So Nick and Tesla knew where to look for their friends Silas and DeMarco. If they weren’t cruising the neighborhood on their bikes in the hope that something, anything interesting was happening, they’d be in Silas’s or DeMarco’s backyard making something interesting happen.
This day, it was DeMarco’s yard. And the something interesting was, apparently, DeMarco’s suicide.
Silas was perched at the top of a slide attached to a rickety metal play set, a garden hose in his hands. Water flowed down the slide into a mud pit DeMarco was making even muddier by busting up sod with a shovel.
DeMarco’s bicycle was leaning against the ladder leading up to the top of the slide.
“No way,” Nick said, instantly grasping what his friends were planning.
DeMarco grinned.
“Yes way,” he said.
DeMarco wanted to be a stuntman when he grew up. And if he couldn’t find anyone to pay him to crash cars and leap off buildings, he said, then he’d just do it for free.
In the meantime, he liked to do things like jump over mud pits by riding bikes down slicked-up slides.
“Seems pretty tame, actually. There’s only a seventy-five percent chance you’ll break your neck,” Tesla said. “Couldn’t you get the hose up on the roof?”
She was being sarcastic.
Silas didn’t notice.
“The roof’s been off-limits since the time DeMarco broke his collarbone, so we’re making this a little more interesting,” he said from the top of the slide. He was a big kid—a soon-to-be eighth grader who looked like he was ready for college. It was a bit of a miracle that the slide wasn’t crumpling beneath him.
“Does your mom know you’re doing this?” Nick asked DeMarco.
DeMarco planted the shovel in the mud and leaned against it. He was so short and lean he didn’t seem much bigger than the shovel.
“I don’t think she’ll complain as long as it keeps me safe and sound in the backyard.”
Nick watched water pour down DeMarco’s makeshift ramp.
“This is safe and sound?”
“Compared to some things,” DeMarco said.
He waggled his eyebrows at Tesla.
“What?” she said. “Us? We’re dangerous?”
DeMarco shrugged.
“According to my mom and dad.”
“They’re pretty down on you two right now,” Silas explained. “They say you’re trouble.”
“We’re not trouble!” Tesla protested. “We just lead interesting lives.”
DeMarco laughed at the understatement.
“So tell me,” he said, “what’s going on over at your uncle’s today?”
“Trouble,” said Nick.
Tesla shot him a frown.
“Well, it’s true!” Nick said. And he went on to tell Silas and DeMarco about their mother’s warning and the sudden appearance of four potential spies: Oli the “apprentice,” Skip the Verminator, and the maids.
“Too bad you can’t just call Agent McIntyre with your little thingamajigs,” Silas said, pointing down at the pendant that hung around Nick’s neck.
Agent McIntyre was a mysterious friend of Nick and Tesla’s parents. She’d shown up to help the kids once before, but they had no idea how to contact her. They’d once tried simply screaming into the pendants, but it soon became obvious that whatever the little star-shaped “thingamajigs” were, they weren’t walkie-talkies.
“Well, Agent McIntyre’s not around,” Tesla said. “Uncle Newt is, but he’s … you know. Uncle Newt. So we’re on our own.”
“Maybe you guys could come over and help us spy on the spies,” Nick suggested.
“Ooo! Cool!” Silas said.
DeMarco looked unenthused, though.
“If they even are spies,” he said. “Seems more like we’d just end up spying on some cleaning ladies, a bug guy, and a dude with a weird thing for peanut butter and jelly.”
“You don’t believe us?” Nick asked, incredulous. “About the message from our mom?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that—”
“He’s scared,” Tesla said.
DeMarco snapped up to his full (diminutive) height and glared at Tesla across the gloppy, ever- expanding mud puddle at his feet.
“I am not scared of any of your so-called spies,” he said.
“I know,” Tesla replied. “It’s your parents you’re scared of. And your sisters.”
DeMarco’s mouth puckered into a small, hard line. It was obvious he wanted to deny what Tesla had said … and just as obvious that he couldn’t.
DeMarco was the oldest kid in his house, but not even remotely close to the meanest.
DeMarco lived for thrills. His sisters lived to get him in trouble.
“We understand,” Nick said. “We’ll just have to figure out something else. Come on, Tez.”
Nick and his sister turned to leave.
“Wait!” Silas called out. “Maybe I can YEEEEEEEE!”
The YEEEEEEEE! ended in a SPLOOSH!
Silas had slipped and slid down the slide. When his 170 pounds hit the ground, an equal amount of mud spurted out in all directions.
Somehow, most of it managed to land on Nick and Tesla. Gooey brown glop covered them from head to toe.
Silas lifted his face from the sludge, spat out a mouthful of muck, and said, “Sorry.”
DeMarco burst out laughing. He’d been just as close to the puddle as Nick and Tesla, yet he was totally clean except for a single, small streak on his jeans.
“Thanks,” Tesla spat at him. She swung her furious glare over to Silas. “Thanks for everything. I knew we could count on you.”
She spun on her heel—which was easy to do, considering how slick with sludge it was—and stomped off.
“Oh, come on, Tez!” Silas moaned. “It was an accident!”
