The Mystery of the Mad Science Teacher

by Marty Chan

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find your bike.”

  “He told me to look after it,” she said, paying no attention to me. “He told me to lock it up. He told me he paid a lot of money for it and he wasn’t going to buy me a new bike if I lost this one. He’s going to ground me for a month.”

  “No, he won’t.” If her dad was anything like my dad, he’d ground her forever.

  Her cheeks turned bright red. She chewed on her fingernails. She fidgeted from one foot to another like she had to pee. Then she grabbed my shirt.

  “You have to help me find it!” she yelled.

  “It’s okay, Trina. We’re going to find your bike.”

  “Why did you make me play hockey? If you didn’t make me play, I’d still have my bike. This is your fault.”

  I tried to calm her down. “ Let’s think this through. If someone stole your bike, they had to have a good reason, right?”

  Trina stopped. “I guess.”

  I waved Remi over.

  “Do you know anyone who doesn’t like you?” I asked her.

  She gasped. “How dare you say that? Everyone likes me.”

  “How about the Graffiti Ghouls?” I asked.

  The teenagers we’d caught spray-painting buildings last year might have held a grudge against Trina for turning them in to the police.

  Remi shook his head. “My sister said those guys went to work in Halifax. No one’s heard from them since July.”

  “Any other enemies?”

  She shook her head.

  “Maybe someone just wanted her bike,” Remi suggested.

  “Good point. It is a brand new bike,” I said. “Trina, does anyone know you have a new bike?”

  “I stopped at Eric Johnson’s house before I came here. He wanted to ride my bike and he got upset when I wouldn’t let him.”

  “Looks like we have a suspect,” Remi said. “Let’s find Eric.”

  My stomach fluttered and my heart pounded hard as we ran to Eric’s house. My summer vacation was coming to an end, but a new mystery was beginning, and it promised to be more interesting than anything that might happen at school. Or so I thought.

  According to my favourite cop shows, the way to squeeze a confession out of a crook was to make him think you already knew the truth. If the tactic worked on TV, it had to work in real life.

  Eric crouched on his front lawn looking at the grass. He held something shiny in his hand.

  “We’re on to you, Eric,” I barked, trying out the interrogation technique.

  He spun around and hid his hands behind his back. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

  Trina started to speak, but I shook my head. Remi picked up my signal and whispered in Trina’s ear. She pursed her lips shut. I strolled toward Eric, taking my time and humming what I thought would sound like a cool theme song if I starred in a TV detective series.

  “Why are you humming Row, Row, Row Your Boat?” Eric asked, peering at me through his long blond bangs.

  Ignoring his comment, I flashed him the same interrogation stare my mom used on me whenever she thought I’d done something wrong. Once I accidentally broke her favourite vase, and she broke the confession out of me with an intense squint. I hoped I’d inherited her power of squint-errogation.

  “Do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked.

  “I ask the questions. Not you,” I barked.

  Eric took a step forward. “Tough talk from a creep.”

  Normally a threat from him was enough to shut me up, but I felt safe with Remi and Trina backing me up. As long as they stood behind me, I felt like I was in total control. Squint-ensity level to eleven.

  “You’re already in trouble, Eric. Don’t make it any worse. We know what you did.”

  He stepped back. “What do you know?”

  “We saw you do it. You might as well admit it.” I said. “Or we’ll have to tell everyone about your nasty habit.”

  “There’s no law against it.”

  Trina growled. “Yes there is. Tell me where you put it, or else I go to the police.”

  I cocked my head to the side, signalling to Remi. He nodded and tried to walk to the other side of Eric, while I flanked my prime suspect. I wanted to get a look at the thing behind his back, but he stepped away from both of us. I fixed my gaze on his face. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, a sure sign of guilt. Sooner or later, he’d crack under the pressure.

  “Trina’s right,” I said. “She wanted to go to the police right away, but I thought we should give you a shot at coming clean first.”

  “I’m not telling you anything.”

