My stomach drops. This can’t be real! “Kidnapped!” I gasp.
“Not kidnapped,” Frank says. “She’s been adultnapped.”
“Sorry. Don’t mind him,” Eliza says with a nasty glower at Frank. Then she turns back to Ivy, saying gently, “How? When? What happened?”
Smythe scowls, and Ivy makes a choking noise. “You tell me! Do you have any working theories as to what’s going on? Any lead suspects?”
* * *
TO SHARE SUSPICIONS ABOUT PATTY AND MADDOCK, CLICK HERE.
TO NOT ACCUSE ANYONE YET, CLICK HERE.
* * *
“WHAT’S UPSETTING? Please, can you tell us a bit more about the fight?”
Ivy dabs her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh! I’m sorry, children! The memory is just too painful!”
She starts to blow into the handkerchief and cry, but it’s totally fake. And believe me, I know all about fake crying. Frank does it all the time to get what he wants from Eliza and their parents.
“I’m done, children! I can’t chat any longer.”
“But what about—”
“I said I’m done,” Ivy says, her cheeks flushed.
Suddenly I hear footsteps, and Guinevere LeCavalier opens the door to the sitting room.
“What’s the matter, Ivy, my pumpkin?”
Ivy sniffs. “They! Won’t! Leave! Me! Alone!” She fake-hyperventilates. “They’re asking me questions like . . . like . . . like I’m the one who threatened you!”
Guinevere LeCavalier’s eyes narrow on me. “Are you trying to poison our relationship?”
I shake my head no. So does Eliza. Frank—just to be opposite—nods.
Without a word, Guinevere LeCavalier walks over to a potted plant in the corner of the room. She picks it up by the base, brings it over to us, and dumps the plant on our heads. “I’ll show you poison!” Guinevere shrieks. “That is poison ivy, and you have all been INFECTED!”
I don’t know whether it’s just in my head or whether it’s real—but I suddenly feel so itchy I can’t function. Frank, Eliza, and I start scratching ourselves all over. Our faces, our necks, our arms, our legs.
I can’t help but feel like this is my fault; my rash questioning left us all with an actual rash. And now we’re so painfully itchy scratchy prickly tickly uncomfortable that we can’t continue working on this case.
CASE CLOSED.
I DECIDE TO search the garage right away. We can always talk to Patty Schnozzleton later.
We excuse ourselves from Patty, and she scurries down the driveway, back toward her house. Eliza, Frank, and I head in the opposite direction. We walk up the driveway and wander into the garage. For some privacy, we close the garage doors behind us.
It’s ten degrees cooler in here, now that the sun isn’t beating on us. There are two nice cars inside, and an area full of typical garage clutter: bikes, scooters, a lawn mower, a leaf blower, sleds, skis and poles, different kind of sports equipment, a big fridge, and a huge plastic cabinet with who knows what inside.
“In there!” I whisper, opening the door and crawling inside. It’s deceptively big in here.
Eliza crawls in after me. “What are we looking for in here?”
Frank crawls in after her. “Narnia! The goat guy!”
I roll my eyes. “Frank, this is a plastic closet, not a wardrob—”
THUMP.
Suddenly it’s pitch-black in the closet. The door must have closed behind us.
“Frank, can you kick that open again?”
Frank grunts, and his foot bangs against the door. “I can’t! It’s stuck!”
Ughhhhhhhhhhh! We groan as we push on the door all together, but it’s unmovable. We bang on the door, but no one comes to help us.
Otto finds us two days later, and by that time Guinevere LeCavalier’s treasure is long GONE. Mom loses everything—her business, all our money, her reputation, and her happiness. She gets a job as a snail farmer, which makes her really glum and pays even less than her detective work. We are forced to move out of our home—and into a one-room apartment that’s the size of the plastic cubby we got stuck in. I wanted to get close to solving the mystery, but instead I got closet.
CASE CLOSED.
