The Mystery of Mr. Nice

by Bruce Hale

  Spooky.

  I squirmed in loathing and slid open a drawer. Natalie peeked over my shoulder.

  In flawless order lay a ruler, a lock-picking kit, some brass knuckles, and a stack of papers under a black beanbag-looking thingy with a handle. Natalie picked it up and tapped it on her palm.

  “Ow!” she said. “That’s some mean beanbag. It wouldn’t make much of a beanie creature.”

  “That’s no beanbag, that’s a sap.”

  “No need to get personal. You can be a little ditzy yourself, sometimes.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Not you, beak-face, that—it’s a sap.”

  “A what?”

  “A sap.” I took it from her and dropped it into my pocket while I sorted through the papers underneath. “Bad guys use them to knock people out.”

  Natalie raised her eyebrows. “Where do you learn all this stuff, Chet?”

  “A detective never reveals his sources,” I said. “Hello, what’s this?”

  I pulled out a sheet of paper. On it, neatly typed, was a familiar list:

  Pocket picking

  Robbery

  Grand theft auto

  Spelling

  Advanced lying

  Assault and battery

  It was the same list I’d found in Principal Zero’s trash. But it had a tidy new heading on it: Sixth Grade Class Schedule.

  “The plot thickens,” said Natalie.

  “If it gets any thicker, they’ll have to add water.”

  A sound by the door made us look up.

  She was tough and leathery, lean and gray. Her wings ended in claws. Her pug nose looked like it smelled something bad.

  And that something was us.

  “What are you doing in my desk?” she snarled.

  It was Ms. Darkwing. The old bat.

  My tail twitched. “Uh, looking for background information,” I said. “We’re from the school newspaper.”

  Ms. Darkwing frowned. She scuttled up to the desk faster than I thought an old bat could move. Riiip! She snatched the paper from my hands.

  “Give me that,” she said. “What have you seen?”

  “Not much,” I said. “We just got here.”

  “Yeah,” said Natalie. “We thought you’d make a great story for the newspaper.”

  Ms. Darkwing rapped Natalie on the beak with a twisted claw.

  “You’ve got a regular nose for news, eh?” she sneered at us. “Well, you won’t get any from me, you snoopy kids.”

  We backed up a couple steps. She followed.

  “Aw, please tell us about yourself,” I said. “All your fans want to know how you keep your claws so sharp and your desk so neat.”

  “Let ’em guess,” she said. “And as for you, I think I’ll tell the principal about you.”

  “Mr. Zero?” said Natalie. “Do you know him well?”

  “Well enough,” she said. “And we’re going to go see him right now.”

  Ms. Darkwing stretched her claws toward us. I backed up and bumped into Natalie. My pocket thumped heavily against my leg.

  “You think Principal Zero will take your word over ours?” I said, reaching into my pocket. “Don’t be such a sap!”

  I tossed the weapon at her face. Ms. Darkwing swatted it away and stumbled back, off balance.

  “Run, Natalie!”

  We shot through the doorway like a spitwad through a straw. Natalie flapped and I dashed. We didn’t stop until we’d reached the shelter of the gym.

  “That was close,” said Natalie.

  “Too close . . . for comfort,” I said, panting. “But at least . . . we know who’s . . . in on this plot.”

  “We know a lot more than that, Chet. Didn’t you see that list?”

  “Yeah, it was a lot . . . easier to read this time. Mr. Zero’s handwriting . . . is the worst.”

  Natalie sighed. “Don’t you get it? That list tells us what they’re up to.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said. “And what’s that?”

  “Think about what we’ve learned,” said Natalie. Her tail feathers bobbed as she paced. “Number one, someone kidnapped Principal Zero and substituted a phony.”

  I picked it up. “Number two, the principal is looking for students who don’t think crime is wrong.”

  “Number three, we saw plans for a vocational school and class schedules.”

  I frowned. Math has never been my best subject. “And numbers one plus two plus three equal? . . .” I said.

  “Come on, Chet! That bogus Principal Zero and his gang are turning Emerson Hicky into a school for crooks!”

