by Bruce Hale
"Eyes front, Miss Rhode," said the Beast of Room 3. "Do your homework."
Rocky slowly turned back around. When Ms. Glick returned to her stack of test papers, I slipped a short carton of chocolate milk from my pocket. I'd found a fringe benefit to working in the cafeteria.
I chugged the carton. Smooth. That chocolate milk had been keeping the right company.
I eyed the clock. Fifty minutes to go.
I twiddled my thumbs. I counted the ceiling tiles. I actually considered doing homework. If this kept up for too long, I'd go stir crazy.
Detention sure puts a crimp in detective work.
"Pssst!" A faint hiss drew my gaze out the open window. It was Natalie. She mouthed, "Read this," and lofted a paper airplane at me.
Just in time, I snatched it from the air.
Ms. Glick's head snapped up. "What was that?"
"Just a fly," I said. "I'm saving it for a snack."
The Beast of Room 3 harrumphed and went back to writing big red F's on test papers. I waited until the coast was clear, then unfolded Natalie's airplane. It read:
CHET—
Rocky didn't do it. Coach Stroganoff says she was at soccer practice all yesterday afternoon. He made her run laps until sundown because she nailed him with water balloons.
Rocky, innocent? My jaw dropped. That was like saying fire is wet or vice principals just want to help you.
If it was true, that meant Rocky had been after Coach Stroganoff, not Mrs. Bagoong. And she'd been stockpiling water balloons, not food.
That put me back at square one with a pocket full of mismatched clues and a brain throbbing with one question: If Rocky wasn't stealing food, then who the heck was?
16 Just Ghost to Show You
I sat in detention like a wart on a toad, bloated and useless. My mind was as blank as a blackboard after the teacher's pet gets through with it.
A gnat circled my head. I let it.
Through my daze, I heard a long faint hiss. I glanced out the window again, but Natalie had gone.
I scanned the room and sniffed. If someone was passing gas, they had mastered their stealth technique. But I couldn't smell anything.
Ms. Glick was still punishing her stack of test papers. My fellow prisoners huddled alone, sunk in their own blue funk.
The hissing continued.
Was it coming from the heating vents? I bent closer, and the hissing resolved itself into whispers.
"More, get me more," said one speaker.
"Not tonight," said a lower voice. "Ssshhe won't help usss anymore."
Ghosts? With speech impediments? I pinched myself, but I wasn't dreaming. Maybe Maureen DeBree wasn't a mental mongoose after all.
Or maybe I was starting to crack up, too.
"I'm almossst ready, but I need more," said the higher voice.
"Monday. I'll sssneak in when they're all dissstracted. It'll be unlocked."
I eased from my seat and leaned closer to the vent.
"Chester Gecko," said Ms. Glick. I hate it when they use my full name. "If you don't have enough to do, I could give you something."
"Don't bother, teacher."
The Beast of Room 3 gave me her best beauty-queen smile, the one that looked like a mouthful of broken glass and razor blades.
"No bother at all," she said sweetly. "Come up here and write something on the blackboard for me. How about, oh, I will not roam about the room while being punished? One hundred times should do nicely."
I shuffled to the front of the room. Maybe I could talk my parents into moving to a new town.
Preferably one without an elementary school.
Somehow, detention passed. The sun sank. Dinner came and went. My life rolled on.
But somehow, too, the sunset looked like a muddy smear, and my plate of termites au gratin tasted like a plumber's handkerchief. This case was getting to me.
All weekend, I worried. It didn't help that school was locked up tight, and I couldn't even investigate my own belly button.
I bet grown-up detectives never have to face problems like this. Childhood is heck.
Just before school Monday morning, I met Natalie by the flagpole.
I squinted at the early sun peeking over the hill. Morning had broken. And I hoped they'd never get around to fixing it.
"What's wrong?" said Natalie. "You look like you haven't slept since Friday."
I waved her off. "Nothing a few Cockroach Clusters couldn't cure. Let's get down to business. Are you sure Rocky is innocent?"
