by James Howe
Cafeteria food may be hazardous to your health
Poor Milo Groot—he’s sprawled on the cafeteria floor, his cracked glasses inches away from his white face. Could it be the apple chili dogs?
Could it be poison?
Kids at the middle school are dropping like flies, and Sebastian Barth suspects there’s something fishier than tuna dreamboats behind the epidemic. The trouble is, too many cooks have had the chance to spoil the stew.
Sebastian Finds Out
At least he thinks he does, but he soon discovers that whipping up a dramatic disclosure without all the ingredients is a recipe for disaster.
“Readers will be intent on unraveling the mystery and be dazzled by the triple shock in the windup.”
—Publishers Weekly
James Howe is the author of the best-selling Bunnicula series and other popular books for young readers, including A Night without Stars and Morgan’s Zoo. He lives in Hastings-on-Hudson, New York, with his wife and daughter.
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS
Simon & Schuster
Cover illustration © 1995
by Richard Parisi
Ages 9 to 12
First Aladdin Paperbacks edition September 1995
Copyright © 1986 by James Howe
Aladdin Paperbacks
An imprint of Simon & Schuster
Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form
Also available in an Atheneum Books for Young
Readers edition
Designed by Mary Ahem
20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Howe, James. Eat your poison, dear.
(Sebastian Barth mysteries ; bk. 3)
SUMMARY: Young sleuth Sebastian and three friends probe the mystery of a poisoning in their school cafeteria.
[1. Schools—Fiction. 2. Mystery and detective stories] I. Title.
PZ7.H83727 Eat 1986 [Fic] 86-3582
ISBN 0-689-31206-7 (hc.)
ISBN-13: 978-0-689-80339-0 (Aladdin pbk.)
ISBN-13: 978-1-442-45237-4 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 0-689-80339-7 (Aladdin pbk.)
Eat Your Poison, Dear
Other Aladdin Paperbacks by James Howe
Stage Fright
What Eric Knew
Coming Soon
Morgan’s Zoo
A Night without Stars
To
Lee & Susan
Howe
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Eat Tour Poison, Dear
1
ADAM WELLS couldn’t believe his eyes.
“What is that garbage?” he asked Sebastian Barth, as the two boys inched their way along the cafeteria line.
“Precisely,” said Sebastian.
“Its odor doesn’t even give us a clue,” Milo Groot piped up. Milo, younger and shorter than most of his fellow eighth-graders, had to pipe up if he wanted to be noticed.
“That’s not entirely true,” said Sebastian. “I’m picking up whiffs of canned tomato sauce and cider.”
“Sounds delicious,” Adam said. “Why didn’t I pack a sandwich?”
“From the look of the yellow stuff under the red stuff,” Sebastian went on, “I’d say we’re having apple lasagna.”
“Apple lasagna,” said Adam. “I think I’ll pretend I packed a sandwich. And that I ate it already.”
Just then, Jason Bruxter and Brad West fell into line behind Milo and began playing demolition derby with their trays.
“The Devil Riders have arrived,” Milo muttered under his breath, “Pembroke Middle School’s latest and greatest case of arrested development.”
Sebastian didn’t respond. He was watching the cafeteria manager ladle the mystery food onto a plate and start to hand it to Adam. Suddenly, she yanked it back.
“What’s the matter, Miss Swille?” Sebastian asked. “Has today’s lunch been recalled?”
“Oh, Sebastian,” Miss Swille said, “you’re such a tease. I forgot Adam’s string beans, is all.” Heaping the plate with limp, khaki-colored vegetables, she returned it to Adam, and said, “Now eat your string beans, dear. They’re full of potassium.”
“What exactly are we eating today?” Sebastian asked. “Other than the potassium, I mean.”
“It’s a little recipe all my own. Apple lasagna.” Miss Swille scraped the bottom of the bin, not forgetting the string beans this time, and advised Sebastian to eat them all up. Sebastian promised to try, as Miss Swille turned away and addressed her student volunteer. “Harlan, dear, we need more lasagna. Why, I never imagined it would be this popular.”
“Me neither,” said the tall, gangly boy in the cut-off denim vest. “And, Miss Swille, my name is Harley.” Spotting Jason and Brad in line, he gave them the thumbs-up sign, then went off to get a fresh pan of lasagna from the oven.
“‘Eat your string beans, dear,’” Adam said mockingly as he and Sebastian seated themselves. “How about ‘eat your poison, dear’? You know something, Sebastian? This school should serve insurance policies with lunch, I’m not kidding.”
Sebastian laughed. “Remember the food riot last spring?”
“That was so great! It must have taken them a month to get all the melted cheese off the overhead lights.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll tell you one thing. Miss Swille hasn’t dared make tunafish dreamboats since then.”
“Listen,” said Adam, “she was making them every week. No wonder there was a—” He stopped himself when he saw Milo Groot coming up behind Sebastian.
