It was not the first time that Detective Sergeant Vizzini had visited the Bing house. He had been there investigating the stolen Babe Ruth card and had also stopped by after the zoobreak incident.
His dark eyes panned the familiar surroundings of the kitchen. “New curtains, I like the color,” he approved. “Brings out the wood stain of the cabinets.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Bing anxiously. It was an automatic response. Curtains were the last thing on her mind. “Officer, I know Griffin has had issues in the past. But this time he’s telling the truth. His retainer has been gone a few days now ­— long before that ring disappeared.”
Vizzini nodded. “I believe you.”
Mr. Bing frowned. “Well, in that case, what are we doing here? Why is Griffin in trouble?”
"Here's the thing," the cop told them. "I believe that's what your son told you. Whether or not he told you the truth - well, that's a different matter entirely."
"No, it isn't!" Mr. Bing was triumphant. "We've ordered a replacement retainer. That's hard evidence!
Just call the orthodontist to check."
"Already done." Vizzini flipped open a ringbound pad. "The requisition left Dr. Torelli's office with the overnight paperwork after closing yesterday - just about the same time the burglary at the school must have taken place."
Griffin spoke up for the first time. "You think I went straight from a break-in to the
orthodontist. "
"The office has late hours on Monday and Thursday," the detective read from his notes.
"Yesterday's last patient didn't leave until-let's see - nine twenty-two p.m."
"That's crazy!" Mr. Bing exclaimed. "You don't order a four hundred-dollar dental appliance without taking some time to look for the old one first!"
"Unless you're trying to manufacture an alibi for the theft of something worth a lot more," Vizzini countered.
Mrs. Bing was bug eyed. "You're not just accusing him of a burglary! You're accusing him of using his own parents to cover it up!"
The detective leaned back in his chair, looking suddenly tired. "One of the first things they teach you in the police academy - you've got to see the big picture. You can't get locked into anyone version of the crime."
"He's a twelve-year-old kid, not Al Capone!" Griffin's father exploded.
"A twelve-year-old who's already made a lot of so-called experts look like clowns. Me, for instance. Considering Griffin's past pattern of behavior, can you honestly rule out the possibility that he's responsible? "
The Bings hesitated.
Griffin was in agony. His parents knew the retainer had been gone since last week!
"I didn't do it," he said in a small voice.
"Maybe," the cop said evenly. "For one thing, I can't explain how you got into that display case. The lock shows no sign of tampering, and Dr. Egan
insists he was in control of all keys. Does that mean it couldn't have been you? You're a resourceful kid, Griffin Bing. I underestimate you at my peril. And believe me, that's not a compliment."
"We stand by our son, Detective Vizzini," Griffin's mother said firmly.
The cop sighed. "Here's what happens now. We search your house for the missing ring. It should go pretty fast, since my men already know the place. In the meantime, Griffin has to stand before a judge -"
Mr. Bing looked alarmed. "Aren't you taking this a little too far?"
"Taking things too far," Vizzini replied, "is your son's trademark. Anyway, it's just a preliminary session to set a hearing date."
"That's even worse!" Griffin blurted.
Vizzini was unmoved. "Right from the beginning, a dozen different cops told you that one day your luck would run out. You think we were making it up? We're not that creative."
They were, however, punctual. Within the hour, six uniformed officers were riffling through drawers, tapping walls, searching cupboards, and running metal detectors along baseboards while the family waited out on the lawn.
"Well, Griffin, give us a heads-up," Dad said wearily. "Any chance they're going to find it?"
"Of course not!" Griffin snapped. "I thought you trusted me!"
 "We do trust you," Mom soothed. "It's just that most parents don't even go through this once. Our street is starting to look like the parking lot of the
police station."
"It's different this time," Griffin insisted.
"Whatever happened to that ring, I had nothing to do with it."

From Framed. Text copyright © 2010 by Gordon Korman. All rights reserved