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In memory of Steve Irwin, “The Crocodile Hunter,” who inspired the character Lightning Lou
Chapter
1
Lightning Lou
The moment I walked into my classroom, Stringbean Noonan grabbed my shirt with both fists and exclaimed, “Did you hear, Jigsaw? DID YOU HEAR?!”
“How could I not hear?” I snapped back. “You’re screaming in my face.”
“Whoops, sorry. I’m just excited because Lightning Lou is coming today!” Stringbean exclaimed. “He’s going to talk to the whole school!”
“Lightning … who?” I wondered.
“Lou,” Stringbean answered.
“Ah, Lou.”
“Bless you,” Stringbean replied.
“Huh?”
“You just sneezed,” he claimed. “You said, ‘Ah-choo.’”
“Did not,” I said.
“Did too,” Stringbean countered.
“Stringbean. Trust me,” I said. “I didn’t sneeze.”
Stringbean pulled on his earlobe. “Then why did you say, ‘Ah-choo’?”
“I said, ‘Ah, Lou,’” I replied. “Get it? Ah, Lou. It’s like, a-ha, but it’s Lou instead of ha.”
Stringbean shook his head sadly. “You’re a strange dude, Jigsaw.”
“I’m strange?!” I protested.
Stringbean smiled kindly. “It’s okay, Jigsaw. I still like you.”
I asked. “Who’s Lightning Lou, anyway?”
Stringbean stared at me in shock. “He’s the animal guy on television. The Lightning Lou Animal Review!”
“Oh, the Australian guy!” I said, remembering the weekly television show. “Didn’t he once get trampled by a wombat or something?”
“A wildebeest,” Stringbean corrected. “Yeah, but he’s here today—at school! How cool is that?”
“So cool we’ll need hats and mittens,” I answered.
Just then, Mila Yeh and Geetha Nair walked into the room. “Did you hear?” Stringbean howled. “DID YOU HEAR?! Lightning Lou is coming to our school!”
“Lightning … who?” Geetha asked.
I didn’t stick around for the rest. I’d seen that movie before. I went to my seat instead. Our classroom, room 201, was set up with big tables. Actually, each table was just four desks shoved together. The other kids at my table were Athena Lorenzo, Joey Pignattano, and Helen Zuckerman.
We were lucky. Our teacher, Ms. Gleason, was probably the nicest person in the world— if you didn’t count the Tooth Fairy.
And I didn’t.
We liked her and she liked us right back. She even liked Bobby Solofsky, which proves that Ms. Gleason was an especially kind and patient person. Because liking Bobby Solofsky wasn’t easy. I figured it was easier to like kale. But my Grams says I’ve got to try to see the good in everybody. So I try. Only with Solofsky, I have to try extra, extra hard.
Chapter
2
Keen as Mustard
Maybe I should explain something. I run a detective agency with my partner, Mila Yeh. She’s been my friend since forever. We’ve solved all sorts of mysteries together, from buried treasure to stolen bicycles. We get a dollar a day for our troubles. Don’t tell anyone, but we’d do it for nothing.
Probably.
I was doodling, dreaming of baseball, when a voice called to me from far away.
“Earth to Jigsaw. Earth to Jigsaw. Come in, Jigsaw.”
I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Huh?”
I looked around the room. Everyone was staring at me. Ms. Gleason stood next to me, smiling.
“He’s daydreaming again!” Ralphie Jordan announced.
I bolted upright in my chair.
“I realize today is Friday,” Ms. Gleason said sweetly. “It has been a long week for everyone. Please try to pay attention, Jigsaw.”
I nodded, embarrassed.
“As I was saying,” Ms. Gleason told the class, “Lightning Lou is from Australia. Can anyone tell me what language they speak in Australia?”
“That’s easy,” Joey Pignattano said. “Australian!”
“Not exactly, Joey,” Ms. Gleason replied. “They speak English. But if you have seen Lightning Lou on television, you know he uses a lot of Australian slang.”
“What’s slang?” Helen asked.
“Hmmm, how can I explain this?” wondered Ms. Gleason aloud. “There’s standard English. Those are the words we find in most dictionaries. Slang is a group of made-up words and phrases.”
Ms. Gleason sighed when she saw our blank faces.
“For example, someone from Australia might say ‘G’day’ instead of ‘Hello.’”
Stringbean Noonan’s hand shot to the ceiling. He gushed, “In Australian slang, they call parents ‘oldies.’ And they call little kids ‘ankle-biters’!”
Everybody thought that was funny.
“A friend is called ‘mate,’” Danika Starling told us.
Eddie Becker said, “I love it when Lightning Lou gets mad. He always says, ‘Crikey! Wouldn’t it rot your socks!’”
Ms. Gleason said, “Instead of our weekly spelling words, I’ve put together a list of Australian slang words. I’ll hand it out later. I think you will like learning Australian slang as much as I did.”
