Smashie McPerter and the Mystery of the Missing Goop

by N. Griffin

  “Yes,” agreed Dontel. “And Ms. Early will be devastated.”

  “So will the people who really do want to perform. Like Siggie and his alphabetizing.” Trying hard not to think that Ms. Early and the other performers weren’t the only people who were or would be devastated about the musicale, Smashie got up. “I better get my Investigator Suit on.”

  “You can wear that suit now, Smashie,” said Dontel. “But don’t wear it to school tomorrow. The kids all know that was your Investigator Suit from the Patches time. We don’t want to put anyone on guard.”

  Smashie’s jaw dropped. “You are right!” she cried. “Because clearly the goop taker is in our class!”

  “Clearly,” said Dontel. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need our Investigation Notebooks.”

  “I have them right here in the credenza,” said Smashie, and fished them out. She handed Dontel his, which said FIRST STREET BAPTIST on it. Her own featured a very thoughtful horse.

  “Forget my suit,” said Smashie. “Let’s get started.”

  REASONS WHY WE THINK THE PERP IS IN OUR CLASS, wrote the two friends in their notebooks.

  “It’s very exciting to be using Investigator Language like perp again!” said Smashie. Perp was short for “perpetrator,” which meant a person who had committed a crime. During the Patches investigation, the two friends had devoted a whole part of the back of their Investigation Notebooks to record the various new investigator words they used. They glanced fondly at that list now.

  “Let’s think it through,” said Dontel, flipping back to their current page. “We need to be logical and back up our ideas.”

  “Just like mathematicians,” Smashie agreed, nodding. “Well, both times the goop disappeared while we were all right there in class,” she pointed out. “That was pretty slick of the perpetrator.”

  “Yes,” agreed Dontel. “Let’s write down what you just said as a reason for our thinking the thief is a member of Room 11 or Room 12,” said Dontel.

  “That’s a good start,” said Dontel. “And we also think it because the person had to be in the meeting circle when the first jar went missing. And also in our class at math time when the second one disappeared.”

  “You mean the thief had opportunity!” cried Smashie.

  “More Investigator Language!” Dontel said. Both added opportunity to their lists. “Let’s make a list of things that have to be true about the thief and his or her opportunity.”

  “Ooh,” said Smashie pleasurably.

  “Dontel!” said Smashie. “That means the perp is in our class and not a member of Room 12! Because Room 12 wasn’t in math with us!”

  “Good thinking, Smash! Do we have another fact that should be on this list that could narrow things down even more?” Dontel asked.

  Smashie thought. “Not really,” she said after a moment. “I think that’s pretty much the size of it. Two swipes of goop; two opportunities.”

  “Fine,” said Dontel. “Let’s get to thinking about suspects, then.”

  “Suspects!” Smashie cried. Suspects was already on the Investigator Language page as well, but Smashie took the opportunity to underline it before she and Dontel started a fresh page in their notebooks.

  “Hmm,” said Dontel. “I don’t like it when we have to suspect class members. We really do have a very nice class.”

  “Yes,” said Smashie. “We do.”

  “I have no idea who to even start with,” Dontel admitted.

  “Me, either,” said Smashie.

  “Everyone in our whole class had both those opportunities.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” said Dontel, “like Ms. Early always says, if you have a hard problem, move! Motion can spark a notion! We might as well try.”

  “Yes,” Smashie agreed. “And this sure is a hard problem. Let’s dance on it.”

  Necks bobbing, Smashie and Dontel did the Funky Chicken across the room.

  “It has to be someone who loves the goop,” Smashie puffed.

  “Could be,” Dontel puffed back. He added wingy arm motions and started back across the room. “Maybe someone who likes the smell.”

  “Or wants their hair in shapes,” Smashie said. “Though everybody in the third grade is excited about having our hair in shapes. Even the teachers think it’s going to make our Hair Extravaganza and Musicale something really special. We can’t investigate every single third-grader, can we?”

