“Why is it called a mantel clock?” asked Benny. He stared and stared at the clock.

  “I wonder if you know what a mantel is, Benny,” said Mr. Muldaur.

  “I know,” said Henry. “In the old days, before electricity and things like furnaces, most rooms had fireplaces. Fireplaces had shelves above them called mantels. Right?”

  Mr. Muldaur nodded. “This clock is just the right size—and also very special looking. It could easily sit on someone’s living room mantel. It might have been right in the center, where a family could admire it.”

  “Does it work?” asked Benny. “I want to see all the gears move.”

  “I don’t know,” said Mr. Muldaur. “I’ll have to look more closely.” He rubbed his head. “I don’t remember if I have papers for it though.”

  Henry and Mr. Muldaur started searching through the papers in the middle drawer of the desk, but they didn’t find anything about a mantel clock.

  “This is what I was afraid of,” said Mr. Muldaur. “There are probably a lot of things in this shop that have no papers at all. What was I thinking to have become so disorganized?”

  “You were probably too busy helping customers,” said Violet.

  “And playing with all the neat things you have!” said Benny.

  Mr. Muldaur shrugged. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “But I am thankful for your help in getting organized now. I think we’ve all done a lot of work today. I’m going to lock up for the night.”

  Mr. Muldaur turned off the lights. He and the Aldens and Mitzy went to the door.

  “What’s that?” asked Benny, pointing to a note taped to the outside.

  Mr. Muldaur took the note off of the door and read it aloud:

  I’m tired of arguing. You promised to bring me the item, but you didn’t come to our meeting. You have betrayed the family. If you won’t hand over what is mine, I will take matters into my own hands.

  Benny’s eyes got big. “What does that mean?” he said.

  Mr. Muldaur looked stunned. “I…I have no idea,” he said.

  “It sounds like someone is really upset,” said Jessie. “Do you know who could have written such a thing?”

  Mr. Muldaur thought for a moment. Then he sighed. “No, I don’t remember.” He started to put the note in his pocket.

  “Wait!” said Violet. “Can I take a picture of the note? Maybe we can help.”

  Mr. Muldaur gave a weak smile. He held out the note, and Violet took a photo with her camera.

  “Will I see you children tomorrow?” he asked.

  “We’ll have to check with Grandfather,” said Henry. “But we should be able to come in the afternoon.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Muldaur. “I’m starting to think I have more things to straighten out than just the papers in my office.”

  CHAPTER

  A Note Full of Mysteries

  After dinner that evening, the children sat in the living room with Grandfather and Watch. Grandfather was reading the newspaper, while the children went over the strange things that had happened during the day. Violet pulled up her photo of the note on Henry’s computer so they could all look at it.

  “This note is full of mysteries,” said Violet. “Someone is fighting with Mr. Muldaur. Or at least, they were fighting with him.”

  Henry stared at the screen. “It says ‘You missed our meeting.’ That meeting could have happened while Mr. Muldaur was in the hospital. He probably forgot about the whole thing!”

  “Wait a minute,” Jessie said slowly. “Remember the list we found on Mr. Muldaur’s desk? There was something about bringing a package to a meeting. We know he didn’t do all the things on the list. What if the meeting he missed was the one this note is about?”

  Violet nodded. “I’ll bet it was the same one!” she said. “That would explain why the person is mad about not getting whatever he was going to bring.”

  “What do you think he was going to bring?” said Benny. “Maybe it was one of those super valuable antiques. That’s why they’re fighting over it. It’s worth a lot of money.”

  Grandfather looked up from his reading. He knew how good his grandchildren were at solving mysteries. Usually he didn’t get involved. But something about their conversation had caught his ear. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure, Benny. People fight over all kinds of silly things.” Grandfather waved the newspaper he had been reading in the air. “Just today, I read about a man who cut down his neighbor’s apple tree. When they asked the man why he did it, he said his neighbor had been mowing the grass on his side of the property line for years.”

  “Really?” said Violet. “That seems like a small thing to be upset about.”