Ms. Gleason looked at the wall clock. “Okay, boys and girls. It’s time to get to the gym to meet Lightning Lou.” She winked at us and added, “Personally, I’m keen as mustard to hear him speak!”
Chapter
3
Crikey!
The gym smelled like sweaty socks. I sat next to Mila on the hard wooden floor. More and more kids crowded into the room. We squished together in tight rows, like too many crayons in a box. Our principal, Mr. Rogers, waved his arms like a traffic cop.
Suddenly, the lights flickered.
“Crikey!” a voice bellowed through a microphone.
Heads turned in every direction. A hand pointed. Excited shouts went out. “There he is! In the back of the room! Look, it’s Lightning Lou!”
I recognized him instantly. He was dressed in brown safari shorts, a tan short-sleeve shirt, and a floppy brown jungle hat. And, oh yeah, he had a huge snake draped around his shoulders.
Other than that, he fit right in.
Lightning Lou shouted, “G’day, mates!” He strode to the front of the room, ready for adventure. Lightning Lou was short and stocky. He smiled at the audience, white teeth twinkling. He wore a cast on his right arm. I guess Stringbean was right. Lightning Lou really did get trampled by a wilde- beest.
“Am I ever knackered,” Lightning Lou screamed at us. “I just flew in from Oz. Boy, are my arms tired!”
He laughed at his own joke.
“Knackered means tired,” Mila whispered into my ear. “And Oz is another word for Australia.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I just do,” Mila
answered.
Lightning Lou spent the next half hour showing us slides of animals he’d met in his travels. All the while he talked in that funny way of his. He shouted “Crikey!” every few minutes. Or said things like, “I’m as proud as a rat with a gold tooth!”
It was pretty confusing.
After a while, Lightning Lou told us that he enjoyed our little chin-wag. “In a few ticks I’ll have to shove off,” he said. “But I’ll answer a few questions before I leave.”
Ralphie Jordan stood up. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be on television or something?”
Lightning Lou laughed. “I came here to do some research on black bears,” he answered. “We’ll probably film a show.”
“Black bears!” Bobby Solofsky scoffed. “There are no bears around here!”
Lightning Lou smiled. “Sure there are, mate,” he replied. “And I aim to find me one.”
Chapter
4
Bears
Kim Lewis raised her hand. “My father read a story in the newspaper about a bear who walked right into somebody’s backyard.”
Lightning Lou nodded. “That’s right. It happens every spring.”
“Why don’t bears just stay in the woods?” Kim asked.
“Bears are territorial,” Lou explained. “That means each male bear stakes out an area and calls it home. If there’s a big male around, then a smaller male will leave to find his own place to live.
“Bears mostly rest during the day,” he continued, “but they can travel a long way at night. A young male will often follow a river until he finds a place he likes. He’ll eat plants and small animals as he goes.”
“We have a big river close by,” Nicole Rodriguez murmured.
“Yes, you do,” Lightning Lou said. “And black bears are excellent swimmers. They’ll even swim across a river if they like the smell of something.”
Lightning Lou glanced at his watch. “Okay, mates. Time for one more question. Then I have to untie the frog.”
“Untie the frog?” I asked Mila.
“It means he has to leave,” Mila whispered.
Australian slang. Yeesh. I give up.
Bigs Maloney raised his hand. “Mr. Lou, sir? I mean, Mr. Lightning. Er, um, Mr. Whatever-You-Call-Yourself. I have a question. How would you know if a bear was hanging around your backyard?”
“Great question,” Lightning Lou said. “Most of the time, bears pass through without anybody ever knowing it. But sometimes they leave clues. Like muddy tracks. Or they’ll nuzzle around in a compost heap. Bears like melon rinds, for example. And bears love birdseed and berries. They’re very curious, too. A black bear might even go up to a house and look through the window.”
Our principal, Mr. Rogers, seemed a little uneasy. “If one of our students ever saw a bear,” he announced, “he or she should stay inside and call the police. Isn’t that right, Lightning Lou?”
Lightning Lou frowned a bit, tilting his head back and forth. “Yes, you should stay inside,” he admitted. “But to be honest with you, I worry more about the safety of the bear than the people. You see, black bears don’t want to hurt anyone. Yes, they can be dangerous. And a female will protect her cubs. But bears have terrific manners. They will leave you alone if you leave them alone.”
“What would the police do?” Ralphie Jordan asked. “They can’t take a bear away in handcuffs!”
Lightning Lou shook his head and sighed heavily. “Sadly, bears that wander into crowded areas are often destroyed. After all, bears are wild, large, and very powerful. The best thing to do if you see a bear is to stay away from it. Contact animal control experts. They’ll put the bear to sleep with a small dart. Then they’ll return the bear deep into the woods. This way, no one gets hurt—including the poor bear, who is only looking for a home.
“And now,” he announced, “I must really be going. I’ll be staying at the Holiday Hotel for a few days. Maybe I’ll see you around town. And remember this …”
Lightning Lou threw his hat into the audience. He put his hands to his mouth and hollered, “Crikey!”
