The Case of the Disappearing Dinosaur Read online

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Thank you for buying this

  Feiwel and Friends ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  For Sierra and Sage

  Chapter

  1

  Danika the Great

  It was a perfect Saturday afternoon. Blue sky, no clouds, no worries. One of those days you’d like to slide into a Xerox machine and copy 365 times.

  You could call it a year.

  And every day would be Saturday.

  Too bad I was stuck inside, sitting on Danika Starling’s living room floor. I was doing a lot of nothing much and pretending to be happy about it. Suddenly, Danika swept into the room wearing a top hat and cape. She beamed while Mila and I politely applauded. Off to the side, Lucy Hiller frowned unhappily. “Nuh-uh,” Lucy said. “Your entrance still needs something. It’s got no style. No zip.”

  “What do you mean, no zip?” Danika complained. “I haven’t even started my magic act yet.”

  “You’re taking the stage, Danika,” Lucy stated. “You’re putting on a big show. You’ve got to grab the audience’s attention right away.”

  “Lucy!” I groaned. “She’s rehearsing for a birthday party. What do you expect? Flashing lights and stink bombs?”

  “Jigsaw, you’re a wonderful detective. But leave the magic act to us,” Lucy commented. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “I’ve got it! Danika, you need a snazzy opening. Something peppy and fun. With loud music. You know, big drums and electric guitars. And this time, I’ll give you a snappy introduction.”

  Lucy gently pushed Danika out of the room. “Come in after I announce you,” she instructed.

  Danika did as she was told. Then Lucy, all curls and big eyes, turned to Mila and me. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!” she boomed. “It is time for our incredible magic show. Please put your hands together for … Danika the Great!”

  At that instant, Lucy blasted music from WFLY 92—the station with “all the hits and none of the misses.” Boom, boom, boom. Loud music rocked the walls. I plugged my fingers in my ears. Once again, Danika swept into the room, her cape flowing behind her. Lucy cut the music and clapped. “Fabulous! Fabulous! That’s much better!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you agree, Mila?”

  Mila nodded happily. “I can’t wait until the party tomorrow.”

  “I am waiting,” I pointed out. “And I’m getting bored, too. I thought we were going to play baseball.”

  “In a minute, Jigsaw,” Mila shushed. “First, Danika needs an audience so she can practice her magic act.”

  “I’ve got a magic trick,” I mumbled. “How about if we disappear?” I felt a sharp pain in my ribs. Yeesh. Mila sure had pointy elbows. I guessed baseball would have to wait.

  “Did someone say disappear?” Lucy asked.

  “Um, never mind,” I said.

  “That’s our big trick, when we really do make something disappear!” Lucy winked at Danika. “But it’s an extra-special trick. We’re not showing you that one today.”

  Danika raised her hands to silence the chatter. She told us, “I’m not only a magician. I’m also a mind reader. But I’ll need the help of the audience.”

  Danika explained that she would turn her back. We could then take any coin—a penny, nickel, dime, or quarter—and give it to her assistant, Lucy. I fished a nickel from my pocket and kissed it good-bye. Lucy put it on the table. She placed a coffee cup over it.

  “You can turn around now, Danika!” Lucy hollered.

  Danika stared at the ceiling. She rubbed her eyes and strained under the effort. “Please,” she hissed. “You must all concentrate on the coin. I will read your minds.”

  Danika haltingly murmured, “The answer is … a nickel.”

  “Again!” I demanded.

  This time I handed Lucy a dime. Once more, Danika asked us to concentrate. Well, Mila must have thought about that dime pretty hard. Because all I was thinking was, How did Danika pull off that trick?

  “Hmmmm,” Danika said, biting her lip. “This is very difficult.” She glanced at the cup and closed her eyes. “I see it now,” she said.

  “The answer is … a dime!”

  Chapter

  2

  Lost and Found

  Mila and I left for the park about fifteen minutes later. Actually, Lucy kicked us out. “We’ve still got a few more tricks to practice on our own,” Lucy told us. “We don’t want to reveal our amazing secrets.”

  Mila seemed disappointed. I slapped a baseball into my glove and pulled down my hat. “We are outta here,” I blurted.

  On the way to Lincoln Park, Mila said, “She’s pretty good, don’t you think, Jigsaw?”

  “I’m not a big fan of magic,” I confessed. “I feel like it’s cheating. Like everything is one big trick.”

  “Duh,” Mila replied. “That’s the whole idea, isn’t it? How do you think Danika did that mind-reading act?”

  “I was wondering about that,” I said. “It must be a code or something. I figure that Lucy gives her a secret signal.”

