My deepest thanks and appreciation to my editor,
Meredith Mundy Wasinger, for her vision and enthusiasm
STERLING and the distinctive Sterling logo are registered trademarks of Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Torrey, Michele.
Case of the Mossy Lake monster and other super-scientific cases
The case of the Mossy Lake monster / Michele Torrey; illustrated by Barbara Johansen Newman.
p. cm.–(Doyle and Fossey science detectives)
First published under the title: The case of the Mossy Lake monster and other super-scientific cases.
Summary: Fourth-graders Drake Doyle and Nell Fossey combine their detective and scientific investigation skills to solve a variety of cases, involving a hungry cat, endangered penguins, a fish-stealing monster, and a dirty election. Includes a section of scientific experiments and activities.
ISBN 978-1-4027-4962-9 (alk. paper)
[1. Science–Methodology–Fiction. 2. Mystery and detective stories.]
I. Newman, Barbara Johansen, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.T645725Cat 2009
[Fic]–dc22 2008047440
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
06/09
This book originally published in hardcover by Dutton Children’s Books in 2002
Published in 2009 by Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.
387 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016
Text copyright © 2002, 2009 by Michele Torrey
Illustrations copyright © 2002, 2009 Barbara Johansen Newman
All rights reserved
Sterling ISBN 978-1-4027-4962-9
Sterling eBook ISBN: 978-1-4549-0396-3
For information about custom editions, special sales, premium and corporate purchases, please contact Sterling Special Sales Department at 800-805-5489 or specialsales@sterlingpublishing.
To my husband, Carl—
three cheers for late-night
“Eureka!” moments
And to my three sons,
Ian, Aaron, and Ethan.
You know who you are
(even if I’m a little confused).
M. T.
To Loretta—
a great mom,
a close friend,
an inspirational artist
B. J. N.
One • A Matter of Life or Death
Two • Simply Shocking
Three • A Major Disaster
Four • An Urgent Plea
Five • The Monster of Mossy Lake
Six • Code 61
Seven • An Evil Plot
Eight • A Secret Formula
Activities and Experiments for Super-Scientists
It was a crisp, clear Saturday morning in the small town of Mossy Lake.
Just down the street, a little to the left, and high in an attic, Drake Doyle worked in his homemade laboratory. His hair looked as if he’d stuck his finger in a light socket. Rather messy, really, and the color of cinnamon toast. On the end of his nose perched a pair of round glasses.
Drake looked up from his microscope, his eyes a little squinty from staring so long. “Just as I thought,” he murmured as he scribbled in his lab notebook.
Just as I thought.
Hypothesis correct.
THEY’RE ALIVE.
As Drake slapped his notebook shut, the phone rang. (Serious scientists always slap their notebooks shut.)
“Doyle and Fossey,” he answered, shoving a pencil behind his ear.
You see, Drake Doyle was his name. Science was his game. And Nell Fossey was his partner. (Besides being his best friend.) They were in business together. Serious business. Their business cards read:
Doyle and Fossey:
Science Detectives
call us. anytime. 555-7822
Already they had solved many cases, using their fantastic scientific and detective skills. No case was too difficult for Doyle and Fossey, the best science detectives in the fifth grade.
“Drake?” said the voice on the phone. “Drake Doyle?”
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“It’s Caitlin Rae.” Caitlin was in Drake’s class at school. And just as Drake was the science sort, Caitlin was the cat sort. She loved cats, and everybody knew she had a bunch of them at home. Every day she came to school covered in cat fuzz, and once even coughed up a hair ball.
Caitlin said, “I—I have a terrible problem.”
“No problem is too terrible for Doyle and Fossey,” Drake said in his most professional voice. But instead of saying something like, “How wonderful!” or “Sign me up!” Caitlin burst into tears. She cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and CRIED!
Using the latest scientific techniques for hysteria control, Drake said, “Now, now,” and “There, there.” Ten minutes later, just as the phone receiver was getting a little soggy, Drake finally got the story from her.
