Room With a Boo

by Bill Myers

  Room With a Boo Copyright © 2002, 2015 Bill Myers

  Cover illustration by © James Thew - Fotolia.com

  Cover design by Angela Hunt Communications, Inc.

  Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.

  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, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.

  Published by Amaris Media International.

  ISBN: 0692411240

  ISBN-13: 978-0692411247

  For Dawson. Welcome to the family.

  “You are the light of the world . . .

  let your light shine before men,

  that they may see your good deeds

  and praise your Father in heaven.”

  Matthew 5:14, 16.

  1

  the case begins

  WEDNESDAY, 18:52 PST

  Rafael Ruelas flashed his warmest smile as the cameraman moved in for a close-up. He shuffled through a small stack of papers on his desk, then looked up to the camera and said, “Our next guest on Midvale Tonight is Hildegard Tubbs, president of the Midvale Garden Club.”

  Backstage, the stage manager whispered, “You’re on, Mrs. Tubbs.” He motioned for her to join Ruelas on the set.

  Mrs. Tubbs swallowed hard. In the small mirror posted by the stage entrance she checked her hair to make sure it was still stacked carefully atop her head, examined her overly made-up face (she thought she looked stunning), then walked out to shake Ruelas’s hand.

  This could be my big moment, she thought. She smiled as she hoped some big Hollywood producer might see her on TV and think she was perfect to star in the next big movie. Who knew, in the next day or so, she could be hanging out with Brad Pitt.

  “Welcome to the show!” Ruelas exclaimed.

  Mrs. Tubbs saw him stare at her towering hairdo. He likes my hair, she thought. This is getting off to a great start!

  “Thank you, Brad, er, I mean Rafael!” she said.

  Ruelas motioned for her to take the seat next to him as the small studio audience, who were sitting on metal folding chairs, applauded politely.

  She blinked into the glaring studio lights. She had no idea they were going to be so bright!

  Immediately Rafael began to speak. “I understand that you’re here to tell us about the Garden Club’s annual flower-growing contest.”

  “That’s right, Rafael.” Boy! Those lights are not only bright, they’re hot! She looked around for something to fan herself with. She was getting warmer by the minute.

  “Well?” Ruelas asked.

  “Well, what?” Mrs. Tubbs answered. At the moment all she could think about was finding a way to keep cool.

  “What about the contest?” Ruelas asked as he forced a big, toothy smile.

  *

  “Whatcha watchin’, sis?” Sean asked. He bounced noisily down the stairs and into the living room.

  “Rafael Ruelas’s new show,” Melissa answered.

  “Ruelas has another show?” Sean asked.

  Melissa nodded. “I wanted to watch it because he’s interviewing Mrs. Tubbs.”

  “That’s Mrs. Tubbs?!” Sean pointed at the television. “Sure doesn’t look like her to me.”

  “I think she’s wearing a lot of makeup,” Melissa said.

  “You can say that again!” Sean agreed. “She must have about a thousand pounds of the stuff on her face.”

  “Be nice!” Melissa whacked him on the arm.

  “Well, it’s true. And what’s she got on her head, a monkey?”

  “Don’t be mean,” Melissa said. “That’s her hair and you know it!”

  “Hair?” Sean shook his head. “Nobody has that much hair!”

  Melissa fought back a giggle. Her brother was right. Mrs. Tubbs’ hair was a bit much—like Marge Simpson’s, except it wasn’t blue. The rest of her wasn’t that much better. In fact, it looked like she’d been caught in a paint-ball fight. “She just wanted to look pretty on TV,” Melissa said.

  Sean shook his head. “That’s like me trying to convince people I’m as tall as Shaquille O’Neal!”

  Now, if you know anything about Bloodhounds, Inc., the detective agency owned by Sean and Melissa, you know that Hildegard Tubbs is their next-door neighbor. She’s also what is officially known as a PIN (Pain In the Neck), who always blames the kids, or their huge bloodhound, Slobs, for anything that goes wrong in her neighborhood. (And most of the time she’s right.)

  “Shhhh!” Melissa hushed her brother. “I want to hear about this contest.”

  Unfortunately, poor Mrs. Tubbs wasn’t saying much of anything. She just sat there, waving herself with her hand.

  “And so I understand,” Rafael said, “that the Midvale resident who has grown the biggest flower this year will receive an all-expenses-paid trip to Washington, D.C., for two. Is that right, Mrs. Tubbs?”

  “What? Washington? Oh yes, that’s right.”

  “And you will be doing the judging?”

  Suddenly Mrs. Tubbs seemed to remember why she was there. “Yes, our judges will be walking around Midvale over the next few days, and we’ll make our decision within a week.”

  Ruelas quickly extended his hand. Apparently he’d had enough. “Why, thank you, Hildegard Tubbs. You’ve certainly been an exciting guest. And now—” He abruptly drew back his hand, and his mouth flew open. It looked as if he’d seen something terrible. “Why, Mrs. Tubbs!” he sputtered. “I do believe you’re melting!”

  And she was! Well, at least her makeup was!

