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For all the teachers who have kept the Jigsaw Jones series alive in their classrooms—and in the hands of young readers. Thank you.
Chapter
1
Joey Eats Over
Joey Pignattano blinked nervously. The game was up, and he knew it. I took a deep breath and said, “I accuse Colonel Mustard … in the study … with the lead pipe.”
Joey searched hopelessly through his playing cards. Finally, he tossed the pile onto the game board. “You win again, Jigsaw,” he said with a sigh. “That’s two in a row.”
“Three,” I murmured. “But who’s counting?”
My mother knocked and came into the bedroom. “Would Joey like to stay for dinner?” she asked.
Joey was thrilled. After all, it involved his favorite activity—eating. We stuffed the Clue game board under my bed, washed our hands, and raced into the kitchen.
Inviting Joey to dinner was like asking a pro baseball player over for a game of catch. When it came to eating, Joey was a Hall of Famer. He’d gobble down anything—even food I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot hockey stick. Take broccoli, for example.
In fact, take it far away. Let’s face it: Broccoli looks funny, it smells funny, and it tastes funny—but no one’s laughing. Except for my mom, who acts like broccoli is the greatest invention since Velcro.
“I love broccoli,” Joey proudly announced from his seat at the corner of the table. “It’s yummy in my tummy.”
I nearly spewed my milk. “Hey, you can’t trust Joey’s opinion,” I advised my parents. “He once ate a worm for a dollar.”
My father stopped cutting into his chicken breast. “You ate a worm?” he repeated.
“It wasn’t so bad, Mr. Jones,” Joey answered cheerfully. “Three chews and a swallow. I’d do it again for a quarter,” he offered.
“No, please!” my mom quickly stated. “That won’t be necessary.”
“What did the worm taste like?” asked my brother Daniel.
Joey gave it some thought. “Like chicken,” he concluded.
Hillary dropped a drumstick and pushed her plate away. “Blech! That’s it, I’m sooo tired of living with boys! Mom, may I please be excused?”
“You’ll stay here and finish your dinner,” my mother answered. Then she turned to me. “You, too, Jigsaw. No dessert until you eat everything on your plate.”
A few minutes later, when no one was looking, I made my move. Plop, plop, plop—I dropped the last three pieces of broccoli into my glass of milk. They sank to the bottom, hidden in the milky whiteness. “All done,” I announced, showing my empty plate. “What’s for dessert?”
Chapter
2
Green Milk
“Finish your milk first,” my dad said.
I held my stomach and made a face. “It doesn’t taste right,” I said. “I think the milk went sour.”
Joey instantly downed his glass with a happy slurp. Under a thick white mustache, he crowed, “Tastes great to me, Jigsaw!”
I shot him the evil eye.
“Go ahead, drink up,” my dad insisted.
Here I was again, up that same old river.
Without a paddle.
I tried changing the subject. “We’re learning about inventions in school,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Joey?”
Joey nodded happily. “Ms. Gleason just read us a really good book called Now and Ben by Gene Barretta. It’s about Benjamin Franklin’s great ideas and inventions. And I just got a library book about Thomas Alva Edison. It’s called, um, Thomas Alva Edison.”
“Gee, what a catchy title,” Hillary murmured.
Joey continued, “Edison became a millionaire because he invented practically everything. He had a famous saying … um…” Joey paused, trying to remember the exact words. “Oh, yeah, it was something like, ‘Science is one hundred percent perspiration’!”
My father chuckled. “Not exactly, Joey. Edison said, ‘Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.’”
I began to sweat, too. Because my milk was slowly turning green! I leaned forward on my elbow, hoping to hide the glass from view. “Ms. Gleason wants us to come up with our own ideas for inventions,” I said.
Joey accidentally knocked against the table leg for about the twelfth time, nearly spilling my milk. “Careful, Joey!” I complained.
“It’s not Joey’s fault,” Daniel pointed out. “He can’t pull in his chair. The dumb table leg keeps getting in the way.”
“The table is not dumb,” my mother said. “And you know we don’t use that word in this house.”
“Table?” Joey wondered.
“No, the D-word,” my mom said. “But I am sorry if you’re uncomfortable, Joey. It is a little crowded.”
“I’m okay,” Joey replied. “Maybe a cookie would help me feel better.”
My father cleared his throat. “Before we start handing out cookies, I’d still like to see Jigsaw finish his milk.”
“But Dad!” I protested.
My stomach flopped when I saw the sly grin on my father’s face. Come to think of it, I wasn’t crazy about the twinkle in his eye, either. I glanced at my milk. By now, it had turned a sickly shade of green. Little green flecks had floated to the top.
“Hey, what happened to your milk?” Joey asked.
My dad shook his head and laughed. “Oh, Jigsaw. Won’t you ever learn? We’ve seen all these tricks before. Remember the golden rule: You can’t hide broccoli in a glass of milk.”
Then he told me to drink it.
“If I barf, you’ll be sorry,” I warned.
