Other books in the Cryptic Casebook series
The Perplexing Pineapple
The Looming Lamplight
The Missing Mongoose
The Dismal Daffodil
The Quivering Quavers
First published in 2014
Copyright © Text, Ursula Dubosarsky 2014
Copyright © Illustrations, Terry Denton 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.allenandunwin.com
A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia – www.trove.nla.gov.au
ISBN 978 1 74331 952 9
eISBN 978 1 74343 925 8
One of Coco’s favourite tangos is ‘Volver’, 1934; music by Carlos Gardel, lyrics by Alfredo Le Pera, translation by Ursula Dubosarsky
Tricky Tombstone Puzzle by Dover Dubosarsky; poem adapted from eighteenth-century nursery rhyme
Cover and text design by Liz Seymour
For Gabrielle Carey, with whom
I have spent many happy hours
walking in the graveyard
– Ursula x
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Clues For Puzzles
Glossary
Help Coco (and Alberta) Crack More Cases!
Preview of The Perplexing Pineapple: Chapter One
Chapter Two
Note to reader: If there is a word in the story you haven’t seen before, it may be a Spanish word. Have a look in the glossary at the back to find out what it means.
Alberta was sitting on the sofa after lunch when an unusual noise made her prick up her ears. It sounded as if something was coming down the chimney. It landed in the fireplace. FLOMP!
‘Aha!’ she thought. ‘The post!’
She jumped off the sofa and scampered over. She was right, there was a letter. She picked it up, dusted off the soot, and tore open the envelope.
It was a birthday card from her cousin Coco, with a picture of a carrot on it. Coco was Chief of Police in faraway Buenos Aires, a big city in Argentina, South America.
‘That is very kind of Coco,’ said Alberta, pleased, ‘even if it is not actually my birthday for another six months.’
This is what the card said:
‘Poor Coco,’ sighed Alberta, shaking her head. ‘Those nerves of his.’
Surely it could not be as bad as all that. But still, he was her favourite cousin. She’d better go as soon as she could.
She propped the card on the mantelpiece, next to a small plastic cactus. She quickly packed her brown-paper bag with some celery sticks, a torch and a crossword puzzle for the trip, remembering also to pop in a false moustache. Then she left a note for the shrub clipper, locked the door behind her and headed off for South America.
When she arrived in Buenos Aires, Alberta felt in need of a pick-me-up, so she stopped for a quick cafecito and a lettuce sandwich. Refreshed, she made her way to Coco’s office in the famous Obelisco.
It was, as always, a long climb to the top, right up the 206 steps until she came to the shining inscription on the door:
Coming out of the office was a strange guinea pig with a patch over one eye, and a spotted hankie tied around his head. To Alberta’s alarm, the guinea pig rushed towards her.
‘Querida!’ he cried, covering her with hugs and kisses.
‘Great carrots!’ replied Alberta, taken aback. ‘It’s you, Coco!’
‘Shhhh!’ hissed Coco, because that is who it was. He raised a claw to his lips, looking around furtively with his one visible eye. ‘What do you think of my disguise?’
‘Well, I certainly didn’t recognise you,’ admitted Alberta. ‘But what is it for?’
‘I’ll explain,’ said Coco. He pressed his back against the door of his office and took a deep breath. ‘I am sorry to tell you, prima – I am faced with the most disturbing case of my entire career!’
His whole body began to shake, just at the thought of it.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ replied Alberta, calmly. ‘Can you tell me a bit about it?’
‘Before I do,’ said Coco, ‘I must ask you something.’ He paused and dropped his voice. ‘Alberta, are you afraid of – graveyards?’
‘Not very afraid,’ said Alberta cautiously, because of course everyone is at least a little bit afraid of graveyards.
‘I am TERRIFIED of graveyards,’ replied Coco dramatically, ‘but that is where we must go, without a moment to lose. Did you bring a disguise? I would put it on now as you never know who might be watching.’
Alberta fished her false moustache from her brown-paper bag and fixed it under her nose.
‘Amazing!’ said Coco, impressed. ‘I would not have known it was you.’
‘Well, it is me,’ said Alberta, although her voice was rather muffled under the moustache. ‘Are we taking your scooter?’
Coco shook his head. ‘Too far,’ he said. ‘Better take the Subte. Vamos!’
Alberta was pleased, as she had never been on the Subte, which is what the underground railway is called in Buenos Aires. She ran after Coco, down all the steps of the Obelisco onto the street. They dodged their way through the crowds of guinea pigs, meandering up and down the pavements, until they reached the Subte station.
Coco marched up to the ticket booth.
‘How much is a ticket to the cemetery at Chacarita?’ he asked, standing on his tiptoes, peering in the window.
‘Twelve pesos each,’ yawned the sleepy ticket-seller.
‘Che!’ said Alberta, shocked. ‘That seems rather expensive.’
