The 100-Year-Old Secret by Tracy Barrett

itching to get to work on the case, but she knew she couldn't yet. “Can you go find out? I'll finish up as soon as I can.”
    Thirty minutes later Xander was absorbed in the Batheson letters, carefully lining up the small plastic films in the viewer the way the librarian had showed him. He jumped when heheard Xena's voice behind him ask, “Find anything?”
    â€œNot yet,” he admitted. “These people wrote letters. I mean, they really wrote letters. Like every day. Long ones. They've been copied onto these little sheets, and you have to view them here.” He pointed at the screen.
    â€œReally?” Xena slid into the seat next to her brother. “Move over.”
    Nigel Batheson hadn't written many letters, and they were mostly orders for paint and brushes and canvas, but his wife had. She had a sister in London, and her husband's reluctance to travel meant that they didn't see each other very often, so they wrote frequently.
    â€œLucky for us they didn't have e-mail yet!” Xander said.
    Mrs. Batheson wrote a lot about her boys. Abner, the oldest, was quiet and studious. Cedric, the second, had a talent for music. And little Robert was always getting into mischief. “Robbie wouldn't sit still for his portrait,” the mother wrote. “Nigel was quite put out with him and threw down his brush. He said that he should not have a portrait after all. Robert then put a toad in Miss Bailey's bed”—Miss Bailey, it appeared, was the governess—“and he gaveaway his shoes to a beggar boy he met in the lane. I have no doubt that the child needed shoes, but I would not be amazed if his father sold them for drink.”
    One by one the boys went off to school. They wrote letters home every week, but didn't really say much. Xander did some quick mental math with the date on the letters. “Boarding school when they were seven?” Xander asked.
    â€œI guess they do that in England,” she said. “Like Hogwarts.”
    Another letter mentioned that the boys had been ill. Cedric had nearly died of smallpox. He had recovered, “but I fear that his dear little face will never be the same,” read the letter from his mother to her sister. “Yet I am thankful every day that the Lord has spared my sweet boy.”
    Cedric returned to school and things went back to normal. The headmaster wrote letters home about the boys, generally complimentary. But Robert was still getting into trouble. He put a toad in the bed of the boy upstairs from him, the headmaster said.
    â€œRobert had a thing for putting toads in beds,” Xander said. “I like him the best.”
    â€œYou would,” Xena answered.
    A church bell outside rang. “Time to go,”Xena said. “These letters aren't any help, and anyway, you've got soccer practice. I'll wait for you and if there's time when it's over we can come back to the case.”
    â€œGreat.” Xander's stomach twisted. He didn't know if he wanted to face his teammates. Back home everybody would have known that he hardly ever made mistakes and that next time he'd be a star again, but nobody here knew that about him. It stinks being a new kid, he thought as he trudged down the sidewalk.
    Back at school he took his time changing. When he got outside, the boys were already playing on one field and the girls on the other. He spotted Xena near the bleachers with some girls in her class, watching the boys run a drill.
    Xander bent down to retie the laces on his soccer shoes and heard Coach Craig's voice.
    â€œHolmes!” he barked.
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œGo over there.” He pointed to the far end of the field. “Watson is going to give you some pointers.”
    Xander's heart sank. Please, not that know-it-all Andrew. Maybe there was another kid named Watson. No such luck. In the corner of the field stood an unmistakable figure, tall andskinny, with bright red hair, both hands on his hips and