Judy Moody, Girl Detective Page 4

  All four kids made a beeline for the door. They passed Ms. Tuxedo in the hall. “Did you see which way the plumbers went?” Judy and her fellow detectives asked at the same time. “Did they have pointy ears? Did you hear a dog barking?”

  “You kids better get back to class,” said Ms. Tuxedo. “The bell’s about to ring any minute now.”

  For the last twelve minutes of the school day, Judy Moody had ants in her pants. Bees in her knees. Bug eggs in her legs. Who could sit still when the green van might be back any minute?

  Scoo-bee-doo, Nancy Drew! An international ring of thieves, right here at Virginia Dare School! With Judy Drewdy and her crack detectives on the case, those thieves’ dognapping days were numbered.

  At last the bell rang. Judy raced out front to the parking lot. Still no green van in sight. “All aboard,” yelled the bus driver. Judy waited till the last possible second. Still no van. She hopped on the bus. The doors whooshed shut as the bus pulled out of the parking lot. Judy pressed her nose to the window of Bus 211.

  There it was! A green van! A green van that said WE FIX TOILETS AND OTHER PLUMBING EMERGENCIES. A green van that said CALL 1-555-UNCLOG-U on the side.

  That was it! It was them! Stink and Rocky saw it, too.

  “STOP!” cried Judy. “Stop the bus!”

  The bus driver could not stop for one kid with a not-toilet emergency. The bus driver would not stop for a solve-a-mystery emergency. The bus driver had a way-big important schedule to keep.

  Judy took out her Nancy Drew lipstick and wrote SOS on the back window of the school bus.

  The bus driver still would not let Judy off the bus. The bus driver told Judy to sit down. The bus driver did not know that in that van might be Mr. Chips.

  From the back of the bus, Judy watched the green van disappear until it was no bigger than a bug. The wheels on the bus went round and round. Judy’s detective heart went pound, pound, pound. What if Mr. Chips was never, ever, ever found?

  “I’ll find you, Mr. Chips. Don’t you worry,” she whispered to nobody but herself and the universe.

  After school, Judy was sitting on her bed, chewing a pencil, trying to think of a plan. A green van plan. All of a sudden, she heard strange sounds coming from the bathroom. Splishing sounds. Splashing sounds. Flushing sounds. Gushing sounds.

  Was Stink giving Astro, his guinea pig, a bubble bath? Taking Toady surfing in the tub? She climbed down from her top bunk to investigate. Mouse followed her.

  “Stink, who’s in the ba —?” But Stink wasn’t in the tub. Stink was stuffing stuff down the toilet! The Hulk, Iron Man, a rubber ducky, and Mouse’s squeak toy. He poked it with his plastic lightsaber. Wheek! Wheek! Wheek-wheek-wheek! Mouse jumped up on the toilet to see.

  Judy peered into the toilet bowl. It was swimming with dead Goldfish. The cracker kind, that is. “Stink, what are you doing? Playing Superhero Tsunami in the toilet?”

  “Duh,” said Stink. “What’s it look like? I’m overflowing the toilet. Then we’ll have a toilet emergency, and we’ll have to call a plumber. The bad guys in the green van will come right to our house. We’ll flush ’em out and rescue Mr. Chips! Get it?”

  “Genius!” said Judy. Just then, Stink flushed the toilet. Spew! Water sprayed up out of the toilet in a geyser and gushed all over the floor. Judy leaped out of the way. Mouse sprang onto the rim of the bathtub.

  “Toilet emergency! Toilet emergency!” Stink yelled.

  Mom and Dad came running up the stairs. “Judy,” said Mom, “if this is another one of your Boston Tub Parties —”

  “Stink did it!” said Judy, pointing at her brother.

  “Mouse did it!” said Stink, pointing at the cat.

  “Out of the way, Stink, so I can turn off the water,” said Dad, reaching behind the toilet.

  “We have to call a plumber!” said Stink.

  Judy tried to help. “We should call those guys Flush and Flo, or Push and Go, or Flash and Glo. The guys in the green van.”

  Mom put on rubber gloves. She pulled Darth Vader out of the toilet. “We’re not calling a plumber. Plumbers are very expensive.”

  Dad plunged the toilet until the water went down.

  “I don’t know what you two were up to,” said Dad, “but you kids are going to clean up this mess.”

  Mom handed her rubber gloves to Judy.

