The Case of the Amazing Zelda

by Lewis B. Montgomery

  T. “Uncle Tony?”

  “That’s just who I was thinking of,” Jazz said.

  “How did you know I had an uncle whose name started with a T?” Milo asked.

  “I didn’t! That’s the trick. Get it?”

  Oh.

  Jazz showed him the other tricks she’d written down in her notebook.

  “Like that girl with the cat,” she said. “Remember? Zelda said that the girl had been home a lot more lately. Well, that makes sense! The school year’s over, right?”

  Milo gave Jazz the lesson from Dash. After she read it through, he asked, “How can we find out if Zelda is for real?”

  Jazz tapped the paper. “What if we do the same thing Dash did?”

  “What do you mean?” Milo asked.

  “Test her. Pretend to be customers,” she said. “We can take Bitsy.”

  Use Jazz’s pig to test Zelda’s powers! “Great idea. Only . . . how will we know if she’s reading Bitsy’s mind or just using those tricks?” he asked.

  “I won’t give her any clues,” Jazz said. “I won’t even nod or shake my head. That way, Zelda will have to come up with everything herself.”

  A car pulled up next door, and Jazz’s neighbor, Mrs. Budge, got out. She went around and opened up the back door.

  Whoa. Milo gaped at a huge brown animal. “What is that? A cow?”

  Jazz laughed. “Nope. Just a dog.”

  Just was not the word. That had to be the biggest dog he’d ever seen.

  “Mrs. Budge is taking care of Tank while her nephew’s away,” Jazz said. “Want to meet him?”

  “Not really,” Milo said, still staring.

  “Come on! He’s a sweetie.”

  As Jazz pulled him over to the dog, Milo hung back. “Um . . . shouldn’t he be on a leash or something?”

  “Oh, it wouldn’t do a bit of good,” Mrs. Budge said cheerfully. “He’s much stronger than I am.”

  Great.

  Mrs. Budge went on. “Luckily he’s very well trained. You just have to be sure not to—oh, look! He’s smiling at you.”

  Tank’s tongue hung out, oozing drool. It looked as long as Milo’s arm.

  He stammered, “G-good boy.”

  Jazz gasped.

  Mrs. Budge shouted, “No!”

  And suddenly, the sky was full of fur as Tank took off like a four-footed rocket aimed straight at Milo.

  Whoomph.

  Milo found himself flat on his back, pinned under a ton of hairy, smelly dog.

  “Tank! Off!” Mrs. Budge called.

  The dog obeyed. Before Milo could move, though, Tank’s gigantic tongue gave him a slurp that drenched the whole side of his head.

  “Aw,” Jazz said. “He’s kissing you! Isn’t that sweet?”

  Mrs. Budge helped him up. “Oh, Milo, I’m so sorry. I was just about to warn you about Tankie’s little . . . quirk.”

  His head swam. “Quirk?”

  “My nephew taught him that when he was just a puppy. When he said good—” She paused, then spelled, “G-o-o-d b-o-y, Tank would leap into his arms and lick his face. It was the cutest thing.”

  “Cute,” Milo echoed faintly.

  “Of course, it won’t do now that Tank is all grown up,” Mrs. Budge said. “So we are careful not to say . . . those words . . . in front of him.”

  It was already past noon, so they said goodbye to Mrs. Budge, collected Ethan and Bitsy, and headed over to the park.

  “Look!” Ethan said. “A pirate!” It was Spencer. He wore an eye patch, a gold earring, and a black hat with a skull and crossbones on the front. “Ahoy, ye scurvy bilge rats!” Spencer roared.

  “Bilge rat yourself,” Jazz protested.

  Spencer flushed. “Sorry. No offense.” He pointed at Floyd. “Got to keep him happy.”

  “Has he started talking?” Milo asked, then leapt back, startled, as the parrot let out a loud screech.

  Floyd preened smugly. Milo couldn’t decide which was worse—Floyd hating him or Tank loving him.

  Spencer shook his head. “Not yet. I think it’s working, though. He looked interested when I tried to teach him to say, ‘Shiver me timbers.’”

  “Are you a real pirate?” Ethan asked.

  “No, of cour—” Spencer jumped as Floyd screeched again. “I mean, aye! Aye, me boy! Hoist the Jolly Roger! Walk the plank!”