  “This could go very badly for you.”

  “Keep it up, Slanty Eyes. Might go worse for you,” he growled.

  I hated the name he called me, because it reminded me that I looked different than the rest of the kids in town, but after hearing the name so much, I learned the best thing to do was ignore it. Showing people that the name bothered me was like teasing a dog with a bone. Once the mutt saw the bone, he wouldn’t stop until he had it. Eric was one dog I didn’t want to tease.

  Instead, I sighed and shook my head. “I guess we’ll have to tell your mom.”

  He bit his lower lip. “You wouldn’t.”

  Remi nodded. “You better believe we will.”

  Eric glanced back at his house, nervous.

  “Are you going to come clean?” I asked.

  Suddenly, he brought his right arm around as if he were going to rabbit punch me. I ducked, and waited for contact, but Eric wasn’t throwing a punch. He was throwing something away.

  “No evidence. No crime!” he yelled.

  He dashed toward the back of the house as the thing he threw fell on the road. Trina bolted after him. Remi wasn’t sure if he should follow them or stay with me.

  “Get the evidence,” I said.

  “What about Trina?” Remi asked.

  “Do you want to get in her way?”

  He shook his head. Then he joined me as I ran to the street. Halfway across the road we found a magnifying glass. The lens was cracked and the handle was still damp from Eric’s clammy hand.

  “What’s a magnifying glass have to do with a stolen bike?” Remi asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Maybe he’s on a crime spree,” he guessed.

  Something wasn’t making sense. “Remi, if you had a choice between playing with a magnifying glass or riding a bike, what would you do?”

  “The bike. No doubt.”

  “Me too. So why wasn’t Eric doing that?”

  He scratched his head. “I don’t know. There had to be something more interesting on the lawn.”

  “When in doubt, ask the lawn,” I said.

  “Lawns don’t talk.”

  I shook my head. “I meant there may be a clue.”

  “Oh,” Remi said. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “I was trying to be dramatic.”

  “You’re watching way too many TV shows.”

  We headed back to the house. I spotted a mound of dirt on the lawn where we first saw Eric. I held the cracked magnifying glass to the hill. A swarm of ants crawled across the mound, avoiding a few blades of grass that looked singed.

  “I think he was trying to fry the ants,” I said.

  “That’s terrible,” Remi said. “What did ants ever do to him?”

  Trina stomped around the corner of the house.

  “He locked himself in the house,” she said. “But he’s got to come out sooner or later. What did he throw away?”

  I held up the magnifying glass. “He was — ”

  Remi cut me off. “Burning ants. It’s a sure sign that he’s a criminal.”

  “The monster,” Trina said. “What do you think he’s going to do to my bike?”

  “I heard that thieves chop up bikes and sell the parts.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “We can’t be sure Eric took your bike. I mean why would he take it and then not ride it?”

&nb
sp; “Duh! He’s hidden the bike,” she said. “That way no one will suspect him of stealing it. Once no one’s watching, he’ll start riding the bike.”

  Remi nodded. “Or chop it up and make enough money to buy a different bike. That’s what a smart thief would do.”

  “Have you met Eric Johnson?” I asked. “Smart and him go together like chocolate ice cream over steamed cauliflower.”

  She shook her head. “I bet he’s playing dumb to throw us off the scent.”

  “Look at the burnt blades of grass. You’d have to hold the glass here for a long time,” I said. “He wouldn’t have time to steal your bike and burn the grass.”

  “He might have had an accomplice.” Like a giant squid, she’d wrapped her tentacles around the idea of Eric being the criminal and she was dragging Remi down with her to the murky depths of her accusations.

  “I think she’s got a point,” he offered. “Doesn’t he have an older brother?”

  “Yes, but you’re jumping to conclusions,” I said. “Why don’t we go back to the scene of the crime and see if we missed anything? Eric isn’t going to come out as long as we’re standing here.”

  “If we leave he’ll start chopping up the bike,” Trina argued.

