Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Soccer Scheme

by Donald J. Sobol

  Instantly Encyclopedia was alerted. Trudy had a crush on Butch Ribrock.

  Mr. Whitten put the jar of jelly beans on top of a counter. He wrote on a card and showed it to Trudy. Then he slid the card under the jar.

  “I’ve written the winning number of jelly beans on the card,” he announced. “Only Trudy and I know the number.”

  Trudy passed out paper and pencils. The children were to write down the number of jelly beans they thought were in the jar.

  Suddenly a high-pitched voice demanded, “Stick ’em up!”

  It was Pistol Pete. He was pointing his gun at Trudy.

  Trudy seemed nervous. She held up five fingers on her left hand and only four on her right. Her right thumb was bent into her palm.

  “Why the bent thumb?” Sally whispered to Encyclopedia.

  “Don’t know yet,” Encyclopedia whispered back.

  “The jelly beans or your life,” Pistol Pete snarled.

  “Get lost!” someone cried. “Who opened your cage?” someone else cried. Those were the kindest remarks.

  “Uh-oh,” the shortest sheriff in America muttered. “Time to hit the trail.” He squirted himself in the head and went thataway out the door.

  Trudy collected the papers and pencils and passed them to Mr. Whitten. He read out loud the number of jelly beans the children had written.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “No one has it right so far. But forty-five is closest.” He glanced over the children. “Do I have everyone’s number?”

  “Not mine,” shouted Butch as he scribbled on his paper. He passed it to Mr. Whitten.

  Mr. Whitten raised Butch’s paper and the card from under the jelly-bean jar. On both was written 54.

  “Fifty-four is correct!” Mr. Whitten announced. “We have a winner!”

  “How could Butch guess the winning number?” Sally wondered. “He had to cheat!”

  “I’m sure he did,” Encyclopedia said.

  WHAT MADE ENCYCLOPEDIA SURE?

  (Click here for the solution to “The Case of the Jelly-Bean Holdup.”)

  The Case of the Soccer Scheme

  On the field in South Park the Chipmunks and Cobras soccer teams were warming up for the game to decide the league championship for boys twelve and under.

  Encyclopedia and Sally stood on the sideline with Hugh Canfield, a school friend. Hugh was manager of the Chipmunks.

  “Who are those two Cobras?” Sally asked. “The ones heading the ball to each other.”

  “They’re the Hackanstack twins, Vince and Vernon,” Hugh said.

  “They look awful tough,” Sally said.

  “They’re mean and tough,” Hugh replied. “They talk trash to the other team. They say things like, ‘With a head like yours, you can be sure of one point.’”

  “How can you tell which twin is which?” Sally said. “Jerseys ought to have more than a number. They should have the player’s name, too. The Cobra uniforms have just numbers.”

  “That wouldn’t help because they have the same last name,” Hugh said. “A soccer uniform usually has just a number.”

  The game started and wasn’t three minutes old when the referee blew his whistle.

  “Chipmunk number eight, you were holding,” he called.

  He awarded the Cobras a free kick from the spot of the foul. The spot was too far from the Chipmunks’ goal to threaten a score.

  “It looked to me like the Cobra did the holding,” Sally said.

  A woman near Sally turned and spoke sharply. “The referee calls them as he sees them. He’s closer to the action than you are. You should learn to respect authority, young lady.”

  “Must be a Cobra mother,” Hugh mumbled.

  Five minutes later, the referee called a foul against a Cobra. “You were holding, Bob,” he said. “Because number eight of the Chipmunks held you earlier, don’t try to get even. I want a clean game.”

  A Chipmunk kicked downfield. A Cobra player trapped the ball and back-footed it to a teammate. A Chipmunk player cut off the pass and stole the ball.

  “Attaboy, Frank!” Hugh hollered at the Chipmunk.

  Frank sparked an attack that kept the ball deep in the Cobras’ end of the field. The Cobras defended well. The Chipmunks failed to score.

  The half ended in a 0–0 deadlock.