Tesla didn’t look back.
“If a few days go by and you haven’t seen us,” Nick said, “call the police.”
He turned and set off after his sister, his soaked shoes squishing with every step.
Uncle Newt’s house had only one usable shower. (There were two bathtubs, but one was filled with the leftovers from a failed attempt to grow glow-in-the-dark mushrooms.) So either Nick or Tesla was going to have to wait while the other got clean.
“I’ll pay two million dollars for dibs on the bathroom,” Tesla said as she and her brother tracked ooze across the neighborhood.
“Four million dollars,” said Nick. “And keep your shower short.”
“Deal.”
Nick and Tesla did a lot of big-money wheeling and dealing. Thanks to this newest bargain, Nick’s debt to his sister was now down to nine million dollars. He fully intended to pay her, too—if he ever had any money.
When they got to the house, Tesla kicked off her shoes and went inside while Nick waited on the back porch. After a few seconds, there was a shriek from inside, but Nick knew Tesla wasn’t in trouble.
It sounded like one of the cleaning ladies. Nick didn’t blame the woman for screaming. Even with her shoes off, Tesla was probably leaving a soggy brown trail through the house, and she and Nick were so coated in mud they looked like a couple Sasquatches (albeit not particularly tall ones).
While Nick waited, he noticed Julie Casserly installing a new garden gnome by the bushes beside her house. (Its predecessor had been destroyed when one of Uncle Newt’s inventions—a supposedly self-controlled lawn mower—got snagged on it and blew up.)
“Let me guess,” Julie said when she noticed Nick watching her. “A harmless little experiment didn’t go as planned.”
Nick shook his head. The mud covering him had begun to dry under the summer sun, and big, crumbly chunks flaked off and tumbled to the ground whenever he moved.
“We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said.
Julie gave him a sour smile.
“I know the feeling.” She stood and pointed down at the gnome. “If anythi
ng happens to him, you’ll hear from my lawyers.”
“Okay, okay,” Nick said, putting up his hands. So many mud clods broke free and fell to his feet, it looked like he was standing in the nastiest corner of an elephant cage. “You don’t have to worry about me and my sister. We wouldn’t go anywhere near any neighbor’s property.”
Before Julie could reply or even roll her eyes, Tesla came bursting out the back door. She was in a bathrobe, and her hair was still soaking wet.
“Nick, come here,” she said. “I want to show you something.”
She started marching across the lawn toward Mr. Jones’s yard.
“But, Tez—” Nick said.
“Come on!”
Nick offered Julie an apologetic shrug—cracking off the mud-crust from his shoulders in the process—then turned to hustle away after his sister.
Tesla didn’t stop until she was standing by the old but gleaming black Cadillac in Mr. Jones’s driveway. She knelt beside one of the rear wheels.
“You ran out of the shower to show me a hubcap?” Nick said.
“No,” Tesla said, pointing at the spotless hubcap anyway. “I ran out here because you were right all along and I didn’t want to say it where someone might hear me.”
Nick squatted and pretended to find the hubcap fascinating.
“Are you saying there is a spy in the house? How do you know?”
“I took off my pendant before getting in the shower,” Tesla said. “When I got out, it was gone. Someone came into our room and stole it.”
“Stole your pendant? But why?”
“I’d rather know who.”
“Let’s go find out, then,” Nick said. He stood and put clenched fists on his hips. “The scientific way.”
Shards of dried mud rained from his sides to form a crumbly pile on Mr. Jones’s driveway.
“After I take a shower,” Nick added.
NICK’S
FINGERPRINT-FINDER POWDER AND EVILDOER IDENTIFICATION SYSTEM
THE STUFF
• A fine emery board (also known as a nail file)
• A sharpened pencil
• An object you suspect might have fingerprints on it
• Gloves (optional)
• Clear tape
• An index card
THE SETUP
1. Hold the emery board and pencil over the object you’re examining and lightly scratch the pencil lead with the emery board to create a fine powder on the object’s surface. If anyone has touched it, the sweat and oil on their skin will have left impressions in the shape of the tiny (and completely unique) ridged pattern on their fingers. If you have to move the object, wear gloves to keep your own prints off it.
2. If you see a fingerprint, continue to scratch the pencil on the nail file until the print is fully revealed. Sometimes lightly blowing on the object helps spread the powder.
THE FINAL STEPS
1. To preserve the fingerprint as evidence, apply a piece of tape to the print and lift it off the object. Tape the print onto an index card and write down where you found it.
2. Analyze the fingerprint, looking for the three basic formations: arches, loops, and whorls.
3. Gather fingerprints from your suspects. The clearest prints will be on smooth surfaces, like glass.
4. Compare the prints.
5. Catch the culprit!
“The pendant was right there, next to my clothes,” Tesla said, pointing at the floor.
She and her brother were in their bedroom on the second floor of Uncle Newt’s house. Both of them were wearing bathrobes now. (Nick had insisted on showering off his crunchy mud coating before he’d begin hunting for clues.)
At their bare feet were a muck-covered T-shirt and jeans.
“Geez, Tez,” Nick groused. “You are such a slob sometimes.”
