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  Then Mrs. Mitchell had read an article about how teachers and children in Japanese villages take care of their own schools, inside and out. The article said it made the children feel more responsible, provided a good learning activity, and helped create school spirit.

  Mrs. Mitchell liked the idea, so she had written a proposal. She and her students would do a little classroom cleaning every day, like dusting and washing desks and sweeping the floors. Then there would be an outdoor work period every Thursday afternoon, and a thorough indoor cleaning session every Friday afternoon. That way the yard and the classroom would be tidy and clean at the start of each new week. And for occasional jobs like mowing or snowplowing, the school district could hire the town hall handyman and pay him by the hour.

  Mr. Seward had liked the idea too, mostly because it saved the district money. And once the plan was put into action, the Wheaton school board even increased Mrs. Mitchell’s salary a little—something that hadn’t happened for a long time.

  Ted enjoyed the outdoor work more than the classroom chores. And on this particular Thursday, being outside felt great to him. If he could stay away from his teacher, maybe she’d forget all about yesterday afternoon. Ted had chosen a job he could do alone, far away from where Mrs. Mitchell was leading the fourth-grade leaf-raking brigade.

  Ted carried the two heavy outside doormats over to the low chain-link fence and draped them over the top rail. Then he began hitting them with an old tennis racket, knocking out the dried mud and grass. It wasn’t exactly fun, but today it felt like the best job in the world. It felt like he’d been given a free pass to an hour of complete safety.

  That feeling didn’t last.

  He turned around, and there was Mrs. Mitchell.

  She said, “Hi, Ted” and began raking up some dry leaves that had blown against the fence. But that wasn’t why she had come to this part of the schoolyard.

  She said, “I’ve been wanting to speak to you alone. Do you mind if I ask why you were coming out of the driveway at the Anderson farm yesterday afternoon?”

  Ted gulped. He said, “Um …” and then took another three whacks at a doormat.

  Ted had known Ruby Cantrell was going to ask him why he was buying matches and candles at the market, so he had planned out what to tell her in advance. Something that made sense. Something that wasn’t a lie.

  But this was different. He’d been thinking ever since yesterday about what to say to his teacher. He had nothing, and it was already taking him much too long to answer Mrs. Mitchell. Because it never takes long to tell the truth. No matter what he said now, it was going to sound like a lie.

  Ted gulped again and said, “I was there … well, it’s sort of a Boy Scout project I’m doing.”

  Ted felt like he had been using his Boy Scout connection a lot in the past few days. But Mrs. Mitchell didn’t know that. And what he’d just told her was true … sort of.

  Ted kept beating clouds of dust out of the doormats so he wouldn’t have to look at his teacher.

  “Hmm,” she said. “I thought the Scout troop shut down when the Kyler boys moved away.”

  “Well, yeah,” said Ted, “but I’m still a Scout. You know, on my own.”

  “Oh. That’s interesting. And this project? What’s it about?”

  Ted gulped a third time.

  If he told his teacher the truth, he’d have to break his promise to April. And her mom. And if he lied, it would have to be a whopping big one to get Mrs. Mitchell off the case.

  Ted felt awful. He didn’t want any lies at all, big or small.

  Mrs. Mitchell could see Ted was upset. He had a two-handed grip on the tennis racket now, and he was giving the doormats a terrible thrashing.

  Ted thought, I can’t lie to Mrs. Mitchell. But I promised I wouldn’t tell. I promised. I have to keep my promise.

  And in the stress of the moment, with the dusty tennis racket in mid-swing, Ted saw what a powerful grip a promise can have.

  And not just on him. A promise can grab hold of anyone.

  Even a teacher.

  He stopped beating the doormat, turned to Mrs. Mitchell, and looked her right in the eye.

  He wanted her to see he was telling the truth. “Mrs. Mitchell, I can’t tell what my project’s about because I promised I’d keep it a secret. But I can make you a promise too. I promise that I’m not doing anything wrong out there. Not one thing.” And then Ted raised his right hand with the first two fingers held up in a salute. “Scout’s honor.”