  12

  Hail, Hail, the Gangster’s Here

  The bell rang, ending recess. It rattled my brain, but not as much as Natalie’s idea had.

  “Emerson Hicky, a school for crooks?” I said. “But how can that be?”

  “Look at it, Chet. Everything fits. The boxes of brass knuckles . . .”

  “The criminals who started working here . . . ,” I said.

  “The classes in stealing and lying . . .”

  My eyes widened. “Soccer blue!” I said. “You’re right.”

  “‘Soccer blue’?” said Natalie.

  “It’s French—but never mind that. What do we do about these crooks?”

  Natalie hopped from foot to foot. “Chet, there’s only one thing to do. We’ve got to tell a teacher.”

  “What?!”

  “We need help,” she said. “We can’t stop them alone.”

  “Oh, great.” I grabbed my hat and bopped it against my leg as I paced beside the gym.

  “It’s not bad enough that I’ve got a partner who’s a dame,” I muttered. “Now she wants me to turn wimpy and ask a teacher to help solve the case? I’ll be laughed out of private-eye society.”

  Natalie grabbed me by my lapels and shook me.

  “Easy, this fabric wrinkles,” I said.

  “Chet, if you don’t tell a teacher, I will,” said Natalie. “These crooks are too tough for us.”

  I glared at her. She glared right back. These stubborn birds. I waited, to let her steam awhile.

  “Oh . . . okay,” I said. “We’ll tell Mr. Ratnose. But if he doesn’t believe it, we handle the rest of the case alone. Deal?”

  “Deal. Let’s tell him at lunch. I’ll come to your room.”

  We went to our classrooms. I sat at my desk, staring at the blackboard. As the minutes crawled by, I could hardly keep my mind on my lessons.

  Of course, that’s not all that unusual.

  At last the lunch bell rang. I hoped our meeting with Mr. Ratnose wouldn’t take long. I mean, saving the school is all well and good, but a guy’s got to eat.

  The classroom cleared like a nostril after a supersonic sneeze. I dawdled at my desk. Mr. Ratnose looked at me curiously. His whiskers twitched.

  “Something wrong, Chet?” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Usually you’re the first one out the door at lunchtime.”

  “Well . . . ,” I said, stalling.

  Natalie hustled through the doorway.

  “Mr. Ratnose, Natalie and I have something very serious to tell you.”

  She joined me by his desk. Together we told Mr. Ratnose what we’d seen: Principal Zero’s strange behavior, the new criminals at school, the weapons, and the list.

  “So you see,” I said, “what we’ve got here is a school full of crooks.”

  Mr. Ratnose smiled and nodded. “Yep, that’s what I’ve been saying for years,” he said.

  “No, you don’t understand,” said Natalie. “This fake principal and his gang are trying to turn the students into criminals, too.”

  “If you ask me,” said Mr. Ratnose, “they’re too late.”

  My stomach knotted and jerked, like a python swallowing a sofa. “Too late?” I said.

  “Yep,” said Mr. Ratnose. His long nose wrinkled in disapproval. “You kids are already the biggest pack of criminals I’ve ever seen.”

  “What?” said
Natalie.

  “You don’t do homework,” said Mr. Ratnose, “you write graffiti on the desks, you have no school spirit—in my book, that’s criminal behavior.”

  “But—” I said.

  “No buts, Mr. Buttinsky. Off with you.” Mr. Ratnose marched us to the door. “And stop interrupting my lunch to tell me things I already know.”

  Natalie followed me out. Mr. Ratnose locked the door, muttering, “Bunch of juvenile delinquents.” When he had gone, I turned to Natalie.

  “Satisfied?” I said. “Now can we solve this my way?”

  She shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to. So, what next? Do we—”

  Boing!

  Natalie and I sprawled face-first on the concrete. I rolled over to greet our attacker.

  “Hi, hi, hi, you guys!”

  It was Popper, the bouncing tree frog. “Hey, hey, it’s lunchtime. Let’s play!” she squealed.

  “Not now, half-pint,” I said. “We’re on a case.”

