Department of English

Spring 2005 High School Edition

The Case of the Musician

Mary Furse
Fiction (9th-10th)
First Place
Hurricane High School
Teacher: Lorene Grant

Part One: The Fraud

On a Saturday morning near Christmas, after applying makeup and arranging hair, Daphffkneiye Ghiffphoarde (pronounced Daphne Gifford) climbed a ladder to her attic with a flashlight in hand. She pushed open a hinged flap and pulled herself up into the dusty, empty room.

“Wow!” said Daphffkneiye to herself as she peered into the flashlight’s glow. “I’m glad I decided to build some rooms in here! This is a lot of space!”

As she crossed over the beams, she imagined a cozy sitting room with a stuffed sofa and a quiet library with rows of books instead of rows of long studs and wafer boards. Her foot suddenly caught on a two-by-four and she tumbled over. Lying in front of her was a tube of paper. She grasped it and unrolled it. The first page was full of scribbled music titled “Clouds and Sunshine.” The other pages appeared to be legal documents of Mr. Levi Neilson.

“Hmm,” said Daphffkneiye. She stepped down onto the ladder and descended it. “I seem to have heard of Levi Neilson and his singing. Now what in the world are his papers doing in my attic?!”

As soon as she reached the tile floor, the chime of the doorbell echoed through the house. Daphffkneiye opened the door and was confronted by a small man wearing sun glasses and a sleek leather jacket. The top of his head was like a hedgehog with dark bristles.

“Do you happen to know where some music and legal documents of Levi Neilson are?” he asked.

Daphffkneiye was astonished. “Uh – As a matter of fact, I do. Are you Levi Neilson?”

“Yeah,” said he. “Where are the papers?”

“Here.” Daphffkneiye held them out in her hand.

Neilson snatched the papers and scowled. “So you’re the thief.”

 

Detective Bobbette Bobber was seated in Daphffkneiye’s living room, listening to her account of the morning with her chin resting on her fist. Her appearance was somewhat comical. Her oversized, double-brimmed hat overshadowed her olive-green eyes and her long nose. A leather-banded watch had slid down her lanky arm, almost under the sleeve of her turtleneck sweater.

“Continue your story,” she said as she flung her long, blond hair over her shoulder.

“He accused me of stealing the papers,” said Daphffkneiye, “and he’s going to sue me for the money he thinks I gained from them!”

“Really?” said Bobbette. “So do you want me to disprove him?”

“Would you?” pleaded Daphffkneiye.

“Well,” said Bobbette, “I’ll try. While I’m at it, I hope I can find the real culprit.”

“Thank you,” sighed Daphffkneiye.

“One thing,” said Bobbette, “what’re the police officers’ points of view?”

“They haven't had much of a chance to think anything of it,” answered Daphffkneiye.

“How is that?” asked Bobbette.

“When Neilson called the police on me, he didn’t give much detail,” explained Daphffkneiye. “Well, he did say that he lost his papers at about the same time that I moved here. But he insisted that they didn’t need to see the papers.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Bobbette.

After further interviewing, Bobbette returned to her home. Sally Bobber, her cousin, met her at the door.

“What’s happened with Daphffkneiye then?” asked Sally.

Bobbette briefly retold Daphffkneiye’s story.

“Wow!” said Sally afterwards. “I hope you can unravel this case!”

“Me too,” said Bobbette. “I wish Marnie were here to help. She --”

“Yes,” said Sally. “She left her hat.”

“Well,” said Bobbette, laughing. Then in a more sober voice, she said, “There are a few points against Daphffkneiye. In the first place, the papers were in her attic. She moved into the house at about the same time that Neilson’s papers were pilfered, so she could have hid them then and there after stealing them. Also, she’s a musician who could profit from someone else’s music, especially since it wasn’t copyrighted yet. Now, I’ve got to interview someone. Could you look up Levi Neilson in the address book?”

Bobbette left the room for some minutes. She returned wearing a disguise composed of a short, dark wig, blue sticker earrings, and glasses.

“So where’s Neilson?” she asked.

“The Mr. Neilson in Hurricane lives on 700 West--” began Sally.

“Really?” cried Bobbette. “Is it near Daphffkneiye’s mansion!?”

“It’s just south of the Hurricane West Stake Center,” answered Sally. “Why?”

“I’ll see you later!” cried Bobbette rushing out the door.