  “Not if he thinks we’re still watching him.” I motioned Remi and Trina to follow me toward the front of the house. The drapes in the window were closed, but they moved slightly when we walked near the house. Eric was probably hiding behind the drapes.

  “Trina, you watch the house from the alley,” I yelled. “Remi and I will hide in the bushes and watch the front.”

  I grabbed Remi’s hockey stick and waved it in front of the window for Eric to see. “We’ll wave the stick if we see anything, Trina,” I said, hoping Eric could hear us through the window.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll be in the alley. You two hide in the bushes.”

  We walked away from the house to the bushes. I shoved the stick through the branches so the blade jutted out far enough for Eric to see it. As long as the hockey stick was there, he’d think we were watching him.

  “Does that work for you?” I asked Trina.

  She reluctantly agreed, and we left the house.

  Back to the scene of the crime. We paced back and forth in front of the high hedge that protected the Asylum House. I didn’t like being so close to the maniac twins, but we had to find the bike. I searched for clues with the cracked magnifying glass.

  “I think you dropped the bike here,” I said.

  Trina pointed a few feet over. “No. See the indent in the grass? It was there.”

  “Where were you before you saw Eric?” Remi asked.

  She blinked, trying to remember. “I think it was my uncle’s gas station. There were a couple of teenagers outside the shop.”

  “Let’s retrace your steps,” I said. “Maybe we’ll find another clue.”

  Remi patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find your bike.”

  She touched his arm. “I knew I could count on you.”

  My stomach clenched like I’d been hit by one of Remi’s slap shots. I don’t know why seeing Trina touch Remi bothered me, but it did. I started to follow the pair, but a sound stopped me: the faint jingle of a bicycle bell. I turned around and looked at the hedge. Was I hearing things? I tried to look through the leaves of the hedge, but the foliage was too thick. The bell jingled again. Could it be? No. Maybe.

  Ring, ring. Yes. I was sure of it. The maniacs had stolen the bike.

  THREE

  “You can’t be serious,” Remi said. “You think Trina’s bike is in the Asylum House?”

  “I heard her bicycle bell behind the hedge,“ I said.

  Remi and Trina leaned against the leafy wall and listened. Only silence came from the other side. Trina pulled away and squinted through the foliage. Remi burrowed into the hedge to get a better look.

  “Ouch!” He pulled his hand away and sucked on his finger. “Thorns!”

  “Quiet,” I said.

  More silence.

  Trina turned away from the green wall. “Stop wasting our time, Marty. There’s nothing in the yard.”

  “I’m serious. Someone was ringing your bicycle bell.”

  Remi joked, “I think you need your hearing checked.”

  “Let’s look in the yard,” I said.

  “You two can waste your time. I’m going to make Eric give me back my bike and then I’m going to make him sorry he was ever born.”

  “What are you going to do to him?” he asked.

  “You ever see that show, Robot Rampage?”

  “The one where robots smash each other into a thousand tiny little pieces?” I asked.

  She cracked an evil grin and walked away.

  “Remind me never to get on her bad side.”

  “She’ll cool off. We have to see what’s in the yard.”

  “Sounds like a stake out.” Remi grinned. “We’ll need some gear.”

  “I know just the place to find it,” I said.

  My parents’ grocery store doubled as our home. The good news: I had twenty-four hour access to any chocolate bar in the milk chocolate galaxy. The bad news: my dad only let me eat the meteorite-hard Mojos which hadn’t sold in over two years. The worst news: I had a universe of chores. I had to sweep the floors not only in our living quarters but also in the entire store. Taking out the garbage took almost an hour, because I had to break down cardboard boxes for the recycle bin. By the end of my daily chores, I was covered in dust and paper cuts.

