Who Let the Frogs Out?

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Maybe someone put the frogs in the mud,” he told Joe, “to keep the Mud Bud Run from happening.”

  “Who would want to stop the Mud Bud Run?” Joe asked.

  The froggy croaks were suddenly drowned out by cheers. The brothers glanced to the side, where they saw Daisy, Scotty, and Matty. The smiling Zamoras stood by their pizza garden and its protective fort, trading high fives!

  “I just thought of three kids who would want to stop the Mud Bud Run,” Frank said. “Daisy, Matty, and Scotty!”

  “And I just thought of a reason for a new case,” Joe said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the clue book. “Good thing I brought this.”

  “You brought it to the mud run?” cried Frank.

  “You bet!” Joe replied with a smile. “Wherever we go, so does our clue book—and my favorite pencil with the spaceship eraser!”

  • • •

  On the way to Bay Street, the brothers talked about the case. Joe had already written the five Ws on his new case page: who, what, where, when, and why.

  “We already know where it happened,” Frank pointed out. “The mud pit in Bayport Park.”

  “We know what happened too,” said Joe. “Last I counted, the mud pit was filled with at least two dozen frogs.”

  He filled in where and what, but the question of when was not so easy.

  “Let’s backtrack,” Frank suggested. “The Mud Run began at eleven sharp. Most of the runners got to the park between ten and ten thirty, like us.”

  “One guard said there were no frogs in the pit all night,” Joe remembered. “The other guard said there no frogs at seven in the morning after the park opened.”

  “So if the runners got to the park between ten and ten thirty,” Frank said, “then someone could have dumped the frogs between seven and ten.”

  Joe wrote the timeline under the word when. “Now we just have to figure out who did it,” he said.

  “And why,” Frank added.

  “I’m pretty sure it was Daisy, Matty, and Scotty,” Joe insisted. “They didn’t want the run to go on because of their pizza garden. They looked pretty happy when it was called off, too.”

  “Matty and Scotty were suspects in some of our other cases,” Frank said as they turned onto Bay Street. “Most times they were just guilty of being pests!”

  “Pesty enough to maybe score all those frogs,” Joe said, “and dump them in the mud pit before the run.”

  On the following page Joe wrote the word Suspects. Underneath, he wrote: Daisy, Matty, and Scotty Zamora. When he was done, he glanced up from his clue book.

  “Can you think of other suspects, Frank?” he asked. “Come on, dude, throw me a bone!”

  Bone? Frank’s eyes lit up as he said, “The Golden Bone dog spa and Mr. Frederick!”

  “What about him?” Joe asked.

  “He was mad that he couldn’t run with his dogs until the mud run was over,” said Frank. “Maybe he filled the mud pit with frogs to get even.”

  “Okay. Where would Mr. Frederick get all those frogs?” said Joe.

  “Didn’t he say he had a class called Soak and Croak?” Frank asked. “Where dogs relax to the sound of croaking frogs?”

  “He’d have to have frogs at the Golden Bone to do that,” Joe said excitedly.

  Joe added Mr. Frederick to their suspect list. As he closed his clue book, he nodded toward the Pizza Palace. “Let’s go in there, Frank,” he said. “Right now.”

  “So we can question the Zamoras?” asked Frank.

  “So I can get a slice,” Joe replied with a grin. “Then we’ll question the Zamoras!”

  The smell of baking dough and garlic filled their noses as Frank and Joe entered the pizzeria. They joined the line of people waiting to order pies and slices. Mrs. Zamora stood at the cash register, taking orders.

  Frank and Joe were about to watch Mr. Zamora flip pizza dough when a tall man wearing overalls marched to the front of the line.

  “Hello, Mrs. Zamora!” the man said with a smile. “Have you been topping your pizzas with frog legs lately?”

  “Frog legs?” Mrs. Zamora cried. “What makes you think that?”

  “I’m Bob from Blurpy Bob’s Frog Farm right here in Bayport,” the man said. “Your kids bought some frogs from my farm yesterday.”

  “Yes, they told me,” Mrs. Zamora said. “What about them?”

  Bob held up a can. “The kids forgot their complimentary can of frog chow!”

  Frank and Joe stared speechlessly at Blurpy Bob.

  Had he just said Daisy, Matty, and Scotty bought frogs? Yesterday?