  Milo shook his head. He looked around the park. Word had gotten out about Zelda. Today there was a much bigger crowd of kids at the fountain.

  Jazz led Bitsy forward. When Zelda noticed them, her eyebrows shot up.

  “That’s . . . that’s a pig!” she said.

  Jazz smiled. “I guess the Amazing Zelda really does know all.”

  Some of the kids near them giggled.

  Zelda looked annoyed.

  “So, can you tell me my pig’s name?” Jazz asked.

  Ethan called out, “Jazz, it’s Bitsy!”

  Milo clamped a hand over his brother’s mouth, but it was too late.

  “I knew that already,” Zelda said. “Bitsy told me.”

  Jazz folded her arms. “All right, then. What else did she tell you?”

  Zelda turned her dark gaze on the pig. After a moment she said, “You’ve had some problems with her.”

  She looked at Jazz.

  Jazz didn’t answer.

  Slowly Zelda went on. “Sometimes Bitsy does something she shouldn’t?”

  Breaking loose from Milo, Ethan dashed up and tugged on the sleeve of Zelda’s robe. “Bitsy’s a good escaper,” he told her. “When she was little, Jazz’s dad called her Teeny Houdini.”

  Milo winced as Jazz gave him a dirty look. Was it his fault his little brother had the biggest mouth in town?

  Solemnly, Zelda said to Ethan, “Yes, Bitsy was just telling me that.”

  Jazz snorted.

  Zelda looked at her without speaking. Then, in her low, spooky voice, she said, “Bitsy says she runs away because she isn’t treated well at home.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous!” Jazz said.

  Ignoring her, Zelda went on serenely. “She wants something you won’t give her. And if you don’t let her have it . . .”

  “Well?” Jazz demanded.

  “She says maybe she’ll run away for good.”

  Jazz stormed out of the park, Bitsy in tow, and Milo didn’t see her for the rest of the day.

  Early the next morning, though, the phone rang. It was Jazz.

  “Bitsy ran away last night!” she said.

  “Again?” Milo asked.

  “This is different. I can’t find her anywhere.” Jazz sounded scared.

  “She’s not in Mrs. Budge’s yard?” Milo said. Another time the pig had gotten loose, she’d made a beeline for the neighbor’s flowerbed.

  “That was the first place I looked. The gate was open, but the yard was empty. And when I knocked, Mrs. Budge didn’t answer.” Jazz took a breath. “I searched the other yards, and all over the neighborhood. Milo . . . she’s gone.”

  This was serious.

  “Is there anywhere else she’d go?” he asked. “Maybe somewhere you’ve taken her before?”

  Jazz sniffed. “Well, there’s the vet, but we practically have to drag her into his office. . . . Maybe the park?”

  “I’ll help you look.”

  By the time Milo had gulped his cereal and shoved his feet into his sneakers, Jazz was at the door. Her eyes were red.

  As they walked toward the park, they called, “Bitsy! Bitsy!” Milo scanned the shrubbery and peered between the houses, hoping to catch a glimpse of a snout or a tail.

  Suddenly he realized that Jazz wasn’t beside him anymore. He turned and saw her standing on the sidewalk half a block behind.

  Jogging back, he asked, “What’s up?”

  Slowly she said, “I’ve been thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Yesterday, what Zelda said. . . .” Jazz looked down. “Maybe Bitsy ran away because I wasn’t nice enou
gh to her.”

  Milo shook his head. “That’s crazy. When have you ever not been nice?”

  Jazz hesitated. “Well . . . there is one thing Bitsy always wanted that I wouldn’t let her have.”

  “What?” Milo asked.

  “She wanted to sleep in my bed.”

  “Why couldn’t she?”

  “She huddles.”

  “Huh?”

  Jazz explained, “It’s what pigs do. They huddle together when they sleep.”

  “Is that so bad?” he asked.

  “Do you know how much she weighs? When Bitsy huddles, I get shoved right off the bed.” She sighed. “But if I’d known it meant that much to her . . .” Jazz’s lower lip trembled. “Maybe I should have listened to Zelda.”

  Milo patted Jazz on the back. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

  There was no sign of Bitsy at the park, but on the swings, Milo spotted a familiar figure in pirate getup.

