The Mystery of the Missing Everything

^{Chapter 34} The Very Short Interrogation of Ida Finkleman

As Bethesda’s conversation with Mr. Darlington unfolded, Tenny was over in Hallway C, conducting his own final suspect interrogation. It was a pretty fast interrogation.

“Hey, so, Ms. Finkleman. Did you take the trophy?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Okay, cool.”

This was Ms. Finkleman we were talking about. She listened to Radiohead, and could play a halfway decent rhythm guitar—her word was good enough for Tenny. Besides, his heart wasn’t really in this whole detective thing today. Even though he really ought to hit his locker before first period, he lingered in the Band and Chorus room, wandering around while Ms. Finkleman sat at her desk, writing quiz questions and occasionally checking her laptop. In the tall instrument cabinet, Tenny discovered an old mandolin and began to experiment, teaching his fingers to find chords on the tiny little frets.

Yesterday, after Social Studies, Tucker Wilson had asked him if it was true that he’d been tossed out of St. Francis Xavier because he drove the headmaster’s car into Lake Vaughn. He’d mumbled something about how stupid that was, but Tucker looked unconvinced. Whatever. It wasn’t any of that kid’s business. It wasn’t anyone’s business. Tenny eased back into a chair, playing a high-octave version of the Nirvana song “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on the mandolin.

Then, with only a minute or two left until first period, Ms. Finkleman looked up from her desk and embarked very gently on a conversation—the same conversation they’d been having, once every few days, for the last two weeks.

“So? Tenny? How are you doing?”

“Um… all right. Good days and bad days, ya know?” He paused, coughed. “Today’s not so hot.”

“Well.” She shrugged, smiled. “If you need any-thing…”

He nodded, said, “See ya,” and was gone.

This brief conversation didn’t feel like much to Ms. Finkleman. But if there was one thing she had learned from a lifetime in music—coaxing the right rush of notes from a violin, subtly working the pedals of a piano—sometimes a little bit is all you need.