The Case of the Stinky Socks (3 page)

She giggled. Then she said, “Hang on. I've got it! ‘Milo and Jazz, private eyes. Mysteries of any size.'”

Milo and Jazz? What did she mean, ‘and Jazz'? “Hey, wait a minute—”

She kept right on talking as if she didn't hear him. “Give us a shout—we'll figure it out!”

Suddenly they heard someone shouting.

Jazz ran up the stairs, with Milo close behind. They followed the yells to an open door.

“Gone! Gone,
gone,
GONE!”

Milo peeked in the room. Whoa. His mom thought
his
room was messy. She should see this.

Drawers hung open. Clothes trailed from the closet. A laundry basket lay on its side, dirty laundry spilling everywhere.

 

At first Milo couldn't see anyone in the mess. Then he spotted two long legs poking out from under the bed.

“Dylan, what's wrong?” Jazz asked.

The legs wriggled backward, and a teenage boy stood up. He wore a blue T-shirt that said
Westview Wildcats
in gold. He looked upset. “My lucky socks!” he said. “They're gone!”

Milo looked around the room. There were socks all over the place.

Jazz must have noticed them too. “Are you
sure
they're gone?”

Her brother nodded. “I've looked everywhere.”

“Where did you last see the socks?” asked Milo. His mom always asked that when he lost something.

“In my locker,” Dylan said. “I always keep them in my locker between games.”

“Then why were you looking here?”

Dylan shrugged. “Just in case I brought them home by mistake.”

Jazz looked at him. “If you never bring them home, how do they get washed?”

“They don't.”

“Dylan, that's disgusting!” Jazz said.

“I was wearing them when I pitched a no-hitter in the first game of the season,” her brother protested. “I don't want to wash away the luck.”

“Don't they smell bad?” Milo asked.

“They stink! That's how I noticed they were gone. My locker stopped smelling so rotten.” Dylan glowered. “When I catch the creep who stole them—”

Stole
them? Milo's ears perked up. Could this be his first case? He pulled out his notebook.

Jazz said, “Who would steal your stinky socks?”

“I think it was an eagle,” Dylan said.

“An eagle?” Milo pictured a bird with sharp talons swooping down to snatch the socks away.

“The Eggleston Eagles,” said Dylan. “While I was at practice, someone on their team must have sneaked into our locker room and nabbed my lucky socks.”

“Why?” asked Milo.

“The Eagles and the Wildcats are big, big rivals. We've got a game against them coming up, and they'd do anything to make us lose.”

 

 

“How would they know about your socks?” Milo asked. “They couldn't actually smell them on the field. . . . Could they?”

Dylan sighed. “Everybody knows. The local Z station sent a camera crew to last week's game, and I shot off my big mouth about my winning streak. Told them with my lucky socks, we couldn't lose.” He slumped down on his bed.

 

Jazz asked, “Did you check with your teammates? Maybe someone took them by mistake.”

“I asked everybody. Even Coach.”

“Does anyone else use the boys' locker room after school?” she said.

Dylan shrugged. “The swim team, I guess. And the tennis players. And the fencing club. And track and field. . . . ”

“That's a lot of people,” Jazz said. “Anybody could have walked off with your socks.”

“But why would anyone from
our
school want to wreck my lucky streak? We're on the same side!”

“Maybe someone's mad at you,” Milo suggested. He was getting tired of Jazz asking all the questions. Who was the super sleuth around here, anyway? “Have you got any enemies?” he asked.

Dylan frowned. “I don't think so.”

“Then maybe it's an international sock-napping gang. Was there a ransom note?”

Dylan shook his head. “I'm sure it was an Eagle.” He sank onto his unmade bed. “Friday's the big game. Without my lucky socks, we'll never win.”

Friday! That was the day after tomorrow.

As they headed back downstairs, Jazz said, “So I think we should start at the scene of the crime.”

Milo looked at her. “What do you mean,
we?”

“They're
my
brother's missing socks,” she said. “Besides, every detective needs a partner, right?”

A partner? Um . . .

“Anyway,” she said, not waiting for an answer, “I've got a plan. What I think is—”

 

“I already have a plan,” Milo cut in. Who was in charge of this case, anyway?

“Really?” asked Jazz. “What?”

“Tomorrow afternoon I'm going over to the high school.”

Jazz lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

“And . . .” Okay, maybe it wasn't a plan exactly. “And then I'll look for clues.”

“Like what?”

How was he supposed to know before he looked? “Maybe someone saw an Eagle in the locker room.”

“How would they know?”

“What do you mean?”

“How would they know it was an Eagle?”