Sly the Sleuth and the Food Mysteries (2 page)

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Authors: Donna Jo Napoli

BOOK: Sly the Sleuth and the Food Mysteries
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Brian ran to the door. He shouted, “I want to play shuffleboard.”
“Great idea,” Jack shouted back. “I'll see you Friday.”
Jack wanted Brian to come play shuffleboard? Brian?
Something fishy was going on.
“Shut the door, Brian,” said Melody. “The cold is coming in.”
Brian shut the door.
I turned to Melody. “Start at the beginning.” That was sleuth talk.
“I can't tell with you-know-who here.” Melody jerked her head toward Brian.
“Time to go, Brian.” I collected his crayons. It wasn't fair to send him home so fast. He'd come only a little while ago. But business was business.
Brian rolled up his T. rex picture. He didn't even argue.
This was fishier than Jack inviting Brian for shuffleboard. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.
“No.” Brian stuck his finger in his mouth. He moved it around in there.
“What's wrong?”
Brian dropped his hand. “I can't tell you.”
Brian told everyone everything. Something might really be wrong. Or maybe he was just echoing Melody.
I handed Brian his crayons.
He left.
“Why couldn't you talk in front of Brian?”
“It's scary,” said Melody.
Something dangerous and scary. I wasn't sure I wanted this case, after all. But I owed Melody a try. “What's scary?”
“See for yourself. Come home with me.”
Bushes
I followed Melody across Brian's backyard.We ducked through the hedge into her yard.
Bushes run along the front of Melody's house. She stopped and held aside branches. “Look.”
I peeked past her arm. “I don't see anything.”
“Look down.”
It was dark back there. But I spied trash. A candy wrapper. A potato chip bag. Stuff like that.
Nothing dangerous or scary.
“See?” said Melody. She was excited.
“Trash,” I said as nicely as I could.
“Exactly,” said Melody.
This case was going nowhere. I cleared my throat. “Why did you throw trash behind your bush?”
“Don't be dumb,” said Melody.“I didn't do it.”
“Who did?”
“That's the mystery. Someone's living in our bushes.”
“Have you seen him?”
“No,” said Melody. “He hides when I come.”
“How do you know?”
“He isn't here now,” said Melody.
There was something wrong with that logic. But I let it go. What mattered was that Melody was afraid. “If he hides when you come, he can't be very scary.”
“Unless he's waiting for the right moment,” said Melody.“Then he'll do something awful.”
“Maybe no one's living here. Maybe someone's just throwing trash behind the bushes.”
“Find out,” said Melody. “Because if someone's living here, he's dangerous.”
Melody liked to be dramatic.
But she could be right.
Pong
I pushed my way through.The branches poked my tummy and chest. They pinned me to the house. So I squatted.
Near the base of the bush there was more room. But not much.
I gathered the trash. The potato chip bag was half full.And there was one piece of toffee left in the candy wrapper. I stuffed everything in my pocket.
“What are you doing?” called Melody from the other side of the bushes.
“Gathering clues.”
“What did you find?”
“Trash.”
“I know that,” said Melody. “What else?”
“Give me time.” I felt around.
The leaves between this bush and the next were broken off at the bottom. I crawled under the broken leaves. It was like a tunnel. It scraped at my back. I wound up out on the front lawn.
I stood beside Melody. It would be hard for anyone my size to go through that tunnel. But it wouldn't be hard for a dog. “Did Pong discover the trash?”
“How did you know?”
“It's my job.” I liked saying that. It sounded sleuthy. “Go get Pong.”
“What? Are you going to interrogate him?” Melody giggled.
“Just get him, okay?”
Melody went inside. She came out with Pong.
Pong yipped happily and ran at me.
I roughhoused with him. He likes that.Then I sat on my heels.
Pong sniffed at my pocket.
“Aha!” I pulled out the potato chip bag. I offered Pong a chip.
He ate it.
“Aha! Pong likes potato chips.”
“All dogs do,” said Melody. “So what?”
I thought of offering Pong the toffee. But toffee is sticky. Pong probably couldn't chew it right. “Does he like candy too?”
“Yesterday he came out with a Rice Krispies Treat in his mouth. He swallowed it before I could stop him.”
“Aha!” I said. “Pong knew there was trash behind your bush. Maybe Pong put it there. Maybe he eats trash there.”
“Pong eats anything he finds,” said Melody. “And he doesn't go behind things to do it. He's too young to know he shouldn't eat junk. Besides, where would Pong get all that stuff?”
