The Homemade Stuffing Caper Read online

  “Okay, let’s have it,” I said.

  Jessica held her fist up to her shoulder, and Merlin, the parrot, climbed on. She set him on the table.

  “I bought this parrot about a week ago from Bird World over at the mall. I wanted a talking parrot, and I told the salesman that. He guaranteed that this bird would repeat every word it hears. But watch …”

  She stroked the top of the parrot’s head and leaned over.

  “Merlin, say, ‘Good evening, Queen Jessica.’”

  The bird remained silent. Henry glanced at me. He mouthed Queen Jessica and tried to keep from laughing.

  “See … nothing,” she moaned.

  I reached over to the bird and extended my hand, then quickly pulled it back. Better to get permission first.

  “May I?”

  Jessica nodded. Merlin climbed onto my hand. I examined the creature closely. I held him up to my ear and listened, then set the bird back down on the table.

  “Hmmm, did you go back to the pet store and complain?”

  “Of course, Einstein. And the salesman told me the same thing: ‘This bird will repeat whatever he hears.’”

  “Maybe you should—,” Henry started to add, but was quickly cut off.

  “I don’t need analysis from a second banana. I came to talk to him,” she said, pointing at me.

  Henry smiled politely and sat down. I could see he was about to explode.

  “Listen, Collier, I want you to go down to the pet shop and investigate this guy. Get me some dirt on him.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  I stood up and walked around the table so that Merlin’s back was to me. I leaned over and clapped my hands loudly. Jessica and Henry both jumped. The parrot, however, had not moved a feather.

  “What was that for?” she grumbled.

  “The salesman was right. This bird will repeat whatever it hears.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m afraid your bird is deaf.”

  Henry popped up from his chair, grabbed the money jar, and extended it to Jessica for payment. She pulled several coins from her pocket and jammed them into the jar.

  “Hey, Jessica,” I said. “You’d better keep an eye on Merlin. A lot of pet birds have been disappearing from around here. It’s all over the news.”

  She apparently did not appreciate the warning. She threw open the door and left in a huff.

  “That poor bird,” Henry said, shaking his head.

  “Poor bird? He’s the lucky one,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  I pulled the fedora down over my eyes and smiled. “He doesn’t have to listen to her.”

  After having survived Jessica, and a half-dozen other clients with problems ranging from mysterious, unsigned love letters to booby-trapped rolls of toilet paper in the girls’ bathroom, we both decided we had earned a well-deserved dinner break. We ordered an extra-large pizza and feasted on it while waiting for our next client. In less than ten minutes, the empty pizza box rested on the card table.

  “I’m gonna puke right here,” Henry moaned.

  “You do, and you’ll have to clean it up,” I said as I climbed to my feet. I pointed at the last piece of pizza. “It’s all yours.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Well, somebody has to,” I said.

  “Just where is it written that you have to finish a pizza?! I mean, what’s the big deal?”

  “There is a pizza code of honor. You order it, you eat it. End of discussion.”

  Henry took a deep breath, peeled the last piece of pizza off the bottom of the cardboard box, folded it into fours, closed his eyes, and jammed it into his mouth.

  “I just realized something,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Scarlett never showed up. I wonder what happened.”

  “Beats me,” Henry said as he swallowed the last bite of pizza. “We don’t need her business anyway.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eleven. We’d better get this place cleaned up. Your parents will be here any minute.”

  I shrugged. “You know something, Henry?”

  “What?”

  “I’m numb. I don’t feel a thing.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?” Henry asked as he started folding up the lawn chairs and putting them away.

  “This whole Snoop for Hire business. It’s just not as exciting as it used to be.”

  “You want exciting? Check the jar. We made some decent money tonight.”

  “No, I mean that none of these cases were very challenging. We solved every one from right here in the garage.”

  “What’s boring about that? No legwork.”

  “That’s no fun. I enjoy the hunt. Tracking down leads … questioning sources … going undercover.”

  Henry picked up the card table and began breaking it down. “Charlie, our clients are other sixth-graders. They don’t have the kinds of problems you’re talking about. These aren’t Sam Solomon cases.” He slid the card table behind an extension ladder. “You’re just gonna have to get used to figuring out brain busters and solving meaningless problems for kids at school.” Henry folded up one of the lawn chairs and lifted it onto a hook on the far wall. “Face it, nobody in his right mind is going to hire a twelve-year-old kid to solve a real mystery.”

  “Well, I don’t see why—” I froze in mid-sentence. Headlights beamed through the garage window. “Oh no, my parents.”

  As the overhead garage door began to rise, Henry and I slipped out the side door and crouched down behind a row of bushes.

  As the van pulled up the driveway, half of Grandma’s body extended out the sunroof. She was wearing a ten-gallon cowboy hat and was swinging a lasso over her head.

  “Will you sit down, Mom, before you lose your head?” my dad yelled.

  “Not till I catch that pesky varmint.” Grandma swung the rope over her head, tossed it at the garbage cans, and actually snared one. The painful sound of metal hitting metal soon followed as the can banged against the side of the van. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my dad ran over the can, smashing it beneath the van’s rear tires.

