Sly the Sleuth and the Sports Mysteries (4 page)

“No one should. They stink. They're my old pair. Pong ruined them before he was trained, if you know what I mean.” Melody giggled. But the next moment her eyes filled with tears.“My good pair disappeared. And they cost a lot. My mother won't buy me a new pair till she's convinced they're really gone.” Melody sniffled.

I thought about the time I lost my baseball glove. “Maybe they're in your closet under something.”

“You're the messy one,” said Melody. “Nothing gets lost in my closet.”

“Maybe Pong took them.”

“I looked everywhere.”

“Maybe . . . ”

“Everywhere, Sly. I'm careful.”

“I believe you.”

“They were stolen. And I'm hiring you to get them back.”

Taxi didn't care one bit about ballet. I didn't either. “I've never taken a criminal case before.”

“Please.” Melody sniffled again. “My mother says my old slippers will have to do for now. But they stink. My good ones smell sweet.”

“I have sweet shoes.And sweet feet.” Brian pulled at his shoelaces.“Sweet teeth too.” By now his shoeslaces were a tangled mess.“My mother says it's a problem. Fix my shoes.”

I sat on the ground and worked on unknotting Brian's shoelaces. “That's not really true,” I said to Melody.

“What?”

“Your good slippers smell like old sweaters in the rain.”

“That's lanolin,” said Melody. “I rub them with lanolin to keep them soft.”

“Well, lanolin stinks.”

“That's your opinion. I like it.” Melody sighed. She could be very dramatic. “At lesson today Mrs. Munson made me sit on the bench. She gave me an ice pack.”

“Why would she give you an ice pack for wearing old slippers?”

“I didn't wear my old slippers. I didn't know my good ones were stolen till I got to ballet lesson and they weren't in my bag. I had to dance just in tights. And I stubbed my toe. I hate ice packs.”

“Oh,” I said, finally working Brian's shoelaces free. “That's awful.”

“Ice packs burn,” said Brian. He took off his loose shoe and ripped off his sock. He stuck his foot in my face. “Smell.”

“I don't smell feet. It's too cold to go barefoot, Brian. Put your shoe back on.” I stood up. “How can an ice pack burn?”

“It's true,” said Melody. “They're so cold, they burn.”

“They have jelly inside,” said Brian.

“How . . . ” began Melody.

But I shook my head no at her. If we gave Brian any excuse, he'd talk nonstop. “Does your toe still hurt?”

“A little.”

“Soak it in hot water with salt.”

“Why?” asked Melody.

My mother soaked her feet in salt whenever they gave her problems. But sleuths don't use their mothers as a reason. It makes clients lose confidence. “It works.”

“All right. But that's not the problem.”

“I know. The problem is finding who stole your slippers.”

“And getting them back,” said Melody. “I don't want to dance in the recital in my old stinky ones.”

“No one in the audience will be able to smell them,” I said.

“I'll smell them.Will you take my case?”

I like mysteries, not crimes. “I'm not sure.”

“Let's make a phone call.”

We went inside. Brian came too. “Taxi's cold,” he said to my mother.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” said Mother. She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Want to come have a snack and tell me about it?”

Brian sat at the kitchen table.

Melody and I went into the living room. I picked up the telephone and dialed.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Kate. I have a question for you. Did you ask for ballet slippers for Christmas?”

“No,” said Kate.

“Did your mother buy you ballet slippers already?”

“No,” said Kate.

“Did you dance without slippers in today's ballet class?”

“No,” said Kate.

Aha! “Did you take Melody's ballet slippers?”

“No,” said Kate. “That's four questions. Now it's my turn. Are you completely nuts?”

“No,” I said.

“Why did you ask me those crazy questions about slippers? I'm not even taking ballet.”

“Why aren't you taking ballet?” I asked.

“I asked first,” said Kate.

“Somebody stole Melody's ballet slippers,” I said.

“Oh. Well, I'm not taking ballet because I don't want to. It was my mother's idea in the first place.”

“You said your mother could talk anyone into anything,” I said.

“She can,” said Kate.

“She didn't talk you into ballet,” I said.

“You're right. But she talked me into exercise. She's still on that health kick. So I figured out I want to be a cheerleader instead. And that's what I'm going to do.” Kate hung up.

I looked at Melody. “Kate didn't steal them.”

“Don't worry,” said Melody. “You'll find the criminal. I have faith in you.”

Melody came into the lunchroom wearing her backpack.

“Why are you wearing your backpack?”