She jumped into her Oldsmobile and sped to a small blue house adjacent to Daphffkneiye’s back yard. A short, spike-haired man answered her knock.

“What do you want?” he said, glowering.

“I have the honor to contribute to the Hurricane Valley Journal an article about a local celebrity such as you, Mr. Neilson,” said Bobbette. “I’m sure you are very busy, but do you have time for an interview? I’m certain the valley people would enjoy reading about you.”

“Yep, that’s me, Levi Neilson. Come in!” answered the man. “I would be glad to spread my fame – er – to answer any questions.”

He directed Bobbette to a couch, and they seated themselves.

“Tell me about your life,” began Bobbette

“Well,” said Neilson, “I, uh, have been interested in music since I was a kid. I – I took band class in school. I started professionally about four years ago. Um – well – once, when I was just starting out– um –I sued this guy because he was a fraud, and was stealing this music manuscript of mine called ‘Sunshine and Clouds’. He was trying to get dishonest money from it. I – I like music – um – writing lyrics – um – and music.”

“Uh, huh,” said Bobbette, scribbling in a notebook. “What’s the latest song you’re working on?”

“Well – uh – I’ve got the rough draft for a song called – well –” said Neilson.

“Yes?” prompted Bobbette.

“Well – uh – it’s called ‘Sunshine and Clouds.’” Neilson’s voice quavered.

“Oh, that’s what it is,” said Bobbette with a smile. “Could I see the music?”

“Oh!” cried Neilson. His thin hand jerked towards a folded paper on the table, then he pulled it back. “No! – No! – I’m sorry.”

“All right,” said Bobbette. “Well, I’m through with the interview questions. Now could do me a favor?”

“What – what’s that?” asked Neilson.

“I’m sort of a composer myself,” said Bobbette. “Could you look over this piece of mine and help me revise it?”

She pulled a paper out of her coat pocket and set it on the coffee table.

“I’m just beginning in composing music,” said Bobbette. “This probably isn’t very good. Well – maybe you’re busy. I shouldn’t bother you with this.”

“Yeah,” sighed Neilson, “I’ve got my concerts and all.”

“Wow!” cried Bobbette. “You’re an astronomer, too? That’s a neat telescope!”

She pointed to the instrument stationed by a southern window in the next room. Neilson gasped and turned pale. He whipped his head around towards the telescope. Bobbette snatched his folded paper and thrust it into her pants pocket.

“Oh!” he cried. “Yes, yes. I – uh – I like looking at stars and stuff.”

“Could I see it?” asked Bobbette eagerly.

“Yes – uh – no!” answered Neilson.

“Well,” said Bobbette, “I’ll be going. It was nice talking to you. Oh! Wait!”

“What?” said Neilson.

“Who was that fraud who sued you?” asked Bobbette

“Oh! Um – uh,” stuttered Neilson. “He said he was a musician, but he wasn’t. Nobody knows his real name.”

“Hmmm,” said Bobbette. “That’s interesting. What did he look like?”

“Well, uh,” said Neilson, “he was kinda’ short, like me, and – um – he had brown hair.”

“Thank you,” said Bobbette.

 

“Sally!” cried Bobbette as she ran into her house. “I’ve almost got it!”

“Really?” said Sally. “Who do you suspect?”

“I don’t exactly know,” said Bobbette. “Mr. Neilson did mention a fraud who sued him for being one. That guy’s nervous!”

“Maybe he’s afraid of being sued again,” suggested Sally.

“Yeah,” said Bobbette. “Wait a minute! When you looked up that name in the phone book, did you say, ‘The Mr. Neilson in Hurricane’?”

“Yes,” answered Sally. “There were two listed.”

“Two Levi Neilsons? Where’s the other one?” asked Bobbette.

“I think it was 490 North State Street in LaVerkin,” answered Sally.

“I’ve got it!” cried Bobbette. “I’ve got it!”

“What? What?” asked Sally, excitedly.

“I’ll be back!” cried Bobbette.

“Wait!” yelled Sally. “I heard on the radio that something happened to the bridge on the way to LaVerkin.”

“Shucks!” said Bobbette. “I wanted to go get some information out of that other Neilson! Well, I can examine something I found.”

She pulled Neilson’s paper out of her pocket, and set it on a desk. She dumped a powder onto the paper, switched on a florescent light, and pulled a magnifying glass out of the desk drawer. Peering at the paper, she carefully explored lines of music and the spaces between them. She observed ink smudges and broad finger marks. Finally, she flicked off the light and replaced her tool.