  Late in the second half the referee blew his whistle and pointed to a Chipmunk. “Number three,” he hollered, “you were charging.”

  “That’s Rick Haywood,” Hugh said. “Cool it, Rick!”

  Rick had let loose a landslide of protests. The referee waved a yellow card at him.

  “A warning,” Hugh said anxiously. “If Rick doesn’t calm down, it’s good-bye. He’s out of the game! Our one substitute banged up his foot skateboarding. If Rick gets thrown out, we’ll be ten men against the Cobras’ eleven.”

  Rick didn’t calm down. He pinched his nose and stomped around. The referee warned him again and finally waved him out of the game.

  Play went on. The Chipmunks held off the Cobras’ attacks despite having one less player and an overdose of the Hackanstack twins.

  The twins played by their own rules. In front of the referee they were as well mannered as boys at a garden party. Behind the referee’s back they acted like a demolition derby. They grabbed jerseys, dug elbows into ribs, tripped, and charged.

  The Chipmunk rooters screamed. The referee was unmoved. He was watching the player with the ball. He couldn’t call a foul he did not see.

  “There are seventeen rules in soccer, and the twins have broken all of them this season,” Hugh said.

  With fewer than two minutes to play, a Cobra fell in the close-quarter battling by the Chipmunk goal. He lay on the ground as if in terrible pain.

  The referee immediately blew his whistle. “Chipmunk number four, you pushed Vince off the ball,” he said.

  Maybe, Encyclopedia thought. The push wasn’t clear from the sideline.

  The referee stooped over to the fallen Cobra, one of the Hackanstack twins. “Are you all right, Vince?”

  “I’ll be all right,” Vince said bravely.

  The pushing had been called within the penalty zone. The referee awarded the Cobras a penalty kick.

  The players on both teams took positions ten feet from where the referee had placed the ball on the ground. Unlike a free kick, a penalty kick could be stopped only by the goalie.

  Vince, who had suddenly become unhurt, strode to the ball. He had a clear, straight, 12-yard shot to the goal. Art Drum, the Chipmunk goalie, crouched, ready to spring for the ball.

  “Art has to be lucky,” Hugh said glumly. “A goalie seldom stops a penalty kick.”

  The braces on Vince’s teeth flashed in a wicked grin as he stepped up and kicked. The ball flew past Art and into the net.

  The Cobras’ rooters cheered and slapped each other on the back.

  With one fewer player, the Chipmunks couldn’t break through the Cobras’ defense before time ran out.

  The Cobras won, 1–0.

  “The game shouldn’t count,” Sally grumbled. “The referee helped the Cobras win. How can we prove it, Encyclopedia?”

  “Easily,” replied the boy detective. “The referee said so.”

  WHAT DID THE REFEREE SAY?

  (Click here for the solution to “The Case of the Soccer Scheme.”)

  The Case of the Hole in the Book

  Raindrops danced on the roof of the Brown Detective Agency.

  “We may as well quit for the day,” Sally said. “Nobody will come in this weather.”

  “How about going to the public library?” Encyclopedia suggested. “I can loan you a raincoat and hat.”

  “Suits me,” Sally said.

  The two detectives made
it to the library somewhat drier than wetter.

  Ms. Moore, the head librarian, came around her desk. “How nice to see you both,” she said.

  “It’s good to be here,” Encyclopedia said. “Have you any new books?”

  “Not since you were here last,” replied Ms. Moore. “In fact, we have one less book. Harry Elton’s novel Fast Wheels had a hole burned into the middle pages. It’s ruined.”

  “When was the hole discovered?” Encyclopedia asked.

  “Three nights ago,” Ms. Moore said. “Ben Considine, who cleans after hours, found it in the restroom. The book was by the sink. He said the book smelled slightly of tobacco. When he opened it, he saw the hole.”

  “Do you suspect Ben?” asked Sally.

  Ms. Moore shook her head. “Ben has been with us for years. The hole was clearly made by a cigarette being snuffed out. Ben doesn’t smoke.”