  Mrs. Mitchell looked into Ted’s face. She loved this boy. She loved all her students, even the eighth-grade boys and girls—who sometimes seemed to do their best to be unlovable. Didn’t matter. She loved them all.

  As far as she knew, Ted had never lied to her, not once in all the years she’d known him. And she had no reason to think he was lying now. He was the most dependable child in room one. His work was always done well, and done on time. He studied for tests, he did his outside reading. And he delivered the newspaper to her front porch every morning, without fail.

  Still, something odd was going on. And it made her uneasy to accept this promise without knowing more.

  Mrs. Mitchell asked, “Aren’t there ‘No Trespassing’ signs all over that property?” Because then she could tell Ted to keep away from the place just as a matter of obeying the law. Because a Scout is obedient. Her son had been a Boy Scout too.

  Ted shook his head. “Nope. Not one.”

  Mrs. Mitchell recalled reading about that in the Weekly Observer. The banks had so many abandoned properties on the Great Plains, they had stopped putting up NO TRESPASSING signs to help cut their costs.

  She said, “Ted, I know you’re a good boy, but I don’t want you getting into trouble out there, that’s all.”

  He said, “Oh, I’m not. Really.”

  Ted felt like he’d hooked a fish, but it wasn’t in the canoe yet. Because if Mrs. Mitchell picked up the phone and asked Deputy Linwood to drive out to the Anderson place and take a look around, his so-called project would be finished.

  And then Ted saw what to do.

  He said, “Mrs. Mitchell, if you promise that you’ll keep everything a secret, then I can tell you. About my project.”

  Now it was Mrs. Mitchell on the spot.

  Looking into Ted’s face, she saw how much he trusted her. And she saw how important her answer would be. If she refused to make this promise, would Ted stop trusting her? And what if she did promise, and then what if Ted told her about something … bad? What then? Because it would be awful if she had to break a promise. But hadn’t Ted already promised he wasn’t doing anything wrong?

  A person who teaches school for eighteen years becomes a good judge of character. So Mrs. Mitchell held out her hand.

  She said, “You already promised you’re not doing anything wrong, and as long as that’s true, I promise I won’t tell anyone about your project. That sound fair?”

  Ted said, “Fair and square,” and he shook Mrs. Mitchell’s hand.

  If Ted or Mrs. Mitchell could have guessed how complicated their new partnership would become, that handshake might have never happened.

  But it did. Because a promise is a powerful thing.

  Chapter 12

  SLEEPLESS

  It was almost midnight. Mrs. Mitchell heard her husband upstairs in bed, snoring away. But that wasn’t why she couldn’t sleep. Mrs. Mitchell couldn’t sleep because about ten hours ago she had stood in the schoolyard and made a promise to a twelve-year-old boy.

  And now she wished she hadn’t.

  She took a sip of hot chocolate and then said out loud, “What was I thinking?”

  After they exchanged promises and shook on it, Ted Hammond had given his teacher a short explanation of his charity project. He’d told her about seeing the girl at the Anderson farmhouse, about going back and meeting her, about meeting the mom and the little brother, about learning that their dad had died in Iraq, about how they’d left Texas, and how the
re was this sort of boyfriend who might be trying to find them. And Ted had been helping this homeless family by taking them food and supplies.

  Sounded simple enough.

  But as Ted had told her this, warning bells had begun ringing in Mrs. Mitchell’s head. Because she heard this story: A mom—who might be mentally unbalanced—was having trouble caring for two children, and all three of them were living in an abandoned house. Illegally. In filthy conditions. While a boyfriend hunted for them. And he might be mentally unbalanced too.

  Sitting at her kitchen table, Mrs. Mitchell began imagining what the people at Nebraska Health and Human Services would say about this situation. And she felt pretty sure that they would listen to Ted’s story and begin to use words like “neglect.” Or “endangerment.”

  And now that Mrs. Mitchell knew Ted’s story, she couldn’t sit by and be a spectator. Because if anything happened to those people, especially to the children …

  And that’s when Mrs. Mitchell decided that she had to do something.