AT THIS POINT, it’s probably a good idea if Ivy is caught up with the case. I tell her about all the suspects, from Maddock and Patty’s relationship to Otto’s nosing to Smythe’s suspiciousness—and Smythe stiffens as we talk about him, his eyes narrowing to tiny, angry slits. Uh-oh. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to discuss our suspicions about the suspects to their faces.
“Last,” Eliza says, looking up at Ivy—into her startlingly blue eyes. “There’s you.”
“Eliza, wait! No!” I say.
“Me?” Ivy splutters. “Couldn’t be!”
“Then who?” Frank sings. “Eliza stole the cookie from the cook-cookie jar!”
“Not now, Frank,” I hush him.
“What’s your evidence?” Ivy says.
“First,” Eliza says, “you and Guinevere had a big fight. Second, you keep pointing fingers at everyone else.”
To my surprise and horror, Ivy’s eyes suddenly twinkle with tears. “Y-you think I’d hurt my mother?”
Smythe pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to Ivy. She snozzes into it.
“Possibly. You and Guinevere haven’t seen each other in five years, and now you’re cozying up to her. You have to admit, that does look—” I elbow Eliza, and she cuts off. Ivy breathes out of her nostrils like a bull about to charge.
“I want to find Mom,” Ivy says, “but I can’t work with you—not if you’re building a case against me. I’m sorry to have to do this, but you’re fired.”
Fired? I can’t be fired! My mom’s life is ruined if I’m fired!
“I’m sorry,” I say repeatedly. Eliza and Frank keep apologizing with me, but it’s too late. Ivy won’t hear another word from us. Every time we open our mouths, she plugs her ears and says, “Is that the wind talking?”
When we try to plead with her some more, she howls, “La la la! I can’t hear you!”
And when we try to plead with her even more than more, she hollers, “Wow, the silence is deafening today!”
After an hour of apologizing, she still won’t listen, so we have no choice but to go home. And just like that—with one accusation—I’ve ruined my mom’s career for good.
CASE CLOSED.
I STUDY THE riddle again.
In my garden:
All but two of my flowers are roses.
All but two of my flowers are tulips.
All but two of my flowers are lilies.
How many flowers do I have in my garden?
My brain is spinning. I turn to Eliza. “I don’t get it,” I say.
“This is a really tough one. Let me think. . . .” She curls her hair around her finger. “I think the best way to figure it out is to draw it.” She bends down and begins to draw different-looking flowers in the dirt. “Trial and error is sometimes a really great strategy with puzzles. So let’s draw this garden with two of each kind of flower and see what happens.
“Concentrate, Eliza. You can do this,” she mutters to herself. “Now . . . ‘All but two of my flowers are roses.’ So every single flower—except two—are roses.”
“That’s not true in this garden,” I say. “We’d have to get rid of one lily and one tulip. Then all the flowers would be roses . . . except for two.”
Eliza crosses out one lily and one tulip.
“Good thinking, Carlos,” she says. “Now for the second line. ‘All but two of my flowers are tulips.’”
I think again. For that line to be true, every single flower except two would have to be a tulip. It’s almost true. It would be true if there were only one lily and one rose, instead of one lily and two roses.
“We have to get rid of a rose, Eliza.”
Eliza nods and crosses out a rose.
“You read my mind, Carlos! Now we know the fi
rst line is true. And the second line is true. Now the last line: ‘All but two of my flowers are lilies.’”
My head hurts from all this thinking, but I take a deep breath. I know that every single flower in the garden has to be a lily except two. And that does work. And suddenly, the answer is crystal clear. All the lines work if there are only three flowers in the garden! One rose, one tulip, and one lily. Three is the answer to the puzzle!
* * *
ADD ONE HUNDRED TO THE ANSWER OF THE PUZZLE.
IF YOU THINK THE ANSWER IS 103, CLICK HERE.
IF YOU THINK THE ANSWER IS 127, CLICK HERE.
* * *
“COME ON!” I say. “Through the pink door!”
“Wait!” Eliza says. “I haven’t finished solving the puzzle yet.”
I sigh. Eliza could take hours on a puzzle, because she likes to attack it from all angles and think about it in different ways before she’s confident in her answer. But we don’t have time to spare. We have to stop Otto and save Mom’s agency!
