Sly the Sleuth and the Food Mysteries Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Case #1: Sly and Something Fishy

  Case #2: Sly and Something Cooking

  Case #3: Sly and Something seedy

  DIAL BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

  A division of Penguin Young Readers Group

  Published by The Penguin Group

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Text copyright © 2007 by Donna Jo Napoli and Robert Furrow Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Heather Maione

  eISBN : 978-1-101-50305-8

  [1. Food—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Furrow, Robert, date. II. Maione, Heather Harms, ill. III. Title.

  PZ7.N15Skq 2007

  [Fic]—dc22

  2006008167

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Thanks to our family, and Rebecca Waugh and Lauri Hornik, (and Taxi, of course)

  —D.J.N and R.F.

  For Bob, who thankfully understands that cooking has always been a mystery to me

  -H.M.

  Case #1: Sly and Something Fishy

  Slow Season

  I kneeled on the floor by my sign. In black letters I wrote: SLEUTH FOR HIRE. That is the name of my agency.

  I looked at it hard. My father says ads should catch the eye. They should be bold. My sign was not bold.

  Brian was beside me. He was working on his picture of a T. rex. Brian is my neighbor. He’s only four. But he can be good company. Sometimes.

  Brian’s T. rex was orange and blue and lime. With purple stripes.

  He added a giant tooth. In red.

  It was bold.

  “Can I borrow your red crayon?” I asked.

  Brian put his finger in his mouth. He handed me the red crayon.

  It had no tip. Neither did his other crayons. And this was a new pack.

  “Brian, you press too hard.”

  Brian mumbled. I couldn’t understand. His finger was still in his mouth.

  “Why’s your finger in your mouth?” I asked.

  Brian pulled his finger out. He wiped it on his sleeve. “Are you putting hearts on it?” he asked.

  “You mean my sign?”

  “Red is good for hearts,” said Brian.

  “Why would I put hearts on my sign?”

  Brian laughed. “For love.”

  “What? This is advertising. I need business.”

  I hadn’t had a new case in weeks.Winter must be the slow season for sleuths.

  “Love is good for business.” Brian made a green squiggle on the corner of my sign.

  “What’s that?”

  “Frogs are good for business too.”

  That was a frog? But it looked sort of cute.

  I printed red words under the black ones that were already there:NO PROBLEM TOO SMALL REASONABLE PRICES

  The letters were fat, because the crayon had no tip.

  But my sign was bold now.

  I added hearts.

  A little love never hurts.

  Too Much Work

  I sat on my heels and watched. Brian made a border of frogs on my sign.

  “Wilson,” he said.Wilson is what Brian calls his frogs. All his frogs. He has dozens.

  I liked it.

  Bang!

  “Jack!” screamed Brian.

  I knew what he meant. In the fall Jack had banged his soccer ball on my door.

  “That’s no soccer ball,” I said. “It’s too cold for soccer balls.”

  Bang!

  Brian ran to the door. He opened it. “Jack!”

  Jack tucked his ball under his arm. He came in. Brian didn’t say “I told you so.”

  But I was annoyed anyway. I don’t like being wrong. “I told you before,” I said to Jack. “I prefer knocking.”

  “Knocking schmocking,” said Jack.

  “What’s that mean?” asked Brian.

  “Soccer balls are better than knocking,” said Jack. “Hey, nice T. rex.”

  “He bites,” said Brian.

  Jack jumped. “Grrr!” He showed his teeth.

  Brian screamed. He ran behind me.

  “What about my sign?” I said.

  Jack frowned. “It looks like Christmas. Christmas is past.”

  Brian peeked out. “What makes it Christmas?”

  “Red and green.”

  Brian frowned.

  My sign did look Christmas-y.

  I frowned now. This was my only piece of poster board. And it was already used on the other side. “What are you doing here, Jack?”

  “I have a case for you. About Fluffy.”

  Fluffy is Jack’s cat. She also happens to be Kate’s cat. But Kate calls her Clarissa. And she happens to be a woman named Julie’s cat. But Julie calls her Punky.They all share her.

  Knock knock knock.

  Melody came in. She’s my best friend. She knocks. But she never waits for me to open the door.

  “I have a case for you,” said Melody.

  “I already hired her,” said Jack.

  “I’m not hired till I accept,” I said. “I don’t even know what your case is, Jack.”

  “My case is important,” said Melody. “It’s dangerous.”

  “Danger!” screamed Brian.

  “I was here first,” said Jack.

  “Two cases at once,” I said.“Let me think.”

  Priorities

  “Yay!” shouted Brian. “Christmas worked.”

  “What?” said Melody.

  I pointed at my sign.“He means my sign worked. And I haven’t even put it in the front yard yet.”

