Case of the Crooked Carnival

by Michele Torrey

  Paid in full.

  It was a splendid afternoon for hanging upside down while drinking a strawberry soda. In fact, Drake was doing just that when there was a woof! and a scratch! at the lab door. “Enter.”

  A dog nudged the door open with his snout.

  “Ah, Dr. Livingston. Slurp! Ahhhh … Just checking the force of gravity versus the body’s ability to keep things moving in the right direction. Now, come a little closer, my boy. That’s it.”

  Drake reached into the pouch around the dog’s neck and withdrew a note. On the outside, it read:

  To: Detective Doyle

  From: Naturalist Nell

  Nell Fossey was not only a superb scientist, good with calculations and bubbling beakers, but she doubled as a naturalist. Simply put, Nell loved nature. Whether it was a sunset, a buffalo, or a clam, Nell was fascinated.

  Drake opened the note.

  An ordinary-sounding note. Nell’s mother taught wildlife biology at Mossy Lake University. It was only natural that Nell would want to visit Professor Fossey. And Drake knew that Psycho Alien Invasion! was a pretty good movie—he’d seen it eleven times and counting. But, mothers and movies aside, Drake knew that this was no ordinary note. No, indeed. Drake knew it was a secret code for something else entirely….

  “Dr. Livingston, would you be so kind as to fetch my secret code card from my desk? Yes, that’s it … a little to the left … No, no, not my Flying Saucer Identification Guide … it’s right under your nose, that’s it … bring it here.” And giving Dr. Livingston a pat, Drake took his secret code card and held it over the note (while taking a sip of strawberry soda). The secret message appeared.

  Alien Invasion! Drake was so shocked that for a moment the forces of gravity got the better of him. With a burp! and a fizz! strawberry soda bubbled out of his nose.

  “Great Scott!” cried Drake, falling to the floor in a heap. “Aliens have invaded Mossy Swamp!”

  Woof! Woof! cried Dr. Livingston.

  “Naturalist Nell could be in dire danger. Quick! To Mossy Swamp we go!”

  Drake raced his bike over High Hill, around Lonely Loop, past Plum Pond toward Mossy Swamp, while Dr. Livingston ran alongside.

  Mossy Swamp was a wetland filled with wildflowers, grasses, frogs, snakes, bogs, and bugs. To think that aliens had invaded it was almost more than he could bear. Perhaps even now the purple-headed, bloodsucking Martians were ripping the legs off frogs, smashing bugs under their scaly feet, and—horrors of horrors!—plowing the swamp under to make a landing pad for their flying saucers!

  “Halloooo! Naturalist Nell! Yoo-hoo!” Drake cried upon arriving at the swamp, quite breathless.

  Much to his relief, Nell popped up from the undergrowth. Except for a few twigs in her hair she looked okay. “Ah, there you are. Just preparing for our field trip tomorrow with the first graders.”

  Taking no chances, Drake whipped out his Super-Alien-Stunner-Shocker-Whammy from his backpack (guaranteed to stun any bloodsucking Martian for sixty seconds or your money back). “Never fear, Naturalist Nell, Drake Doyle is here!”

  “Uh—thank you, Detective Doyle, but I don’t think you’ll be needing that.”

  “But—but your note said there was an alien—”

  “Indeed there is an alien invasion. But it’s not what you think.” Nell pointed at a tall plant with purple blossoms (quite pretty, in Drake’s opinion). “Observe, the alien species.”

  “Huh?”

  “Purple loosegoose, a noxious weed. Not all aliens come from outer space, you know.”

  In the space of a nanosecond (one one-zillionth of the time it takes to blink), Drake Doyle overcame his disappointment. And though battling purple-headed weeds was not nearly as exciting as battling purple-headed bloodsucking Martians, an alien was an alien. He hastily put away his Super-Alien-Stunner-Shocker-Whammy, whipped open his notebook, grabbed his pencil from behind his ear and said, “Take it from the top.”

  Nell paced, her hands clasped behind her back. “You see, it’s all about ecosystems.”

  “Ah yes, ecosystems—the balance of nature.”

  “When a large number of plants and animals live together successfully for a long period of time, the ecosystem is said to be balanced. But when something happens, say a drought or disease—”

  “—or a new strip mall perhaps?”

  “Precisely—then the ecosystem becomes out of balance and many plants or animals may die.”

  “Tragic.”