I open the pink door, and a soft light shines into our room.
“Pretttttyyyyy!” Frank says. “Let’s follow that!”
“Eliza, if I’m wrong, we’ll just turn around and try another door. But I’m not wrong.”
“Well . . . okay,” Eliza says.
I usher Frank and Eliza through the pink door, and I follow. The trail leads down a narrow staircase, and at the bottom, I have to hunch to walk along the path. Soon I’m crouching over so low, I’m practically on my stomach. And I realize that the cool dirt of the tunnel is starting to get gooey and slimy.
“I’m stuck!” Frank cries. “In a TUNNEL OF BOOGERS!”
Ewwwww! Boogers? I look down, but the gunk is neon pink. Wait . . . that’s not boogers!
“IT’S BOOOOOGERS!” Frank screeches.
“No, it’s not!”
“It’s SNOT!” Frank cries. “THAT’S EVEN WORSE!”
“That’s the same thing!” screams Eliza.
“It’s not snot,” I say.
“IT’S SNOT SNOT!” Frank cries, and I realize this could go on forever.
The hot pink gunk starts drying on our hands, and I realize we’re totally cemented to the tunnel. Like statues, unable to move or crawl.
Frank bends down and licks the snot . . . I mean, the gunk. “Tastes like unicorn!”
“How would you know?” I snort.
“I’m going to eat my way out!” Frank says.
“Don’t,” Eliza gags, but Frank doesn’t listen. (Really, does he ever listen?)
Frank is an eating machine, a human garbage disposal. He licks and licks until we’re finally free. But even without a watch, I know we’re hours too late to stop Otto.
“Buuuuuuuurp!” Frank belches.
At least Frank got a good meal out of all this. That’s more than I’ll get ever again after Mom is through with me. . . .
CASE CLOSED.
WE DECIDE TO confront Maddock, now that we know he had cheated the LeCavaliers out of money in the past.
We catch Maddock’s scent right away. We sniff all the way down the hall, following our noses like bloodhounds until we smell him out.
When I start to get a cologne headache, I know we’re close. We round the corner and come to a set of glass doors. Beyond the doors and inside the room, there’s Maddock, sitting on the couch, leaning over papers that are sprawled out on a marble table. Behind him stands a stone statue of some naked guy and a grand piano.
We open the glass doors, and Maddock looks up from his workspace. For a moment, he seems surprised, but a second later he crinkles his nose.
“You found me,” he says.
“We followed our noses!” Frank says. “You smell like a skunk!”
“Well, as you can see, I have work to do for Guinevere LeCavalier—”
“This will be quick, I swear,” I say.
“Then cut to the chase already,” Maddock says.
Eliza looks at me, waiting for me to ask the first question. I think she’s afraid of offending her interviewee again—after what happened yesterday with Smythe—but I know there’s no stalling or easing our way in with Maddock.
I take a deep breath as I glare at Maddock. Here goes nothing. “We think you’re trying to take Mrs. LeCavalier’s money.”
Eliza looks shocked.
But Maddock laughs. He caps his pen and leans back against the white sofa.
“Well, of course I’m trying to milk Mrs. LeCavalier for her money! The old cow is filled to the neck with more money than she can ever possibly spend. If I ever find out who is threatening the old bat, I’ll kiss them! She’s never needed my services more often than now, and I’m charging her up the wazoo for my legal advice!”
Maddock makes my skin crawl. He straightens his tie, runs a hand through his slick hair, then turns back to his papers. “And on that note, I have work to be doing.”
But . . . we haven’t gotten any information out of him yet! I’ve barely begun asking him questions.
“Come on. You must know something else!” I say.
“I don’t.”
“You’re lying, then!” Eliza says.
“LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE!” Frank chants. “CHEATER CHEATER PUMPKIN EATER!”
“We’re going to prove it was you,” Eliza says to Maddock. And I try to resist groaning. She shouldn’t say that to a suspect! Now Maddock’s going to be extra careful with everything he does because he knows we’re watching.
