The Hamster of the Baskervilles

by Bruce Hale

  The pieces were starting to fall together like spider eggs into an omelette. All we needed was more evidence linking Bosco to the vandalism, and the case was closed.

  I could almost taste Mr. Ratnose's jelly doughnuts. But then (as they say in California), my karma got a flat tire.

  A stray breeze sent some dust up my nose, and—"Ah ... ah... choo!" I sprayed a sneeze like a lisping platypus spelling Mississippi.

  Natalie and I ducked out of sight—too late.

  "Hey!" said Erik. "Who's up there? Kurt Replie, check it out."

  "Cheese it!" I hissed. Natalie took to the air as I hightailed it back across the roof and down the opposite wall. When I hit the ground, I jumped away from the building, then plunged my hands into my pockets and shuffled along.

  "You!" a voice shouted.

  I turned innocently. "Who, me?"

  A cranky rat stood on the roof. "Yeah, you," he said. "What are you up to?"

  "Oh, about six inches," I said. "I'd like to be taller, but platform shoes are so uncool."

  The rat snarled and turned away. I grinned.

  With any luck, I thought, we should find the evidence and polish off this case by lunchtime tomorrow. Poor sap. Little did I know that the fickle foot of fate would kick the card table of detection, sending the puzzle pieces flying.

  (Ooh, not bad. I'll have to use that in my English homework sometime.)

  7. Hook, Line, and Stinker

  My good mood lingered until the next morning, like the aftertaste of a garlic-and-stinkbug pizza. I was fat, green, and sassy, and I didn't care who knew it.

  I had a plan.

  Natalie met me by the flagpole before school, and we headed back toward the portable buildings. "You think they'll let us join?" she asked.

  "Of course," I said. "With our acting skills, they won't suspect a thing."

  Natalie ruffled her feathers. "But what if it's a dead end? Do you really think Bosco is our culprit?"

  "Do flies fly? Do ducks duck? Do skunks believe in Stenchy Claus?" I said. "Of course he's our culprit. We just have to get close enough to prove it."

  We neared the portables. A familiar grumpy rat with advanced tooth decay leaned against the wall. A lookout.

  I turned to Natalie. "Ready for some playacting?"

  She grinned. "You kidding? As one cowboy said to the other, all the world's a stagecoach."

  Sometimes, I just don't get mockingbird humor.

  "Back off, bozos!" snarled the rat. "This is Stinkers territory."

  "We know, we can smell it," I said. "Are you Kurt Replie?"

  The rat bared his yellowed teeth. "Who wants to know?"

  "We wanna join the Stinkers," said Natalie in her best tough-gal voice.

  "Oh, you do?" said Kurt. "Well, la-di-da."

  "And boola-boola," I said. "Where can a guy fill out an application form?"

  The rat snickered. "Wise guy, huh? Step over here. We know how to handle wise guys."

  Kurt led us behind the building. Just like yesterday, the Dirty Rotten Stinkers lounged in the shade, doing what they did best: stinking.

  "These mugs say they wanna join the gang," said the rat.

  The gang laughed. At least I think it was laughter. It sounded more like a pack of hyenas choking on their Cheerios 'n' Carrion breakfast.

  I did my best to look like a punk. "Yo, Bosco," I grunted.

  The ferret squinted at me. "You again?" he said.

  The giant tarantula, Erik Nidd, eyed Bosco. "Ya know this twerp? He's a peeper."

  "I know," said the ferret. "He's in my class. But who's the bird?"

  Natalie hawked and spat. "The name's Nat the Knife," she sneered. "Meanest blade this side of the Pecos."

  Bosco squinched up his face in puzzlement. On him it looked natural.

  "Uh, she's with me," I said.

  "Oh." The ferret circled us. "So you wanna join the Dirty Rotten Stinkers."

  "But are you tough enough?" said a bloated bullfrog. She drained her soda can, belched, and crushed it on her forehead with her tongue.

  "Not bad," I said. "Do you recycle, too?"

  Kurt stuck his pointed snout in my face, treating me to a close-up of his yellow incisors. Lovely. I guessed that he and Mr. Tooth Decay were on a first-name basis.

  "You can talk the talk," he said, "but can you walk the walk?"

  Natalie leaned in. "You guys have a special gang walk?" she asked. "It's not the Shuffle-Off-to-Buffalo, is it?"