  “And as you know, Detective Doyle, Mossy Swamp is a wetland. And wetlands are part of a vast ecosystem, with everything interconnected. The animals and bugs have what they need to live and reproduce, and likewise the plants.”

  Drake was scribbling furiously. “Uh-huh, yes, I see … fascinating, really …”

  “Now, noxious weeds are plants that do not belong in an ecosystem. In other words, they are alien invaders. Case in point, purple loosegoose.”

  “Did it arrive by spaceship perhaps?”

  “Negative, Detective Doyle.”

  “Let me guess, Naturalist Nell. Did it arrive as a seed, carried by a bird through its droppings?”

  “Happens all the time.”

  “Or perhaps carried on the wind from someone’s backyard—someone who didn’t know that purple loosegoose is a noxious weed and planted it simply because it was pretty?”

  “Again, correct.” Suddenly, with no warning, Nell grabbed the purple loosegoose, and with an “Arrgggh!” ripped it up by the roots.

  Drake stared at her, his mouth hanging open. He dropped his pencil into the muck. (Normally his partner was quite even-tempered, so this exhibit of raw animalism was extraordinary.)

  “Unless we stop the purple loosegoose,” she was saying, “it will take over Mossy Swamp!”

  “Good heavens!” cried Drake. “Are you certain? I mean—it does look fairly harm—”

  “I’m quite certain.” Nell stuffed the purple loosegoose into her backpack. “Come, Detective Doyle. Let us proceed to Nature Headquarters immediately, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Vines snaked everywhere. Gigantic leaves glittered, and papier-mâché trees soared overhead. Indeed, if you didn’t wander too far, you might think you were deep in a jungle. But it was really just Nature Headquarters, AKA Nell’s bedroom.

  Mixed in among the smells of rabbit fuzz and frog water, were squeaks, screeches, squawks, and, if you listened closely, a little snoring as well.

  Nell placed the purple loosegoose onto a shelf for later classification, and sat at her desk with Drake. “Observe,” she said, clicking the computer mouse. “This video scene was taken last year in a wetland much like Mossy Swamp.”

  Together they watched a most horrible scene unfold. At first the wetland looked quite cheerful. Birds chirped. Snakes slithered. Frogs hopped. Butterflies flitted among the grasses and wildflowers.

  Drake pushed up his glasses. “Say, isn’t that a cluster of purple—”

  “Sharp eye, Detective. Indeed, it is our alien invader, purple loosegoose. Now observe….”

  A troop of Boy Scouts appeared on the screen. They trooped merrily along the wetland path, stopping for photo ops, or to sniff the flowers. All in all, it looked like a pleasant outing.

  But Drake was disturbed. Something wasn’t quite right. “Say, isn’t the purple loosegoose growing? I mean—fast?”

  Sure enough, in the time it takes to say “Bob’s Your Uncle,” the purple loosegoose overwhelmed the path. There was a flash of purple, an arm here and a leg there, then the troop of Boy Scouts disappeared in a tangle of beautiful purple blossoms, to the tune of “Help! Help!”

  And then the video abruptly ended.

  Drake jumped up. “Jeepers creepers!”

  “Jeepers creepers is right,” said Nell. “Once purple loosegoose reaches a certain stage in its life cycle, it grows out of control. Eventually it takes over entire wetlands, muscling out other plants and leaving little food for the bugs and animals that
live there. The ecosystem collapses and most species die.”

  “Great Scott! Purple loosegoose is worse than a purple-headed bloodsucking Martian!” cried Drake.

  Nell’s mouth formed a thin line. “Brace yourself, Detective Doyle. It gets worse.”

  “Worse? How could it get any worse?!”

  “Have you forgotten? Tomorrow is the annual first-grade field trip to the wetlands. And we’re the guest lecturers.”

  Drake gulped. Nell was right. This was worse.

  Nell tapped her watch. “And, by my estimation, tomorrow is the day all the purple loosegoose let loose and grow like mad.”

  Suddenly, Drake felt faint. “Egads! We could all be swallowed alive! What on earth shall we do?”

  “That’s the thing, Drake,” Nell said. “I just don’t know what to do. Cancel the field trip, I suppose, and close the wetland to the public. Not very scientific. And while it may save the first graders, it certainly won’t save the wetland.”

  “My, my,” said Drake. “This is dire. Quite dire. There, there. Chin up, Naturalist Nell. Dire as it may be, we must find a solution.”