  “C’mon, let’s sneak back into the house,” I whispered.

  Henry started to snicker. “No offense, man, but your granny is hilarious.”

  Over the years, I had heard much stronger language regarding my grandmother’s mental fitness. Even my parents were at odds at what to do with her. It’s not that my mom wasn’t fond of her mother-in-law; it was just that her strange behavior was so unpredictable, it made it difficult to run a household.

  More than once, Mom had asked my dad to consider placing his mother in what they would refer to as “an assisted-living facility.” But Dad would always cave. I wasn’t sure if his response was the action of a loving and caring son, or someone who feared this slightly unstable senior citizen.

  I, however, had my own theory. Unlike others, I firmly believed that my grandmother was perfectly sane … that she knew exactly what she was doing, and was messing with everyone for fun. As you might guess, I kept that opinion to myself. But the more I thought about it, the more certain I was. After all, who in his right mind wouldn’t love to wake up each morning and assume a new identity—one of his own choosing—one filled with excitement and intrigue? This was precisely what Grandma was doing, and I for one was a little jealous.

  Henry and I scurried into the house. We grabbed a deck of cards from one of the kitchen drawers, quickly poured two glasses of milk, and sat down at the dinner table. Henry split the deck of cards in half—as if to suggest we were in a heated battle of War.

  When my folks and Grandma came in the back door, Henry and I greeted them with two of the most innocent expressions we could muster. My mom smiled at us, and said, “Nice to see you, Henry,” while my dad just shook his head. He had other things on his mind.

  “Mom, I can’t just buff that out,” my dad said. “I’
m going to have to go to a body shop.”

  “Oh, quit your bellyaching,” Grandma said. “I bagged us a no-good desperado out there. You oughta be thanking me.”

  My mom took my dad by the arm and gently steered him out of the room. Over the years Mom had taken on the role of referee in bouts between Dad and Grandma. She was good at it. I almost bought her a black-and-white-striped referee shirt as a little joke for Mother’s Day last year, but then dismissed the idea. It’s doubtful that my dad would have appreciated the humor.

  “Okay, which one of you sidewinders is holding the ‘dead man’s hand’?” Grandma said as she pulled up a chair and joined us. She placed her cowboy hat on the table and dropped her lasso onto the floor.

  “Huh?” Henry said.

  “The ‘dead man’s hand,’” Gram said. “You know, aces and eights. The cards Wild Bill Hickok was holding when he met his untimely demise.”

  I smiled. “Oh … well, we’re playing War not poker.”

  “Ahh, that game’s for tenderfoots. Gimme those cards.”

  My mom poked her head in. “Henry, how are you getting home?”

  “I have to call my dad,” he said.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll take you. Let me change first,” she said as she ducked out.

  “Okay, gentlemen,” Grandma said as she finished shuffling. “The game is seven-card stud, deuces wild. Ante up or make room for the next player.” She winked and began dealing.

  Henry leaned over to me and whispered, “I love her, man.”

  I smiled. Me too, I thought.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Loss of Patients Caper

  Maybe it was because it was a Monday. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I watched the second hand creep ever so slowly on a large, round clock on the front wall above Mrs. Jansen’s head. Whoever said that time stands still when you stare at a clock could not have been more correct. Only four days remained before spring break, and I was oh so ready. I had hoped that the time off would help me regain a desire to solve even the simplest mysteries. Henry and I hadn’t booked any new clients. Maybe they sensed that I was losing interest in their problems, that I longed for something more, that I was ready for the next challenge.

  Henry was right. No adult would ever hire a kid to solve a real case. I was destined to be, at best, a detective wannabe. The clock read 2:29. One more minute. The second hand seemed to crawl as it climbed toward its target. Then, finally … RRRRRING! As the classroom came alive again, I stuffed books into my backpack and got up to leave. That’s when Scarlett Alexander stopped next to my desk.

  “I still need to talk to you—unless you’re too busy,” she said disgustedly.

  “What do you mean? You were the one who didn’t show up on Saturday.”

  “What are you talking about?” she snapped. “I wanted to come but Henry told me there weren’t any more openings. He said all the appointments were filled.”

  “What? We had plenty of openings.”

  Scarlett placed her hands on her hips and scowled. She scanned the room. She had to be looking for Henry. And he must have anticipated that because he was nowhere in sight.

  “I’m sorry about all of this,” I said. “What about right now? Do you have time?”

  “My mom’s picking me up,” she said. “We’re headed to the library. But I suppose I’ve got a couple of minutes.”

  “Okay, great, so what can I do for you?”

  “Well, not really me—it’s for my grandpa.”

  Her grandpa? Did I hear her right? An adult actually needed my help? Could this be it? Could this be the assignment I had been waiting for all my life? I was starting to hyperventilate. I needed to relax. I needed to make Scarlett think that I handled cases for grown-ups all the time.

  “Oh, I remember now,” I said. “Someone or something is missing, right?”

  “Uh-huh. His parrot, Socrates, is gone.”

  Wait a minute. A missing parrot? This was just like the story on the news the other day. This was a big deal. And she wanted me to help? I couldn’t believe it.