“It’s my cat Zappy.” Caitlin sniffed. “He’s not eating.”
“Have you called the vet?”
“(Sniff, sniff.) My dad says no more vets. I have eighteen cats, and Dad says if I can’t take care of them myself, then it’s off to the pound with them all. He’s sick of them. I didn’t know who else to call (sniff, sniff) except, maybe, Frisco.”
Great Scott! thought Drake, almost falling off his stool. If he didn’t take the case, Caitlin was desperate enough to hire his competitor, James Frisco! Frisco would likely tell Caitlin something horrible. Something like, “Forget it, kid. Zappy’s a goner.” And then charge her five bucks anyway.
Like Doyle and Fossey, Frisco was a scientist. But he was a bad scientist. More like a mad scientist. If an experiment said, “Don’t do this or that,” he did it anyway. If an experiment said, “Clean up your mess,” Frisco left the mess for his mother. If an experiment said, “Don’t use your little sister as your test subject” … well … some things are better left unsaid.
Frisco’s business cards read:
FRISCO
bad mad scientist
(Better than Doyle and Fossey)
Call me. Day or night. 555-6190
Drake could not let Frisco take this important case. “Never fear, Caitlin Rae. Drake Doyle and Nell Fossey to the rescue!”
Immediately he phoned Nell. “It’s a matter of life or death. Not a moment to lose. Caitlin Rae’s house. I’ll pick you up in two minutes flat.”
“Check.”
Click.
Actually, it was more like two minutes, six seconds. As soon as Drake and his dad drove up, Nell flew out of her house and into the car lickety-split. She was never one to waste time. She was, after all, the fastest runner in the fifth grade. Not only that, Nell was a no-nonsense woman of science. Her coffee-colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her scientist cap was shoved on her head in a most no-nonsense way. “Morning, Drake,” said Nell, sliding into the backseat beside him.
“Morning, Nell,” said Drake.
“Morning, Mr. Doyle,” said Nell.
“Morning, Nell,” said Drake’s father.
Sam Doyle was pretty handy to have around. Especially if one happened to be a scientist. Besides driving Drake and Nell all over town, Mr. Doyle owned a science equipment and supply company. Whatever Drake needed for his lab, Mr. Doyle could get. Computers, sinks, microscopes, telescopes, beakers, test tubes—even lab coats with their names on them. It was all the same to him. “Just clean up your mess and don’t blow up the lab” was what he always said. (So far, they’d only blown up the lab twice.)
Drake filled Nell in on the tragic details. “It’s life or death,” he said. “Zappy the Cat is not
eating.”
Nell nodded. “You’re absolutely right, Detective Doyle. There’s not a moment to lose. To Caitlin’s house and make it snappy, Mr. Doyle!”
Tires squealed. In three minutes, seventeen seconds, they arrived at Caitlin’s house. “Don’t be long,” said Mr. Doyle.
“Check,” said Drake.
“Roger that,” said Nell.
Drake tripped over the curb as they got out of the car. (Tripping came quite naturally to Drake.) Nell helped him up and brushed him off. She was a great partner. Together they hurried to Caitlin’s house and rang the doorbell.
Caitlin answered immediately. She looked quite sad indeed, with a red, runny nose and watery eyes. Scads of fat cats wound around her legs, mewing, and several dashed outside.
“Came as fast as we could, Ms. Rae,” said Drake.
“Oh! (sob!) I thought you’d never get here!” Caitlin pulled them into the living room and pointed to a corner. “Poor Zappy’s wrapped in that blanket.”
“Stand back, Ms. Rae,” said Drake. “We’ll take it from here.”
Drake and Nell peeled away the blanket. There lay Zappy the Cat. He looked like a little bunch of furry bones.
“Hmm,” murmured Drake. “When was the last time he ate?”
“About a week now. I’ve even tried feeding him his favorite Munch-a-Bunch-of-Mice-Bits, but it doesn’t seem to matter what I put into his bowl. Nothing works.”
“Why does he lie in the blanket?” asked Nell.