  And so, as all scientists do when stumped, they brainstormed. They brainstormed and brainstormed, talking louder and louder until they were shouting. Now, you might think they were desperate, or mad at each other perhaps, but they were shouting for a different reason altogether. You see, it was becoming difficult to hear because the noise in the jungle was growing louder by the second. Not squeaks, screeches, squawks or a little snoring, mind you, but a steady chomp! Chomp! CHOMP! CHOMP!

  The chomp! Chomp! CHOMP! CHOMP! grew louder and louder until Nell finally screamed, “WHO’S MAKING ALL THAT RACKET?” The noise stopped. Then there was a little burp.

  Drake and Nell glanced in the direction of the burp. Right where Nell had placed the purple loosegoose were nine fat beetles. The purple loosegoose was gone. One of the bugs patted its belly, sighed, and burped a bug-sized buuuurrrrp!

  Drake pushed up his glasses. “You don’t suppose …”

  Nell blinked. “This is amazing …”

  “The beetles ate the loosegoose!” cried Drake.

  “Fascinating. My mother gave me the beetles for my birthday. Scientific name: Chompicus cinderellus. Picky eaters. So far all they’ve eaten is spinach. I worried that I’d have to return them to the wetlands where my mother first classified them. They’ve been moping around for weeks. Hungry, no doubt.”

  “Hungry for purple loosegoose,” said Drake.

  Nell cocked her eyebrow. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Detective Doyle?”

  “Indeed I am. There’s no time to lose.”

  “Check.”

  So, after gathering the beetles they were off.

  Back at the swamp, Nell released the beetles. Soon there was a chomp….

  Which grew to a Chomp! And then a CHOMP!

  And finally, a satisfying, CHOMP! CHOMP! CHOMP!

  The next morning, the wetland looked quite cheerful. Birds chirped. Snakes slithered. Frogs hopped. Butterflies flitted among the grasses and wildflowers.

  A group of first graders appeared on the scene. They trooped along the wetland path, whistling merrily, some stopping for photo ops, some stopping to sniff the flowers. Meanwhile Nell Fossey chatted about ecosystems, before inviting Drake Doyle to chat a bit about alien invasions. All in all, it was a pleasant outing.

  Later that day, Drake wrote in his lab notebook:

  Aliens destroyed.

  Beetles superheroes (and super fat).

  Professor Fossey says we’re onto

  something here.

  Received immense satisfaction for

  a job well done.

  Paid in full.

  Nell was just tossing a couple of Bert’s Best Bug Bon-Bons to her lizards when the phone rang.

  “Doyle and Fossey,” she answered.

  “WHAT?” hollered a voice amid lots of background noise. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

  And Nell, understanding that a customer was in desperate need of proper communication, shouted, “DOYLE AND FOSSEY!!!”

  “OH, NELL, THANK GOODNESS YOU’RE THERE! IT’S ME—JUNE JEWELL. I COULD REALLY USE YOUR HELP!”

  June Jewell was in Drake and Nell’s class at school. June was a nice girl, although, sadly, her life was not always easy. As everyone knew, June’s large family struggled to make ends meet, as many large families often do. Sometimes June came to class without any mittens, or with shoes that weren’t her size or perhaps with a rock for show-and-tell.

  “OF COURSE, MS. JEWELL. ‘HELP’ IS OUR MIDDLE NAME.”

  “WHAT’S YOUR MIDDLE NAME?”

  “NEVER MIND. WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE PROBLEM?” Already the case was proving to be quite difficult. But Nell was up to the challenge. She whipped her pencil from behind her ear.

  “I’M AT THE CARNIVAL,” shouted June.

  Every year the carnival came to town. Kids from all over flocked there to win prizes, ride rides, and eat themselves silly.

  “DID YOU EAT YOURSELF SILLY, MS. JEWELL? ARE YOU SICK? DO YOU REQUIRE EMERGENCY MEASURES?”

  “WELL, I’M HEARTSICK. DOES THAT COUNT?”

  Heartsick! Nell was so dismayed she almost fell off her chair. Being sick at heart (sad, lonely, forlorn, weepy, forsaken, miserable, low …) was far, far worse than a tummy-ache. It lasted far longer and hurt just as much, maybe worse.

  “MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE, TOO!”

  Now Nell did fall off her chair. This was heartsickness times twelve, for June had eleven brothers and sisters. “YOU—YOU MEAN—”

  “THAT’S RIGHT. JOE, JAY, JOY, JOAN, JOHN, JEAN, JANE, JENN, JEB, JED, AND LITTLE JUDD JUNIOR, TOO.”

