PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-4197-0956-2
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-4197-0967-8
eISBN: 978-1-6131-2017-0
Text copyright © 2017 Tom Angleberger
Illustrations copyright © 2017 Cece Bell
Book design by Pamela Notarantonio
With special thanks to Kwame Alexander.
Published in 2017 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
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For Tony, Ang, and
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CONTENTS
PART 1
Inspector Flytrap in The Taking of Pickles One Two Three
PART 2
Inspector Flytrap in The Slow and the Furious
PART 3
Inspector Flytrap Does NOT Have Lunch
PART 4
Inspector Flytrap in The Good, the Bad, and the Trash Heap
Chapter 1
My phone rang.
“Hello,” I said. “Flytrap Detective Agency.”
A gruff voice started barking questions at me.
“You solve mysteries—right, bud?”
“I am not a bud. I am a fully grown Venus flytrap,” I replied.
“A Venus flytrap? Isn’t that one of those plants that can eat flies?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I eat flies, and I also solve mysteries. But I only solve the world’s greatest mysteries.”
“Huh?” growled the voice.
“I want to be the World’s Greatest Detective,” I said. “So I’ve decided to solve only the world’s greatest mysteries from now on. Is your mystery one of the world’s greatest mysteries?”
“Uh, well,” whimpered the voice. “We’re putting on a dog show, and someone stole an invitation to compete in it.”
“Hmm,” I said. “That sounds more like a paperwork problem than one of the world’s greatest mysteries. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“Please!” howled the voice.
“Oh, okay. I’ll keep my eyes open for it.”
“You have eyes? I thought you were a plant.”
“Yes, I’m a plant, with eyes, a mouth, and leafy hands. Now—”
“What about feet? Do you have feet?”
“No, I have roots,” I said.
“Then how do you go around investigating mysteries?”
“Well, it’s none of your business, but I have a goat who pushes me on a skateboard,” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, that goat is about to eat my new necktie. Goodbye.”
“You have a neck?”
I hung up!
“Nina, please stop eating my tie!” I said. “It was very expensive!”
“Big deal,” said Nina, but she stopped.
“Can you believe that person called me about a missing piece of paper?”
“Mmm, paper!” said Nina.
Nina the Goat is my assistant. She pushes me around so I can solve crimes. She is a goat. Goats are famous for eating almost anything. But for Nina there is no “almost.” She eats EVERYTHING—plastic buckets, metal cans, glass bottles, straw hats, wooden cabinets, cotton underwear, and whatever it is telephones are made out of! She really seems to like that.
“Nina! Stop eating the telephone! It could ring at any second with news of a brand-new world’s greatest mystery for me to solve!”
“Big meal.”
Chapter 2
My phone rang.
“Hello,” I said. “Flytrap Detective Agency.”
A very fancy voice started bossing me around.
“Flytrap, you must come down to the train station right away! My pickle paperweight has been stolen!”
“Sorry,” I said. “I have already found missing pickle paperweights twice before. Now that I am solving only the world’s greatest mysteries, I cannot waste any more time on pickle paperweights.”
“But this is the world’s GREATEST pickle paperweight,” the fancy voice insisted. “It’s a solid-gold pickle that’s encrusted with emeralds, diamonds, and moon rocks, and I recently bought it for 100 million dollars!”
“I’ll be right there,” I said and hung up.
“Nina! The game is afoot! We have a world’s greatest mystery to solve!”
“Big deal,” said Nina, swallowing the rest of my tie.
Chapter 3
The World’s Greatest Detective needs to look good. So I put on a new tie.
Then Nina helped me onto my skateboard and began pushing me to the train station.
Normally, it’s pretty scary when she pushes me through the city, because she is not as careful of traffic as she should be. I have nearly been run over by cars, trucks, buses, and, once, a nun on roller skates.
But this time everybody stopped to let us pass because they could hear us coming. SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK
“Nina!” I shouted. “One of the skateboard wheels is squeaking!”
“Big squeal,” agreed Nina.
“Well,” I said, “I think it’s more of a squeak. What should we do about it?”
“Eat it?” asked Nina.
“NO!” I shouted. “Then we’ll never get to the train station to solve the mystery of the world’s greatest pickle paperw—”
“We’re there,” interrupted Nina.
She stopped the skateboard so quickly that my pot went flying across the train station and landed sideways in front of a very fancy poodle.
“Greetings,” said the very fancy poodle. “I am the Countess Zuzu Poodle-doo. And you must be the . . . the World’s Greatest Detective?”
“I’m—urgh!—working on it,” I said, struggling to get my pot upright. “And—yurgh!—now I am—blurgh!—working on your case.”
“My butler will help you,” said the Countess.
The butler, a very serious looking Chihuahua, picked me up, dusted off my pot, and placed it back on my skateboard.