“Comfortable, I guess,” replied Caitlin. “The blanket arrived last Saturday. A birthday present from my grandma. As soon as I unwrapped it, Zappy snuggled into it and refused to leave. And now that he’s not eating—oh! (sob!)—I just don’t have the heart to take it away.”
“At least he has a comfortable place to sleep,” observed Nell.
Drake nodded. Comfort was highly important for a starving cat. He rubbed the blanket between his fingers. “It’s quite soft.”
“Grandma knitted it from Angora rabbit hair.” Caitlin sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Grandma sends nothing but the best.”
“Where’s his food?” asked Nell. When Caitlin pointed to an aluminum pie plate, Nell knelt and examined it with her magnifying glass. It was situated on the carpet about six feet from Zappy and was filled with cat food. “Certainly plenty of food,” remarked Nell, standing up again.
“No reason for a cat to go hungry,” agreed Drake. “This case gets more puzzling by the second.”
“Indeed, Detective Doyle. Indeed.”
Just then, Zappy crawled out of his blanket. His fur stood on end. Drake and Nell watched as Zappy slowly approached the food dish, ears pressed flat to his head. Closer … closer … two feet … one foot … six inches … one inch…
Suddenly, the room exploded in cat fur!
ZAP! MEEOOOOOOWWWWRRRRR!
Quick as lightning, Zappy zoomed past Drake and Nell and dove into his blanket. He looked rather like a speeding locomotive with claws and fur and huge eyeballs.
“Oh, poor, poor Zappy,” wailed Caitlin. “That’s what always happens. Oh, booooo-hooooo!”
“Curious,” said Nell.
“Fascinating,” said Drake, pushing up his glasses. “Never fear, Ms. Rae. All is not lost. Scientist Nell and I will return to the laboratory for further analysis.”
“Oh, booooo-hooooo!”
“We’ll need to take Zappy—” said Drake.
“—and the blanket—” said Nell.
“—Plus the food dish, complete with food—” added Drake.
“—for analysis,” finished Nell. “Expect our report within twenty-four hours.”
After listening to a few more boo-hoos, they piled into the car, with Zappy bundled up like a baby on Nell’s lap. “To the lab!” she cried. “And make it Zappy—I mean snappy! Life or death, you know.”
“Check,” said Mr. Doyle. Again, tires squealed, and the smell of burning rubber filled the air.
Back at the lab, Nell phoned home. “We’ve got a life or death situation. Could take all day.”
“I understand, dear,” said Ann Fossey. And she did understand, because Nell’s mom was also a no-nonsense woman of science. She taught biology at Mossy Lake University. Wildlife biology, to be precise. “I’ll be here at home if you need me.” “Check.”
Click.
Meanwhile, Drake pulled a book off the shelf and flipped through it until he found the right section. “Starving Cat Analysis: What to Do When Your Cat Won’t Eat, and He’s Snoozing on an Angora Blanket.”
After Drake read the section aloud, they put their heads together. “Let’s go over the facts,” said Drake. And through the morning, they went over the facts and shared their observations. (Good scientists always share their observations.)
Finally, Drake said, “Based on our observations, I have developed a hypothesis.”
After Drake explained, they immediately set about to test the hypothesis, which, as any good scientist will tell you, is nothing but an educated guess. They worked until just around lunchtime, when Drake’s mom stuck her head around the door. “Hungry?” she asked.
“Starved,” they replied.
“How do egg-and-cheese sandwiches sound?”
Nell shoved a pencil behind her ear. “Double the ketchup, hold the mayo.”
“Affirmative. Hot chocolate, anyone?”
“No, thanks,” said Drake.
“Just coffee,” said Nell. “Decaf. Black.” (In case you’re wondering, real scientists don’t drink hot chocolate. Never have and never will. The same goes for detectives.)
“Affirmative times two,” said Kate Doyle, and she was back in a jiffy with coffee, and in two jiffies with lunch. Like Mr. Doyle, she was rather handy to have around. Her coffee was great, and her food superb. In fact, it was so superb that she owned her own catering company. (Plus, she never forgot that Nell was a vegetarian.) So you see, Mrs. Doyle was quite handy indeed.
