Neon Green Letters
Bill was in trouble again. But the biggest problem was that he hadn’t done anything this time. He was hurrying home, taking long strides, leading his perfectly normal life when he crossed the library walls. The wall wasn’t very fancy. It was a standard gray brick pattern. He stopped to study it. He noticed the neon green letters but failed to notice the paint can or brush. Nor did he notice the police car rolling up behind him.
“Hey kid, what are you doing? That’s public property you’re messing with!” the police officer accused.
Bill didn’t even have time to turn around before he felt rough hands snapping handcuffs on him. ”What I haven’t done anything! I’m innocent!” Bill yelled back at the officer.
“Get in the car, punk,” the police officer replied.
Bill sat alone, miserable. His parents had been contacted and they didn’t sound happy or proud. He was thinking to himself” I haven’t even been near the library for such a long time. Why am I so unlucky? Why did he have to be on the slide when it broke? Why was his project the one that got run over by that careless truck driver? Now this. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time all the time.
The police car arrived at the police station. Bill got out slowly but was pushed through the door. He found himself in a spacious room filled with people. His mother, father, teacher, and chief police officer were already there. Bill had seen the chief before. He was a nice man with a big mustache and a quick temper.
“Sit down boy,” the chief ordered, ” now tell us what you were doing at the library.”
Bill told him the entire story. The chief listened without interrupting. He had seen enough lying children to know Bill was telling the truth. Meanwhile outside a stranger was listening with interest. When he heard the chief telling the boy to leave he faded into the darkness. He looked back and smiled. Behind him were his signature neon green letters.
Bill’s parents drove him home in silence. They were shocked when Bill was arrested but even more shocked when he got away free. Bill was also silent. His mind was wrapped over the mystery mural on the wall. As they drove of he saw a flicker of movement near the window. He ignored it.
When they arrived home Bill was sent to bed. His parents weren’t angry. They knew it wasn’t his fault. Bill lay in bed thinking about the mural. Who made it? Who called the police? Why leave the supplies? His head swam with questions. He decided to solve the mystery. He slipped into sleep still thinking about the mural.
After school the next day, Bill practically ran towards his home. He stopped at the library and looked at the mural. The police had taken everything for evidence. He kept on his way home and thought he saw somebody at the fire station. He ran over, squinting, trying to make out who he was. He turned with a start. His face was vaguely familiar. There was a mustache and dark cruel eyes. Bill ran towards him. He sprinted away. He was too fast for even Bill, who was a good sprinter, to catch. Bill tripped on something and fell face down on the ground. By the time Bill got up he had run away. 
Bill turned in rage to see what he tripped on. There it was, a little black badge on the sidewalk. Bill read it ”Painters service-Boulder.” Bill frowned. He knew the Painters Service was a group of nearly half the men in town. They had got together and painted an old farmhouse that was going for sale. Now they met regularly. 
The painters had a strict rule for some strange reason. Miss two meetings and you were kicked out. Bill’s father kept a list of everybody and how many days they missed. Almost everyone had missed a day but the chief, who had a mustache, hadn’t missed a day at all. “ Could the chief have painted the library?” he asked himself.
As Bill finished his walk home he had a solid plan. He would ask his father to take him to the Painter’s Service meeting. He would check around for men with mustaches. If he didn’t find the culprit he would check the list of kicked out men. He would visit their houses and find the mystery painter. He reached home and rang his doorbell. Bill kept thinking.
“Do you want to come in now?” Bill’s mother asked.
Bill realized something else. He had been standing at the door for a few minutes.  He stepped inside and replied,” Sure.”
Bill sprinted up to his room. He sat on his bed thinking about his problem. Bill’s mother called, “Dinner!”
Bill looked at the time. He gasped, he had been thinking about the murals for two hours, but he hadn’t gotten anywhere. His parents were already at the table. His sister was coming down as well. His mother gave him some soup. Bill wolfed it down and decided it was time to ask his father about the meeting. “Hey Father, can I go with you to the Painters Service meeting?” Bill asked.
“No Bill, your sister’s recital is on Friday, remember.”
Bill was crushed. Friday was the day the painters met. His sister gave him a nasty smile. Bill gave one more try, “Won’t you get kicked out for missing another meeting?”
“I would but your sister’s recital is more important.”
Bill was stuck. He had nothing. No evidence, clues, and worst of all no plan of action. Months passed. Bill got nowhere still. The police force was going crazy looking for the painter. There were guards everywhere but still paintings were popping up all over the place. The painter was unstoppable. Fall ended and winter began. For Christmas, Bill asked for one of the video camera they have at traffic lights. He got it.
Now Bill had some equipment he could start on the mystery again. First Bill had to find a building that didn’t have a mural. He would set up his camera and hopefully record the criminal in action.  
Then if his suspicions were correct, he would tell the police sergeant about the chief. Show him the footage and case closed. The first part was pretty simple. He told his mother he was going on a walk. He jogged down Main Street and crossed the elementary school. Perfect, the school was clean. Now Bill had to find a good place with a clear sight of the front door to hide his camera. 
He looked around to find a good place. He didn’t see anybody watching him either. Then he climbed the huge evergreen tree that had grown at the front of the school for as long as Bill remembered. He put it in a convenient bowl the branches formed. He made sure it could see the front door and leapt down. He looked around one more time and left. Every day Bill checked the video feed. For the next few days there was nothing but on Wednesday he was rewarded. Bill replayed the part in which the mural appeared but the only person with paint was the school janitor. He couldn’t be the criminal, he didn’t have a mustache. Bill made his plan. First he would check all the barber stores.
He strode outside. Bill checked the two big barber stores in town, Barber’s Haven and Wonderful Braids. None had cut any mustaches. Bill was walking down Third Street, defeated. Finally he found one. It was called Hair, Hair, Everywhere! He opened the door and walked in. The door let out a huge creak. He asked the salesperson, “Have you served the school janitor?”
“He moved a few weeks ago,” the salesperson replied.
Bill acted calm on the outside but was seething with anger on the inside. Bill ran home again and looked at the video. He didn’t actually see the janitor’s face. Someone could have easily pretended to be him. He would just have to be lucky. He still had some of winter break left. Somehow Bill would need a way to catch the painter. 
Bill decided to check the scene of the crime. He went to the school and looked around. He took down his camera, the painter wasn’t likely to paint there again. He looked at the mural and saw something under the huge N. It was difficult to see but he pulled out a small sheet of paper. There was a two-line poem written on it.

