene and I did,” Mr. Dickerson said. “Along with tackle and a pulley and a truck motor to help with the heaviest part.”

  Brian pointed at the hole in the ground. “I bet it was hard to get that marble base out of there,” he said.

  “Terrible hard,” Mr. Dickerson answered. “And it didn’t help to have so many people come rushing over to watch.”

  “Who were the people?” Brian asked.

  “And how did they know about it?” Sean added.

  Mr. Dickerson frowned as he thought. “I suppose they knew about it because it was city business,” he said. “The mayor and the city council and some other people from city hall were all here.”

  “Did any of them want to open the capsule?” Brian asked.

  “Oh, sure. The mayor did. He said he should be in charge of it. He insisted he should keep it in his office until it was time to bury it again. But that grandson of the old guy who posed for the statue …”

  “Councilman Victor Williford,” Brian said.

  “Yeah. Anyhow, he didn’t want the time capsule to be opened. He said at least it should stay where it was until they decided what to do with it. Then the mayor’s secretary said there ought to be a ceremony and they could open it then. Most of them went along with that.”

  “I wonder why the mayor didn’t post a guard,” Brian said.

  “He did,” Mr. Dickerson insisted. “During the day my brother and I take turns guarding the place. Then at night the police keep an eye on it.”

  Sean piped up, “Shouldn’t a guard be on hand all the time?”

  “A guard is on hand,” Mr. Dickerson said. “You see me here, don’t you?”

  “You weren’t here when we came,” Brian said.

  Mr. Dickerson turned red, right to the top of his head. “I have to leave once in a while,” he mumbled and pointed toward a toolshed in the distance. “And I can’t spend all day talking to you,” he said grumpily. “G’wan home. Do your homework or something. Stop hanging around here bugging me.”

  As Sean and Brian walked toward their bikes, Sean said, “How come you asked so many questions about guarding the capsule, Bri?”

  “I just want to have all the facts,” Brian said. He pulled out his notebook and wrote the names of Hugh and Gene Dickerson. Then he made a note of what Hugh Dickerson had told him.

  “You don’t think someone will try to steal the capsule, do you?”

  “They wouldn’t have enough time, if Mr. Dickerson’s schedule was right. The capsule’s big, and it’s heavy.”

  “Couldn’t they take off the top, right where it is?”

  “You saw all that dried red wax around the lid of the container. It would have to be chipped off. It would show it had been opened.”

  Brian pulled his bike from the rack and kicked back the stand. “Do you want to see some of what’s in that capsule?” he asked.

  Sean nearly fell off his bike. “What are you talking about, Bri? How are we going to see what’s in the capsule, if nobody else can?”

  Brian grinned. “We can see duplicates. We know the dates of both the newspaper and the copy of California Pix. They probably have a copy on microfilm at the library. And the November 30, 1918, issue of the Redoaks News will be on file at the newspaper office.”

  “Why do you want to see them?”

  “I’m curious,” Brian said. “I want to know why the mayor insisted on opening the capsule before one hundred years were up. Maybe a story in the magazine or newspaper will give us the reason. Come on, Sean. Let’s go to the library first.”

  Brian was right. The November 1918 issue of California Pix had been filmed. The librarian threaded the film through the microfilm machine, and Brian and Sean slowly scanned it. It was a thin magazine, so they easily found what they were searching for on page eighteen, close to the end.

  “Look. Here’s an article about John M. Williford and his large stamp collection. No wonder they put this issue into the time capsule,” Brian said.

  Brian and Sean leaned forward to read the praise for Mr. Williford’s outstanding role as a businessman and for his highly generous contributions to local charities. Two photographs were with the article. One showed Mr. Williford holding a page of rare stamps in his collection. The other showed him—his eyes twinkling with delight—as he held forward a letter that had been sent to him by William D. Stephens, at that time the governor of California.

  There was something odd about that picture, Brian thought, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was Mr. Williford. He had that same kind of mischievous look Dad got when he talked about being a boy and playing tricks on Halloween.