The spiky-haired ten-year-old held his tray in one hand, an open book in the other. “There aren’t any empty tables,” Milo said. “Is it all right if I sit with you, Barth?”
“It’s a free country,” Sebastian said.
Adam groaned. “Apple lasagna and Milo Groot. The perfect lunch.” Trying to shut out this latest development, he turned to Sebastian and picked up on his earlier train of thought. “Seriously, Sebastian, sometimes I can’t decide if Miss Swille really likes kids and is helping us grow up to be big and strong by putting our stomachs through some kind of basic training, or she hates us all and is slowly killing us off.”
“Oh, it isn’t so bad,” Sebastian said. “My mom tells me Miss Swille knows a lot about nutrition. So I guess we’re well fed.”
“So are hogs,” said Adam.
The sound of raucous laughter at a nearby table drew the boys’ attention.
“I still can’t believe it,” Adam said, watching Jason Bruxter and Brad West squirt milk at each oth
er through their straws.
“You mean ‘Breeze’ and ‘Biker’?”
Adam grunted. “Yeah. Where’d they come up with those names, anyway? ‘Jason’ and ‘Brad’ were always good enough, until Harley came along.”
Milo looked up from his book. “Harley chose the names, I’m sure. Picked them out of a dictionary, perhaps. Just getting to the B’s was probably the most reading he’s ever done. Personally, I think the whole thing’s disgusting.”
Sebastian and Adam exchanged a look.
“School is no place for gangs like the Devil Riders,” Milo continued. “Mr. Hogan shouldn’t allow it. They’re noisy and disruptive, and they dress like fugitives from a reform school.”
“Why don’t you tell Harley what you think?” Adam asked.
Milo smiled. “I’m going to do better than that. I’ve written an editorial in this week’s paper. Soon, the whole school—and Mr. Hogan—will know my views.”
“I guess as editor of the school paper, you can do whatever you want,” Sebastian said. “I’d just watch out for Harley, if I were you.”
“Harley doesn’t scare me,” Milo said, and he took another bite of apple lasagna.
“Hey, Sebastian!”
Sebastian looked across the room to see Ricky Siddons waving a fork. “This stuff is the pits, right? What do you say? Want to start another riot?”
Mrs. Evans, the cafeteria monitor that day, scowled ferociously. “It isn’t that bad,” Sebastian said. “I ate it.”
“Yeah,” said Ricky. “So did your friend Milo. And look at him.”
Everybody turned to Milo, whose face was growing pale.
“You all right?” Sebastian asked.
“Of course I’m all right,” Milo said. “I just ate too fast, that’s all. I’ll feel better once I … once I …”
“Throw up,” Adam said. And on cue, Milo Groot did just that, to the sound of laughing and cheering throughout the cafeteria. Mrs. Evans ran to his side, clapping her hands as she did. “That’s enough,” she cried. “Stop it, boys and girls. It isn’t funny.”
Watching Milo, Sebastian drained his milk carton, then picked up his tray and commented, “You know, another interesting thing about Miss Swille’s food is that it doesn’t look any different after you’ve eaten it.”
2
ON THEIR WAY out of the cafeteria, the two boys bumped into Sebastian’s friend, David Lepinsky.
“Where are you going?” Sebastian said. “Don’t you have math now?”
“I work in the office this period on Tuesdays,” said David. “I’m bringing these posters to Miss Swille.”
“Let’s see,” Sebastian said.
“Brownnose,” said Adam.
“I am not. I get credit for helping out in the office.”
“You work there every day?”
“Yep. Different periods, and sometimes for only fifteen minutes. But every day. I like it. They forget I’m there, so I get to hear all kinds of good stuff.”
“I think we’re in for more than apple lasagna,” said Sebastian, studying a rolled-out poster. “Listen. ‘Apple-cadabra. Good health doesn’t happen by magic. It just seems that way when it tastes as delicious as this favorite fall-time fruit. Enjoy the magic of apples all month long at your school cafeteria.’ I shudder to think of what Miss Swille will come up with next. And October has just begun.”
“It smells like she’s already at her cauldron,” David said.
Adam smirked. “That’s Milo,” he said.
“What happened?” David asked. “Was he sick?”
“Let’s just say that Miss Swille’s cooking didn’t agree with him.”
“It doesn’t agree with anybody,” David said. “But nobody’s gotten sick from it before.”
“Well, maybe he was poisoned,” Sebastian said.
“Who’d want to poison Milo Groot?” David asked.
There was a moment of silence. Then the three boys broke out laughing, as together they cried, “Everybody!”
3
“MES AMIS, MES AMIS!” Monsieur Hameauvert shouted over the din of arriving students. “Attention, s’il vous plaît! Maintenant, nous—vous m’entendez, mes amis? Écoutez-moi, s’il vous plaît! Écoutez-moi! Maintenant, nous … nous— Listen up!”
The room fell silent.
“Is it too early in the year to be speaking French?” said Monsieur Hameauvert. “Must I use English to be understood?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” Harley mumbled. A handful of students snickered.
