by Bruce Hale
Contents
* * *
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Frontispiece
A private message from the private eye . . .
All Booked Up
Little Bitty Gritty One
Stu Pigeon
Witch and Famous
Year of the Brat
By Hook or By Cookie
Knock on Woodchuck
Raging Bullfrog
Nobody Does It Badger
Between a Doc and a Hard Place
Till Death Do Us Partner
Par for the Curse
The Surreal Deal
Undivided Suspension
Snare and Snare Alike
Double Whammy
The Worminator
That’s What Ends Are For
Sample Chapter from DIAL M FOR MONGOOSE
Buy the Book
Look for more mysteries from the Tattered Casebook of Chet Gecko
Read More from the Chet Gecko Series
About the Author
Copyright © 2009 by Bruce Hale
All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.
www.hmhco.com
Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Harcourt Children’s Books, an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, in 2009.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Hale, Bruce.
From Russia with lunch/Bruce Hale.
p. cm.
Summary: Detectives Chet Gecko and his partner Natalie Attired try to solve the mystery of why Emerson Hicky Elementary school students have suddenly started acting strangely.
[1. Geckos—Fiction. 2. Animals—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction. 4. Inventions—Fiction. 5. Mystery and detective stories. 6. Humorous stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.H1295Fr 2008
[Fic]—dc22 2008004261
ISBN 978-0-15-205488-5 hardcover
ISBN 978-0-547-32882-9 paperback
eISBN 978-0-547-48887-5
v3.1115
To Andrea with mucho aloha
A private message from the private eye . . .
I never could resist a mystery. Any mystery. Like, if Number 2 pencils are the most popular, why are they still Number 2? If a pig loses its voice, is it disgruntled? And if bedbugs live in beds and tree frogs live in trees, shouldn’t box turtles come in boxes?
Of course, mysteries are meat and potatoes for a private eye. That’s me, Chet Gecko, Emerson Hicky Elementary’s top lizard detective. (To those who say I’m the school’s only lizard detective, I say, “So? I’m still the top.”)
Whenever a mystery lands on my plate, I dig right in, like a hungry worm munching a dirt sandwich. But this one time, I nearly choked on my clues.
The investigation began simply enough, with a teacher’s pet acting wacko. But then the supernatural and the high tech collided, and my case took a turn for the weird.
To say I landed in a tight spot is like calling the Ice Age a wee bit of cool weather. I found myself fighting for my life with my back to the wall.
How did I win in the end? Well, as Pa Gecko always told me, there are two rules for success: 1) Don’t tell all you know.
And if you want to know 2), you’ll have to read the story . . .
1
All Booked Up
I didn’t see it coming—not in the library.
Library period is a cheery mountain hut on the long barefoot slog up Mount Everest that is a typical school day. You expect rest and recovery. You expect books and computers, maybe a little Dewey decimalizing.
But you don’t expect mayhem and mystery.
This particular library period, I was sitting on the matted green carpet with the rest of Mr. Ratnose’s fourth-grade class. We were waiting for Principal Zero to get to the point.
“. . . And because of our school’s budget yada yada and fiscal blah blah blah,” the big cat rumbled, “we’ve decided to take strong haminah-jaminah.”
Principal Zero was a tough but fair administrator with a massive gut and the sweet disposition of Ivan the Terrible with a toothache.
But man, that kitty could gab.
My attention wandered like a preschooler in a toy store. I eyeballed the draped shape beside the principal, as big as two refrigerators. (The shape, that is, not the principal.)
Bo Newt leaned close and muttered, “Whaddaya think that is? A new soda machine?”
“In the library?” I said. “Dream on, pal.”
“Shhh!” hissed Bitty Chu, teacher’s pet.
Mr. Zero tossed a glare my way, but he didn’t stop flapping his gums. “And so to help with our cost cutting, we’ve hired an inventor.”