  Erik grunted. "Anybody can lip off," he said. "Are ya bad enough to pass our test?"

  "You kidding?" I said. "We put the r in rat fink, the b in bad, and the d in delinquent."

  "And if you put 'em all together, they spell rbd!" Natalie grinned.

  I shot her a warning look. "If we pass the test, can we do some cool stuff, like trashing Mr. Ratnose's room?"

  Bosco chuckled. His expression was as hard to read as Chinese pig Latin. "We'll see," he said. "If you pass."

  "Aw, you're not gonna let 'em try out, are you?" said the rat. "They're a coupla goody-two-shoes detectives."

  Erik stretched four of his legs and yawned widely, flashing fangs. "One way to find out," he said. "And if they're spyin', they're dyin'."

  My tail curled into a knot. I didn't like the sound of that. But we'd gone too far to turn back.

  "Bring on the tests," I said.

  Our first assignment: Swipe something valuable from our teacher's desk and bring it to the gang at recess. It sounded easy enough.

  If I had to bend my morals to catch a crook, then so be it. A private eye does what's needed. (And hopes he can return the valuables later.)

  As the morning passed, I studied Mr. Ratnose's desk. It was littered with papers and books and stuff—nothing valuable there. (Although I did consider stealing back my bogus book report on Hairy Plotter and the Emperor's Bone.)

  A small item was best. His cheese wedge? Naw. His car keys? No, I'd get in real trouble. It had to be something—

  "Chet Gecko," said Mr. Ratnose. "The answer is...?"

  "Uh, blowin' in the wind, teacher."

  He shook his head. "If you don't bother to read the homework, can't you at least pay attention in class?"

  I didn't know the answer to that one, either. Bitty Chu piped up with, "It's an adjective, Mr. Ratnose," and the class moved on.

  The clock ticked off the minutes to recess.

  I wanted to slip Mr. Ratnose a note telling him about my theft. But every time I looked around, Bosco Rebbizi was watching me like a cat after a tuna sandwich.

  Recess came. Time to make my move.

  Kids began shuffling outside. I hustled up to the front of the room.

  "Oh, Mr. Ratnose," I said, pretending to search for something. "Where is the—"

  I turned around, sweeping papers and books off his desk with my tail.

  Whump! They cascaded onto the floor.

  "Oops!"

  "Look what you've done," said Mr. Ratnose. He bent to pick up the mess. Bosco watched us from across the room.

  In a hurry, I snatched the first thing I could—Mr. Ratnose's pointer stick. But where to hide it?

  I stuffed the stick down the back of my coat. "Heh, clumsy me," I said. "I, uh, better go out and investigate now."

  Mr. Ratnose straightened with an armload of papers. His eyes narrowed. "Chet Gecko?"

  I backed toward the door, bowing slightly. My hat lifted—the stick! I jammed the hat back down.

  "So, I'll, uh, see you later."

  Mr. Ratnose sighed. "I'm afraid so," he said.

  Backing outside, I turned to find myself belly to belly with Bosco.

  "So far, so good," he said. "See ya at the portables."

  I watched him swagger away, my heart beating like a rock-and-roll drummer on an M&M's rush. Sweat glistened on my forehead. Stepping off after Bosco, I reflected.

  Good thing I was a private eye. I could never lead a life of crime—with the stealing, cheating, and lying. It's harder on the nerve
s than three days of standardized testing.

  8. The Frog Who Cried Wolf

  The scene behind the portable buildings was livelier than a barrel full of wolverines going over a waterfall. The gang hooted at my prize.

  "A pointer, woo!" sneered Kurt Replie the rat. "Check out the big bad gecko."

  Natalie had stolen an apple from her teacher's desk. Probably put it there herself in the first place.

  But we passed the test. Then we got a shock: It was only the first. Our next assignment was to make some really bad mischief. Joining this gang was harder than stale centipede biscuits.

  "Ya don't get to hang out with the Stinkers till you pass all the tests," snarled the rat. He was really starting to bug me. "Am-scray, uster-bay!"

  "Okely-dokely-ay, oron-may," I said. "Come on, Natalie."

  We made tracks while Kurt was still trying to decode my insult. Never try to out-pig Latin a master etective-day.

  As Natalie and I walked down the hall, she peeled off toward the vending machines. "See you at lunch," she said.