  Sean, who’d been leaning forward studying the article and photograph, sat back. “Weird,” he said.

  Brian looked at him in surprise. “You saw it, too?”

  “Yeah,” Sean said.

  Brian sighed. “But there was nothing in that article that would embarrass Mr. Williford or his grandson.”

  “Maybe what we’re looking for will be in the newspaper,” Sean told him. He looked up at the large clock over the checkout desk. “We’ve got time to go to the newspaper offices, haven’t we?”

  “We’ll give it a try,” Brian said. “But we’d better hurry. We might have to read all the way to the back page, and the newspaper will be a lot longer than this magazine.”

  Brian was soon surprised to find he was wrong. The lead headline on page one was: “Indicted for Bank Fraud.” The story stated that a Roger Harlow, bank teller, was the culprit who had been indicted. Not only that, but his partner in crime was a fellow bank employee, Amos Wegman!

  “Harlow and Wegman!” Sean said. “Bri, our mayor’s name is Harry Harlow, and his secretary’s name is Emma Wegman! Do you think Roger and Amos were their relatives?”

  “It’s an easy guess,” Brian said. “How many people in Redoaks have the names Harlow and Wegman?”

  Sean shook his head. “This must be what Mr. Vlado’s father meant when he talked about something that could blow up in their faces. It wasn’t very nice of the city officials to put a copy of this newspaper in the time capsule.”

  “They always put the newspaper printed the day a time capsule is buried,” Brian said. “Anyhow, nobody could possibly know way back then that when the capsule was opened Harry Harlow would be our mayor.”

  “Or that Emma Wegman would be his secretary.”

  Brian frowned. “I don’t understand why Mayor Harlow was so eager to open the capsule. If there was a story like that about somebody I was related to, I’d want it to stay buried.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know.”

  “Or maybe that’s why he wanted to take care of the capsule until it was buried again. He could pull the newspaper out, and no one would know the difference.”

  “If we’re right, Mayor Harlow and Emma Wegman aren’t very happy about what’s in that capsule,” Sean said.

  “And they’re going to feel even worse when the capsule is opened,” Brian added.

  They left the library and headed for home, but as they turned their bikes up the driveway Sean said, “I don’t get it. Mr. Dickerson told us that Mayor Harlow wanted the capsule to be opened, and Councilman Williford wanted it to be buried again, without opening it. But the newspaper and magazine stuff we found made the Harlows and Wegmans look bad and the Willifords look good. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  Brian leaned his bike against the fence. He thought about the photograph of Mr. Williford holding up the letter from the governor. What was it about that picture that bothered him? H
e wished he knew.

  As Brian opened the back door, he said, “There’s something strange about the whole thing. I don’t know how it fits into the case.”

  John Quinn put down the phone as Brian and Sean came into the kitchen. “I just received a phone call from Emma Wegman,” he said. “One of the park employees complained to her that you boys were prowling around the time capsule. You not only didn’t leave when he told you to but also pestered him with questions and even accused him of not doing his duty as guard.”

  “Dad! That’s not the way it happened at all,” Sean complained.

  “Well, in a way it’s sort of right, but in another way it isn’t,” Brian said. “Dad, you know we wouldn’t be rude to anybody.”

  “I know,” Mr. Quinn said, “but Miss Wegman was upset.”

  “Dad …,” Sean began.

  “Did you find the information you wanted about the 1918 fourth graders?” Mr. Quinn asked.

  “Yes,” Sean said. “Boris Vlado’s the only one.”

  “Then you’ve done what you set out to do,” Mr. Quinn said. “Let’s leave it at that.”

  “But our case—”

  “Come on, Casebusters,” Mr. Quinn said. “Face facts. This case is closed.”

  4

  SEAN WROTE AN INVITATION to Boris Vlado to attend the parade and ceremony with Mrs. Jackson’s fourth-grade class. To Sean’s surprise, Mr. Vlado’s daughter accepted for him.