“Sally!” she said.

“What?” asked Sally, peeking over Bobbette’s shoulder. “Did you find something?”

“I sure did!” answered Bobbette, grinning. “Mr. Levi Neilson stole the papers.”

“The one in LaVerkin?” asked Sally.

“Nope!” said Bobbette, “The one I visited earlier.”

“What?!” cried Sally. “You’re kidding!”

“No I’m not!” laughed Bobbette.

“How do you know, then?” asked Sally.

“None of his finger marks were on the music draft,” answered Bobbette.

“What the --?!” cried Sally. “Shall I call Marnie and ask her to come help you?”

“You think I’ve lost my wit, don’t you,” said Bobbette.

Sally averted her eyes.

“I’ll explain later,” said Bobbette. “We’ve got somewhere to go.”

 

As the sun slid behind a cinder knoll, Bobbette and Sally drove to Mr. Neilson’s house. Bobbette pushed her hair under her wig, and placed her glasses on her nose.

“Stay in the car until I come back,” she said to Sally.

She walked up to the door of the house and knocked. Neilson answered.

“Oh – oh, hi!” he said, suddenly smiling. “It’s you!”

“Yes,” said Bobbette. “I forgot to ask you one question this afternoon, and, since I was in this part of town, I thought I’d ask you now.”

“Oh, here,” said Neilson. “Let me take your coat.”

“Thank you!” said Bobbette, tugging her coat off. “Well, my question is this: How many times have you performed, and do you play in a group?”

Nielson hesitated. “Uh – well, I’ve performed about five times. I – I don’t play with a group. Um – I just do digital, recorded accompaniment.”

“I see. Thank you,” said Bobbette. “Well, I’d better go. Good bye.”

Bobbette left the house and stepped into her car.

“Where’s your coat?” asked Sally.

“I imagine,” said Bobbette, removing her disguise, “that at the moment, Mr. Fraud is examining its pockets for a music draft titled ‘Clouds and Sunshine’, which he won’t find.”

“Is that the music you were inspecting just now?” asked Sally.

“Yes,” answered Bobbette.

She drove to the Stake Center parking lot, pulled out her cell phone, and quickly contacted the police. Sally followed her as she exited the car, crept back to the house, and again knocked on the door. A shuffling sound came from inside. Then there was silence. After a moment, the door was opened by Neilson.

“Uh – hi,” said Neilson. “Who are you?”

“We have the honor to contribute to the Hurricane Valley Journal article about a local criminal such as you, Mr. Neilson,” said Bobbette. “I’m sure you are very busy, but do you have time for an interview? I’m certain the valley people would enjoy reading about you.”

“What?!” cried Neilson.

“My first questions are: where is my coat, and what is your real name?” said Bobbette.

“Your coat?! My name?! What?” cried the flabbergasted Neilson.

“Well,” said Bobbette, “I suppose the police can help when they arrive.”

“Police?! What?” yelled Neilson.

“You know what I mean,” said Bobbette. “Anyhow, here they are.”

Suddenly the door was shoved open, and three police officers marched in.

“Hello, officers,” said Bobbette. “This guy’s got a double charge: theft and fraud.”

“She’s lying!” cried Neilson. “Where’s her evidence?!”

“Right here,” said Bobbette, pulling the music draft from her pants pocket. She waved it before Neilson’s face.

“What?!” he cried. “This manuscript has been stolen twice now!”

“No,” said Bobbette, “only once – by you.”

“Miss Bobber,” said a police officer, “no offense, but are you sure about this? It’s only your first case without assistance.”

“Well,” answered Bobbette, “we’ll see at the trial.”

“I suppose so,” said the police officer. “Let’s take him away.”

 

After Sally and Bobbette returned home, they sat down to a cup of hot cocoa.

“So,” said Sally, “can you explain how Mr. Neilson is the culprit?”

“Yes,” said Bobbette. “I’ll tell you his story as far as I can follow it. He told me himself that four years ago, he had written a song, and a man had claimed to be named Levi Neilson, and had stolen the music. Consequently, he sued him, but when the case looked black for him, he ran away from it.