‘A ver,’ said the ticket-seller, with a closer look at Alberta and Coco. ‘Normally it’s twelve pesos each, but it’s your lucky day today. Pirates and their companions are one third off the regular price.’
‘Ah,’ said Coco. He coughed. ‘Any – er – further reduction for members of the police force?’
He surreptitiously showed the ticket-seller the police badge hidden under his red sash.
‘Mmm,’ said the ticket-seller. ‘Yes, now you mention it, that reduces the price of each ticket by another half.’
‘Bueno,’ said Coco. He reached for his wallet.
‘Wait!’ The ticket seller raised a claw to the clock. ‘It’s just turned ten, so that means two tickets for the price of one.’
‘Better and better,’ said Coco, delighted.
‘And then, of course,’ added the ticket-seller, ‘don’t forget our special for Semana Santa. Four pesos off.’
‘Coco,’ said Alberta, tugging at his sleeve. ‘If you ask me, that’s a pretty good deal!’
HOW MUCH ARE THE TICKETS EACH TO CHACARITA?
If you need help working it out, have a look at the back of the book.
Clutching their tickets, Coco and Alberta pushed through the turnstiles and took the long escalator down to
the train platform.
Within moments the train swept in, with such a rush of noise and wind that the cousins had to grab onto each other to stop themselves from tumbling over.
Inside, it was very crowded, and there were no seats left. They hung onto the straps that dangled from the roof as the train hurtled down the dark tunnels. Alberta tried to make conversation, but through the engine roar Coco couldn’t hear what she was saying. And although he had learned to lipread at the Police Academy, unfortunately he couldn’t see her lips because the false moustache got in the way.
When the train pulled in at the station, the cousins hopped out onto the platform, and at once noticed a wonderfully sweet smell in the air.
‘Ah, sí,’ said Alberta, sniffing. ‘There is a famous factory of churros around here, isn’t there, Coco?’
‘Not now, not now,’ said Coco, looking around nervously. ‘First things first.’ He adjusted his eye patch. ‘Come, Alberta. To the Cementerio!’
They crossed the busy road to the high walls of the grand cemetery of Chacarita. Outside the entrance were buckets of bright flowers for sale at stalls, along with things to eat and drink. The stallholders smiled and waved at Coco as he passed.
‘Bravo, Señor Coco!’ they cried. ‘If anyone can catch them, it is you!’
‘What do they mean?’ asked Alberta, as Coco hurried her to the gateway.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Coco crossly. ‘They’re always complaining about something.’ He was disappointed that the stallholders had managed to see through his disguise.
They trotted through the entrance of the cemetery, their claws echoing on the marble pathway. Alberta was astonished at the sight in front of her. Instead of grass and graves, like the cemeteries she knew, this was more like a city of stone houses, with streets and laneways leading in every direction. And statues were everywhere, of angels or of the guinea pigs themselves who were buried inside the crypts.
There was a scuffling sound. Alberta turned – where was Coco?
‘Coco?’ she said. ‘Where are you?’
‘Up here!’ came a little cry.
Alberta stared upwards. Coco had scrambled up a tree and was hiding in the nest of a not very friendly-looking bird.
‘What are you doing?’
‘It’s all these tombs!’ called down Coco in a trembling voice. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about them!’
‘I think you had better get down, Coco,’ said Alberta firmly. ‘You won’t be able to show me – er, whatever the problem is from up there.’
Meekly, Coco crawled down the trunk of the tree.
‘If you insist,’ he muttered. He pulled out a compass from his pocket. ‘I just hope I can find my way. After a while, the paths all look the same.’
The cousins scampered up and down the narrow winding streets of the cemetery in the hot sun. At last they came to a shady nook where a guinea pig in a straw hat sat peacefully sipping mate under a tree, and playing cards on a little folding table. It was the gravedigger!
‘Señor Sepulturero!’ said Coco, relieved.
‘Ah, Señor Coco!’ The sepulturero looked up with a smile. ‘Come for a game of truco?’
‘Er, well,’ said Coco, annoyed that the sepulturero had also recognised him despite his disguise, ‘actually, I have brought my cousin Alberta to help me out with the investigation of the dreadful events that have been taking place here.’
‘Encantado!’ said the sepulturero, embracing Alberta, not at all put off by her moustache. His face brightened. ‘Do you play cards?’
‘I would much rather you told me about the dreadful events,’ said Alberta.
‘Of course, of course.’ The sepulturero nodded. ‘Police business must come first, I do understand. If you will accompany me to the tomb in question, I will explain everything.’
‘Tomb?’ repeated Alberta.
‘Perdóname,’ whispered Coco, turning pale. ‘I think I might stay here and have a look at this card game you have laid out, if you don’t mind.’