  "Going to replace a certain apple for a certain teacher?"

  The way she grunted and kept walking told me I'd hit the mark.

  I strolled to my private thinking parlor, under the shade of the scrofulous tree. Carefree kids played jump rope nearby, but I didn't see.

  Outfoxing a ferret was the problem that tied up my mind.

  I was so deep in thought, I didn't even notice what was behind me until too late.

  Fa-tchoom! Something small and fast hit me, sprawling me onto the sand.

  "Oh Chet, oh Chet, oh Chet!" said Popper the tree frog. She bounced up and down on my back like a pint-sized pogo stick. "There you are! I've got a hot, a hot case for you! Wanna hear it?"

  "If you'll—oof!—get off my—umf!—back."

  She turned a double somersault and landed a few feet away, vibrating like a hyperactive bowl of lemon-lime Jell-O.

  I spat sand. "Now, what's the—ptah!—story?"

  Popper's eyes swelled like a pair of overpumped volleyballs. "Someone saw a great, big ham sand wolf—a big, great hamster wolf—"

  "A what?" I said.

  "A were—"

  "A who?"

  "A monster!" she said.

  It sounded like Popper was a few fries short of a Happy Meal.

  "You saw a monster? Been mixing firefly pizza and late-night TV, eh?"

  Popper shook her head so fast, she almost lost her nose. I had to look away to keep from getting dizzy.

  "No, no, no," she said. "Not me—my friend's friend's friend. She came to school early-early, before the moon set. Then, all of a sudden, this big big monster—big and hairy—came running and howling."

  I squinted at her. She was serious. "Sure it wasn't Principal Zero chasing an ice-cream truck?" I asked.

  "She says it was a monster, I swear, I swear. A cross between a werewolf and a hamster, with feet like a giant." She bounced up and down like a Super-ball in a paint mixer.

  "Look, short stuff. What do you want me to do—sign you up for the Famous Monsters fan club? I've got bigger bugs to fry."

  I turned away from Popper's pout and hoofed it back to class. But then something she said tickled my detective senses. Feet like a giant, eh? I'd seen giant pawprints yesterday, in my wrecked classroom.

  It was probably nothing, but a wise private eye follows all leads.

  I hotfooted it toward Ms. DeBree's office. With any luck, I could ask her about the were-thingy, then check in on Bosco before the bell rang.

  R-r-r-ring!

  With any luck.

  But this private eye's luck was as short as a vice principal's temper. Back to class I went.

  9. For Badger or Worse

  One and a half mind-numbing hours later, yet another bell turned us loose for lunch. Natalie met me in the cafeteria line.

  "Hey, there's our prime suspect," she said, indicating Bosco Rebbizi and his friends at a nearby table. "Wanna eavesdrop?"

  "All in good time," I said. "They're serving french-fried potato bugs today."

  After loading up our trays, we headed for a table by Bosco and his bad boys. It wasn't hard to find a seat. Kids shunned the area like you could catch ten pages of math problems just by breathing the air.

  Natalie and I kept our heads down and ate. Kurt Replie tried giving me the evil eye, but it was defeated by his hungry stomach. He went back to eating.

  Soon my lunch had disappeared like a snowman in a hot tub. I raised my detective radar. Nothing much on the screen.

  Bosco caught my eye. "Hey, Gecko. Figure out your stunt yet?"

  "Not yet," I said. "By the way, what was yours?"

  Bosco wagged a finger. "Unh-uh-uh," he said. "No cheating. It's gotta be your own idea."

  How ironic. To become a Dirty Rotten Stinker, you had to play fair.

  I decided not to share this with Bosco. No sense in confusing him.

  The ferret and his low-rent pals scarfed their last potato bugs, carved their last graffiti, and got up to leave.

  I leaned toward Natalie. "Stick close to them," I muttered.

  "Why?" she asked. "Where are you going?"

  "I'm off to see a mongoose about a werewolf."

  Natalie shook her head. "Sometimes I don't get you."

  "Sometimes I don't get me, either," I said. "But I'm all I've got."

  So far, this case had thrown me for a loop. After all this time investigating Bosco, my only progress was in becoming a Stinker. But I knew someone who could help me catch up: Maureen DeBree, neat freak and all-around know-it-all.

  I trotted down the hall toward her office.

  Bap, bap, bap! I rapped on the graffiti-proof door. "Ms. DeBree?"