  But today I was glad to live in a grocery store, because I could borrow equipment for the stakeout. I needed a note pad, a couple of pens and a pair of binoculars. I had the pad and pens in my room, but the binoculars were on a dusty shelf in the store. Dad had bought the binoculars hoping that Mr. Chalifoux, the president of the Bouvier Birdwatchers’ Club, would pick them up, but Mr. Chalifoux already had a pair, as did everyone else in the Bouvier Birdwatchers’ Club. The binoculars sat on the shelf collecting dust. Today they’d finally get some good use.

  “What do we do if your parents catch us?” Remi asked, glancing around the store nervously.

  My parents never liked Remi, and he didn’t want to make things worse, especially after he’d tasted one of Mom’s delicious homemade egg rolls.

  “Tell them we’re getting a jump on our school work,” I said as I pulled the binoculars out of their hard leather case.

  “They sure like it when you study.”

  I moaned, “If Dad had his way, he’d chain me to a table so I could do school work all day. The only time he’d let me out is to do chores and go to the bathroom. If they made diapers my size, I think he’d only let me out to do chores.”

  “What do we say about the binoculars?”

  “They’re for a science project,” I said.

  “You’re getting good at lying,” Remi said. “Almost too good. I think you’ve been hanging around Monique too much.”

  His older sister ruled the kingdom of lies. This queen of fibs made up fake stories and excuses to explain why she missed curfew, why she didn’t finish her homework or why Remi had to be her slave.

  “Do you know what we need for a real stake out?” Remi asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Doughnuts. I see the cops in television shows eating powdered doughnuts all the time. What do you think, Marty?”

  “How does eating doughnuts help catch criminals?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. But they’re so swweeeeet.”

  “Sorry, Remi. If you want doughnuts, you have to buy them.”

  “Can I get a family discount?” he asked. “We’re practically brothers.”

  “You can ask my dad.”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. Don’t take this the wrong way, but he scares me sometimes.”

  “Sometimes? My dad scares me all the time.”

  Lately, Dad wanted me to work in the store instead of hanging out with Remi. Now that I was older he wanted me t
o do more chores so he wouldn’t have to hire a stock boy. Unlike Remi’s sister, my dad didn’t need to tell any lies to make me his slave.

  “Keep an eye out for my parents,” I said.

  I reached for the binoculars.

  “Die Gaw,” he mumbled.

  I pulled my hand back. Die Gaw was code that meant someone was watching us. Die Gaw was Chinese for “big brother.” Over the summer we’d started using Chinese words for code phrases to keep the French and English kids from guessing what we were saying. But I never counted on my parents hearing the code phrase.

  Dad walked up, rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. He swept the few strands of his hair over his balding top as he looked at Remi like he was eyeing a shoplifter.

  “Why did your friend call you big brother?” Dad asked.

  “I’m teaching him some Chinese,” I said.

  “Did I say it right, Mr. Chan?” Remi asked.

  “You’re not related,” he barked.

  So much for the family discount.

  “Homework,” we answered at the same time.

  “School hasn’t started yet.”

  “Uh . . . I heard about what I need to do from the kids who were in grade five last year,” I said.

  Remi backed me up. “We wanted to get a head start on our school work, Mr. Chan.”

  “S’waw ji,” Dad muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  I wasn’t about to tell Remi what my dad had called him.

  “Marty, tell your friend to go home. It’s time to work. I need you to stock the shelves.”

  “Can I do it later?” I asked.

  Dad glared at me, his nostrils flaring.

  Remi inched away. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Can he help?” I asked.

  Dad shook his head. “This is your job. If your friend works, I’ll have to pay him.”

  “How come you don’t have to pay Marty?” Remi asked.

  Dad shot him a dirty look. A tiny vein on his forehead started to bulge out, the sign that my dad was getting really upset. Only I knew this sign, because of all the times Dad got mad at me.

  My dad gritted his teeth. “Marty gets paid with the clothes on his back and the food on his table.”

  I wanted to point out that Remi got clothes and food from his parents too and he didn’t have to do as many chores, but I knew better than to question Dad, especially not when his vein was popping out.