  “No.” Dontel sighed. “We have to trim it down. Let’s dance!”

  And they began to do the Nitty Gritty in earnest.

  But soon Dontel stopped. “I’ve got an idea!” he said. “Instead of starting with the list of suspects, why don’t we make a list of reasons why people would steal the goop? We just thought of a bunch. And that technique really helped us with the Patches investigation. If we find a solid motive, we can figure out the perp!”

  Smashie, delighted with Investigator Language like motive, was immediately on board.

  The two flung themselves down on their stomachs and started yet another page.

  “That makes sense,” said Dontel. “Maybe it’s someone who doesn’t want to wait until the musicale for his or her hair to be in a shape.”

  “Dontel,” said Smashie, “that is all of us.”

  “Good point,” said Dontel.

  “Wait a minute,” said Smashie. “Is it all of us? What if it’s the opposite? What if it’s someone who doesn’t want their hair lengthened and molded?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, everyone is very excited now about having cool hair for the musicale. But some people,” she said, “don’t like the idea of a Hair Extravaganza and Musicale at all!”

  “John!” shouted Dontel. “He hates the musicale! He thinks we will look dumb!”

  “Exactly,” said Smashie. “And if he steals the goop, maybe he believes it will sabotage the show.”

  “Or that we will lose heart and cancel,” said Dontel.

  “Yes,” said Smashie. “Either way.”

  They added to the Motives List.

  And to the Suspect List they added:

  “I feel peculiar putting John on the list,” Smashie admitted. “He is a good friend of ours.”

  “I know,” said Dontel. “But think what our grandmas say about the detectives in those books they read all the time. You can’t let your feelings blind you to the possibilities.”

  “Ugh,” said Smashie, who rather liked having her feelings blind her to possibilities.

  “Is there anyone else who you think would want to sabotage the musicale?” asked Dontel. “I mean, there are kids who are on the fence about performing, but I can’t think of another person who’s as against it as John.”

  “You’re right,” said Smashie. She thought. “I can’t think of any other motives, either.” She paused. “Except maybe Ms. Early,” she said darkly. “She doesn’t want everybody to have fun doing the musicale.”

  “Smashie,” said Dontel, “be fair. You and I are leading all of the dances. We are doing more for the musicale than anybody.”

  Smashie began to scowl. But then the truth of her feelings came through, and the corners of her mouth turned down. “I know,” she said. “I just really want to sing.”

  “What if you hum a few bars around Ms. Early when you get a chance?” Dontel suggested. “Kind of quietly, like you’re just humming while you’re thinking. Maybe then she’ll get the idea to give you a chance to sing a song.”

  “Dontel,” said Smashie, “that is a wonderful idea. I’m going to do it!”

  “Great!” said Dontel. “Now do you think you can concentrate on our investigation about the hair goop?”

  “I sure can,” said Smashie. “Let’s dance on it again!”

  And they had barely begun to do the Swim when Smashie shouted, “I’ve got it!”

  “What?” cried Dontel.

  “Billy,” said Smashie firmly.

  “But he loves to perform,” sai
d Dontel.

  “Yes,” said Smashie, “but he is super mad the teachers won’t let him sing ‘Machine Gun Jailbreak’!”

  “Completely inappropriate,” Dontel said, remembering.

  “Exactly,” said Smashie. “And if he can’t sing what he wants, I bet he wants to wreck the whole thing for everybody!”

  “Motive!” cried Dontel. “Same motive — sabotage — but for a different reason in Billy’s case. Smashie, we are really good investigators.”

  “I know,” said Smashie smugly as they added to the Motives List.

  And to the Suspect List they added:

  “Also, we always have to consider what a prankster Billy is,” Smashie pointed out. “He might just think it’s a great joke.”

  “True enough. Let’s add that to the Motives List.”

  Dontel thwapped his notebook with the back of his hand. “That’s the stuff,” he said. “I think we’ve got it.”

