Turkey Trot Plot

by Carolyn Keene

  GOBBLER WOBBLER

  “Nope,” Bess Marvin said, shaking her head. “Those feathers are wrong. Totally wrong.”

  “But they’re such pretty colors, Bess,” eight-year-old Nancy Drew said, holding the plastic bag of feathers in her hand.

  “Feathers are feathers,” George Fayne insisted.

  It was Wednesday afternoon. Nancy and her best friends had gone straight from school to Chippy’s Craft Market to buy feathers. But not just any feathers . . .

  “Those are hen feathers,” Bess said, pointing to the label on the bag. “We’re running in a Turkey Trot tomorrow, not a Hen Heat.”

  George sighed as she grabbed another bag from the shelf. The feathers in this one were long and white with a brown stripy design. “Totally turkey,” she said. “Happy yet?”

  Bess read the label on the bag out loud: “One dozen synthetic turkey feathers. What does ‘syn-thet-ic’ mean?”

  “I think it means ‘fake,’ ” Nancy said.

  “Good enough,” George said, tossing the bag into their shopping basket. “Now that we found the right feathers, what do we do with them?”

  Reaching into her backpack, Bess pulled out a fashion sketch. “Here’s my design for our Turkey Trot costumes,” she explained. “All we have to do is glue turkey feathers around the necks of sweatshirts and on leggings. Then we glue a few feathers on our headbands.”

  Bess ran her hand over the sketch and said, “Simple . . . yet elegant!”

  “Simple?” George scoffed. “What’s so simple about gluing hundreds of feathers one by one?”

  Nancy liked Bess’s design but agreed with George. Gluing so many feathers would take forever. “There’s got to be a quicker way,” she said.

  George’s dark curls bounced as she tilted her head in thought. “Here’s an idea,” she said with a grin. “We squirt sticky maple syrup all over our clothes, dump feathers in front of a fan, turn it on, and—whoosh!”

  “I say let’s dump that idea, George,” Bess said.

  Nancy giggled. Bess and George were cousins but as different as turkey and peacock feathers. Bess was a serious fashionista who loved the newest styles. George was a tech geek and proud of it. Her style was jeans and sneakers—definitely not turkey costumes.

  “Why do we have to trot in goofy costumes anyway?” George asked as they filled their basket with more turkey feather bags.

  “That’s the whole idea of the Turkey Trot tomorrow,” Nancy explained. “The kid or team with the best turkey costume wins a giant chocolate turkey.”

  “Not just any chocolate turkey, Nancy,” Bess reminded her. “This one is from Classy Coco, the fancy new chocolate store on Main Street.”

  “I’ve never tasted Classy Coco’s chocolate,” Nancy said, “but everyone says it’s amazing.”

  “Just remember our deal, you guys,” George said. “If our team wins, we split the chocolate turkey into three pieces—”

  “For our Thanksgiving dinners tomorrow,” Nancy cut in excitedly. “Go, Galloping Gobblers!”

  This wasn’t the first time Nancy, Bess, and George had teamed up. They also had their own detective club called the Clue Crew. Nancy even had a clue book to write down all their clues and suspects.

  “Let’s buy the feathers before it gets late,” Nancy said. She was about to pick up their basket when—

  “Yodel-ay-ee-oooooo . . . Yodel-ay-ee-ooooo!”

  The girls froze at the strange sound.

  “What was that?” Bess asked.

  “It doesn’t sound like a turkey gobbling,” George said.

  “Yodel-ay-ee-ooooo!” There it was again!

  Nancy, Bess, and George followed the yodeling to the next aisle. There they saw a girl looking at packaged ribbons.

  She was dressed in an embroidered skirt and a puffy-sleeved blouse. Over her blouse was a black velvet vest, and on her blond braided hair was a green felt hat.

  To Nancy she looked like a girl from a Swiss storybook. She also looked familiar . . .

  “You guys,” Nancy said while the girl kept yodeling. “Isn’t that Shelby Metcalf?”

  “But Shelby doesn’t have long blond hair like me,” Bess said. “That girl does.”

  “Or braids either,” George said.

  Shelby turned to the girls and smiled. “It’s a wig,” she said. “I just need to tie on a few ribbons and I’m all set!”

