by Lewis B. Montgomery
illustrated by Amy Wummer
The KANE PRESS
New York
Text copyright © 2009 by Lewis B. Montgomery
Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Amy Wummer
Super Sleuthing Strategies illustrations copyright © 2009 by Kane Press, Inc.
Super Sleuthing Strategies illustrations by Nadia DiMattia
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Kane Press, Inc., 240 West 35th Street, Suite 302, New York, NY 10001-2506.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Montgomery, Lewis B.
The case of the poisoned pig / by Lewis B. Montgomery ; illustrated by Amy Wummer.
p. cm. — (The Milo & Jazz mysteries ; 2)
Summary: When Jazz’s pet piglet gets sick and the veterinarian suspects it was poisoned, she and Milo use their detective skills to try to figure out who did it.
ISBN 978-1-57565-286-3 (pbk.) — ISBN 978-1-57565-289-4 (lib. bdg.)
[1. Pigs—Fiction. 2. Pigs as pets—Fiction. 3. Pets—Fiction. 4. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Wummer, Amy, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.M7682Cas 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2008027537
ISBN 978-1-57565-341-9 (e-book)
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First published in the United States of America in 2009 by Kane Press, Inc.
Printed in Hong Kong
Book Design: Edward Miller
The Milo & Jazz Mysteries is a registered trademark of Kane Press, Inc.
www.kanepress.com
eISBN: 978-1-5756-5341-9 (pdf)
eISBN: 978-1-5756-5738-7 (ePub)
eISBN: 978-1-5756-5658-8 (mobi)
For Cassidy’s Aunt Sherry:
a new pig for your collection!—L.B.M.
Milo stared up at the classroom clock. How come the last few minutes of the school day always felt like hours, but recess seemed to zip by in three seconds?
A flash of purple caught his eye. He turned. It was a purple flowered clog.
The clog was on the foot of his friend Jazz. She was using it to kick a folded note across the floor between their desks.
He reached for it with his sneaker. Almost—almost—
“Milo!”
Uh-oh.
Ms. Ali, their teacher, held out her hand. “All right. Let’s have that note.”
Slowly he got up. Someone giggled. Ms. Ali tapped her foot as Milo walked to the front of the room.
He handed her the paper. She unfolded it. Her eyebrows scrunched. She turned it over and looked at the back, then at the front again.
“It’s blank.” She looked at Milo. “Why would someone pass you a blank sheet of paper?”
He shrugged. “Um . . . maybe they forgot to write a note?”
Everyone in the class was giggling now. Frowning, Ms. Ali gave him the paper, and he went back to his seat.
While Ms. Ali called for quiet, Milo pulled out his invisible-ink pen. Using an open book as a shield, he shone the pen’s special light on Jazz’s note.
He clicked off the light and glanced at Jazz. A surprise! Could it be a new case?
Milo and Jazz were detectives in training. They got lessons in the mail from world-famous private eye Dash Marlowe. With a little help from Dash, they solved real-life mysteries.
When the bell rang, Jazz met Milo in the hall. “Whew!” she said. “I sure am glad you gave me that invisible-ink pen.”
“Me, too. So, what’s the surprise?”
She smiled. “You’ll see.”
“Give me a hint,” he said as they walked toward his brother Ethan’s kindergarten room. “Where is it?”
“At my house.”
“Is it Dylan?” he asked. “Did he lose something again?” Dylan was Jazz’s teenage brother. Not long ago his lucky socks had disappeared, and they had tracked them down.
Jazz said, “I think he’s lost his mind. Wait until you see the car he bought.”
“That’s the surprise?”
“No, the surprise is something good.”
They picked Ethan up and headed home. Ethan skipped ahead, hands in his jacket pockets, singing a dinosaur song. He was crazy about dinosaurs.
“Dig, dig, dig, dig up the dinosaurs. . . .”
“How about another hint?” Milo asked Jazz.
“It starts with P,” she said.
A surprise starting with P. “Party?”
“Nope.”
