“Well . . . ,” I begin.
“Sometimes it’s best to call it a day and try again later,” Eliza says. She presses her lips together tightly. “We can always continue our work tomorrow.”
“You should listen to your friend,” Otto says. “Why would you kids want to be here, when you can be comfy at home? By the way, where is home for you?”
Frank’s eyes grow really wide. “STRANGER DANGER!” he shouts. “STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER!”
“Frank!” Eliza scolds.
Is it my imagination, or is Otto awfully quick to suggest we go home? Is he purposely trying to get us away from the investigation? “Why do you want us to leave so badly?”
“I don’t care either way,” Otto says. “It just seems boring here. If I were you, I’d want to go home. But personally, I’d always rather be at home.”
I stare at him, and he stares right back at me. I wonder . . . is he really just being nice? Or is he hiding something?
Otto finally blinks, ending our stare-off.
“So what are you going to do now?” Otto says.
* * *
TO GO HOME FOR THE NIGHT, CLICK HERE.
TO TRY TO SNEAK BACK INTO THE HOUSE THROUGH THE BACK DOOR, CLICK HERE.
* * *
I HAVE TO trust Eliza.
Otto clutches his treasure as Eliza guides him back the way we came. Frank silently follows, and I am the caboose.
I hope I’m making the right decision.
Eliza’s awesome memory comes in handy, because she takes every twist and turn of the maze without pause. At times I have no idea where we are, but Eliza seems to remember every bend and every corner.
Finally we reach the middle of the maze—and the spiral staircase. Eliza leads Otto up the steps. I don’t understand what she’s doing. There’s no way Otto will be able to fit through the exit in Ivy’s closet. It was barely big enough for me!
But she leads him that way anyway.
We get to the bottom of the slide—the one that leads up to Ivy’s closet.
“At the top of the slide is the exit,” says Eliza. “Want to go first?”
“No,” Otto says warily, and I’m beginning to think he doesn’t trust Eliza. “You first.”
Eliza climbs up the slide. Otto follows, and Frank is behind him. I go last.
“Okay,” says Eliza. “I’m slipping out the exit.”
And then she’s gone. Otto eagerly scoots up the rest of the slide, slips the treasure chest through the exit, and sticks his arms, head, and shoulders through.
Oh no!
He’s about to escape—and Eliza led him right to it!
Otto thrusts his body farther into the exit.
“Uh-oh,” he says. He tries to wiggle himself back into the tunnels, but he can’t. He’s stuck in the tiny door. Just like that time Frank got his head stuck in between two bannister poles.
I laugh. Eliza was just trying to trick Otto this whole time. Of course!
I hear shuffling coming from the other side—in Ivy’s room. The police are here. They slap handcuffs on Otto before they take an ax and chop up Ivy’s closet to get him unstuck. Once the police cart him away, Frank and I can finally crawl up the rest of the slide and escape the tunnels too.
And once I am in Ivy’s room again, I feel like cheering! We actually got Otto!
Then Guinevere hands me a check for more money than I’ve ever had in my whole life (which I guess isn’t saying much, because I’ve never had more than ten dollars at a time), and I really feel like cheering.
But the good feeling goes away when Smythe drives me home. I part ways with Eliza and Frank and head into my house. I try to sneak in, hoping that Mom’s flu has her knocked out. . . .
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Mom bellows from the living-room couch the moment I open the screen door. Then she folds over into wheezy, chesty coughs.
“Don’t get mad,” I say. “But Eliza-Frank-and-I-may-have-investigated-your-Guinevere-LeCavalier-case-and-solved-it-which-was-stupid-and-dangerous-but-I-wanted-to-help-you-and-your-agency,” I say all in one breath, and I pull out the check from my pocket.
My mom splutters on another cough. “Wh-what is this?”
“Money,” I say quickly. “For you. And your agency. We did this for you. You’ll be able to hire more detectives and assistants with this kind of money. You could even get yourself a better office.”
Mom’s eyes fill up with tears, and she starts wailing. She pulls me into a slobbery bear hug and sobs into my hair. Nothing like snot-and-tears shampoo, am I right?
