Case of the Barfy Birthday

by Michele Torrey

  Drake scribbled furiously for a moment. “Frozen corpses, you say? Tell me, Ms. Applegate, where was the cold air coming from?”

  “That’s the thing. I mean, it was, like, coming from all around us. One minute from here, one minute from there. Like, you know, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. It was so spooky we had to go inside.”

  “Mind if we take a look around?” asked Nell.

  “Like, for sure.” Valerie blew a Snob Gob bubble. Pop! “And hurry up, will you? I haven’t got all day, you know.” With that, she went back into her house and pulled the blinds closed.

  Sticking their pencils behind their ears and putting their notebooks in their backpacks, Drake and Nell climbed the wooden boards hammered into the tree trunk.

  “Just an ordinary tree house,” said Nell, looking around.

  “Agreed.” Drake rapped the walls. “A little old. Gaps in the walls. Roof probably leaks when it rains. No secret passageways, no hidden doorways—nothing out of the ordinary.” He drew a sketch and a graph, just in case. (Scientists never know what might come in handy later.)

  Meanwhile, Nell leaned out the tree house window. Aside from lots of branches and leaves, there wasn’t much to see. Was it possible that the ghost had been real? But then, out of the corner of her eye . . . “Detective Doyle, wait, I think I see something!”

  Quick as a wink, Drake popped his head out of the other window.

  “There!” Nell pointed. “Looks like some kind of pipe is caught in a branch.”

  Drake pushed up his glasses. “It’s PVC pipe.”

  “And there’s something bright orange on the end of it,” said Nell.

  “Why would PVC pipe be in a tree?” asked Drake. “It’s used for plumbing.”

  “Excellent question, Detective Doyle. Let’s knock it out of the tree and see if it holds any clues.”

  As they were roping off the backyard with yellow tape, they noticed a long, thin board propped against Valerie’s house. And even though there was a nail head poking out the top end of the board, it came in quite handy. Drake used the board to knock the PVC pipe out of the tree and onto the ground.

  Immediately they fetched some surgical gloves from their backpacks and put them on. (Amateur scientist detective geniuses can never be too careful while handling clues.)

  Snap!

  Snap!

  Nell picked up the pipe. “Curious. Someone has cut the neck off of a balloon to make a round piece of rubber and then stretched it over the end of the PVC pipe—”

  “Securing it with a rubber band,” added Drake.

  “Other than that,” said Nell, “the pipe is empty.”

  They took a few moments to jot their discovery into their lab notebooks.

  Then, just as they were about to continue their investigation, Drake tripped and fell splat! on his face. “Oh dear,” he said. But unlike most other times Drake had fallen, this time it was a stroke of luck. You see, Drake’s face just happened to fall right on another clue. Another balloon, to be precise.

  “Good work, Detective Doyle.” Nell helped him up and brushed him off. She examined the clue. “Hmm. The balloon appears to be cut in the same way. Except there’s a small hole in the center of this one.” Nell looked at Drake. “Do you suppose it was wrapped around the other end of the PVC pipe?”

  Drake wiped off his glasses and slipped them on. “It is the most logical explanation. But why is the question.”

  Nell scratched her head, stumped. “Why indeed, Detective Doyle. We need more clues.”

  Searching the area on their hands and knees, they found a brown paper bag with the words MOSSY LAKE ICE & FUEL stamped on the outside.

  Just then, Nell had a feeling. (It’s a feeling all scientists get when they think they’re on the right track, but don’t precisely know why. Commonly known as a hunch.) Without another word, she walked up to Valerie’s house and rapped on the door.

  Valerie opened the door a crack. “Did you, like, find the ghost already? Is the case solved? Can you, like, totally get off my property now?”

  “Tell me, Ms. Applegate,” said Nell. “Who was at your slumber party last night?”

  “I mean, there was . . .” and she listed about five names. “And, I was, like, gonna invite Sloane Westcott, but she said my perm totally looked like poodle fuzz, so I said, like, forget her.”

  Nell cocked her eyebrow. “Interesting. You don’t happen to have a photograph of Sloane, do you?”

  Valerie rolled her eyes, chomped her gum, and sighed. “I suppose. Wait here a sec.”

  While Valerie left to fetch a photo of Sloane, Nell said, “Something smells fishy.”

