Case of the Terrible T. Rex

by Michele Torrey

  “Frisco!” Drake and Nell gasped, exchanging horrified glances.

  Woof! Woof! cried Dr. Livingston.

  “He’s our newest member,” Pepper was saying. “He’s got a lot to learn, though. Don’t think he knows a fossil from a rock.”

  “Whatever he’s up to,” Drake said to Nell, “it can’t be good.”

  “Agreed,” said Nell. “Let’s go investigate.”

  So, along with Pepper and Dr. Livingston, they hurried over to join the crowd.

  Sure enough, it was Frisco. A curtain was behind him. A table was in front of him. On the table was a cloth. And under the cloth was something lumpy …

  “Without further ado,” Frisco was saying, “I shall unveil my amazing fossil. Stand back, everyone, because it doesn’t get any better than this!” So saying, Frisco whipped the cloth away.

  There, for all the Paleo Pals Club members to see, was an animal track (a fossilized cast, in paleo terms). But not just any animal track. No, indeed.

  “This,” declared Frisco, “is the fossilized footprint of a T. rex!”

  “Oooh! Aaah!” cried the crowd.

  It was really quite stunning.

  “Did I just say that it doesn’t get any better?” asked Frisco. “Well, ha ha! I lied! Because where there’s a footprint, there’s the creature that made the footprint! Behold … the one and only … the best, the most fabulous and horrifying … ha ha! … BEAST!” And he whipped the curtain open.

  “Oh my gosh!” cried Nell, her jaw dropping.

  “Great Scott!” cried Drake, his knees turning to jelly.

  Woof! Woof! cried Dr. Livingston, who hid behind Nell.

  “Eek!” cried the crowd.

  “I can’t believe it!” cried Pepper. “It’s a T. rex!”

  It was awesome. It was fearsome.

  It made the fossilized animal track look like mouse doo-doo. (Never before in the history of Mossy Lake had anyone found so much as a dinosaur bone, much less an entire T. rex skeleton.)

  Once the crowd realized that they were in no real danger of being gobbled up, they went wild. They circled around, pointing and exclaiming. Cell phones went beep and boop.

  The judge proclaimed, “Well, I think we all know who the winner will be … but according to the contest rules, I can’t declare Frisco—uh, I mean, the winner—until three o’clock.”

  “Not to worry,” said Frisco, waving to the flashing cameras. “Everyone knows I’m the sure winner. Nothing to it, really. Just cleverness and brilliance, as usual.”

  “No doubt congratulations will be in order,” said Pepper, shaking Frisco’s hand. “Anyone who finds a T. rex fossil deserves to win.”

  “Gee, thanks, President Pepper,” said Frisco, with a smirk. “I’ll remember your kind words while I’m digging up dinosaur bones in the Badlands and having my photo taken for the cover of the magazine. Better luck next year.”

  Meanwhile, Drake, Nell, and Dr. Livingston were studying the T. rex. Drake was drawing a sketch in his notebook. Nell was taking photos. Dr. Livingston was sniffing around.

  “Do you see what I see?” asked Drake.

  “Indeed I do, Detective Doyle,” said Nell.

  Flash! Flash!

  “Something foul is afoot,” said Drake.

  “Something foul indeed,” said Nell.

  Sniff, sniff, grr, said Dr. Livingston.

  Just then, Frisco walked up. “What are you two geek brains looking at? Show’s over, so you can get lost now. And your little dog, too.”

  “Actually,” said Nell, smiling brightly, “getting lost sounds like a great idea right about now.”

  Frisco looked startled. “It does? I mean, yeah, it does. So, what are you waiting for?” He turned to face the crowd. “Ah—my adoring fans …”

  “I’m assuming you have a brilliant plan?” Drake asked Nell. (You see, Nell didn’t normally get lost, so if she wanted to get lost, she had to have a plan.) Nell lowered her voice. “Remember what Pepper told us? That everybody has to submit the location of their dig, plus a site map?”

  Drake nodded.

  “Frisco’s site maps are on his table. What do you say we grab one and pay a visit to the site?”

  “Good thinking,” said Drake. “We’ll see what we can dig up.”

  Nell glanced over at Pepper, who stood off to the side looking quite forlorn. “It’s the least we can do for Pepper.”

  Drake checked his watch. “The judging is in two hours. There’s no time to lose!”

