a dame a favor and she turns into a cootie factory.
I pulled my arm back. "Look, sister," I said, "just give the guy behind the counter a wad of cash and scram. I'll drink the shakes and let you know if there's any change."
Meena's buckteeth showed in a simpering smile. "Whatever you say, Chet."
I turned to leave.
"Wait," she said. "You're going, just like that? I haven't even thanked you properly."
Before she could come closer and lay a lip lock on me, I held up a palm.
"I'm going the way I always go, with a big smile and a quick wave, and the hope I won't be seeing you again anytime soon."
The memory of Meena's puzzled face made me chuckle through the rest of the day.
After school, Natalie met me at the ice-cream shop. We made sure that Meena was nowhere near, then we settled in and slurped our shakes.
"Ah, the sweet taste of victory," I said.
She toasted me with a frosty glass. "Here's chocolate in your eye."
Silence reigned until we'd finished our first milk shakes and started our second.
Then Natalie took the straw from her mouth long enough to ask, "So, what's the deal with those weasels, anyway? Why did they do it?"
I shrugged. "Love and money are the usual reasons. Mr. Viesél loved his work. And of course there's a lot of dough to be made from good kids' allowances."
Natalie snorted. "Yeah, like you'd know about that."
I let her wisecrack pass. I was feeling too good about myself, too good about the world. I'd pay her back tomorrow.
We slurped some more and watched the afternoon sun paint the trees with gold leaf. The next day, we'd have to start beating the bushes for another case. But first we'd savor the end of this one.
I belched gently. "Oh, man. I'm getting full."
"Me, too."
Then I heard the saddest sound in the worldâa straw sucking air from the bottom of a glass. Natalie looked up from her empty tumbler.
"Should we have another shake?" she asked.
Our eyes met.
"Partner, we'd be fools not to."
----
Chet finds a mess of trouble when he takes on "The Hamster of the Baskervilles
I raised my head and checked out my fourth-grade classroom.
Desks lay tumbled around the room like doll furniture in a cranky preschooler's playpen. Half-eaten papers covered the floor. Deep gashes raked the walls. A handful of seeds rested on the floor by the door. The seeds of destruction, maybe?
Most of my classmates stood gaping, saucer-eyed in amazement.
Bitty Chu tearfully fingered a wad of shredded paper. "Somebody's been munching on my math quiz."
Waldo the furball ran a finger along his toppled chair. "Somebody's been slobbering on my seat."
I noticed a jagged gash on the wall had mutilated my latest masterpiece, a safety poster. Somebody'd been slashing up my artworkâand I guessed it wasn't Goldilocks.
What twisted hoodlum could have done such things?
Mr. Ratnose stood knee-deep in the mess. His eyes were round as doughnuts, with a dollop of bitter chocolate in the middle. He sputtered like a deranged sprinkler head. Finally, he choked out, "Who ... is ... responsible ... for this?"
Nobody moved, nobody spoke.
Bo Newt nudged me. "Whoever it was, he had monster feet," he whispered. "I'd hate to have to shop for his tennies."
I looked at the muddy footprints. Tony was right. Whoever made those tracks would wear shoes big enough to float downstream in.
"Who spoke?" said Mr. Ratnose. "Chet Gecko, was it you? Do you know something?"
For once, I passed up an easy target. "No, teacher."
Mr. Ratnose's whiskers quivered like an overstrung banjo. He paced up the aisle to me, wringing his paws. "You're some kind of detective," he muttered. "Can you find out who did this?"
I tilted my hat back and looked up at him. "I'm some kind of detective, all rightâthe kind that likes to get paid. If I track down this goon, what's in it for me? Can I get out of doing my science project?"
"No," said Mr. Ratnose.
"Can I get free lunches for a month?"
"Not likely," said Mr. Ratnose.
"Can
I pulled my arm back. "Look, sister," I said, "just give the guy behind the counter a wad of cash and scram. I'll drink the shakes and let you know if there's any change."
Meena's buckteeth showed in a simpering smile. "Whatever you say, Chet."
I turned to leave.
"Wait," she said. "You're going, just like that? I haven't even thanked you properly."
Before she could come closer and lay a lip lock on me, I held up a palm.
"I'm going the way I always go, with a big smile and a quick wave, and the hope I won't be seeing you again anytime soon."
The memory of Meena's puzzled face made me chuckle through the rest of the day.
After school, Natalie met me at the ice-cream shop. We made sure that Meena was nowhere near, then we settled in and slurped our shakes.
"Ah, the sweet taste of victory," I said.
She toasted me with a frosty glass. "Here's chocolate in your eye."
Silence reigned until we'd finished our first milk shakes and started our second.
Then Natalie took the straw from her mouth long enough to ask, "So, what's the deal with those weasels, anyway? Why did they do it?"
I shrugged. "Love and money are the usual reasons. Mr. Viesél loved his work. And of course there's a lot of dough to be made from good kids' allowances."
Natalie snorted. "Yeah, like you'd know about that."
I let her wisecrack pass. I was feeling too good about myself, too good about the world. I'd pay her back tomorrow.
We slurped some more and watched the afternoon sun paint the trees with gold leaf. The next day, we'd have to start beating the bushes for another case. But first we'd savor the end of this one.
I belched gently. "Oh, man. I'm getting full."
"Me, too."
Then I heard the saddest sound in the worldâa straw sucking air from the bottom of a glass. Natalie looked up from her empty tumbler.
"Should we have another shake?" she asked.
Our eyes met.
"Partner, we'd be fools not to."
----
Chet finds a mess of trouble when he takes on "The Hamster of the Baskervilles
I raised my head and checked out my fourth-grade classroom.
Desks lay tumbled around the room like doll furniture in a cranky preschooler's playpen. Half-eaten papers covered the floor. Deep gashes raked the walls. A handful of seeds rested on the floor by the door. The seeds of destruction, maybe?
Most of my classmates stood gaping, saucer-eyed in amazement.
Bitty Chu tearfully fingered a wad of shredded paper. "Somebody's been munching on my math quiz."
Waldo the furball ran a finger along his toppled chair. "Somebody's been slobbering on my seat."
I noticed a jagged gash on the wall had mutilated my latest masterpiece, a safety poster. Somebody'd been slashing up my artworkâand I guessed it wasn't Goldilocks.
What twisted hoodlum could have done such things?
Mr. Ratnose stood knee-deep in the mess. His eyes were round as doughnuts, with a dollop of bitter chocolate in the middle. He sputtered like a deranged sprinkler head. Finally, he choked out, "Who ... is ... responsible ... for this?"
Nobody moved, nobody spoke.
Bo Newt nudged me. "Whoever it was, he had monster feet," he whispered. "I'd hate to have to shop for his tennies."
I looked at the muddy footprints. Tony was right. Whoever made those tracks would wear shoes big enough to float downstream in.
"Who spoke?" said Mr. Ratnose. "Chet Gecko, was it you? Do you know something?"
For once, I passed up an easy target. "No, teacher."
Mr. Ratnose's whiskers quivered like an overstrung banjo. He paced up the aisle to me, wringing his paws. "You're some kind of detective," he muttered. "Can you find out who did this?"
I tilted my hat back and looked up at him. "I'm some kind of detective, all rightâthe kind that likes to get paid. If I track down this goon, what's in it for me? Can I get out of doing my science project?"
"No," said Mr. Ratnose.
"Can I get free lunches for a month?"
"Not likely," said Mr. Ratnose.
"Can
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