An inventor? My ears perked up. (Or they would have, if my ears hadn’t been just two holes in my head.) Inventor brought to mind Ben Franklin, Dr. Frankenstein, and other great men of science.
I sat up straighter.
“So let me introduce”—the burly tomcat paused dramatically—“Dr. Tanya Lightov.” He clapped his paws together, leading the applause.
A woodchuck in a white lab coat stepped out from behind the mysterious thingamabob. She was as stiff as a grasshopper Popsicle. Her furry cheeks were full and sleek, and her blue eyes were colder than a Siberian snowball.
“A girl inventor?” I blurted.
“Da,” said Dr. Lightov.
Shirley Chameleon poked me in the back. “Girls can do anything boys can, but better.”
“If you’re talking about spreading cooties at lightspeed,” I said, “you’re right.”
This earned me another, harder poke.
“Settle down,” Mr. Zero growled. “Your class will be the first to see this new invention because Dr. Lightov is the aunt of your classmate Pete Moss.”
Every eye turned to Pete, who frowned and studied his toenails. If he weren’t completely covered by hair, he would’ve blushed redder than a cherry kissing a tomato.
Here’s all you need to know about Pete Moss: If you take the world’s most average student and multiply by twelve—that’s Pete. He’d been in my class all year, and I barely knew the guy.
“Peter, dahling,” said Dr. Lightov, “vould you kindly help me?”
The little brown groundhog shrugged. He looked like he’d rather perform dental surgery on a grizzly bear, but he rose and shuffled forward.
His aunt told us, “Zhis machine vill automate all ze vork in ze library. Storytime, book selection, checkout—everyzhing.”
Bitty Chu’s hand shot up. “But what about our librarian, Cool Beans?” she asked. “What will he do?”
Principal Zero cleared his throat. “He will be, ah, leaving us.”
“Leaving?” I said. “No way!”
I turned to the huge possum leaning up against a bookshelf. He offered a sleepy smile. “Cool your jets, Jackson,” said the librarian.
“But what’ll you do?” I asked.
“I’ll make the scene back in the bayou. Either banging the bongos in a jazz band or vampire hunting. Haven’t decided yet.”
No more Cool Beans?
My jaw clenched. However nifty this invention might be, it wasn’t worth losing one of the school’s few decent teachers.
But before I could protest, Dr. Lightov whipped the sheet off her invention. “Behold,” she said, “ze amazing Bibliomalgamator!”
“Ooh!” went my classmates.
The gleaming silver contraption sported a bank of lights and switches and monitors. T
he doctor pressed a red button. Everything lit up and whirred.
I hated to admit it, but it was pretty slick.
“Ve insert ze books through zhis port,” the woodchuck said. She and Pete lugged armloads of novels from a nearby shelf and slipped them one by one into a wide hole.
“Zhen ve program ze readers’ choices on zhis keyboard,” said Dr. Lightov. As Pete kept adding books, she asked several kids what they liked to read.
“Mysteries,” said Waldo the furball.
“Romance,” said Shirley. I shuddered.
Jackdaw Ripper belched. “Anything with blood and guts in it,” he said.
The inventor’s fingers danced over the keyboard. She hit a blue button, and the machine went beep-boop-bop!
“And now,” she said. “Ze Bibliomalgamator vill provide your recommended reading.”
My three classmates stood and approached the gizmo. Dr. Lightov twisted a dial and turned to us with a chilly smile.
“So you see,” she said, “my invention is much more efficient zhen ze old-fashioned librarian.”
The book machine rumbled and whined. Thoomp—a book slid down a chute into Jackdaw’s grasp.
“Tales of Miss Smoochy-Pants?” he said. “Where’s the blood and guts in that?”
Dr. Lightov looked like she’d swallowed a stapler. She coughed and turned another knob. “Zhere,” she said. “Now you vill see . . .”
With a loud buzz, the contraption began to shake. Then, whap-bap-whomp! It spat out book after book. The first few plowed into Jackdaw, knocking him flat.