  “Ahoy, me hearties,” Spencer said halfheartedly as they came up. “Arrrrr.”

  From his perch on Spencer’s shoulder, Floyd stared coldly at Milo.

  “Still not talking?” Milo asked.

  “Not a word,” Spencer said sadly. “And I’m getting sick of all this pirate stuff.”

  “Have you seen my pig?” Jazz asked him. “She’s disappeared.”

  “Avast!” Spencer shook his head. “That’s terrible. Did you try Perki Pets?”

  “Good idea,” Milo said. “If anyone found Bitsy, they might bring her there.”

  Milo and Jazz headed up the street.

  As they neared the pet store, the door opened. A girl came out carrying a bag. Milo had seen her somewhere before. . . .

  “It’s the Amazing Zelda!” he said.

  The girl turned. Wearing ordinary clothes, Zelda looked kind of . . . ordinary. And her eyes were much less spooky without makeup. But it was definitely her.

  Zelda stared at them. She glanced nervously at the bag in her hand. Then, without a word, she quickly strode away.

  “Did you see that?” Jazz asked.

  Milo nodded, puzzled. It was almost as if Zelda had something to hide. But what?

  Could she know something about Bitsy’s disappearance?

  Maybe Bitsy hadn’t run away at all. Maybe she’d been . . . pignapped.

  “We’ve got to catch Zelda!” Milo said. “I think she stole your pig!”

  “Stop!” Milo yelled.

  Zelda was already half a block away. She turned the corner without looking back.

  Milo ran after her, Jazz’s footsteps pounding behind him.

  As they rounded the corner he saw Zelda up ahead, walking fast.

  Milo put on a burst of speed. Closer. Closer.

  He could almost touch her sleeve—

  Zelda spun around and glared at him. “What do you want?”

  Milo bent over, too winded to speak. Jazz ran up to them.

  “Where is she?” Jazz demanded.

  Zelda stared at her. “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  Was that fear in Zelda’s eyes?

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

  “Tell me! Where is my pig?”

  Zelda’s face cleared. “Oh . . .”

  “You pignapped her, didn’t you?” Milo accused. “You wanted it to look like Bitsy ran away, the way you said she would.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Zelda said.

  Milo pointed at the bag from Perki Pets. “What’s in there? Pig food?”

  Jazz made a grab for the bag. It fell, and something slid out.

  Milo picked it up.

  It was a package of wood shavings—the kind they used in the hamster cage in Ethan’s kindergarten class.

  Nothing to do with Bitsy.

  Zelda snatched the package back. “I told you I didn’t have that pig!”

  Jazz’s shoulders slumped.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just . . . I just want Bitsy back.”

  The older girl gave Jazz a long look. Then she said, “Go home. I sense your pig has already returned.”

  With that, Zelda walked away.

  Not knowing what else to do, the two friends headed back to Jazz’s house.

  When they opened the door, they heard voices. Mrs. Budge was sitting in the living room with Jazz’s dad. And on the floor—

  “Bitsy!” Jazz cried.

  She flung her arms around the pig.

  “Mrs. Budge brought Bitsy over,” Jazz’s dad told them.

  “How did you find her?” Jazz asked.

  “Well, Tank found her,” Mrs. Budge said. “Or she found him. You didn’t hear the noise last night, either, then?”

  Jazz shook her head.

  “What a racket! I ran to the window, and there was Bitsy chasing Tank around the yard.”

  “Uh . . . you mean Tank was chasing Bitsy, right?” Milo said.

  “Oh, no. Bitsy was furious with Tank, because he had her ball.” Mrs. Budge pointed at the purple ball Bitsy was happily pushing around with her snout. “I couldn’t get the ball away from Tank, and Bitsy wouldn’t leave without it.”

  “What did you do?” Jazz asked.

  “Well, it was the middle of the night, and I was sure the noise would wake up the whole neighborhood. So I brought both of them inside and went to bed.”

  “So she was at your house the whole time!” Jazz said. “I guess you didn’t hear me when I knocked this morning.”

  Mrs. Budge shook her head. “After all that late-night ruckus, I slept in. And then I still couldn’t get Tank to give up the ball. I had to run out and get Bitsy a new one before she’d let me take her home.”

