The Bicycle Thief (3 page)

Mix-up Fix-up

J
oe pedaled back home as fast as he could. Within seconds he was back to daydreaming about winning. He could almost hear the crowd cheering his name.

“Joe! Joe, where are you going?”

It wasn't a crowd. It was his mother, leaning out the kitchen window. He had biked right past their house! Good thing she had been looking out the window at that moment.

He turned around and hopped off his bike. He ran inside at top speed.

His mom, dad, and aunt Gertrude were all sitting around the kitchen table, eating a late lunch.

“Slow down, Joe!” said Mr. Hardy.

Joe skidded to a halt.

“Sorry, Dad! Frank's bike blew a tire, and we brought Mom's bag by accident, so we couldn't fix it.” Joe held up the black backpack.

“Not again,” Mrs. Hardy groaned. “Fenton, we have to get new bags for the family. This is getting silly.”

“But . . . they were on sale!”

Everyone laughed. Their father could never pass up a bargain.

“Well then, I'm sewing name tags on them. On the outside. Tonight!” Mrs. Hardy said.

Aunt Gertrude took the bag from Joe and
gave him the correct one, with all his bike supplies.

“Want a ride back to the park?” she asked.

“I'm cool!” yelled Joe. He was already running out the door.

“Be back by dinnertime!” his father yelled.
“Remember, sunset is your curfew, and your aunt Gertrude is making lasagna!”

This time Joe took a shortcut. Instead of following the rambling path all the way down to the park, he went straight through town. He knew if he took a left after the grocery store, and then a
right at the pharmacy, and then rode across Mrs. Ackerman's backyard, he'd be there in half the time it normally took.

Or was it a right after the grocery store and a left at the pharmacy? Or maybe they were both rights? Frank and Joe almost always biked on the path, since it was easier to race on the path. And he didn't go by Adam Ackerman's house very often. His shortcut turned into a very long cut! It had already taken him twice as long as his normal trip.

Gosh, this is hard!
Joe thought. His legs were starting to hurt.
How do real bike racers do it?
he wondered.

Finally he found his way. It was a left at the grocery store and a left at the pharmacy! He rode carefully across the path in Mrs. Ackerman's backyard, avoiding her many flower beds. Frank's
bike had already gotten a flat tire. Nothing else could go wrong today.

Bayport Park appeared in front of him. He rode back to where he'd left Frank and his bike. In a few minutes they'd have the tire patched. And then he could try to rejoin the race—and beat his brother, at least, if no one else!

Except, when he got back to the ditch, there was no Frank! There was no bike! Something in the back of Joe's mind began to tingle. This was starting to feel like a mystery. And if there were one thing Joe loved more than biking (and beating Frank in a race), it was solving mysteries.

Joe looked around. Luckily the ground in the ditch was still muddy and wet from recent rain. He could see clearly the place where Frank's bike had gone over the edge. The ground was all torn up where the bike had landed. And next to it he
saw three sets of footprints. One was his, and the other was Frank's. There was also one he didn't recognize.

He knew his and Frank's footprints because he and Frank had carved distinctive patterns into their shoes, so that if one of them was ever lost, the other could find him. Joe's shoes had stars on them, and Frank's had dinosaurs. Their mom had gotten mad about it, because the first time they had done it, they had cut all the way through the soles! But they got it right the second time.

Today it had come in handy at last! Joe followed the track of dinosaurs up out of the ditch. They stopped at the road. Joe judged the angle. After a little looking, he was able to pick up the tracks on the other side of the path, in the park proper. He didn't make it far before Frank nearly ran straight into him.

“Joe!” yelled Frank. “Guess what?”

“Your bike was stolen,” said Joe.

“How did you know?” Frank stared at him in shock. How did Joe know that?

4    

The Six
W
s

J
oe said nothing. He just smiled.

“How did you know someone took my bike?” asked Frank again.

“Say I'm the smartest.”

Frank stuck his tongue out.

“Say it!”

“Fine,” said Frank. “I'm the smartest.” This time it was his turn to smile. “Now, how did you know?”

