Oliver and the Case of the Missing Presents

Spread 5

Market Street smelled of cinnamon and tangerines. The radio on Oliver’s belt clicked: the patrols were looking for a giant in a red hat.

“Everyone’s looking for the hat,” said Grandpa. “We’re looking for the light.”

By the souvenir stall Oliver suddenly froze. In a round mirror with a gilded frame, a truck was driving past. Its back was covered with grey tarpaulin, as if it were empty. At the wheel sat a thin man with a narrow moustache and no hat at all. And at the back on the right glowed a light with a crack — like the lightning in his notebook.

“Grandpa!” Oliver grabbed his sleeve. “That’s it! It’s just hidden!”

The truck crawled on slowly through the crowd.

Spread 7

Beyond the yard, two alleys led off — one right, one left. No truck. The snow fell thick and covered the tracks, as if rubbing them out with an eraser.

“We’ve lost it,” Grandpa said quietly.

Oliver took out his metal detector. If anything at all had fallen off the back…

He swept it over the snow. Quiet. Quiet. Beeeep!

Oliver dug through the snow with his glove. There lay a brass bell on a scrap of red ribbon — exactly like the ones on the presents.

“Left,” said Oliver.

“Left there’s only the old warehouses by the river,” Grandpa nodded. “Nothing else. Well done, partner.”

Spread 8

Behind a tall fence stood an old warehouse. It had two gates: big ones at the front, onto the road, and a little gate at the back, towards the river, buried in a snowdrift.

Oliver lay on his stomach behind a stack of snowy pallets. In the yard stood the truck of presents, and the warehouse doors were wide open. Inside — boxes, boxes, boxes. Cakes from the bakery. Toys from the shop. Even fir trees in pots.

“Grandpa,” Oliver whispered, “it isn’t just one truck. It’s every New Year delivery in town!”

He drew the warehouse, the gates and the people in his notebook. There were three people.

“Ponchik was right,” Grandpa whispered.