  Mrs. Jackson arranged for Mr. Vlado to ride on the float with Debbie Jean, with the fourth graders marching as a guard of honor on both sides of the float. The theme of the parade would be “Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow.” All week Sean wished that Saturday would come soon. It wasn’t because he was eager for the parade and ceremonies. It was because he couldn’t stand hearing Debbie Jean gush on and on about her gorgeous dress, and her beautiful crown, and how she and Mr. Vlado would be photographed by the television and newspaper camera crews.

  Debbie Jean’s father had fastened twin thrones, where Debbie Jean and Mr. Vlado would be sitting, on a platform on top of the hood of the truck. And he’d built what looked like a space shuttle on the flatbed.

  “You should have seen how hard it was to put in place,” Debbie Jean said. “That shuttle is awfully heavy. It’s going to look fantastic, and I am, too.”

  Maybe it will rain, Sean hoped. Debbie Jean might melt, just like the witch in The Wizard of Oz.

  But on the day of the parade the sky was clear and the temperature was perfect. The Redoaks News predicted a huge turnout for the parade and ceremony.

  Sean couldn’t help feeling proud. The fourth graders’ float looked great. The miniature space shuttle was covered with strips of crepe paper that rustled in the breeze. Strings of brightly colored banners flew behind it. It rose into the sky almost like the real thing.

  Debbie Jean, wearing her Halloween princess costume and a rhinestone crown, climbed into place. She clutched a bouquet of mixed flowers from her mother’s garden. Sean was sorry the bouquet didn’t have some stinkweed in it.

  There were other floats, many of them decked in red, white, and blue. Some of the float riders carried flowers and some wore costumes from the early decades of the twentieth century. There were clowns and horseback riders, and at the head of the parade, in shiny new convertibles, rode Mayor Harry Harlow and the members of the city council.

  Most of the fourth graders marched with Mrs. Jackson, close to the head of the truck, but Sean lagged behind. By the time they had almost reached the park he was walking alone, next to the flatbed. His thoughts were on the time capsule and what Mayor Harlow and his secretary would say when the newspaper was opened.

  “Sean!” he heard Brian yell. “Sean! Look out!”

  Sean glanced up to see his brother pushing toward him through the edge of the crowd. The people who were looking in Sean’s direction froze in terror. Some gasped or screamed. A few started to run toward Sean.

  Brian was first. He shoved Sean and shouted, “The shuttle! It’s falling! Get out of the way! Run!”

  Sean looked up to see that the shuttle’s supports had given way. The heavy cone had cracked and was dropping down upon him!

  Sean ran, stumbling into Brian. With a loud whack, the shuttle smashed on the street, right where he’d been standing.

  As people screamed and yelled, the parade came to a stop. Officials from the front cars ran back to see what had happened.

  “Thank goodness you weren’t hurt!” Mrs. Jackson said over and over.

  Debbie Jean screeched, “Sean! What did you do to my float?”

  Sean leaned against Brian, his knees wobbling. “Bri! The shuttle just missed me!” he cried out. “It would have fallen on me if you hadn’t been here.”

  Some of the men in the crowd dragged the shuttle off to one side. “That’s strange,” one of them said. “The way this support broke off, it looks almost like it was sawed through.”

  “Couldn’t have been,” another said. “Nobody’d do a thing like that.”

  “It must have been badly designed,” someone else suggested. “The cone was probably too heavy for its base.”

  Mr. Vlado was helped off his perch on the float. He hobbled to where Brian and Sean were standing and shook his head. “They showed up, didn’t they?” he said. “In spite of not getting invitations.”

  “Who?” Brian asked.

  “Cropper, Jones, Murphy, and Slade. The ones in the cemetery. You can thank them for spoiling the parade. They didn’t like not being invited.”

  Sean gasped and whispered to Brian,-“Ghosts did that?”

  “No,” Brian said, wishing that Mr. Vlado wasn’t quite so creepy. “Don’t even think about it. I’m sure that the space shuttle broke because of its own weight. It had to have been an accident.”