“Good points. But whoever left that trash back there was skinny,” I said. “And short.”
Melody looked surprised. Then she laughed. “Are you saying someone Pong's height did it? A leprechaun?”
Melody's Irish. Her leprechaun jokes crack me up. A leprechaun eating junk food—I laughed too.
Interruptions
After dinner I went to my room. I spread the clues on my desk.They didn't look like the sort of thing someone dangerous would eat. They looked like the sort of thing a kid would eat.
The phone rang.
My mother called up the stairs, “Sly, it's Jack.”
I walked to the hall phone. “Hi, Jack.”
“Did you solve Melody's case yet?”
“Don't rush me.”
“I have to,” said Jack. “My cousins love shuffleboard. And remind Brian to bring cookies. I just called and told him. But you remind him too.”
Jack wanted Brian to bring cookies? Brian's cookies were made by his mother. Mrs. Olsen was a health nut.And her cookies tasted like it. No one liked them.
Oh! Now I remembered.
“Are you still using Brian's mother's cookies as pucks?”
“They're the best. Hurry.” Jack hung up.
So that's why Jack invited Brian. Good. I had figured out one thing.
Now if I could only figure out who put trash behind Melody's bushes.
I walked toward my room. Uh-oh. Another interruption.
Brian was standing at the top of the stairs. He held a cookie tin. “Take these.”
“Jack asked for them, not me.”
“Keep them till Friday,” said Brian.
“You keep them.”
“No. My mom will want me to eat more. They make me sick.”
I almost laughed. That's how I felt about Brian's mother's cookies too. But it wasn't nice to say it. “Okay.” I put the cookie tin on the floor in the corner.
When I turned around, Brian was already halfway down the stairs.
I felt sorry for him. Little kids should be happy when their mothers make cookies. “Hey,” I called.“We've got cookies too. Come into the kitchen.”
“No,” said Brian.
“No?” I ran down. “Why not?”
“My mother already made me eat some of hers.” Brian stuck his finger in his mouth and dug around. It came out with brown gunk under the nail. He wiped it off on his pajama top.
“Yuck, Brian. What was that?”
“I can't tell you.”
Rot
“Brian, you tell me everything.”
Brian's eyes filled with tears.
I took his hand. We went into the kitchen. When I'm sad, my mother gives me fruit and a glass of milk. Then we talk.
Brian isn't a fruit fiend, like me. I poured him milk. “We had chicken for dinner. My father's famous chicken. The leftovers are still warm. Want a piece?”
“I'm not hungry.”
This was odd. Brian loved our chicken.“Not even a drumstick?” Drumsticks are my favorite. I put a drumstick on a plate.
Brian took a bite. He spit it out. His face crumpled. He was really crying now.
“Start at the beginning,” I said, even though this wasn't a case. The beginning is the right place, no matter what.
“Promise you won't tell.”
This was a dilemma. I keep my promises. “Is it a big problem, Brian?”
“Yes.”
“Then your mom should know.”
“It'll make her sad.”
“Why?”
“She thinks they're good,” said Brian.
“She thinks what's good?”
“And she doesn't want me to rot.” Brian's tears were big.
I put my arms around Brian. “What are you talking about?”
“Teeth.”
“Drink your milk,” I said. “Milk's good for teeth.”
“Milk stinks.” Brian wrinkled his nose. “Your father's famous chicken stinks. Everything stinks after dinner.”
“Everything stinks after dinner?”
Brian's face pinched with fear. “Everything.”
“Let me see your nose.”
Brian tilted his head up.
There was nothing strange about Brian's nose.
“Open your mouth.”
Brian opened his mouth.
His breath stank. Like dead fish.
Fluffy
I sat at my desk and stared at Melody's trash. I didn't care about her case anymore.
Brian had a problem.And it was making him sad. And scared. More scared than Melody was about this trash.
I went out in the hall to the telephone. I looked at it.
Brian didn't want me to call his mother.
But I hadn't actually promised not to.
I put my hand on the telephone. Then I dropped it.
I went back to my room.
The cookie tin sat in the corner. It was like a big finger pointing at me. Telling me that Brian needed my help.
I went back to the telephone. I called Jack.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Jack. Come get your shuffleboard pucks.”
“Brian's mom made cookies already?”
“Come get them. I don't want them here.And you better be nice to Brian on Friday. He's coming to your house to play shuffleboard.”
“I'm always nice to Brian,” said Jack.
That was true. Jack was a good guy. I had only said that about being nice because I was upset.
“But I can't come get the cookies,” said Jack.
“Why not?”

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