  “Have you any idea who did it?” Encyclopedia inquired.

  “I’d have to guess,” Ms. Moore answered. “It rained that day, worse than today. No one came into the library except four teenage boys. They use the library once in a while. They checked out books on racing cars and drivers. They stayed about thirty minutes. I think it was one of them.”

  Ms. Moore showed the detectives the burned book. “What sort of person would do such a thing?” she said bitterly.

  Encyclopedia examined the hole.

  “Does it tell you anything?” Sally asked hopefully.

  “Not so far,” the boy detective said. “Do you have the boys’ names, Ms. Moore?”

  “I can get their names off their library cards,” Ms. Moore said.

  She used the computer and showed the printout to the detectives. On it were four names: Chris Wilder, Oscar Lane, Gary Silver, and Frank Cloud.

  The detectives had seen them in town. They were not troublemakers.

  “Did anything unusual happen in the library since the hole was made?” Encyclopedia asked.

  “I can’t say,” Ms. Moore replied. “While the boys were here, my two assistants, Ms. Catlin and Ms. Hawkins, were in the office. They were checking in books returned in the book drop. None of us watched the boys. Wait, there is something else.”

  She drew a folded sheet of paper from her desk drawer. “I received this in the mail today.”

  The top two lines on the sheet were:

  He burned the hole in the book.

  To find out who, have a look.

  Written below in block letters were three words, PURPLE MONTH ORANGE.

  “I can’t see that the three words have anything to do with the burned hole. They don’t make sense,” said Ms. Moore. “I think it’s an attempt to throw us off the track.”

  “Perhaps it’s a code,” Sally said.

  “Possibly,” Encyclopedia said.

  “Month,” Ms. Moore mused. “Months have holidays. Is there a holiday with purple and orange colors? Then again, the code may have to do with food. Grape jelly is purple, and oranges are orange. The words may be about a holiday or food.”

  “Are there any holidays about food, Encyclopedia?” Sally asked.

  “I only know of two, Picnic Day in Australia and Peanut Sunday in Luxembourg,” Encyclopedia said.

  “Australia? Luxembourg? Good grief, that’s reaching a little too far, isn’t it?” Ms. Moore objected politely. “The code may have to do with poetry some way or other. Rhyming book with look may be a clue.”

  “I can’t see that the three words have anything to do with the burned hole. They don’t make sense,” said Ms. Moore.

  “That’s it!” Encyclopedia exclaimed. “The words purple, orange, and month don’t tell us who wrote them. They tell us who burned the hole in the book.”

  WHO BURNED THE HOLE?

  (Click here for the solution to “The Case of the Hole in the Book.”)

  The Case of the April Fools’ Plot

  Every morning Chuck Tweedle delivered the Idaville News around the neighborhood on his bike. He slung the newspaper to the front doors with great skill.

  In the week since April Fools’, however, the newspaper landed several feet from the doors. One homeowner, Mr. Miller, complained the loudest, but only about the delivery on April Fools’.

  Encyclopedia and Sally decided to learn more from Chuck himself. The detectives found him sitting on the front steps of his house huddled in gloom.

  Sally laid her hand gently on his shoulder. “Gosh, Chuck, whatever is the matter?”

  “I was fired,” Chuck said.

  “What for?” Encyclopedia asked. “You deliver the newspaper on time, and your aim is perfect—right to the front door.”

  “I never missed,” Chuck said. “How else can a half-pint like me make a name for himself?”

  “You’re already a name,” Sally said. “You became one last year when you were crowned the Idaville News delivery boy of the year.”

  “That dumps me into a class with last year’s news,” Chuck replied. “I didn’t deserve to be fired. I didn’t do what I’m supposed to have done.”

  “Tell us,” Encyclopedia said.

  “What have I got left to lose?” Chuck said halfheartedly.

  “On April Fools’,” he began, “I delivered the newspaper to the Millers’ house by six thirty, as always. That afternoon Mr. Miller complained that I had rolled up the newspaper. When it was tight and hard, he said I shoved it though the handle of the front door, bolting the door shut.”