  “I wanted to hire you before I saw your sign,” said Jack.

  “I did too,” said Melody.

  “See?” said Brian. “Magic.”

  “Oh yeah?” Jack touched the corner of my sign with his sneaker. “Whose case are you taking, Sly?”

  This was tough.

  Jack had brought me two cases in the past.

  One was about Wish Fish, his Siamese fighting fish. The other was about soccer.

  Melody had brought me two cases in the past. One was about Pong, her puppy. The other was about kicking.

  They were both good clients.

  I have two policies. First, I take only cases that are fun. Second, I take only cases a cat would care about. After all, my cat Taxi listens to me talk about cases. I don’t want to bore her.

  Taxi would like a case about Fluffy-Clarissa-Punky. Probably any cat would.

  But Melody was my best friend. And danger should take priority. Plus, Taxi likes Melody.

  “I’ll take both,” I said.“But Melody’s first.”

 
Fishy

  “No fair,” said Jack. “I ... ” He stopped and looked at Melody. His face turned pink and sappy. “All right. But solve Melody’s fast.”

  This was a disturbing order. What if Melody’s case was hard? “Cases take as long as cases take,” I said.That sounded official.

  “You have one week,” said Jack. “My cousins are coming Friday.” He dribbled his ball to the door. “We want to play shuffleboard.” He went out.

  Brian ran to the door. He shouted, “I want to play shuffleboard.”

  “Great idea,” Jack shouted back. “I’ll see you Friday.”

  Jack wanted Brian to come play shuffleboard? Brian?

  Something fishy was going on.

  “Shut the door, Brian,” said Melody. “The cold is coming in.”

  Brian shut the door.

  I turned to Melody. “Start at the beginning.” That was sleuth talk.

  “I can’t tell with you-know-who here.” Melody jerked her head toward Brian.

  “Time to go, Brian.” I collected his crayons. It wasn’t fair to send him home so fast. He’d come only a little while ago. But business was business.

  Brian rolled up his T. rex picture. He didn’t even argue.

  This was fishier than Jack inviting Brian for shuffleboard. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

  “No.” Brian stuck his finger in his mouth. He moved it around in there.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Brian dropped his hand. “I can’t tell you.”

  Brian told everyone everything. Something might really be wrong. Or maybe he was just echoing Melody.

  I handed Brian his crayons.

  He left.

  “Why couldn’t you talk in front of Brian?”

  “It’s scary,” said Melody.

  Something dangerous and scary. I wasn’t sure I wanted this case, after all. But I owed Melody a try. “What’s scary?”

  “See for yourself. Come home with me.”

  Bushes

  I followed Melody across Brian’s backyard.We ducked through the hedge into her yard.

  Bushes run along the front of Melody’s house. She stopped and held aside branches. “Look.”

  I peeked past her arm. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Look down.”

  It was dark back there. But I spied trash. A candy wrapper. A potato chip bag. Stuff like that.

  Nothing dangerous or scary.

  “See?” said Melody. She was excited.

  “Trash,” I said as nicely as I could.

  “Exactly,” said Melody.

  This case was going nowhere. I cleared my throat. “Why did you throw trash behind your bush?”

  “Don’t be dumb,” said Melody.“I didn’t do it.”

  “Who did?”

  “That’s the mystery. Someone’s living in our bushes.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No,” said Melody. “He hides when I come.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He isn’t here now,” said Melody.

  There was something wrong with that logic. But I let it go. What mattered was that Melody was afraid. “If he hides when you come, he can’t be very scary.”

  “Unless he’s waiting for the right moment,” said Melody.“Then he’ll do something awful.”

  “Maybe no one’s living here. Maybe someone’s just throwing trash behind the bushes.”

  “Find out,” said Melody. “Because if someone’s living here, he’s dangerous.”

  Melody liked to be dramatic.

  But she could be right.

  Pong

  I pushed my way through.The branches poked my tummy and chest. They pinned me to the house. So I squatted.

  Near the base of the bush there was more room. But not much.

  I gathered the trash. The potato chip bag was half full.And there was one piece of toffee left in the candy wrapper. I stuffed everything in my pocket.

  “What are you doing?” called Melody from the other side of the bushes.

  “Gathering clues.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Trash.”

  “I know that,” said Melody. “What else?”

  “Give me time.” I felt around.

  The leaves between this bush and the next were broken off at the bottom. I crawled under the broken leaves. It was like a tunnel. It scraped at my back. I wound up out on the front lawn.

  I stood beside Melody. It would be hard for anyone my size to go through that tunnel. But it wouldn’t be hard for a dog. “Did Pong discover the trash?”

  “How did you know?”

  “It’s my job.” I liked saying that. It sounded sleuthy. “Go get Pong.”

