Dial M for Mongoose (4 page)

She shuffled up to us. "It's even more worser than I thought."

"What is?" said Natalie.

"Mr. Zero put me on notice," she said. "He thinks I'm gettin' sloppy."

"What?" I said. "Why?"

The janitor sighed. "Seems like the veggies wasn't the only thing that went missing last night."

Natalie leaned closer. "What do you mean?"

"Somebody sneaked into the office and did some embuzzling," said Maureen DeBree.

"You mean...?" I said.

"They stole the cash box."

"Sweet jumpin' jellyfish," I said.

The mongoose nodded. "And you ain't whisperin' Dixie."

This was getting out of hand. Literally. Suddenly it seemed like anything not nailed down at Emerson Hicky was fair game for the thief. I needed to learn more about him.

"Same M.O.?" I asked.

Maureen DeBree lifted a shoulder. "How should I know whether the creep had stinky armpits?"

I shook my head. "Not
B.O.,
M.O.," I said. "It means
mo
... uh ... it means how they did it. Don't you ever watch TV cop shows?"

The mongoose gave me a mournful look. "No break-in," said Ms. DeBree. "The bugger came through the door, just like at the cafeteria."

"Are you sure you remembered—" Natalie began.

"Yeah, I
checked,
" huffed the janitor. "The office door was locked. Cheez, don't you trust your own client?"

I held up a hand. "Of course we do. Just being thorough."

Maureen DeBree halfheartedly picked up a stray candy wrapper. "Ain't this the straw that broke the kangaroo's back," she muttered. "Like I don't have enough on my mind already."

"What do you mean?" Natalie asked.

"Huh? Oh, I get more worries than Mr. Zero giving me the ax."

"Do tell," I said.

Ms. DeBree toyed with the wrapper. "Some bugger's been piling dirt out past the playground, making a mess. Our electricity bills are sky high, like someone's tapping into our power grid. And some of my buckets and wheelbarrows have walked off."

"Wait a minute." My tail twitched. "You mean to tell me your dirt's dumping, your bill's jumping, and your barrow's bumping?"

The mongoose gave me a glum look. "Yeah."

"Why didn't you mention this before?"

"You didn't ask," she said.

Natalie paced. "Any idea who's behind it?"

"Nope," said Ms. DeBree.

"Any idea if all these things are connected?" I asked.

"Unh-unh," said the janitor, watching the candy wrapper float down into a trash can.

"Hmm," I said.

"Hmm," Natalie agreed.

"For real." The mongoose shuddered."This whole thing gives me the oodgie-woogies. Who would wanna do this to me?"

"Wait a second," said Natalie. "Why should Mr. Zero blame the office theft on your sloppiness?"

"Yeah," I said. "After all, anyone could swipe a key and steal the loot."

Ms. DeBree shook her head. "Nobody's key went missing, and the principal trusts all his office staff. Besides I
am
the last one to check the locks every day."

"Fear not, fair mongoose," I said. "We'll prove you innocent. In fact, we'll jump right on it and—"

Brrrrinng!
The class bell cut me off.

"Investigate at lunch," said Natalie.

Dang. Schoolwork sure gets in the way of being a big-time detective.

Lunch that day was crab spider cakes and tick taco salad, with mango maggot bars for dessert. How do I remember these things? I am, after all, a trained detective. (Also, I had seconds.)

Mrs. Bagoong was still surly about the veggie theft. I was still relieved.

After a final belch, I sailed my tray onto the dirty stack and headed out with Natalie to clear Ms. DeBree's name. We stepped onto the grass, and I stopped short.

"Hey, I just had a brainstorm," I said.

"Good," said Natalie. "Maybe it'll wash out your ears."

I pushed my hat back. "We've been looking at this all wrong."

"Should we be squinting?"

"Instead of trying to figure out why someone's got it in for the janitor," I said, "we should figure out why someone's stealing and stinking up our school."

"You think the culprit isn't trying to make Ms. DeBree look bad?" said Natalie.

"I don't know," I said, striding across the grass. "But I do know this: We need to rustle up some other suspects than just Erik Nidd, PDQ."

"Pudgy, dim, and quirky?" said Natalie.

"Pretty darned quick," I said.

As we walked, I surveyed the busy playground. Things looked normal enough. Two basketball games raged on the blacktop. A group of older girls played soccer. And just beyond us, some third-grade bowlers were using grasshoppers as pins and pill bugs for balls.

Say what you will about Emerson Hicky, we've got all the major sports covered.

"See anything suspicious?" said Natalie.

"No," I said. "Wait—who's that?"

Over near the fence, a furry mug in a yellow construction hat was spreading a pile of dirt. He stood out like a tank in a sandbox.

"Search me," said Natalie. "I've never seen him before."

We legged it over to the stranger. He was a tough-looking mole with a nose like an exploded eggplant and paws like a pair of catcher's mitts.

I cleared my throat. " 'Scuse me, chief."

"Whaddaya want?" he barked. "I'm a busy guy."

"We're, uh, the Welcome Wagon," said Natalie. "And we want to welcome you to Emerson Hicky."

Eggplant Nose gave us the once-over."Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," I said."I'm Chet Gecko, and this is Natalie Attired. We haven't seen you around before, so we, uh, wanted to welcome you."

"So?" he said, glancing back at his dirt mound.

"So, welcome," said Natalie.

The mole narrowed his eyes."You said that already."

I tried my Number Five Friendly Grin. "What's your name, friend?"

"Nunya," he said.

"Nunya?" said Natalie.