  “Yes,” said Smashie. “And tomorrow we will tax both John and Billy with the crime and see who cracks first!”

  Dontel beamed.

  “I love when we call questioning people about things ‘taxing them with their crimes.’ We do like that part,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Smashie. “We do.”

  “Although,” said Dontel thoughtfully, “taxing people doesn’t always go so well for us.”

  Smashie wilted a little. “That is true.” But then she squared her shoulders. “But I have a good feeling about it this time. My money’s on John. I’ve never seen him so against something in my whole life, and we’ve been in the same class since kindergarten.”

  “I agree,” said Dontel. “But we have to keep an open mind. All of our suspects are just that: suspects. Innocent until proven guilty.”

  That evening, Smashie worked on her new Investigator Suit. She consulted her mother.

  “What about the Choreographer Suit we were working on?” asked Mrs. McPerter, somewhat startled.

  “I need that, too,” said Smashie. “But for tomorrow, I want something that makes me look ready for justice.”

  “Why do you need to look ready for justice?” asked her mother.

  “I just do,” said Smashie.

  “Hmm,” said Mrs. McPerter. “This isn’t going to be like that Patches suit, is it? Because I remember a lot of hectic fallout from that one.”

  “No,” Smashie said. “I just like justice.”

  “Well, how about that old blue satin jacket I had in high school?” her mother offered. “That could kind of look like something an officer of the law would wear.”

  “Great idea!” said Smashie. And although the jacket reached to her knees, it gave her the perfect investigator feeling she had been hoping for.

  “I was going to try to find a flat cap,” she confided to Dontel at their cubbies the next morning. “But I thought that might be too police-looking and put people on guard again.”

  And she took off her hoodie and placed it in her cubby. Over the satin jacket, Smashie had wrapped a tool belt belonging to her grandmother around her waist. She’d had to wrap it around twice, but it worked pretty okay. Her jeans were just jeans, but she thought they rounded out the blue of the jacket nicely.

  “More like a policewoman,” she whispered to Dontel. “And I put lots of pockets for clues on the belt, just in case. With room for my notebook in one of the pouches.”

  Dontel nodded tactfully.

  “Now,” said Smashie, “let’s get to taxing.” But her relief was short-lived.

  “Smashie,” called Ms. Early, “is that a suit?”

  The double-wrapped tool belt made the jacket press uncomfortably into Smashie’s middle. “Sort of,” she said.

  “It’s not some kind of disruptive suit, is it?” asked Ms. Early, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “One that might distract the class?”

  “No,” said Smashie uncertainly. “It’s . . . it’s to help with the musicale.” It was technically true, but Smashie squirmed.

  “Oh!” Ms. Early smiled. “Is it a Choreographer Suit?”

  But before Smashie had time to answer, there was an interruption. Joyce appeared in the doorway. Her normally shy face was unhappy. And she was furious.

  “You said your mom could do hair!” she shouted at Charlene. The rest of Room 11 tilted their heads to one side, staring at Joyce.

  “Hmm,” said Siggie.

  “It looks kind of like a hedge,” said Alonso.

  “More like one of those bonsai trees Mr. Bloom clips into shapes in his storage room,” said Cyrus.

  “Ugh!” cried Joyce. “All I wanted was a haircut!”

  “In a good way, it looks like those things,” said Smashie hastily. She knew how it was to have an unruly head of hair. But she had to admit that even hers had never looked quite as terrible as Joyce’s did now. Still, she did not want hurt feelings to spread throughout the class.

  “My hair heart looked so nice that my mother wanted to support Charlene’s mom and our class by bringing me to her for a haircut after my orthodontist appointment yesterday! She bought our class a jar of goop at the same time so we wouldn’t have to use our planetarium money,” Joyce explained. “And now look at me! My hair looks like a group of potatoes! Charlene, you are one of my best friends, and I want to support you, BUT YOUR MOM WRECKED MY HEAD!”

  Joyce was near tears.

