Smashie McPerter and the Mystery of the Missing Goop

by N. Griffin

  “I knew it,” said Dontel. “The ones we are finding by the basketball bins are the only ones that matter!”

  “So the perp must be somebody who has access to our basketball bins,” said Smashie. “Let’s put that on the Opportunity List.”

  And they added it carefully.

  “Wait a minute,” said Smashie. “That is a terrible clue. Everybody in the entire school has access to those bins.”

  “True enough,” said Dontel. “But it makes that list longer, and we both like that. Let’s get to the code numbers! Did you write them down?”

  “I couldn’t do that without all the kids noticing,” said Smashie. “So I memorized the numbers. We can write them down now.”

  And turning to their CODE-FIGURING-OUT PAGE, Smashie wrote:

  Dontel copied the numbers carefully.

  “Are you sure you remembered it right?” he said doubtfully.

  “Of course!” said Smashie. “I danced it into my brain after I memorized it. And if that isn’t motion sparking a notion, I don’t know what is.”

  “Well, something is not working,” said Dontel. “Look what happens when you start figuring it out.”

  “I’m doing it horizontally first,” said Smashie. And, using her list of the numbered alphabet letters, she wrote:

  Then she rearranged them vertically, as they had for the BIG FIG.

  “Ugh!” Smashie fell back against the pillows in the reading corner and flung her arms in the air. “My code doesn’t work anymore!”

  Ms. Early interrupted her class. “Some of you seem to be having a little trouble,” she said. “Let’s talk together as a group and review what we’ve been going over in math. How can we make 638 using only tens and ones?”

  “Use 63 tens plus 8 ones!” offered John.

  Under the cover of their classmates’ speech, Dontel and Smashie carried on. “I’m afraid you’re right,” whispered Dontel. “The code doesn’t work.”

  “Not unless BGAB is a word,” whispered Smashie back. And she sat up again, only so she could fall dramatically back to the cushions once more. “And BGAB is not a word!”

  “Nope,” said Dontel. “Neither are AEBE or BEF. It must be a new code altogether.”

  “Or a new language!” cried Smashie. “Maybe it is the language of a magical being we have to save after all! We will have to translate. But first we have to learn the language. Dontel, you should —”

  “Smashie and Dontel!” Ms. Early was standing before them. “I am very disappointed in the way you are not focusing on your math. Separate, please. Immediately!”

  Anguished, Smashie and Dontel exchanged looks. But there was no arguing with Ms. Early. Miserably, Smashie went back to their table while Dontel stayed where he was in the reading corner.

  The investigation would have to wait.

  Across the room, Cyrus shouted. “Done!” he said. “Is it okay if Charlene practices on my hair, Ms. Early? I was very thorough with my math work.”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Ms. Early. “As long as Charlene has done a good job on her math as well?”

  “I sure have!” said Charlene, showing Ms. Early her work. And so it was that after a few minutes, Charlene had lengthened and molded Cyrus’s hair into a pony head, complete with flaring nostrils, to match the Pony dance.

  “Wow!”

  “Looks amazing!”

  “Just like a real pony!” said the students in Room 11, craning their necks.

  “It does,” said Ms. Early. “Wonderful job, Charlene. Now, everyone get back to your math. It’s almost time to pack up for the buses.”

  Smashie’s mouth fell open. She had an idea. One that might break the code wide open. Her idea had not been inspired by Charlene’s beautiful work. No.

  It was inspired by math.

  Smashie reached the bus before Dontel and saved him a seat. They didn’t even say hello before they took out their Investigation Notebooks.

  “Dontel,” Smashie whisper-shouted, “I think I have cracked the code!”

  “Spill it, Smash! What’s the new code?”

  “That’s just it!” cried Smashie. “It isn’t a new code!”

  “What?” said Dontel incredulously. “Smashie, I thought we already determined that AEBE was not a word.”

  Smashie shook her head. “Get out your math work,” she demanded.

  “We’re done with that! I want to do this!”