Maddock sniffs. “Aren’t you supposed to see who the evidence points to before you accuse someone? It seems like you’re accusing me first, and then plan to position the evidence to support your hypothesis.”
“HIPPOPOTAMUS!” Frank shouts, and I shush him.
Eliza glares at Maddock. And sure, he does seem guilty with that gross smirk and his annoying attitude. But we shouldn’t get too hasty with the blame game. Mom always says a good detective is patient.
“We have information we can hold over his head,” Eliza whispers in my ear. “We need to get an adult involved.”
“What? No!”
She hides her mouth behind her hands, and I’m trying to ignore the creepy way Maddock is smiling at us. “If we tell Guinevere about Maddock’s suspicious behavior, he’s going to have to come clean about overcharging her. And imagine what else we might find out!”
“No way! We can’t do that!”
“Trust me, Carlos.”
“No, trust me, Eliza!”
* * *
TO KEEP QUESTIONING MADDOCK, CLICK HERE.
TO FOLLOW ELIZA’S PLAN OF TELLING GUINEVERE ABOUT MADDOCK’S LIES, CLICK HERE.
* * *
THIS HINK PINK puzzle is easy. I enter Art Bad Blue Hare Read into the keyboard beneath the doorknob, and the floor starts to rumble. Then it slides out beneath our feet—a trapdoor!
“AHHHHHHHHHHH!” we shriek as we fall.
BOING!
We land on a trampoline in a dark, dark room. I feel my way off to the edge of the trampoline and try not to panic.
“Where are we?” Eliza says.
“We could be in a treasure cave!” Frank says. “Or a secret villain’s lair! Or a dragon’s mouth! Or inside a toilet!”
“It seems like we’re in some sort of closet . . . or room,” I say.
Suddenly, bright lights flick on from the walls—they’re so bright it’s blinding. And then a voice recording starts to play, echoing around the room with a scratchy, throaty voice. I wonder if we’re listening to Mr. LeCavalier.
“You’ve solved the puzzle very wrong,
And now you’ll pay the price.
You’ll be stuck down here for two days.
Next time, you should think twice.”
“Two days!” I sputter. “But we can’t afford to wait that long! The criminal will get away by then!”
“I don’t see what choice we have,” Eliza says.
And she’s right. We’re trapped.
CASE CLOSED.
“IT’S MADE OF spaghetti!” shouts Frank. “No, cheese! No, cat hair! No, wait, Play-Doh!”
Eliza smiles. “No, Frank, a greenhouse is made of glass. The whole point of the riddle is that it’s supposed to trick you into answering that a green house is made of green bricks. But really, a greenhouse is a glass building that houses plants. Get it?”
“Why can’t it be made of earwax?” Frank says. “That’s much better!”
“No, it can’t be made of earwax! That doesn’t even make sense!”
“Wellllllllllll . . . what about bananas? Or rectangles? Or snickerdoodles?”
“Now you’re just shouting random words,” I tell him.
“No, Frank! You’re missing the whole point of the riddle! The answer’s glass! I’m sure of it!”
Frank crosses his arms. He doesn’t like being told no. Even when he’s wrong.
“So if the answer is glass,” I say, “where does the clue lead?”
“Have you checked all the glass sculptures in this house?” Eliza asks.
Guinevere LeCavalier sighs. “Of course I have. You’re welcome to look around, but I promise you I’ve found nothing over the years. My daughter, Ivy, and I tore this place apart, looking through every piece of glass we own, and we found nothing. A long time ago . . . when she used to live with me.” Guinevere LeCavalier frowns. She sips her tea. “You know, tomorrow will be the first time I’ve seen her in five years . . . since my husband’s funeral.”
Eliza and I stay silent, hanging on Guinevere’s every word. But Frank picks his nose and flicks a booger.
Guinevere LeCavalier doesn’t seem to notice. She slumps in her chair, like all the jewels she’s wearing weigh her down. I guess it must be heavy to wear millions of dollars in gemstones on your shoulders.
Case Closed #1 Page 5