“Bottoms up,” he replied cheerfully.
Chapter
3
A Surprise Visitor
Suddenly, my dog, Rags, started barking at the front door. It didn’t matter how many times people came to our house. For Rags, it was always The Biggest Surprise on Earth. Rags ran around in circles. Three seconds later—ding-dong—the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” I cried.
Nicole Rodriguez stood at the front door. She seemed uneasy.
“Don’t worry about Rags,” I told her. “He gets excited whenever someone comes to the door. Go figure.”
“I’ve got a dog at home,” Nicole answered. “Her name is Zippy. I love dogs.” Nicole smiled at Rags and bent down to pet him.
Slurp! Rags gave Nicole a wet, sloppy kiss. After wiping her mouth, Nicole spoke hurriedly. Her hands fluttered like sparrows. “I’m so glad you’re home, Jigsaw. Ever since I found this horrible note I’ve been—” Nicole abruptly stopped talking. Her gaze fixed on a spot above my right shoulder. “Oh, hi, Joey,” she said in a gloomy voice. “I didn’t know you were here.”
Nicole took a small step backward, like she suddenly didn’t want to be here anymore.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
<
br /> Nicole swallowed hard. She looked at Joey, then me, then back to Joey again. And I finally understood. “Sorry, Joey,” I said. “Nicole is here on business. I’d better speak with her in private.”
“That’s okay, Jigsaw,” Joey replied. “I’ve got to get home anyway. I’m working on a very important experiment.”
“For school?” I wondered.
Joey shrugged. “It’s sort of a surprise. But I’ll give you a hint.” Joey cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered, “I’m hatching eggs.”
“Eggs?” I echoed.
“Shhh,” Joey replied, putting a finger to his lips.
I nodded, not knowing exactly why. The three of us went into the kitchen. Joey thanked my parents, hungrily shoved a few cookies into his pockets, and headed out the door.
“Let me call Mila,” I said to Nicole.
“Do you have to?” Nicole asked. “I was hoping we could keep this between us.”
“Mila is my partner,” I answered. “We always work together.”
“Yes, but…”
“You can trust Mila,” I said.
Nicole pulled the hair away from her face. She nodded once. Five minutes later, I was seated at my desk in the basement. Across from me sat Nicole and Mila. Behind my back hung a sign: JIGSAW JONES, PRIVATE EYE. It was nothing fancy. Just a hunk of wood with my name on it. But it did the job.
Just like me.
Nicole unfolded a piece of blue construction paper. “I found this in school this morning,” she explained.
It was a short note. Just five words. A total of fourteen letters. Still, it gave me goose bumps.
Chapter
4
The Note
Each letter had been neatly cut out and glued down. The paper that the letters were printed on was slick and crisp—probably from a magazine. The letters definitely didn’t come from a newspaper.
“Creepy,” Mila said in a hush. “Where did you find this?”
“It was stuffed in my desk. I found it there after recess,” Nicole explained.
“Did you find anything else?” I asked.
Nicole shook her head. “No, nothing. Just the note.”
I exchanged glances with Mila. In a soft voice, Mila explained to Nicole that this might be a case of blackmail.
“Blackmail?” Nicole repeated.
“Yes,” Mila said. “It’s when somebody knows something bad about you that you don’t want anyone else to know. For the right price, the blackmailer will keep quiet.”
Nicole struggled to understand. “So you’re telling me … if I give this person money, they won’t tell anyone what they saw me do?”
“Yes and no,” I answered. “First of all, the blackmailer—if he or she is a blackmailer—has not asked for anything yet. So in this case, the note reads more like a warning.”
“A warning? A warning about what?!”
I shrugged. “I guess whatever it is that you did, well, maybe you shouldn’t do it anymore.”
Nicole chirped, “But I don’t know what I did!”
“Think,” Mila urged. “Is there anything at all? Did you hurt someone’s feelings? Did you take something you shouldn’t have? Is there any reason why someone might be unhappy with you?”
Nicole shook her head, her eyes fixed on a faraway place. “Maybe there is something.…” Nicole began doubtfully. “Oh, I don’t know. Everybody does something wrong. Nobody is a perfect angel all the time. How come I’m the only one who gets a creepy note?!”
I went upstairs to get Nicole a glass of grape juice. Returning to my desk, I explained, “For a dollar a day, we make problems go away. Mila and I can check this out for you. We’ll ask around. We’ll track down clues. Maybe we’ll bump into some answers along the way.”
Nicole handed me a crisp dollar bill. Good old George Washington. He had a lousy haircut, but I always liked seeing his face. “That should do it for now,” I said. “We’ll see you in school tomorrow.”
Mila placed a hand on Nicole’s shoulder. “I’ll walk you home, Nicole. Just try to relax. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Nicole nodded. “And in the meantime,” she chirped, “I’ll be extra, extra good.”
Chapter
5
Top Secret
On Tuesday morning, I caught up with Joey on the way to room 201. “How’s the great egg experiment going?” I asked.