  “Believe me,” said Smashie. “They go together.” And they both took out the math sheets they had worked on in class.

  “Our problem is that we were looking at the digits of each number,” said Smashie. “But we should have been looking at how we can build the numbers in different ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, look at the first code,” said Smashie, “26 99 77. We took each digit separately, but what we should have done was think about what they mean in the number! It’s how many tens and ones can fit in the number, not just the digits!”

  Dontel furrowed his brow. “But doesn’t that amount to the same thing?” he asked. “You still wind up with BIG FIG.”

  “For that one, you do,” said Smashie. She took out her pencil. “But not for the third Joyce jar!”

  “Sure you do,” said Dontel. “If you go by the number of hundreds, tens, and ones, because there are three-digit numbers in there.”

  “No,” said Smashie. “That’s just what I mean! We still need to look at the numbers just in terms of how many tens and ones we can use to make it! NOT using the hundreds! Look at the numbers of the code.”

  “Now think about what we’ve been doing in math! How many tens can fit in 212?”

  “Ohhhh!” breathed Dontel. “I get it! You could see it as 2 hundreds and 1 ten and 2 ones —”

  “Or you could see it as 21 tens and 2 ones!”

  “Smashie! You’ve got it!”

  “I know! Once I remembered how every hundred is 10 tens, I realized all the hundreds numbers could be thought of as being made up of tens, too! Just like Ms. Early has been helping us learn!”

  “So the code is really . . .” Dontel scribbled furiously.

  “Yes!” said Smashie. “And now we can match it up to the alphabet numbers.” And they did. Horizontally, it spelled

  But vertically, it was

  “UGLY BEEF!” they cried in unison. They slapped each other’s hands with their hands.

  “But what the heck is ugly beef?” said Smashie.

  “I don’t know,” said Dontel. “But I’m sure we can figure it out. What could it be? A bad-looking hamburger?”

  “Or a misshapen pot roast?”

  “And where do we even find gross-looking meat?”

  Smashie thought. “Do you think we should go back to the TrueYum and look in the meat department?” she asked. “I don’t think I can get my mom to go shopping again when Grammy just did the shopping yesterday.”

  Dontel stared at her. And then he laughed. He laughed so hard Smashie grew quite annoyed.

  “I didn’t know the idea of my grammy shopping was so funny,” she said.

  Dontel stopped. “No,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I just figured out the UGLY BEEF!”

  “What?”

  Dontel finally stopped laughing, but his voice was still tinged with merriment. “Smashie,” he said, “the BIG FIG referred to a sign, right?”

  “Yep,” said Smashie. “The TrueYum.”

  “Well, this one does, too, I think.” And he dissolved in giggles again.

  “Where the heck is there a sign of a bad-looking steak in our town?” Smashie demanded.

  “You have to stretch the meaning of UGLY BEEF just a little,” said Dontel. “Like, where does beef come from?”

  “Cows,” said Smashie. “Oh! Cows!”

  “Exactly!” cried Dontel. “The Dairy Delight! That terrible-looking cow on the sign!”

  “Oh, but I don’t think that’s quite fair of the code maker,” said Smashie. “That poor cow looks
more weird than ugly.”

  “I think weird would have been harder to work into the code,” Dontel pointed out. “The way they do the code, both words have to have the same number of letters.”

  “Well, I feel bad for that cow,” said Smashie. “The poor thing can’t help how she was painted.”

  “Sad or not,” said Dontel firmly, “we have to get over there as soon as we can. Maybe this time we can get there before the code receiver does! We can crack the mystery wide open!” His shoulders sagged. “But how can we get to the Dairy Delight? All these places are too far for us to go to alone!”

  “I have an idea,” said Smashie. “Get permission to come over to my house and come as soon as you can.”

  “Mom!” Smashie was delighted to see her mother. Usually Mrs. McPerter was still at work when Smashie got home, and Smashie and Grammy held down the fort until she came around five. But Friday was her half day.