  Drake nodded. “Things having to do with Sloane usually smell fishy.”

  You see, they’d had cases involving Sloane before. In fact, one case had involved, of all things, a ghost. Of course, it hadn’t really been a ghost at all, just a scheme between Sloane and Frisco to make some money. And Doyle and Fossey had busted their scheme.

  After a moment Valerie reappeared with a photo. She handed it to Nell. “We took it at our last party.”

  It was a photo of the Snob Club. Nell put it in her lab-coat pocket. “We’ll return it when we’re finished, Ms. Applegate. We’ll call as soon as we know anything.”

  Back at the bikes, Nell placed the PVC pipe, the balloons, and the paper bag in her bicycle basket. “So, Detective Doyle. Now that we think we know whodunit, the question is, how did she do it?”

  “There’s only one way to find out, Scientist Nell,” said Drake, climbing onto his bike.

  “Indeed. To Mossy Lake Ice & Fuel.”

  Mossy Lake Ice & Fuel was up a ways, a little to the right, and down a couple more streets. They parked their bikes, marched inside, and handed their business card to the man behind the counter.

  “Doyle and Fossey, Science Detectives,” said Drake.

  The man peered at the card. “And I’m Bill Watson. What can I get for you two? Ice? Fuel?”

  “Information,” replied Nell. She handed Mr. Watson the photo and pointed to Sloane. “Have you seen her?”

  “She was here yesterday.” He handed back the photo. “Rudest girl I ever met. Called me a bonehead, with a brain no bigger than the earwax of a pickle.”

  Nell glanced at Drake. “Sounds like Sloane, all right.” (Sloane was, by far, the rudest girl in the entire fifth grade. Perhaps even the rudest girl ever, fifth grade or otherwise.)

  Drake asked, “And what was she doing here?”

  “She bought some ice.”

  Drake cocked his eyebrow. “Let me guess. Was it dry ice?”

  The man nodded. “Bought a whole bunch of it, too.”

  Nell and Drake glanced at each other. This was the break they’d been looking for.

  Nell shook Mr. Watson’s hand. “Thanks. You’ve been a great help.”

  Outside, they climbed on their bikes.

  “To the lab,” said Nell. “For analysis.”

  “Check,” said Drake. “We have a ghost to bust.”

  Back at the lab, Nell pulled a book off the shelf. She found the section titled: “Ghosts in the Tree House: What to Do When You’re Having a Slumber Party, Your Hair Looks Like Poodle Fuzz, and a Ghost Breathes on the Back of Your Neck.” After she read aloud, she and Drake discussed all of their clues.

  Then they developed a plan. A ghostly plan. A ghostly ghost-busting plan.

  Nell called Valerie. “Ms. Applegate? Nell Fossey here. We’re on the verge of a breakthrough, but we need your help. . . .”

  That night, Nell took cover behind a bush in Valerie’s backyard. The moon was full, and the stars twinkled nicely. (The perfect sort of night for busting ghosts.) Across the backyard and on the other side of the tree house, Drake also hid behind a bush.

  Nell spoke into her walkie-talkie. “Coffee Nut to Muffin Man. Coffee Nut to Muffin Man. Come in. Over.”

  “Muffin Man here,” replied Drake’s voice. “Over.”

  “I’m in position. Over.
”

  “Roger that. I’m in position, too. Over.”

  “Roger that, Muffin Man. Let me know if you see anything. Over.”

  “Copy that, Coffee Nut. Over and out.”

  And so they waited. And waited.

  Meanwhile, Nell heard giggles coming from the tree house. As Nell had requested, Valerie had organized another slumber party and invited every snob except Sloane. If all went according to plan, then . . .

  Suddenly, a twig snapped. Someone was out there!

  “Muffin Man, come in,” Nell whispered into the walkie-talkie. “Did you hear that?”

  “Loud and clear, Coffee Nut. Our ghost has arrived.”

  Nell peered through the bush. Sure enough, Sloane stood under the tree. She fiddled a few moments with something, put it on the end of the long board, and then raised the board high above her head and into the tree.

  There was a rustle of leaves.

  A scream. (According to plan.) “The ghost! Aaahh! The ghost!”

  Nell said into the walkie-talkie, “Now, Muffin Man, now!”