“So I could show you.” She grinned. “Look.” She took off her backpack and unzipped the outer pocket.

I peeked. “Your slippers!”

“They were in my cubby this morning when I got to school.They must have fallen out of my ballet bag yesterday and I didn't notice.”

“That's terrific.Your recital is saved.”

“And the case is solved.” Melody patted her slippers lovingly. Then she zipped the pocket and put her pack on again. “What do I owe you?”

“I never took the case.” Besides, I didn't solve it. I'd made one of the worst mistakes a sleuth can make. I had assumed something without proof. The slippers weren't stolen. Maybe I was slipping as a sleuth.

I took a bite of my apple and tried to pep myself up. “Let's celebrate when we get home today. We can make milk shakes.”

“I can't. I'm staying after school.”

“What for?”

“I have swim team practice,” said Melody.

“Swim team?” I put down my apple. “Since when?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“You joined the team two whole weeks ago and you never told me?”

“I've been meaning to tell you.” Melody shrugged. “But every time I start, we get interrupted.”

“Wow.” The things you don't know about people.

I really was slipping.

“Don't look so sad,” said Melody. “It's not like I was keeping it a secret or anything.”

“But I should have noticed,” I said.

“How? Last Wednesday you had a dentist appointment. And that was the first meeting of the team.”

“Oh.” I felt better. Good old Melody. I picked up my apple again and chewed slowly. “I thought you hated swimming.”

“I do. I always feel like I'm drowning. We start with fifteen minutes of kickboard time.The coach clocks us. I'm bad at it, no matter how hard I kick.”

“What's that?” Jack sat down across from us. “Did you say something about being bad at kicking?”

Melody stiffened. “It's not nice to eavesdrop.”

“What did she say?” Jack said to me.

“You have to ask her,” I said.

“What did you say?” Jack said to Melody.

“I have to go.” Melody got up. “See you later, Sly.” She left. And she hadn't even eaten her sandwich.

“What's wrong with her?” asked Jack.

“She joined the swim team.”

“The swim team.That's a real sport. Not like stupid ballet.”

I didn't like ballet. But I was Melody's best friend. I pointed my carrot at Jack. “Ballet's just as athletic as any sport.”

Jack took my carrot. “Thanks. So what was she saying about kicking bad?”

“She doesn't kick bad. She kicks good. She's just bad at the kickboard. Her swim coach drills her.”

“He drills her at kicking?”

“I guess.”

Jack stuffed his sandwich in his mouth and got up. He left. He didn't even say good-bye.

First Melody. Now Jack.

I felt like I had cooties.

I walked home alone. When I got to Melody's house, I cut through Brian's yard.

Brian came bursting out his back door. He ran into my garage. He carried out a picnic cooler. “Get a knife.”

I decided to ignore that. He was four, and four-year-olds know they're not supposed to play with knives.“Whose cooler is that?”

“My mother threw it out.” He set it in the driveway and took the top off. Then he brushed the inside with his hands and put the top back on. “Get a knife.”

“How did it get in my garage?”

“I put it there.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It's Taxi's new home. Get a knife.”

“Brian, a cat can't sleep in a picnic cooler.”

“It'll keep her warm,” said Brian.

“She'd suffocate.”

Brian turned the cooler upside down and pointed. “Cut a door.”

I thought about it. Picnic coolers were insulated.They should keep in heat as easily as they kept in cold. It was ridiculous, but Brian was right. With a door in the side, the cooler would be like an igloo. Taxi might like it. She might like it better than her wooden box with the blanket in the garage. “Wait here.” I went inside and got the old bread knife Dad used for helping me on projects.

My mother was chopping carrots. “Where are you going with that knife, Sly?”

“To cut a hole in a picnic cooler.”

“Why on earth would you want to do a thing like that?”

“Sly,” called Melody. She stood at the porch door.

“I thought you were at swim team practice.”

“I was. Oh, Sly, everything is ruined.”

I put down the knife. “Come on in, Melody.”

We went upstairs to my bedroom to talk in private.

As soon as I shut the door, Melody paced. “I'll never get good at the dumb kickboard now. And I'll never feel comfortable in the water. And they won't pick me. And my whole spring's ruined.”

“Sit down.”

Melody sat on the edge of my bed.

“Take a deep breath.”

Melody took a deep breath.

“Do you know that you use the word ‘ruin' at least once a day? You're dramatic, Melody.”

“Do you really think so?” Melody said hopefully. “Really?”