"As sure as a worm is chewy," she said. "Rocky may hate your guts, but she's no food thief."
We wandered toward the playground. I told Natalie about hearing the ghosts in detention.
Her eyes grew big. "Wow," she said. "Our school is haunted? Cool."
"But why would ghosts need to wait for a door to be unlocked? Can't they just walk through walls?"
Natalie cocked her head. "Hmm. Maybe we've got thick ghosts. Or maybe they need a skeleton key."
Even for Natalie, that was a weak joke.
I groaned. "Think. What would a ghost be wanting more of?"
"Huh?"
"One ghost said it wanted more, and that it was almost ready. Ready for what?"
"Something spook-tacular?" Natalie grinned.
I glared.
"Okay, okay," she said. "I'll stop trying to cheer you up. Let's see.... What do ghosts want—soul food?"
The morning bell put an end to our detective work. Just as well. I felt as sharp as a spaghetti noodle.
Whoever had framed me, they'd covered their tracks well. I was fresh out of suspects and grasping at ghosts.
And to top it off, tonight was open house—show time for our stupid Nations of the World presentation. I almost wished the ghosts would scare off our audience.
As I trudged to class, I realized that Shakespeare had it right: A Monday by any other name would still stink.
17. A Hiss Is Just a Hiss
Morning classes crawled by like they'd been stuck to flypaper with superglue. We rehearsed our open-house presentation.
Oh joy.
As a snake charmer, I wore a turban and played a flute, while Shirley, Bitty, and Bo recited a poem about India. Furball Waldo was the snake.
We sat down. From the corner of my eye, I watched the clock stagger toward recess time like a three-legged dingo in a snowbank.
"Psst. Chet?" It was Shirley. She fiddled with her scarf and smiled. "I thought maybe we could practice again during recess. I want things to be just right for tonight."
Yeah, sure. I needed another dose of her cooties like I needed a lifetime supply of broccoli.
The bell rang.
I tipped my hat. "Sorry, sister. Duty calls."
She gave me her best pout, the one that makes her daddy want to slip out his wallet and buy toys. I slipped out the door instead.
My feet carried me to Maureen DeBree's office. She wasn't there, so I hoofed it down the halls to find her.
"Wait up, partner!" Natalie called. "Where ya headed?"
I slowed as she flapped up to me. "Gotta see a janitor about a ghost," I said.
"Count me in."
Natalie and I covered the campus like mud on a warthog's belly. We found seven second graders singing, five first graders frolicking, and a fat partridge stuck in a pear tree.
But no janitor.
"Hey, Chet," said Natalie. "What do we do with the ghosts if we catch them—have you thought of that?"
I mused as we moseyed past the swings. "It's been haunting me all weekend, partner."
Natalie groaned. I shook my head when I realized what I'd said.
Unconscious punning—definitely not a good sign.
We found Ms. DeBree at the edge of the playground. She was spearing crumpled milk cartons with her trash spike and muttering to herself. The world's cleanest janitor nodded as we approached.
"Eh, you kids ever catch that food-napper?" asked Maureen DeBree.
"Still wor
king on it," I said. "Listen, I heard two ghosts talking on Friday—through the heating vents. Have you heard any more from them?"
Ms. DeBree stuffed the milk cartons into her trash bag. Her ammonia perfume was strong enough to make my eyes water at five paces.
"Not me. They been as quiet as a moose," she said. "But look what I find today."
The wiry mongoose dug into her trash bag and produced a scrap of snakeskin. The hair on her shoulders stood on end and her lip curled in a snarl as she held up the dried skin between two fingers.
"Another snake?" said Natalie.
Maureen DeBree nodded grimly. "Two cobras. And you know what that means?"
"Four more and they'll have a snake six-pack," I said impatiently. "Look, let's get back to the ghosts and—"
"Hmph!" said the janitor. "And you call yourself a private eyeball!" She dropped the snakeskin back into her bag and sprayed her hands with disinfectant. "Two stinking cobras means a stinking cobra nest somewheres ... and lots of little stinking baby cobras."