“It’s alive!” cried Waldo. He turned to run, and the machine rifled a dictionary into his back, slamming him into the shelves.
“Yaah!” cried my classmates. We scrambled aside as books flew through the air.
Mr. Zero caught a stack of Hardly Boys Mysteries in his padded gut. “Do something!” he snarled at Dr. Lightov.
She and Pete fluttered about, punching buttons and twisting dials. But the book machine gun kept firing.
Finally, Cool Beans ambled over and yanked the plug from the wall.
Wheeeeeooooh, sighed the book machine. With one last ptoo, it spat a copy of Hairy Plotter IV onto Jackdaw’s chest.
“Well,” said the librarian. “Looks like I won’t be packin’ my bags as soon as all that.”
2
Little Bitty Gritty One
After all the ruckus in the library, I needed something to fortify my inner gecko. While many of my classmates went to check out Dr. Lightov’s new lunch-dispensing Munchmeister 2000, I grabbed my sack lunch and made for the scrofulous tree.
I was glad to be brown bagging. I like to eat my lunch, not wear it.
Ma Gecko’s peanut butter-pickle-and-mayfly sandwich hit the spot. Since my partner, Natalie Attired, was off helping her teacher, I crunched my doodlebug lemon crisps in silence.
Silence felt weird. Detectives don’t like peace and quiet.
Strolling back to my room after the class bell rang, I felt antsy. I wished for a case. I wished for a mystery. I wished for a little excitement.
Oh, silly gecko.
I got much more than I bargained for.
Mr. Ratnose’s classroom was unusually rowdy that day. Kids chattered and argued and laughed. Bitty Chu, the gopher, swaggered down the aisle to her seat and slammed into my shoulder as she passed.
“Easy there, Poindexter!” I said. “First day with the new legs?”
She just curled her lip and sauntered on. Odd. But then, I’ve never understood those teacher’s pets. (Anyone who’d rather study than watch cartoons is a mystery to me.)
Mr. Ratnose tried to get us to focus.
“Settle down, class!” he said.
Most of the kids took their seats. But Bitty, Jackdaw Ripper, and the boring field mouse Olive Drabb kept standing, yakking away.
Our teacher cleared his throat. “People, sit down! Now!”
Bitty swiveled her head and fixed her favorite teacher with the kind of stare that bullies usually turn on me. “Make me, Teach,” she grunted.
I sat up. This was interesting.
Mr. Ratnose’s eyes bugged out like a bullfrog’s throat on a hot June night. “Wh-what did you say?”
“Why should I listen to you? You’re full of meaningless blather.” Even with her tough new talk, Bitty still had a teacher’s pet’s vocabulary.
“That’s right,” chorused Olive and Jackdaw Ripper. “Meaningless blabber.”
I glanced at them. The class punk and the class drudge agreeing with the teacher’s pet?
Something was out of whack.
Mr. Ratnose looked like he’d just discovered a live scorpion in his coffee. But he bounced back. “Miss Chu, Mr. Ripper, and Miss Drabb,” snapped the lean rat, “if you don’t sit down and be quiet, I’m sending you to the principal’s office.”
“Ooh, I’m shakin’,” Jackdaw said.
“Shakin’ like bacon,” droned Olive.
Mr. Ratnose’s eyes burned like Cajun-fried cockroaches. “I have never heard such impertinence,” he said.
“Then you need to clean out your earwax,” Bitty sneered, hands on hips.
My teacher’s whiskers bristled. His voice grew flatter than a spider under a rolling pin.
“You all just earned a trip to Mr. Zero’s office,” he said. “Move it!”
The rat grabbed Bitty’s paw and Jackdaw’s wing. Herding Olive before them, he made for the door.
“Silent reading, everyone,” said Mr. Ratnose over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He glared. “And don’t anyone else get any ideas.”
