by Tony Abbot
First published by Egmont USA, 2012
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 806
New York, NY 10016
Text copyright © Tony Abbott, 2012
Illustrations copyright © Colleen Madden, 2012
All rights reserved
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Abbott, Tony.
The crazy case of missing Thunder / by Tony Abbott ;
illustrated by Colleen Madden.
p. cm. -- (Goofballs ; 1)
Summary: Long-time friends and fellow sleuths Jeff Bunter, Brian Rooney, Mara Lubin, and Kelly Smitts, collectively known as the Goofballs, investigate the disappearance of Thunder the pony in their town of Badger Point.
ISBN 978-1-60684-164-8 (hardcover) -- ISBN 978-1-60684-340-6 (pbk.) --
ISBN 978-1-60684-298-0 (ebook) [1. Mystery and detective stories. 2. Lost and found possessions--Fiction. 3. Ponies--Fiction. 4. Humorous stories.] I. Madden, Colleen M., ill. II. Title.
PZ7.A1587Cr 2012
[Fic]--dc23
2011025294
Printed in the United States of America
Book design by Alison Chamberlain
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
To Janie and Lucy,
my beautifully goofy daughters.
—T.A.
Contents
The First Clue
Suspicious Suspicions!
The Old Man
Rich, Rich, Rich!
The Sound of Thunder
Hay!
Keep Your Plants On!
The Totally Incredible Solution
The First Clue
My name is Jeff Bunter, and I’m a Goofball.
A Goofball private eye, in fact.
It all started when I was one year old.
I was at a fast food place with my family. I got bored and slid out of my high chair and under the table with a bag of French fries.
When I climbed back up, I had four extra-long fries stuck in my nose and ears.
I wiggled them all around.
“What a Goofball!” my dad said.
Then he frowned. “Oh no. I think I lost my wallet.”
That’s when I handed him his wallet.
I had discovered it on the floor under the table.
“A Goofball private eye!” my mom said.
The name stuck.
Luckily, the fries didn’t. I ate them.
A few years later, we moved to Badger Point, where I met Brian Rooney.
The first time I ever saw Brian, he ran over to my house in his underwear.
“Hi, I’m Brian,” he said.
“I’m Jeff,” I said. “Where are your pants?”
“They blew off our clothesline,” Brian said. “I tracked them with these.”
He held up a pair of spaceman binoculars made out of two toilet paper rolls, a metal coat hanger, and some Band-Aids.
“You tracked your pants?” I said.
“To your house,” he said.
Then he grabbed his pants from my bushes and put them on.
His head.
“What a Goofball!” I said.
Brian laughed and ran around my yard, waving his pants’ legs.
My dog, Sparky, chased after him, barking and barking. Then Brian chased Sparky and barked even louder. Then Sparky slobbered on Brian’s face. Then Brian yelled, “I’m going to puke!”
Then he became my best friend.
In first grade we met Mara Lubin and Kelly Smitts. They were firing squirt cheese into each other’s faces.
“Hi, Cheese Cheeks!” I said.
Brian laughed. “Cheddar Cheese Cheeks!”
“Not just cheese,” said Kelly, who had super-curly blond hair.
“Watch this,” said Mara, who wore big green glasses and was as skinny as a stick.
They opened a cracker box and stuck little round crackers on each other’s faces where the cheese was.
“Gross,” said Brian. “I like it.”
“There’s a snack thief in our class,” Kelly told us. “Some of my cheddar crackers are missing. And Mara’s carrot sticks are gone.”
“So we’re going in disguise to catch him,” said Mara.
Brian and I exchanged glances.
“Goofballs,” I said.
“Major Goofballs,” Brian said. “Want to team up?”
Mara nodded. And Kelly offered him a cracker off her face. “Come on,” they said.
We tracked a tiny trail of crumbs to the classroom closet. We jerked open the closet door and discovered the culprit orange-handed.
“Joey Myers!” said Kelly. “With my cheddar crackers!”
“And my carrot sticks!” Mara said.
Then we saw the reason why. In Joey’s lap sat Herbie, the classroom hamster, munching away.
“He was hungry!” said Joey, who suddenly crunched down on a carrot stick. “I guess I’m hungry, too.”
“Cough up the evidence!” Kelly said.
Joey opened his mouth, and a half-eaten carrot stick fell out.
Taking a small plastic bag from his pocket, Brian zipped up the evidence.
“Case closed!” I said.
Since then, the four of us have been inseparable. Hanging out. Doing stuff. And most of all being Goofballs.
Goofball private eyes.
Do you remember the Famous Riddle of the Exploding Rat Balloon? Or the Mystery of the Six-Fingered Ghost? Or the Episode of the Flying First Grader?
We solved all of those. Maybe I’ll write about them someday. We had just solved the Unbelievable Affair of the Totally Incredible Pizza Disaster. It had been our biggest case yet, and it was tougher than an overdone crust.
