Sly the Sleuth and the Food Mysteries Read online

There was nothing strange about Brian’s nose.

  “Open your mouth.”

  Brian opened his mouth.

  His breath stank. Like dead fish.

  Fluffy

  I sat at my desk and stared at Melody’s trash. I didn’t care about her case anymore.

  Brian had a problem.And it was making him sad. And scared. More scared than Melody was about this trash.

  I went out in the hall to the telephone. I looked at it.

  Brian didn’t want me to call his mother.

  But I hadn’t actually promised not to.

  I put my hand on the telephone. Then I dropped it.

  I went back to my room.

  The cookie tin sat in the corner. It was like a big finger pointing at me. Telling me that Brian needed my help.

  I went back to the telephone. I called Jack.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Jack. Come get your shuffleboard pucks.”

  “Brian’s mom made cookies already?”

  “Come get them. I don’t want them here.And you better be nice to Brian on Friday. He’s coming to your house to play shuffleboard.”

  “I’m always nice to Brian,” said Jack.

  That was true. Jack was a good guy. I had only said that about being nice because I was upset.

  “But I can’t come get the cookies,” said Jack.

  “Why not?”

  “Fluffy will eat them before we get a chance to play shuffleboard.”

  “Cats don’t eat cookies,” I said.

  But Jack had already hung up.

  Fish

  “I’m going next door,” I said to my mother.

  “At this hour? Brian is asleep. It’s nearly your bedtime, Sly.”

  “I’m going to talk with Mrs. Olsen. Besides, it’s Saturday. It’s okay if I’m up later. And it’s for a case.”

  “All right then.”

  I rang Brian’s doorbell.

  The light over the steps went on.

  Mrs. Olsen’s face peeked around the curtain covering the glass in the door. She looked worried. Then she smiled. She opened the door.

  “Hello, Sly. Brian’s in bed.”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  “How nice. Would you like a snack?”

  “I don’t eat before bed.” This was one time I was grateful for my mother’s rules. “Thanks anyway.”

  We went into the living room and sat on the couch.

  “Mrs. Olsen, did Brian have fish for dinner?”

  “No. He hates fish. I never cook it.”

  “Do you have any idea why his breath might smell like fish?”

  Mrs. Olsen looked aghast. “Does his breath smell like fish?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you smell it?”

  “Tonight. When he came over.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. Olsen put her hand to her mouth. “I guess I overdid it with that last batch.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Mrs. Olsen patted my knee. “I add fish oil to cakes and cookies.” She gave a little smile. “It makes them more nutritious.That way I don’t feel guilty about giving Brian sweets. You’d never know it, of course. The taste is hardly there.”

  That’s what you think, I thought.

  “Well, last week I read about a new concentrated fish oil. It’s wonderful for you. So I bought a bottle. I used it in this week’s cookies. Brian always gets cookies after dinner, you know. But if his mouth smells like fish, this oil is too strong.”

  Brian eats fishy cookies every night. The poor kid.

  “Oh my,” muttered Mrs. Olsen. “I thought his enthusiasm for cookies had dropped off. Oh my.”

  “Treats are treats,” I said. “They’re not supposed to be good for you.They’re supposed to taste good.”

  Mrs. Olsen put her hands together in her lap. “Well, Sly, treats can be both. I just made a little mistake buying this new oil.”

  I don’t like arguing with adults. And Mrs. Olsen was proud of her cooking. But this was Brian we were talking about. I looked at Mrs. Olsen hard. “Treats shouldn’t taste like fish. Not even a little bit.”

  Mrs. Olsen glanced away. “You know,” she said at last, “I can use olive oil from now on. Olive oil is good for you. It tastes good too.Yes. I’ll make a new batch of cookies tomorrow.”

  Warm relief filled me. And I hadn’t broken Brian’s trust. Sometimes things just went right. “I bet he’ll love them.”

  “If he loves my sweets too much, I’ll have to make sure he brushes extra good.” Mrs. Olsen smiled. “We can’t have rotten teeth now, can we?”

  Rotten teeth.