  “Oh, please, please, please. You guys are the only, the only friends I have here.”

  “I wonder why,” I said.

  Natalie swatted me. “Sure, we’ll play with you,” she said. “How about hide-and-seek? You cover your eyes and count to a hundred, then come looking for us.”

  I had to hand it to her—the bird was devious.

  “Okey-dokey-dokey,” said Popper. She hid her eyes in the crook of an elbow and started counting. “One-one-one . . . two-two-two . . .”

  At that rate, it would take her all day to finish. Natalie and I rushed down the hall.

  “Sometimes—just sometimes,” I said, “I’m glad to have a partner like you.” I punched her shoulder.

  “Enough mushy stuff,” she said.

  “Okay, here’s the plan: After we eat, we spend the rest of lunch hour looking for the real Principal Zero. They must have him under wraps somewhere.”

  “Why wait until after we eat?” said Natalie.

  I gave her my best steely-eyed look. “Because, birdie, today they’ve got wolf-spider pizza with extra cheese.”

  “Lead on, tough guy,” she said.

  13

  Kitty Cornered

  We knew that Ms. Darkwing would be looking for us, so Natalie and I kept a low profile. Our search meandered through storerooms and empty classrooms, from the library to the gym.

  We turned up zilch. If the crooks had stowed Principal Zero on campus, he was better hidden than a truant officer’s heart.

  That left Plan B.

  Unfortunately, we didn’t have a Plan B.

  After school, I snagged my skateboard from its hiding place. Natalie and I met on the playground.

  She cocked her head. “So,” she said, “what’s next, Mr. I-Can-Do-It-Alone? Do we just walk into the PTA meeting and tell them what we told Mr. Ratnose? That should go over nicely.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  We sat in the shade of the scrofulous tree and tossed around some ideas.

  The PTA meeting was at five o’clock. We had to dig up some hard proof by then. Otherwise the PTA would laugh us out of the meeting, and the crooks would win.

  Not a cheerful thought. Maybe we could transfer to another school.

  At the far end of the playground, a green-and-yellow tree frog was searching among barrels and forts in the sandbox. Pretty persistent, that Popper.

  Just then I glanced toward the buildings and saw the principal locking up his office. Hmm.

  I elbowed Natalie. “Hey, there he goes,” I said. “Let’s follow him home. Maybe they’ve got the real Principal Zero stashed at his house.”

  “Good thinking, private eye,” she said.

  We edged closer to the bushes and sneaked toward the sidewalk. Soon the fake principal waddled by. His tail waved jauntily, like a bully with your lunch money in his pocket.

  “Now we’ve got him,” I whispered.

  The bogus principal strolled down the street. We followed. He turned the corner, got behind the wheel of a blue sedan, and drove off.

  Rats. It’s hard to be a hot-shot private eye when you can’t drive yet.

  “After him, Natalie!” I said. “I’ll come as quick as I can.”

  She flapped her wings and flew after the car. I jumped on my skateboard and pushed it as fast as I could. After three blocks, I lost sight of both car and bird. I also lost my breath. I panted and waited.

  In a couple of minutes, a flutter of wings announced my partner.

  “What’s keeping you?” said Natalie.

  “I’m planning strategy, that’s all.”

  She flew circles around me. “Well, his house isn’t far. Come on, I’ll lead you there.”

  A right turn, a left, another right, and there we were. Natalie and I crouched behind some bushes at the foot of a long driveway. At the top sat the blue car. Beyond it, a wide two-story house squatted amidst the trees like a fat toad full of secrets.

  Coils of barbed wire surrounded the house, except for the driveway. Spikes decorated the rooftop. Scorched craters in the yard made it look like someone had been playing catch with hand grenades.

  “Wow,” I said. “Why didn’t they just hang a sign that says CAUTION—BAD GUYS AT WORK?”

  “Shhh,” said Natalie. “Come on, let’s take a closer look.”

  A neighbor lady was watching us from her window. She shook her head in warning, but we just ignored her.

  Private eyes don’t live by the rules.