“Pardon,” Monsieur Hameauvert said. “What did you say, Edouard?”
“I didn’t say nothing,” said Harley. He slouched over his desk, studying the cover of his new motorcycle magazine. “And my name is Harley,” he said softly.
“Mais oui,” the teacher said. “Harley. But Harley is not your real name, is it, Monsieur Davidson? It is a nickname, an affectation, as it were. Your real name is Edward. And here in French class, we use the French equivalents to our names, do we not? Edward becomes Edouard.”
“And Green-burg becomes Hameauvert,” Harley said to his magazine.
“Monsieur Davidson, I am having some difficulty hearing you. Perhaps you would be so kind as to move to the front of the room. We have an empty seat here, right across from my desk. Où est Monsieur Groot today? Does anyone know where Milo is?”
Walking toward the front of the room, Harley said, “He puked at lunch. Sorry, Mr. Hameauvert, I don’t know how to say that in French.”
The class erupted in laughter as Monsieur Hameauvert turned to the board and wrote on it:
Vomir = To puke
“The chalk awaits, Edouard. Please come to the board and conjugate this verb. I will then ask you to use it in several sentences, varying its tense. Class, take out your notebooks and conjugate along with Monsieur Davidson.”
“Geez,” Adam whispered to Sebastian, “Green-burg is really coming down on Harley today.”
“I think the only one who doesn’t get on Harley is Miss Swille,” said Sebastian. “And maybe his mother.”
“I heard his mother has tattoos,” Corrie Wingate whispered from the desk behind Sebastian’s.
“Oh, yeah?” said Adam. “Where?”
Corrie started to giggle. “I don’t know,” she said, feeling her cheeks grow hot.
Monsieur Hameauvert looked up from his desk. “If you are going to giggle, Mademoiselle Wingate,” he said, “please do so in French. If you do not know how to manage that feat, perhaps you should pay attention so that you might learn.”
“Sorry,” Corrie said. “Je regrette.”
“Merci.”
Corrie turned, red-faced, to her work.
The only sounds for the next few minutes were the scratching of pencil on paper, the squeaking of chalk on blackboard and the turning of pages, as Phil Greenburg (he was Monsieur Hameauvert only to his French students) studied the magazine he’d picked up from Harley’s desk. Sebastian didn’t notice David enter the room. But he did see him hand a note to the French teacher and wiggle his ears while it was read.
“Merci bien, David.”
“Il n’y a pas de quoi!” David replied. He smiled at Sebastian, and left the room. Sebastian smiled to himself. His friend just couldn’t resist an opportunity to show off.
“I hope you are all properly shamed,” said Monsieur Hameauvert, “to hear a seventh-grader converse so easily in French.” He turned to Harley at the board and said, “You may sit down now, Edouard. And plan on keeping this seat for the rest of the week. I have just learned that our friend Milo has the flu. I expect it will be some time before he rejoins us. Until then, you and I shall be keeping close company.” He put the motorcycle magazine away in his desk, and said, “Now, let us try a sentence using the infinitive. First in French, then the English. Edouard?”
Harley looked down at his empty desk top. “Cette classe de française me fait vomir,” he said. “French class makes me puke.”
4
“
WHAT A DAY,” Corrie Wingate said, kicking at the leaves as she walked. There was a tone in her voice Sebastian hadn’t heard before. “School was never like this in Troy.”
“What do you mean?” David asked. “Didn’t kids throw up where you used to live?”
“I’m not talking about Milo. Besides, I was already out of the cafeteria when that happened. I was thinking more about French class and what happened after.”
“Oh,” said Sebastian. He waved to Jason and Brad, who were walking on the other side of the street. They didn’t wave back.
“Creeps,” David muttered. “What are they doing here anyway? Why aren’t they on their bus?”
“They’re probably headed for the Mobil station to hang out with Harley. They go there a lot these days. You know what Adam calls them? ‘Greasers in designer jeans.’ “
David laughed. “He’s pretty unhappy about them, isn’t he?”
“Can you blame him? The poor guy goes off to New Mexico to spend the summer with his grandparents, and when he gets back home his best friends don’t want anything to do with him anymore.”
“That’s lousy,” David said. “But what I don’t understand is why they became friends with Harley.”
“Nobody does.”
Corrie sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asked.
“Why did Monsieur Hameauvert have to pick on me today?” Corrie said. “Other people get away with giggling. I get called on it every time.”
“You’re just sensitive because you’re new,” said Sebastian. “Believe me, with Harley in the class, Greenburg isn’t going to lose sleep over you. Besides, you do all your work and you get good grades. He won’t flunk you because you giggle once in a while.”
“You’re probably right. But you know what else happened? Mr. Hogan called me into his office this afternoon. He said he and Mr. Turman had talked, and they just don’t think it’s safe to let a girl play football on the boys’ team. I told him I don’t see why the Panthers had to be a boys’ team anyway. Every sport, I said, should be for every kid, whatever their sex.”