  Brian had said his mother didn’t want him to rot. When I’d asked what he was talking about, he said teeth. But that didn’t make sense: Fish oil won’t rot your teeth. But junk food might.

  Melody’s Bushes

  After brunch on Sunday I sneaked behind our garage. I watched the hedge between Brian’s backyard and Melody’s backyard.

  I waited.

  Nothing happened.

  I waited some more.

  Brian ran out his back door. He cut through the hedge.

  I knew he would.

  I followed him.

  He went around the front of Melody’s house. And disappeared.

  I crawled through the little tunnel between the bushes. Branches poked me hard. But I gritted my teeth; this was important.

  “Hi, Brian,” I said.

  “Hi, Sly.” He moved over and I squished in. “Want candy?” He slapped something in my hand.

  “Sure.” I took a bite. It was a Hershey’s bar. “This is good.”

  “I know,” said Brian.

  “Things taste good in the morning?” I asked.

  “I have popcorn too.”

  “Your mom doesn’t know about this, does she? That’s why you’re hiding, right?”

  “Candy makes her sad,” said Brian.

  Hmmm. I wondered if Mrs. Olsen had ever tried chocolate. Chocolate makes my mother happy.

  “Where did you get this junk food, Brian?”

  “I traded at school.”

  “What did you trade?” I asked.

  “Toys.”

  That sounded bad. “How many toys have you traded?”

  “Lots.”

  Oops. Brian needed his toys. Any kid did. “Did you start trading because your mother’s cookies suddenly tasted bad?”

  “They made Mitchell sick too,” said Brian. Mitchell goes to Brian’s nursery.

  “Is that why you think your teeth are rotting? Because of the candy?”

  “Have more,” said Brian. He slapped some in my hand.

  I ate it and licked my fingers. “Well, you don’t have to trade anymore.”

  “I like candy,” said Brian. “Better than home cookies.”

  I took Brian’s hand. “Listen. Your mom’s cookies are going to taste better from now on. Better than ever. You won’t need junk food.”

  “Junk food is good,” said Brian.

  “For treats now and then,” I said.“You have to watch out for some candy, though.”

  “Toffee,” said Brian.

  “Exactly,” I said. “It sticks in your teeth.”

  “Rotten teeth.” Brian’s voice was sober.

  “Brushing works,” I said.

  I heard a rip. The smell of popcorn was strong. Brian chewed loudly.

  Three birds

  I told Melody Brian was the dangerous guy in the bushes. She laughed. And she gave me two poster boards as payment. They’re both used on one side. But the other side is good for signs, if I need more later.

  And I might. Because I already solved Jack’s case. His problem was that Fluffy-Clarissa-Punky kept eating the shuffleboard pucks. That was so easy to solve, I didn’t charge him. I explained that she liked the fish oil in them. So, once his cat has eaten up all the fishy cookiepucks, he has two choices. He can buy regular pucks. The kind made of plastic. Like normal people use. Or he can ask Brian for more cookies—the n
ew kind without fish oil.

  Jack never has extra money. So he’s decided to ask Brian to play shuffleboard often. And to bring cookies each time.

  That will make Mrs. Olsen happy. So long as she never finds out what the cookies are used for.

  And Brian is happy. He says home cookies taste good again. Better than ever, like I promised. Poor Brian. He’ll never understand what a really good cookie tastes like. But at least he’s happy. And he doesn’t have to worry about rotting teeth. Plus Melody and I gave him old toys, to replace the ones he traded away.

  Taxi got a bonus out of all of this. I took some of the fishy cookies from Jack’s stash. I gave her one. And I told her about this case. She gnawed and purred the whole time I talked.

  So everyone’s problems were related. My father says it’s like hitting two birds with one stone. But it was really three birds.

  Actually, it was three fish. Ha. I was right: There was something fishy about how Jack and Brian were acting. Ha.

  I’m glad when cases end up funny like that.

  Case #2: Sly and Something Cooking

  T-shirts

  It was Friday. On Friday cheerleading practice met at my house. I hurried home to clean up before the others got there.

