"Are you sure the threatening comment is gone?" Maggie asked.
"It's no big deal, kids." Jackson sounded distracted.
"Maybe the mayor deleted it." He pulled out his notebook.
"I think I'll talk to the police and see if they found anything suspicious in Mrs. Sweet's shed.
You kids should go home and work on your float."
"Are you sure you don't want any help?" Henry asked.
"The Lemonade Detectives have solved lots of mysteries."
Jackson smiled. "I know, Henry. But don't worry.
If there's really a mystery here, I'll get to the bottom of it."
He rushed off, whistling cheerfully. Henry glanced at Maggie.
"Should we follow him and try to talk him into letting us hear what the police say?"
"No, Jackson is right," Maggie said.
"We need to finish our float, or we'll never win those prizes."
"I guess you're right." Henry smiled.
"Maybe I just miss solving mysteries so much that I was hoping we'd found another one!"
Maggie shrugged. "Not me. Nobody is offering to pay our detective fee.
That means we don't have time to investigate."
The two of them headed out of the auto shop.
Right outside Henry spotted Snake leaning against a lamppost.
"Hi, Snake," Henry said.
"Is your band's float ready for the parade tomorrow?"
"Hi, Lemonade Kids." Snake sighed. "We're not doing a float after all."
"Really? What happened?" Maggie asked.
"Our practice was going great yesterday," Snake said.
"We were all having so much fun that we forgot about the time.
One member of the band got grounded for coming home late."
"Wow, that's too bad," Henry said.
"So the whole band is dropping out of the parade?"
"We don't have much choice." Snake shrugged.
"Our music wouldn't sound right without all of us playing."
"Oh. Well . . . sorry," Henry said. "See you around."
He and Maggie wandered off.
Maggie glanced back to make sure Snake was out of earshot.
"Snake looked pretty upset," she said. "But this is good news for us.
It means we'll have less competition for those prizes!"
Henry nodded, but he wasn't really listening.
He'd just noticed the town hall building up ahead.
"Jackson said Mayor Porter might have deleted that threatening comment from the website," he said.
"Maybe we should stop in and ask the mayor if that's true."
Maggie looked uncertain. "Do you still think there's a mystery going on?"
"I don't know," Henry said.
"It's possible that the threatening comment was a joke, and Mrs. Sweet just misplaced her candy.
But it's also possible that someone is trying to ruin the parade."
"Okay," Maggie said. "But let's hurry. I want to get back to our float soon."
They went into the town hall building.
The mayor's secretary was a cheerful young man named Mr. Beck.
"I'm sorry, kids," he said after Henry and Maggie asked to see the mayor.
"Mayor Porter has meetings all afternoon.
I can make an appointment for you on Monday, if you like."
"Monday's too late," Maggie said. "It's about the parade tomorrow."
Henry nodded. "It might be important."
"Might be?" Mr. Beck echoed. "What do you mean?"
"We're afraid someone might be trying to sabotage the parade," Henry said.
"Mrs. Sweet thinks someone broke into her shed last night.
And there was a threatening message in the comments on the town website."
"Oh dear. Really?" Mr. Beck quickly opened the town website on his computer.
"I didn't notice anything like that when I was updating the site a few minutes ago."
"You mean you didn't delete the comment?" Maggie asked.
"Only the person who leaves the comment can delete it."
Mr. Beck sounded skeptical now. "What did you kids see?"
"There was a message right after the one by Miss Bishop," Henry explained.
"It said the parade was for losers, and the mayor should cancel it, or else."
"Hmm." A second later Mr. Beck closed the town website page.
"Well, I'll mention the comment to the mayor when I see him."
Henry could tell the secretary wasn't taking this seriously.
"But what if—," he began.
"This is an outrage!" an angry shout interrupted him.
An older, white-haired man had just stomped into the office.
He looked familiar, but Henry didn't know his name.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Fleming," Mr. Beck greeted the older man.
"Is something wrong?"
"You bet your life something's wrong!"
Mr. Fleming pushed past Henry and Maggie and glared at the secretary.
"The window of my art studio overlooks an empty lot.
I like it that way—very quiet.
But this week the high school soccer team has been building a float there.
So there's been hammering, sawing, shouting, and laughing all day long.
I can't take it anymore!
If someone doesn't do something, I'll sue the town to call off the parade!"