He thought again. “Popcorn?”
“Nope.”
“Pirate ship?”
Jazz gave him a look.
“Candy!” yelled Ethan.
“Huh? Candy doesn’t start with P,” Milo said.
“Look!” His brother waved a plastic Easter egg. Something rattled inside.
Candy. Mmm. “Can I have some?” Milo asked.
Quickly, Ethan shoved the egg back in his pocket. “Uh-uh. I’m saving it.”
Milo rolled his eyes. He’d gobbled everything out of his own Easter basket except the plastic grass. But Ethan let himself eat just one piece a day. One single jelly bean. One little cream-filled egg. One pink or green foil-wrapped piece of chocolate. At this rate he’d have Easter candy until Halloween.
Jazz’s house looked just the same as usual, at least from the outside.
“So, where’s the surprise?” Milo asked as they walked up the steps.
“You’ll see.” She opened the door.
Zoom!
A black-and-white blur shot out. Before he knew what was happening, it dashed between his legs and hurtled off the porch. “Catch her!” Jazz yelled.
Milo ran one way. Jazz ran the other. When the animal stopped for a second, they both dove. Bonk.
Ouch.
Jazz rubbed her head. “Did you get her?”
“No, did you?”
“I got her,” Ethan said.
Milo looked up at the tiny, squirming animal cradled in his brother’s arms.
Was it a puppy? No.
A kitten? No.
“Holy cow,” he said. “It’s a pig!”
“This is our new pet,” Jazz said. “Her name is Eugenia.”
Ethan stared at the tiny pig. “Huge what?”
“Yooj-EEN-ya,” Jazz repeated more slowly. “Isn’t she cute?”
Milo stared too. “I thought pigs were pink.”
“Not all of them,” Jazz said.
Round-eyed, Ethan whispered, “She’s so little.”
“She’s just a baby. And she’s a potbellied pig. They’re extra-small.” Jazz held out her hands, but Ethan squeezed the piglet tighter.
“Can I hold her one more minute? Please?”
“Okay, but don’t squish her,” Jazz said. “And don’t let her go. This morning she made a mess of Mrs. Budge’s prize petunias.” She pointed. In the yard next door, a lady was digging up a bed of trampled flowers. She did not look happy.
“Your teeny little piglet did all that?” Milo asked.
Jazz nodded glumly. “Now Mom says I have to pay Mrs. Budge back by helping in her garden. And she’s such a grouch!”
“How come you didn’t tie the pig up?”
“We did, but she got loose somehow. My dad calls her Teeny Houdini.”
The door opened again, and Jazz’s older sister, Vanessa, rushed out. She spotted the piglet.
“Queenie!” she said. “How did you get out again?”
“Queenie?”
Milo glanced at Jazz. “I thought you said her name was Eugenia.”
“It is,” she said.
“Is not,” Vanessa said, fists on hips.
“Is too!”
RrrrrrRRRRRRRACKACKACKACK-ackack! A loud noise from the garage drowned out the two girls. It sounded like a lawnmower choking on a weed whacker.
Their older brother Dylan strolled out wiping oily hands on his jeans.
“That car sounds even worse than it looks,” Jazz said.
“Oh, yeah?” said Dylan. “See if I drive you anywhere.” He looked down at Ethan and the pig playing in the grass. “Hey, Spike. Made a new friend?”
Spike?
“How many names does this pig have?” Milo asked.
Dylan laughed. “Four so far. One for each of us kids. Chris calls her Pigasus.”
One piglet with four names? “Um . . . isn’t that a little confusing?” Milo said.
“Dad gave us a week to decide,” Jazz explained. “If we can’t all agree on a name by then, he’ll pick one himself.”
Vanessa shuddered. “Last time he did that, we ended up with a goldfish called Glub.”
“Why don’t you just agree to Eugenia, then?” Jazz said.
“Why don’t you agree to Queenie?”
“Eugenia doesn’t want a silly name like Queenie,” Jazz said. “Do you, Eugenia?”
Vanessa marched off in a huff.
“Want to check out my wheels?” Dylan asked Milo.
“Sure!” he said.
Jazz made a face, but she followed them to the garage.
Milo’s jaw dropped. Wow.
One of the car doors hung open in a funny way. The hood was propped up with a stick, and rusty parts lay scattered on a bench. Something sticky dripped into a spreading puddle on the floor.
Dylan beamed. “Like it?”
“It’s . . . it’s . . .” Milo wasn’t sure what to say. “That’s some car.”
“It’ll be even better once it’s all fixed up.” Dylan gave the car a friendly pat, and a hubcap fell off.
Milo smiled politely. Then he and Jazz made for the door.
“See what I mean?” Jazz said. “My brother is as nutty as a bag of trail mix.”
They came around the corner of the house and saw Ethan still playing with the pig.
Then Jazz stopped short. “Oh, no. It’s Gordy Fletcher.”
Gordy Fletcher was in their class at school. He was always doing things like sticking KISS ME signs on kids’ backs. Or asking them if they had studied for the test when there wasn’t a test that day.
Gordy was standing by his scooter. A big white plastic thing with tubes sticking out was slung across his back. He was eyeing the piglet.
“What is that?” Gordy asked.
“It’s Huge,” Ethan said.
Gordy stared at the pig. “Doesn’t look too huge to me.”
Ethan pointed at the tubey thing on Gordy’s back. “What’s that? Is it an alien space blaster?”
Gordy smirked. “You got it.” He slung it off and aimed it at the piglet. “Freeze! Or you’re bacon bits.” He laughed.
Jazz stormed up. “Gordy Fletcher, you leave my pig alone!”
Scowling, Gordy slung the blaster on his back again. Then, suddenly, he grinned.
“Hey, that was a great trick, passing that blank note in class today,” he said. “I want to shake your hand.” Gordy stuck his hand out, and Milo shook it.
BZZZZZZZZZ!
Milo jumped back, yanking his hand away. Doubled over laughing, Gordy showed the buzzer hidden in his palm.
Jazz glared at him. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own age? Like a two-year-old.”
“Aw, come on. Can’t you take a joke?” Still laughing, Gordy rode off on his scooter.
“Are you okay?” Jazz asked Milo.
He nodded. “Startled me, that’s all.”
“Be glad he doesn’t live on your street. You know how many times he’s put fake dog poop on our lawn?” She sighed.
Ethan refused to leave the piglet, so Milo called home and asked if they could stay awhile. Then he and Jazz made a snack and started on their homework.
“Let’s do this in invisible ink,” he said. “Then Ms. Ali can’t see if it’s wrong.”
“And then she’ll give us a zero,” Jazz said.
Hmm. Good point.
Ethan tore in behind Eugenia-Queenie-Spike-Pigasus. They chased each other in circles around the kitchen table.
Suddenly the piglet stopped. A strange noise came from the back of her throat: Eh-eh-eh.
Jazz scooped her up. “What’s wrong, Eugenia?”
Eh-eh-eh.
“I think she’s choking!” Jazz said.
“Maybe we should do the Heimlich on her,” said Milo.
Eh-eh-eh.
“How do you do that?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I think you hug the person hard around the waist.”
“Do pigs have waists?”
Eh-eh-eh . . . blehhhh.
They stared at the puddle of pig puke.
“Well,” Jazz said, “she isn’t choking.”
Milo groaned. “She threw up on my homework!”
Jazz set the piglet on the floor. Ethan knelt down and patted her. “Do you feel better now, Huge?”
The pig threw up again. Milo figured that meant “no.”
“We’d better take her to the vet,” Jazz said. “She’s just a baby, after all.”
“Ms. Ali is never going to believe a pig puked on my homework,” Milo said.
“Maybe the vet can write you an excuse?”
Ethan insisted on coming along to the vet’s office too.
“She’s not our pet,” Milo said.
“But I love her!”
“You just met her.”