  “That’s the thing about grudges,” said Grandfather. “They start small and build up over time. They get much bigger than they need to.”

  “It’s not hard to see why someone might have a grudge against Mr. Muldaur,” said Jessie. “He has been hard to get along with in the past.”

  “But Mr. Muldaur has changed!” said Benny. “He lets us pet Mitzy now.”

  Jessie smiled at her brother. “He does seem different, but someone is still upset. We need to figure out why.”

  “I don’t understand the part about betraying ‘the family,’” said Henry. “What family? Mr. Muldaur’s?”

  “That’s a good question, Henry,” Jessie said.

  “I think we should look for Mr. Muldaur’s family members,” said Violet. “Why don’t we see if there are other Muldaurs in Greenfield?”

  “How do we do that?” said Benny.

  “You can look in the white pages,” said Grandfather.

  “Good idea!” said Henry. He began typing on his computer.

  “Why do they call them white pages?” asked Benny. “Aren’t all the pages on the computer white?”

  Grandfather chuckled. “Believe it or not, Benny, there used to be in a big book that listed almost everyone’s name in Greenfield. It was a town directory. The pages of the book were white, so people called it the white pages.”

  Benny thought about this. “Lots of books have white pages,” he said. “I would have called it the big name book.”

  “We found one!” said Jessie, pointing at the screen.

  “‘Muldaur, Jean,’” said Henry. “Didn’t Mr. Muldaur say his sister was named Jean?”

  Grandfather straightened up. “I know Jean Muldaur! She works down at the Blue Plate Diner. I’ve chatted with her many times.”

  “Grandfather, you’re like the white pages,” said Benny. “You know everybody.”

  Grandfather laughed. “Not quite, Benny, but I do know a lot of people in Greenfield. How about I introduce you children to Jean Muldaur? I can take you to the diner in the morning. They make excellent breakfasts.”

  “I’m hungry already,” said Benny, “and it isn’t even tomorrow.”

  “Well, then, hurry up and get ready for bed,” said Jessie. “It will be tomorrow before you know it!”

  Early the next morning, Grandfather drove the children to the Blue Plate Diner. On the way, Violet asked, “What if Mr. Muldaur’s sister wrote that note? She might be grouchy.”

  “She isn’t that kind of person,” said Grandfather. “You’ll soon see for yourselves.”

  The diner was a small cheerful restaurant, decorated in bold colors. The children sat down in a light-blue booth. Grandfather waited till a tall woman in a red waitress uniform came over. She wore round glasses that made her eyes look big.

  “Hello, Mr. Alden!” said the waitress. “I haven’t seen you in some time. Are you having breakfast today?”

  “Hello to you!” said Grandfather. “I’m not eating here today, but my grandchildren are. I will leave them in your capable hands while I run a few errands.”

  The waitress smiled and turned to the children. “Hello, children. My name is Jeanie. What can I get you?” She took out a pad and pencil.

  Jessie rummaged in her backpack and took out her own notebook and pencil. “You have questions, and so do we,” she said. “I hope you have a little extra time for us.”

  “After we eat,” said Benny. “I do my best thinking with food, and I already know what I want.”

  “Okay,” said Jeanie, laughing. “But I think your brother and sisters might need a minute to decide. I’ll bring some water and take your orders soon.”

  “Grandfather was right,” whispered Violet after Jeanie had left. “She seems too nice to have written a mean note like the one we found.”

  The others agreed. “Even if she didn’t write the note,” said Henry, “we still might learn more about Mr. Muldaur and his family. Maybe we’ll get some clues about the note.”

  Jeanie came back soon. She took the Alden’s orders and promised to return when things quieted down in the restaurant.

  It didn’t take long for breakfast to appear. “Blueberry pancakes!” said Benny. He bounced in his seat. Then he got busy doing his favorite thing. Before long, he had blueberry juice and whipped cream on his face.

  “Benny, you look like an old man with that beard,” said Violet. She giggled and took a big bite of her waffles.

  Benny smiled and wiped his face with a napkin. “You too, Violet,” he said. But Violet’s chin was only a little sticky.