  The door swung open. A gray-furred badger in rumpled overalls filled the doorway. My head tilted back.

  Calling him large would've been like calling World War II a slight disagreement—it missed the mark by a bit. This guy was big enough to have his own personal zip code.

  "I ain't Ms. DeBree," he rumbled.

  "I noticed. When will she be back?"

  The badger wiped his nose with a greasy rag. "What do I look like, her secretary?"

  Actually, he looked like an unmade bed with a bad attitude. But he didn't need to hear that. I asked, "Maybe you can help me? It's about that trashed classroom..."

  The badger's beady eyes narrowed. His scowl could have curdled a passing kindergartner's chocolate milk. "You're a nosy one," he said. "Know what happens to nosy kids?"

  "They grow up to be Pinocchio?" I said.

  He waved a thick paw before my face. His claws looked like a matched set of samurai swords.

  "Nosy kids lose their noses," said the badger. "Get the picture?"

  I backed up. "In widescreen, with surround sound."

  No point in pumping a mug like that for more information. He'd only end up trying to break you in two and spread you on toast.

  I nodded. "Nice meeting you, Mr.... ?"

  "The name's Luke Busy," he growled. "Now beat it."

  I sneered. He sneered back. His sneer was meaner.

  I beat it.

  10. Wholly Mole-ly

  Why was a bad-tempered brute like Luke Busy working for Maureen DeBree? That question bounced around my noggin while I searched for the head janitor.

  He'd stonewalled me like a professional bricklayer. Was the badger trying to cover up something? Or was it just the effect of my charming personality?

  No matter. I had bigger questions to ask Ms. DeBree. And there she was, striding down the hall on trash patrol.

  Gzitch! Gzatch! Her spike lashed out and nailed two gum wrappers. I'd hate to be a piece of litter in her path.

  "Ms. DeBree!" I called. "Got a minute?"

  "Hah?" She looked around, bright eyes flashing. "Oh, it's the great defective."

  "That's detective," I said, walking up to her. "Listen, have you seen any sign of a werewolf on campus?"

  She frowned. "No, and I better not, neither
. Those things make a rotten mess when they shed. Why you ask?"

  "Oh, never mind. Just a wild—"

  Ms. DeBree waved her spike. "Hey, I get something for you."

  "For me? Aw, you shouldn't have."

  "Not a present, you knucklehead. Information."

  "I'm all ears." (Actually, this was stretching it; geckos don't have ears.)

  Marching along, the janitor speared a soda can, a wrapper, and a paper cup—triple play. "You was asking about the discomboobulated classroom," she said.

  I walked beside her. "Yeah?"

  "Well, I seen another one."

  "What?"

  Ms. DeBree slid the trash off her spike into a plastic bag. "Yup. This morning, Ms. Burrower's sixth-grade classroom looked like the morning after Super Bowl Sunday." She shook her head and tramped on. "Hoo, what a mess."

  "But..."

  I stumbled after her. My head spun as ideas collided. If Bosco had trashed Mr. Ratnose's classroom, why had he wrecked Ms. Burrower's room, too? If he hadn't, then who had—another Dirty Rotten Stinker?

  Maureen DeBree shot me a glance from under her bristly eyebrows. "You okay? Looks like you need some mouth-to-mouth regurgitation." The image made me want to throw up my hands and say, "Pee-yew!"

  "I stink so," said another voice, reading my mind. Natalie had just strolled up behind me. You could smell her puns a mile away.

  "But who...?" I said.

  The janitor led us out across the grassy playground. "'At's what I wanna know. Eh, and check this out: Today I found a—"

  Eyes on her, I stepped into thin air.

  Oomph! I landed on hard ground.

  "Let me guess," I said. "You found a hole?"

  Ms. DeBree covered a smile with her paw.

  I brushed myself off and stood up in the crater. "Just wanted a close-up look," I said.

  Natalie smirked. "And who says you can't walk and detect at the same time?"

  The hole opened into a tunnel. It headed far out under the playground.

  "Holy Mole, Batman," said Natalie in an aw-shucks, Boy Wonder voice. "Someone's been burrowing."

  "I can dig it," I said. "But who?"

  "Ms. Burrower's a mole," said Natalie.

  Maureen DeBree shook her head. "Nah, I checked. Her tunnels go between the teachers' lounge and her classroom, that's all."