  Right away.

  Two miles away in a farmhouse out along Toronto Road, someone else was wide awake at midnight.

  Because as Ted had told his teacher about April and her mom and brother, Mrs. Mitchell’s mouth had kept smiling, and her head had kept on nodding. But her eyes? Her eyes had been cloudy.

  And now Ted was trying to put himself into his teacher’s mind, which wasn’t easy to do. But he made himself think like a detective who had to solve a mystery. He thought about all the clues, and he reviewed everything he knew about Mrs. Mitchell.

  And all at once Ted got a peek at how she was probably thinking: He felt pretty sure Mrs. Mitchell would be worried about those kids. Because that’s what teachers do. Moms, too. And Mrs. Mitchell was both a teacher and a mom.

  And then Ted realized that if Mrs. Mitchell was really worried about April and Artie, she’d feel like she had to do something. She’d tell somebody. Like the police. Or the welfare people. She’d tell them—promises or no promises.

  He knew he had to do something.

  But what?

  Should he warn April? He could do that first thing in the morning.

  Except, if he warned her, he’d have to tell how he broke his promise about not telling anybody.

  And then Ted tried to decide which would be worse: seeing April’s face when she knew he had broken his promise, or seeing April and her mom and little brother sitting in the backseat of a police car.

  He made his decision. Then he turned over, and after another fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, the Boy Scout detective paperboy finally got to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  CRIME SCENE

  Riding along County Road 7 early Friday morning, Ted was on his way to talk to April and Alexa and Artie. He had to tell them they had to leave. Today. Right away.

  As the Andersons’ barn came into view, Ted rehearsed his speech. This is all my fault. I should have been more careful, because my teacher saw me when I left here Wednesday afternoon. And then she asked me why I was here, and I had to tell her what I was doing so she wouldn’t call my mom and dad or anybody. And I made her promise to keep everything a secret, but I’m pretty sure she’s gonna feel like she has to tell other people. Like the police. So you’ve got to pack up and get out. Maybe go and get a ride from someone out on Route 2. Or walk west about two miles to the truck stop so you can use the pay phone and call your relatives in Colorado. Because it’s not safe to stay here anymore. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m so sorry.

  When Ted swung his bike around the back corner of the farmhouse, he slammed on the brakes. He stood there and stared, trying to understand. Because both cellar doors were wide open, spread out like the wings of a giant moth.

  Ted dropped his bike and dashed down the cellar steps, almost tripping over something in the darkness. And as he ran up the stairs toward the kitchen he yelled, “April? Artie? It’s me, Ted. Alexa?”

  But he already knew.

  The kitchen was empty. No sleeping bag, no pink pillowcase.

  Ted rushed to the front room. No plastic suitcases, no green duffel bag.

  They were gone.

  He tried to stop breathing so fast. He had to slow down. Ted made himself look around the room. He tried to think like a detective. Was there any sign of a struggle? That’s a question they asked in mystery books. But this wasn’t a book, and it was hard for Ted to tell anything. The room was messy, just like before. Except they were gone.

  Ted made himself walk calmly back to the kitchen. He made himself turn his head and notice things. The can opener he had brought was lying on the counter. The gallon jug of water sat by the sink, empty. Ted tried the pump handle a few times, felt some resistance, and after six or eight strokes, water. So he’d been right about the gasket needing to swell up. Having gotten the pump to work wasn’t much comfort. They were still gone.

  Ted felt like he should open every drawer, look in every cabinet, try to figure out what had happened. But why bother?

  Back outside, Ted looked around the yard. And that’s when he saw the tracks.

  A car had left tire tracks. Or maybe a pickup truck. Tire tracks, plain as day, because the ground was soft and the long grass was still bent over.

  Ted stepped to one side and looked at the area more carefully, trying to remember how a detective would do this part. And that’s when he saw the footprints, lots of them. Footprints other than his own.