Hot pizzas had been showing up mysteriously all over town. On the front steps at school. Floating in the pond at the park. Even folded up in the mayor’s mailbox!
It went on for weeks. Pizza Palace was losing customers. Nobody got the pizzas they ordered. The restaurant was about to close down.
But then the four of us solved the mystery.
“Goofballs forever!” the pizza lovers in Badger Point had yelled. Everyone called us heroes. Luigi the pizza maker had put a photo of us on the wall of his restaurant. He even named a pizza after us.
You guessed it, the Goofball Pizza.
It has cheese, garlic, pineapple, and peanut butter. It’s always fun to hear someone order us.
“A Goofball, please. With bananas!”
As soon as one case ends, we start looking for the next one.
Like now.
Whoosh! Whoosh! My feet were pumping hard on the pedals of my mountain bike.
Brian, Mara, Kelly, and I were going to meet up at the Badger Point Library.
Our cases usually finish up in the children’s room at the library. That’s because we often check out books to help us solve our mysteries. When the cases are solved, we meet to return our books.
It was a warm spring day, just before noon. Things were drying out after a big thunderstorm that morning.
Right.
Thunder.
That was the first clue.
Only I didn’t know it at the time.
None of us did.
Suspicious Suspicions!
“Goof! Goof!”
Sparky, my scruffy corgi puppy, is the official Goofdog. He barked while I biked
to the Badger Point Public Library.
I knew Brian was skateboarding to the library on his homemade skateboard. Brian loves to invent and build crazy stuff. Most of it doesn’t work. Most of it could never work.
But that just means he’s a perfect Goofball.
Mara was probably running to the library, which isn’t goofy at all. Running is how she stays so skinny, even though she eats pretty much everything in sight.
And Kelly? Kelly was most likely power walking.
She looks kind of nutty with her arms flying all around like an out-of-control windmill. Not to mention dangerous.
But she is never late anywhere.
“We’re almost there, pal,” I told Sparky as we rolled into the center of town.
Badger Point is small, but we have everything we need all mushed together. Across from the library is a movie theater. Next to that is Pizza Palace, where they name food after us. On the corner next to that is a flower shop. And up thestreet from that is the library again.
Ercch! I screeched to a stop and parked my bike. Sparky lay down next to it. He is good at guarding my stuff.
I gave him a few pats, then went inside.
I was early, and none of the Goofballs were there yet, so I went to the children’s desk.
The librarian’s name was Mrs. Bookman, which I thought was funny because she was neither a book nor a man. Her strawberry blond hair was piled up like a bunch of pink frosting.
Mmm. Frosting. That made me hungry.
So did the pizza books I put on Mrs. Bookman’s desk.
There was Crust or No Crust, That Is the Question. Another was called Hey, Dough! The one I liked best was called Saucy Sausage Sauce. Try saying that five times fast!
“Mmm. These books make me hungry,” Mrs. B. said.
“Me, too,” I said. “But we’d better not eat them. We’ll have to charge ourselves a fine.”
Mrs. Bookman laughed. “Goofball!”
You could expect to see just about anything in the children’s room. Story Time. Reader’s Theater. Dress-Up-As-Your-Favorite-Character Day. But one thing you wouldn’t expect to see was a big bag of dirt.
“What’s with the dirt?” I asked.
I always ask questions. A private eye has to ask lots of questions. It’s how we find out stuff.
Mrs. B. smiled. “The dirt is for the library’s flower garden,” she said.
It made sense. Gardens need dirt.
“You planted sunflowers last year,” I said. “They grew really high. Crows were attracted to them. They were wild and noisy.”
Mrs. Bookman laughed. “I even told them to mind their manners but they didn’t listen. This year I planted tulips. But the thunderstorm this morning washed away some of the dirt. I’ll be right back.”
She got up from her desk and carried the bag of dirt through a door to the garden outside.
I saw thin green stalks with flowers blooming at the top.
A private eye has to notice everything. You never know what will turn out to be a clue.
To help me remember what I see, I write things down in a little notebook I have.
I call it my “cluebook.”
I wrote a few things down now.
Thunderstorm this morning
Library garden
Dirt
As a detective, my job depends on being aware of every clue around me. That way, I always know what’s happening.
I see everything that’s going on.
And I’m never surprised.
By anything at all—“
Boo!” cried a voice behind my ear.
I nearly jumped out of my skin!
“Gotcha!” Brian said. “You were so clueless!”
Clueless.
That’s the worst thing anyone can say to a private eye. But I was also a Goofball, so it was okay. “I knew it was you,” I said.
“No way,” said Brian. “I’m the best at creeping up behind people.”
“You’re creepy, all right,” I said.
We both laughed.
Kelly and Mara raced in and slammed their pizza books on Mrs. B.’s desk.
“I won, I won, I won!” Mara cheered.
“That’s okay. I wasn’t racing,” said Kelly. “First one to the water fountain wins!”
But Brian and I were the winners. We cut them off and totally hogged the water fountain.
