Private Detective Ryan Patterson and the Ping in the Night
PING !
Private Detective Ryan Patterson jerked awake. Someone had played a single high note on the piano downstairs. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the alarm clock. Three a.m. He was not surprised. Strange things happened when he visited Aunt Marla and Aunt Billie’s farm.
Ryan reached for the notebook next to his bed. One high piano note. 3 a.m., he wrote.
When Ryan came downstairs in the morning, Aunt Marla was sweeping. A jar had tipped over on the counter, and peanuts were everywhere—on the floor, on the counter, in the sink.
“Ryan,” Aunt Marla said, her freckled nose wrinkled. “Did you tip over the peanut jar?”
“No,” Ryan said, puzzled.
Aunt Marla’s shoulders dropped, and the wrinkle between her eyebrows disappeared. “How odd,” she said. “Aunt Billie said she didn’t touch it either.”
Ryan pulled his small notebook from his pocket. Peanut jar tipped over, he wrote. Then he added: Time unknown.
It was a busy day on the farm. Ryan helped his aunts feed the cows and horses, clean up in the barn, and bring last year’s potatoes up from the cellar. Not until he was in bed that evening did he have time to think about the peanuts and the strange piano note. For some reason, the two things felt connected. Maybe someone came into his aunts’ house last night, played a note on the piano, tipped over the peanut jar, and left.
No, that could not have happened. The door was locked. He must have dreamt the PING, and the peanut spill was probably from Aunt Billie after all. She was easily distracted, always losing her glasses or her car keys. She might not have noticed that she tipped over the jar.
Just as Ryan fell asleep, he thought he heard it again. Ping. But it was so quiet this time, he was probably mistaken.
“Aunt Billie, did you play a note on the piano last night?” Ryan asked on Saturday morning over warm pancakes with hot maple syrup.
Aunt Billie smiled from the stove, spatula in hand. She shook her head. “Are you hearing things?”
Ryan laughed. “I guess so.”
“Say, did you use up the cotton balls in the downstairs bathroom?” Aunt Marla asked, taking a big bite of pancake. “The bag was empty this morning, but I could swear I had some left.”
“No.” Ryan shook his head. “Strange things are happening in this house.”
Aunt Marla and Aunt Billie laughed. “It sure looks like it,” Aunt Marla said. “I must have remembered wrong.”
Ryan nodded, but he wasn’t so sure. There were too many strange things going on.
Another high note on the piano, he wrote in his book after breakfast. Then he added: Cotton balls missing.
When he had finished writing, Ryan went into the living room and sat down on the piano stool. This is where the mystery began. With a PING. This is where he would have to solve it.
Ryan looked around. The piano was dusty. Aunt Billie must not have played it in a while.
Was that a peanut on the piano keys? Looking down, Ryan noticed peanuts on the floor too, and … something else. He bent over. Cotton balls!
Something funny was going on. Peanuts and cotton balls by the piano, he wrote. Then he added in caps, AUNT BILLIE? She was, after all, the only one who came near the piano. And she did get distracted.
Ryan looked from the peanut on the piano keys, to the cotton balls on the floor, and then he shook his head and read his notes. What if…?
Ryan stood on the stool and lifted the lid of the piano, peeking inside. Nothing but dust. He read his notes again.
And there it was, in black and white—the answer. High piano note, it said.
He had been looking at the wrong end of the piano. Quickly, Ryan scanned the inside of the piano all the way to the other end. Ah…
“Aunt Marla, Aunt Billie,” he called.
When Ryan’s aunts arrived, Ryan pointed inside the piano. They leaned over the edge, peeking in. There, perched on a crossbar inside the piano, was a small nest of cotton balls, sprinkled with peanut crumbs.
“A mouse’s nest,” Ryan said.
“Wow, how did you guess?” Aunt Marla asked, and tousled his hair.
“First, I couldn’t figure it out. Who would steal cotton balls and peanuts? Then I remembered the piano note,” Ryan said. “I started thinking that maybe something inside the piano made it, something very small, on the high note end.”
He leaned inside again and pretended that his finger was a tiny mouse, stepping lightly on the padded hammer. “A mouse is not heavy enough to push a piano key down, but if it stepped right on the hammer, it might hit the string and play a note.”
“You are my favorite detective,” Aunt Billie said, giving him a hug. “Do you think you could help me find my car keys?”