The Midnight Mystery Club sat in their old clubhouse at the far end of Clara's garden. It was a squat little shed, patched with crooked planks and smelling faintly of dust and grass. A lantern hung from the ceiling beam, swinging gently as though it wanted to join in their meeting. Biscuit lay under the table, his golden fur catching the lamplight, while Max tried not to let the rest of his biscuit crumbs rain down on the poor dog's head.
Clara stood, tapping her pencil against her notebook, eyes sharp as ever. "This case is more serious than the ones we've solved before," she said firmly. "If Renaldi's Stradivarius isn't found, he'll lose his reputation. And worse, the thief has the old key. If they discover what it opens, things could get out of hand."
Everyone grew quiet. Even Max, who usually had a quip ready, shifted uncomfortably.
At last, Tom broke the silence. "Then we've got to act. We can't just sit here talking. Let's catch the thief!"
"Yes, but rushing about won't solve things," Clara replied. "We need a plan. We'll divide the work, like real detectives do."
She began assigning tasks. "Ivy—you're in charge of organizing witness statements. You take notes better than any of us."
Ivy nodded, already writing. "I've listed three main suspects: Mr. Hargrove, who hovered near the stage; Mrs. Belcroft, the organizer; and Nora, Belcroft's assistant. All three were close to the display before the lights went out."
Clara smiled approvingly. "Excellent. Tom, you and Biscuit will scout the grounds tomorrow. Look for anything suspicious—footprints, scraps of fabric, anything at all."
Tom grinned and thumped the table with excitement, making Biscuit bark in agreement. "Finally! A proper chase!"
"Max," Clara went on, narrowing her eyes at him, "your job is to be a distraction. Make people laugh, chatter, act silly. Sometimes when someone is nervous, a joke makes them slip and reveal more than they mean to."
Max's face brightened instantly. "So I'm the clown detective! I knew all those hours of making funny faces in the mirror would pay off."
"You're not just the clown," Clara said seriously. "You also notice things the rest of us don't. Odd little details, things that seem silly but aren't. That's your strength."
Max puffed up proudly. "Oddball detective, ready for action!!"
...
The next afternoon, Tom was eager to get to work. He led Biscuit back to the field where the festival had been held. The grass was trampled, littered with a few forgotten wrappers and a half-crushed balloon. Biscuit sniffed about furiously, tail wagging like a flag.
Suddenly, he stopped and gave a sharp bark, pawing at the earth. Tom crouched beside him. "What've you found, boy?"
There, pressed into the soft soil, were two sets of footprints. One was light, dainty, with narrow heels. The other was heavier, dragging slightly at the right heel.
"Look at this!" Tom shouted. "Two people ran this way. And the heavier one—It must be Belcroft!"
Clara, who had followed at a slower pace with Ivy and Max, bent down to study the marks. "You're right, Tom. And notice—the smaller prints cut off suddenly here, as if the person jumped or was lifted away."
"Carried, perhaps?" Ivy murmured, jotting it down.
Max tilted his head. "Or maybe the woman had a secret trampoline hidden under her scarf. Boing! Off she went into the sky."
Tom groaned. "Oh, honestly, Max—"
But Clara chuckled in spite of herself. "Strange as it sounds, sometimes Max is right. People do the oddest things when they don't want to be seen."
That evening, the club gathered at the food stalls by the village green. Max was in his element, bouncing between tables, waving his cotton candy around.
"Excuse me, madam," he said with exaggerated politeness to a woman sipping lemonade. "But if you'd stolen a priceless necklace, would you hide it in your handbag, or your hat?"
The woman gasped, clutching her bag tightly, and hurried away. Max laughed. "See? Even asking silly questions makes them nervous."
Meanwhile, Ivy quietly interviewed the stall-owners, noting down who had seen what on the night of the theft. Most had only seen shadows darting through the crowd when the lights flickered, but one elderly man swore he'd seen a red scarf fluttering near the exit.
"Red scarf again," Ivy told Clara. "That's the second time she's been mentioned."
Clara frowned. "She's more important than we thought."
...
Back in the clubhouse, they spread out Ivy's neat pages of notes and Tom's sketches of the footprints. Biscuit curled in a ball under the lantern, giving a tired little sigh.
Clara looked around at her friends. "We've got three suspects, and all three are connected by that one moment when the lights went out. Tomorrow, we'll speak to Mr. Hargrove properly. Then we'll follow Nora's trail. And if we can track down Mrs. Belcroft, we may finally learn who has the Stradivarius."
For a moment, no one spoke. The flickering lantern cast long shadows across their faces, as though the mystery itself was leaning over their shoulders.
"This isn't just fun anymore, is it?" Max said softly, his grin slipping a little.
Clara shook her head. "No. It's serious. And if we don't stop them, someone else will do something worse."
Biscuit whimpered, pressing his nose against Clara's leg, and the whole club felt the weight of her words.
Things were getting really serious now.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.