The next morning—last day of the festival—everything felt quieter. Not dead, just… dulled. People still wandered around, but the laughter was softer, the crowds thin. It's like everyone was still on edge after the whole Maestro Renaldi Stradivarius fiasco. Torn flyers and empty cups drifted across the cobblestones, like the party had already packed up and left.
The Midnight Mystery Club hung out by their usual spot, under the big old oak near the square. Biscuit, their dog, sprawled at their feet, tail swishing half-heartedly in the dust.
"Alright," Clara said, finally breaking the silence. "We didn't get anything out of Hargrove or Nora yesterday." She folded her arms, looking frustrated. Their grand investigation wasn't exactly going to plan.
Ivy groaned, throwing her head back. "Yeah! We just got in trouble—thanks to someone." She shot a look at Max.
Tom nudged her, shaking his head. "Let's not start that again."
Max just shrugged and held up his hands. "No, she's right. It was my fault. I shouldn't have—"
"Wait," Ivy cut him off, suddenly digging through her tote like she'd found a spark of hope. Candy wrappers went flying. Finally, she pulled out a folded newspaper. "I almost forgot—look at today's paper!"
She spread it out on the bench. The sharp smell of ink mixed with leftover fried food from the festival.
There it was. The headline, huge:
"Priceless Stradivarius Stolen During Festival Performance!"
Below it, a photo of Maestro Renaldi onstage, caught in a moment between pure passion and total panic.
"So… it really happened," Tom said, leaning in. Clara squinted at the picture. "Wait—" she started, pointing to one corner. "What's that?"
Everyone crowded closer.
Behind the curtain, in the background, a shadowy figure stood—just barely visible. The face was turned away, but the way they stood looked familiar.
"Is that…" Max started, voice barely above a whisper.
They all shared a look, uneasy. Somewhere in the distance, music played, light and cheerful, but it felt miles away—the air around them had gone cold.
Clara dropped her voice. "Whoever that is… they were there. Watching Renaldi. Watching everything."
And just like that, the mystery snapped back into focus.
...
That afternoon, they made their way back to the hotel, trying to act casual as they carried the badges that belonged to the festival's musicians.
"They're never going to fall for this, Clara," Tom muttered, his voice shaky.
Clara just grinned. "Relax. As soon as they see these badges, they'll know. I mean, I did swipe them from their dressing room myself."
Tom gawked at her, lost for words. "Clara! Are you serious?"
Ivy just groaned and shook her head. "What kind of leader does that…"
Clara waved her off. "Alright, enough. Max, Biscuit—you two go return the badges. The rest of us will keep an eye out from the lobby." She nodded toward the door.
Max and Biscuit slipped away. The others sank onto a beat-up sofa nearby. Ivy's eyes suddenly went wide. "Guys, look—it's Renaldi."
Tom leaned forward. "Wait, isn't his violin still gone?"
Clara squinted at the man hurrying through the lobby. "Hang on… his violin case—"
"What about it?" Tom asked, not following.
"It looks empty," Clara said, voice dropping.
"Empty? What do you mean?" Tom looked totally lost.
Before Clara could explain, Biscuit let out a sharp bark. Everyone turned. In that split second, Ivy caught Renaldi glancing up at the roof, looking pale as a ghost.
"Geez, he looks like he's seen a ghost," Tom whispered.
...
Max and Biscuit came back from the reception desk.
"Clara, we finished up," Max said.
"Nice work, you two." Clara gave them a thumbs up.
Tom glanced around, a little lost. "So, what's next?"
"I'm going to hit the restroom," Ivy said. Everyone else just nodded.
Inside the restroom, Ivy caught a snippet of conversation between two hotel staff near the sinks.
"Poor Renaldi," one whispered.
"Yeah, he was up all night. I was surprised when he asked for coffee in his room," the other replied.
"He looked awful… almost obsessed with a message or something."
"Right? And a few minutes later, when I went in to clean, there was a piece of paper by the window. It looked like a note, but something about it felt off."
Ivy heard every word from the stall. "What note are they talking about?" she whispered, frowning.
Down in the lobby, Clara, Tom, and Max were deep in conversation when Ivy hurried over. She checked over her shoulder before saying anything.
"I need to tell you something."
All three snapped to attention. Ivy didn't waste time—she told them exactly what she'd heard. Instantly, they all tensed up, eyes wide. Clara darted a glance around and spotted a group of police officers stepping into the elevator.
"Looks like someone's already poking around about that note," Clara said, lips pursed.
"Max, follow them. Don't let them get their hands on the evidence before we do."
Max was gone in a flash. The rest slipped out, Biscuit trotting at their heels, doing their best not to draw any attention.
Max made it to Renaldi's floor. The place was dead quiet.
"Perfect," he muttered, slipping into Renaldi's room.
He rifled through drawers, checked the windowsill—nothing. Then he heard footsteps. Two men walked in. Max recognized them from the lobby, but now they wore crisp police uniforms. Something felt off. They looked like knock-offs.
"Where's the paper?" one of them barked.
"Boss said it was near the window, right?" the other said, glancing around.
So, they're after the same thing, Max realized.
He dove under the bed. His hand brushed against something—a folded piece of paper. He reached for his flashlight, but the men's footsteps got closer. He froze, pocketed the paper, and waited.
"Nothing here," one muttered. "Let's get out before someone spots us."
They vanished as quickly as they'd come.
Relief flooded Max. He waited another beat, then slid out, headed for the elevator, and pulled out the paper. There were strange markings—letters and symbols, almost like a secret code, under a short message.
He found the others outside.
"Hey! Over here!"
Clara crossed her arms. "Where have you been? Took you long enough."
Tom grinned, giving Max a quick pat on the back. "Yeah, we thought you'd vanished."
"I was barely gone," Max said, handing Clara the paper. "Anyway, we're not the only ones after this code."
"We?" Clara said, brow furrowed. Then it hit her—the two fake officers. "Wait, those guys—those weren't real cops, right?"
Max shook his head. "No way. They had black suits and hats. Looked more like hired muscle."
"Belcroft or Hargrove…" Ivy said under her breath.
"My money's on Belcroft," Max replied, jaw set.
"Same," Clara nodded.
Tom hesitated. "I'm not convinced."
"No one thinks Hargrove's involved?" Ivy asked.
"How would he even pull that off?" Max shot back.
Clara looked down at the paper, tracing the symbols. "Hold on… I've seen this before."
Everyone crowded closer. The code was impossible—just a mess of symbols and letters. Definitely not kid stuff. Maybe someone smarter could crack it.
"The code… music… Renaldi…" Clara murmured, thinking out loud.
"Maybe it's a message for him," Max said.
The others stared at him, curiosity lighting up their faces.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued