The Dirty Trick
Page 1
To kid detectives everywhere!
ISBN 978-1-77138-590-9 (EPUB)
Text © 2015 L. M. Falcone
Illustrations © 2015 Kids Can Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Kids Can Press Ltd. or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright license, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Kids Can Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative; the Ontario Arts Council; the Canada Council for the Arts; and the Government of Canada, through the CBF, for our publishing activity.
Published in Canada by
Kids Can Press Ltd.
25 Dockside Drive
Toronto, ON M5A 0B5
Published in the U.S. by
Kids Can Press Ltd.
2250 Military Road
Tonawanda, NY 14150
www.kidscanpress.com
Edited by Yasemin Uçar and Katie Scott
Designed by Marie Bartholomew
Illustrations by Kim Smith
Chapter icon illustrations by Andrew Dupuis
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Falcone, L. M. (Lucy M.), 1951–, author
The ghost and Max Monroe. Case #3, The dirty trick /
written by L. M. Falcone ; illustrations by Kim Smith.
(The ghost and Max Monroe)
ISBN 978-1-77138-155-0 (bound) ISBN 978-1-77138-019-5 (pbk.)
I. Smith, Kim, 1986–, illustrator II. Title. III. Title: Dirty trick.
PS8561.A574G464 2015 jC813'.6 C2014-906918-9
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Spot the Difference
Everyone Loves The Ghost and Max Monroe!
About the Author
Answers to Spot the Difference
PROLOGUE
Max sat down beside his grandfather. “Your brother, Larry, is a ghost?”
“Yup.”
“And he haunts the detective agency in the backyard?”
“Yup.” Harry shot some whipped cream into his mouth. “Sometimes he hangs around the house. But mostly, he sits in the coach house, bawling his eyes out.”
“I heard crying!”
“That’d be Larry. He likes to have a good cry around this time of day.”
Max shook his head. “Crying ghosts … haunted detective agencies … I’ll wake up any minute and everything will be normal.”
CHAPTER 1
DON’T WAIT UP!
Max Monroe couldn’t believe his luck. His grandpa Harry had made his favorite supper twice in one week — lasagna with cheesy garlic bread. Max remembered that it was his dad’s favorite meal, too, and he suddenly missed him. Max’s father was a reporter sent on overseas assignments. He’d been away since the beginning of the summer and wouldn’t be home for a while.
Harry scraped his plate clean. “Delicious! I love lasagna!”
Max smiled. “Me, too.”
Harry wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Hate to eat and run, but it’s bowling night — and tonight’s the big tournament!”
He got up and rushed out of the kitchen.
Max cleared the dishes. Suddenly, he spotted a light passing by the dark window. A few seconds later, the light passed by again, and then again. Finally, his great-uncle Larry floated through the open window holding a flashlight. Max was still getting used to the idea of having a ghost around. He put a plate in the sink and asked, “Any luck finding the dog?”
“Zip.” Larry sounded annoyed. “I’ll bet my last dollar that dumb mutt doesn’t even exist.”
“Then who’s eating all the dog food?”
“How do I know?” Larry slumped down in a chair.
For over a week now, Max’s uncle Larry had been on a quest to actually see the dog that pooped all over the yard and ate every morsel of food Grandpa Harry put out. So far, no luck.
Larry noticed two boxes of Mighty Moe’s Donuts on the counter. He sprang up, lifted both lids and peered inside. “Where’d all these donuts come from?”
“Grandpa had a coupon — buy one, get one free.”
Larry laughed. “Harry never could resist a bargain. When we were kids, he bought us each a pair of snowshoes because they were on sale. Trouble was — we lived in Florida!”
A car horn honked.
Harry scurried through the kitchen. “That’s Claddie! But I can’t for the life of me remember where I put my ball. Max, if you were a bowling ball, where would I put you?”
“In the fridge,” said Max.
“The fridge?”
“You said bowling balls roll better when they’re cold.”
Harry’s face lit up. “That’s right!”
He pulled open the fridge door and lifted out his bowling ball. “Don’t wait up!” he shouted over his shoulder as he rushed out the door.
SPOOKY MYSTERIES
Max finished doing the dishes then headed into the backyard. Sometimes at night he liked to read Starchy comics that his uncle Larry stashed away in the detective agency. As he waded through the tall grass, he thought about all the years that Larry had been a detective and how he hadn’t solved one single case. Now, in the short time since Max had come to stay with his grandfather, he and Larry had solved two mysteries. They’d found a missing zucchini and a girl who disappeared during a magic trick. Things were looking up.
As Max neared the detective agency, he heard the phone ring.
“Phone!” shouted Larry, streaking past him. In a flash, he was inside the office.
Max climbed through the window. The key to the detective agency had been missing for years.
Larry picked up the phone. With a cheery voice he said, “Monroe Detective Agency.”
“I really need your help!” said a woman on the other end of the line. “A note has been slipped into my purse. It says, Beware … a dirty trick!”
Larry covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Max! A note that says Beware … a dirty trick! has been slipped into someone’s purse!”
“Into whose purse?” asked Max.
“I don’t know.”
“Ask?” suggested Max.
Larry nodded. “May I ask who’s calling, please?”
“My name is Rhonda Remington. I write mystery books.”
Larry covered the mouthpiece again. “Rhonda Remington. She writes mysteries.”
Max’s eyes opened wide. “Rhonda Remington? Grandpa and I have been reading her spooky mysteries. She’s great.” He grabbed the phone. “Hello? Miss Remington? This is Max Monroe.”
SICK WITH WORRY
“Max, I’m so glad you’re there,” said Rhonda.
Max frowned. “Have we met?”
“No, but the gentleman at the front desk suggested you might be able to help. He’d read an article about the Monroe Detective Agency. He found the newspaper and noticed the agency’s number was listed in the article.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m ten.”
Larry’s eyes bugged out. “Why are you telling her that?!”
“Ten years old?” asked Rhonda.
“Uh-huh,” replied Max. There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
Max watched Larry pace back and forth, wringing his hands. He knew that his uncle desperately wanted another case — and another chance to redeem his reputation. Being called a bumbling detective when he was alive had left a dark mark on Larry’s heart.
“I thought you sounded a little young,” said Rhonda. “But the young man who programs my computer isn’t much older than you, and he’s an absolute genius! So, I don’t mind.”
“That’s great, Miss Remington.”
Larry’s face lit up. He leaned in to listen on the line.
“I’ve been nominated for the Mystery Hall of Fame,” Rhonda continued. “One person is inducted every year, and the ceremony is tonight after a reception. I’m calling from Waldon Hall — do you know where that is?”
Max looked at Larry. Larry nodded his head.
“Yes,” said Max.
“I know this is short notice, but can you meet me here tonight? Since I got that note, I’ve been sick with worry. I’d hate for anyone to play a dirty trick on me when I’m so close to receiving this great honor.”
Max couldn’t believe one of his favorite authors needed his help. “I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER 2
GHOSTS GO TO THE MOVIES
As Max hung up the phone, he noticed Larry frowning.
“What’s wrong, Uncle Larry?”
“Rhonda Remington needs our help tonight, and I can’t go.”
“Why not?”
“I promised Gertrude Finklestein I’d take her to the movies — a Three Stooges marathon. She used to date Curly, you know.”
“Who’s Gertrude Finklestein?” asked Max.
“A lady friend.”
“A ghost lady friend? I didn’t know ghosts go to the movies.”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
Max shook his head. He still had so much to learn about ghosts.
“You can’t take this case without me,” cried Larry. “We’re a team — like Sherlock and Watson, Abbott and Costello, peanut butter and jelly.”
Max slipped on his detective coat and tucked his notebook into the pocket. “Sorry, Uncle Larry, but Miss Remington is in trouble and she needs my help. I’ve gotta go.”
Larry crossed his arms. “And just how do you plan on getting to Waldon Hall?”
Max thought for a moment. “If you give me a ride, I’ll give you my share of the donuts.”
“Deal!” said Larry.
While Larry got the motorcycle, Max scribbled a note to his grandpa Harry. He left it on the kitchen table and dashed out the door.
THE WALLS HAVE EARS
Larry and Max drove to the outskirts of town. They arrived at a dark wooded area and continued up a winding hill.
“Spooky,” said Larry.
At the top of the hill stood Waldon Hall. It was an old-fashioned three-story stone building surrounded by large oak trees. Cobblestones led up to the main doors. Larry’s motorcycle roared through the open gates, zoomed up the driveway and screeched to a stop in the parking lot. Max hung on tightly to keep from flying out of the sidecar.
“Now, Max,” said Larry, sliding off the bike, “you’re on your own tonight, and I won’t be there to help you. But if you stay focused, everything will be okay.”
Max smiled when he heard this advice. His uncle Larry was the most unfocused person he had ever met.
Max stepped out of the sidecar and took off his helmet. “Stay focused. Got it.”
“Ask questions … study all the clues … and be very observant.”
“I will, Uncle Larry.”
Larry didn’t need to look human once he was off his motorcycle, so he slipped out of his long coat, aviator’s cap and goggles. After stashing his disguise in the sidecar, he told Max he would pick him up after the movie. Then he gave a thumbs-up and disappeared.
Max headed into Waldon Hall. A crowd of people stood around the lobby talking. As Max made his way through the room, he noticed gold-framed portraits running along one wall. In the middle of the room was a round table with a sign that read, Mystery Hall of Fame — Competition Night. Max spotted an information desk to his right and walked up to a bushy-haired man with big eyes who was reading a newspaper.
“My name is Max Monroe. Can you tell me where I can find Rhonda Remington?”
A round-faced lady with curly brown hair was standing nearby. When she heard Max say his name, she hurried over, grabbed his hand and walked him away from the desk. “We can’t talk here,” she whispered. “The walls have ears.”
THE CASE BEGINS
The lady led Max through an emergency exit and into the stairwell.
“Hello, Max. I’m Rhonda Remington.” She turned and made sure the door was firmly closed. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.” Rhonda took a folded note out of her pocket. “Here’s the note that someone slipped into my purse.”
Max looked at the note. It was neatly written in blue ink on plain white paper and read:
“Do you recognize the handwriting, Miss Remington?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“It looks like someone’s trying to warn you.”
“Yes, but who? And why wouldn’t they just tell me in person? And what kind of dirty trick do they mean?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out,” said Max.
The steps in the stairwell below them creaked.
“Shhh,” said Rhonda. “Someone’s coming.”
The creaking got louder and louder, and then a girl about fifteen years old appeared. She was holding a large brown box and breathing heavily.
“Oh, it’s just you,” said Rhonda, relieved.
The girl smiled. “People are clamoring for your books, Miss Remington. I had to get more from the basement. They’re waiting for you to sign them.”
“I can’t come right now,” said Rhonda, somewhat distracted. “I’m talking to my assistant.”
The girl’s face fell. “Your assistant?”
“Max, this is Darlene Davis,” said Rhonda.
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Delia. Delia Davis.”
Max nodded. “Hi.”
Delia ignored him and turned to Rhonda. “It’s getting late, and it’s almost time for the competition.”
“We’re in the middle of something important,” said Rhonda. She sounded flustered. “You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Delia looked hurt, but she did as she was told.
Once Delia was out of hearing range, Max asked Rhonda, “Was your purse ever out of your sight?”
Rhonda shook her head. “It’s been with me all night. Someone must have slipped in the note when I wasn’t looking. But there are so many people here, it could have been anyone.”
SHE GOT A LITTLE MAD
Rhonda looked at her watch. “Let’s go up to the second floor. They’re holding a reception there before the competition.”
Max folded the note and slid it into his coat pocket.
Rhonda led Max up a flight of stairs and through a door into a huge room lit with chandeliers. Dozens of chairs were set up in neat rows in the center of the room, and over to the right were four windows that reached from the floor to the ceiling and had red velvet curtains. Between two windows stood large wooden doors leading to a balcony. The doors were open. Through them you could see the dark woods behind Waldon Hall.
“What did you mean by a competition?” asked Max. “I thought you said you were being inducted into the Hall of Fame tonight.”
“Wow, take a look at this place,” said Larry, suddenly appearing next to Max. “Starchy had an adventure in a mansion just like this.” He shook his head. “It didn’t end well.”
“What are you doing here?” asked Max, surprised to see his uncle.
Rhonda looked confused. “What do you mean ‘what am I doing here’?”
Max kept forgetting that other people couldn’t see or hear Larry.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about this case,” said Larry, “so I told Gertrude I’d take her to the movies next week.”
“Max?” asked Rhonda.
Larry shrugged. “She got a little mad and kicked me. Twice. But I’ll make it up to her. Maybe I’ll bring her some jujubes.”
Rhonda leaned in. “Hello?”
Max turned back to Rhonda. “Sorry, Miss Remington. I meant, what are you doing here — for the competition?”
IT WAS A TIE!
“The Mystery Hall of Fame committee reads hundreds of books,” said Rhonda, “then narrows down their selections to ten authors.”
“Holy cow!” said Larry. “I can barely get through one book.” Max frowned at his uncle, hoping he’d clue in and be quiet. “But I love Starchy comics! I have thirty. Right, Max?”
Max stepped in front of Larry, turning his back to him.
“From those ten,” continued Rhonda, “they choose the final winner. But this year something unusual happened. Another author and I received exactly the same number of votes. Can you believe it?”
“It was a tie!” said Larry so loud that Max instinctively turned and said, “Shh.”
Rhonda frowned.
Max tried to cover. “S-s-sure.”
Larry looked at Max. “When did you start stuttering?”
“The committee came up with a brilliant solution,” said Rhonda, “that would also attract tons of fans. They invited us both here tonight to tell our favorite stories. Three judges will vote on the best one. By the end of the night, one of us will be inducted into the Mystery Hall of Fame.”