His cabin mates were slumped on their bunks. One of them grumbled, “How are we going to beat the red team without our mascot?”
Of course! Milo jumped up.
“I think someone from the red team stole the mascot!” he exclaimed. “To lose us points.”
Silence.
“Duh,” someone said.
Milo looked around at his cabin mates. “You . . . you knew?”
Gabe patted his shoulder. “Milo, this is color war.”
“You should have seen last year’s canoe race,” a boy said. “The blue team switched the red team’s canoe with that old leaky one—”
“Good thing they had life jackets,” someone else chimed in.
“Yeah, but they sure got wet.”
“You should have seen their faces when their boat started to sink!”
“How about the blue team’s faces when Dan made them swap canoes and race again?”
“And then there was the time the red team stole the blue team’s flag and flew it from the top of the latrine. . . .”
Everyone laughed.
Milo shook his head. “I don’t get it. You mean that stuff is allowed?”
“Oh, no. It drives the counselors nuts,” Gabe said. “Still, it happens.”
“But what about our moose mascot?” Milo asked. “We worked so hard!”
“The counselors will get it back,” Gabe promised.
But Frankie returned empty-handed. He said they had searched all the cabins and every other building in the camp. No sign of their lake moose.
It still hadn’t turned up in the morning. At breakfast, Dan gave a stern lecture, demanding the return of the blue team’s mascot. Nobody stepped forward.
“We’ve got to figure out where they hid the moose!” Milo told Gabe as they left the mess hall. “Tonight’s the bonfire. We can’t show up without a mascot.”
Gabe frowned. “We could try to make another one. . . .”
“With what? A lake moose wouldn’t be a lake moose without antlers. And that piece of driftwood was one-of-a-kind.”
“It’ll turn up,” Gabe said. But he looked worried.
Leaving Gabe at the cabin, Milo went to check his mail. There was another sparkly purple note, reminding him he still hadn’t written to Jazz.
He also had a letter from his parents. When he opened it, he found a second envelope inside. The upper left-hand corner said DM.
A new detective lesson from Dash Marlowe!
Before he could tear it open, someone came into the office. Tony.
Milo jammed the mail into his pocket to read later. He was in no mood for girlfriend jokes.
But Tony had something else in mind.
“I hear you lost your moosie toy. Aw.” He made a sad face. “Now you can’t get to sleep at night.”
Milo boiled over. “It’s our mascot! And it’s going to win us color war . . .”
Tony smirked. “If you find it in time.”
“We will.” But his voice wobbled.
Tony’s smile widened.
“Oh, I don’t think so, blue boy. In fact, I don’t think you’ll find it at all. Ever.”
“Tony really said that?” Gabe asked. They were sitting on the cabin steps, painting Gabe’s face blue.
Milo nodded.
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘How would you know?’”
“And?” Gabe pressed.
“And he laughed and walked away.”
Milo dabbed a streak of paint on his friend’s forehead. “Tony stole our mascot, Gabe. I know it. He practically told me so.”
“Sure sounds like it,” Gabe agreed. “While we were all out at the relay races, he must have gone off and . . .”
Milo interrupted. “Relay races?”
Gabe gave him a funny look. “Uh-huh. Last night. The sunset relays. Remember? That was the only time we left the moose alone.”
“But Tony never left the sunset relays,” Milo said.
“You sure?”
“I would have noticed. Believe me.” Tony had been acting so obnoxious, Milo would have been thrilled to see him walk away. Puzzled, Milo scratched his head.
“Maybe he got somebody else to do it. Did you see anybody on the red team sneak away?”
“No, I—” Gabe suddenly paused.
“What? You saw someone?”
Gabe frowned. “No . . . no one on the red team.” He pointed. “You’ve got paint in your hair.”
Milo’s hand flew to his head.
His friend laughed. “Now it’s worse.”
