“The answer to the riddle is one,” Benny called back as he rounded the corner, racing for Shadowbox. “And Buttercup has the number one on her bell!”
“You think the answer to the riddle has something to do with Buttercup?” Violet asked, running right behind him.
“I’m sure of it,” Benny said. “We just have to … oh, no!” Benny stopped suddenly at the top of the driveway.
“What?” Jessie asked, trying to catch her breath.
“The riddle leads us straight to Buttercup,” Benny explained, “but Buttercup isn’t around anymore. And that means — ”
“We’ve come to another dead end,” finished Violet.
Just then, they heard a familiar voice drifting out the open window of Shadowbox. It was Grandfather!
Benny rushed inside, arms outstretched. Grandfather was standing in the hallway with Fran. He laughed and returned the hug.
“Grandfather, you’re back!” Jessie hugged him, too.
“I finished my work sooner than expected,” Grandfather told them, embracing Violet and Henry. Then everyone was talking at once.
“I bought a ghost cookie cutter,” Benny told him.
“We played croquet on the back lawn last night,” Jessie said.
“Fran showed us how to press flowers,” Violet was saying.
“We’ve been trying to solve a mystery,” added Henry.
Grandfather chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve been busy.”
As they sat down to lunch, Fran turned to Grandfather. “Let’s do something special tonight. How does a picnic supper in the park sound? A local group’s performing in the band shell.”
Grandfather thought an outdoor concert sounded great. So did everyone else.
“You know, it’s been ages since I’ve seen Nelson,” Grandfather said. “Why not invite him along tonight?”
It took Fran a moment to answer, but when she did, she was smiling. “That’s exactly what I’ll do, James. Thanks to Violet,” she added, “I’ve come to realize how little time Nelson and I spend together these days.”
“Maybe we could invite Reese and her mother, too,” suggested Jessie.
“Yes, I might as well mend all my bridges.” Fran nodded. “Oh, and I must remember to phone Lottie. She can meet us at the park after work.”
Benny swallowed a bite of his ham sandwich. “And we can bring the croquet set along, too.” He sounded excited.
After lunch, Grandfather went upstairs to take a nap. The children cleared the table while Fran made her phone calls. Cora accepted Fran’s invitation eagerly. So did Nelson. Lottie was the only one who had other plans. The Aldens couldn’t help wondering if her plans had anything to do with Rally Jensen, the art collector.
When the kitchen was spic and span, the children joined Fran in her workroom. Fran passed out heavy stationery, folded in half. “The flowers are very delicate, so handle them carefully,” she advised.
Violet decided on a border of purple pansies on the front of her card. Henry made a zigzag design with goldenrod and the dark green tendrils of a morning glory. Jessie draped red velvet ribbon through a wreath of creamy elder blossoms. And Benny used bright yellow buttercups to form the letter B.
They were just finishing when Grandfather poked his head into the room. “So this is where everyone’s hiding.”
The children smiled proudly as Grandfather oohed and aahed over their greeting cards.
“I bet you didn’t know your grandchildren were so talented, did you, James?” Fran said, her eyes shining.
At that, Grandfather had to laugh. “Fran, my grandchildren never cease to amaze me!”
“I guess we’ll never find the treasure.” Benny sighed as he added a spoonful of mayonnaise to the potato salad. “Not without Buttercup to lead us to it.”
The four Alden children were busy in the kitchen. They had offered to prepare the picnic supper while Grandfather and Fran sat outside and chatted about old times.
“I wish the runaway ghost would give us a clue,” Benny added.
Henry looked up. “Wait a minute!” he said. “You might be onto something, Benny.”
“Ghosts don’t exist, Henry,” Violet said. “Remember?”
“Yes, but Fran’s painting of the runaway ghost is real,” explained Henry.
“Of course!” Jessie said. She jumped out of her seat and gave Henry a high five. “Maybe that’s where the third riddle is leading us!” The four Aldens made a beeline for Fran’s living room.
No one spoke for a moment as they stared up at the bell around Buttercup’s neck. Then Violet said, “Fran’s hunch was right. The mystery really is connected to Buttercup.”
“I don’t understand,” Benny said. “Where’s the treasure?”
Violet looked thoughtful. “Maybe the painting is the treasure,” she said.
Henry shook his head. “I doubt it. Fran says the painting’s not worth very much.”
“There must be something we’re not seeing,” insisted Violet.
“Maybe Lottie was right,” Jessie suggested.
“About what?” Benny asked.
“About the mystery just being a parlor game,” said Jessie. “Maybe Anne just made it up to entertain her children, and there isn’t a real treasure at the end.”
“And maybe the clues just lead to the painting of their treasured pet,” Henry said slowly, figuring it out as he talked.
“Then Buttercup’s the treasure?” Benny looked confused.
Henry shrugged a little. “It’s beginning to look that way.”