  “Grab a bucket, Suds,” said Judy. “I’ll get the mop, and we’ll clean up the scene of the crime.” So much for the Judy Moody Detective Agency. It was more like the Mop and Bucket Brigade.

  As soon as the bathroom was sparkling clean, Judy and Stink ran outside to meet Rocky and Frank at the old manhole. “Somebody in this neighborhood has got to have a broken toilet for real,” said Stink.

  “Let’s knock on doors and ask,” said Judy. “But if anybody wants your name, use a fake one, just in case. In The Thirteenth Pearl, Nancy Drew uses the alias Nan Drewry.”

  “I’ll be James Madison. Judy, you be Elizabeth Blackwell.”

  “Duh. Everybody knows we’re not them,” said Judy.

  “Okay, then I’ll be James Madagascar,” said Stink.

  “I’ll be Liz Inkwell.”

  “Spuds Houdini,” said Rocky.

  “Dills Pickle,” said Frank.

  Liz Inkwell rang bells. Dills Pickle knocked on doors. They asked, “Is your toilet broken?” But not one single house in the whole entire state of Virginia, it seemed, had a broken toilet. Not even a stopped-up sink or a semi-flooded basement.

  “We’ll never find Mr. Chips,” said Liz Inkwell. “Nancy Drew would have found him three days ago. First, she would have been kidnapped, bound and gagged, and thrown in a river. But by now she’d be at the River Heights Police Station collecting a big, fat medal.”

  “Boo-hoo, Nancy Drew,” said James Madagascar. “Rule Number One: A good detective does not get in a bad mood.”

  “You’re right, Stink. A good detective always keeps her spirits up.”

  Judy shook herself to shake off her bad mood. “Eureka! I’ve got it! If those thieves know we’re onto them, maybe they’re not pretending to be plumbers anymore.”

  “A dognapper could pretend to look like anybody,” said Rocky.

  “Yeah, an old lady. A dog walker. An elf. A clown,” said Judy.

  “How about a mailman?” asked Frank, pointing across the street.

  “Hey, it’s Jack Frost!” said Stink as they ran toward his mail truck. “Is your toilet broken, by any chance?”

  “Have you seen a green van around here?” Frank asked.

  “How about any cute, brown, and hairy dogs?” Judy asked.

  “Who answer to the name of Mr. Chips?” asked Stink.

  “Or any sneaky bad guys who look like plumbers?” Frank asked.

  “Or any old ladies or clowns who look like sneaky bad guys?” Rocky asked.

  “One question at a time! Let’s see . . .” Jack Frost scratched his beard. “I did see Mildred Benson’s Chihuahua. But he’s not cute. And he’s not hairy. I haven’t seen any green vans, just two white cable TV trucks. No suspicious old ladies today. And not one single clown.”

  “Roar,” said Judy.

  “But there is one thing that’s strange. Might be a mystery.”

  “What? What?” they all said at once. “What is it? Tell us!”

  Jack Frost held up an empty sandwich bag. “I packed a lunch this morning and put it in the truck. But when I got back to the truck at lunchtime after walking my route, my food was missing.”

  “Strange,” said Stink.

  “Weird,” said Rocky and Frank.

  “Interesting,” said Judy. She peered at the plastic baggie up close. She held it up to the light. “Was it a baloney sandwich?”

  “Yes. Yes, it was.”

  “Did your baloney sandwich have mustard?”

  “Yes. Yes, it did,” said Jack Frost.

  “How did you know that?” asked Rocky.

  She pointed with her Grouchy pencil. “Ther
e’s a mustard fingerprint right here. And I can smell the baloney.”

  “So it was Colonel Mustard, with the baloney sandwich, in the mail truck!”

  “Or,” said Stink, “maybe a koala ate the baloney sandwich.”

  Judy shot him a super-sidewinder stare. A poison-dart-frog glare. “What?”

  “Fact,” said Stink. “Koalas are one of the only animals with fingerprints. And a koala’s fingerprint looks almost exactly like a human’s.”

  “I didn’t see a single koala in the kitchen while I was making the sandwich, so I guess that mustard print is mine,” said Jack Frost.

  “So the fingerprint is just a red herring,” Judy said.

  “What’s a red herring?” asked Stink.

  “A PU stinky fish,” said Rocky.

  “No, a false clue,” Judy told them. “To throw us off. That means . . . Hypers! The missing baloney sandwich is the clue, not the mustard fingerprint. We’re lucky we stumbled on it, just like Nancy Drew in The Clue in the Crumbling Wall.”