“So, I take it you’re happy right now?”
Mom nods.
“And I take it I’m not grounded?”
Mom snorts. “You wish.”
I grin. It was worth a shot. But hey—even a summer’s worth of chores and groundings would be worth the look on my mom’s face right now. Worth it for that feeling of saving Mom’s career and making her happy. Because when it comes down to it, I did this all for her.
I think I’m ready for my next case. (Just don’t tell Mom.)
CASE CLOSED.
“CLEARLY THERE ARE five rectangles,” I say, staring at the engraving.
“Hmm . . . I think you’re missing all the rectangles inside of other rectangles.”
Eliza starts to trace her finger around some of the other rectangles.
“WOW!” Frank says.
“Eliza,” I breathe, “you’re a genius! How did you know that?”
She blushes. “I just really love math. So far, with the five rectangles you saw and the three I found, we have eight. Can you see any others?”
* * *
ADD FIFTY TO THE SOLUTION OF THIS PUZZLE.
IF YOU THINK THE ANSWER IS 60, CLICK HERE.
IF YOU THINK THE ANSWER IS 56, CLICK HERE.
TO GET MORE HELP FROM ELIZA, CLICK HERE.
* * *
WE ALL JUMP out of Otto’s way. And our jumping makes the bridge shake and sway.
The wooden planks make crackling noises like they’re about to splinter. Maybe they will splinter under the weight—Otto is heavy, and that treasure chest looks heavy too.
And just like that, I have the perfect idea.
“Hold on to the rope and keep jumping!” I tell Eliza and Frank.
I grip the rope so tight that it’s giving me a burn on my palm, and I jump up and down on the bridge until it’s wobbling wildly. Otto is running fast, and—CRACK!
A wooden plank snaps in half, and Otto’s foot goes right through.
Frank chortles with glee, and all three of us bounce so hard that Otto can’t seem to get a grip on the bridge and hold on to the treasure chest at the same time.
He fumbles around with the chest, and then—like in slow motion—the chest flies out of his hands, off the bridge, and down into the netting above the alligator pit.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOooooooOOOOOOOoooooOOOOOOOoooooOOO!”
Otto swan dives off the bridge, plunging headfirst after his treasure.
He bounces in the net and rolls around. Then he crawls over to the treasure and cradles it like a baby to his chest.
“Treasure treasure!” he coos. “Treasur—OUCH!”
With the added weight of the treasure chest, the netting sinks lower than it did when we were caught in it. His butt is within reach of the alligators.
“YOW!” he cries as the alligators nip at the net and—from the looks of it—Otto’s pants. His polka-dotted boxers are exposed. He tries to juggle the treasure and keep the alligators at bay, but he loses his hold on the treasure again, and it tumbles into the alligator pit.
The top flies open, and I gasp: the treasure chest is filled to the brim with bouncy balls. They start rebounding all over the place, and the alligators snap at them.
A piece of paper also rolls out of the treasure chest, into the pit, but an alligator swallows it up. I guess we won’t ever know what it says . . . unless we sift through alligator poop in a few days.
As Otto bat
tles three alligators, we wander through the tunnels until we find an exit. We emerge where Guinevere LeCavalier’s grandfather clock is, in the hall.
“MRS. LECAVALIER!” we shout at the top of our lungs, even though it’s two in the morning, and everyone’s sleeping.
When she appears, bleary-eyed and wearing a green face mask, we urge her to call the police immediately, and after she hangs up, we tell her everything—about Otto, about getting locked in the closet, about finding the tunnels in the basement and following the clues. And before we’re even done with our story, the police arrive. We take them underground and weave through tunnels until we reach the alligator pit. Otto is still battling the beasts, but now he’s only wearing underwear! The rest of his clothes seem to have been eaten.
Then the police hop into the pit, wrangling alligators and capturing Otto.
And then, after we tell Guinevere the truth about how we’re not really detectives from the agency, my mom comes to capture us, which is a lot less fun.