A group of red team boys walked by, led by a familiar figure in a baseball cap. As he sauntered past, Tony called out, “Hey, blue boy. Find your moosie yet?”His teammates snorted.
Milo watched them go. If only Jazz were here. Together they would—well, what would he and Jazz do? Not sit around and watch a suspect walk away, that was for sure.
He jumped up off the step.
“I’m going to go talk to Tony.”
Gabe looked horrified. “Why?”
“To question him,” Milo explained.
“He’s not going to tell you anything.”
Milo shrugged. “I have to try, anyway. Maybe he’ll let something slip.”
“Milo . . . maybe I should tell you . . .”
Tony was moving away from them. Milo clapped Gabe on the shoulder, leaving his T-shirt smeared with paint.
“Got to go. Later, okay?”
“But—”
Milo ran.
At a picnic table near the mess hall, campers from both teams had gathered to compete at building houses out of cards. Tony and his friends were headed that way.
“Wait up!” Milo called.
Tony glanced back, but didn’t seem to see him. Then, suddenly, Tony stopped. The other boys gathered around him in a huddle.
As Milo drew closer, he heard Tony say, “. . . and I’ll switch the hiding spot.”
The huddle broke up, and Tony ran off toward the woods. His friends moved on without him.
Milo stood frozen in place.
The hiding spot?
No wonder the counselors hadn’t been able to find the missing mascot. Tony had hidden it in the woods!
Quickly, Milo hurried down the path Tony had taken.
At first, he didn’t see Tony at all. Then, through the trees, he caught a flash of red. He followed.
Milo had trailed suspects before with Jazz. But they had always been in town. It was different out in the woods.
Twigs snapped. Dry leaves crunched. Once, Tony turned as if he heard him. But then he walked on.
Milo hung further back. That made it hard to keep Tony in sight. Twice, he almost lost him.
Sweat dripped down the back of Milo’s neck. He hardly noticed. They must be getting close. Any second now, they’d reach the hiding place.
Milo pictured himself marching into camp in triumph with the missing moose. He could almost hear his team’s cheers. He’d be a hero.
Wait . . . where was Tony?
Milo turned in circles, searching for a glimpse of red. But all he saw was the green and brown of the woods.
He stood very still, listening for the crunch of feet. But all he heard was a mosquito buzzing.
Suddenly, he realized he had no idea where he was. His only thought had been to follow Tony. He hadn’t paid attention to where they were going.
He was lost.
Milo’s heart thumped.
On the first day of camp, they had been told what to do if they ever got lost: Stay calm. Stay put. Call for help.
Okay.
A jet plane passed high overhead. Milo waved his arms. “HEY! DOWN HERE! HEY! HEY!”
The plane kept going.
What was it Frankie had said to do? Spell out HELP with rocks or sticks. . . .
Milo was just finishing the H when a voice said, “There you are!”
He jumped.
“Gabe!” He rushed toward his friend. “How did you find
me?”
“I saw Tony come out of the woods, and then I heard you yelling.”
“Heard me? All the way from camp?” Milo asked.
“I was just right over there,” Gabe said. “Watching the card house contest.”Milo followed his pointing finger. Above the trees, something gleamed in the sun: the mess-hall roof.
He hadn’t been lost deep in the woods. Tony must have led him in circles!
Gabe looked at the H on the ground. “What are you doing?”
Hastily, Milo kicked it apart. “Oh, nothing.”
When they came out of the woods, Milo saw Tony sitting with his friends. As soon as they saw Milo, they all burst out laughing.
“Hey, blue boy,” Tony called out. “Been for a nice walk? Find anything?”
Milo’s face burned. What kind of a sleuth was he, to let a suspect lead him on a—well, on a wild moose chase?
“Did you get anything out of Tony?” Gabe asked as they walked off.
“No,” Milo said gloomily.
Gabe shook his head. “Listen, Milo. I’m not so sure Tony took the mascot.”
“But he said—”
“Maybe he just said that stuff to make you feel bad.”
