Dial M for Mongoose (2 page)

"No, for a case. Maybe he'll hire us to find out who stinkbombed the school."

"Class," barked Ms. Reckonwith. "No talking!"

When she cracked the whip, the students clammed up in a hummingbird's heartbeat.

Natalie glanced at her teacher. "Maybe later," she whispered.

I shoved off. My class was still milling about. Time to make my move.

Mr. Zero stood at the edge of the grass, talking with two teachers. He was a hefty pussycat with a wacky taste in ties and a reputation for chewing out his students' patooties like so many packs of bubble gum.

His reputation was well deserved.

"Heya, boss man," I said. "How's tricks?"

His amber eyes frisked me, while his tail lashed gently from side to side. "Gecko," said Mr. Zero. Somehow, coming from his mouth, it sounded more like "Yuck-o."

"Need some help getting to the bottom of this stench?" I asked.

"When I need help, I'll ask for it," he rumbled. "And not from some fourth-grade, two-bit gumshoe."

I put a hand to my chest. "That smarts, chief. After all we've been through? At least give me a shot at it."

The corner of his mouth lifted, revealing an ivory fang. "As it happens, Ms. Shrewer is already on the job. And here she comes now."

Vice Principal Shrewer trudged up the hallway, taking off a gas mask. She was a hard-bitten shrew with an expression as sour as stinkbug-and-vinegar yogurt.

"Well?" said the big cat. "What was it?"

"Carelessness, pure and simple," said Ms. Shrewer.

"How do you mean?" I asked.

Both administrators turned to eyeball me. "Is this any of your business?" said Mr. Zero.

"No," I said."But a gecko could
make
it his business."

The principal pointed a sharp claw. "A gecko could also go
out
of business."

I shrugged. "There's no business like ... no business."

They resumed their conversation.

"Anyway, I searched the boiler room and found a jumbo jar of ammonia by the heating vent," said the shrew.

"Ammonia?" I said. "But—"

A look from Mr. Zero silenced me. "Ammonia alone wouldn't cause that smell," he said.

"No," Ms. Shrewer agreed. "But it looked like someone had accidentally dropped some match heads into the jar.
That's
what caused the odor."

Match heads in ammonia? A classic stinkbomb. That wasn't an accident; that was planned.

Mr. Zero stroked his whiskers. "Any idea
which
someone is responsible?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said the shrew. "Who else uses ammonia around here? Maureen DeBree."

"Ms.DeBree?" I said. "But she'd never—"

"Gecko," Principal Zero snapped. "Zip it and ship it."

I bit my lip. Something was rotten, and it wasn't just the funky smells drifting across campus. I wanted to snoop some more, but the big cat had spoken.

"Later, administrator," I said.

Mr. Zero growled, deep in his throat.

"I mean, administrator,
sir
." I beat a hasty retreat.

As I headed across the playground, thoughts chased through my head like overheated penguins after an ice-cream truck.

Maureen DeBree was our neat-freak janitor, a big-hearted mongoose with a thing for Mr. Clean. She'd helped me out of many a jam—like the time she'd saved me from a pair of king cobras who had a serious attitude problem.

I knew our janitor. And I knew that she'd be more likely to fly off to Neptune with a nene goose than to set off a stinkbomb.

As I rejoined my class, Ms. DeBree reached Principal Zero's side. Even a blind gecko could tell he was giving her a tongue-lashing for the ages.

The mongoose protested. She waved her hands about, and her face looked like Hurricane Agnes on a bad day.

Clearly, Ms. DeBree hadn't done the deed. But who had? And why?

After all the times the janitor had saved my bacon, my mission was clear. It was time for me to return the favor.

Later, I'd wish that I'd thought twice before jumping into Ms. DeBree's mess.

But later, of course, would be too late.

The rest of that day's lessons were as pointless as a plucked porcupine. We camped on the grass and pretended to pay attention, while the janitor and her assistant rounded up enough electric fans to de-stinkify the vents and the classrooms.

By the time they'd finished, school had ended.

Natalie and I hung around until our fellow students cleared out, then we hoofed it over to Maureen DeBree's office.

Banging and rattling echoed from halfway down the hall. It grew louder as we approached her room.

Was the janitor in trouble?

"Marggin' argle barg snarfn bargin'!" Someone inside was cursing a blue streak. (Either that, or they were speaking Lithuanian backwards.)

Natalie and I burst through the open doorway.

"Are you all right?" I cried.

Ms. DeBree sat on the floor, surrounded by what looked like all the cleaning products in the known world—jars and canisters, bottles and brushes, sprays and scrubbers, and some items I had never even seen before.

"Uh, Ms. DeBree?" said Natalie.

"Aha!" cried the mongoose, plucking a canister from the pile. "Just as I deflected: The buggers stole my ammonia."

"How's that?" I asked.

"See?" said the janitor, holding up the stinkbomb jar next to her own bottle. "Mine has the gold seal on the label. I always get the extra-strength kine." She took a deep whiff of the open jar and closed her eyes. "Ahhh. The best."

Natalie and I exchanged a glance. Word around the school yard was that Maureen DeBree took her cleaning products seriously. I didn't know she took them
this
seriously.

"So you're not responsible for that stinkbomb," I said.

"That's what I'm tryin' for tell you," said the mongoose. "Some punk kids did 'em. But I don't know how they broke in here and stole my stuff."

I whipped a business card from my pocket. Fancy lettering arched over crossed swords, a skull, and two bundles of dynamite.

