Finally, Something Mysterious

by Doug Cornett

  Shanks shook her head. “Remember how well that worked out with Old Man Shamtraw last summer? And Pocus would probably do a lot worse than simply tell us to get lost.”

  “So do we knock on his door and ask him about it?” I suggested.

  “Not me.” Shanks crossed her arms. “That guy will turn you to stone just by looking at you.”

  “I think you know my stance on talking with Mr. Pocus,” Peephole said firmly. “I’d rather eat a bowl of slug chili…”

  “I guess I’m not up for it, either,” I admitted.

  But Peephole wasn’t finished. “…slug chili that’s been left out overnight in the rain, and a family of raccoons has been nibbling at it, and a cat with the flu has hacked up a fur ball in it, and—”

  “I think ‘slug chili’ was enough to get your point across, Peephole,” Shanks said.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Peephole continued with a full head of steam. “Slug chili that’s been found by a rabid woodpecker and been used as a…a—”

  “How about we focus on Tina?” I suggested, cutting him off before he worked himself up too much. “What do we know about her?”

  “So far?” Shanks said. “She’s very smelly and very dead.”

  We studied Tina for a while in perplexed silence. She wasn’t a particularly large or small fish—much bigger than a goldfish but not big enough to take your picture with her. She was just about the size of one of my dad’s shoes, and smelled only slightly worse. She had a fin on her back and a red belly, unlike her more yellow and orange back and side. All over her body was a crazy pattern of squiggly lines, like a tiger. Her mouth hung open and her eyes bulged out, like she had just been told something shocking.

  What’s your secret? I wondered.

  Peephole whipped out his phone and tapped at the screen with his thumbs. “I’m doing a quick search for ‘types of fish.’ ” His thumbs stopped moving, and he read the screen. “There are 187,000,000 results. We need to be more specific.”

  I guessed that the odds of Tina coming from the ocean, where the water was salty, were slim. Bellwood was nowhere near any ocean, but there were plenty of lakes and rivers around, and I remembered a lesson in science class about lakes having freshwater. “Try ‘types of freshwater fish,’ ” I suggested, and leaned in to see the results. Peephole tapped on a picture of a diagram of the most common types of freshwater fish. There were hundreds of them.

  “Ugh,” Shanks said, her face contorted in frustration. “This isn’t working.”

  “We could be here all day,” Peephole sighed. “Where’s a fish expert when you need one?”

  “That’s it!” I yelled, startling my friends. If Tina were alive, she would have been startled, too. “I happen to know a fish expert. And we can go talk to her right now. C’mon.” I hustled out of the lean-to. “Let’s ride to my dad’s store.”

  * * *

  When we entered Honest Hardware, my dad was down on his hands and knees in the adhesives aisle, helping a customer gather up a spill. He looked up and gave us all a quick wave, but the customer, who I realized was Darrel Sullivan, the guy with the goatee, kept his eyes on the roll of red duct tape that he was scrambling after.

  Bella Tuff was where she always was on Wednesdays: in the back room, hunched over a keyboard, typing numbers into a spreadsheet. For years she’d been coming in twice a week, on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, to help my dad keep his inventory records up to date. Bella was a funny lady; she was a little loud and a little rough, but if she liked you, she’d treat you like royalty. And, more important, she was a lifelong fisherwoman. Not only had she fished all around the state, but she was always taking trips to fish in other parts of the world. If anybody was going to know what kind of fish Tina was, it would be Bella Tuff.

  The One and Onlys crowded in the doorway to the back office. Bella’s broad back was to us, and all we could see was a small explosion of brown curly hair with streaks of silver just inches away from the computer screen.

  I tapped softly on the door frame. She didn’t move.

  “Bella?” I said, and at the sound of her name the swift pop of her fingers against the keyboard stopped. Still, she didn’t turn around.

  Peephole and Shanks shot me questioning glances, and I made a reassuring gesture. “Bella, it’s me.”