  Her forehead seemed to be sliding down over her eyes, and her mascara oozed down her face, leaving muddy tracks behind. She looked like the Wicked Witch of the West, from The Wizard of Oz, after Dorothy hit her with the water.

  She clasped her hands to her face, trying to push everything back into place. But when she pulled them away, a big glob of her face stuck to them.

  The cameraman tried to avoid this unpleasant scene by swinging his camera in the direction of the studio audience. Unfortunately, the people were stampeding over each other trying to get out of the building.

  “She’s turning into a monster!” someone shouted.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” another screamed.

  KERASH! BOOM!

  An entire row of chairs fell backward to the floor.

  The cameraman swung his camera back toward Mrs. Tubbs, who was also trying to run out of the studio. But her eyes were so covered with dripping makeup that she couldn’t see where she was going.

  KA-BANG!

  “Ow!” She bounced off the post supporting one of the studio lights, which . . .

  KER-THUNK!

  . . . crashed down upon her head and . . .

  SSSSSSSSSSSSS

  . . . smoke, or maybe it was steam, curled out of Mrs.

  Tubbs’ hair.

  (She was right about those lights. They were hot!) Immediately a message filled the TV screen:

  “Please stand by. We are experiencing technical difficulties.”

  Melissa punched Off on the remote control, and the screen went dark. “Poor Mrs. Tubbs,” she groaned.

  “Well, at least she can’t blame us this time,” Sean said. Then, changing the subject, he asked, “So, you about ready
to go?”

  “Go?” Melissa glanced at her watch. “Oh great! It’s later than I thought!”

  “Don’t tell me you forgot about Youth Group?”

  “No, I didn’t forget,” Melissa answered. “I’ll just need a minute to comb my hair and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she ran up the stairs to the bathroom.

  Sean sighed and clicked the TV back on. When Melissa said she needed a minute to comb her hair, it would mean another hour before you’d see her again.

  Girls . . . go figure.

  WEDNESDAY, 19:23 PST

  This time it only took twenty-three minutes.

  When Melissa came back downstairs, she was surprised to find her brother watching the news instead of cartoons. The reporter talked about a ring of international spies in Washington, D.C., that had been stealing government secrets. Sean was definitely intrigued, especially when it got to the part about them stealing a top secret helicopter called the Dragonfly. No one knew where it had gone, though they suspected that it was still somewhere in the city.

  Later, as the young detectives walked along Fourth

  Street on their way to the church building, Sean was deep in thought.

  “Stop it.’ Melissa said. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Stop what?” Sean asked.

  “Thinking!” she replied.

  “Stop thinking?” Sean repeated.

  “Yeah. You’re not used to it, and your brain might explode.”

  “Very funny. Ha ha!”

  “What are you thinking about, anyway?” she asked.

  “That Garden Club contest Mrs. Tubbs was talking about.”

  “What about it?” Melissa asked.

  “I was wondering if we had a chance to win it.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Melissa laughed. “Have you taken a look at the flowers in front of our house?”

  “We have flowers?”

  “We did till I killed them,” Melissa said. “I have what’s known as a brown thumb. I touch plants and they die! Besides, why would you want to win a flower-growing contest anyway?”

  “Because then we’d get to go to Washington, D.C. And if we did, I bet we could catch those spies!”

  Melissa shook her head. “We’re never going to get

  there on my flowers.” She gave her brother a playful punch on the arm.

  “Ow!” he cried. “You scratched me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Well, be careful with that ring, will you?” Sean pouted.

  Melissa looked down at the new ring her dad had just bought her. She loved it! It was red, white, and blue and spelled out U.S.A in rhinestones. But Sean was right, some of those stones were kind of sharp.

  “Hey, did you forget your Bible again?” she suddenly asked.

  “Forget it? No, I’ve got it right here.”

  “Here where?”

  Sean pulled up his shirt to reveal his Bible tucked into the waistband of his pants.

  “What are you doing that for?” Melissa asked.

  Sean shrugged. “No reason.”

  “Are you trying to hide it?” Melissa asked.

  Sean didn’t answer.

  “Sean! Are you embarrassed about being a Christian?”

  “Look! It’s no big deal. It’s just not cool to walk around carrying a Bible, all right? It’s kind of . . . geeky.”

  Melissa said nothing. But it had been happening

  more and more often—as if Sean thought being a Christian meant being a loser.

  WEDNESDAY, 21:15 PST

  “You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Sean asked as they headed home from youth group.

  “Mad? Why should I be mad?” Melissa answered. “Just because you were acting like some undercover Christian on the way to youth group, then some Holy Joe, super-Christian during it?”

  “I wasn’t acting,” Sean protested. “I was just being myself.”

  “Which time?” Melissa asked. “In church, or out?”

  Sean had no answer.

  “Well, you’d better hide that Bible again,” Melissa huffed. “You wouldn’t want anyone out here to think you’re a Christian.”

  “Look,” Sean said as he raced to keep up with her, “I’m sorry about that. Just forget it, okay?”

