Drake grabbed the hose closest to him and followed Nell’s example. They blew and blew.
Suddenly, in the middle of the lake, a monster appeared!
It was slimy. Horrible. Ghastly. All of the above.
“Aaaaahhhh!” they screamed, dropping their hoses. They took cover, as good detectives do in an emergency.
Meanwhile, air whooshed out of the hoses, and the monster slowly sank from sight.
“Curious,” whispered Nell.
“Fascinating,” whispered Drake. And he scribbled in his lab notebook, drawing a chart and a bar graph for good measure.
While Drake took notes, Nell blew into the hose again.
After a bit, Drake joined her.
For the second time the monster reared out of the water. And, strangely enough, when they released the hoses, the monster sank. Up. Down. Up. Down. Definitely a pattern.
“My suspicions are confirmed,” said Nell, letting go of the hose.
“Ditto,” said Drake, feeling woozy. He reeled about a bit. “We must return to the lab.”
“For final analysis,” said Nell.
And so to the lab they rode as fast as their legs could pedal. (Even so, it took a while longer than usual because occasionally Drake would ride in a dizzy circle.)
At the lab, Drake pulled a book off the shelf. He turned to the page titled “Code 47: What to Do When a Slimy, Horrible, Ghastly Monster Snatches Your Prize-winning Fish.”
Meanwhile, Nell called her mother and got permission to stay extra late. Then they chatted for a bit as mothers and daughters often do. Nell hung up the phone. “Guess what?” she asked Drake. “My mom said Frisco won today’s fishing contest.”
Drake frowned. “That’s weird. Everybody knows Frisco can’t catch a minnow, much less a—” Suddenly, he stared at her. “Great Scott! Frisco’s behind all this!”
“We’ve no time to lose,” said Nell, her mouth in a firm line. “He’s up to his old tricks again.”
Together they pored over the book. And after a quick supper of macaroni and cheese, with fudge tarts and sliced pears for dessert, they began to work on their plan….
A monstrous plan, you might say.
At five-thirty in the morning, while the little town of Mossy Lake still slept, Drake and Nell stood at the water’s edge. Mist hung over the lake, and everything looked just a tad creepy. (Drake’s dad was sitting on a log, keeping an eye on things, and looking just a tad sleepy.)
“Ready, Scientist Nell?” asked Drake.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Nell snapped on her life preserver, grabbed an oar, and climbed into the boat. They pulled away from shore, rowing and rowing, until they reached the center of the lake, a little to the left of where they’d seen Frisco’s monster.
And there they lowered their secret weapon. Code 61.
“Done,” whispered Drake.
“Roger that,” whispered Nell.
Back on shore, they helped Mr. Doyle tie the boat on top of the car and unload their bikes. Then they waved good-bye and took positions.
“Position number one, ready,” whispered Nell.
“Position number two, ready,” whispered Drake.
And then they waited. But not for long.
At precisely 6:27, the fisherfolk started to arrive. Now, in case you’re wondering, fisherfolk come in all sizes. Tall, short, skinny, fat, and everything in between. They tend to wear fishhooks in their hats and carry coolers. Soon the lake was filled with fishing lines and fisherfolk drinking sodas. At precisely 9:12, Nell got an itch.
At precisely 11:17, they ate some cheese-and-cucumber sandwiches and drank their emergency-ration lemonade.
At precisely 1:59, Drake fell asleep, snoring just a wee bit.
At precisely 4:02, Max Brewster yelled loud enough for everyone to hear, “Whoo-ee! I’ve got a whopper here! I’m reeling him in!”
At precisely 4:02½, the monster reared out of Mossy Lake.
“Aaaaahhhh!” screamed the fisherfolk, scrambling to get away.
“Drake!” screeched Nell. “Code 61! Code 61!” “Huh?”
Once Drake finally woke up, he and Nell blew into their hoses as planned.
Then another monster rose out of Mossy Lake! Even slimy-er. Horrible-er. Ghastly-er. (Code 61. Monster Meets Monster.)
Suddenly, out of the bushes burst Frisco and his friends, running away as fast as their legs could carry them. “Aaaaaahhhhh! A real monster! Aaaaaahhhh!” Away from the lake they scampered, disappearing into the distant hills.