“Well, who do you think stole it?” Milo asked.
Slowly, Gabe said, “You know how you were asking me if I saw anybody sneak away during the sunset relays? Well, I did see someone.”
“Who?”
Gabe looked miserable. “Wendell.”
“Wendell?” Milo repeated.
His friend nodded.
“But he’s on the blue team with us!” Milo said. “He’s in our cabin! He even helped us make the moose!”
“I know, I know!” Gabe said. “Still . . . he didn’t seem so happy about it, did he?”
Milo’s mind raced. Gabe was right. Wendell hadn’t wanted them to make a lake moose mascot. Wendell was afraid the real lake moose would be mad.
What if Wendell had stolen the mascot? What if he had done something crazy—like thrown it in the lake?
Leaving Gabe behind, Milo rushed off. He found Wendell alone in their cabin playing with his camcorder.
“Where’s the mascot?” Milo demanded.
Wendell glanced up. “Huh?”
“You came back here during the relay races and stole the mascot!” Milo said.
Wendell looked shocked. “I did not!”
“Gabe saw you go.”
“I left the races,” Wendell said, “but I didn’t come here. I went to the lake.”
“The lake? At night?”
“Sure. That’s when the lake moose is supposed to come out.” Wendell waved his camcorder. “I wanted to be ready.”
Now Milo didn’t know what to think. Wendell sounded sincere. Was he telling the truth?
“I’ll show you.” Eagerly, Wendell pushed buttons on the camcorder. “See? There’s the lake.” Fast-forwarding, he pointed to the tiny clock on the screen. “After I left the relay races, I was there for the whole time.”
So Wendell hadn’t stolen the moose after all. But then . . . who had?
Something red zipped across the camcorder screen.
“Wait! What was that?” Milo asked.
“Not the lake moose,” Wendell told him sadly. “It never showed.”
“Back it up!” Milo said. “Please!”
Shrugging, Wendell obeyed.
Milo stared at the camcorder screen. That baseball hat. That pointy nose.
“It’s Tony!”
Wendell peered over Milo’s shoulder. “Oh, yeah. I guess I did see him go by. But he got out of my way pretty fast.”
Milo grabbed the camcorder.
“Hey!” Wendell grabbed it back.
“I need to borrow it,” Milo begged. “Just for a little while.”
Frowning, Wendell slowly let it go. Milo dashed away.
The card house contest had ended. Tony and his friends were gone. Near the empty picnic table, Milo spotted Gabe.
“Gabe! It wasn’t Wendell after all! Tony did sneak off from the races last night!” He waved the camcorder. “Look!”
Quickly, he ran the video for Gabe, who nodded. “That’s Tony, all right. I guess you didn’t have your eye on him the whole time.”
“But I did!” Milo stopped, confused. There was no way Tony could have left the sunset relays without him noticing. And yet . . . he’d been down by the lake. The video was proof.
How could Tony have been in two places at once?
Frustrated, Milo took the camcorder and trudged back toward the cabin. He was no closer to finding the missing mascot than when he started—and soon it would be time for the bonfire.
The red team was way ahead in points. Without the mascot, there was practically no chance the blue team could catch up and win. He had failed.
Finding the cabin empty, Milo flopped onto his bunk. His pocket crackled, reminding him that he had stuffed his unread mail in it earlier.
He pulled out the lesson from Dash and the note from Jazz. He opened Dash’s lesson first. Maybe it would help him with his case.
Communication
Sleuths know how to keep the wrong people from picking up our messages: Hidden drop-off spots. Secret codes. Invisible-ink pens.
But sometimes we need to make sure that the right person does get the message. When you’re working with a partner, nothing matters more than good communication.
I learned that as a sleuth-in-training with the legendary detective Madame X. On the trail of a rare-animal thief, we went to a banquet at the zoo. While the wealthy guests nibbled canapés and showed off their own fur and feathers—fake, of course!—we mingled with the crowd and searched for clues.