  “It’s already forgotten,” Melissa replied. But she didn’t slow down.

  The kids were around the corner from Doc’s, and that gave Sean an idea. Maybe if they stopped by for a

  little visit, Melissa would get out of her rotten mood.

  “Hey!” he said. “You wanna drop in and see what Doc’s up to?”

  Melissa looked at her watch. “It’s kind of late, isn’t it?”

  “It’s only 9:15. Dad won’t even be home yet.”

  It was true. Dad’s radio station, KRZY, was in the process of increasing its power to 5,000 watts, and that meant he was rarely home before 10 P.M. these days.

  “Well,” Melissa said, “maybe we could stop by for a few minutes.”

  They turned the corner and headed up the sidewalk to Doc’s front door. It was always fun at her house. She was a brilliant inventor, and you never knew what amazing invention she might be working on. Sean and Melissa were still about ten feet away from the door when Doc appeared. She swung it open and gestured for them to come inside.

  How did you know we were coming? Melissa used sign language to talk to their deaf friend.

  Doc pointed to her eyes.

  “She has new glasses,” Sean said.

  “But that still doesn’t explain how she saw us through the door,” Melissa replied.

  Doc, who is great at reading lips, handed the glasses to Melissa. She motioned for her to put them on.

  “Hey, cool!” Melissa shouted. “I can see right through the wall!”

  “X-ray glasses!” Sean exclaimed. “Let me try ‘em on.”

  New and improved X-ray glasses, Doc signed. She grabbed a nearby clipboard and wrote:

  I’ve improved the old ones by increasing the subatomic beta frequency and bombarding it with anti-nucleonic beams. So, as you can imagine, they are completely safe.

  “Wow!” Sean exclaimed as he stepped outside. “What a view!” He wandered back down the sidewalk toward the street, ooing and ahhing at everything he saw along the way.

  “Sean, be careful,” Melissa called after him. “You remember what happened when you tried on the older pair of X-ray glasses?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Well, I do!” she shouted after him. “Who could ever forget something like that?”

  (If you have, you can review the entire case in Phantom of the Haunted Church.)

  Melissa turned to Doc. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

  Doc smiled. Like I said, they’re perfectly safe, she signed. And you’d be doing me a favor if you tried them out for a while.

  “Okay,” Melissa said as she slipped her glasses into the pocket of her sweater. “But I hope we both don’t regret this.” She turned to see what her brother was up to.

  “Sean!” she screamed. “Get out of the way!”

  He stood in the middle of the street as a big station wagon raced toward him, about to turn him into a giant Sean-sized grease spot.

  “Sean! Move!”

  But he didn’t budge. He stood as if paralyzed, staring at the car that was about to make him an ex-detective!

  It was forty feet away!

  “Seeeaaannnnn!”

  Thirty. . .

  “Mooove!”

  Twenty . . . ten . . .

  Melissa covered her eyes with her hands. She couldn’t bear to look!

  2

  Look out, d.c., here we come!

  Melissa grimaced at the sound of the car’s tires screeching on pavement.

  EEEEEEEEE . . .

  “Hey! Get out of the road!” She opened her eyes. The station wagon disappeared down the road as the driver, a little old lady, shook her fist in Sean’s direction. Skid marks showed that the drive
r had just barely managed to swerve around her brother.

  Melissa ran into the street, planning to give him a big hug . . . until she became angry over him being so foolish. So instead of embracing him, she . . .

  WHOOMP!

  . . . stiff-armed him right in the chest.

  “Oooof!” Sean staggered backward and fell hard onto his rear.

  “What was that for?” he cried.

  “You could’ve been killed!” Melissa shouted.

  “So you’re going to beat me up ‘cause I wasn’t?” Sean asked as he slowly got to his feet.

  “I just don’t know how you can be so stupid sometimes!”

  “But it was cool!” Sean said. He smiled as he rubbed the dirt from the seat of his pants. “I could see inside the engine, and the people in the car looked like skeletons! I just couldn’t take my eyes off of it!”

  “That does it!” Melissa said. “Give me those glasses right now before you hurt yourself!”

  “Not on your life!”

  “Sean!”

  “No way!”

  “Give them to me!”

  “Forget it! I’m wearing these babies as much as possible!”

  THURSDAY, 7:14 PST

  The morning light poured in. Sean glanced at the clock, then pulled the covers over his head. “Please, be quiet!” he moaned.

  He’d crawled into bed just a few hours earlier. Before that, he’d been sitting out in the yard, looking at his sister’s petunias in the moonlight. Those flowers may not have been much to look at with the naked eye, but when you saw them through Doc’s X-ray glasses— well, they were truly amazing! Who would have guessed there were so many intricate little parts in there? All of them working together to keep the flower healthy and help it grow.

  Sean hadn’t meant to stay up so late, but he figured it was okay, because this was a “teacher’s workday,” which meant he didn’t have to go to school. He snuggled farther down under the covers, still trying to drown out the noise. His plan had been to sleep in as late as possible. But how could anybody sleep with all that commotion going on?