  With effort, she swiveled around, flashing a scowl at the interruption. But when she saw us, her face broke into a wide, tooth-showing smile. “Ah, Paul,” she cooed in her deep, melodious voice. “And your friends…Don’t tell me…Shark and Pea Pod. Hey, how come you don’t have a funny nickname, Paul?”

  “Unlucky, I guess.”

  Shanks smiled. “Nice to see you, Ms. Tuff.”

  “Call me Bella, darling. What can I do for you kids?” As soon as the question was out of her mouth, her smile faded. She sniffed the air once. Twice. She looked us up and down with wary eyes. Tina had made her presence known. “Unless you all came to ask advice on personal hygiene, I think I smell a fish. And not a fresh one.”

  I held up the plastic bag with Tina in it. “That’s why we came to see you. We’ve got a little mystery on our hands, and we thought you could help us. You know everything there is to know about fish, right?”

  Bella blushed and gave a modest shake of her head, but the smile on her face said, Yes. I do know everything there is to know about fish.

  “See, we’ve got this fish.” I jiggled the plastic bag, which was not a good idea because it sent tiny waves of fish stink into the air. “But we don’t know what kind of fish it is. And we were hoping you could identify it.”

  As politely as she could, Bella plugged her nose with her thumb and forefinger, then rolled her chair closer to the bag, squinting. “Paul…,” she began. “How long have you been carrying around this dead fish?”

  “Just this morning,” I answered.

  “And I’m sure there’s a good reason why you’re hanging on to it?”

  “It’s evidence.”

  She stared at me.

  “It’s kind of a long story, Bella.”

  “I see. You catch it up at Schuylerville Lake?”

  “Her,” Peephole said.

  “Huh?”

  “Tina,” Shanks explained, pointing at Tina.

  “Oh. Did you catch Tina up at Schuylerville Lake?”

  “We found her, actually,” I said.

  “Found her where?”

  “In a tree,” Peephole said.

  Bella studied Peephole for a moment. “A wise guy, huh?”

  “He’s not kidding,” I said quickly. “We found her in a tree in Mr. Babbage’s backyard. You know—the bratwurst guy?”

  Bella’s face changed slightly, and her body stiffened a little. “Yes, I know Lance. You found this fish in his backyard?”

  “Along with a small army of rubber duckies,” Peephole added. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. It’s the only cool thing that’s happened in Bellwood so far this summer.”

  Bella frowned a moment, and her eyebrows twisted with uncertainty. For a second, she was lost in thought. Then, quickly, she sat up straight and folded her fingers together. “I was sick in bed all day yesterday. Didn’t even come to work.” Her voice was flat and definite.

  “Why did you ask if we’d been fishing at Schuylerville Lake?” Shanks asked.

  Bella’s shoulders seemed to relax a little. “Because your fish, it’s—uh, she—is a tiger trout. You can tell by the stripes. In fact, I’ve got a few of her friends in my freezer. See, I’m working on a ‘troutwurst’ dish for this weekend’s Triple B. It’s a little unusual, but I think it might turn some heads. I’ve always been overlooked by the judges, but this year is going to be different.” She clenched her jaw, and I could see how determined she was. It looked like my parents weren’t the only ones stepping up their game. “Anyway,” sh
e continued, “our little friend here definitely made her home in Schuylerville Lake.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Shanks asked.

  “Because tiger trout aren’t native to these parts, so you have to ship them in. I have some friends who work in the state department of fish and wildlife, and I happen to know that last spring there was a problem with fish overpopulation in Schuylerville Lake. So they stocked the lake with a bunch of tiger trout. See, tiger trout eat other fish, and they’re sterile, which means they don’t reproduce. So if you want to cut down a population of fish that’s gotten out of control, just add a bunch of tiger trout.”

  “Cool,” Shanks said.

  “So Tina was a cannibal?” Peephole asked.

  Bella chuckled. “I guess you could say that.”

  “You really are a fish expert, huh?” Peephole said. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Bella grinned. “Shoot.”

  “How much fish poop do you suppose is in a mouthful of lake water?”

  “Eh?”

  “I mean, like, a little bit of fish poop? Or are we talking a lot of fish poop?”