“Not so great,” he glumly answered. “I keep breaking the eggs.”
“Oh?”
“I think the nest is wrong,” Joey confided. “It needs more cushions and stuff.”
While I was scratching my head over that one, Ralphie Jordan sidled up beside me. “I need a detective,” he whispered. “But let’s talk later, when no else is around.”
“Sure,” I said. Hmmm. Looked like it was going to be a busy week for Jigsaw Jones, Private Eye.
In class, Ms. Gleason talked to us about inventions. Everybody was pretty excited.
“All inventions start with an idea,” Ms. Gleason told us. “Inventions can be anything—the Frisbee, chocolate chip cookies, a Band-Aid, a zipper, even seat belts for dogs. When you think about it, our world is full of inventions. And many of them are very simple. Many things that we take for granted today didn’t exist until an inventor dreamed them up.”
“Sure, that’s easy … if you’re a major brain,” complained Helen Zuckerman.
“I disagree,” Ms. Gleason replied. “You don’t have to be a genius to come up with a new idea. An inventor only needs three things:
“In fact, Helen, many children have created new inventions. A teenage boy in Maine came up with the idea for earmuffs. An eleven-year-old invented the Popsicle.”
Eddie Becker raised his hand. He waved it around, moaning and groaning, “Ooh, oooh, ooooh.”
“Eddie, do you have a question?” she asked.
It was like asking a shark if it had teeth.
“An inventor can get really rich, right, Ms. Gleason?” Eddie asked. Mila caught my eye and smiled. Typical Eddie. Becoming rich was his one big goal in life.
Ms. Gleason nodded. “Yes, Eddie. If the invention becomes very popular, the inventor is bound to make lots of money.”
Eddie smiled broadly. “That’s good. Because last night I came up with a million-dollar idea.”
“Really?” Ms. Gleason commented. “Please tell us all about it.”
Eddie shook his head. “I’ll show you, Ms. Gleason. But I don’t want anyone else to know about it.”
“Come on, Eddie!” Bobby Solofsky shouted. “Tell us what it is!”
“Yeah, Eddie,” barked Bigs Maloney.
“No way,” Eddie shot back. “This idea is going to turn me into a millionaire. It’s top secret until I say so.” At this, Eddie leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and clutched a large envelope close to his chest.
I noticed the bright red letters on the envelope. It read TOP SECRET.
But it wouldn’t be for long.
Chapter
6
Ralphie’s Problem
I scribbled a picture of a mad scientist. He was mixing secret potions. Next to him, I drew a picture of Mila. Above her head I wrote, His faithful helper, Igor.
When I showed it to Mila, she rolled her eyes and made a noise like this: Harrrumff.
What’s “harrrumff” mean, anyway? Maybe it’s Swedish for “You made my nose too big.”
During DEAR time—that’s Drop Everything And Read time—Eddie placed his “top secret” envelope on Ms. Gleason’s desk. “This is for your eyes only, Ms. Gleason,” Eddie stated. “You promise, right?”
“For my eyes only,” Ms. Gleason repeated. “I’ll take a look at it later tonight.”
A few minutes later, we had snack recess. Then Ms. Gleason let us outside. A door in our classroom opened to the playground. We swarmed out the door like bees from a hive. Mila and I stood by the tire swing, talking things over. Actually, she sat. I pushed.
“Did Nico
le have anything more to say last night?” I asked.
Mila shook her head. “Not exactly. But I feel like she’s not telling us everything.”
I agreed. “If we only knew what she did, it might help us find out who left the note. Right now, everyone in room 201 is a suspect.”
“Except for me and you,” Mila pointed out.
“Nicole acted weird when she saw Joey,” I told her. “Maybe Nicole suspects Joey.”
Mila thought for a moment. “She probably didn’t want anyone else to know about the note,” she suggested.
I shrugged. “Could be.”
While spinning in circles, Mila said, “Look, here comes Ralphie.”
“Hi, guys.” Ralphie glanced from side to side, making sure no one was around. In a hushed voice, he said, “I found this note in my backpack last night.”
He showed us the note:
It was exactly like the one Nicole had shown us the night before. The same words, the same cutout letters from a magazine. Only this time, the construction paper was green, not blue.
“It looks like our blackmailer has been busy,” I commented.
“Huh?”
“You aren’t the only one who got a note like this,” Mila told Ralphie.
This seemed to cheer him up. “Really? That’s good. I mean, it’s not so lonely, I guess. Do you guys think you can solve the mystery?”
“Do birds sing? Do snakes slither? Do pandas sit around and look cute?” I replied.
“Uh, yeah.”
“There’s your answer,” I said. “Do you have any idea when someone could have slipped this note into your backpack?”
Ralphie shook his head. “It just hangs in my cubby all day,” he said. “It’s always in plain sight.”
“Except during recess … or gym class … or lunch,” Mila noted to Ralphie and me.
The Case of the Million-Dollar Mystery Page 1