  HOPPER WHOPPER

  Before Mrs. Zamora could take the can of frog chow, Daisy hurried over.

  “I’ll take that, thank you,” she said quickly. She took the can from Blurpy Bob, then rushed to the back of the restaurant.

  Frank and Joe waited quietly while Bob left the pizzeria. As soon as Mrs. Zamora helped the next customer, they whispered excitedly.

  “Daisy and her brothers bought frogs from Blurpy Bob,” Joe said. “We heard it with our own ears!”

  “We know they didn’t want the mud run to go on,” said Frank. “So—”

  “Ready to order, boys?”

  Frank and Joe turned their heads toward Mrs. Zamora.

  “We’d like to order slices, Mrs. Zamora,” Frank told her. “But first, can we talk to Daisy?”

  “About homework,” Joe added.

  “Homework over spring break?” Mrs. Zamora asked. She shrugged and said, “Daisy is in the back room with the twins. They’re rolling garlic knots.”

  Mr. Zamora kept flipping dough as he joked, “I guess you can say they’re on a roll!”

  The brothers had no trouble finding the door to the back room. Frank knocked only twice when Daisy called, “Come in.”

  Joe opened the door. He and Frank walked into the room, where Matty and Scotty were busy rolling strips of dough. Daisy stood behind them, supervising.

  “You call that a twist?” she asked Scotty. “Tighter, tighter!”

  “Okay, okay,” Scotty sighed.

  “Bossy pants,” Matty complained.

  Daisy glanced up at Frank and Joe. “If you want garlic knots with your pizza, you’ll have to wait,” she said. “They’re not baked yet.”

  “We don’t want garlic knots now,” Frank said. “We just want to know about the frogs you ordered from Blurpy Bob’s.”

  “And what you did with them,” said Joe, raising his eyebrow. “Like maybe fill the mud run pit with them?”

  “Frogs in the mud?” Daisy scoffed. “Why would we put our frogs in there?”

  “Because you and the twins hated the Mud Bud Run,” Frank pointed out. “You said it would ruin your pizza topping garden.”

  “When the run was called off because of the frogs,” Joe went on, “you guys were celebrating like it was the Fourth of July.”

  All three Zamora kids looked surprised.

  “Is that why the run was called off?” asked Matty.

  “There were frogs in the mud?” Scotty exclaimed. “Whooooa!”

  “You didn’t know?” Joe asked.

  Daisy shook her head. “The runners were already walking away when we got to the park,” she said. “We knew the mud run was called off, but we didn’t know why.”

  “Okay, if you didn’t use the frogs for the Mud Bud Run, why did you buy them in the first place?” Frank asked Daisy.

  “Because frogs eat bugs!” Daisy said. “You saw how many pests were crawling in our pizza garden yesterday.”

  “We bought a bunch of hungry frogs from Blurpy Bob,” Matty said, “and let one loose in our garden!”

  “Did you say you got a bunch of frogs, but let only one loose?” asked Frank.

  “Maybe,” replied Matty.

  “What did you do with the other frogs?” Joe demanded. “Dump them in the mud pit?”

  “None of your beeswax!” Matty snapped as he twisted a garlic knot supertight.
r />   Suddenly—blurp . . . blurp . . . blurp . . .

  Frank and Joe froze. There was no mistaking that noise. It was—

  “Frogs!” Frank yelped.

  The brothers followed the croaks to a big cardboard box. On it was a green cartoony frog face next to the words: BLURPY BOB’S FROG FARM.

  “I’ll bet it’s some leftover frogs!” Joe said.

  Before the brothers could look inside, Daisy and the twins raced over.

  “I told you,” Daisy said, “we need frogs to help our garden.”

  “They already helped your garden,” Joe said with a frown, “by calling off the Mud Bud Run.”

  Joe slid the box closer to look inside. Matty and Scotty took hold of the other side. Soon a tug-of-war broke out between the twins and Joe!

  “I just want to look inside!” said Joe, pulling one end of the box.

  “We don’t want you to!” Scotty said, pulling the other end. “They’re our frogs!”

  “Guys, stop!” Frank said. “You’re going to—”

  RIIIIIIIPPPP!