  “Cool,” George said. “But what’s with the Heidi costume?”

  “Shouldn’t you be shopping for a turkey costume?” Nancy asked. “The Turkey Trot is tomorrow, on Thanksgiving morning.”

  “I’m not running in the Trot,” Shelby said. “I have to get ready for the Pixie Scout International Food Fest on Friday.”

  “International Food Fest?” Nancy repeated. “You mean there will be food from other countries?”

  “Everyone in my troop is bringing a different dish to taste,” Shelby explained. “I’ve been wearing my costume the past few days to get into character.” Shelby opened her mouth to yodel again.

  To stop her, George quickly cut in. “What food are you bringing, Shelby?” she asked.

  “I’m making a Swiss chocolate fondue,” Shelby said proudly. “It’s where you dip marshmallows, fruit, and pretzels into a pot of melted chocolate. I’m using melted Choco-Wacko bars!”

  “Yummy,” Bess said. “But too bad the chocolate isn’t from Classy Coco.”

  “You mean that fancy chocolate store on Main Street?” Shelby asked. “What’s so special about that place?”

  “My mom is a caterer and told me all about it,” George said. “Classy Coco is owned by a woman named Anna Epicure. She used to be the editor of a magazine called Bon-Bon Vivant. It’s all about chocolate.”

  “The chocolates in Anna’s store are like little statues!” Nancy explained. “I heard she has them made at fancy chocolate factories all over the world!”

  “Wow!” Shelby exclaimed. “Forget the Choco-Wacko bars. I’ll use Classy Coco chocolate in my fondue!”

  “Good luck.” George sighed. “One chocolate bar at Classy Coco is the price of fifty Choco-Wacko bars.”

  “You’d have to sell a lot of lemonade to buy that, Shelby,” Bess said. “And it’s getting too cold for lemonade.”

  Shelby’s shoulders drooped as she muttered, “Phooey.”

  “I’m sure your fondue will be great anyway,” Nancy said.

  “Great isn’t enough, Nancy,” Shelby said. “My chocolate fondue has to be perfect—no matter what I have to do!”

  Shelby tossed a braid over her shoulder and walked away.

  “She forgot the ribbons,” Bess said. “Ribbons would go great with her costume.”

  “So would a goat,” George joked.

  The girls headed straight to the check-out counter. Bess used her Chippy’s birthday gift card to buy the turkey feathers.

  “Mission accomplished,” Bess declared as the girls left the store. “Now let’s go home and work on our costumes.”

  Nancy, Bess, and George walked up Main Street on their way home. Each girl had the same rule: They could walk anywhere as long as it was less than five blocks and as long as they walked together. That was more fun anyway!

  “What’s that smell?” George asked.

  “I didn’t use the strawberry shampoo you hate,” Bess said, “if that’s what you mean.”

  Nancy noticed the sweet smell too. But it wasn’t strawberries. “It’s chocolate!” she said excitedly. “I’ll bet it’s coming from Classy Coco down the block!”

  Nancy, Bess, and George neared the store. They could see a reporter and a camerawoman from Station WRIV-TV standing outside. Also in front of the store was a woman with short dark hair.

  “It’s Anna Epicure,�
� George whispered. “I saw her picture online.”

  The girls could hear the reporter ask, “What makes you think you can run a successful chocolate store, Anna?”

  “I once ran a successful chocolate magazine, didn’t I?” Anna replied. “Running a chocolate store will be a piece of cake.”

  Anna turned to the camera and quickly added, “Speaking of cake . . . try my black forest cake truffles—they’re fabulous!”

  Nancy, Bess, and George wanted to see the chocolates with their own eyes. So while the reporter asked more questions, they slipped inside Classy Coco.

  The first things the girls noticed were framed Bon-Bon Vivant magazine covers on the walls. The best things were the chocolate figurines wrapped in clear plastic and tied with ribbons.

  “There’s a chocolate Empire State Building!” Nancy said.

  “My eyes spy a chocolate computer!” George said. She then pointed to a brown wedge carved with holes. “That looks like a chocolate hunk of cheese!”

  “I’m glad it’s not real cheese,” Bess said, squeezing her nose shut. “I hate stinky cheese more than anything!”