But Violet wasn’t so sure. She had a nagging feeling there was more to it than that. Could the answer lie somewhere in the painting itself?
“Wow, there sure are a lot of people here,” Benny said as he looked around the park.
Everyone was enjoying the beautiful evening. But no one was enjoying it more than the Aldens and their friends. With the band playing nearby, they ate their supper and talked and joked. Even Nelson, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, was all smiles. People said hello as they passed, and many of them knew Fran and Nelson by name.
After they had finished eating, Grandfather headed over to the covered stage to listen to the music with Cora and Reese. Fran went for a stroll along the creek with her son. Henry, Jessie, and Benny started a game of croquet.
Violet decided to sit it out. She wanted to look at the gallery brochures she’d brought with her. She thumbed through them quickly, then settled on one about great American artists. The painting on the cover of the brochure caught her attention. “Hey, look!” she called to the others. “Here’s a painting of a croquet game!”
Benny, Jessie, and Henry crowded around to study the picture. Three young ladies in hats and long dresses were playing croquet. A young man in a brown jacket and beige trousers was on one knee, placing a croquet ball on the grass. He was wearing a straw hat, and he had a mustache.
Benny giggled. “They’re dressed just like the people in Fran’s photo of Homer.”
“I guess that was the style back then,” Henry said.
Violet leaned in for a closer look at the people’s faces. Then she gasped. “That’s them!” she said.
“Who?” asked Jessie.
“That’s Selden and Anne!” Violet said, excitedly. “They look just like that in the missing photograph.”
Jessie took another look at the painting. “Now that you mention it,” she said, “that man does look a lot like Selden.”
“And see the lady in the background?” put in Violet. “The one in the brown dress? She sure looks like Anne, don’t you think?”
“Why isn’t Homer in the painting?” Benny wanted to know. “He was in the photograph.”
Henry, who was sprawled out on the blanket, propped himself up on one elbow. “This is getting stranger and stranger. What does it say in the brochure, Violet?”
Violet couldn’t help laughing at herself. “I never thought to read the article.” As she quickly scanned the brochure, she came across something that made her eyes widen.
“What is it?” Henry asked.
“Well, maybe this is just a weird coincidence,” Violet began, “but the artist who painted this was named Winslow Homer!”
Everyone was so surprised that no one said anything for a minute. Then Benny asked, “Are you sure Homer wasn’t his first name?”
“Quite sure, Benny,” said Violet. “It says that Winslow Homer painted the Croquet Scene in 1866.”
“That’s the same year The Runaway Ghost was painted,” Henry pointed out.
“Fran said she doesn’t know much about Selden’s friend,” Jessie said after a moment’s thought. “Maybe she just assumed Homer was his first name, since that’s what Selden called him.”
“That makes sense,” agreed Henry. “Homer was a common first name in the olden days.”
“I can’t believe it.” Violet’s eyes were huge. “Selden’s friend was the great American artist, Winslow Homer!”
Jessie put one hand up to her mouth. “Homer’s not in that Croquet Scene because … he was painting it!”
“Then … that means — ” began Benny.
Henry cut in. “It means Fran’s painting is worth a fortune!”
“I just wish we could compare this picture with the missing photograph,” Violet said. “Then we would know for sure if it’s really Selden and Anne in the Croquet Scene.”
“Let’s look for it when we get back,” Henry said. “Maybe we have sharper eyes than Fran.”
“We’ll never find it,” said Benny. “Somebody stole it.”
“Well, we ought to try to prove it before we tell Fran,” Jessie said. “Remember what Nelson said about getting her hopes up.”
The others agreed.
When the concert ended, Fran invited everyone back to Shadowbox for dessert. It was already dark when they joined the streams of people leaving the park.
Back at Shadowbox, everyone followed Fran to the living room. She flipped on a light switch and light filled the cheery room. Fran stepped through the doorway, then she stopped abruptly when she noticed someone sitting in one of the buttercup-patterned chairs.
It was Lottie. She was holding a large, flat package wrapped in brown paper on her lap, and there was a suitcase beside her chair. Violet wondered how long the young artist had been sitting all alone in the dark.
“Lottie?” said Fran. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m afraid I have to leave,” Lottie answered nervously. “There’s been a … a family emergency.”
“Oh, dear!” cried Fran.
“Is there anything we can do?” asked Violet.
“Do you need a ride to the airport?” offered Nelson.
Lottie shook her head as she got up. “A friend of mine agreed to give me a lift.”
Everyone offered their sympathy — everyone except Benny. He wasn’t paying attention. He was staring at the painting above the fireplace. It was exactly as it had always been, Shadowbox peeking out from among the trees and Buttercup grazing nearby. And yet, the youngest Alden was sure there was something wrong. When he took a step closer to the painting, he noticed what it was.
The number one was missing from Buttercup’s bell! |