Ms. DeBree wheeled and set off across the playground. "I gotta find 'em quick," she said over her shoulder. "Or we get some big trouble."
The class bell rang. Natalie and I looked blankly at each other.
"Our school is crawling with cobras, ghosts, and food thieves," I said. "We're up to our elbows in mysteries, and look at me. Where am I going?"
"Back to class," said Natalie.
I sighed. It isn't easy being a grade-school detective.
18. As the Worm Turns
What with classes, dish-washing, and detention, Natalie and I didn't have a chance to talk until open house began. All fourth-grade classes met in the cafeteria, where rows of folding chairs had been set up. Smiling parents and frowning little brothers and sisters filled the metal seats.
I was straightening my turban when Natalie plopped into the seat beside me. She adjusted her tail feathers.
"Chet, I've been thinking," she said.
"This isn't about that quarter I owe you, is it?"
Natalie raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember anything from your night in the kitchen? Something that might tell us who gave you that knockout muffin?"
I scratched my chin. I ransacked my mind like a midnight raid on the fridge. No use. All I found were soggy fragments of memories. Leftovers.
"Nope," I said. "I remember getting dizzy, dropping the camera..." Natalie shot me a look. "Sorry. Anyhow, I hit the floor and everything got foggy."
Natalie frowned. "You don't remember a voice, a face ... anything?"
I closed my eyes. Nothing to see but those funny little specks swimming like worms in the darkness. Wait a minute—worms?
My eyes snapped open. "I do remember something." I pointed toward the kitchen at the back of the cafeteria. "Just as I blacked out, I saw a really long worm coming through that kitchen door."
"Mmm, wish I'd been there," said Natalie dreamily. She caught herself. "I mean, uh, a worm? Why would a worm steal food?"
"Beats me," I said. "I thought they ate dirt."
But before we could take it any further, Mr. Ratnose started the show.
The auditorium fell dark, except for the stage lights. Then, my teacher marched to the microphone, whiskers all atwitter, wearing a hat that sprouted the flags of all nations.
For a rat, he was quite a ham.
"Welcome, dear parents," said Mr. Ratnose, "to the fourth graders' amazing, amusing presentation. May I introduce, for your entertainment pleasure, the Nations of the World!"
The first group of kids got up, dressed in leather shorts and carrying a sausage as big as a sea serpent. An armadillo recited: "'In Germany our knees are frozen / 'cause we wear our lederhosen.'"
And our show went downhill from there.
Somehow, the presentation lurched and staggered toward its ending. I've seen better acting from my little sister at bedtime. But the audience sat there goo-goo eyed, drinking in every word. Parents.
My group walked onstage to present India. Shirley cleared her throat and read from a scrap of paper: "'In India we do suggest / you'll find our curried shakes the best!'"
But, corny as our piece was, it couldn't keep my mind off of the case. As I fiddled around with the flute, I kept thinking, If a worm is the food thief, how did it cook that knockout muffin without any hands? And how did it open the doors?
My mind wandered like a doodlebug in a department store. Then, two things happened.
First, I noticed the cafeteria ladies sitting together, over to one side. And it struck me like a lunch tray to the chops: The food theft was an inside job! Someone had unlocked the doors for the giant worm—and it wasn't Rocky.
So that meant one of two people: Mrs. Bagoong, or her second-in-command, Minnie Stroney—the muffin whiz. I gasped.
Shirley turned one eye on me. "Uh, Mr. Snake Charmer?" she said. "Are you all right?"
And then, the second thing happened. I saw, behind the audience, a long, crooked shape crawling through the dim kitchen. I stuffed my flute in my belt and leaped off the stage.
"Come on, Natalie," I cried. "Time to catch a food thief!"
Heads turned as I rushed down the aisle toward the kitchen, with Natalie close behind. I stepped past the food counter and reached for the light switch, shouting, "Freeze, you worm!"