Later, just as Nell started her third cup of decaf, and just as Drake’s hair was beginning to stand on end, their hypothesis was confirmed. “Just as I thought,” said Drake, shoving a pencil behind his ear. Drake dialed Caitlin’s number. “Drake here. We’ve got your answer. Meet us in the lab. Ten minutes. Tops.”
Caitlin arrived in nine minutes, fifty-eight seconds.
“Right on time,” said Drake.
“And not a moment to spare,” said Nell, checking her watch. “Life or death, you know.”
They sat Caitlin on a lab stool and gave her a box of tissues. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Can you save him? Is there any hope?”
Drake nodded. “Indeed there is. Allow Scientist Nell to explain.”
Nell whacked a chalkboard with her wooden pointer. “Observe. Everything in our world is made of tiny particles called atoms. Imagine if you had a copper penny and you divided that penny in half. And in half again. And again. You keep dividing the penny until you are left with the smallest particle of copper possible. That particle is called an atom. Then, if you were to divide the copper atom, it would no longer be copper.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Drake commented.
“Anyway,” continued Nell, “atoms contain tiny particles called protons and electrons. Protons are positively charged, while electrons are negatively charged.”
“Most of the time, Ms. Rae,” Drake explained, “objects have an equal number of protons and electrons, and therefore have no charge.”
“But,” said Caitlin, tears brimming, “what does that have to do with poor, poor little Zappy?”
“We’re getting to that,” replied Drake. “Nell?”
“Thank you, Detective Doyle. When Zappy slept in the angora blanket, electrons left the blanket and piled up in Zappy’s fur—”
“You see, Ms. Rae,” added Drake, “Angora rabbit hair loves to lose its electrons—”
“—giving Zappy extra electrons,” said Nell.
Caitlin gasped. “Poor, po
or Zappy! No food and too many electrons! Oh, I think I’m going to cry again!”
Nell waited while Caitlin went through a few more tissues. (Since Nell was not as patient as Drake, this was very hard for her.) Nell tapped her foot and crossed her arms. After Caitlin blew her nose with a honk! Nell said, “Shall we? As I was saying, Zappy had too many electrons. This wouldn’t be so bad if aluminum pie plates weren’t such great conductors of electricity.”
“They’re quite handy, really,” remarked Drake. “Therefore,” Nell said, “whenever Zappy went to eat, electrons rushed from his nose—”
“—into the pie plate—” said Drake.
“—with something rather like a miniature bolt of lightning,” finished Nell. “It’s called static electricity. Zappy was being zapped.”
“It’s simply shocking,” declared Drake.
Nell whacked the chalkboard again. “Same principle as when we wear socks and then shuffle our feet along a carpet and touch a doorknob. Again, simply shocking.”
“Oh, boooo-hoooo! Poor Zappy! No wonder he wouldn’t eat,” sobbed Caitlin. “I was torturing him!” Six tissues later, she said, “What now?”
Drake got up and paced around. “It’s quite simple, really—”
“Yes?” Caitlin said, dabbing her eyes.
“Take the blanket away from Zappy and use a glass or plastic dish instead of aluminum,” Drake concluded. “That will stop the flow of electrons, and Zappy will be just fine.”
Caitlin’s eyes widened. Actually, to be scientifically correct, they sparkled. (Perhaps there was a flow of electrons just then, hard to tell.) “Really?” she exclaimed. “That’s all I have to do?”
“That’s all,” Drake and Nell said together.
Caitlin jumped off her stool and hugged them both. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! I’m so glad I didn’t hire Frisco! You’ve saved Zappy’s life! I’m going to tell everyone how wonderful you are!”
“All in a day’s work,” said Drake, handing her their business card. “Call us. Anytime.”
That evening, Drake wrote in his lab notebook:
Case solved.
Case of the Mossy Lake Monster Page 1