I swiveled in my chair to watch them go.
Curiouser and curiouser. What was going on?
Apparently someone else was wondering the same thing. When I turned to face the front, Igor Beaver was standing by my desk.
“Um, hi,” he said.
“Hi, yourself, bright boy.”
Of our three teacher’s pets—Igor, Cassandra, and Bitty—Igor was the teacher’s pettiest. His short-sleeved white shirt was held closed by a dorky bow tie, just like the one Mr. Ratnose wore. His buck-toothed mouth was as likely to tattle on a classmate as to gnaw a Number 2 pencil.
Igor Beaver put the gee in geek. So what did he want with me?
I asked him.
“It’s about Bitty,” he said.
“Your psycho pal?”
“She’s, um, not herself today,” said Igor.
I pushed my hat back. “Who is she, Bertha Backtalk?”
His beady eyes grew shiny. “I’m worried about her. Bitty was fine before lunch, then she just, um, flipped out. She wouldn’t even do flash cards with me.”
I glanced at the rest of my classmates, who were yakking away. “Okay,” I said. “So, what do you want me to do about it?”
“You’re an investigator,” said Igor. “Can’t you, um, investigate?” He plucked a yellow pencil from his pocket and began nibbling on it.
A client? An actual case? My tail curled.
I covered my excitement with a yawn. It never hurts to play hard to get. “You want me to find out what’s wrong with your little pal? It’ll cost you.”
Igor dug in his pocket and pulled out two quarters, a massive wad of lint, an Albert Einstein trading card, and a calculator. He forked over the coins.
“Will fifty cents do?”
I jingled the cool quarters in my palm. “I like the sound of your money,” I said. “But not your story. What’s your angle, pal?”
Igor’s eyes shifted. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on, egghead. You’re not doing this because you’re full of the milk of rodent kindness. So Bitty bugged out. What’s it to you?”
Igor gnawed his pencil. “She and I are on the math team. And we can’t beat Petsadena Elementary if Bitty’s thrown off the squad for, um, misbehaving.”
I cocked my head. “Fair enough, Bucky. You just bought yourself a detective. Now, tell the nice PI all about it.”<
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3
Stu Pigeon
Late recess found me nosing around the school yard in search of two things: my partner and a snack. I hit the candy machine first. (A detective has his priorities.)
Munching from a bag of Skeeter Pieces, I went after the second thing. As I passed the basketball courts, a whip-smart mockingbird was perched on a low wall, holding court to a handful of kids.
“Here’s another one,” she said, eyes twinkling. “A guy walks into a doctor’s office with a cucumber up his nose, a carrot in his left ear, and a banana in his right ear. He says, ‘What’s the matter with me?’ And the doctor says—”
“You’re not eating properly,” I interrupted.
The kids chuckled. The mockingbird turned to look.
“And here I thought you didn’t like my jokes,” said Natalie Attired.
I smirked. “Just the bad ones. Got time for a case, partner?”
“As long as it’s not a case of chicken pox.” Natalie bowed and waved to her audience. “Thanks, you’ve been great. See you next recess. Don’t forget to tip your lunch lady.”
Puzzled but smiling, the kids wandered off.
“What’s the buzz, cuz?” said Natalie. “Blackmail, kidnapping, vampires on the loose?”
“I wish,” I said. “A teacher’s pet wigged out.”
Natalie arched an eyebrow. “Not much of a case. And for that you interrupted my routine?”
I shrugged. “Not much of a routine. Let’s head out.”
The quickest way to the bottom of this investigation was to get the hot scoop straight from the gopher’s mouth. We’d talk Bitty into spilling the beans, solve her problem, and collect some more coins from Igor.
What could be easier?
Bitty Chu was slumped on a bench near the gym. She looked lower than a snake’s belt buckle.
“Cheer up, sister,” I said. “Help is here.”
The gopher regarded us with dull eyes. “Oh, you.”