“Carwos!” my mom cries, tissues flying everywhere like snotty confetti. “When you neber came home, I was so wowwied! You—you awe gwounded!”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Sowwy isn’t good enou—”
“Here we are!” Guinevere LeCavalier says in a singsongy voice, and she enters the room carrying a check.
Guinevere hands it directly to Mom, whose jaw drops.
“Close your mouth, dear,” Guinevere says, “or you’ll let the bugs in.”
Mom closes her mouth and hugs the check to her chest. “F-fank you! Fank you so much!” Suddenly she starts to wail. “Wahhhhhhhhhhh!” Mom blubbers onto her sleeve, and then she howls and sneezes and coughs all at the same time.
When she finally stops bawling, Mom drives us home in silence. Eliza and I nudge each other in the backseat, but we’re both too afraid to say anything. Sooner than I’d like, Mom drops Eliza and Frank off at their house. Their light is on, which means they’re about to be in major trouble, too.
Mom and I continue down the road toward our house. As we pull into our driveway, I turn to Mom. “Hey,” I say, trying to break the angry silence that hangs between us. “I was just trying to save your agency. Because I know how much you love your job.”
She turns to me and grabs both my cheeks between her cold, clammy hands. “Don’t you know?” she shouts hysterically. “Carwos, I wuv you more than my job—more than anyfing ewse in de world! I cawe about youw safety more than anyfing!” She has real tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you worry. I was just trying to help.”
“I know,” she says, hugging me close to her chest. “Fank you. But don’t you dawe do it again.”
SIX WEEKS LATER.
Punishment is the worst. I am sooooo bored. Mom has me picking up garbage in the parks with other volunteers and answering phones at her new office and—worst of all—cleaning the house. Ughhhh. I never want to clean anything again!
It’s especially bad because while I’m being punished all day long, Eliza and Frank are having fun at camp. Lucky ducks!
I guess Mom starts to feel bad for me, because she drives us to Guinevere’s house. Guinevere must have been expecting us. When we arrive, she answers the door with a wildly enthusiastic “WELCOME BACK!”
“What’s this?” I ask, turning to Mom.
“A debrief,” she says. She pats my head as we follow Guinevere through her house. “It’s the final meeting after a detective wraps up a case.”
At last we arrive in the living room, and Guinevere hands us empty teacups and a jar of jelly beans.
“Sorry,” she says, “but I’ve never had to make tea for myself before. I don’t know how.”
“Smythe quit?” I ask.
“Unfortunately. He’s gone and joined the circus.”
“As a strong man?” I say, thinking of Smythe’s gigantic muscles.
“As a clown.”
I laugh. There’s no one grumpier than Smythe. It’s funny to picture him with a permanent smile painted on his face.
“I apologized for not appreciating him all these years,” Guinevere said. “We had a nice long chat, and he decided he didn’t want to be a butler anymore, so he ran off to the circus. Ivy and I are getting along great—we’re closer than ever. And . . . I even apologized to Patty. For that whole fiasco with the police at her house. We’ve even started meeting for weekly gossip sessions—I mean, dinners.”
“What about Otto?”
Guinevere shrugs. “Well, his alligator bites have healed quite nicely. His trial is in a few months. But I do feel bad. I didn’t mean to come between him and his father. Maybe I can apologize somehow.”
My mom coughs. “Speaking of apologies,” she says, looking bashful, “I’m sorry Carlos and his friends tricked you into thinking they were the detectives for this case while I was sick.”
“Yeah,” I say, staring down at my sneakers. “I’m sorry.”
When I raise my head, Guinevere LeCavalier looks me square in the eye and says, “I’m not sorry. Not one bit. You and your friends are the best detectives I’ve ever met.”
Ha! That’s not what Mom wanted her to say. But you know what? Guinevere is right! Eliza, Frank, and I make a great team—all three of us.
I grin. “Let us know if you hear about another case. We’re on the lookout.”
Mom shakes her head . . . but underneath it all, I can tell she’s proud. I know I am!
CASE CLOSED.
“WHERE SHOULD WE look now?” I say.