  Jessie and Henry had eggs and sausages. Everyone drank orange juice.

  “I’m glad we found out about this restaurant,” said Jessie. “The food is yummy.”

  Before long, Ms. Muldaur came back. “I have to watch for customers,” she said, “but it’s quiet for now. What did you want to ask? I can’t imagine.”

  Henry took a swallow of his juice. Then he said, “We’ve been helping Mr. Muldaur in his shop. We wondered about a few things there.”

  “Oh!” Ms. Muldaur looked surprised and then a little sad. “You want to know about my brother. I don’t know how much I can help. I’m afraid he and I have been out of touch for years.” She shook her head. “It got hard to keep trying with him.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jessie.

  “My brother didn’t seem to want to stay in touch,” said Ms. Muldaur. She sat down in the booth. “A long time ago, he stopped returning my calls. After a while, I just stopped calling.”

  “Why do you think he would do that?” asked Violet.

  Ms. Muldaur shrugged. “I wish I knew. He was such a nice person when we were younger. At some point, he seemed to have gotten mad at me. I never found out what the problem was.”

  Ms. Muldaur stood up quickly. She scribbled in her pad. “I’ve got to go take care of customers now,” she said. “Here’s your bill. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

  The children thanked Ms. Muldaur and finished their breakfast.

  “It seems strange that she doesn’t know why he was upset with her,” said Violet. “Do you think she was hiding it from us?”

  Henry shook his head. “I think she’s just busy. Plus, talking about her brother was a sad thing for her. What do you think, Jessie?”

  Jessie agreed. “She seems nice to me. I’m going to ask her if she knows anyone in town who might be angry with her brother. Maybe there are other relatives here that he doesn’t know about.” Jessie got up to pay the bill.

  “Jessie!” called Violet. “Can you save me that bill after you pay?”

  Jessie nodded and continued up to the register.

  “Does Ms. Muldaur know that her brother got hurt?” Benny asked Violet and Henry. “She never asked how he’s doing.”

  “I don’t know,” said Violet, “but I don’t feel right about telling her. That’s between her and Mr. Muldaur.”

  When Jessie came back, she handed Violet a copy of the bill. “Jeanie says she and her brother are the only children in her family. She doesn’t know anyone who would have a problem with him. She also told me that the shop has been in their family for generations.”

  Benny’s eyes got big. “How long is that?”

  “Quite a few years,” said Jessie. “Think of it this way: Grandfather is two generations from us. If the shop was owned by Mr. Muldaur’s great-grandfather, that would be three generations.”

  “That’s a long time,” said Benny.

  “It is,” said Henry. “Remember Grandfather’s story about the neighbor with the grudge? Three generations is long enough to make even a small problem into very big deal.”

  CHAPTER

  A Scheduled Surprise

  After breakfast, Grandfather picked up the children and dropped them off on Main Street outside of Muldaur’s Antique Shop. When the children entered the shop, Mr. Muldaur was back in the office.

  “I guess we should see if there’s anything Mr. Muldaur needs help with,” said Henry.

  “Wait a moment. There’s something I want to check first,” said Violet. She pulled out the bill from the diner. “Jessie, can you ask Mr. Muldaur for the angry note we found on the door?”

  Jessie went and got the note and set it on the counter next to the bill. Violet bent over the two slips of paper.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Henry.

  After a minute, Violet said, “I was looking to see if the same person wrote these two notes. That way we can know for sure if Jeanie was the person who wrote the note.”

  “Good detective work,” said Jessie. “What do you think?” She bent over the counter to look alongside her sister.

  “I don’t really see how the same person could have written these two notes,” said Violet. “The note that was on the window has big, swooping letters. Jeanie’s handwriting is sharp and simple.”

  Jessie straightened up. “So Jeanie Muldaur isn’t our scary note writer,” she said.

  “That makes sense,” said Henry. “She seemed nice. I think she mostly just wants her brother back.”

  “Who wants her brother back?” asked Mr. Muldaur, coming out from his office.