  “Brilliant question,” Shanks said, annoyed. “You’re really helping us crack this case wide open, Peephole.”

  “Sorry,” he said defensively. “But it’s all I can think about. Three summers ago, my parents took me swimming at Schuylerville Lake. I brought a bucket to make sand castles with, but instead I filled it up with lake water and drank it all.”

  Shanks and I made a disgusted face. Even Bella seemed to grimace.

  “I was thirsty! I didn’t know I couldn’t drink it! Later that day I got real sick, but my parents couldn’t figure out why. They even took me to the doctor. I puked all over the waiting room.”

  “What did the doctor say?” I asked.

  “He said, ‘Don’t worry, my receptionist will clean that up.’ ”

  “No, I mean about why you were sick!”

  “Oh. When he found out we had been at the lake, he asked if I accidentally drank any of the water. I told him no, I drank it on purpose.”

  “Well, Pea Pod, it sounds like you learned something from that experience.” Still facing us, Bella rolled herself back to the desk. “Now, if you’ll notice, this room that we’re in doesn’t have any windows, which means that Tina—or her stench, that is—will be lingering in the air long after you guys leave. So, if there’s nothing else I can help you kids with, I’m going to finish up with my work and then pay a visit to aisle four: air fresheners.”

  With that, she spun slowly on her chair, leaning in toward her computer screen again and commencing the click click pop of the keyboard.

  Shanks and I turned to go, but Peephole stood frozen, his eyes fixed on Bella’s desk.

  “What’d you have?” he asked, his voice a little too loud.

  Bella stopped typing but didn’t turn around. “Huh?”

  “You said you were sick yesterday. What’d you have?”

  Bella spun around to face us again, but there was a wary look on her face. “Flu.”

  “You don’t look sick to me,” Peephole said.

  “Dude!” I whisper-yelled under my breath. I didn’t know what had come over him, but Bella was a family friend.

  “Twenty-four-hour bug, I guess,” Bella said flatly.

  Peephole crossed his arms. “Are you sure you were in bed all day yesterday?”

  “I’m positive,” Bella shot back. She shifted her gaze to me. “Paul, I’m fairly certain your friend isn’t a doctor, so is there a reason he’s so concerned with my health?”

  I blushed. “Uh…Peephole wants everybody to take care of themselves—right, Peephole?” I threw a sharp look in his direction, but he was still staring at Bella’s desk. I followed his eyes and finally saw the reason for his weird behavior.

  On the desk, next to a framed picture of Bella holding a massive fish in her arms, was a little yellow rubber ducky. It looked identical to the ducks in Babbage’s yard.

  “Well, I appreciate the goodwill,” Bella said sarcastically, “but I’ve got to get back to work.” She spun around again, sighed deeply, shook her head of curls, and settled into a steady click click pop.

  We kneeled down and used our hands and some sticks to dig a small grave about thirty paces from our headquarters, which we figured was far enough away so that we wouldn’t be smelling Tina Fish every time we went there. Her funeral should have been a simple, solemn affair, but I was distracted by the ducky I had seen in Bella’s office.

  “If there’s a heaven for fish,” I said, tossing dirt over Tina, “I know that’s where you are now.”

  “Even though you were a cannibal,” Peephole added. Shanks gave him a small punch on the arm. He mouthed “Ouch,” then said, “I don’t trust her.”

  “But she’s dead,” I said.

  “Not Tina. Bella Tuff. She was lying about being sick.”

  “You’re just upset she called you Pea Pod,” I said, though I couldn’t ignore the ducky on her desk. I’d known Bella forever, but Peephole was right…in this case, at least. Bella was acting…well…fishy. “You didn’t mention seeing her at Babbage’s yesterday, and your photographic memory is never wrong.”

  The pride my compliment elicited was clear on Peephole’s face. “Even still, that doesn’t mean she wasn’t there before or after us. And besides, if she wasn’t at Babbage’s, then that means she got the ducky from somewhere else. And that’s more suspicious.”

