Dial M for Mongoose (3 page)

I started to glance down, then caught myself.

A familiar cackle echoed off the wall. Those mockingbirds sure can mock.

"Nice try, Natalie," I said. "But any flies around me would be history."

She dropped off the roof of the covered walkway and glided to a landing. "Wanna hear my Mr. Ratnose?"

"Cut the comedy, birdie. We've got a case." I ran down what little I knew about Maureen DeBree's troubles.

She cocked her head. "Are you sure the two things are connected?"

"No, I'm not," I said. "That's why they call it investigation—we investigate and find out."

"Oh, really? If you're so smart, why don't you do your homework more often?"

"Funny," I said, "that's what Mr. Ratnose says."

She smoothed her wing feathers. "And what do you tell him?"

"It's a mystery to me." I led the way to the mongoose's office and rapped on the door. "Mr. Dooty?You in there?"

After a long pause, the door creaked open. A glum-faced gopher peered out. "Yeah?"

"You must be Jerry Dooty?" I asked.

"I suppose I must," he said. "Nobody else wants to be."

The assistant janitor was a small gray gopher, as unremarkable as an old wad of gum under a desk. His yellow teeth poked out between chubby cheeks like candy corn between two rounds of pudding. If Jerry Dooty were a doormat, his message wouldn't be
Welcome,
but
Go ahead—everyone else does.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets. "Can we ask you some questions?"

"Oh, sure," the gopher whined. "Everyone knows my time's not worth anything. I've got nothing better to do."

He slumped against the doorframe.

"So," I said, "how long have you worked with Maureen DeBree?"

The gopher shrugged. "A month, maybe. Seems like forever."

"Is she pretty easy to work for?" asked Natalie.

"Just swell." Mr. Dooty crossed his arms. "If you like working, which I don't."

I scratched my tail. This guy was so depressed, he made Eeyore look like a cockeyed optimist.

"Has anyone got a grudge against her?" I asked.

A noise like a hyena choking on a wax banana came from Jerry Dooty's mouth. It might have been a laugh.

"Maureen?" he said. "Everybody likes her. Some people are all sunshine and unicorns and daisies. Not me, boy. Nobody likes me."

"I'll trust you on that," I said.

Natalie cleared her throat. "Moving right along ... Do you have any idea who might have set the stinkbomb or unlocked the cafeteria?"

The assistant janitor's chin sunk lower. He scratched his nose forlornly. "Me? Nobody tells me anything. I must be the least popular worker at school."

"No ideas at all?" I asked, slumping. His mood was beginning to affect me.

The gopher brushed at his drooping whiskers. "Ever think she might have done it herself? You know, accidentally?"

Natalie cocked her head. "Ms. DeBree, the queen of clean?"

He shrugged again. "I'm just saying she's been sloppy lately, not herself. But fine, don't believe me. Nobody ever does."

"Thanks for the tip," I said, with a grimace. "Uh, we've got to get back to Happy Land."

"Oh, sure," said Jerry Dooty. "Nobody likes spending time with ol' Jerry."

Natalie waved. "Have a nice day!" she chirped.

"Never have," the gopher mumbled as he closed the door. "Wouldn't know what to do with one if I did."

When we were well away from the janitors' office, I stopped and shook myself all over."Yeesh. Get a load of Mr. Sunshine."

"You said it."

"I've got to do something to throw off his mood, or I'll be down all day."

Natalie arched an eyebrow. "A swing on the swings?"

I smiled and pulled out Ms. DeBree's change."And a Pillbug Crunch bar. Just what the doctor ordered."

After a treat and a swing, I was ready to tackle anything. But wouldn't you know it? The bell rang. All I could tackle was math lessons.

I blew out a sigh and headed off to class. It wasn't fair. All the other detectives filled their days with secretaries and secret messages and mysterious clients. What did I have? A bad case of Mr. Ratnose.

At least there was one small mystery to toy with. Rick Shaw, the hedgehog, was absent and nobody knew why. Illness? Sudden family trip? I suspected terminal nerdiness.

"Nobody's seen Rick Shaw?" asked Mr. Ratnose. "It's not like him to miss school."

If you asked me, ol' Rick had picked the right day to skip out.

A couple hours of cruel and unusual punishment later (also known as decimals, division, and vocabulary test), I would have hung up my school career, given half a chance. I settled for recess instead.

Natalie was waiting for me beneath the scrofulous tree, our usual meeting spot."What a
magnificent
day!" she said. "I'm
partial
to
pursuing
detective
procedures
on a
splendid
day like today."

I rolled my eyes. "Someone aced her vocabulary test."

"My
achievement
was
outstanding
." She beamed and fanned herself with her wing feathers.

"Okay, Webster. Let's
suspend
the, uh ... show-offishness and get to work."

"Didn't do so well yourself?" she asked.

"I don't wanna talk about it." I led the way across the playground to our next interview. "Ms. DeBree said she'd had some run-ins with the Dirty Rotten Stinkers in the past. How shall we play this?"

Natalie offered a tight smile."How about not at all?"

The Stinkers were the school's worst gang. Their ranks bulged with thugs, lugs, punks, skunks, and plain old no-goodniks. They were the rancid cheese in the triple-decker silverfish and sauerkraut sandwich that was Emerson Hicky Elementary.

"Aw, c'mon, Natalie. It won't be that bad."

"Not bad?" she said. "Do you remember the time you fingered them for vandalism, so they tied your tail in a knot and buried you in a Dumpster?"

"Harmless hijinks," I said, strolling toward the portable buildings. "Besides, it's ancient history. I'm sure they've forgotten about it by now."