“I was in a hurry to get all that gunk off me, okay? Anyway, we’re not here to critique my housekeeping skills. We’re here to find a fingerprint. So let’s get to it.”
“Right.”
Both Nick and Tesla were holding nail files and pencils, and they crouched down and began rubbing them together.
“It’s a good thing Uncle Newt doesn’t have shag carpet,” Nick said. “This hardwood floor should be perfect for—hey! I think I already got one!”
Tesla peered over at the fine black filings of pencil lead on the floor in front of her brother.
He was right. A pattern was emerging.
Nick leaned in and blew lightly on the powder. As it spread, another pattern appeared. Then another. Then another and another.
They hadn’t just found a single fingerprint. They’d found five!
Tesla helped Nick cover them with more powder. After a bit more careful blowing, though, it became clear that four of the prints were smudged.
“I think the thief’s fingers only brushed over the floorboards when he or she picked up your pendant,” Nick said. “The middle finger’s always the longest, though. It looks like it pressed down a little harder than the others. See?”
Indeed, the middle print was clearer than the rest and had the oval shape Tesla expected from fingerprints. The others were more like smears. Useless.
“Give me the tape,” Nick said. “I’m gonna try to lift the print.”
Tesla pulled a roll of Scotch tape from the pocket of her bathrobe and handed it to her brother.
“Be careful,” she said.
Nick glowered at her—when was he not careful?—then broke off a piece of tape about two inches long. Slowly, carefully, he brought it down toward the little black ridges and swirls on the floor. He pressed the tape onto them and waited a moment. Then he lifted.
The fingerprint came up with the tape.
“It worked,” Nick said. “It actually worked!”
“You say that like you’re surprised,” Tesla said.
“I am,” Nick admitted. “I got that trick from a movie.”
While Nick beamed proudly at the tape, Tesla pulled an index card and marker from the other pocket of her bathrobe.
“Well, you can’t just sit there staring at it all day,” she said.
She put the card on the floor in front of her brother.
He nodded, stuck the tape to the card, and then picked up the marker.
On the back of the card he wrote THE BAD GUY (OR LADY).
“Not necessarily,” Tesla said when she read the words. “I just realized whose prints we have to compare that sample to first.”
“Whose?”
Tesla cocked an eyebrow, held up her hands, and wiggled her fingers.
“Oh,” Nick said. “Right.”
It was their room. They had to make sure the fingerprint wasn’t one of theirs.
If it was, they had nothing.
Nick and Tesla were hunched over three index cards. One had THE BAD GUY (OR LADY) written on it. One had TESLA written on it. One had NICK written on it.
The TESLA and NICK cards also had two black smudges on them: the prints from each of their middle fingers. (Every finger has a different pattern on the skin, and because Nick and Tesla weren’t sure if the print they’d picked up from the floor was from a right or left hand, they had to check both of their own.)
For several minutes, the kids moved their gazes from one card to the next to the next, then back to the first to start over.
“The print from your left is kind of loopy,” Tesla said. “But the print from your right is kind of archy.”
“Your left is kind of whorly,” said Nick. “But your right is kind of swirly.” He squinted even harder at the black pattern. “And I think I see a clown in it.”
Tesla rolled her eyes. “Knock it off. We’re not staring at clouds.”
They went back to examining the cards in silence.
“Who knew CSI work was so boring?” Nick said eventually.
“Not me,” said Tesla.
Another minute went by.
“I don’t see anything that matches,” Tesla announced.
“Me neither,” said Nick. He smiled and tapped the BAD GUY card. “So this is from the spy.”
Tesla shook her head.
Nick’s grin wilted.
“Who else could it be from?” he said.
“Uhh, maybe the guy who owns this house.”
“Oh. Right. Uncle Newt.”
Tesla nodded. “We need to make sure that print’s not from him. Which means we have to fingerprint him without tipping off the spy.”
Nick’s smile returned.
“No, we won’t,” he said. “I know where Uncle Newt’s already left us all the fingerprints we’ll need.”
Nick and Tesla got dressed, went downstairs to the kitchen (passing the maids, who were debating whether to vacuum the polar bear in the hallway), and found a jumbo bag of spicy pork rinds in the pantry. They smuggled it back upstairs under Nick’s T-shirt.
No one in the house touched pork rinds except Uncle Newt. Ever. No matter how many times he said, “Oh, come on, kids—it’s just like potato chips made out of deep-fried pig skin. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”
Nick and Tesla didn’t even have to bother dusting the bag for prints. It was covered with them already. They were bright red—the same color as the fiery seasoning coating the rinds.
After a few minutes looking from the BAD GUY card to the bag and back again, Nick and Tesla turned to each other.
“Not him,” said Tesla.
“Not him,” said Nick. “Which means we really, truly, this-time-for-sure know that the fingerprint on the floor came from the spy.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent! Finally! Progress! Now all we have to do is get samples from all of our suspects and … then …”
A haunted, hopeless look came over Nick’s face as his words trailed off.
“You haven’t thought about how we’re going to get all those sample fingerprints, have you?” Tesla asked him.
Nick and Tesla's Secret Agent Gadget Battle Page 3