“At this point, I can only guess what happened. He discovered that a wealthy musician was building in town, and he hid the papers in the unfinished attic. Either way, he was comforted by the fact that if the manuscript was discovered, and suspicions arose, he would have a likely person to present a slanderous story of. Then, he built upon this idea, and schemed. When I interviewed him just now, I espied a telescope by his window, facing Daphffkneiye’s house. Of course, after my reference to it, he said he was interested in star-gazing. So, he had bought the house on 700 West in order to be near the mansion. He used the telescope to see if and when Daphffkneiye discovered the papers. That’s why he arrived at her front door so soon after she found them.

“After he shocked Daphffkneiye with his accusation, he called the police. I thought it very suspicious that, as Daphffkneiye said this morning, Mr. Neilson refused to allow the police examine the papers. If he was innocent, he would hand over the papers without hesitation. Then, as I was interviewing Mr. Neilson today, when he wasn’t looking, I grabbed this music, which Daphffkneiye had found in the attic.

“In most situations, no criminal would be stupid enough to leave his finger marks on stolen items. In this case, however, it was stupid not to. If the music was really Neilson’s, which he wanted people to think, his finger prints would be all over it. But he thought he was so smart and wore gloves while handling the music, so the only finger marks I found were large ones, which wouldn’t correspond with his thin fingers.”

“Oh!” said Sally. “I’m sorry. I understand now. But what would Mr. Fraud want with Neilson’s legal documents and music?”

“Well,” answered Bobbette, “You remember that Mr. Fraud was suing Neilson for fraud, and I imagine that Neilson could use his legal documents in his favor. So Fraud took them so it would be impossible. Also, that piece of music was dated in the 1940’s, and could have been jotted down by a famous musician, like Benny Goodwin. Therefore, it is of great value.”

“You make the picture clearer all the time!” said Sally. “Did you suspect Mr. Fraud before?”

“Somewhat,” said Bobbette, “because his accusation was dishonest and invalid.”

“But who would blame him for thinking Daphffkneiye stole something if it was stashed in her attic?” said Sally.

“A thief wouldn’t give up a stolen item as easily as she did,” replied Bobbette.

“Oh, I see,” said Sally. “Wow! You’re as good as Marnie! In one day, you’ve found the criminal!”

“Well, thanks,” said Bobbette, smiling. “What I’ve still got to do is to find the real owner of the papers, the victim of the crime, besides, of course, Daphffkneiye. I think the -” Bobbette paused abruptly.

“What?” asked Sally.

“You know the Mr. Neilson in LaVerkin? He’s the one who was accused of fraud. As far as I know, that stolen song is his.”

“I guess,” said Sally, “the only reason Marnie should be away from her home right now is that she should retrieve her hat.”

 

During the lawsuits of Daphffkneiye Ghiffphoard and Levi Neilson, or in reality, William Jenkins, Bobbette’s evidence was presented, the judge was not liberal, and Jenkins was defeated in both cases. He was sentenced for six years in prison.

Bobbette remarked after Jenkins’s trial, “The first step to prove you’re not guilty of doing something is to not do it.”

Within the next week, news sources portrayed parts of the case to the public. KSL News mentioned the real Levi Nielson’s reward to Daphffkneiye for restoring his music, which had been missing since 1981. Using Bobbette’s account, the Hurricane Valley Journal produced an article featuring the criminal, William Jenkins.

Marnie Mahoney happened to read the article and telephoned Bobbette the same morning.

“Hello, Bobbette,” she said. “I heard you cracked a case.”

“Oh,” answered Bobbette. “It wasn’t too difficult.”

“Well,” said Marnie, “you could have searched old newspapers for information about Jenkins’s and Neilson’s doings to gather facts sooner.”

“Marnie,” said Bobbette, “I got the culprit within hours.”

“What,” said Marnie, “ninety-two hours?”

“No,” laughed Bobbette, “three at the most.”

“Well -- have you seen FOX news lately?” asked Marnie.

“No,” said Bobbette. “I don’t have the channel. Why?”

“Last night,” said Marnie, “it gave a brief story of the night before last’s escape of Inmate Jenkins from Purgatory Jail.”

To be continued . . . .

 

Part Two: The Escapee 

“I don’t know why I ever decided to be a detective,” said Bobbette to Sally during breakfast. “I think I’ve read too much of Sherlock Holmes.”

“Well, what’s the matter?” said Sally. “Your first case was a success.”

“Not entirely,” said Bobbette.

“What do you mean?” said Sally.

“Marnie called just now and said that Jenkins escaped from prison,” answered Bobbette.

“That has nothing to do with the case!” said Sally. “We all know that Marnie has ways of suggesting to people that everything’s their fault.”