Madame X appeared at my elbow. “I’ve found the thief!” she whispered. “Keep an eye on the boa while I go for the police.” And she slipped away.
I rushed to the snake house, but found no one there. The giant boa constrictor stared back at me from behind the glass, its forked tongue flicking in and out. Then, suddenly, it turned and vanished into the back of its cage.
Nervously, I peered through the glass. Could the thief have broken in through the back door to the cage? Even now, was the huge boa slithering out to—
“AAAAAAAHHHHH!” I screamed, as something wrapped around my arm and squeezed.
It was Madame X.
“What in the world are you doing?” she asked angrily. “While you’ve been wandering around the zoo, the thief got away.”
“But you told me to keep an eye on the boa!” I protested.
Madame X groaned. “Oh, Dash! The thief was the woman in the feather boa.”
Rubbing my arm, I turned back to the cage. The boa constrictor had come out again, and it flicked its tongue at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn it was laughing.
So when you need to communicate, make sure your partner gets the message. Be clear. Be complete. And remember: people can’t read minds. (Well, there was The Case of the Clairvoyant Crook—but that’s another story. . . .)
Dropping Dash’s letter, Milo sighed. Jazz wasn’t even with him on this case. Good communication wasn’t going to solve anything.
He opened Jazz’s note.
How come you haven’t written back? Too busy with color war? Our color war breakout was fantastic. They woke us up in the middle of the night and gave out green and yellow cupcakes!
Olivia and I won the canoe race for the yellow team. You should have seen the Big Banana go! (That’s what we call our canoe.)
How’s your team doing?
—J
P.S.
The note ended there. Jazz must have gotten busy and forgotten that she hadn’t written her P.S. before she sent the letter.
Milo got out a pen and paper, but he couldn’t think of where to start. How could he write a cheerful note like Jazz’s, when everything was going wrong?
Just as his pen touched the paper, Wendell burst into the cabin.
“I need my camcorder! Right now!”
<
br /> Milo sat up. “What’s going on?”
“It’s the lake moose!” Wendell cried. “It’s come ashore!”
Wendell grabbed the camcorder and rushed back out. Milo chased after him.
“The real lake moose?”
“What else?” Wendell asked.
As they ran down the path to the lake, Milo wasn’t sure what he expected to see.
Wendell waved. “Over here!”
Milo followed him down to the shore. Camcorder raised, Wendell was zooming in on . . . the empty ground?
“Where’s the lake moose?”
Wendell glanced up. “In the lake?”
“I thought you said it came ashore!” Milo said.
“It did! And I found its tracks.” Wendell pointed. “See the broken twigs? And look, where it dragged itself up, there in the mud—a belly print!”
Milo groaned and shook his head. Why did he listen to Wendell’s stories? He should have known.
As he turned to leave, a flash of yellow caught his eye.
He looked a little closer at the spot Wendell had pointed out. Half-buried in the mud lay a large rock. On the rock, there was a scrape of what looked like yellow paint.
Yellow . . .
Milo looked out across the lake. Then he stared back down at the rock.
Something had come ashore, all right. But was it the lake moose? Or . . . something else?
Yelling, “Thanks, Wendell!” over his shoulder, he scrambled up the path. Racing into the cabin, he snatched up Jazz’s note and read it through again. At the blank P.S., he stopped.
Jazz wouldn’t forget to write a P.S. Jazz never forgot anything.
He was the one who forgot things—like their invisible-ink pens.
Hastily, he dug in his duffel bag and came up with his pen. Flipping on its special light, he shone it onto Jazz’s note.
Aha!
P.S. I don’t want Olivia to see this, but I’m worried about her. She’s been acting so weird! Today she got a letter from her brother and she went off alone to read it. Then, during dinner, she sneaked away and didn’t come back until after dark. She wouldn’t tell me where she’d been but she looked pretty upset. Milo, something strange is going on.
The Case of the Missing Moose Page 2