Later that evening, Nell and Drake explained everything to Max and his buddies. “You see,” said Nell, “the monster was operated by Frisco and his friends.”
“Simply put,” said Drake, pushing up his glasses, “Frisco wanted your fish—”
“—so he could win the contest,” added Nell.
“But he’s a lousy fisherman,” said Drake.
“Hence the monster,” explained Nell. “Made it himself. It scared you silly, of course. When you ran away, Frisco snatched your fish.”
“But,” asked Max, “how did the monster float up and down like that?”
“Good question,” replied Nell. “I was getting to that. You see, most of the time the monster was filled with water. That made him heavy.”
“Quite heavy indeed,” agreed Drake. “The monster remained on the bottom of the lake because he was too heavy to float.”
“But,” continued Nell, “there were empty balloons inside the monster. Whenever Frisco and his friends blew up the balloons—”
“—by blowing into the hoses—” explained Drake.
“—the air in the balloons pushed the water out of the monster through holes. Suddenly, instead of being filled with water, the monster was filled with air and rose to the surface,” said Nell proudly. “Then, by letting the air out of the balloons, the monster filled with water again until it sank.”
“Brilliant, if I do say so myself,” added Drake. “Dastardly, but brilliant. It’s the principle of buoyancy. It’s how submarines operate.”
Max shook their hands. “Whatever it’s called, I couldn’t have solved the mystery without you. I’ll let you have my prize fish as payment. After I win, of course.”
“Thanks just the same,” said Nell. “Vegetarian, you know.”
“I accept,” said Drake. “My dad loves fish.”
Nell handed Max their business card. “Call us. Anytime.”
It all started on a Monday night.
Drake Doyle was fast asleep at his desk when the phone rang. He fumbled for the receiver. “… Earth to Mars,” he said sleepily. “Come in, Martian Ambassador … I mean, Foyle and Dossey, Er. I mean, Doyle and Fossey.”
“Is this Drake? Drake Doyle?”
Drake sat up straight. Sleepy as he was, it was important to sound professional, especially after dreaming about Martians. “Speaking,” he replied.
“Well, this is Alexandra Landsright. And I simply must have your help. I repeat: must.”
At that very moment, Drake’s heart skipped just a little. You see, in Drake’s scientific opinion, Alexandra was the most beautiful girl in the fifth grade. (She was, in fact, a beauty queen, or rather, a beauty princess. Winner of the Miss Junior Mossy Lake title for two years in a row. So it was only natural that Drake’s heart would skip just a little.) “What seems to be the problem, Ms. Landsright?”
“As you know, I’m running for class president,” said Alexandra. “And the election is on Friday.”
“Don’t worry. You have my vote.”
“I’m counting on it. But there’s a problem. A big problem.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “Someone is plotting against me. Me! Beauty Princess Extraordinaire!”
Once again, Drake’s heart skipped a beat. This sounded serious! “What do you mean?”
“My campaign posters. They’re ruined. Every one of them. Today after school, someone wrote all over them with a black marker.”
“Great Scott!” gasped Drake. “That’
s terrible!” All last week and all day today, Drake had admired Alexandra’s posters. VOTE FOR ME! the posters proclaimed. VOTE FOR ALEXANDRA LANDSRIGHT! THE MOST GLAMOROUS, FABULOUS GIRL IN THE WORLD! In the center of each poster was a dazzling photo of Alexandra. They were, in Drake’s scientific opinion, terrific posters.
Alexandra was saying, “Now my photos have mustaches and black teeth. Who would vote for a girl with a mustache? I repeat: WHO? Oh, dear me! I mustn’t cry or I’ll smear my mascara!”
Drake’s mind raced. “Isn’t James Frisco running against you?”
“Why—why, yes he is. I hadn’t thought of that. Oh Drake, you simply must get to the bottom of this. I repeat: MUST. I’ll pay anything. I’m desperate to win!”
“Never fear. Doyle and Fossey will catch the nasty culprit, whoever it is. You have my word.” Late as it was, Drake immediately phoned Nell. “Doyle and Fossey,” she said after the first ring.