‘Just as you like, Señor Coco,’ said the sepulturero amiably. ‘Come with me, er, señorita, it is just around the corner here.’
Taking Alberta’s furry arm, he led her towards a large white tomb, with a statue of a very handsome guinea pig in front of it. The stone guinea pig was wearing a tuxedo and a bow tie. At his feet were bunches of carrots and sticks of celery, as well as cards and candles and little posies of flowers.
‘This is the tomb of the famous tango singer, Aníbal Manzana,’ explained the sepulturero. ‘As you can see, guinea pigs from all over the world come to pay their respects.’
‘What’s that he’s holding in his claw?’ asked Alberta, peering closer.
‘Broccoli,’ said the sepulturero. ‘It was his favourite vegetable. A mysterious admirer puts it there, fresh, every day.’
‘How interesting,’ said Alberta, stepping quickly backwards. ‘But may I ask, what is so dreadful about this tomb?’
The sepulturero looked solemn.
‘Señorita,’ he said, ‘it speaks!’
‘It speaks?’
‘Yes, it is the strangest thing,’ said the sepulturero. ‘Several times this past week, as I walk by, I tell you, a voice comes out from this tomb and talks to me!’
Alberta was intrigued. ‘What does it say?’
What, after all, could a tomb possibly have to say? But before the sepulturero could answer, there was a sudden cry:
‘GOT IT!’
Alberta and the sepulturero jumped in their fur. They looked back. There was Coco, standing at the folding table, waving at them triumphantly.
‘I’ve solved the game!’ he shouted.
The sepulturero went running over. He bent over the deck of cards in excitement.
‘Qué cosa!’ he exclaimed with admiration. ‘Señor Coco, how did you do that?’
HOW DID COCO WORK OUT WHICH WAS THE MISSING CARD IN THIS CARD PUZZLE?
There are some hints to help you at the end of the book.
Alberta stood where she was, fuming. ‘Really,’ she said to herself in exasperation. ‘I didn’t come all this way to play cards!’
In fact, Alberta was not very good at cards – despite her enormous brain she could never remember the rules. She could see that Coco and the sepulturero were now starting a new game. It looked like she would just have to investigate this particular mystery by herself.
‘Of all the ridiculous things in any case,’ she muttered, ‘a talking tombstone. Whoever heard of a tomb that could talk?’
She looked uneasily at the statue of Aníbal Manzana, who was smiling at her in a fixed and sinister manner. A soft wind rose. Alberta’s whiskers quivered.
‘B a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a . . . . . . . . . . . baaaAAAAAaaaaaa…’
She swung around on the spot. Sapristi! What was that?
‘BaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!’
It was coming from inside the tomb! Alberta’s heart thumped hard. Then:
‘Meeee-oooooow. Meee-ooooooooooow!’
Alberta could stand still no longer. She had to find out what these strange sounds could mean. She took a deep breath, got out her torch from her brown-paper bag and switched it on. Then she stepped past the smiling statue of Aníbal Manzana, through the little gate to the set of steps that led down into the gloomy darkness of the tomb.
In the meantime, what had happened to Coco and the sepulturero? They were deep in a card game and it was only when Coco knew he was losing that he realised Alberta was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where is my cousin?’ he said, looking around.
The sepulturero sucked thoughtfully on the straw of his mate.
‘I think she went to have a look inside the tomb, señor,’ he murmured.
‘Inside the tomb!’ Coco leapt up in a panic. ‘I must go after her!’ Then he crumbled. ‘Oh, but I am so afraid. I can’t, I can’t!’
He buried his face in his claws. The sepulturero sighed and laid down his cards.
‘I
see you are not concentrating, Señor Coco,’ he said, standing up. ‘May I make a suggestion? If you are worried about your cousin, perhaps you could look through the small window at the back. That way you can see what is happening without going in yourself.’
Coco couldn’t help wondering why the sepulturero had not made this helpful suggestion before, at the beginning of the dreadful events. But now was not the time to quibble.
‘Bueno,’ he said. ‘Please show me where it is.’
Still holding his mate, the sepulturero led Coco down a narrow laneway at the back of the tomb of Aníbal Manzana.
‘There, señor.’ He pointed at a little square window up near the roof. ‘If you stand on my shoulders, you can get to that ladder there, and you will be able to reach the window.’
Coco gulped, as he was afraid of heights as well as graveyards. But he had to do something – what if Alberta was in trouble? He would never forgive himself.
Closing his eyes – in fact, he only had to close one eye, as the other was covered with an eye patch – he got himself up on the shoulders of the sepulturero. It was not easy to keep his balance, and the sepulturero groaned and swayed several times.
At last Coco grabbed onto the ladder and swung himself off the sepulturero’s shoulders. He crawled up the rungs of the ladder and pulled himself towards the high window just underneath the flat roof of the tomb.
The Talkative Tombstone Page 1