A hundred voices answered with a great shout: “CRIIIKEEEY!”
I didn’t say a word. I just stared at the hat that had fallen into my lap.
Chapter
5
Pancakes
“Jigsaw, take off that hat at the breakfast table,” my mother ordered.
“This is Lightning Lou’s hat,” I protested.
“Not at the table,” my mother insisted.
Oldies. Crikey. They have this thing about hats and tables that I will never understand. What’s the big deal? Besides, I wasn’t keen as mustard to eat breakfast in the first place.
Grams says I’m a fussy eater. My mom says I’m just impossible. But my dad never complains. He just says, “I was the same way when I was growing up.”
“You’re not helping,” my mother complained.
“It’s the truth,” my dad replied. “When I was a kid, I wouldn’t have eaten a blueberry pancake if you paid me.”
I nodded in agreement. That’s what I liked about my dad. He was once a boy himself. He understands.
“Theodore,” my mother said. (She only calls me Theodore when she’s unhappy.) “Grams made these delicious pancakes as a special treat. You should at least try one. You might like it.”
“But I don’t like blueberry pancakes,” I said.
“Why not?”
“They have blueberries in them,” I reasoned.
“Duh,” my sister Hillary commented. “That’s why they call them blueberry pancakes, Einstein.”
I gave her the evil eye. Hillary smirked, “Don’t stare at me, zombie face.”
“I picked these blueberries fresh last season,” Grams said. She flipped another pancake. “I froze them so we could enjoy blueberries all year long. They are delicious, Jigsaw!” She popped one into her mouth and made a big show out of how wonderful it tasted.
I wasn’t buying it.
“Take a bite,” my mom insisted.
I clamped my mouth shut.
“Or no puzzles for a week.”
So that’s how it was going to be. I decided to bargain.
“Just one bite?” I asked.
“Yes, one bite,” she answered.
I slowly lifted the fork toward my mouth. But for some reason, my mouth wouldn’t open.
“Eat it, Jigsaw,” Hillary said.
“I’m trying,” I mumbled through locked lips. I wanted to tell my mom how sometimes a mouth does whatever it wants. But I couldn’t because my mouth didn’t want to talk about it.
“Hey, Jigsaw! There’s one of your friends at the door,” my oldest brother, Billy, called from the next room. “It’s a girl!”
“A girl?” I said, dropping my fork.
“She says it’s an emergency,” Billy replied.
I excused myself from the table. I found Lucy Hiller waiting on our front stoop. Her arms were crossed, her toes were tapping, and it looked like she’d seen a ghost.
Chapter
6
Home Alone
“Jigsaw, thank goodness you’re home. I have a mystery for you,” Lucy began.
“Okay,” I said. “For a dollar a day, I make problems go away. What’s up?”
Lucy shook her head. “I can’t explain it. I need you to come to my house. There’s something I need to show you.”
“I’ll call Mila,” I replied. “We’ll get there as soon as we can.”
“You know where I live, right?” Lucy asked.
“Sure, I’ve been by there before. It’s the big red house on Merkle Stream Drive. You have a little patch of woods in your backyard.”
“That the place,” Lucy answered. “But hurry, okay? I’m scared out of my mind to be home alone.”
An hour later, Mila and I parked our bikes in front of Lucy’s house. The front door opened a crack. A blue eyeball peered through the opening. “Quick. Come in,” Lucy ur
ged. She opened the door with a sudden whoosh. We stepped inside. Lucy leaned against the door and slammed it shut.
Lucy’s eyes were nothing special. She had two of them, one on each side of her face. But her hair was a whirl of curls. She wore a huge flower-print T-shirt, bright blue leggings, a pink plastic belt, and a pair of red go-go boots. Rainbows were probably jealous of Lucy’s closet.
Lucy led us into her living room. Mila sat on the couch next to me. Lucy plopped down, cross-legged, on the floor. The television flickered and buzzed. Lucy reached for the remote and hit the MUTE button. I flipped open my detective journal and waited.
Lucy twirled a finger through her hair. She chewed her lip.
“You seem nervous,” Mila observed.
Lucy nodded. She took a deep breath, then smiled for the first time. “I’m really glad you guys came. I’ve been afraid to be home alone since it happened.”
“Great movie,” I commented.
“Huh?”
“Home Alone,” I said. “It’s a classic. An oldie but a goodie.”
Mila rolled her eyes. “Where’s your family?” she asked Lucy.
Lucy shrugged. “My parents had to go to a wedding. My brother, Alex, is supposed to be watching me. But he’s playing basketball at Duffy Dyer’s house.”
“So it’s just us,” I said.
“Yeah, just us,” Lucy repeated. “And whoever—or whatever—is out there.” Lucy pointed past the window into the woods beyond her backyard.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Did you see something out there? Was it a robber?”
The Case of the Bear Scare Page 1