The Missing Mitt (5 page)

“Wait!” said Frank. “What if someone wanted to sell it? I bet they could get a lot of money for a mitt that used to belong to Willy ‘Winner' Prime.”

“That's true. So it's either Conor Hound . . . or anyone! We're not getting any closer.”

WHO?

That was the big question. The more evidence they found, the more it seemed that Conor—or
one of the other Jupiters—was guilty. Conor had the opportunity, and a reason for doing it. But they couldn't be sure.

They needed a witness, or solid proof. That was what their dad had taught them.

“You need proof, not just a good suspicion,” he'd said. Joe and Frank just hoped they could find some proof before the game began at nine thirty. Time was running out.

HOW?

Good question! But they wouldn't know the answer to this one until they found out who had taken the mitt.

Suddenly a voice broke in on them.

“Hey, Frank! Hey, Joe! Shouldn't you be practicing?”

Before they could look to see who it was, someone tackled Frank from behind.

WHOOMPH!

Frank was knocked to the ground in a heap!

6

Oh no! I'm sorry, boys.” Mr. Mack had walked over as quickly as he could. Lucy had Frank pinned to the ground. She licked his face all over. Frank tried to tell Lucy to get off, but the dog was tickling
him so much he couldn't get a word out. Joe was laughing so hard he had to sit down.

“Lucy! Down, girl. Down!”

Finally Mr. Mack was able to pull his dog off Frank.

“Gosh, Frank, I'm sorry,” said Mr. Mack. “Every time we see you, we knock you down! I hope you're not hurt.”

“It's okay, Mr. Mack. I'm fine,” said Frank.

“That was the funniest thing I've seen all day,” said Joe. He laughed as Frank finally got up off the ground and brushed the dirt off his uniform.

To show there were no hard feelings, Frank called Lucy over and patted her on the head.

“Watch out, Frank—it's that stick you've got. Lucy thinks that means you're going to play fetch. That's why she tackled you. I was wondering where she'd dropped that stick—we were playing with it earlier.”

Lucy leaped up on Frank again. She was so big, her paws were on Frank's shoulders.

“Here you go, girl!” Frank gave Lucy the stick. She raced off into the woods behind the baseball diamond, back near where they had first seen her and Mr. Mack earlier that morning.

“Where's she going?” Joe asked Mr. Mack.

“Oh, Lucy buries her sticks off in the woods. Then she goes back and digs them up. Then she buries them again. It's a game she likes to play. She'll be back in a few minutes.”

“So, what are you guys doing out here still?” asked Joe. He'd picked up the notebook Frank had dropped when Lucy tackled him. Over his shoulder, Frank could see his brother writing the words
Possible suspect: Mr. Mack.

“I watch all the Bayport Bandits' games! I'm a huge baseball fan,” said Mr. Mack. “I can't get too close to the field, though, because Lucy would chase the balls out on the field!”

“Are you a big fan of Winner Prime?” asked Joe. Frank could see him writing the word “motive” in the notebook. Maybe Mr. Mack was such a big baseball fan that he wanted the mitt for himself!

“Who, Jason's father? I'd heard he played baseball, but I don't follow the major leagues, just the
local teams. I used to be a Little League coach myself, about forty years ago.”

Joe crossed out the word “motive.” It didn't seem like Mr. Mack was their suspect. He was just a fan. Besides, if he had the mitt, the boys would see it. He didn't even have a bag with him. With his cane, he couldn't have run away and hidden the mitt.

All around them, the families of the players on both teams were beginning to arrive. Some sat on the bleachers, and others brought blankets and had picnics out by the field. Joe and Frank waved to their parents, who had taken up their usual spot on a blanket near the Bandits' bench so they could watch both Joe and Frank at the same time.

Pretty soon the game was going to start, and they were no closer to finding Jason's mitt. The boys wanted to go ask their dad what he thought, but this was their case. They preferred to figure
it out on their own. They'd done so well with the missing money at the video game contest, after all.

Meanwhile, Mr. Mack kept talking. He loved baseball so much, it seemed like he could go on all day. “Yup, Lucy and I are here every game. We usually watch from back behind the bleachers. I tie her up to one of the posts.”

Mr. Mack pointed back behind where Jason had been sitting. From there, he would have had a great view of the Bandits' gear.

“Hey,” said Frank. “Were you around earlier?”

“We've been here since right after we ran into you.”

“Did you see anyone over by our stuff ?”

Mr. Mack shook his head. “Just the team. Lucy ran onto the field and then kept going—I had to chase after her.”

That would explain the stick they'd found, thought Frank. So now they had no clues at all.

“You didn't see anyone else?” asked Joe.

“Nope. Oh, wait! I did—that big kid, over there. He was looking through the stuff a little while ago.”

Mr. Mack pointed across the field—directly at Conor Hound!

“Well, the game is going to start soon,” said Mr. Mack. “I should go find Lucy and get ready to watch. Good luck, boys!” He patted Joe and Frank on the shoulder and headed off toward the woods.

The brothers looked at each other. All the evidence pointed in the same direction—Conor Hound! They needed to go to the source. And that meant talking to Conor.

They started to head across the field. But then a whistle blew.

“Line up!” shouted Coach Quinn.

The game was about to begin!

7

Oh no! The game was beginning, and they still hadn't figured out who had taken Jason's mitt—they hadn't even talked to their best suspect. They would just have to find a way to get to Conor during the game.

Frank and Joe rushed to get ready. They grabbed their mitts and headed over to the Bandits' dugout. All the players on both teams were doing the same—all except Jason, who refused to play.

“Not without my lucky mitt!” he said. “This
game is unfair! They're winning by cheating.” But Coach Quinn wouldn't listen to him.

“No one is cheating,” she said. “Your mitt was lost. It's terrible, but it wasn't anyone's fault. A good sportsman would play no matter what.”

But Jason was too mad to listen to her. Instead, he sat on the bench with his hands folded across his chest, looking angry.

Coach Quinn tried to convince him to play. She asked Jason if his father would act that way in a game. She told him that the team was depending on him. But there was no getting through to Jason. Finally the coach shrugged her shoulders. She hoped he would decide to play, but the game would go on—with or without him.

The whole team tried to get Jason to play, but it was no use. Jason refused. And without their best player, the Bandits didn't stand a chance. Frank and Joe had seven innings—like most Little League teams, the Bandits' games lasted seven innings rather than nine like the pros—to find the missing mitt . . . or else!