  Jazz was ecstatic to have Bitsy back.

  “I guess I was wrong about Zelda being a phony,” she told Milo as she shook pig chow into a bowl. “She told me I’d find Bitsy at home—and I did!”

  Milo did feel pretty silly about thinking Zelda was a pignapper. Still, something was bugging him. Why had she acted so nervous when they saw her outside Perki Pets?

  Lying in bed that night, he sleepily shuffled the day’s events around in his mind. It was like a puzzle where the pieces wouldn’t fit together.

  Zelda at the pet store . . . Tank stealing Bitsy’s purple ball . . . Spencer in his pirate costume at the park . . . Mrs. Budge . . . Searching for Bitsy with Jazz . . .

  The next thing Milo knew, the sun was shining through his bedroom window. His eyes flew open.

  The pieces were slipping into place.

  When Milo rang the bell, Jazz’s sister, Vanessa, came to the door. “Good luck waking that girl up. I couldn’t.”

  He ran upstairs and pounded on her bedroom door. “Jazz!”

  All he heard was a muffled grunt.

  Pushing the door open, he saw a lump on the bed. He yanked the covers off.

  “OINK!”

  Milo screamed.

  Jazz sat up from the floor and rubbed her eyes. “Milo? What’s going on?”

  “I thought the pig was you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Jazz said.

  He grinned. “I guess she really does hog the bed, huh?”

  Bitsy shot Milo an offended glance, then flopped back down and snuggled into Jazz’s pillow.

  “I got huddled onto the floor,” Jazz said. “But it’s okay. I don’t want her to run away again.”

  “She didn’t run away because of that. Remember? Mrs. Budge said Bitsy went after Tank because he had her ball.”

  “Yeah, but Zelda said—”

  “Never mind what Zelda said,” he told her. “I’m pretty sure Zelda is a fake.”

  Jazz looked wide awake now. “What? How do you know?”

  “Mrs. Budge told us.”

  “She said Zelda is a fake?”

  “No, not exactly,” Milo said. “But she gave us a big clue. It just took me a while to figure it out.”

  He followed Jazz into the bathroom. While she splashed water on her face, Milo explained. />
  “Yesterday, when we ran into Zelda, she was coming out of Perki Pets. Right?”

  Jazz squirted toothpaste on her brush. “Right. So?”

  “So, who else was at the pet store yesterday morning?”

  “Mmphwa ’ooky?”

  “Besides Mr. Perki,” Milo said.

  Jazz rinsed and spat. “Who?”

  “Mrs. Budge!” he said. “She went there to buy Bitsy a new ball.”

  “What does that have to do with Zelda?” Jazz asked.

  “Think about it.” Milo said. “Zelda was at the store when Mrs. Budge came in. And Mrs. Budge probably told Mr. Perki about Tank and Bitsy.”

  “Sure,” Jazz said. “He loves that kind of story.”

  They stared at each other. A light was dawning in Jazz’s eyes.

  Milo went on. “If Zelda overheard the whole thing—then she knew Mrs. Budge was on her way to take Bitsy home. . . .”

  “And that’s when Zelda ran into us and told us where we’d find Bitsy!” Jazz slammed her toothbrush down. “That faker!” Then she frowned. “But what about the rest of Zelda’s mind-reading? How’d she know so much about Floyd?”

  “Remember the first time we saw Zelda in the park? Spencer had been talking to us at the pet store. It was pretty crowded in there that day—”

  “I’ll bet Zelda was at the store that time, too!” Jazz paused. “But what about Coco the mouse? How come she came when the girl called her Annabelle, like Zelda told her to?”

  Milo shrugged. “I haven’t figured that one out yet.”

  “We have to tell all the kids,” Jazz said. “We can’t let Zelda keep scamming them out of their dollars—”

  “Hang on. We’re only guessing so far,” Milo pointed out. “If Zelda is a phony, we need proof.”

  “How can we find out for sure?”

  “Predict and test, remember?” Milo grinned. “It worked for Dash, and it can work for us. We’re going to set a trap.”

  “Get Tank down!” Jazz whispered. “Somebody will see us!”

  “I’m trying,” Milo complained, tugging on the dog’s leash.