“An evil plot is hatching,” said Drake, and he filled her in on the details. “We must investigate tomorrow at school.”
“No doubt Frisco’s behind it all,” replied Nell. “Agreed. This is our chance to catch our archrival at his dirty tricks,” answered Drake.
“Check.”
Click.
The next morning, Drake, Nell, and Alexandra examined the posters. Sure enough, the beauty princess was now missing a few teeth and had a mustache. Sometimes she even had a black eye or a beard. Definitely not presidential material.
“Terrible,” murmured Drake.
“Horrible,” murmured Nell.
“Who would do such a thing?” cried Alexandra. “I repeat: WHO? And to me? I repeat: ME! Beauty Princess Extraordinaire!”
“Hmm,” said Drake, thinking hard. “Ms. Landsright, I have come to the conclusion that you must make more posters. Immediately, if not sooner. I want them hanging by the time the bell rings this afternoon.”
“More posters?” asked Alexandra, frowning. “But why? They’re an awful lot of work, you know.”
Drake shoved his glasses up with his finger. “So we can set up surveillance and catch the culprit in the act, that’s why. After all, we’re Doyle and Fossey: Science Detectives.”
“Emphasis on the detectives,” added Nell.
Alexandra tossed back her golden hair and sighed. “Oh. Very well, then. I’ll get my campaign manager to do it. Couldn’t possibly do it myself. Might break a nail.”
“Quite right,” agreed Drake.
“Who’s your campaign manager?” asked Nell.
“Why, Haley Glibb, of course. The most fantastic campaign manager a beauty princess could have. I repeat: fantastic.”
Haley was also in their class. Just as Drake and Nell were the science sort, Haley was the politics sort. Not only did Haley wear red, white, and blue every day, she also waved flags while shouting “Hurrah!” and other such political stuff. Drake jotted a note to himself. Haley Glibb—campaign manager.
Just then, Haley herself came up and shook their hands. “I must say, I’m stunned,” she said. “Absolutely stunned that anyone would dare disgrace an election like this. The dignity and honor of the entire political system is at stake. Tell me, what have you come up with so far?”
“Nothing yet,” said Drake. “However, Ms. Glibb, I am curious about something …”
“Yes?” asked Haley.
“Who’s Frisco’s campaign manager?”
“That’s easy,” answered Haley. “It’s Bubba Baloney Mahoney.”
Alexandra added, “Everyone knows they’re good friends.”
“This confirms my suspicions,” murmured Drake as he scribbled in his lab notebook.
“Ditto,” murmured Nell as she scribbled.
“I’m afraid we must skip class this afternoon,” said Drake. “Surveillance, you know. Top priority.”
“Check,” replied Nell. “All in the name of science.”
So, following lunch, they hid beside lockers and peered around corners. They watched Haley Glibb pin up new posters. They spied while Alexandra said things like, “A little higher” or “More to the left” or … (sigh) … “Aren’t I just so beautiful?”
And then they waited.
And waited…
At 3:25, the bell rang. School was out. Bubba Baloney went out one door while Frisco went out another.
“You follow Frisco,” whispered Nell. “And I’ll follow Baloney.”
“Check,” whispered Drake.
Drake came prepared for such detective work. Whenever he was on assignment, he carried his detective kit. It was filled with handy gadgets like night-vision goggles, a periscope, a compass, specimen jars, a flashlight, code breakers, and a camera disguised as a teddy bear. He donned his fake glasses (complete with plastic nose and mustache) and pulled his hat down. Already he’d called his parents to say he’d be home late. Very late.
He scurried across crosswalks. He slithered behind trees. He scampered under bushes. He slid between lawn chairs. And every now and then, just to be certain he wasn’t recognized, he walked with a limp. All the while keeping Frisco in his sight. It was detective work at its best. (Once, he even slipped in a dog pile but was up and after Frisco in a matter of seconds. Remember—detective work can be perilous. Absolutely perilous.)