  “But how is the baloney sandwich a clue if it’s missing?”

  “Don’t you get it? The bad guys are training Mr. Chips to steal stuff. You saw how smart he was at school that day. First it was my backpack. Then it was a dog bone; now it’s people food. Think what could be next. Diamonds? Jewels? Or will they train him to rob a bank?”

  “Oh, no,” said Frank. “Mr. Chips is turning into a jewel thief.”

  “Or a bank robber,” said Rocky.

  “Or a clock stealer,” said Stink. “Like in Judy’s book.”

  “Sounds like your Mr. Chips has gone over to the dark side,” said Jack Frost, opening up the back of his mail truck. It was heaped with bins full of mail.

  “Yeah, we’ll have to call him Mr. Darth Vader Chips,” said Frank.

  Suddenly, she, Judy Moody, could not believe her eagle eyes! In the back of the mail truck, she spied a bunch of magazines tied up with rope. Rope exactly like the rope the plumbers had. Rope that could be used to tie up Mr. Chips! Jack Frost, fake mailman, with the rope, in the mail truck!

  “Who is this Mr. Chips, anyway?” asked Jack Frost. “Some kind of canine criminal?”

  “Like you don’t know,” Judy muttered. Then, louder, “Where’d you get this rope? Do you like dogs? Did you really lose your baloney sandwich? You say that was your fingerprint? Are all those mailbags really for mail?” Pow. Pow. Pow. Judy fired detective questions at her new suspect.

  Stink yanked on her arm and pulled her to the other side of the street. “Are you cuckoo?” he whispered. “Why are you being such a meanie to Jack Frost?”

  “Rule Number One, Stink: Everyone’s a suspect. Didn’t you see that rope he had in the back of his mail truck? It’s just like the rope used to tie up Mr. Chips. Admit it, Stinker, Jack Frost could be working with the dognappers. He could be part of a ring of international jewel thieves!”

  “Hel-lo! Jack Frost is not a thief,” said Stink. “He’s a mailman. And he’s my friend. Look at him — he looks like Santa Claus.”

  “That’s just it,” said Judy. “Anybody can be a bad guy. Even Santa Claus. Think about it, Stink. One — a mailman always carries dog treats. He could be helping the bad guys train Mr. Chips to sniff out the loot for stealing. Two — he knows when people go on vacation, so he could case the neighborhood and tip off the bad guys when people aren’t home. And three — what’s the perfect place to hide loot like diamonds? A mailbag. Pretty soon, nobody will get any mail, and there won’t be any jewels left in the whole state of Virginia. I rest my case.”

  “Jack Frost gave you mittens for Christmas! Jack Frost made it snow! Would a jewel thief give you mittens? Would a dognapper make it snow for Christmas?” Stink ripped off his bug-pin badge and handed it to Judy. “I quit!” he huffed.

  “Before you quit,” said Judy, “go ask Jack Frost where he got that rope.”

  Stink crossed his arms. He uncrossed his arms. He walked over to Jack Frost. Judy came along behind him. He asked about the magazines tied up with rope.

  “Oh, I’m just helping out Mrs. Stratemeyer down the street. She’s old and can’t get out, so she bundles up her used magazines and I recycle them for her.”

  “Aha! So you did see an old lady today,” said Judy. Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “Sure,” said Jack Frost. “Well, the mail won’t deliver itself.” Jack Frost hopped back into the truck and started it up. “Let me know if you find that sandwich!” he called.

  “See?” said Stink. “The rope is just one of those stinky red fish.”

  “Red herring,” said Rocky and Frank at the same time.

  “Herring, schmerring. I rest my case,” said Judy. Just then she realized that the mail truck had started off down the street. “Wait! What was that old lady’s name? How do you spell it? And what street does she live on?”

  But it was too late. Jack Frost’s taillights were already turning the corner.

  The next day, she, Judy Moody, was in a mood. An UN-detective mood. A bummed-out, not-Nancy-Drew mood. Not one clue so far had led to finding Mr. Chips. Nancy Drew made it all look so easy-peasy even if she was in an avalanche or being strangled by a python. But what if Judy Moody, Girl Detective, never cracked the case? What if Mr. Chips never made it home?

  Mystery UNsolved. Judy wondered if Nancy Drew ever had an unsolved case. She didn’t think so. Rule Number One: Never give up!