“Thank you!” I said. “Also, I apologize for the fact that my goat is eating your top hat.”
“Very good, sir,” said the butler, very properly putting the half-eaten hat back on his head.
“My name is Inspector Flytrap, and this is my assistant, Nina the Goat. She’s a goat.”
“Very good, sir,” said the butler, very politely. “My name is MC FunkyFoot, and I am at your service.”
“MC FunkyFoot seems like a strange name for a butler,” I said.
“My parents always dreamed that I’d be a rap star,” said MC FunkyFoot.
“Mister FunkyFoot! Would you please stop talking about things other than my pickle paperweight?” screeched the Countess. “Inspector Flytrap needs to get right to
work!”
“Very good, ma’am,” MC FunkyFoot and I said at the same time.
“I just arrived by train,” said the Countess. “But my world’s greatest pickle paper-weight was stolen during the trip! Your job is to find it! So get busy!”
I could tell already that the Countess liked for things to go her way, and her way only. I hoped she wouldn’t notice that Nina was eating the flowers off her hat.
Chapter 4
And now,” said the Countess, “my personal policewoman will tell you about the crime.”
“Yo, I’m Sergeant Sniff,” said a tough-looking Pekingese. “See, the Countess just bought the gold pickle in Fancitonia. Then we brought it back here on this choo-choo.”
“You mean the train?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call it a choo-choo,” I said. “It is a fine example of a mountain-type 4-8-4 streamlined steam-powered Z-class standard gauge New York & Montreal Express locomotive, one of the most advanced machines ever built.”
“Big wheel,” said Nina, nibbling at a brake line.
“Flytrap!” yapped the Countess. “Would you PLEASE focus on my pickle paperweight?”
“Oh, yes, of course!” I said. “Where is it?”
“It’s MISSING, you fool!”
“Er, sorry. I meant: Where WAS it?”
“This way,” said Sergeant Sniff. “It was locked inside this armored boxcar before we left Fancitonia.” She pointed to a boxcar with thick walls. It looked like a big bank safe on wheels. The door was open, and I noticed cameras and laser beams inside.
“When we pulled into the station, the gold pickle was gone!” continued Sergeant Sniff. “The thief struck while the choo-choo was choo-chooing down the choo-choo track!”
“What about the cameras and the laser-beam alarms? Didn’t they catch the thief?”
“Obviously not,” said Sergeant Sniff, glaring at me. “The cameras only picked up a blur, and the thief somehow dodged all the laser beams.”
“Nina, please wheel me over so I can have a closer look,” I said.
Nina pushed me over to the boxcar—way too fast, as usual—then jumped up on the back of the locomotive and started eating the coal.
“Hmm,” I said, examining the floor of the boxcar. “Look at these scratches! Are these dog claw marks?”
“They are claw marks, but not from a dog,” said Sergeant Sniff. “The police lab says they were made by something bigger and tougher than a dog claw.”
“Hmm . . . Who else was on the train?”
“Just us,” said Sergeant Sniff. “The Countess and I were the only passengers. And MC FunkyFoot was driving the train.”
“So,” I said, “if the thief wasn’t on the train when it left the first station and wasn’t on the train when it got to this station, then he must have gotten aboard the train while it was moving, stolen the pickle, and gotten back off again.”
“Isn’t that what I said a minute ago?” snarled Sergeant Sniff. “The choo-choo bandit got on the choo-choo while it as choo-chooing from the choo-choo station to—”
“AHA!” I interrupted. “I have solved the World’s Greatest Mystery!”
Chapter 5
Who did it?” shouted the Countess Zuzu Poodle-doo.
“Who did it?” murmured the butler, MC FunkyFoot, very properly.
“Who did it?” demanded Sergant Sniff.
“Yum yum, this coal is dee-licious!” said Nina.
“Nina, stop eating the coal. It’s a precious natural resource!” I shouted.
“Would you stop shouting at that goat and tell us who did it?” said everybody.
“Well,” I admitted, “I can’t tell you exactly WHO did it, but I can give you a description.”
“I guess that’s better than nothing,” said Sergeant Sniff, taking out a notebook. “Go ahead.”
“First,” I said. “The criminal must be very fast to be just a blur on the camera.”
“Hmm,” said Sergeant Sniff, looking around the train station.
“Second, the criminal must be very nimble to dodge all those laser-beam alarms.”
“Hmmmm!” said Sergeant Sniff, gazing in the general direction of Nina.
“Third, the criminal must be very sure-footed to jump on and off a moving train.”
“Hmmmmmm!” said Sergeant Sniff, staring right at Nina.
“And, finally,” I said, “the thief is not a dog but is an animal with large, tough claws or even . . . hooves.”