Eliza jumps in. “We’re trying to learn more about the LeCavaliers’ past,” she explains. “We feel that studying their past can help us get more information about what’s happening now—and maybe even point the way to Mr. LeCavalier’s treasure. So, were there any places that were important to Guinevere or Winston? Places in the house where they hid stuff—”
“Or even where they spent a lot of time,” I interrupt.
Smythe licks his lips, and his gaze drifts up to the ceiling as he thinks. “Would you believe,” he finally says, “that Mr. LeCavalier actually spent a lot of time in this very study?”
“Why?” Frank says.
Smythe shrugs. “He used to spend hours in here. And when he wasn’t here, Mr. LeCavalier was in the toolshed in the backyard. He loved to garden.”
* * *
TO SEARCH MR. LECAVALIER’S STUDY, CLICK HERE.
TO GO TO THE TOOLSHED, CLICK HERE.
* * *
WE DECIDE TO start with Patty Schnozzleton. She seems to have a motive for threatening Guinevere LeCavalier, and she’s the only person we haven’t talked to yet.
We let ourselves out of Guinevere’s house and step into the blistering sun. It’s so hot out here, I swear the bottom of my shoes are melting.
When we arrive at the yellow mansion across the street, I knock on the door, but Frank goes straight to the doorbell and presses it over and over again. I hear a groan from inside Patty’s house, and a woman opens the door a crack, just enough for us to see her face, which is wrinkly and full of gloopy makeup. A bunch of dogs are trying to dodge around her feet and run outside. “Hush, puppies! Hush!”
“HUSH PUPPIES!” Frank says.
“Are you Patty Schnozzleton?” I ask, and when she nods, I continue. “We are detectives from Las Pistas Agency. We’re investigating the death threats at Mrs. LeCavalier’s hou—”
Patty squints at me. The dogs still yip at her feet. “You don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?”
“Maybe yes! Maybe no! Maybe sometimes! Maybe so!” Frank sings.
“I mean,” adds Eliza, “if you look at the facts, you do look suspicious.”
Patty’s face goes white. Deathly white. Whiter than a bedsheet. Whiter than seafoam. Whiter than a moldy tomato. “Spotty, Shaggy, Waggie, Barkie, Mo! ATTACK!”
She opens the door wide, and her dogs lunge at us, their mouths twisted in five horrible snarls.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
we scream as the dogs chase us off Patty’s lawn. Down the street! Out of the neighborhood! Across town! Beyond state lines! We run, run, run, run, run! The dogs are behind us, nipping at our heels, every step of the way. We run for two full weeks before the dogs find a colony of squirrels and finally start chasing them instead.
Hungry, tired, shaken, and having completely flaked on the mystery, we have no choice but to return home with our tails between our legs.
CASE CLOSED.
“BRAID!” I SHOUT, holding on tightly to the ladder. “The answer is braid!”
Below me, more rungs of the ladder come out from the wall, and I’m finally able to climb down. It’s too dark to see where I’m going, so I go slowly until I reach solid ground. I help Eliza down after me, and then grab Frank.
We’re in a dark pit, like what I imagine the bottom of a well to look like.
A high-pitched scream interrupts the darkness.
Eliza grabs on to my arm and whispers, “Where is that coming from?”
“Up your BUTT and around the corner!” Frank says.
I can barely see Frank in the darkness, but he seems unfazed. He either has no idea what’s going on, or he’s very brave.
“Shhhhh, Frank,” Eliza says. “You have to be very quiet now. If you’re completely silent, I’ll give you candy.”
“Candy!” Frank tugs on Eliza’s arm. “Do you have candy with you now?”
Eliza shushes him again. “No—ouch, Frank, get off me. I only have raisins and granola bars. But when we get home, I promise.”
“HEEEEEEELLLLLPPPPP!” shrieks the voice again. It’s Guinevere LeCavalier! Only she sounds far away.
We walk toward a soft light in the distance, and as we get closer, I realize it’s coming from a gas lantern, left in the middle of the dirt path. It must belong to Otto and Guinevere. Maybe they forgot it? Or maybe Guinevere left it behind on purpose—to leave a trail! Like Hansel and Gretel!
Case Closed #1 Page 19