“I don’t care. I love her more than Easter candy. More than Grandma Judy. More than dinosaurs.” Ethan hugged the pig tightly.
“Careful,” Jazz warned. “You’ll make her puke again.”
“He’s going to make me puke,” Milo said.
The vet’s waiting room was full of animals: an orange kitten, two hamsters, a fat little puppy, and a big drooly dog. But no other pigs.
When their turn came, Dr. Soo said, “Well, now, and who is this?”
“Eugenia.” Jazz smiled as the vet scribbled the name on his chart.
While they told him what had happened, Dr. Soo picked up the piglet and felt her all over. He peered in her eyes and ears and down her throat. “Hmm. Mm-hmm. Looks pretty healthy.”
“So why did she throw up?” Jazz asked.
Dr. Soo looked thoughtful. “I can’t be sure,” he said. “But it looks to me like a case of poisoning.”
Poisoning?
Jazz gasped. “But she’s only a piglet. Who would do an awful thing like that?”
Milo pictured a gloved hand tapping a drop of sickly green liquid into a bowl of pig chow. Could this be their next case?
Dr. Soo laughed. “I wasn’t suggesting foul play—that she was poisoned on purpose. I’m sure it was an accident.” He picked up a leaflet and gave it to Jazz. “A lot of ordinary household items can be dangerous for pets.”
Milo read over Jazz’s shoulder.
Antifreeze! Milo thought of the sticky puddle under Dylan’s car. He asked Jazz, “Has Eugenia been in the garage?”
Jazz shrugged. “I don’t think so. Unless she got in there while we were at school.”
Dr. Soo checked his watch. “Whatever she ate, it was within the last few hours.” He set the piglet on the floor. She trotted around, snuffling curiously. “At any rate, she seems fine now. If you go home and do some pig-proofing, you shouldn’t have any more trouble.”
When they got back, Jazz tied the pig’s leash to the porch. “You stay here while we make the house safe for you.” She glanced next door. Mrs. Budge was still hard at work in her torn-up garden. “And please be good.”
“I’ll take care of her,” Ethan promised, holding her to
his cheek. “Right, Huge?”
“Eugenia,” Jazz corrected.
Ethan didn’t seem to notice.
They went through the house room by room. Every time they found an item from the list, they moved it way up high where the pig couldn’t reach.
Milo had just climbed up on the toilet to put the soap on a high shelf when Dylan walked in. He was covered in grease. “Whoa! I need that soap.”
While Dylan scrubbed, Jazz explained about the pig-proofing and read him the list of poisons.
“Antifreeze, huh?” Dylan said.
“I saw something leaking from your car,” said Milo.
“That’s just water from the radiator.” Dylan paused. “Well, and a little engine oil. And maybe some brake fluid. But I’ll clean it up, anyway. Don’t want Spike getting sick.”
“Eugenia,” Jazz said.
“Whatever.”
They heard the front door slam.
A moment later, Ethan rushed in. “Milo! Jazz! That space alien boy is back—and he’s shooting at Huge!”
Gordy Fletcher stood on the sidewalk holding his blaster. The piglet dashed back and forth at the end of her leash, squealing. As they rushed toward him, Gordy took aim.
“Stop!” Milo yelled.
Gordy put his mouth up to one of the plastic tubes. His cheeks puffed out, and something small and white shot past the piglet’s ear.
Jazz ran up and wrenched the weapon out of Gordy’s hands.
“Hey! Give that back!” he yelled.
“You’ll get it up your nose if you shoot at my pig again.”
“But she likes it!” Gordy protested. “Right, Bacon Bits?”
Jazz glared at him.
“She’s eaten six already.” Gordy laughed. “What a pig. Get it? A pig!”
“Six what?” Milo asked.
“Marshmallows.”
Milo stared at the white plastic tubes. “That thing shoots marshmallows?”
Gordy nodded. “I made it myself.”
Wow! A homemade marshmallow shooter. Awesome.
The Case of the Poisoned Pig Page 1