The cards were a gift from an admirer. An admirer, coincidentally, with the same name as me.

Handing it to the janitor, I said, "Maybe we can help."

"Nice dynamite," she said. "But I don't need no help."

"Why not?" asked Natalie. "Principal Zero looked pretty mad."

The mongoose waved a paw. "It's all a case of forsaken identity. He'll cool down. No sweat."

"No sweat?" I said. "He accused you of accidentally stinkbombing your own school. You cleared the air. Don't you want us to clear your name?"

"Nah," said Ms. DeBree. "When I show the boss these bottles, he'll change his tune."

This wasn't going quite as I'd planned. She was supposed to hire us to investigate. She was supposed to end my boredom.

"Please?" I said.

The mongoose chuckled and showed us to the door. "Thanks, but no thanks, Mr. Private Eyeball. Go run along and detect something else, 'kay?"

"The only thing
he's
got to detect are the answers to his homework problems," said Natalie.

"Don't remind me, birdie," I said.

We shuffled off down the hall. But I had a funny feeling that this case was only just getting started.

Or maybe it was just the aftereffect of the bean-and-beetle burritos I'd had at lunch. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.

The next day, Ma Gecko hustled me and my deeply annoying little sister, Pinky, off to school well before classes started. Normally I don't do early mornings. But Ma Gecko had a convincing way of
making her case. ("Get your tail in gear or lose it," I believe were her exact words.)

Sunrise found me stumbling past the flagpole and through the school gates. Pinky peeled off to do whatever it is that first graders do. I made my way to the lunchroom.

If I played my cards right, the head cafeteria lady, Mrs. Bagoong, might part with a fresh-baked spittlebug muffin or a slice of banana-slug bread. It was worth a shot. After all, the early morning shouldn't be a total waste, right?

Dew sparkled on the grass like sunshine on a teen's brand-new braces. Out on the playground, the swings hung limp. Only a handful of kids roamed the halls. The school was quiet, peaceful.

But when I stepped through the cafeteria doors, that peace was shattered like a cut-rate piñata at a fullback's birthday party.

"You know you did it, and if you had a shred of decency, you'd admit it!" Mrs. Bagoong shouted.

Fists clenched, she stood toe-to-toe with Maureen DeBree. The hefty iguana towered over the janitor, but Ms. DeBree held her ground.

"You're one lolo lizard!" she snapped.

I hotfooted it over to them before fists started flying.

"Whoa now, ladies," I said. "What's the squawk?"

Mrs. Bagoong pointed a finger like a salami. "She left the door unlocked."

"And
she
is dreaming if she thinks I done that," said the janitor.

"So why the fuss?" I said, pushing between them. "I've left plenty of doors unlocked."

The queen of the lunchroom swept an arm toward her monster-sized refrigerator, which hung open. "
That's
why the fuss. Someone came in last night and cleaned out most of my veggies. Now what will I serve?"

"No veggies?" I said. "I thought this was something serious."

"It
is
serious!" cried Mrs. Bagoong. "Kids will be missing out on my newest recipe: broccoli-and—lima bean pie."

One look at her scowl told me this wasn't the time to mention that nobody in their right mind would miss it if she never served those two vegetables again.

"How do you know Ms. DeBree left the place unlocked?" I asked.

"Because." The lunch lady planted a hand on her hip."I locked the doors when I left yesterday, and she always comes around later for the final check."

Maureen DeBree stuck her furry muzzle in Mrs. Bagoong's face. "And I told you, when I checked 'em, they was locked."

I held up my hands. "Hang on. Maybe somebody busted in."

"I looked," said Mrs. Bagoong."No sign of it. The culprit just waltzed through the door."

The janitor crossed her arms. "Well, it wasn't
my
fault."

"We'll just see about that," said the big iguana. "I'm going to tell Principal Zero." She slammed the fridge and stomped out through the open doorway.

"Oh, yeah?" Ms. DeBree called after her. "Me, too!"

I caught her arm. "Wait, before you go..."

"Yeah?"

"Sure you don't want to change your mind about hiring me?"

The lean mongoose looked across the room, bit her lip, and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, okay. You're hired, Mr. Private Eyeball. See if you can learn who's tryin' for make me look like one incontinent mongoose."

"Yes!" I said, breaking into a victory jig.

Ms. DeBree raised her eyebrows.

I stopped and slapped on a serious expression. "I mean, uh,
yes,
I'll find out which low-down punk is trying to make you look incompetent. That'll be seventy-five cents for a retainer."

"That's highway robbery!" said the janitor.

"No, that's the cost of justice," I said. "And cheap at twice the price."

She shook her head and dug into her pouch for the quarters.

I couldn't suppress my grin. A case at last!

Oh, foolish detective.

I gave the kitchen a quick once-over, but didn't see anything suspicious.

Maureen DeBree filled me in as I walked her up to the office. There wasn't much filling to do. She didn't know how the punks had stolen her ammonia, and she hadn't left the cafeteria unlocked. Period.

But she did pass me a couple of leads.

I left her at the admin office door. Having seen Mr. Zero in action once or twice before, I wasn't eager to repeat the experience.

Down the hall I skipped. Her cool coins jingled in my pocket. Then I caught myself—hard-boiled private eyes don't skip.

I turned my feet toward Ms. DeBree's office and my first interview. Mystery was in the air.

Halfway down the corridor, the public-address system crackled. Mr. Zero's voice boomed, "Paging Chet Gecko. Your fly is open."