  First, Drake and Nell stopped by the lab to fetch supplies. Then they were off on their bicycles, while Dr. Livingston ran alongside.

  When they arrived at the dig site, the air was hot and dusty. Overhead, an eagle screeched. And under the shadow of a rock, a lizard slithered. A sign read:

  “Let’s get to work, shall we?” said Drake.

  “Check,” said Nell.

  Woof! said Dr. Livingston.

  For the next hour, they investigated. They dug. They sifted. They took samples. They surveyed. Nell snapped photos. Drake drew diagrams. And Dr. Livingston snoozed in the shade. Then, after a two-and-a-half-minute lunch where the view just didn’t get any better, they returned to the lab for analysis.

  Nell found a book on the shelf and turned to the page titled “Dinosaur Dilemma: What to Do When the Crowd Goes Wild, Something Foul Is Afoot, and a T. rex Stomps on Your Trilobite.” She read the section aloud, then said, “Let’s share our observations.”

  By the time they’d formed and tested their hypothesis, it was five minutes to three.

  “We have our answer!” cried Drake.

  “To the Paleo Pals Club we go!” cried Nell.

  Woof! Woof! cried Dr. Livingston.

  They hopped on their bicycles and pedaled like mad to the Paleo Pals Club. (All of this pedaling-like-mad stuff was really very good exercise. Drake was feeling quite energized. Except, sadly, when he hit a pothole and fell, splat! Nothing too energizing about that.) Drake and Nell arrived just as the judge faced the crowd.

  “Well,” the judge was saying, “this year, I must say, you’ve exceeded all our expectations. Especially Frisco. I mean, wow. That’s why it should come as no surprise that Frisco’s the win—”

  “Stop everything!” cried Drake and Nell, hurrying to the front of the crowd.

  The judge frowned. “This is most irregular.”

  Frisco tapped his watch. “Uh—time? Hello? Don’t you lab rats ever use a watch? It’s time for the prize giveaway.”

  “Allow us to explain,” said Drake, a bit out of breath.

  Nell added, “We have vital information that could change the outcome of the contest.”

  The crowd gasped.

  Frisco rolled his eyes. “Spare me.”

  The judge checked his watch. “Make it fast.”

  Drake faced the crowd and pushed up his glasses with his finger. “We first became suspicious when we noticed that the T. rex fossil was too perfect.”

  “Hey,” said Frisco. “Perfection is my middle name.”

  “As you know,” Nell said, ignoring Frisco, “most fossils are in terrible shape. Some fossils require years of expert restoration.”

  Frisco yawned. “And your point is?”

  “Second,” continued Drake, “there was an extra bone in the spine, a bone commonly known as a vertebra.”

  Frisco frowned. “Really? Uh—I mean, yeah. Heh heh. Did that on purpose. Just to see if any of you losers were paying attention.”

  “An extra vertebra in the spine, you say?” The judge scribbled on his clipboard.

  “Indeed,” said Nell. She began to pace, her hands clasped behind her back. Drake could tell she was quite serious. “After we realized that the T. rex had an extra vertebra, we paid a visit to the dig site. Now, as many of you are aware, the crust of the Earth’s surface is made up of layers of dirt and rock, all piled on top of one another.”

  “News to me,” said Frisco.

  “Case in point,” said Dr
ake, “the walls of the Grand Canyon. You can see the dirt and rock in various layers.”

  “Excellent example, Detective Doyle,” said Nell. “The oldest layer is on the bottom, while the newest layer is on the top.”

  Pepper gasped. “I remember studying that in school! It’s called stratification.”

  “Correct,” said Nell with a nod. “Likewise, fossils will also be found in layers, according to when the animal was alive.”

  “For instance, Ms. Stonewright,” said Drake, “you told us that your trilobite fossil is about 250 to 520 million years old. That means you can find trilobite fossils only in layers of Earth that are also 250 to 520 million years old.”

  “Sounds right to me,” said Pepper.

  “Sounds stupid to me,” said Frisco.

  “But what if,” suggested Nell, “someone ‘found’ a trilobite fossil in dirt that was only 100 million years old—”

  Pepper thought hard. Then she said, “It would be a fake!”

  “Fake, schmake,” mumbled Frisco.

  “Precisely, Ms. Stonewright,” said Nell. “Because 100 million years ago, trilobites had already been extinct for some 150 million years.”