We rounded the corner of the first building and saw the Dirty Rotten Stinkers: Erik Nidd, killer tarantula; Bosco Rebbizi, bad-tempered ferret; Kurt Replie, no-account rat; a wart-covered toad whose name I didn't know; and a half-dozen other mugs.

All eyes stared at me.

"Chet Gecko," said Erik, flexing four of his eight legs. "Ya got a lotta nerve comin' around here."

Natalie gulped. "What were you saying about ancient history?"

The original tarantula bad boy, Erik Nidd, crawled toward us like a tank—if a tank had eight hairy limbs, a chip on its shoulder the size of a pyramid, and a really nasty disposition. His beefy arms and legs bulged with muscle, and his many eyes glowed with cruel delight.

"Gecko and bird," he said."How nice. We wuz just lookin' around for someone to cream."

In spite of myself, I took a half step back, then turned it into a dance shuffle. "Cream? No thanks. I like my coffee like I like my girls."

"Strong and pure?" said Natalie.

I turned to look at her. "No, not at all. Yuck."

"Enough fancy-pants talk," said Erik. He flexed
his other four legs."Let's do some clobberin', Stinkers."

I edged closer to the building. "We didn't come here for a clobbering."

"Where do you usually go?" Miss Warts-a-lot, the toad, hopped closer.

Natalie cleared her throat. "We came to ask some questions," she said.

Erik's face crinkled in puzzlement. "Questions?"

"Yeah," I said, "like, what is the capital of Venezuela?"

"Uh," said Erik.

"What is the average airspeed of a common loon?" asked Natalie.

"Well...," said Bosco, the ferret.

"What's twenty-four times seventy-three?" I said.

"Um," said Miss Warts-a-lot.

Natalie leaned in. "And what's the best way to make a stinkbomb?"

The tarantula broke into smiles. "Oh,
that's
easy. Ya take a big ol' jar of ammonia, drop in a bunch of match heads, and seal it up for a week."

"Exactly," I said. "Oh, one last question."

"Yeah?" said the toad.

"Did you Stinkers set that stinkbomb yesterday?"

"We—" Miss Warts-a-lot began.

The ferret cut her off. "Cheese it. We ain't telling you nothin', peeper."

Erik Nidd growled, "Question time is over. Now it's playtime."

At his signal, the other Dirty Rotten Stinkers started closing in on us.

"What are we going to play?" said Natalie. "Rock-star Hero? Chinese Jump Rope? Duck, Duck, Goose?"

Bosco grinned. "How 'bout Pound the Peepers?"

Natalie and I backed up. "Strange," I said, "but I don't think we like the same games."

"Get 'em, ya mugs!" cried Erik.

"Yahhh!" shouted the Stinkers.

Natalie and I whirled. She flapped wings and I beat feet away from there as fast as we could go. We tore across the playground.

"Maybe they're only trying to put a scare in us," said Natalie.

I glanced back. The thugs were close behind, snarling and snapping.

"Nope," I said. "They really do want to cream us."

We zigzagged around the crowded sandbox, and cut through a football game, hoping to shake them. No luck. They stuck with us like ugly on an ape.

Only one solution.

"Who's on yard duty today?" I asked Natalie.

"Ms. Glick, I think," she panted.

I spotted the hefty alligator. "Perfect."

"Come back here, ya twerps!" cried Erik Nidd, scrambling in pursuit.

"I think not," I said.

We dashed past a jump rope game and up to Ms. Glick.

"Well, well," rumbled the gator. "Natalie Attired and Chester Gecko."

I hate when they call me by my full name.

"Uh, hi, Ms. Glick," I said. "What's cookin'?"

The teacher eyed the pack of Stinkers, who skidded to a halt and pretended to be deeply interested in Double Dutch.

"Trouble, as usual," she said. "And I bet you're at the heart of it."

"Me?" I said. "I'm as innocent as the day is long."

"Uh-huh," said Ms. Glick. "A midwinter day in Greenland, maybe."

She gazed at us. We stared at the Stinkers.

The gang showed no signs of moving along. In fact, the little rodents skipping rope got nervous, and
they
beat feet. The Dirty Rotten Stinkers just stood in a knot, muttering and glaring.

"Since you both seem so fond of my company," said Ms. Glick, "perhaps you'd like to see pictures of my trip to Florida." She pulled out a photo album from a handbag the size of an aircraft carrier.

I glanced over to Erik, who mouthed, "You're dead." I looked up at Ms. Glick."We'd be delighted," I said.

You haven't really tasted boredom until you've spent most of your recess pretending to admire photos of alligators in lounge chairs and leisurewear. At long last, the Stinkers drifted off like a foul breeze. The coast was clear.

Natalie and I said a final "Mm, nice beach" and bid farewell to Ms. Glick.

Skirting the edge of the playground, we chewed over what we'd learned.

"You think they set off the stinkbomb?" said Natalie.

"Definitely."

She cocked her head. "But how can you tell the Stinkers are guilty?"

I shrugged. "They're breathing?"

"I'm serious," she said. "How can you be sure?"

We stopped beside a krangleberry bush.

I scratched my chin. "They practically admitted it. Besides, my gut tells me so."

"I thought your gut told you, 'Eat that bag of katydid crisps.'"

"Sometimes it does," I said. "This time it says they're guilty."

Natalie groomed her wing feathers. "And are they guilty of stealing the food, too?"

"I dunno. My gut doesn't say."

Natalie rolled her eyes.

I pointed across the grass. "Hey, here comes our client."

"And she doesn't look happy," said Natalie.

That was an understatement. The janitor looked bluer than the only Chihuahua on a Saint Bernard snow rescue team. Her bright eyes were dull, and her bushy tail drooped.

"Hey, Ms. DeBree," I said. "Why are you draggin' your wagon?"