  “Roger that, Coffee Nut!”

  And out they pounced, shining their flashlights into Sloane’s surprised face.

  “Drop it!” they cried. “Hands in the air! You’re busted!”

  The PVC pipe clattered to the ground as Sloane dropped the board. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Drake and Nell. “I should’ve known you two would mess up my brilliant scheme of terrifying revenge. Don’t you beaker brains ever get any sleep? And quit shining that thing in my face, will you?”

  Drake ignored her and spoke into his walkie-talkie, “Muffin Man to Snob Club. Muffin Man to Snob Club. Come in, Snob Club.”

  “Snob Club here,” came Valerie’s voice.

  “Ghost apprehended. Over.”

  It took a few moments for Valerie and her friends to climb down from the tree house. Of course, they weren’t surprised to see Sloane. “Drake and Nell, like, told us it was you,” said Valerie.

  “Get lost, poodle puff,” said Sloane.

  Drake put himself in between them. “Now, now. Let’s be civilized and get on with it, shall we? I’m sure you’re all wondering exactly what Sloane was doing, and how we cracked the case.”

  “Not really,” said Sloane.

  Drake ignored her. “It was quite simple, once we had all our clues. Allow Scientist Nell to explain.”

  “Thank you, Detective Doyle.” Nell clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace. “Now, any good scientist will tell you that ‘matter’ is defined as anything that has weight and takes up space. For instance, the planet Earth is composed of matter. This tree is composed of matter. You, Sloane, are made of matter.”

  “And there’s plenty the matter with you, too,” snapped Sloane.

  “Be quiet, Sloane,” said Valerie. “You are, like, so busted.”

  Sloane scowled and crossed her arms.

  “Now,” continued Nell, “matter can exist as a solid, a liquid, or a gas. Water is a perfect example of the three phases of matter. When frozen, it is a solid. At room temperature, it is a liquid. Boil water, and you see it rising as steam, or gas.”

  “Well said,” said Drake.

  “But dry ice is a different matter altogether,” said Nell. “You see, dry ice is composed of carbon dioxide—”

  “Frozen to a temperature of minus one hundred and nine degrees Fahrenheit,” said Drake. “Only, when dry ice melts it doesn’t turn into a liquid. It goes directly from a solid to a gas.”

  “It’s called sublimation,” said Nell.

  “But, like, what does dry ice have to do with the ghost?” asked Valerie, chomping her gum. “I mean, like, we haven’t even done our nails yet, and it’s getting kinda late.”

  “Excellent question, Ms. Applegate,” said Drake. “Simply put, Sloane put dry ice into this PVC pipe, covered both ends with balloons, and then added water through the little hole in one of the balloons.”

  “The dry ice melted rapidly in the water—” said Nell.

  “But,” added Drake, “it melted into a gas. A cold gas, I might add, which then shot out through the hole in the balloon and froze your neck.”

  “Allow me to demonstrate,” said Nell. And without further ado, she whipped out a readymade demonstration kit from behind the bush. Both Nell and Drake pulled on heavy gloves and put on their safety glasses. And while everyone watched, Nell poured water into a bowl. In the bowl was a chunk of dry ice. Vapor instantly rose from the dry ice, looking quite spooky.

  “You see,” said Drake, “Sloane attached the pipe to the end of this long board using a nail and a rubber band. She loaded the pipe with dry-ice chips and a few drops of water and then hoisted the board through the branches. When the dry-ice blaster was high enough, she aimed it through the cracks in the tree house. Purely diabolical.”

  “Diabolical, indeed,” said Nell.

  Valerie turned to Sloane. “You are, like, so out of the Snob Club.”

  “Spare me the gory details,” said Sloane. “Oh, wait . . . I think I’m gonna cry. Wait . . . wait . . . here it comes . . . no . . . guess not. Better luck next time, poodle puff.” And with a purely diabolical laugh, Sloane stalked off into the shadows.

  Drake handed Valerie their business card. “Call us, anytime.”

  “Like, you know, thanks a bunch,” said Valerie. “I’ll totally give you a free weekend in the tree house as payment, man. Just don’t touch anything.”

  “All in a night’s work.” Nell shook Valerie’s hand, once again satisfied with a job well done.

  And off went Drake and Nell into the night, another ghost busted.