  The judge frowned. “Hmm … I’m not sure where this is headed, and time is ticking.…”

  “Then let’s make this simple,” said Nell. She stopped pacing and faced the crowd. “The dirt and rocks at Frisco’s dig site are approximately 5 million years old—”

  “But,” continued Drake, “dinosaurs became extinct approximately 65 million years ago, meaning the T. rex fossil is a … is a …”

  Just then, something astonishing happened. Something quite extraordinary. You see, a little breeze blew through the room. And with the breeze, the T. rex trembled. It wobbled. It creaked.

  And then, as everyone watched, the T. rex broke apart and fell on the floor with a CRASH! and a CLATTER!

  The dust settled.

  The crowd gasped.

  The judge dropped his clipboard.

  Because, you see, there, scattered across the floor for everyone to see, was a mess of plaster and chicken wire. Hardly the stuff fossils are made of.

  “Aha!” cried Drake.

  “Case closed!” cried Nell.

  Woof! cried Dr. Livingston.

  “My dinosaur!” cried Frisco.

  “It’s a FAKE!” roared the crowd.

  The judge picked up his clipboard. “Like I said, most irregular!” He then cleared his throat and pronounced, “Well, ahem, seeing as the T. rex isn’t really a T. rex at all, I declare this year’s winner to be Pepper Stonewright! Congratulations, Pepper! Excellent trilobite!”

  Pepper went up to receive the grand prize.

  Nell told her to say, “Trilobites love cheese!”

  Flash! Flash!

  “Thank you, Drake and Nell,” said Pepper afterward, shaking their hands. “I never would have won if it hadn’t been for you. You rock.”

  “Our pleasure,” said Nell.

  “All in a day’s work,” said Drake, handing Pepper their business card. “Call us. Anytime.”

  Later, Drake wrote in his lab notebook:

  Case of the terrible T. rex solved.

  Frisco a fraud.

  Newsletter selling like hotcakes.

  Papper says she'll bring us a fossil

  from the badlands. (Triceratops,

  perhaps?)

  Satisfaction complete.

  It was late on a Sunday afternoon when Drake returned home. He’d just spent the weekend at the beach with his parents and was rather pooped. But before he could put away his mask and fins and hang his polka-dot swim trunks up to dry, the phone rang.

  “Doyle and Fossey,” Drake answered.

  “¿Hola? Is this Drake Doyle?”

  Drake recognized the caller. It was Rosa Alvarez from class. Now, Rosa was a cheerful sort, famous for her fine fiestas where there was plenty of cheer for everyone—piñatas, tacos, music, and swimming in the pool. ( Just last week Drake had attended a fiesta and had felt quite cheered.)

  Drake sat at his desk and whipped a pencil out from behind his ear. (You see, amateur science detective geniuses must always be prepared. Snorkeling with a pencil behind your ear is challenging, but not impossible.) “Ah, Ms. Alvarez, hola, hola. What can I do for you?”

  “I—I need your help. I’m trying to bake a tres leche cake. A three-milk cake—my mother’s favorite. You see, it’s my mother’s birthday and I’m throwing a surprise fiesta for her tonight.”

  “Ah, a happy birthday to her.” Drake wrote in his notebook: Rosa bakes delicious cake.

  “Gracias. But everything has gone wrong. The first time I made the cake, it didn’t come out right. It was raw in the middle and overcooked on the bottom. So I tried again, and the same thing happened. So now I try again. For the third time.”

  “Let me guess. The cake is still raw?”

  “No, I—I mean, sí, it’s still raw. What I mean is, I haven’t started to bake it yet. Because my oven … well, it …” Rosa paused. “What I am trying to tell you, Señor Doyle, is that … my oven, well …” Rosa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It is acting strangely.”

  “Acting strangely?”

  “Sí. When I opened the oven door, it … it spoke to me.”

  “It spoke to you?” asked Drake, rather alarmed. “What did it say?”

  “‘You’re next, little lady.’”

  Drake gasped, his scientific mind whirling. Could it be? Rosa was in the hands of a … of a loco oven! Or … or maybe it was a transforming robot, only disguised as an oven! Maybe in another minute or so it would transform into a terrifying robot and cook Rosa to a crisp!