  All five kids froze as the box tore in half. A plastic tank fell out with a clunk, popping the lid off. Daisy shrieked as three big croaking frogs hopped out.

  “Now look what you did!” Daisy cried.

  Frank and Joe scrambled to catch the frogs, but they were too fast. Croaking all the way, the frogs hopped around the room, then out the open door!

  “Uh-oh,” Scotty groaned.

  The kids ran to look out the door. The three frogs hopped all over the pizzeria, around tables and between customers’ legs. Mr. and Mrs. Zamora ran frantically to catch them.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Daisy told the twins. “Let’s help Mom and Dad!”

  Daisy, Scotty, and Matty left the back room to join the chaos in the restaurant.

  “We’d better get out of here, Frank,” said Joe.

  “Let’s pick up the tank first,” Frank sighed. “It’s the least we can do.”

  While Joe lifted the plastic frog tank off the floor, Frank noticed something.

  “Look what else fell out of the box,” he said, reaching down to pick up a small piece of paper. “It looks like a receipt from Blurpy Bob’s Frog Farm.”

  “How many frogs did they buy?” asked Joe. “A dozen? Two dozen?”

  “Uh, dude,” Frank said, reading the receipt. “Try four.”

  HELLO, OLLIE!

  “Four frogs? That’s it?” Joe exclaimed. He grabbed the receipt to see for himself. “There were at least two dozen of those hoppers in the mud pit this morning.”

  “So Daisy and her brothers couldn’t have put frogs in there,” Frank said.

  Joe did the math. Four frogs minus the one in the garden equaled three. And the last three were hopping around the pizzeria.

  “Okay,” he sighed. “But that leaves us with only one suspect: Mr. Frederick.”

  Joe placed the receipt on a desk in the back room. A desk calendar was turned to that day’s date. On the page, written in red marker, were the words Dentist: Daisy, Matty, Scotty, 7:30, 8:30, 9:30.

  “Another reason the Zamoras couldn’t have filled the mud pit with frogs this morning,” Joe said, pointing to the calendar. “They were at the dentist!”

  The Pizza Palace had become the Screaming Palace as the Hardys made their way toward the front door. They could see Matty holding one frog and Daisy another. Mr. and Mrs. Zamora tried to catch the last frog, which was hopping across the counter.

  “Sorry, Daisy!” Joe called out. “You really did order the frogs to eat the garden bugs.”

  “And now the frogs are eating our pizzas,” Daisy shouted back. “Thanks a lot, Hardys!”

  Without a word, the brothers left the Pizza Palace and walked away as fast as they could.

  Halfway up the block, Joe stopped to draw a line through the Zamora kids’ names. They were no longer suspects.

  “Hey, Joe, check out the pup!” Frank said.

  Joe looked up from his clue book to see a fluffy white Maltese being walked by its proud owner. The little dog was glamorously coiffed with a sparkly collar around its neck.

  “Looks like that dog is getting pampered,” Joe pointed out. “Her owner is bring her to the Golden Bone.”

  The brothers watched as the Maltese was led into the Golden Bone’s storefront.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Frank said. “Isn’t Mr. Frederick one of our suspects?”

  “Next on our list,” Joe confirmed.

  He and Frank checked out the spa window. In it was a schedule propped up on a golden easel. It listed that day’s classes and treatments.

  “Soak and Croak is later today!” Joe said.

  “That’s the treatment where dogs relax in a mud bath,” Frank added, “to the sounds of croaking frogs.”

  “Let’s check out the frogs in Mr. Frederick’s spa,” Joe said, “so we can be sure he had enough to dump in the mud run!”

  “I wish we could go inside and look for frogs,” said Frank. “But without a dog, how could we?”

  Joe agreed. If only they had a dog. Wait a minute—maybe they did!

  “Frank, isn’t Aunt Trudy picking up a new foster dog today?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “A terrier named Stan.”

  A smile spread across Joe’s face. “So maybe,” he said, “Stan would like a little pup pampering too!”

  In a flash the two brothers were back home. Their mom was still at work at the real estate agency, and their dad was at his private investigation office. But Aunt Trudy was home to introduce them to her new foster dog. She also agreed to a Golden Bone visit for Stan. Score!

  “Now, remember, boys,” Aunt Trudy said, handing Frank a twenty-dollar bill, “get him the Bow-Wow Blowout or the Yip-Yip Flea Dip—but absolutely no mud bath.”

