The Case of the Barfy Birthday (5 page)

M
ossy Lake Ice & Fuel was up a ways, a little to the right, and down a couple more streets. They parked their bikes, marched inside, and handed their business card to the man behind the counter.

“Doyle and Fossey, Science Detectives,” said Drake.

The man peered at the card. “And I’m Bill Watson. What can I get for you two? Ice? Fuel?”

“Information,” replied Nell. She handed Mr. Watson the photo and pointed to Sloane. “Have you seen her?”

“She was here yesterday.” He handed back the photo. “Rudest girl I ever met. Called me a bonehead, with a brain no bigger than the earwax of a pickle.”

Nell glanced at Drake. “Sounds like Sloane, all right.” (Sloane was, by far, the rudest girl in the entire fifth grade. Perhaps even the rudest girl
ever
, fifth grade or otherwise.)

Drake asked, “And what was she doing here?”

“She bought some ice.”

Drake cocked his eyebrow. “Let me guess. Was it dry ice?”

The man nodded. “Bought a whole bunch of it, too.”

Nell and Drake glanced at each other. This was the break they’d been looking for.

Nell shook Mr. Watson’s hand. “Thanks. You’ve been a great help.”

Outside, they climbed on their bikes.

“To the lab,” said Nell. “For analysis.”

“Check,” said Drake. “We have a ghost to bust.”

Back at the lab, Nell pulled a book off the shelf. She found the section titled: “Ghosts in the Tree House: What to Do When You’re Having a Slumber Party, Your Hair Looks Like Poodle Fuzz, and a Ghost Breathes on the Back of Your Neck.” After she read aloud, she and Drake discussed all of their clues.

Then they developed a plan. A ghostly plan. A ghostly ghost-busting plan.

Nell called Valerie. “Ms. Applegate? Nell Fossey here. We’re on the verge of a breakthrough, but we need your help. . . .”

That night, Nell took cover behind a bush in Valerie’s backyard. The moon was full, and the stars twinkled nicely. (The perfect sort of night for busting ghosts.) Across the backyard and on the other side of the tree house, Drake also hid behind a bush.

Nell spoke into her walkie-talkie. “Coffee Nut to Muffin Man. Coffee Nut to Muffin Man. Come in. Over.”

“Muffin Man here,” replied Drake’s voice. “Over.”

“I’m in position. Over.”

“Roger that. I’m in position, too. Over.”

“Roger that, Muffin Man. Let me know if you see anything. Over.”

“Copy that, Coffee Nut. Over and out.”

And so they waited. And waited.

Meanwhile, Nell heard giggles coming from the tree house. As Nell had requested, Valerie had organized another slumber party and invited every snob except Sloane. If all went according to plan, then . . .

Suddenly, a twig snapped. Someone was out there!

“Muffin Man, come in,” Nell whispered into the walkie-talkie. “Did you hear that?”

“Loud and clear, Coffee Nut. Our ghost has arrived.”

Nell peered through the bush. Sure enough, Sloane stood under the tree. She fiddled a few moments with something, put it on the end of the long board, and then raised the board high above her head and into the tree.

There was a rustle of leaves.

A scream. (According to plan.) “The ghost! Aaahh! The ghost!”

Nell said into the walkie-talkie, “Now, Muffin Man, now!”

“Roger that, Coffee Nut!”

And out they pounced, shining their flashlights into Sloane’s surprised face.

“Drop it!” they cried. “Hands in the air! You’re busted!”

The PVC pipe clattered to the ground as Sloane dropped the board. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Drake and Nell. “I should’ve known you two would mess up my brilliant scheme of terrifying revenge. Don’t you beaker brains ever get any sleep? And quit shining that thing in my face, will you?”

Drake ignored her and spoke into his walkie-talkie, “Muffin Man to Snob Club. Muffin Man to Snob Club. Come in, Snob Club.”

“Snob Club here,” came Valerie’s voice.

“Ghost apprehended. Over.”

It took a few moments for Valerie and her friends to climb down from the tree house. Of course, they weren’t surprised to see Sloane. “Drake and Nell, like, told us it was you,” said Valerie.

“Get lost, poodle puff,” said Sloane.

Drake put himself in between them. “Now, now. Let’s be civilized and get on with it, shall we? I’m sure you’re all wondering exactly what Sloane was doing, and how we cracked the case.”

“Not really,” said Sloane.

Drake ignored her. “It was quite simple, once we had all our clues. Allow Scientist Nell to explain.”

“Thank you, Detective Doyle.” Nell clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace. “Now, any good scientist will tell you that ‘matter’ is defined as anything that has weight and takes up space. For instance, the planet Earth is composed of matter. This tree is composed of matter. You, Sloane, are made of matter.”

“And there’s plenty the matter with you, too,” snapped Sloane.

“Be quiet, Sloane,” said Valerie. “You are, like, so busted.”

Sloane scowled and crossed her arms.

“Now,” continued Nell, “matter can exist as a solid, a liquid, or a gas. Water is a perfect example of the three phases of matter. When frozen, it is a solid. At room temperature, it is a liquid. Boil water, and you see it rising as steam, or gas.”

“Well said,” said Drake.

“But
dry ice
is a different matter altogether,” said Nell. “You see, dry ice is composed of carbon dioxide—”

“Frozen to a temperature of minus one hundred and nine degrees Fahrenheit,” said Drake. “Only, when dry ice melts it doesn’t turn into a liquid. It goes directly from a solid to a gas.”

“It’s called sublimation,” said Nell.

“But, like, what does dry ice have to do with the ghost?” asked Valerie, chomping her gum. “I mean, like, we haven’t even done our nails yet, and it’s getting kinda late.”