  “B-b-but…,” I sputtered, desperate to come up with a reason to let Bella off the hook. “Why would she do that to Babbage? She has no motive!”

  “Of course she does,” Peephole shot back. “She said it herself: she wants to win the Triple B, and obviously Babbage is her biggest competition. And did you see how weird she got when we mentioned Babbage? It’s like the two have history.”

  I scoffed, but again Peephole was right. Bella did get weird when we said Babbage’s name. “She wants to win the Triple B, so she puts a bunch of rubber duckies in the Bratwurst King’s yard? What kind of sense does that make?”

  Peephole tapped his nose. “She’s hiding something, dude,” he said with absolute confidence. “I’d bet my life on it.”

  “Whatever,” I said, because it was the only thing that came to mind. “I bet she’s right about Tina coming from Schuylerville Lake, though. And maybe that means the duckies came from there, too.”

  “Why would a bunch of rubber duckies be floating in Schuylerville Lake?” Peephole asked.

  “Why would they be in Babbage’s yard?” I countered. “The whole thing doesn’t make sense!”

  “Guys!” Shanks hissed. “We’re in the middle of a funeral. Show some respect!”

  “Oh, yeah,” Peephole said. “Sorry.”

  We stood in silence, staring down at the little mound of fresh dirt.

  “Swim on, Tina,” Shanks finally whispered, her hand on her heart. “Swim on.”

  A noise startled us. It was a low, deep gurgle, like a wet belch.

  “Tina? Is that you?” Peephole said, staring at the mound of dirt.

  “It came from over there,” Shanks whispered, “by our headquarters.”

  Bleeyurp.

  “There it is again!”

  We raced toward the noise, with Shanks easily bolting ahead of Peephole and me. When we caught up to her, we saw the source of the noise standing next to our lean-to, holding Mister E in his hand.

  “Hello, kids,” Officer Portnoy said slowly, never taking his eyes off Mister E. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by your little secret hideout.”

  The three of us stood silently, unsure of what to make of Officer Portnoy’s presence. He was the first person other than the One and Onlys to visit our headquarters.

  “I see you’ve got a ducky here. That’s interest
ing.” He shifted his eyes from the ducky to us, looking us over one at a time. “And I see you’ve got dirt on your hands and knees. Been doing some digging? That’s also—brrrup—interesting.”

  I swallowed hard. There was something in his voice I didn’t like, and it wasn’t just the belching. He seemed cautious and measured, like he’d caught us in the middle of committing a crime.

  “Do you need our help with a case?” I said hopefully.

  Portnoy carefully straightened his hat. “Two cases, as it turns out. You see, I was just over at Mr. Pocus’s house. Somebody has torn up his tomato garden, and he’s very upset. Destruction of property is a serious crime, kids. Did you know that? Well, Mr. Pocus had his suspicions about who was responsible, and so I interviewed a…ahem…neighbor of his. And this neighbor told me that some strange kids had been around there, pretending to look for a lost cat. And then it hit me: Didn’t I see Macaroni and his two friends riding their bikes into these woods, fleeing the scene of the crime?”

  “We didn’t tear up any tomato bushes!” Shanks interjected. “It was probably Calvin Coolidge!”

  Portnoy blinked. “The president?”

  “The terrier,” I said.

  Portnoy waved the whole interruption away. “So I followed your trail back here, found your little lair, and discovered our friend here.” He turned Mister E to face us. “Now, I didn’t think much of it. Maybe you guys had something to do with Mr. Pocus’s tomatoes, maybe you didn’t. To tell you the truth, it’s not high on my list of priorities. Anyway, I just received a phone call from the station. It seems that somebody has broken into the police storage shed and removed evidence.”

  “A real crime scene?” Shanks said eagerly. “Can we see it?”

  Portnoy ignored the question, asking his own instead. “Do you know what the thieves took?” He patted the top of Mister E’s head. “All of this little fella’s friends. About three hundred little rubber duckies.”

  “We didn’t steal any ducks!” Shanks cried out.

  “Then where’d this guy come from?”