  Moving slower than a parent-teacher conference, we sneaked up the driveway, past the barbed wire, and through the bushes. Every time a twig cracked, we froze.

  Finally we ducked under the windows. Rising carefully to our feet, Natalie and I peeked through the glass.

  Inside, the broad back of Principal Zero passed before us. He took off his coat and tie, and tossed them onto the sofa. Then he sat down. From where we watched, we could hear the sofa springs complaining.

  Principal Zero reached up with both hands as if to grab his collar. But he grabbed his neck instead. In one move, he peeled back the skin, pulling it up over his chin and face. It was more disgusting than watching the Invisible Man digest a four-course lunch, but I couldn’t look away.

  Finally the fake principal laid it down. A mask! His rough face split in a smile. This guy could give ugly lessons to a warthog. He obviously wasn’t our principal.

  But who the heck was he?

  14

  F Is for Fake

  “Who the heck is that?” whispered Natalie.

  “Just what I was wondering,” I said. We pressed our faces nearer to the window.

  Brrring!

  A phone rang on the table before us. If I’d had hair, it would have stood on end.

  “Down!” I hissed.

  Natalie and I collapsed against the house like a cheap umbrella in a hurricane. Inside, we could hear the big crook talking.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Come on over. Everything’s set. What? Don’t worry about those kids. They don’t suspect a thing.”

  Natalie and I exchanged a look.

  “Yeah,” he continued, “those poor suckers at the meeting won’t have a clue. We’ve got this locked up, I tell you.”

  The crook chuckled deep in his chest. It sounded like an alligator digesting a handbag salesman.

  He hung up. Footsteps clomped, and the sofa complained again. Whoever he was, he didn’t have to wear a fake gut to impersonate Mr. Zero. This was one fat cat.

  “Okay,” I whispered to Natalie. “Let’s case this joint. He’s got our principal stashed somewhere.”

  Natalie pussyfooted along the side of the house, peeking into the windows on the first floor. I climbed to the second floor. In my line of work, it pays to be a wall-crawling lizard.

  I peered into the rooms. Nothing in the first. Nothing in the second but a pile of old boxes. But when I reached the third window—bingo!

  His huge body was wrapped in ropes, and his mouth was taped shut. Principal Zero looked like he’d taken a hayrid
e with a Gila monster and come out on the bottom.

  But it was really him. I could tell by his scowl—dark enough to make a werewolf whimper.

  “Natalie!” I whispered as loud as I could. She kept staring through a downstairs window.

  “Natalie!” I whispered again. She still didn’t hear.

  “Look, a worm!”

  That time she heard. When Natalie glanced up, I pointed at the window and motioned for her to join me. She flapped up to a nearby branch and looked inside.

  “That’s no worm,” she said. “You lied.”

  “Sorry. Help me get the window open.”

  We boosted the window and slipped inside. Principal Zero’s eyes widened when he saw us. I peeled the tape off his mouth.

  “Took you long enough,” said Mr. Zero. His whiskers bristled.

  Yep. That was our principal, all right.

  “What do you mean?” I said. “It took some hard work to find you.”

  “I knew you’d come,” he said. “When that impostor, Knuckles McGee, asked how to act like me, I told him to be nice to you. I knew that would tip you off, and you’d come nosing around.”

  I had to hand it to him. Principal Zero knew his students.

  “Are you all right?” asked Natalie.

  “There’s no time for tea and sympathy,” he said. “Get me out of these ropes. We’ve got a school to save.”

  Natalie and I struggled with the knots. It looked like they’d been tied by a tribe of evil Boy Scouts in a bad mood. After what seemed like a century, we freed his legs.

  “This is taking too long,” said Principal Zero. “Find something sharp and cut these ropes.”

  We rummaged through the room. No scissors, no saws.

  I heard a creak. The door swung open. There stood Ms. Darkwing with a gleaming knife in her hand.

  “Looking for one of these?” she said.

  15

  All Tied Up and No Place to Go

  Ms. Darkwing swung her knife like a ninja chef at a seven-course dinner. She knew how to use it.