He tailed Frisco all afternoon, spying on everything Frisco did. Frisco littered. Frisco kicked cats. Frisco stole candy from babies. Frisco crossed streets on the DON’T WALK flashing red light. Frisco … well … you get the idea. It was well past the time that school closed for the day when Drake finally called it quits. At home and following a quick supper of meatball surprise, he called Nell. “Anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Ditto. The school doors open at eight o’clock in the morning. Have Alexandra meet us there at 7:55 sharp. That way neither Frisco nor Baloney can mark up the posters before we get there.”
“Check.”
Click.
On Wednesday morning, Drake and Nell hurried to school.
Alexandra was already waiting outside the front doors. She tossed her golden hair while her radiant smile reflected the morning sunlight.
Blinded, Drake stumbled over the curb and fell splat! at her feet.
“Oh, my!” exclaimed Alexandra, putting her hands over her dimpled cheeks.
“Sorry,” Drake mumbled.
Nell just sighed and rolled her eyes.
(If truth be known, this was an extra-extra-challenging case for Nell Fossey. All this nonsense about beauty princesses, mascara, and dazzling smiles was starting to get to her. What Nell really wanted to do was punch Alexandra Landsright square in her pert little nose, but that wouldn’t be very scientific at all. Instead, Nell helped Drake up and brushed him off.)
As soon as the school doors opened, they rushed in to check the posters.
“Aaaaahhhh!” screamed Alexandra.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Drake.
“Oh, no!” cried Nell. “This is awful!”
And it was. Awful, that is. The posters—every single one—were ruined. Simply ruined. Black teeth and mustaches everywhere.
Just then Frisco and Baloney walked by. “Gee, Alexandra,” Frisco said with a wink, “you look really good in a mustache.”
“Yeah,” said Baloney. “Don’t you think you should go to the dentist before all your teeth fall out?”
Alexandra groaned. “See what I mean? I’m ruined! I’ll never win!”
“But it doesn’t make any sense,” Nell said, looking puzzled. “We followed Frisco and Baloney until after school closed for the day, and they didn’t come near the school.”
“Hmm,” said Drake, looking equally puzzled.
Once Alexandra had gone to class, Drake and Nell found the janitor. They asked him if he’d seen anything suspicious.
“Can’t say that I have,” he said, pushing his broom. “’Course, lots of kids stay after school. They do sports, projects, maybe a test or two. Can’t keep track of everyone.”
“You d
on’t remember anyone marking up the campaign posters?” asked Drake.
“Posters? What posters?” The janitor looked to where Drake was pointing. “Jeepers! She’s an ugly one! Now, what were you saying?”
“Never mind,” said Drake with a sigh.
Nell handed the janitor their business card. “Thanks for your time. Call us if you see anything.”
Then they walked back to class together, looking just a little glum. “This calls for drastic measures,” said Drake suddenly, putting his fist in his hand. “Meet me at the lab after school.” (Drake didn’t know what those drastic measures would be, only that they had to be drastic.)
After school at the lab, Drake pulled a book off his shelf and thumbed through until he found the right page. “Evil Plots: What to Do When Campaign Posters Are Ruined and the Election Is Coming Right Up.”
Nell sat next to Drake, and together they read the section. Then they looked at each other. “Let’s get to work,” said Drake.
First Nell called Alexandra. “Quick. We need more glamour photos. Drop some off at Drake’s house so we can make new posters for you.”
Alexandra sighed. “New posters? Again?”
“I assure you it’s quite necessary. Tell no one.”
“You’re the boss.”
Click.
Without waiting for the photos, they immediately set to work. They pulled on surgical gloves.
Snap!
And when the doorbell rang, Nell quickly grabbed the photos. “Thanks! Bye!” she said, closing the door in Alexandra’s surprised face. There was simply no time to waste. Back in the lab, they worked and worked until finally they were ready.
They pulled off their surgical gloves.
Snap!
“That should do it,” said Drake, nodding with satisfaction.
“Tomorrow at school,” said Nell, her mouth in a thin line. “Be there.”
On Thursday morning, Drake and Nell hung the new posters. Again, they were careful to wear surgical gloves. When school was finally out, they didn’t follow Frisco or Baloney. In fact, they went to the lab for a relaxing afternoon of experiments. Why? you ask. Because there was no need for surveillance….
Case of the Mossy Lake Monster Page 3