Joe laughed. He knew when he'd been beaten
fair and square. “Because you don't have it with you,” he said. “And I followed your footprints out here, and there was no bike tread, which means you didn't bring it out here and then hide it.”

Frank nodded. “Looks like we've got ourselves a case,” he said. He wasn't happy that his bike was missing. He knew his parents were going to be upset if it was gone. It would cost money to replace it, and his piggy bank was low. The bike had been a birthday present. If he had lost it, he was going to be in a lot of trouble. It might take him months to be able to afford a new bike. But still, he couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice. If there were anything he liked better than biking, it was solving a mystery. And he was pretty sure he and Joe could figure this one out. They'd already solved more than one case.

Frank reached into his bag and pulled out a notebook and a pen. The boys sat beneath a big tree.

They began to list out the six
W
s of mystery solving—What, When, Where, Why, Who, and How?

What. Joe took the pen and notebook. “So, what was taken?” he said. “My bike,” Frank replied.

One red BMX bike, kid-size,
wrote Joe. “Let me,” said Frank. “I can describe it better.”

Frank took the pen and wrote out a description of his bike. He had detailed it himself. He had drawn the head of a
Tyrannosaurus rex
(his favorite dinosaur) on the seat and had covered the frame with stickers of
dinosaurs. Around the back wheel was painted the word “Bayport,” and on the front was the word “Bandits.” Frank and Joe had both painted their wheels for when the Bandits had won the local Little League championship and they'd been in the winner's parade. Finally, the handlebars had blue tassels on the ends. Not just because Frank liked how they looked, but also because the string often came in handy for fixing things or tying things together.

Once he'd finished describing the bike, he drew it—just in case they needed to make a “lost bike” poster.

No one else had a bike quite like his. Bayport was a small town. Anyone who saw it would know it was his.

When. “How long were you gone with Mrs. Ackerman?” Joe asked.

“Not very long. Maybe fifteen minutes.”

Joe wrote down
~ fifteen minutes.
Their mother had taught them that the symbol ~, or “tilde” as it was called, meant “about” or “almost.”

It was useful shorthand when taking notes on a case.

“That wasn't much time,” said Joe.

“Whoever took your bike made off with it fast.”

Where. “Well, that one is easy,” said Joe.

Bayport Park bike trail,
he wrote in the notepad. He drew a large square to represent the park. Then he drew a curvy line for the bike trail. Finally he put an
X
where the bike had been.

Why. Joe wrote the word “why” in big letters. Then he stopped. For a moment both boys scratched their heads.

“Someone could have taken it to use themselves,” said Joe. He wrote it down in the notebook.

“True,” said Frank. “But they'd have to be my size. And it would be pretty obvious that it was my bike.” He thought for a second. “Maybe they took it for the parts?”

Joe wrote down
Parts.

“What if someone took it to get back at you?” said Joe. Not everyone was always happy with their mystery solving. They'd gotten more than one person in trouble in the past. Frank hated to think he had an enemy, but it was possible. He nodded.

Joe wrote down
Enemy
in the notebook.

Who. This was the most important question.

“It had to be someone nearby,” said Joe. “Think back. Who did you see?”

“I ran into Mr. Mack and Lucy!” said Frank. “And you know how Lucy is.” Lucy was a great
dog, but she had a habit of stealing things and burying them in the woods.

“A bike seems pretty heavy for Lucy to drag away,” said Joe. “But who knows? And maybe Mr. Mack saw something.”

He wrote them down in the notebook.

“Who else?” he asked.

“Well, I saw Speedy. I don't think she'd take my bike, but she's a witness. We should talk to her.”

Cissy “Speedy” Zermeño,
Joe wrote.

“Oh!” said Frank. “When Mrs. Ackerman took me to the ranger station, Adam stayed behind. And I'd told him that I'd fallen off my bike.”

If anyone had reason to be mad at Frank, it was Adam. They'd caught him playing tricks on people a few times in the past. It would be just like him to steal Frank's bike.