“Excellent question, Ms. Applegate,” said Drake. “Simply put, Sloane put dry ice into this PVC pipe, covered both ends with balloons, and then added water through the little hole in one of the balloons.”

“The dry ice melted rapidly in the water—” said Nell.

“But,” added Drake, “it melted into a
gas
. A
cold
gas, I might add, which then shot out through the hole in the balloon and froze your neck.”

“Allow me to demonstrate,” said Nell. And without further ado, she whipped out a readymade demonstration kit from behind the bush. Both Nell and Drake pulled on heavy gloves and put on their safety glasses. And while everyone watched, Nell poured water into a bowl. In the bowl was a chunk of dry ice. Vapor instantly rose from the dry ice, looking quite spooky.

“You see,” said Drake, “Sloane attached the pipe to the end of this long board using a nail and a rubber band. She loaded the pipe with dry-ice chips and a few drops of water and then hoisted the board through the branches. When the dry-ice blaster was high enough, she aimed it through the cracks in the tree house. Purely diabolical.”

“Diabolical, indeed,” said Nell.

Valerie turned to Sloane. “You are, like, so out of the Snob Club.”

“Spare me the gory details,” said Sloane. “Oh, wait . . . I think I’m gonna cry. Wait . . . wait . . . here it comes . . . no . . . guess not. Better luck next time, poodle puff.” And with a purely diabolical laugh, Sloane stalked off into the shadows.

Drake handed Valerie their business card. “Call us, anytime.”

“Like, you know, thanks a bunch,” said Valerie. “I’ll totally give you a free weekend in the tree house as payment, man. Just don’t touch anything.”

“All in a night’s work.” Nell shook Valerie’s hand, once again satisfied with a job well done.

And off went Drake and Nell into the night, another ghost busted.

D
rake snapped the rubber band into place. Then he turned the crank, which turned a wheel, which whirled the blades. A breeze began to blow. “Ahh,” he sighed, dabbing his brow with a hankie.

He scribbled in his lab notebook:

New invention quite cool.
Just the thing for a hot day.

As Drake shut his notebook, the phone rang.

“Doyle and Fossey,” Drake answered, sounding quite cool and collected.

“Mighty glad you’re there, Drake Doyle.” Drake recognized the drawl. It was Jessie Simmons, the new girl in class. Just last week, her family had moved from Oklahoma to Mossy Lake. Jessie wore a cowgirl hat and boots, said things like “Ain’t life grand?” and twirled her lasso during recess.

“What can I do for you today, Ms. Simmons?” Drake replied.

“Something plumb awful’s happened. My poor little pet pig, Dolly, broke out of her pigpen and fell into a pit.”

Drake breathed a sigh of relief. Rescuing a piglet sounded like easy work. Easy work was a good thing on such a hot, hot day.

“You gotta come quick,” Jessie was saying.

“‘Quick’ is our middle name. Exactly where do you live, Ms. Simmons?”

“The ranch house at Porcupine Loop. Hurry!”

Immediately Drake phoned Nell. “Piglet meets pit at Porcupine Poop—I—I mean, Porcupine Loop. Meet me at the ranch house.”

“Check.”

Click.

Naturally, Nell was already there by the time Drake rode up. (Not only was she the fastest runner in the fifth grade, but she could ride like the wind, too.) She stood waiting for him with her notebook in hand, a pencil behind each ear, and Dr. Livingston at her side. Nell was about the handiest partner a science detective genius could ask for. “Ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” said Drake.

Just then, Jessie came running around the side of the house. Her pigtails were messy, and dirt was smeared across her face. “Thank the stars, you’re here! Follow me ’round back. Hurry! Poor little Dolly’s in the pit.”

They followed Jessie. She ran behind the house and then pointed down. There, in the ground, was a very dark opening to a very dark pit.

“It’s an old, dried-out well,” Jessie explained. “Dad was going to fill it in next week once we got settled. He put a piece of plywood over it so no one would fall in.”

Drake pushed up his glasses. “How did Dolly fall in, if it was covered with plywood?”

“See for yourselves,” said Jessie, still pointing.

Drake whipped out his flashlight and flicked it on. Together, Drake, Nell, and Jessie peered down the well. “Helloooooo, Dolly!” cried Drake.

Down, down, down, went the well.

Helloooooo, Dolly!
went the echo.

And then they saw her. It was horrible. It was awful. Quite possibly, it was their worst nightmare, ever. You see, Dolly wasn’t a little piglet at all. Dolly was ONE BIG FAT PIG! In fact, she looked more like a baby hippo than a baby pig.

OINK!
oinked Dolly.

“Great Scott!” cried Drake.

Woof!
yelped Dr. Livingston.

“She’s enormous!” cried Nell. “She broke right through the plywood!”

“This is impossible!” cried Drake. “We’ll never get her out!”

And then, as if finding one big fat pig at the bottom of a deep dark well on a hot, hot day wasn’t bad enough, Jessie burst into tears. That’s right. She sat back on her cowgirl boots and just blubbered. It was pitiful.

Drake and Nell looked at each other, astonished. Other than watching Jessie twirl her lasso at school, they really didn’t know her very well. “Uh, anything we can do for you, Ms. Simmons?” asked Drake. “Hankie, perhaps?”

Jessie wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Goshdurnit, Drake, Dolly’s my best friend. She’s the only thing I got to take with me from Oklahoma. All my other critters done got sold. If Dolly’s a goner, I think the twirl will go right out of my lasso. I’m plumb lost without her.”

“Can’t your parents help?” asked Nell.