  Brian was waiting by my back door. He had both arms squeezed around Taxi.

  “Taxi doesn’t like to be held,” I said.

  “I have a present for her.” Brian followed me inside. He put Taxi down. He took off his backpack. Then he took off his jacket. “Look, Sly. Look at my shirt.”

  His T-shirt had MASCOT printed on it in Magic Marker.

  Kate was the captain of the squad. That’s because the whole idea of the squad was hers. When Brian asked to be a cheerleader, Kate had said no. But she’d made him mascot, instead. Kate can be nice when she isn’t being bossy.

  “I’ve seen your mascot shirt a million times, Brian.”

  “Good.” Brian unzipped his backpack. He held up a baby T-shirt. On it was printed MASCAT.

  I stared. Brian practiced his letters at my house. I knew his handwriting. Brian had printed those letters.

  “It’s for Taxi,” said Brian. “Get it?”

  I still stared.

  “Laugh. My mom laughed.” Brian grabbed Taxi again. “Help me put it on her.”

  I shook my head in amazement. But I put the shirt over Taxi’s head. I fit her front legs through the armholes. It hung on her all crazy and baggy. “Brian, did you think of this yourself ? When did you learn how to spell cat?”

  “Cat is in the at family,” said Brian. “With bat and fat and sat. Don’t you know the at family, Sly? I can teach you. It’s easy.”

  My mother had said Brian was brilliant. Maybe she was right. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of having a genius neighbor. “It’s a great shirt, Brian.”

  Knock knock knock. Melody and Princess came in.

  Brian held Taxi up. “Look.”

  “Meow.” Taxi squirmed free. She ran off.

  “Wow,” said Melody.

  “Cool,” said Princess. “Will Taxi wear it to basketball games?”

  “Do you have a cat, Princess?” I asked.

  “No,” said Princess.

  I didn’t think so. “Cats can’t go to games.”

  Knock knock.

  I opened the door.

  Kate stood there. “Cheerleading is over,” she said.

  Recipes

  “How can practice be over already?” said Melody. “We haven’t started yet.”

  “It’s over.” Kate opened the tote bag on her shoulder. She handed out envelopes.

  “What’s this?” asked Melody.

  “Recipes.”

  “How come?” I asked.

  “We’re going to cook together.”

  “I love cooking,” said Princess. She opened her envelope and took out the paper inside. “Oh, no.” Princess stared at her recipe.

  “You’re not supposed to say ‘Oh, no,’” said Kate. “You’re supposed to say ‘Good.’”

  “Spaghetti with oil and garlic,” read Melody from her own recipe. “Is that good?”

  “Ask Princess,” said Kate.

  “Why should she ask me?” said Princess.

  “It’s an Italian recipe.They all are. And you’re Italian.”

  “I’m American. My father’s Italian.”

  “Picky, picky,” said Kate.

  “Since when do cheerleaders cook?” I asked.

  “We’re not cheerleaders,” said Kate. “Not anymore.”

  “I like being on the squad,” said Princess.

  “A minute ago you said you love to cook,” said Kate.

  “I like being on the squad better,” said Princess.

  “Don’t make trouble, Princess,” said Kate. “I hurt my ankle, so there is no more squad.”

  “You can’t just do that,” said Melody.“We’ll wait for your ankle to heal.”

  “I hate waiting. Now we’re a cooking club. We can be on TV.”

  “TV?” I put my hand on Kate’s forehead. “Are you delirious?”

  Kate brushed my hand away. “Don’t you know about the cooking channels?”

  “But those aren’t ordinary people,” I said.

  “My cousin’s on TV.” Kate put her hands on her hips. “And he’s ordinary. He’s totally ordinary.”

  “Really?” asked Melody.

  “Well, no. He’s my second cousin. Removed once or twice. But he has a cooking show. So when I write to him about our club, we can be on his show.”

  “Why do you even want to be on TV?” I asked.

  “Everyone wants to be on TV.”

  Brian pulled on Kate’s shirt. “I’m still mascot, right?”