  “WE’LL BE RIGHT THERE. LIKE I SAID, ‘HELP’ IS OUR MIDDLE NAME!”

  “WHAT’S YOUR MIDDLE NAME?”

  “OH—NEVER MIND. JUST TELL US WHERE TO MEET YOU….”

  Nell hung up and called Drake. “CARNIVAL ENTRANCE ASAP!”

  “CHECK! UH—NELL, WHY ARE WE YELLING?”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “No harm done.”

  “Carnival. Ten minutes and counting.”

  “Check.”

  Click.

  The smell of corn dogs and cotton candy filled the air. There were balloons and merry-go-rounds and bumper cars, laughter and music. “You see, it’s like this,” June explained once Drake and Nell entered the carnival. “Grams and Gramps came to visit us and gave me—I—I mean gave each of us—five dollars.”

  Drake whipped out his notebook. “Let’s see, five times twelve …”

  “Where are your brothers and sisters?” asked Nell.

  “They’re over at Shady Jim’s booth. He’s giving away a free, all-expenses paid trip for the whole family to Magic Valley’s Fabulous Fun-O-Rama if anyone can win his game. The only problem is—”

  “Yes?” Drake and Nell said together.

  “We keep losing.” June pulled two very crumpled dollar bills from her pocket.

  “This is all we have left.”

  “Great Scott!” cried Drake. “According to my calculations, that’s a loss of fifty-eight dollars!”

  “That’s why I’m so heartsick,” said June. “We’ve never taken a vacation. There are just too many of us. The farthest I’ve ever been from home is, uh—well, right here at the carnival.”

  “I see,” said Nell. “Well, much as we want to help your family go on a nice vacation, I’m afraid we can’t help you win. That would be cheating—”

  And all might have ended right there, had June not grabbed Nell’s sleeve and begged, “But Shady Jim wins every time! It looks so easy when he does it. That’s why I called you.”

  “Hmm,” said Nell. “Sounds suspicious.”

  “Suspicious indeed,” said Drake, pushing up his glasses. “Let’s check it out. Ms. Jewell, lead the way, if you please.”

  Soon they reached Shady Jim’s booth, surrounded by a crowd of children, including Joe, Jay, Joy, Joan, John, Jean, Ja
ne, Jenn, Jeb, Jed, and little Judd Junior, all of whom looked terribly sad. “STEP RIGHT UP,” Shady Jim hollered, “don’t be shy! Winning this game’s as easy as pie!”

  And to show just how easy the game was to win, Shady Jim demonstrated. “Ever play air hockey, kiddos? It’s kind of like that. Stand at one end of the alley, and aim for the target at the other end.” And while everyone watched, Shady Jim aimed the puck, and gave it a push. The puck sailed across the smooth surface until it stopped dead center in the bull’s-eye.

  “Oooh, aaaah!” exclaimed the crowd.

  And for good measure, Shady Jim did the same thing again and again and again and again. (He even did it blindfolded, and once while doing jumping jacks, and backwards. Scientifically speaking, it was amazing.) “See, kiddos? What’d I tell you?” gloated Shady Jim. “Easy as pie. Keep winning and you keep playing. Hit the bull’s-eye five times in a row, and your family will win a one-week trip to Magic Valley’s Fabulous Fun-O-Rama, all expenses paid. Now who’s it gonna be? Step right up and try your luck!”

  Money was flying everywhere, so fast Shady Jim could hardly stuff his pockets quickly enough. And, while Drake, Nell, and June watched, kid after kid played the game. A few made the bull’seye. Most didn’t. And those who did happen to land the puck into the target rarely did it twice in a row. Certainly not three times in a row. Four times was out of the question. And five times seemed quite impossible indeed.

  “Too bad, kid,” Shady Jim would say. “NEXT!”

  “Hmm,” said Nell, punching the numbers into her calculator. “Something’s not adding up.”

  “See?” said June, her lip quivering. “It’s hopeless. How can I possibly win? Mom, Dad, Joe, Jay, Joy, Joan, John, Jean, Jane, Jenn, Jeb, Jed, and little Judd Junior will be so disappointed.”

  And as June pulled out an old cloth and dabbed her eyes, there arose a rumpus around the booth.

  “We have a WINNER!” Shady Jim hollered.

  June gasped.