  “How was school, Smashie?” asked Smashie’s mom. “How are things with the Hair Extravaganza and Musicale? I can’t wait to see it. I am so proud of your dancing.”

  Smashie said nothing. Somehow, her mother’s warm words about her dancing stirred up Smashie’s disappointment at not being chosen to sing once again.

  “I know,” said her mom. “You’re still sad that you aren’t singing in the musicale.”

  “It’s just that . . . I always have to do the dances in shows. I never get to sing.”

  “That’s so,” said her mother.

  “And I’m a good, loud singer, too,” said Smashie. “I really know how to make myself heard in the back of the room!”

  “That you do,” said Smashie’s mother. “It’s a disappointment, I know. But the best thing for you to do now is to do your very best with the job you were given. And in the meantime, you can practice your singing so that you are ready for the next opportunity that comes along to sing at a school function.”

  “Hmm.” Her mother had a point. There was no use pining if she couldn’t sing this time. But if she practiced enough, maybe there would be another chance someday, and Smashie would be ready for it.

  “Mom,” she said, “have you ever heard of the song ‘Endless Amour’?”

  “I have,” said Mrs. McPerter. “But I’d love to hear your version.” Smashie beamed and began to sing.

  The teacups on the dining room shelf quivered.

  Dontel arrived at last, somewhat out of breath from running from his house. “Sorry I wasn’t here earlier, Smashie. Hello, Mrs. McPerter. How are you?”

  “Just fine!” Smashie’s mother beamed. “So good to see you!”

  “You just missed me singing,” said Smashie.

  “Oh,” said Dontel.

  “Mom?” Smashie asked. “For a special treat, what do you think about all of us going to the Dairy Delight for ice cream?”

  “I can think of nothing better to celebrate my half day,” said Mrs. McPerter. “Dontel, I’ll call your grandma at once.”

  Not long after, permission secured from Dontel’s grandmother, Dontel and Smashie found themselves with Smashie’s mother in front of the Dairy Delight ice-cream shop. And sure enough, there was the sign for the shop swinging on a hook next to the door. The sign was filled with the snarling face of a cow, which was attached to a cow body that was so out of proportion it looked like a pork chop. All in all, she did not look very much like a cow who was happy that her milk was to be made into a sweet treat.

  “Well, Smash?” asked Smashie’s mom. “Are you coming in or do you want to do Surprise Me cones?”

  “Surprise Me cones!” Smashie cried. Surprise Me cones were when Mrs. McPerter went in alone and came out with cones of the most exciting flavors on offer. And once you chose a cone, it was yours with no backing out. Sometimes the results were lovely, like the time Smashie got chocolate-cookie swirl with rainbow candies. And sometimes the results were awful — like the time she wound up with raisin-fizz sherbet with filbert sprinkles. But the possibility of the cone being wonderful made the ice-cream getting much more exciting than just choosing a regular old flavor herself.

  Dontel thought so, too.

  “And it gives us time to get a good look at that sign,” he said as Smashie’s mother disappeared into the ice-cream shop.

  They turned their attention to the sign. This sign was free-swinging, so it was easier to see the back. But, just as had happened at the TrueYum, they were too late. Once again, there was only a piece of tape and a corner of paper stuck to the back of the sign to show that a message had ever been placed there.

  “Darn!” said Smashie. “Too late again!”

  “Or are we!” cried Dontel, and pointed down the street. A child-size figure in black was darting away from the Dairy Delight as fast as its legs could carry it, a piece of paper waving in its hand.

  “And you always make fun of me for thinking that people steal in black sneaky Thief Suits!” cried Smashie.

  But Dontel was not paying attention. “Smashie,” he said, “I think I know who that was!”

  “Butter brickle with mint crumbles, chocolate brownie with macadamia smash, and rainbow sherbet with butterscotch topping!” Mrs. McPerter stood before them triumphantly with the cones. “Who wants what?”

  Smashie gnashed her teeth. Her mother’s timing was terrible. Who could eat ice cream at a time like this?