  They were about to check out a chocolate kitten when—

  “Omigosh!” a girl’s voice gasped. “It’s more awesome than I imagined!”

  A small crowd of kids rushed into the store to surround a chocolate turkey on a pedestal.

  “There’s the chocolate turkey prize,” George said. “But who are those kids?”

  “The tallest girl is Hazel Hookstratten,” Nancy whispered. “She’s president of the Choco Chewers Club.”

  “You mean the Chocolate Lovers Club?” Bess whispered. “Where they meet every other Saturday to eat chocolate?”

  “To eat—and worship chocolate!” George said.

  Nancy saw what George meant. Hazel was hugging the pedestal while shouting, “Be still, my trembling taste buds! Be still!”

  Hazel’s taste buds weren’t the only things trembling. As she hugged the pedestal, the chocolate turkey began to tip!

  A boy from the club, Lester Chin, waved his arms in the air. “Look out, Hazel!” he shouted. “That gobbler is a wobbler!”

  PRIZE SURPRISE

  Everyone froze as the magnificent chocolate turkey wobbled back and forth on the pedestal—everyone but George, who leaped forward for the catch!

  “Gotcha!” George exclaimed, grabbing the turkey before it could fall.

  Nancy breathed a sigh of relief, causing her reddish-blond bangs to flutter. “Good catch, George,” she said.

  “Hey,” George said with a grin, “it’s soccer season.”

  Carefully, Nancy and Bess took the chocolate turkey from George. They placed it back on the pedestal, made sure it was steady, then stepped back.

  “Thanks for saving the chocolate turkey, George,” Hazel said. “What was I thinking, hugging it like that?”

  Nancy knew what Hazel was thinking. Like the other club members, Hazel loved chocolate more than anything. When everyone else in the school cafeteria ate tuna and peanut butter sandwiches, Hazel ate pain au chocolat—a fancy French chocolate sandwich.

  “Are you all running in the Turkey Trot tomorrow?” Nancy asked. “I’ll bet you really want to win this chocolate turkey.”

  “We’re running,” Hazel said. “But our costumes will never win.”

  Hazel shot Lester a hard glance. “We had awesome costumes decorated with chocolate feathers,” she said. “Tell them what happened, Lester.”

  “I left the costumes in front of a sunny window in the clubhouse,” Lester confessed. “When we got back, the chocolate feathers had melted.”

  A member named Gillian shook her head. “We ordered those feathers from a chocolate store in New York,” she said, “and it’s too late to get more.”

  “It wasn’t totally my fault,” Lester insisted. “The weatherman said it would be cloudy with a chance of rain!”

  “Don’t worry,” Nancy told the club with a smile. “I’m sure your new costumes will be—”

  “Step away from the chocolate turkey!” a woman’s voice demanded. “Step away now!”

  The kids spun around. Anna Epicure was walking into her store, a worried look on her face.

  “We were just admiring your chocolate turkey, Ms. Epicure,” Hazel said. “We’re the Choco Chewers Club of River Heights.”

  “Our club reads your magazine,” Lester told Anna. “All it needs are crossword puzzles and riddles and it would be my favorite!”

  “Riddles?” Anna said, narrowing her eyes. “Here’s one: What’s under twelve years old and has to be extra careful around my fine chocolates?”

  “Um,” Lester said, “is the answer . . . kids?”

  “Riiiiight,” Anna said.

  Nancy and the others stepped back from the chocolate turkey. She hoped Anna hadn’t seen it topple off the pedestal.

  “Ms. Epicure,” Nancy asked, “is this turkey made from dark chocolate or milk chocolate?”

  “There is only one kind of chocolate in my store,” Anna replied. “Classy.”

  “In that case,” George said, “can we have some classy free samples?”

  “Samples?” Anna gasped. “Sorry, but I don’t believe in samples. Everyone in River Heights knows my chocolate is the best.”

  “Excuse me,” a boy’s voice asked, “but did someone say . . . samples?!”

  Everyone turned to see a boy carrying a tray filled with paper cups into the store. Nancy, Bess, and George recognized the boy as Henderson Murphy from their third-grade class.

  “Try my dad’s latest hot chocolate flavor,” Henderson said with a grin. “It’s called Minty Martian!”