  They went from the cellar steps over to where the tire tracks ended. Which had to be where the car had parked. Or the truck.

  Ted began walking back and forth across the area, his head bent down, looking for clues. Because that’s what a detective would do. And something caught his eye, something in the grass near the tire tracks. Something shiny.

  A shell casing? From a bullet? Ted gulped, and he knelt down, pushing the grass aside to see better.

  But it wasn’t a bullet shell reflecting the morning sun. It was the shiny metal band around the eraser at the end of a dark blue wooden pencil. Ted picked it up by the very tip, in case there were fingerprints on it. Because that’s how a detective would handle a piece of evidence.

  As he slowly turned the pencil, Ted saw what was printed along one side in gold letters: GRANKERSON COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE.

  It didn’t take a detective to figure out who must have called Deputy Linwood. Only one person other than Ted knew about April and her family. And she had promised not to tell.

  Chapter 14

  BLAME GAME

  By the time he stomped into his classroom on Friday morning, Ted was so angry at Mrs. Mitchell he couldn’t even look at her. And he was so fed up with promises that he could hardly say the Pledge of Allegiance. And Ted was so mad at one particular Boy Scout that he was ready to punch himself in the nose.

  He wished he had just told Mrs. Mitchell a lie. He should have said he went into the Andersons’ driveway because … because he saw a crow feather lying on the ground. Something like that. Something simple. A simple lie. Over and done with. Then none of this would have had to happen.

  But it did happen. He broke his promise not to tell, and then Mrs. Mitchell broke her promise not to tell, and then April and her family got hauled away by Deputy Linwood.

  And what gave Mrs. Mitchell the right to be so nosy? When she’d asked him what he was doing at the Andersons’ place, he should have just said, None of your business, lady. That’s what he should have said, just like that.

  After the pledge, Ted stalked over to his sixth-grade command center, ducked under a desk, and sat in his swivel chair. He spun around to his writing desk, yanked out his top secret red notebook, and flipped to where he kept his file about Mrs. Mitchell.

  In large letters at the bottom of a page he wrote, “She’s a promise breaker. And she can’t be trusted. Because she’s a liar. And her nose is twenty miles long and it flops around into everybody’s business. And her breath smells. Almost all the time. And she’s the meanest,
ugliest teacher in the whole world!!!!”

  When Ted made the fourth exclamation point, he pushed down so hard that he broke the lead of his pencil.

  “Ted?”

  He swiveled his chair, and there was the evil woman herself, with a big fake smile on her face.

  Mrs. Mitchell said, “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” Ted didn’t look at her, and he didn’t say the word. He spat it at her.

  “Well, you don’t look fine. You look upset.”

  Ted swung his chair around so he faced the windows.

  He thought, I should write my own mystery book. I’m gonna call it

  The Case of the Teacher Who Was a Big Fat Liar.

  Mrs. Mitchell had never seen Ted like this before. She thought it best to give him some time to cool down.

  Speaking to the back of his head, she said, “After I get the fourth graders working on their math, I’d like to have a talk with you, all right?”

  She couldn’t tell if Ted nodded yes or shook his head no. But Mrs. Mitchell had to hurry over to the fourth-grade corner so she could rescue Hannah, Lizzie, and Keith. Kevin was unbeatable at the word game Boggle, and he tried to force the others to play almost every morning, rattling the wooden letters inside the plastic game cube until the children had to put their hands over their ears.

  Ted glared out the window. She wants to talk to me? Well, I don’t want to talk to her. Because it’s just going to be a bunch of excuses. Or maybe lies. Yeah, she’s probably going to lie. Because once you’ve told one, it gets easier and easier.

  But it was hard for a boy like Ted to stay furious for long, and ten minutes later, when Mrs. Mitchell asked him to follow her out of room one, he went silently. He was going to listen to what she had to say.

  There was a pair of wooden chairs in the hallway, and when they were seated facing each other, Mrs. Mitchell tried to start on a positive note. “I was so glad we talked yesterday and that you were honest with me. It’s important to always be honest.”