Upon returning to class after recess, a sense of accomplishment fills my heart, akin to a triumphant signal in Morse code. The locket, snug in my pocket, feels both weighty and symbolic. Solving mysteries always gives me this unique feeling—like walking on clouds but still firmly on the ground.

  Veronica Vane would probably describe it as 'the sweet satisfaction of justice.'

  Karen slides into her seat beside me, her face flushed from whatever final challenge she orchestrated at the fountain. The damp patches on her dress and the triumphant gleam in her eyes suggest that her challenge involved victory and splashing.

  "Mission accomplished?"

  I give her a subtle nod. "With an unexpected bonus," I murmur, thinking of the blue-gray thread.

  Ollie sits on my other side, straightening his pencils as if their alignment might erase our recent rule-bending. His ruler, now cleaned of gum residue, returns to its designated spot at the corner of his desk.

  Mrs. Abernathy sweeps back into the classroom, her star earrings shining in the light as she moves.

  While the cucumber experiment continues, her enthusiasm fades even more. Science without Mrs. Abernathy's passion is like detective work without clues—technically possible but lacking the spark that makes it worth it.

  I raise my hand as the class copies thermal energy definitions from the board. Mrs. Abernathy approaches my desk with a distracted smile.

  "Yes, Miss Sinclair? Question about conductors versus insulators?"

  "Actually," I say, reaching into my pocket, "I believe I found something that belongs to you."

  I hand her the handkerchief bundle. As she unwraps it, her eyes widen behind her thick glasses, growing impossibly larger until they resemble full moons.

  "My locket!" she gasps loudly enough that the entire class turns to stare. "You found it! Where? How?!"

  "It became stuck in the radiator," I clarify. "Ollie and I found it during recess."

  Mrs. Abernathy's reaction is beyond anything I could have anticipated. She clutches the locket to her chest with one hand while the other engulfs me in a hug that nearly lifts me from my chair. My face presses against the lab coat's mysterious stains—one of which smells suspiciously like cinnamon—as she rocks back and forth.

  "My brilliant investigators!" she exclaims, releasing me only to ambush Ollie with similar enthusiasm. His face turns red as she plants a grateful kiss on his forehead.

  Karen, never one to miss out, leans forward expectantly until she also receives her hug.

  "This locket is more than just jewelry," Mrs. Abernathy explains, wiping tears behind her glasses. "It belonged to my Uncle Leopold, who was something of an explorer and possibly a time traveler, though the scientific community remains skeptical of his claims."

  She fastens it around her neck. "Class, we have heroes among us," she announces grandly, gesturing toward us as if introducing visiting dignitaries. "Miss Sinclair, Mr. Grayson, and Miss Baxter have solved the Case of the Vanishing Locket!"

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Patricia Wellington sniffs delicately from her front-row seat. Tommy Jenkins bounces up, hand waving frantically.

  "My uncle lost his wooden leg once," he volunteers, despite no one asking. "We found it in the chicken coop. The chickens had decorated it with feathers and used it for perching!"

  Mrs. Abernathy blinks at this non-sequitur and then recovers with the adaptability that makes her such an effective teacher of fifth graders.

  "Fascinating, Tommy. Chickens are surprisingly resourceful creatures!"

  Before returning to the cucumber lesson, she pauses by her desk and pulls a tin—that wasn't previously there!—from a drawer. It reveals a batch of cookies unlike any I've seen before.

  They're perfectly round with a dusting of something that sparkles in the light.

  "My special recipe," she whispers, presenting us each with a cookie. "For exceptional young detectives only!"

  The cookies taste like cinnamon and vanilla with a hint of something I can't identify—maybe nutmeg, maybe something from Mrs. Abernathy's mysterious collection of spices that she claims come from "various dimensions and historical epochs." Whatever that means.

  "Just another day in the criminal underworld of Brightvale Elementary," I mutter, earning a snort of laughter from Karen.

  As the afternoon went on, the lessons continued. Mrs. Abernathy transformed the room by dimming the lights and arranging a series of candles and mirrors on a front table.

  "Light reflection!" she announces as we enter. "The science of seeing!"

  Her usual enthusiasm has doubled. She bounces around the classroom, demonstrating angles of reflection with hand mirrors.

  When the final bell approaches, she dismisses us for the day. While we gather our things, Mrs. Abernathy stops by the doorway to speak with Miss Phillips, the school nurse—a conversation not meant for students but carried out at a volume suggesting they've forgotten we have ears.

  "Supplies at the nurse's office are running low again, huh?"

  Mrs. Abernathy casually mentions this while her fingers play with her recovered locket. "Odd, isn't it?"

  Miss Phillips nods, her voice dropping slightly but still audible. "Third time this month. Gauze, adhesive bandages, even the aspirin. Principal Davis thinks it's just poor inventory management, but I've been keeping careful records."

  "Is it possible that the war effort is using them as collateral?" Mrs. Abernathy suggests.

  Miss Phillips shakes her head. "The Red Cross collection was last month."

  I freeze mid-motion, my pencil case halfway into my bag. Ollie, standing nearby, has also gone still, clearly overhearing the same conversation.

  "Do you think it's a clue?" he whispers as we head toward the door, careful to look casual as we pass the conversing teachers.

  I shrug, but my mind is already racing, cataloging this new information and storing it away.

  Missing medical supplies. Recurring pattern. Careful records being kept, but no explanation found.

  Not every mystery needs a detective, I remind myself. Sometimes, things just get misplaced, misfiled, or misused. Not everything is a case.

  But as we step into the afternoon sunshine, I can't help the familiar tingle of curiosity creeping inside. One mystery is solved while another presents itself—like chapters in a Veronica Vane story, where each solution leads to a new puzzle.

  "Maybe," I say noncommittally, adjusting my lucky red ribbon. "But first, I believe we have a soda fountain appointment to keep."

  Karen grins, slinging her arm through mine. "That's the spirit, Luce! Detect tomorrow, celebrate today!"

  Ollie falls into step beside us, shaking his head but smiling. As we cross the playground toward the gate, I notice Gerald Weiss walking alone along the fence line, his notebook clutched to his chest like armor.

  Karen tugs me forward, chattering about root beer floats and whether we should splurge on extra whipped cream.

  We may have solved the locket mystery, but I suspect a larger one is just beginning.