  “Please, Señor Doyle,” Rosa was saying, “you must help me! I am running out of time! My mother will be so disappointed if there is no cake!”

  “Say no more. Doyle and Fossey will take the case. Meanwhile, arm yourself with a spatula. We’ll be there in eight minutes, tops.”

  Immediately Drake phoned Nell. “Rosa requires rescue from robot. No time to lose. Eight minutes, tops.”

  “Check.”

  Click.

  Seven minutes and fifty-seven seconds later, Drake arrived. Nell was already waiting on Rosa’s front porch.

  “Detective Doyle,” said Nell with a nod.

  “Scientist Nell,” said Drake, nodding in return.

  Just then, Rosa opened the door. (Sad to say, her usual smile was turned upside down. Rather like a droopy flower without any water at all.) “Hola, mis amigos. Gracias for coming.”

  “Doyle and Fossey at your service,” said Drake. “Now, if you would be so kind as to lead us to the robot … I—I mean to the oven in question.”

  While Rosa led the way to the kitchen, Drake filled Nell in on the details of the case. Nell whispered, “Sounds serious indeed. If we’re not careful, we could all be crispy critters.”

  Once in the kitchen, Drake and Nell got to work. “Stand back, Ms. Alvarez,” Drake cautioned. The two scientists put on their protective goggles and observed the oven.

  “Oven appears normal,” whispered Nell.

  “Appearances can be deceiving when dealing with transforming robots,” whispered Drake. “If it starts to transform, we must evacuate immediately.”

  “Understood.”

  “Readout indicates a temperature of 350 degrees Fahrenheit,” observed Drake. “Quite normal for baking a cake.”

  “Oven is electric, not gas,” noted Nell. She flipped on the oven light and peered through the glass door. “There are two heating elements—one on the top and one on the bottom.”

  Drake turned to Rosa. “Tell me, Ms. Alvarez. How long have you owned this oven?”

  “Five years or so. Since we first moved here.”

  Drake and Nell exchanged glances.

  “It appears to be a very patient robot,” Drake said to Nell. “Perhaps it was waiting for orders from the mother ship.”

  Nell nodded. “So, Detective Doyle, now that we have
completed our external observations, shall we open the oven?”

  “We shall,” said Drake.

  Both Drake and Nell slipped on oven mitts. Drake took a deep breath. Nell took a deep breath. Then, carefully, very carefully indeed, Drake and Nell opened the oven door.…

  But instead of talking, instead of transforming into a terrifying robot, the oven was silent. In fact, it looked and sounded very much like an oven should look and sound. Very ovenlike.

  “Are you certain you heard it talk, Ms. Alvarez?” asked Nell, peering into the oven.

  “Sí.”

  “Uh—did you know one of your elements is broken?” said Drake. Indeed, the bottom element now glowed orange-hot, while the upper element remained cold and dark.

  Rosa frowned. “But it worked fine yesterday.”

  “Likely that is why your cakes did not bake correctly,” said Nell, scribbling in her lab notebook.

  “Agreed,” said Drake. He stood, adjusting his goggles with his oven mitt. “Well, I guess you must have been hearing things, Ms. Alvarez. Likely the heat. Hot day, hot oven, you know—”

  Just then, like a sleeping giant that suddenly awakens, the oven spoke. “Oh boy, ha ha ha! You said that right! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

  “Egads!” cried Drake, stumbling into the cupboards.

  “Oh my gosh!” cried Nell, dropping her pencil into the cake batter.

  “¡Ay, caramba!” cried Rosa, waving her spatula in front of her.

  “Ha ha ha!” laughed the oven. “Yup, this heat could melt a turnip! Hotter ’n blue blazes! Ha ha ha—”

  “Quick!” cried Drake, his lab coat caught on a cupboard knob. “Slam the oven door shut before it transforms!”

  “Check!” cried Nell.

  “This is KA7—” SLAM!

  Once again, the oven was silent.

  “You see?” whispered Rosa. “My oven, it is loco. ”

  “Loco indeed,” said Drake while Nell helped to untangle his lab coat from the cupboard knob.

  Untangled at last, Drake thanked Nell and straightened his lab coat. “Did you hear what it said, Scientist Nell?”

  “Affirmative. KA7 must be its code name. I would jot the code name into my lab notebook, except—” Nell peered at the cake batter. “I seem to have dropped my pencil.”