  Judy sat at the third-grade lunch table. In between bites of peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich, she made a list of suspects in her detective notebook:

  The trail had gone cold. The green van had been at school again this morning, but it was gone by lunch. The toilet in the girls’ bathroom was fixed. And Jack Frost was just delivering mail, like he did every day. Even old Mrs. S. was probably just some nice old lady like Mrs. Abby Rowen in Nancy Drew #1, The Secret of the Old Clock. Some nice lady who liked to recycle.

  Judy was miles away when she heard Jessica Finch bark from across the table, “Hey, my lunch! Somebody . . . Judy Moody stole my lunch for real this time!”

  “Me too!” said Matthew.

  “Me three!” said Jordan. The whole third-grade lunch table stared at Judy with googly eyes.

  Judy popped up out of her chair and peered into Jessica’s pink piggy lunch box. “Was it a baloney sandwich?” she asked.

  “Fail. Guess again,” said Jessica.

  “Did you have a baloney sandwich?” Judy asked Matthew.

  “Nope.”

  “Did you have a baloney sandwich?” Judy asked Jordan.

  Jordan shook her head no. “But somebody spilled my salad all over.”

  “Somebody smushed my hummus sandwich,” said Matthew.

  “And somebody spilled all the apples out of my Apple Curry Turkey Pita!” Jessica Finch squeaked.

  “What are you guys? The Health-Nut Lunch Club or something?”

  Jessica looked at Matthew and Jordan. “We’re the Tofu Triplets.” Jessica was so not kidding. Judy laughed, and milk sprayed out her nose.

  “We bring healthy stuff for our lunches and share. Today I brought an organic chocolate-chip cookie for everybody,” said Jessica. “And now mine is G-O-N-E, gone! All that’s left are a few lousy crumbs.”

  “That’s the way the cookie crumbles,” Judy teased.

  “Mine’s gone, too,” said Matthew.

  “Me three,” said Jordan.

  “And we know who stole them.” All three of the Tofu Triplets pointed at Judy Moody. “Give us back our cookies, you crummy cookie crook!”

  “Crumbs to that. Why would I steal a chocolate-chip cookie when I have my own right he —” She lifted up her sandwich. She searched under her napkin. “Aye-crumba! Somebody stole my cookie, too.” Something strange was going on at Virginia Dare School. And getting stranger by the minute.

  “Jessica, did you have your lunch box with you at all times today?”

  “Some detective,” said Jessica. “Mr. Todd told us to drop our lunches out here
before going to the library, remember? Anybody could have gotten into them.”

  “I bet it was a fifth-grader,” said Jordan.

  Wait just a Nancy Drew minute. Was the green van back at school again? Were the bad guys training Mr. Chips to steal chocolate-chip cookies now? But why? Maybe the cookies were just practice. Part of Mr. Chips’s training. Today they were teaching him to sniff out chocolate-chip cookies. Tomorrow — diamonds and jewels and stuff?

  Nancy Drew was always vexed by her cases. Judy Moody was vexed and perplexed. Which was just a fancy-Nancy way of saying stumped.

  Or was she?

  “Jeepers! I think I’ve got it!” Judy cried. All she needed now was one more clue. One more piece to solve the puzzle and crack this case wide open. And that clue could only come from one person — mailman Jack Frost.

  The rest of the day, Judy Moody was on double-triple pins and needles. As soon as the bus dropped her off, she raced down the street to find Jack Frost.

  “Hi, Jack Frost!” Judy called.

  “So we’re friends again?” Jack Frost teased.

  “Chums,” said Judy, nodding. “One question.”

  “Shoot,” said Jack Frost.

  “Okay, think back to yesterday. Was there anything else, anything in your lunch besides a baloney sandwich?” Judy had her pad and pencil ready.

  Jack Frost scratched his head. Jack Frost stroked his beard. “Well, let’s see. There was a carrot . . .”

  “Uh-huh, uh-huh. What else? What else?”

  “A box of raisins . . .”

  “AND?”

  “Oh, yes. A super-scrumptious, ooey-gooey chocolate-chip cookie. I had my heart set on it, but all that was left were crumbs.”

  “Holy jeepers!” Judy screeched. At last, she, Judy Moody, had a break in the case. She knew just how Nancy Drew felt when she cracked the secret code, “Blue bells will be singing horses,” in The Password to Larkspur Lane.

  Judy raced home to bake cookies. Before you could say I-spy-with-my-eagle-eye, flour was flying and butter was becoming batter.