  Dontel, was who.

  “Count me in for the rainbow sherbet!” he cried, and ate his zestily while Smashie fixed him with a glare during each stony lick of her own choice, the butter brickle. But even distracted by the investigation, she had to admit it was delicious.

  “Thanks, Mom,” she said.

  “No problem,” said Mrs. McPerter. “I’m glad I got the chocolate one.”

  I’d rather have gotten the perp, thought Smashie. But I guess that will have to wait, too.

  On the way home, Smashie’s mom had her Bon Jovi music playing and was singing along with it at the top of her lungs.

  “Now I see where you get that from,” said Dontel, next to Smashie in the backseat. “The loudness.”

  “Yep,” said Smashie. She lowered her voice. “But we can at least talk about the case while she’s singing. Dontel, who do you think it was running away with the paper?”

  Dontel chomped his final bite of cone and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Carlos,” he said finally.

  “CARLOS!”

  Mrs. McPerter’s singing broke off. “Are you asking me to play Carlos Santana instead, Smash?” she asked.

  “Um, yes?” Smashie hazarded. She had better control her shouting if they were going to get any good investigating done on the way home.

  The music switched and Mrs. McPerter started singing again to the beautiful riffs of Santana’s guitar.

  “How do you know it’s Carlos from Room 12?” whispered Smashie.

  “His build,” said Dontel firmly. “And he’s such a good runner. And whoever it was, was really covering ground!”

  “Yes,” Smashie agreed. “We should have given chase!”

  “No way,” said Dontel. “He had way too good of a head start. Besides, your mom would have been worried sick if she had come out and we weren’t there.”

  “That’s true,” said Smashie. “But what I don’t get is, why Carlos? What’s in those notes?”

  “I don’t know,” said Dontel. “But I do get who’s leaving the codes!”

  “What?” cried Smashie. “Who?”

  “Think about it logically. Who else is learning about tens and ones with three-digit numbers? Who else has access to the jars? Who else might have been there when Joyce came in for her haircut, and who always has tabs on the goop jars at school?”

  Smashie smacked her own self on the forehead. “Of course! Charlene!”

  “That’s exactly who I think,” Dontel said.

  “Now that you say it, I know you’re right!” said Smashie. “You know why? That was a kid’s handwriting of the numbers — not a grown-up’s! And I’ve been Charl
ene’s partner millions of times in math, and those numbers I saw today were in her handwriting!”

  “Good thinking, Smashie. I think Charlene is taking the jars herself and planting them where Carlos can find them, decode them, and then go get her messages!”

  Smashie paused. “But why doesn’t she just give him the jars?” she asked reasonably.

  “He’s in Room 12,” Dontel reminded her. “We never really see them. She couldn’t count on that.”

  “Wait,” said Smashie. “There’s a big flaw in this. Charlene was super mad when the kids said she like-liked Carlos. So why would she be leaving him notes if she doesn’t like-like him?”

  “Well, remember what John said about how when people like-like someone sometimes they pretend like they don’t?”

  “Not really,” said Smashie honestly. “I never pay much attention when people talk about like-liking each other.”

  “Me, either,” said Dontel. “But that stuck with me.”

  “But it still doesn’t make complete sense,” said Smashie. “Because why would Carlos wear a black sneaky Thief Suit to get the notes?”

  “Maybe he is embarrassed to get the notes and wants to be in disguise,” said Dontel. “You know, the way you like suits. Maybe the black sneaky Thief Suit helps him.”

  But Smashie was not thinking about suits. “I will be disgusted if all our hard work turns out to be just about like-like notes,” she said.

  “Ugh,” Dontel agreed.

  “Bluck,” said Smashie.

  “Well,” said Dontel, “we have to make sure we are correct in our thinking. We don’t want to get carried away in the wrong direction.”

  “But I kind of like to get carried away,” said Smashie as Mrs. McPerter continued to wail along with her music.

  “I know,” said Dontel. “But I want to be sure. I want to check our facts.”