  The frisky terrier tugged at his leash, making Frank laugh. “Got it, Aunt Trudy!” he called back.

  As they walked away from the house, Joe said, “I told you Aunt Trudy would say yes.”

  The brothers had a blast walking Stan to Bay Street. But just as they were about to enter the Golden Bone, they saw Oliver Splathall leaving Yum-Yum FroYo with a cup of frozen yogurt.

  “Hi, Ollie,” Joe said. “What’s up?”

  Oliver rolled his red and tired eyes. “I told you I hate when people call me Ollie!” he groaned. “Do people call you Joey? Or Frankie?”

  “Just our grandmother,” Joe said.

  Oliver ate a spoonful of yogurt while Frank asked, “Did you figure out what to do about your mud sculpture show?”

  Oliver’s mouth was too full for him to answer, so Joe said, “Just so you know, you can’t use the mud pit in the park anytime soon.”

  “Sure I can,” Oliver insisted. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

  Oliver’s reaction made Joe wonder what he might be up to. He was about to tell Oliver about the frogs when Stan sniffed at the kid artist’s boots. Joe reached down to tug Stan away, and he noticed something that made his eyes widen.

  “Tell me about the mud pit another time,” Oliver said. “I promised my dad I’d meet him at the supermarket.”

  As Oliver walked away, Joe turned to Frank.

  “He wasn’t wearing muddy boots yesterday,” Joe whispered. “They were super-shiny clean!”

  “So?” Frank said with a shrug. “What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is,” said Joe, narrowing his eyes, “today his boots are caked with mud!”

  SOIL TREATMENT

  Frank didn’t think the muddy boots were important. “Oliver’s a mud sculptor, Joe,” he said. “Getting muddy is part of the job.”

  “Yeah, but did you notice the rest of his clothes?” asked Joe. “Clean as a whistle.”

  “So?” Frank replied.

  “So if he was mud-sculpting, his clothes would be muddy too,” Joe explained. “But . . . if he was just filling a muddy field with frogs—”

  “Okay, I get it,” Frank interrupted. “We can ad
d his name to the suspect list. But if we’re going to look for frogs at the Golden Bone, we’d better get hopping!”

  Joe chuckled. “Hopping?” he asked. “Was that a corny joke?” He wrote down Oliver’s name in their clue book as they walked.

  He held the heavy golden door open as Frank led Stan inside the spa. The posh-looking lobby had wall-to-wall white carpeting and portraits of sleek and fluffy dogs on the walls.

  A woman dressed in a crisp white pantsuit sat behind a glass reception desk. The nameplate on her desk read SOPHIE.

  When Sophie saw Stan, she pulled a dog biscuit from a crystal bowl and held it out. “Bone appétit!” she said with a smile. “Is your dog here for Soak and Croak?”

  “Yes!” Joe blurted a bit too eagerly. From the corner of his eye he could see Frank staring at him.

  The receptionist pointed down a nearby hall. “Then you’d better hurry. The class started ten minutes ago.”

  Stan was still crunching on the biscuit as the brothers led him down the hall.

  “Are we really bringing Stan to Soak and Croak?” Frank whispered. “You know we promised Aunt Trudy no mud bath.”

  “It’s just a way to get us inside so we can look for frogs,” Joe whispered back, “But where do we start?”

  The brothers stopped in their tracks when they heard the sound of croaking frogs. It seemed to be coming from behind one of the closed doors.

  “Let’s start here,” Frank said, pointing to the door.

  Frank, Joe, and Stan walked through the door into a small room. They could hear frogs but couldn’t see any. They did see a window overlooking a pool filled with muddy brown water.

  “Whoa!” said Frank, gazing through the window.

  Seven dogs were paddling in the pool below. They seemed relaxed as they drifted to the soothing sound of croaking frogs. Perched in a yoga position on the side of the pool was Mr. Frederick, his eyes closed.

  Frank dropped Stan’s leash so he could jump up on the window to look too. “I hear frogs,” he said. “But where are they?”

  “Check it out, Frank,” Joe whispered.

  Frank turned to see Joe at a nearby table. On it was sleek electronic device the size of a microwave oven. Flashing on the gadget was the word FROGS!