  Drake snapped the rubber band into place. Then he turned the crank, which turned a wheel, which whirled the blades. A breeze began to blow. “Ahh,” he sighed, dabbing his brow with a hankie.

  He scribbled in his lab notebook:

  New invention quite cool.

  Just the thing for a hot day.

  As Drake shut his notebook, the phone rang.

  “Doyle and Fossey,” Drake answered, sounding quite cool and collected.

  “Mighty glad you’re there, Drake Doyle.” Drake recognized the drawl. It was Jessie Simmons, the new girl in class. Just last week, her family had moved from Oklahoma to Mossy Lake. Jessie wore a cowgirl hat and boots, said things like “Ain’t life grand?” and twirled her lasso during recess.

  “What can I do for you today, Ms. Simmons?” Drake replied.

  “Something plumb awful’s happened. My poor little pet pig, Dolly, broke out of her pigpen and fell into a pit.”

  Drake breathed a sigh of relief. Rescuing a piglet sounded like easy work. Easy work was a good thing on such a hot, hot day.

  “You gotta come quick,” Jessie was saying.

  “‘Quick’ is our middle name. Exactly where do you live, Ms. Simmons?”

  “The ranch house at Porcupine Loop. Hurry!”

  Immediately Drake phoned Nell. “Piglet meets pit at Porcupine Poop—I—I mean, Porcupine Loop. Meet me at the ranch house.”

  “Check.”

  Click.

  Naturally, Nell was already there by the time Drake rode up. (Not only was she the fastest runner in the fifth grade, but she could ride like the wind, too.) She stood waiting for him with her notebook in hand, a pencil behind each ear, and Dr. Livingston at her side. Nell was about the handiest partner a science detective genius could ask for. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Ready,” said Drake.

  Just then, Jessie came running around the side of the house. Her pigtails were messy, and dirt was smeared across her face. “Thank the stars, you’re here! Follow me ’round back. Hurry! Poor little Dolly’s in the pit.”

  They followed Jessie. She ran behind the house and then pointed down. There, in the ground, was a very dark opening to a very dark pit.

  “It’s an old, dried-out well,” Jessie explained. “Dad was going to fill it in next week once we got settled. He put a piece of plywood over i
t so no one would fall in.”

  Drake pushed up his glasses. “How did Dolly fall in, if it was covered with plywood?”

  “See for yourselves,” said Jessie, still pointing.

  Drake whipped out his flashlight and flicked it on. Together, Drake, Nell, and Jessie peered down the well. “Helloooooo, Dolly!” cried Drake.

  Down, down, down, went the well.

  Helloooooo, Dolly! went the echo.

  And then they saw her. It was horrible. It was awful. Quite possibly, it was their worst nightmare, ever. You see, Dolly wasn’t a little piglet at all. Dolly was ONE BIG FAT PIG! In fact, she looked more like a baby hippo than a baby pig.

  OINK! oinked Dolly.

  “Great Scott!” cried Drake.

  Woof! yelped Dr. Livingston.

  “She’s enormous!” cried Nell. “She broke right through the plywood!”

  “This is impossible!” cried Drake. “We’ll never get her out!”

  And then, as if finding one big fat pig at the bottom of a deep dark well on a hot, hot day wasn’t bad enough, Jessie burst into tears. That’s right. She sat back on her cowgirl boots and just blubbered. It was pitiful.

  Drake and Nell looked at each other, astonished. Other than watching Jessie twirl her lasso at school, they really didn’t know her very well. “Uh, anything we can do for you, Ms. Simmons?” asked Drake. “Hankie, perhaps?”

  Jessie wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Goshdurnit, Drake, Dolly’s my best friend. She’s the only thing I got to take with me from Oklahoma. All my other critters done got sold. If Dolly’s a goner, I think the twirl will go right out of my lasso. I’m plumb lost without her.”

  “Can’t your parents help?” asked Nell.

  “They’re in Oklahoma, attending the Poultry Producers’ Prancing Promenade. My grandma’s the only one here. And she can’t lift Dolly.”

  “Fire department?” asked Drake.

  “I already tried them. They said they’d be right over, ’cause they ain’t had a pork barbecue for about a week now and they was starved. ’Course I told them thank you kindly, but never mind. Don’t you see? You just gotta save Dolly.”