Brian even tried to wash his feet in it, but Kelly threatened to wash his head instead, so he stopped.
“I wish we didn’t have to find cases by accident,” Mara said when we fell into the comfy chairs. “Real detectives get phone calls.”
“Lots of people phoned about pizza,” said Kelly. “That’s how the Incredible Pizza Disaster got started.”
“The Totally Incredible Pizza Disaster,” I corrected her. “That’s what I call it in my cluebook.”
Mara sighed. “I can still smell the crust and all that gooey cheese—”
“Speaking of gooey,” said a voice, “look, everybody—it’s the goo-balls!”
We turned to see Joey Myers at the bookshelves. We had been in the same class ever since first grade, when we caught him snitching snacks. Now he was laughing so hard, he dropped his book. I saw the title. All About Horses.
Next to Joey was his friend Billy Carlson, who wore a faded baseball cap and shook silently when he laughed. “They think they’re pirate eyeballs!” Billy said.
“The correct word is Goofballs,” said Mara, squinting at the two boys through her glasses. “And we’re not pirate eyeballs, we’re private eyes.”
But Joey and Billy ignored her and walked away, laughing and shaking.
“Just look at their ears,” whispered Kelly when the boys had gone. “So guilty.” She twisted her curly blond hair into ringlets. She always does that when she suspects someone or something. “I’ll bet Joey and Billy committed the crime.”
“Committed what crime?” Brian asked, while he was building a log cabin out of little yellow library pencils. “We don’t even have a case yet.”
“I’m pretty sure they did it anyway,” said Kelly. “They seem pretty suspicious to me.”
Suspicious is a good mystery word. It means not trusting something or someone you see.
And Kelly thinks pretty much everyone is suspicious. But I wouldn’t trade her for anybody. It was Kelly who finally guessed the real reason that pizzas were appearing all over town. Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday. But how did Kelly figure it out?
With that suspicious brain of hers.
Mrs. Bookman returned from the garden.
“Someday there will be a book about you kids in the mystery section,” she said.
Mara sighed. “If we ever get a new case.”
“We will,” I said. “And I’m writing in my cluebook for exactly that purpose.”
Kelly laughed. “For exactly what porpoise?”
“That’ll be a whale of a story,” Mara said.
“Water you talking about?” said Brian.
They all laughed at their silly puns.
“Goofballs,” Mrs. B. said.
“With bananas,” I added.
“Now I’m hungry,” said Mara. “Can we eat? Maybe something with cheese?”
“Great idea,” said Brian, setting the final pencil on his log cabin. “I’m actually working on a portable pizza machine so we can eat no matter where we are. I just haven’t worked out all the bugs yet.”
“Eew!” said Kelly. “Don’t put bugs on my pizza!”
“Come on, guys,” I said, slipping my cluebook into my jacket pocket. “Let’s head up to my house.”
Sparky led us as we biked, skateboarded, ran, and power walked back up the hill to my house for lunch. We skidded into the driveway together.
We tumbled right through the kitchen door.
Just in time.
To get … the phone call!
The Old Man
“It’s for you, Jeff,” my mom said when we all pushed into the k
itchen. She held the phone out to me.
“Really?” I asked. “For me?” I glanced over at Brian, Mara, and Kelly. “Who could it be? All my friends are right here.”
“And we don’t even like you that much,” Brian said. “Just kidding.”
My mom shrugged. “Whoever it is, he’s very polite. He asked for the original Goofball.”
“That would be me,” I said.
“Maybe he’s got a case for us,” Kelly whispered, and she crossed her fingers.
I took the phone. “Hello?” I said.
“Is this a Goofball?” said the voice. “The original Goofball?”
The voice was deep and scratchy. An old man, I thought.
“The absolute number one Goofball,” I said, flipping open my cluebook. “Who is this?”
“You don’t know me,” the man said. “My name is Randall Crandall.”
Odd name, I thought. It rhymes. I wrote it down.
Randall Crandall
Old man
“Go on, Mr. Crandall, sir,” I said.
There was something like a cough at the other end of the line. Then he said, “I read in the newspaper about the Incredible Pizza Disaster.”
“Totally Incredible, to be exact,” I said.
“Everyone knows how you saved that little restaurant,” he said. “Well, I have a case for you—”
“We’ll take it!” I blurted out. Then I caught myself. “I mean, please tell me more.”
“Something,” said the voice. “Or … someone … has disappeared. But I can’t tell you over the phone. Come to my house. I live on Woodview Avenue.”
I added the name to my notebook.
Woodview Avenue
“What number on Woodview Avenue?” I asked.
Mr. Crandall took a deep breath and said, “Woodview Avenue is … my driveway.”
Click.
Mr. Randall Crandall hung up.
“Well?” said Brian, stuffing two paper napkins and a handful of toothpicks into the already bulging pockets of his cargo shorts.
“Well?” said Mara, staring through her glasses at the griddle on the counter.
