The Missing Mitt (4 page)

“Right before they got here,” said Jason, nodding his head at the Jupiters. “I tossed it on top of my bag, right over there, and then went to practice. The next time I looked over here, he was standing next to my bag!”

Jason pointed to Conor Hound.

“What?” asked Conor. “Are you calling me a thief ? I didn't steal your dirty old mitt! I have my own.”

“Then why were you standing by my stuff ?” asked Jason.

“I was just trying to put my stuff away. I didn't know which pile was ours. But I'm not a thief!”

“Yeah, right! You want to win this game so badly you're willing to cheat!” yelled Jason.

As they spoke, Jason and Conor got closer and closer. Soon they were right next to each other, both angry and shouting. Joe ran in between them.

“Let's look around,” said Joe. “Maybe your mitt got lost when other people put their stuff down.”

“Right,” said Frank. “I'll start looking over here. Jason, why don't you look over there?” Frank pointed as far away from Conor as possible.

“I don't want to hear one word about people stealing,” said Coach Quinn. “Is that clear? We'll find your mitt, Jason—but you can't just accuse people of stealing.”

Jason nodded. He still looked angry, but he followed Joe over to the other side of the pile of players' bags, bats, balls, and helmets.

Coach Riley called for the Jupiters to go with him.

“Everyone is going to empty out their bags,” said the coach. “And if I find Jason's mitt anywhere, that person will be in big trouble. Is that understood?”

The Jupiters nodded and walked away.

“Oh, wow!” said Speedy. “Do you really think Conor took Jason's mitt? What will we do if we can't find it? Jason can't play without it. That would be a disaster!”

Some of the other Bandits were nodding their heads.

“I bet he did take it,” said one.

“Yeah!” agreed another. “They'll do anything to win.”

“Hey!” said Coach Quinn. “I won't have any more talk like that. You will respect the other team.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said the Bandits, but it didn't look like everyone agreed with her.

“Good. Because if I catch anyone else accusing someone of stealing without proof, I'll have to ask them not to play.”

With that, Coach Quinn walked away. Frank and Joe heard some of their teammates still whispering angrily. But they did it when Coach Quinn wasn't looking.

The Bandits looked through all the gear. They turned bags inside out, looked under baseball caps, and even searched under the bleachers and over by the water cooler. Nothing. This wasn't looking good.

Frank pulled Joe aside.

“Do you think Conor stole Jason's glove?” he asked.

“I don't know,” said Joe. “But it doesn't seem to be here.”

Jason and some of their other teammates were huddled together, whispering to one another. Occasionally one would angrily point or look in the direction of Conor Hound.

If they didn't find that mitt, Jason wouldn't play. And if he didn't play, the Bandits were definitely going to lose.

Frank and Joe had helped the owner of Fun World find some missing money at a video game contest recently. Maybe they could solve the mystery of what had happened to Jason's mitt—before it was too late!

5

While the rest of the Bandits continued to search for Jason's glove, Joe and Frank went over to the bleachers. It was quiet there, so they could think.

“What should we do?” asked Joe.

“You know what Dad says. Start with the six
W
s: What, When, Where, Why, Who, and How.”

Joe nodded, remembering that “how” always tripped him up as a
W
. But Frank had explained to him earlier—it did end in a
W
. Frank pulled
out a pen and a small spiral-bound notebook from his back pocket. He wrote the words down in big letters on the paper.

WHAT?

Jason's lucky mitt. It was a regular brown baseball glove, a little larger than most. It was old and beat-up looking.

“Do you think someone could have taken it by accident?” asked Joe. “Like, maybe they thought it was theirs?”

Frank thought for a second. “No,” he said. “It's bigger than any of our mitts. And remember, it had ‘Winner' stitched on it? As soon as someone saw that, they'd know.”

Joe took the notebook and drew the mitt, complete with the word “Winner” on it. Now they would have something to show witnesses!

WHEN?

“Hey, Jason!” called Joe. Jason had stopped picking through the pile of bats and balls. He was sitting by himself on the other side of the bleachers. He still looked angry. When Joe called his name, he came running over.

“Are you guys going to find my mitt?” asked Jason excitedly.

“We're trying,” said Joe. “But we need your help. Do you remember when you last had it?”

“Well,” said Jason, “I don't know exactly. I got here around eight thirty, and I guess I put my bag down right away. But I knew everyone would want to touch the lucky mitt, so I kept that with me. Then, when it was time to practice, I threw it in with the rest of my stuff—right before you guys arrived. When was that?”

Frank looked at his watch. “Eight fifty-nine exactly,” he said. Then he wrote,
8:59—Jason threw the mitt onto the pile.

“Okay,” said Joe. “And when did you find out the mitt was missing?”

“Right after Coach Quinn called a break.”

Mitt discovered missing at about 10:00,
Frank wrote in the book.

“Did anything strange happen in between those times?” asked Frank.

“No,” said Jason. “We were practicing, and then the Jupiters showed up. I saw Conor standing around our stuff, and after that my mitt was gone! I'm sure he stole it.”

Jupiters arrived at 9:30,
wrote Frank.

“I think Conor stole my mitt because he knows I'm better than he is!” said Jason, getting angry again. “Are you guys going to catch him?”

“We don't know he stole it,” said Frank. “But we're going to catch whoever did!”

Frank didn't want to assume that Conor had taken Jason's mitt. But it wasn't looking good for the Jupiters' first baseman.

WHERE?

“We need to look at the crime scene again,” said Joe. “Now that everybody's back to practicing, maybe we can find some clues.” The game was still
on, so the Jupiters and the Bandits were all getting ready, except for Jason.

Frank and Joe walked back over to the place where Jason had last seen his mitt. But so many people had touched things, it was impossible to tell if anything was out of order.

There were a million footprints everywhere. But no suspicious trails or anything. Frank and Joe walked around the pile, each in a different direction, to make sure they didn't miss anything.

“Did you find anything?” asked Joe when they had walked all the way around to the other side.

“Just this,” said Frank, holding out a large stick. “It was mixed up with all the gear.”

“It is random,” said Joe. “But do you think it has anything to do with Jason's mitt?”

“I don't know,” said Frank. “But I'm writing it down anyway, just in case.”

Found at scene: gear, footprints, one large stick,
wrote Frank in his notebook.

“We're not getting anywhere!” said Joe.

He was right. They had nothing.

WHY?

“We know that the person who took Jason's mitt did it on purpose,” said Frank, “because they couldn't have mistaken the lucky mitt for theirs.”

“Right,” said Joe. “Maybe the Jupiters
would
do anything to win. . . .”

“Is there any reason anyone else would have taken it?” asked Frank.

“Everyone on the team loves Jason,” said Joe. “And we all want to win this game. I can't think of any reason someone else would have stolen the mitt. Can you?”

Frank shook his head. Nothing else made sense.