  George looked into one of the cups. “The hot chocolate is green,” she said. “So are the marshmallows.”

  “Green like a Martian,” Henderson said with a grin. “That was my idea!”

  “I’ve never seen a Martian,” Hazel said. “And I thought your dad sold ice cream.”

  “Ice cream when it’s hot,” Henderson said, “hot chocolate and cookies when it’s cold.”

  Anna planted both hands on her hips. “I told your father not to park his truck in front of my store,” she told Henderson. “Everyone will think his hot chocolate comes from Classy Coco!”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Henderson asked.

  “I don’t sell hot chocolate,” Anna declared. “Fine chocolate should be nipped, not sipped!”

  The Mr. Drippy truck outside began playing its musical jingle. Nancy, Bess, and George heard it loud and clear inside the store. So did Anna . . .

  “I think you children should leave,” Anna told them. “I have to wrap the chocolate turkey in plastic.”

  “Why is all your chocolate in plastic bags?” Bess asked.

  “Airtight plastic keeps it fresh,” Anna explained. “That and cool temperatures, especially overnight.”

  The kids took one last look at the chocolate turkey, all wanting to win it the next day. They then filed out of the store to taste Henderson’s Minty Martian samples.

  “It’s great for green hot chocolate,” Nancy said after a sip.

  “You bet it is,” Henderson said. “I’ll show that snooty Anna Epicure. Just you wait!”

  Nancy wondered what Henderson meant. As he continued to give out samples, George whispered, “You guys, check out what I have in my pocket.”

  “What?” Nancy asked.

  George looked both ways before holding up a small chunk of chocolate. “It’s a piece of the Classy Coco turkey!”

  “Omigosh, George!” Bess gasped. “You didn’t break it off the turkey, did you?”

  “Nah,” George said. “It broke off in my hand as I caught the turkey. It’s from the bottom part, so hopefully Anna won’t notice.”

  George broke the chunk into three smaller pieces. Nancy, Bess, and George tasted the chocolate turkey, their eyes wide.

  “Best. Chocolate. Ever!” Bess declared.

  “Better than a Choco-Wacko bar!” George
said.

  “It’s for sure a winner,” Nancy agreed with a smile. “That’s why tomorrow—the Galloping Gobblers have got to win.”

  “Yeah,” George said. “So we can gobble up that turkey!”

  • • •

  Thanksgiving morning couldn’t come fast enough for Nancy, Bess, and George. At ten o’clock they were on Main Street in their turkey costumes, ready to trot. The busiest street in River Heights had been closed just for the event.

  George tugged at the feathers around the neck of her sweatshirt. “I don’t know if we look like turkeys,” she groaned, “but I sure feel like one.”

  As the girls walked to the starting point, Nancy saw Shelby. Their friend was walking the other way on the sidewalk dressed in her Swiss costume and carrying a shopping bag.

  “Hi, Shelby!” Nancy called. “Buying more Choco-Wacko bars for your fondue tomorrow?”

  “Can’t talk now!” Shelby called back, her voice cracking. “I’ve got to go!”

  As Shelby quickened her pace, Bess said, “That was weird. Shelby always talks to us.”

  “She’s probably nervous about the International Food Fest tomorrow,” Nancy said. “She wants her fondue to be perfect.”

  The girls joined the other trotters and saw Hazel and her club. They wore collars made from blue and green feathers.

  “Pretty feathers,” Nancy told Hazel. “Did you buy them at Chippy’s Craft Mart?”

  Hazel shook her head. “We plucked them off feather dusters from Harry’s Hardware Store,” she said.

  Nancy, Bess, and George stood with the others at the starting point. Their knees jumped with excitement as they waited for the announcement. Finally it came . . .

  “On your mark . . . get set . . . trot!”

  Nancy, Bess, and George trotted forward along with the others. Many of the trotters gobbled as they ran the three blocks to the finish line in front of the Classy Coco chocolate store. Mayor Stone stood there holding a microphone. . . .

  “Congratulations on crushing the Turkey Trot, kids,” the mayor told the crowd. “I hope you like chocolate, because it’s time for the chocolate turkey prize!”

  Everyone turned to see the Classy Coco door fly open. Ann Epicure hurried out, but she didn’t have the chocolate turkey—just an armful of magazines!