  “What? Are you going to interrogate him?” Melody giggled.

  “Just get him, okay?”

  Melody went inside. She came out with Pong.

  Pong yipped happily and ran at me.

  I roughhoused with him. He likes that.Then I sat on my heels.

  Pong sniffed at my pocket.

  “Aha!” I pulled out the potato chip bag. I offered Pong a chip.

  He ate it.

  “Aha! Pong likes potato chips.”

  “All dogs do,” said Melody. “So what?”

  I thought of offering Pong the toffee. But toffee is sticky. Pong probably couldn’t chew it right. “Does he like candy too?”

  “Yesterday he came out with a Rice Krispies Treat in his mouth. He swallowed it before I could stop him.”

  “Aha!” I said. “Pong knew there was trash behind your bush. Maybe Pong put it there. Maybe he eats trash there.”

  “Pong eats anything he finds,” said Melody. “And he doesn’t go behind things to do it. He’s too young to know he shouldn’t eat junk. Besides, where would Pong get all that stuff?”

  “Good points. But whoever left that trash back there was skinny,” I said. “And short.”

  Melody looked surprised. Then she laughed. “Are you saying someone Pong’s height did it? A leprechaun?”

  Melody’s Irish. Her leprechaun jokes crack me up. A leprechaun eating junk food—I laughed too.

  Interruptions

  After dinner I went to my room. I spread the clues on my desk.They didn’t look like the sort of thing someone dangerous would eat. They looked like the sort of thing a kid would eat.

  The phone rang.

  My mother called up the stairs, “Sly, it’s Jack.”

  I walked to the hall phone. “Hi, Jack.”

  “Did you solve Melody’s case yet?”

  “Don’t rush me.”

  “I have to,” said Jack. “My cousins love shuffleboard. And remind Brian to bring cookies. I just called and told him. But you remind him too.”

  Jack wanted Brian to bring cookies? Brian’s cookies were made by his mother. Mrs. Olsen was a health nut.And her cookies tasted like it. No one liked them.

  Oh! Now I remembered.

  “Are you still using Brian’s mother’s cookies as pucks?”

  “They’re the best. Hurry.” Jack hung up.

  So that’s why Jack invited Brian. Good. I had figured out one thing.

  Now if I could only figure out who put trash behind Melody’s bushes.

  I walked toward my room. Uh-oh. Another interruption.

  Brian was standing at the top of the stairs. He held a cookie tin. “Take these.”

  “Jack asked for them, not me.”

  “Keep them till Friday,” said Brian.

  “You keep them.”

  “No. My mom will want me to eat more. They make me sick.”

  I almost laughed. That’s how I felt about Brian’s mother’s cookies too. But it wasn’t nice to say it. “Okay.” I put the cookie tin on the floor in the corner.

  When I turned around, Brian was already halfway down the stairs.

  I felt sorry for him. Little kids should be happy when their mothers make cookies. “Hey,” I called.“We’ve got cookies too. Come into the kitchen.”


  “No,” said Brian.

  “No?” I ran down. “Why not?”

  “My mother already made me eat some of hers.” Brian stuck his finger in his mouth and dug around. It came out with brown gunk under the nail. He wiped it off on his pajama top.

  “Yuck, Brian. What was that?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Rot

  “Brian, you tell me everything.”

  Brian’s eyes filled with tears.

  I took his hand. We went into the kitchen. When I’m sad, my mother gives me fruit and a glass of milk. Then we talk.

  Brian isn’t a fruit fiend, like me. I poured him milk. “We had chicken for dinner. My father’s famous chicken. The leftovers are still warm. Want a piece?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  This was odd. Brian loved our chicken.“Not even a drumstick?” Drumsticks are my favorite. I put a drumstick on a plate.

  Brian took a bite. He spit it out. His face crumpled. He was really crying now.

  “Start at the beginning,” I said, even though this wasn’t a case. The beginning is the right place, no matter what.

  “Promise you won’t tell.”

  This was a dilemma. I keep my promises. “Is it a big problem, Brian?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then your mom should know.”

  “It’ll make her sad.”

  “Why?”

  “She thinks they’re good,” said Brian.

  “She thinks what’s good?”

  “And she doesn’t want me to rot.” Brian’s tears were big.

  I put my arms around Brian. “What are you talking about?”

  “Teeth.”

  “Drink your milk,” I said. “Milk’s good for teeth.”

  “Milk stinks.” Brian wrinkled his nose. “Your father’s famous chicken stinks. Everything stinks after dinner.”

  “Everything stinks after dinner?”

  Brian’s face pinched with fear. “Everything.”

  “Let me see your nose.”

  Brian tilted his head up.