Eggplant Nose crossed his arms. "Yeah. Nunya business. Now, get lost."

"Are you working for Ms. DeBree?" I asked.

His jaw tightened. "Look, bub, I'm an independent contractor. Workin' for the firm of Beatit, Buzzoff, and Scram. Get it?"

"Got it," said Natalie.

"Good," said Eggplant Nose. He went back to spreading the dirt.

We left the mole to his work and ambled onto the playground.

"Friendly fella," I said.

"You think he's hiding something?" said Natalie.

I shrugged. "A heart of gold and a sunny disposition? Maybe. It's no crime to be a grouch, but still..."

"We should keep an eye on him," said Natalie.

"Agreed," I said. "But we're using
your
eye."

For the rest of lunchtime, Natalie and I wandered about, searching for clues. (Pretty much the same way I approach my homework.)

The office held nothing of interest. No muddy paw prints, no busted windows, no dropped library cards with the culprit's name on them.

"What
are
you looking for?" asked Mrs. Crow, the secretary.

"Anything that tells us how the thief got in here or who he was," I said, peeking under a stack of papers.

Natalie leaned on the counter. "Who's got office keys?"

Mrs. Crow counted off on her wing feathers.
"Let's see ... Mr. Zero, Ms. Shrewer, the nurse, the janitors. Five altogether."

"What about you?" I asked.

"What
about
me?" said the crow.

"Don't you have a key?"

Mrs. Crow shook her sleek black head. "Hon, I practically
live
here. Who needs a key?"

We gave up on the office and hit the cafeteria.

It, too, looked as shipshape as ever. And when we checked out the boiler room after that, no red-hot clues reared their little heads and shouted, "Here I am! Notice me!"

If the same someone was stirring up all these different kinds of trouble, he'd covered his tracks well.

Lunch wound down like a grumpy preschooler at bedtime. Natalie and I ended up on the playground, kicking around a soccer ball and some half-baked notions.

"Could the Dirty Rotten Stinkers be behind it all?" asked Natalie.

"Nah," I said, lining up a shot. "They're not bright enough to snatch the cash box without breaking down a door or two. And stealing veggies?"

I booted the ball and it went wide.

Natalie smirked. "I get your point. Erik Nidd and broccoli don't exactly go together like worms and caramel." She flapped after the ball.

I grimaced. "I'm not sure worms and caramel go together. But you're right there, partner. The stinkbombing has their fingerprints all over it, but we've got no solid proof."

"So who's behind the rest of it?"

She hauled off and punted. The ball bounced off my chest with a
whump.

I staggered back. "I dunno. Jerry Dooty?"

"Too depressed to steal much of anything," said Natalie. "How about Eggplant Nose?"

Showing off my fancy footwork, I retrieved the ball. "He's mean enough. But what's his motive?"

"I don't know. But something about him isn't quite right."

"What?" I swung my leg. The ball sailed into a krangleberry bush.

"I just said I don't know." Natalie picked her way through the shrubbery.

A nearby squirrel called to us. "Hey! If you're not going to play soccer with that thing, why don't you give someone else a try?"

"Because," I said, "this is how we get our kicks."

Lunch ended and schoolwork resumed. Through the next couple of lessons, I puzzled and puzzled some more (and occasionally even thought about my lessons).Although we had our suspicions, Natalie and I lacked enough evidence to pin the crimes on anybody.

That meant we needed more info.

But what? And from where? I needed a clue, a lead, an inside tip.

What I got was more grief from Mr. Ratnose.

"Chet Gecko," he said, "let's hear your book report."

"Teacher, you really don't want to hear my book report."

He folded his hands on his desk. "I most certainly do."

"You won't like it," I said.

Mr. Ratnose sighed. "Which book is it?"

I stood and put my hands behind my back."
The Wonderful Wizard of Odd,
by L. Frank Barmy." I paused.

"Yes?" said Mr. Ratnose. "Tell us all about it."

"Well ... there's this wizard, see? And he's, uh ... kinda odd."

My teacher stared at me for a long moment. "You haven't actually read it, have you?"

"Well, I..."

He held up a hand. "Never mind."

I sat down."Told you you wouldn't want to hear it."

At long last, recess arrived. I rushed out the door with my classmates to savor the sweet, sweet air of freedom.

How was I to know it would soon be full of dust?

Natalie and I began by investigating the snack machine. I cleverly detected a bag of Skeeter Pieces and we polished it off in short order.

All sugared up and ready to rumble, we pointed our tootsies toward our client's office. Maybe she had some more leads for us. (Or at least some more quarters. I'd already burned through her retainer.)

As we headed down the hall, Jerry Dooty was walking up it. Oddly, his paws were cupped together.

"What's up, Mr. Dooty?" I said.

The gray gopher turned his bleak gaze on us. "You're asking the wrong guy. I haven't been 'up' since Moses was in knee shorts."

"Uh, right," said Natalie. "So, what have you got there?"

"Evidence," he said. "Remember I told you Maureen was getting sloppy?"

I nodded. "Yeah?"

He extended his cupped paws. "I found these on the floor in her office."

We leaned closer. Jerry Dooty held a bunch of little-bitty pieces of wood. Headless matchsticks.

It wasn't like Ms. DeBree to leave anything on the floor of her office—not even footprints.

"Where are you taking those?" I asked.

"I thought they seemed a little ... I don't know, suspicious?" he whined."Figured I'd take them to Mr. Zero, see what he thought."

Natalie frowned. "You think he'll think she's suspicious?"

"I think he'll think she's not thinking," said Mr. Dooty. "Maybe he'll think she made the stink."