  Most of the crowd had drifted into the park, and the floats were being parked along the street. Brian lingered to run his fingers over the broken support under the shuttle. He gasped. It had been deliberately sawed. Somebody had planned for the shuttle to fall.

  “Come on, Bri,” Sean called. “The mayor’s giving his speech.”

  Brian wanted to talk to Dad, or maybe his friend Detective Thomas Kerry of the police force. But they weren’t on hand, so he hurried to catch up with Sean.

  Brian had just reached a place at the edge of the crowd, where he could see the row of dignitaries balance on wobbling folding chairs, when his parents showed up.

  “Sorry we missed the parade,” Mrs. Quinn said. “Your father got a long-distance call he had to take. Have they begun the speeches yet?”

  Nearby, a woman nodded and put a finger to her lips.

  But Brian couldn’t wait. He whispered to his dad, “Did you see the shuttle lying in the street?”

  Mr. Quinn looked puzzled, “No. Where in the street?”

  “Be right back,” Brian said. He dashed to the street, where a city dump truck was just hauling away the broken remains of the shuttle. “Wait!” he yelled at the driver.

  The driver leaned down from the open window. “Can’t wait,” he said. “Orders. Straight from the city council. Big crowd. Gotta clear the street.”

  The truck rumbled off, and Brian walked back to join his parents. Whose orders? he wondered. If the shuttle was hauled off and destroyed, no one would be able to say for sure if the supports had been sawed through or not.

  “Is something the matter?” Mr. Quinn asked Brian.

  “I had to go see about the shuttle,” Brian began.

  “Shhhh!” The same woman frowned at Brian, so he whispered even more softly.

  “It fell off the float. Nobody got hurt, but—”

  “Shhhh!” the woman said. “You’re interrupting the speeches.”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Brian said. Trying to be patient, he took a good look at the row of officials. Harry Harlow had finished his speech, and Councilman Williford was speaking about his grandfather.

  Mayor Harlow didn’t even pretend to listen. He wiggled i
n his rickety folding chair and fidgeted nervously with the end of his tie. Emma Wegman, who had brought the largest handbag Brian had ever seen, seemed just as nervous. She clasped and unclasped her hands and crossed and uncrossed her ankles. Only Mr. Vlado, who hunched over, chuckling to himself, seemed to be having a good time.

  As Mr. Williford came to the end of a long, boring sentence, the mayor interrupted. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the microphone. “Thank you, Councilman,” he said. “Now it’s time to open the capsule.”

  Hugh Dickerson stepped down into the dirt around the capsule. Next to him was a man who looked so much like him, he had to be his brother Gene. The dirt had been loosened and shoveled back from the capsule, so it took only a minute for the two men to lift out the time capsule and place it upright in front of the mayor.

  “Will you break the seal, please?” the mayor asked.

  Hugh Dickerson pulled a screwdriver from his belt, poked it into the soft red wax that circled the top of the capsule, and pried the strip of wax loose.

  As everyone leaned forward, the mayor pulled off the lid and peered into the container.

  Suddenly he gasped and staggered back. The lid dropped to the ground. “It’s empty!” Mayor Harlow shouted. “The time capsule is empty!”

  5

  ALTHOUGH EVERYONE BEGAN TALKING at once, the mayor could still be heard. He bellowed for the police chief. “Find the culprit! Catch the thief who did this!”

  Brian and Sean looked at each other.

  “The mayor looks scared,” Sean said.

  “Maybe he’s a good actor,” Brian suggested.

  “How could he have taken the stuff from the capsule? How could anybody?” Sean asked. “You saw Mr. Dickerson peel the wax seal off.”

  “That’s our first clue that someone opened the capsule and resealed it,” Brian said. He pulled Sean away from the crowd so they could talk. “Remember when we were here before? We saw the wax that was put on the capsule back in 1918. It was hard and dried out. The wax Mr. Dickerson peeled off was soft. That means it was a new seal.”