  “You can borrow my balaclava helmet,” Alonso offered Joyce.

  Charlene’s eyes brimmed, too. “My mom hasn’t really cut hair in a while,” she said with a gulp, “after doing sculpture at the salon where she used to work for so long. She’s kind of rusty. I’m sorry, Joyce! We will fix your hair for free!”

  Joyce handed her the jar of goop. “Goop me up again instead, please,” she said. “As nice as yesterday’s hair heart. Nice enough to make me and my mom feel better about my wrecked-up hair.”

  “And the rest of you, think long and hard before you go over there,” said Billy.

  “Billy!” said Ms. Early sternly.

  “None of us was really planning to,” said John.

  But Charlene was already palming the goop onto Joyce’s hair. And there, poking up from Joyce’s head, were two darling little ponytails in the shape of roller-skate wheels. “Because you’re in the roller-skating number, too,” Charlene said.

  “Hmm,” said Joyce. “Mirror.”

  Siggie passed one over.

  After a long moment, Joyce spoke. “Charlene, you are lucky that you have inherited your mom’s skill with hair sculpting.” She beamed, all thought of tears forgotten. “I’m adorable!”

  “You are!”

  “For real!”

  “Charlene, we won’t doubt you again!”

  “Speak for yourself,” John muttered. “I don’t think any amount of sculpture makes up for getting a crazy haircut.”

  The class fell silent. Charlene’s eyes grew troubled once more.

  “Charlene,” said Ms. Early, “don’t you worry. We’ll support your mother and help her get her business on its feet.” She put her arm around the sad-faced girl. “I know you’re anxious.” And she drew Charlene to one side to talk. Jacinda watched her friend with concerned eyes.

  Smashie and Dontel looked at each other. It was time for taxing.

  Glancing at the front of the room where Ms. Early was still speaking to Charlene, they turned to John. “So. You don’t want us to do it?”

  “Do what?” John asked. “Get people’s heads mangled with awful haircuts?”

  “No,” said Smashie. “The musicale.”

  John cast his eyes down. “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

  Smashie and Dontel looked at each other in triumph. An abashed John admitting he didn’t want Room 11 to do the musicale could only mean one thing! He wanted to shut the whole thing down. With a vengeance!

  But they were wrong.

  “But my dad says to face my fear,” said John. “And I’m going to. No musicale is going to lick me.”

&nbs
p; He got up from his seat and moved to the front of the room. He tapped Ms. Early on the shoulder.

  “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting,” he told her. “And I want to do a number. I want to sing a song called ‘Come On Over to My Place.’”

  Dontel and Smashie were shocked into motionlessness.

  “By Hyacinth Rooney?” exclaimed Ms. Early, her arm still around Charlene. “She’s one of my favorites! Do you have a backup track you can use?”

  “No,” said John grimly. “I’ll accompany myself. On the piano.”

  The class applauded. Smashie and Dontel looked at each other.

  “I am proud of you, John,” said Ms. Early. “Very. And I am proud of Charlene as well for trying so hard to help with our Hair Extravaganza and Musicale.” She walked Charlene back to her seat. “Now, let’s get to work on our math again. We have some new ideas to explore.”

  “We may like taxing people,” whispered Dontel, “but it doesn’t always go so well.”

  “We barely even got to tax him!” Smashie whispered back, crestfallen. “Our best suspect — gone!”

  Smashie’s tool belt came loose and clattered to the ground.

  Ms. Early met her eye. “Smashie,” she said, “you assured me that suit would not be disruptive.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Early,” said Smashie, and fixed her belt. She sat with her cheeks in her hands. So far, this new Investigator Suit was not doing the trick. And now Ms. Early was irritated with her, too. How was that going to put her in a frame of mind to let Smashie sing in the musicale? Smashie had better watch her step, was what.

  “I’d like to look at that problem I gave you for homework,” said Ms. Early. “How many tens in two hundred and fifty-nine?”