“But I never did find out exactly why Jenkins hid papers in Daphffkneiye’s attic instead of keeping them with him,” said Bobbette. “Marnie wants me to go out and find Mr. Jenkins. Christmas vacation is almost over, and I don’t have time to do that with school.”

“If you could discover a culprit in three hours,” said Sally, “you can do this by the time school starts again.”

“I think finishing a case in three hours was pure luck,” said Bobbette.

“Well,” said Sally, “you can’t get anything done when you’re moping.”

“You’re right, Sally,” said Bobbette. “I’d better quit whining and get going. As soon as we’re through eating, let’s get down to the scene of the escape.”

“Ah,” said Bobbette, as she and Sally drove down the interstate highway. “I like riding here and seeing the red and white striped rock of the anticline. Quail Lake has been pretty low these past few months,” she said, glancing to her right. “That was a pretty good rain last night! The weather forecast said it would rain all week! It’s not often that we have rain like that! Well, here we are at ol’ Purgatory.”

Both girls stepped out of the car and walked into the building and to the front desk. Bobbette explained her errand, and was given permission to examine the jail grounds.

“Look,” said Sally as they stepped out onto the red dirt. “Do you see those?”

“What, the footmarks?” said Bobbette.

“Yes,” said Sally. “They do look like Neilson’s shoe size.”

“Yeah,” said Bobbette. She pulled her magnifying glass out of her coat pocket and knelt on the ground. She carefully scrutinized the footmarks through the lens. “I wish some of these prints weren’t full of rainwater.”

“It looks like Jenkins ran west towards the highway,” said Sally.

“You’re getting to be a fairly good footprint reader,” said Bobbette, still bending over the impressions in the clay soil. “The prints are quite deep enough for him to have been running --”

“You know,” said Sally, “I think detectives run in our family. You’re one and I – well . . . .”

Bobbette smiled. She stood up and walked towards the opposite fence. “Well,” she said, “I’ll look over here for . . . Oh, look. News reporters.”

A cameraman and a journalist appeared from behind the building.

“Hi,” said the journalist. “Are you Bobbette Bobber?”

“Yes,” answered Bobbette.

“I’m Mandy Billings from KSL Five News,” said the reporter. “Do you have time for an interview? I’ve all ready spoken to the jail administration.”

“Uh – yes, I have time,” said Bobbette.

“You can start filming now,” said Mandy to the cameraman. “As well as the local police, an amateur inspector, Bobbette Bobber, is trying to find and recapture Jenkins. She is at the scene of the escape.” Mandy turned to Bobbette. “Bobber, do you have any idea of Jenkins’s whereabouts?” Mandy directed the microphone to Bobbette.

“Well,” said Bobbette, “I just arrived here. The only clues I’ve seen yet are these footmarks.”

The camera’s lens pointed down at the prints.

“What do you think these footprints mean?” asked the reporter.

“Well --” said Bobbette, “they run towards the highway, but I haven’t looked beyond that.”

Mandy motioned for the camera to be turned off. “Thanks, Bobbette,” she said, “and good luck.”

“Excuse me,” said Bobbette. “Could I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” said Mandy.

“But please don’t report it,” said Bobbette.

“We won’t,” said Mandy.

“Thanks,” said Bobbette. “Well, did anyone request that you report this story?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Mandy. “Someone e-mailed us. I don’t know who. But that’s not the only reason we did it. Other local news sources were reporting it, too.”

“Well, thanks,” said Bobbette. “Good-bye.”

“Why did you ask that?” said Sally after the reporters had gone.

“Oh, it might come in handy,” said Bobbette.

“What are you doing?” asked Sally. “These are the footprints of interest where you were first.”

Bobbette was bending over two sets of footprints near the opposite fence. “These prints are interesting, too.”

“They’re simply regular inmates’ footprints!” said Sally, amazed.

“If you want to think that, you can,” said Bobbette. “Let’s go home for lunch and come back later.”

 

Refreshed by her midday meal, Bobbette had returned to the Purgatory Jail grounds after Sally had tried to persuade her not to go out alone. She followed the three sets of footmarks on the east side of the grounds. Two sets went beyond the fence, but as she tracked the third on the other side of the fence, she expected the prints to lead northeast towards the highway. However, they wandered.

 

“Sally,” said Bobbette, standing up, “if you want to share this case with me, that’s fine, but I’ll do it as it think it should be done.”