  “Did you?” Encyclopedia asked.

  “I didn’t do any such thing,” Chuck said. “My boss said I couldn’t work for the Idaville News after such a trick, April Fools’ or not. He said to pick up my check and have a nice day.”

  “Anyone could have bolted the door after you delivered the newspaper to the Millers,” Encyclopedia said.

  “Did anyone see you deliver the newspaper to the Millers?” Sally asked.

  “Mr. Miller’s teenage daughter, Lily,” Chuck answered. “She’s a singer and a cat lover. She has three white cats, beautiful but a mess. They leave hairs wherever they lie down. They sleep nights in the living room on the couch facing the picture window. When I tossed the paper at her door on April Fools’, I saw the cats lying on the couch. Lily claims she saw me bolt the door. I didn’t see her. She wasn’t on the couch.”

  “Why should she lie?” Sally said.

  “To help her kid brother, Horace,” Chuck replied. “I beat him out for the newspaper delivery route. He wanted it. He’s got it now.”

  “Let’s hear from Lily,” Encyclopedia said.

  Lily wasn’t pleased to see them. She took them into the living room. “Have a seat,” she said coldly.

  On the way to a chair, Encyclopedia stopped behind the couch. It bore a mess of white cats’ hair.

  The living room was in the wing of the house. The picture window allowed him to see the front door. Cats’ hair or no cats’ hair, the couch was plainly the best place to see all of the door.

  “What’s on your mind, such as it is?” Lily inquired.

  “You said you saw Chuck bolt your front door with a newspaper on April Fools’,” Encyclopedia said. “Could you be mistaken?”

  “Not on your life,” Lily hurled back. “It was Chuck.”

  “Chuck said he delivered the newspaper at your house by six thirty. You had to be up early,” Sally declared.

  “I never sleep well before I have to perform,” Lily said. “I had to perform at a charity breakfast at the Children’s Hospital that morning. The breakfast included dancing to the music of the six-piece band, the Black Ties. I’m their singer.”

  “Dancing at breakfast?” said Sally.

  “It’s never too early to dance,” Lily retorted. “The program started at nine o’clock. All of us
, musicians, waiters, and cooks, had to report at eight to set things up. I got up a little after five.”

  “What did you do with all that time to kill, from five to eight?” Sally puzzled.

  “I decided to get ready and wait for the newspaper,” Lily said impatiently. “So I freshened up and put on the black linen dress I always wear when singing with the Black Ties. I thought I’d read the newspaper while I had breakfast.”

  “Weren’t you worried about soiling your dress at breakfast?” Sally asked. “If I had to perform, I wouldn’t dress up until I’d eaten.”

  “My black dress is always spotless. I take care of all my clothes,” Lily snapped. “I’m not ten years old.”

  “Where were you when Chuck delivered the newspaper?” said Encyclopedia.

  Lily rolled her eyes. “Where would I be able to see Chuck at the front door? I was sitting on the couch!”

  Sally howled. “You sat on the cats?”

  Lily laughed scornfully. “Don’t be silly, you twit. I chased them off first.”

  All at once she stopped laughing. Her face looked as if she’d been hit over the head with the floor.

  Encyclopedia had told her how he knew she was not telling the truth.

  HOW DID ENCYLOPEDIA KNOW?

  (Click here for the solution to “The Case of the April Fools’ Plot.”)

  The Case of Wilford’s Big Deal

  Danny Proxmire, who was eight, laid twenty-five cents on the empty gas can by Encyclopedia. “I’m hiring you.”

  “For what?” asked Encyclopedia.

  “Wilford Wiggins called a secret meeting for little kids at five o’clock. He promised to make us rich beyond imagining,” Danny said.

  “Wilford, oh that Wilford!” Sally groaned. “Phew!”

  Wilford Wiggins was a high-school dropout and as peppy as seaweed washed up on the beach. He swore he wasn’t afraid of work. He had fought it for years.

  “The only exercise he gets is yawning,” Sally said.