  But before she could continue, Sherman Doyle slipped in between us, shielding Scarlett from my view. He stood there and stared at me.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Sherman?”

  He just glared. What was this guy doing? Granted, Sherman was no one to be taken lightly but Scarlett was in need, and at that moment he really didn’t scare me. I tried to look around him, but the man-child was a wall unto himself. I prayed that this interruption wouldn’t discourage Scarlett, but when I stood up on my chair and peered over Sherman, she was gone. Darn it!

  I sneered at the big oaf. He was messing with my big case. He’d better have a good reason.

  “So, what do you want?” I said impatiently.

  “You been real quiet in here lately. Just keep it that way.” He flashed a dumb smile, and was off.

  That was it. That was all he wanted. That was the reason I lost an opportunity to take on the biggest case of my life. I had a good notion to follow him out to the playground and … Yeah, right. Like I would ever confront someone like that. I began to recall the stories I had heard about how Sherman had supposedly dismembered kids at his former school. No one had ever spoken to his victims … either because they didn’t exist, or because they were no longer of this earth. I didn’t care to find out.

  I slung my backpack over my shoulder and ran outside to look for Scarlett. I first surveyed the playground. Not there. I checked the parking lot. Another dead end. I had to find her. I had to tell her that I’d be more than happy to take on her case. I continued searching for the next several minutes. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.

  Then I spotted Henry at the bus stop. I ran over to confront him. “Thanks a lot, pal,” I said.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he said.

  “You told Scarlett we were all booked up on Saturday night? What was that about? We had plenty of openings.”

  “Charlie, relax. I just wanted to keep a few slots open for walk-ins. That’s all.”

  “Well, I gotta find her and straighten things out.”

  “It’s too late for that now,” Henry said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw her mom pick her up a minute ago.”

  “That’s just great,” I said. It wasn’t bad enough that I lost a chance to spend some quality time with Scarlett. Now it appeared that I had let a killer case slip right through my fingers. How could I fix this? And then I remembered. Scarlett had said something about going over to the library. If I hustled I might be able to catch her there. Then I could finally clear up this whole matter. “I’ll see you later,” I said to Henry.

  “Where you headed? You’re not taking the bus?”

  “No, I gotta be somewhere.”

  “Want some company?” Henry asked.

  I didn’t want to offend him but I knew that it would be much tougher to patch things up with Scarlett with Henry around.

  “No, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Twenty minutes later I entered the library. Scarlett had to be here somewhere. She just had to. I began a thorough search of the entire building. I strolled up and down each aisle, poked my head into every room, even went outside and checked the parking lot for her car. After ten minutes or so, I was fairly certain that I had missed her. Either she had already come and gone, or she had never been here in the first place.

  I was beginning to worry that I had missed my chance of landing a Sam Solomon–type of case. Scarlett had to be getting frustrated with our inability to sit down and talk this out. She might even think that I wasn’t interested in helping her. Henry hadn’t done me any favors by turning her away the other night. I wouldn’t be surprised if she sought out another private eye, although I didn’t know any other twelve-year-olds with their own agencies.

  At that point there was little else to do but go home and lick my wounds. I was starting to feel sorry for myself—losing a shot at the big scor
e and all. But then a better idea popped into my head. I suddenly thought of the perfect remedy for the blues. I decided to head to the library basement and immerse myself in a Sam Solomon mystery.

  The lighting in the lower level was dim at best. It was as if you were reading through a haze. But in the basement, you could cuddle up with a friend—on paper that is—and imagine you were a swashbuckler, a titan, a crusader, a desperado, or a 1930s private cop. I sat down in a chair in the farthest corner from the staircase, surrounded by walls of words.

  That particular day was no different. I pictured myself alongside Sam, ready to assist him in whatever predicament lay before him. In Episode #3—The Loss of Patients Caper—Sam had been hired to locate a dozen people who, after having been admitted to a local hospital for routine surgeries, suddenly disappeared. It was one of my favorites. I had read it before, countless times. But like watching a favorite film, I never grew tired of this character. And even when I knew who was lurking around a dark corner, it didn’t matter. I still felt the rush.

  I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I had never encountered Sam Solomon. Fortunately, I’ll never have to worry about that—thanks to my grandfather. It was Grandpa Jim, Gram’s better half, who introduced me to Sam Solomon. They were Gramps’s favorite books when he was a kid—and now they’re mine. I still miss him. I can’t believe it’s been more than five years since he died. Grandma took it pretty hard at first, but then like a real trouper, she pulled it together and continued on with life—in her own crazy sort of way.

  I looked up as a door opened on the far basement wall and out stepped Eugene Patterson. He always volunteered at the library in the afternoons. He pushed a handcart in my direction and smiled when he saw me. It was at the same moment that Eugene attempted to turn his cart at too sharp an angle.

  “Oh no!” he said as a pile of books fell onto the floor.

  I jumped from my chair. “Need some help, Eugene?”

  The old man scratched his head, confused. “Not sure how that happened.”

  I knelt down to help retrieve the fallen books.