The sudden glare of overhead lights revealed ... a huge cobra! With his tongue wrapped around the doorknob of the storeroom!
"Eeee!" the audience screamed.
I acted before thinking. Not a good idea.
"Yaah!" I jumped onto the cobra's back and grabbed him tightly around the neck.
Thhwipp! The cobra's tongue slipped back into his mouth like a sword in a scabbard. The massive snake turned and slithered toward the half-open kitchen door.
I hung on with hands and feet. As we glided past an astonished Natalie, I shouted, "Quick! Go get Ms. DeBree. I'll slow him down."
"How?" she said.
I had no idea.
But I knew one thing for sure: Getting on a cobra is much easier than getting off.
19. Snakes Alive!
I clung to the cobra's back like ugly on an ape. He twisted around to bite me, but I was riding too high up on his neck.
I pulled back on his hood like a horse's reins. "Whoa, snakey! Whoa, there."
It had about as much effect as tickling a boulder.
Without breaking his fast slither, the snake hissed, "The name'sss not Sssnakey. It'sss Jimmy King."
That voice! I knew it in an instant. This was one of the "ghosts" I'd heard through the heater vents in detention.
He glided through the shadows like a dark river, and I watched Natalie flap off to find Ms. DeBree. That mongoose would fix his wagon.
If only I could slow him down long enough for her to catch up.
"Can't we stop and talk this over?" I said.
The cobra whipped along like a warp-speed roller coaster. "What'sss to dissscusss?" he said. "We're moving in."
I gripped his undulating body like a chocoholic clings to a candy bar. I started to feel seasick. "Bu-but Principal Zero wou-wouldn't like that."
"Who caressss? When the eggsss hatch, I'll fill the hallsss of this ssschool with my children—they'll be the sssmartessst sssnakesss in the world!"
At least Jimmy King Cobra wasn't sssuffering from low self-esteem. And he wasn't slowing down, either. The snake zipped down the halls toward ... the boiler room?
He executed a quick roll, trying to scrape me off.
Ooof! I felt like the bottom dog in a dog pile, but I held on.
My turban unrolled behind me, littering the hall like a toilet-paper streamer. And then it struck me: I was a snake charmer! (Or, at least, I played one on the stage.)
I fumbled in my costume belt for the flute. Still there.
We were closing fast on the half-open boiler-room door.
One-handedly, I stuck an end of the flute into my mouth and started to blow. Amazingly, it worked.
The cobra s
lowed, a few feet shy of the door. His pointed snout turned toward me, his eyes narrowed. "Take sssome lessonsss!" he hissed.
Jimmy King Cobra cracked his body like a bullwhip.
And I went flying.
Unfortunately, unlike mockingbirds, geckos don't get much practice in the air.
Whump! I landed heavily, thwacking my head on a pole. Stars danced before my eyes like talent night at the local YMCA. Through the stars, I saw the cobra's two-fanged smile.
"Ssso long, sssucker," he said. Jimmy King Cobra turned and began to slither through the boiler-room door.
But as he did, an eerie melody arose—a song of India, reeking of enchantment and moonlight. A real flute, played by a real snake charmer? I staggered to my feet and stepped closer.
The door swung open. Jimmy King Cobra swayed to the rhythm of the melody coming from ... Natalie's beak?
Leave it to a mockingbird. She could have played first flute in the school band—without an instrument. Waving her beak to and fro, Natalie led the mesmerized cobra back outside, away from the covered hallway and the boiler room.
My partner stepped backward onto the grass, the snake following her obediently.
Shhoomp! A thick net sailed from the roof, landing heavily on the cobra. It was followed closely by Maureen DeBree, the crafty mongoose.
As Natalie continued her hypnotic song, the janitor rolled and tied and trussed the big snake like an old garden hose. She used knots no Girl Scout ever knew. And for a grand finale, she taped the cobra's mouth shut, then hooked the roll on to her tool belt.
"Duct tape," she rasped. "Don't never leave home without it."
20. All's Well That Ends