I am hidden, I lurk in the dark
You won’t catch me I’m as quick as a quark
There is no way you’ll find me before I embark
But if you really want to, meet me at the mark

Bill thought about those lines. Meet me at the mark, Bill said it over and over to himself. The mark, it could be a target. Where was a possible target. Of course, the Bullseye store! Bill made his way home after his exciting day. He would have to go to the Bullseye store almost everyday now. Bill had an idea. He ran downstairs and found the old musty playset. He ripped off the climbing net. It would be perfect for throwing. Then Bill realized he would need evidence. He would have to catch the painter in action. 
Thursday and Friday passed. Bill spent all his time looking for the painter. Finally Bill found him. He was painting the Bullseye sign. Bill was right. Bill crept up behind the painter but the painter turned around and swung his fist at Bill. Bill ducked and leaped at his legs. The painter kicked him off and ran. Bill got up quickly and threw his net. The throw was nearly perfect, it caught the painter on the head.
He kept running and nearly crashed into a wall. He stopped to take of the net. Bill wasn’t wasting his time though. Finally the painter got the net off and threw it at Bill. Bill rolled out of the way and saw the painter entering the Bullseye store. Bill sprinted after him. 
Bill was closing the distance between him and the painter. Even though he was faster he had to stop for traffic. The painter twisted and turned throughout the store. Finally they reached the back of the store. Before he could decide to turn to hardware or games Bill pounced on him. They rolled around grappling with each other. Bill was trying to knock out the painter. He pummeled the painter in the stomach so many times the painter threw up. 
Bill retreated quickly. The painter tried to get up but slipped in his own puke. Bill didn’t miss his golden opportunity. He jumped on the painter. Bill held him down with one hand and called the police with the other. 
An hour later, Bill was in the police station. His parents had been called and this time they sounded happy and proud. The chief was there with two of his men wrestling the painter into a cell. Bill told them how he solved the mystery. Everybody sat spellbound a he told his story. He told them about the fire station, the badge, and finally his chase. He showed them the little slip of paper, which had helped him so much in catching the painter. When he was done telling his story the chief declared,” You are obviously a clever boy and I hope to work with you again someday. Good job Bill.”
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                                                                                                   Neon Green Letters Mystery 6-8,  


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                                                                                                   Neon Green Letters Mystery 6-8,