“HMMMM!” said Sergeant Sniff, glaring into Nina’s big brown eyes.
“OH NO!” I shouted.
“What’s the problem?” asked Nina. And she very smoothly jumped off the locomotive, nimbly took another bite out of the butler’s hat while in mid-air, and sure-footedly landed on her hooves.
“YOU are under arrest for the theft of the golden pickle paperweight!” hollered Sergeant Sniff, snapping a pair of hoof-cuffs around Nina’s front legs.
“Big steal,” said Nina.
Chapter 6
It was a big steal—I mean, deal!
A whole squad of police officers showed up with police cars, a police helicopter, and a police boat. (Since there was no water nearby, they had to tow the boat behind one of the cars.)
Worst of all was the police goat wagon!
They loaded Nina in it and took her away . . . to jail!
“Nina! I’ll solve the crime! Don’t eat their police hats—they don’t like that. I’ll get you out of jail!” I called.
In a moment it was all over. Sergeant Sniff and the police were gone. The Countess and her butler were gone. And, of course, Nina was gone.
Everybody was gone! Except for a sloth reading a newspaper.
“Gee . . . ,” said the sloth, slowly. “I’d call this . . . one of the World’s Greatest . . . Mysteries!”
“You’re right!” I cried. “And I, Inspector Flytrap, swear that I will not stop until I have solved it!”
“Okay,” said the sloth, slowly. “See you . . . later.”
“OH NO!” I cried. “I just realized that I can’t solve the mystery.”
“The criminal is . . . too smart for you?” the sloth asked.
“Of course not!” I yelled. “But without Nina, I can’t GO anywhere!”
“I . . . could . . . push you,” said the sloth, slowly.
“Really?” I asked. “That is so kind of you!”
“Sure,” said the sloth, slowly. “Where do you want to go?”
I realized that I didn’t know where to go! I needed to track down the actual gold pickle thief. And the real gold pickle thief was obviously a Master Criminal!
But Master Criminals are really good at hiding, which is what makes them Master Criminals.
I had gotten the world’s greatest mystery I had always wanted, but now I had no idea who did it, how to find them, or even where to start looking!
Chapter 7
My cell phone rang.
“Hello,” I said. “Inspector Flytrap speaking.”
“This is Koko Dodo,” said a crazy voice. “I need your help!”
“I thought you were mad at me,” I said.
“No! Never again! Well . . . not if you can help me,” said Koko Dodo, sounding desperate. “Last night a Master Criminal stole all of my gourmet cookie sprinkles!”
“The chocolate ones or the rainbow ones?” I asked.
“ALL OF THEM!”
“I’ll be right there!” I said.
AHA! Now I was on the trail of the Master Criminal!
“Come, Mr. Sloth, the game is afoot! Please take me to Koko Dodo’s Cookie Shop. As fast as possible! It’s a gourmet emergency!”
The sloth started to push me. Really, really slowly.
I know I have always complained about Nina pushing me too fast, but too slow is actually worse!
After thirty-five minutes, we had gone only a half a block from the train station.
We passed a TV store that had a big TV on display
in the window. On the TV was a turkey news reporter standing outside of the city jail.
“This is Greta Von Hopinstop, reporting for CNNNNNNM News. I’m here at the city jail trying to get a comment from Nina the Goat, who has just been arrested for the Theft of the Century!”
Greta held her microphone up to a barred window.
“Nina the Goat! You could be sent to jail for the rest of your life for stealing the golden pickle paperweight! Do you have a comment?”
Nina stuck her tongue out from between the bars.
“Big deal,” she said.
A message flashed across the bottom of the screen: TONIGHT AT 11:00—WHEN GOATS GO BAAAAD!
Chapter 8
While I was still on my way to Koko Dodo’s, my phone rang again.
“Hello,” I said. “Inspector Flytrap speaking.”
“This is Lulu Emu,” said a beautiful voice.
“I thought you were mad at me,” I said.
“No! Never again! Well . . . not if you can help me,” said Lulu Emu. “Last night a Master Criminal stole our most priceless painting!”
“The Mona Spaghetti?”
“No, that’s not priceless anymore—ever since your goat ate the spaghetti part.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said.
“The stolen painting is a masterpiece by Michelangelo called The Sistine Chapstick!”
“I’ll be right there!” I said.
AHA! Now I was on the trail of the Master Criminal! But now the trail was longer, and my sloth seemed to be getting slower!
“Let’s go, Mr. Sloth! Please take me to art museum instead. As quickly as possible! It’s an art emergency!”
The sloth turned me around and started to push me in the other direction. Really, really slowly.
We passed by the TV store again.
On the TV, Greta Von Hopinstop was still standing in front of the jail with her microphone.
Inspector Flytrap in the Goat Who Chewed Too Much Page 1