  The children looked at one another. They hadn’t thought about how they would tell Mr. Muldaur about his sister. Finally, Jessie spoke up. “We met your sister, Jean, this morning. We thought she might be the person who wrote the note on the door, but we don’t think she is. She’s sad about not seeing you.”

  “This is both wonderful and worrisome news,” said Mr. Muldaur. He put down a vase he was carrying. “I’m glad you talked to Jeanie. Did she talk to you about how I treated her? I hardly remember anything—except that something went wrong years ago…”

  “She only said you wouldn’t return her calls,” said Violet. “She’s not angry, just sad about it.”

  A sad look came across Mr. Muldaur’s face. “One more thing I need to straighten out,” he said. “I don’t know where to begin…”

  “Let’s take it one step at a time,” said Henry. “Did you remember anything more today? We’re trying to figure out who wrote the note.”

  Mr. Muldaur shook his head. “I still have no clue. How could I have made someone so upset?”

  “Well, we know you missed a meeting when you were in the hospital,” said Jessie. “You were supposed to bring a package with you. But you never did that.”

  Mr. Muldaur thought hard for a moment. “That must be it. I just hope I find out who it is and why they’re so mad.”

  As Mr. Muldaur was talking, the doorbell jingled. A short woman wearing lots of jewelry came in. She walked right over to Mr. Muldaur and put out her hand to shake. The bracelets on her wrist jangled.

  “Hello, Mr. Muldaur! We meet again!” the woman said cheerfully.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mr. Muldaur. “Do we know each other? I’ve…had some trouble lately.”

  “You know me! I’m Sharon Spritz,” said the woman. “I do lots of appraisals for you. We have an appointment today.” The woman looked around. “Now, what did you want me to appraise today?”

  “I—uh…I’m not sure,” said Mr. Muldaur. He shifted on his heels and looked around the shop.

  Benny spoke up. “Appraisal? I learned that word yesterday. That’s when you tell someone how much something is worth, right? Do you find lots of hidden treasures, Ms. Spritz?”

  Ms. Spritz smiled. “Very impressive! I guess you could say I do!”

  Just then Jessie remembered something. She rushed into the back office and came back holding the to-do list they had pinned to the bulletin board the day before.

  “It says here, ‘Schedule appraisal for cuckoo clocks.’” Jessie turned to Ms. Spritz. “That must be what Mr. Muldaur wanted you to look at.”

  “Oh, my favorite!” Ms. Spritz looked around. Her eyes settled on the row of clocks sitting on a shelf behind the main counter. “Those must be the ones.” Ms. Spritz opened up her briefcase. She took out a pad of paper, a pen, and a magnifying glass. Quietly, she begin to examine the row of clocks.

  Benny had a question he wanted to ask, and he was not good at waiting. He said, “How about that cool one with all the gears? Is that one worth a lot of money?”

  Ms. Spritz smiled at Mr. Muldaur. “That’s the very clock you asked me about last time I was here! Did you tell this boy to point it out?”

  Benny blushed. “No, I just like that one a lot.”

  “Well, so does Mr. Muldaur,” said Ms. Spritz.

  Mr. Muldaur tilted his head to the side. “I do?” he said.

  “Of course!” she said. “You told me just last week that this clock had ‘personal value’ to you. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

  Henry climbed up the ladder, brought down the mantel clock, and set it on the counter. Ms. Spritz removed the glass cover. She lifted the clock and examined it all over.

  “This looks like an heirloom, all right,” she said. “It might have been made in the late nineteenth century. One of a kind…handmade…” She carefully turned over the clock and looked at the wooden base through her magnifying glass. “I see a hand-carved maker’s mark down here, but it’s not one that I recognize from that time period.”

  “What’s a maker’s mark?” asked Violet.

  “You children ask all kinds of good questions!” said Mrs. Spritz. “A maker’s mark is a signature that designers put on objects. Sometimes they’re symbols; sometimes they spell out names. You can look up many of them online. I always check for maker’s marks on heirlooms like this clock.”