  “Cooking clubs don’t have mascots,” said Kate.

  Brian shut his mouth. His chin trembled.

  “Melody’s right,” I said. “You can’t just do that, Kate.”

  “Yes I can. I started the squad. I can end it.”

  “But Brian is mascot. And Taxi is mascat. Brian made her a T-shirt.”

  “Mascat?” Kate gave a lopsided smile.“That’s cute. Show me the shirt.”

  “Taxi ran away,” said Brian.

  “But it’s a good-looking shirt,” I said.

  “Okay,” said Kate. “Our cooking club can have a mascot and a mascat. The TV cameras will love that.”

  “Can I keep my pom-poms?” asked Brian.

  “Sure.”

  “Yay!”

  Brian’s Contribution

  “We’ll do everything just like with cheerleading,” said Kate. “On Monday we’ll cook at my house. Tuesday will be off, because of Melody’s ballet lessons. On Wednesday we’ll cook at Melody’s house. On Thursday we’ll cook at Princess’s house. And on Friday we’ll cook at Sly’s house. We’ll share on buying ingredients. And the person whose house we’re at has to make sure we have all the measuring cups and things. That way we can do it right.”

  “Who said we even want to do it at all?” I asked.

  Kate put her fists on her hips. “I know you like to cook, Sly.”

  That was true.I like cooking.But it’s important to stand up to Kate. I was about to say I didn’t like my recipe.Then I looked at it. Linguine with pesto.That dish was yummy. I cleared my throat. “How come you get to pick the recipes?”

  “It’s my club.” Kate took off her jacket.“Let’s start.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “Nobody brought ingredients. And I don’t have all this stuff.”

  “We have ingredients at my house,” said Brian.

  “I’ve heard about your mother,” said Kate. “You have only weird health food ingredients.”

  That was a low blow. I put my arm around Brian’s shoulders.

  But he jumped away. He opened his backpack. “Here.” He took out cupcake packs. Four of them. “Let’s make a party.”

  “Brian!” Princess looked shocked. “Since when does your mom let you eat junk food?”

  “They’re good,” said B
rian.

  Melody and I exchanged glances. Oh, no. Brian was still trading at school. I had to talk to him about that. Later, in private.

  “How about we eat cupcakes this time?” I said. “But after this, Brian’s contribution will be cheering us on. And the club will cook only food that’s good for you.”

  “I make the rules,” said Kate. “But that’s an okay one. There are only four packs, though. And there are five of us.”

  “I have to go anyway,” said Princess.

  “What?” said Kate. “We always stay for at least an hour.”

  “I forgot I have to be somewhere.” Princess waved. “Bye.”

  “Wait,” said Kate. “We have to figure out who’s bringing what to my house on Monday. My recipe is rotini with meatballs. It’s the hardest one because I’m in charge of the club.”

  “I’ll bring the rotini,” said Princess. “Bye.”

  Kate scowled as she watched Princess go out the door. “You might have a case soon, Sly.”

  I wanted to know more. But that scowl put me off. Kate was no fun when she was in a bad mood.

  The Start

  On Monday the cooking club met at Kate’s house. That was because Kate’s mother was the first parent to agree to this whole idea. Kate’s mother agreed to just about anything. And she had persuaded the rest of our parents to give it a try.

  Brian came with me. He was the club mascot, after all.

  I brought ground beef. Melody brought canned tomatoes. Princess brought rotini. And Kate provided all the rest.

  Except what Princess actually took out of her bag was not rotini. It was a sack of rice.

  “Rice?” said Kate. “What can we do with rice?”

  “Oops,” said Princess. “They both start with R. I got confused.”

  “How could you get confused?” said Kate. “Your father is from Italy.”

  “Oh, well. My mother says pasta dishes taste just as good with rice.”

  “Your mother’s wrong,” said Kate. “She’s not from Italy.”

  What had gotten into Kate? First Brian’s mother, now Princess’s mother. Mother insults were bad news. If Kate said anything mean about my mother, I’d quit the club. After the linguine-with-pesto day.