  “Or maybe she really can read minds,” Mila suggested.

  “Maybe cats can ride pogo sticks,” I replied. “But I kind of doubt it. That mind-reading act is as fake as a rubber chicken that lays scrambled eggs. I only wish I could figure out how Danika does it.”

  We spent the next half hour catching flies on the soggy grass. No, not the flies with wings and creepy suction feet. I’m a kid, not a frog. I was using my baseball glove—not a long, sticky tongue.

  I threw the baseball in a high, long arc to Mila. She drifted back and caught it easily. Mila is a good ballplayer. She is also my partner. We’re detectives. For a dollar a day, we make problems go away. We’ve found missing hamsters and stolen bicycles, runaway dogs and brownie bandits. But today we were catching baseballs, not bad guys.

  That is, until Joey Pignattano and Ralphie Jordan came running over. “We’ve been searching all over for you guys,” Joey wheezed.

  “You should have looked here first,” I said. “It would have saved you time.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ignore him, Joey,” Mila said. “What’s up?”

  Joey pulled a coin purse from his jeans pocket. The purse was made of red satin, with a little silver clip on the top.

  “Go ahead, Joey. Show ’em,” Ralphie urged.

  So Joey showed us. He opened the purse—and all I saw was green. Lots of green. The color of money.

  Mila whistled softly. “Where did you get this?”

  “We found it on the way to the candy store,” Joey said excitedly. “It was on the ground. Just sitting there. Doing nothing.”

  I held out my hand. “May I?”

  I emptied the purse onto the ground. Out spilled a red lipstick, a few rubber bands, thirty-seven cents in change, a scrap of paper, two ticket stubs, and a gang of dead presidents. That is, pictures of dead presidents. Two portraits of Andrew Jackson, three of Abraham Lincoln, and eight George Washingtons. In other words, sixty-three dolla
rs.

  I eyed Joey closely. “What do you plan on doing with this money?”

  “We’ve got to find the owner,” Joey said, eyes unblinking. “That’s why I came to you.”

  “Good answer, Joey. But you know our rates. We get a dollar a day,” I reminded him.

  Joey frowned. “I’m not made of money, Jigsaw. Besides, I just spent my whole allowance on candy.”

  “There will probably be a reward when we return it,” Ralphie said. “Maybe you could split it with us.”

  We shook hands and called it a deal. Baseball would have to wait. Because Joey Pignattano had just thrown us a fat pitch right over the plate. We had to take a swing at it.

  Chapter

  3

  Lining Up the Clues

  Mila looked over the contents of the purse. She folded the money neatly and placed it back inside the purse. She returned the rubber bands, lipstick, and loose change, then snapped the purse shut.

  “What about the rest?” Joey wondered.

  Mila didn’t answer. Instead, she read the piece of paper. It was a list, written in a sloppy scrawl.

  “Is that a clue?” Ralphie asked.

  “It’s a shopping list,” Mila replied. “And a clue.”

  “So is this.” I pointed at the blue ticket stub. “Too bad it’s been ripped in half. I’m not sure I can read all of the words.”

  Joey peered over my shoulder. “What’s a TER PAN?”

  “The play Peter Pan has been showing this week at the Steamer Ten Theater,” I answered. “I know because my sister Hillary’s in it. She plays one of the Lost Boys. Go figure. Anyway, it’s all she’s been talking about for weeks.”

  Mila pulled on her long black hair. “March eleventh—that’s yesterday.”

  “But how’s all this going to help us find the lady who lost the purse?” Joey asked.

  “Mysteries are like jigsaw puzzles,” I told Joey. “You keep looking at the pieces until they fit together. That’s how you solve the case. For example, you said it was a lady’s purse. We don’t know that for sure. Not all women carry purses and wear lipstick. And not all people who carry purses are women. We have to keep our minds open.”

  “I don’t think many kids carry around that kind of cash,” Ralphie noted.

  Holding the purse in her hand, Mila concluded, “The person who lost this purse probably went to see Peter Pan last night.” She studied the ticket stub once more. Puzzled, she read aloud, “I-N-E-E ONLY?”

  “It could be the row,” Joey suggested. “Like you were only allowed to sit IN row EE.”

  Before I could reply to that, a shout startled me. “HEY, YOU RATS! GIVE ME BACK MY MOTHER’S MONEY!”

  Bobby Solofsky jumped off his bicycle, letting it crash to the ground. “I’ll take that purse,” he demanded. “It belongs to my mom.” Bobby snatched at the purse.

  “Not so fast, cowboy,” I said, stepping between Bobby and the purse. “You’ll have to prove it first.”

  The first time I met Bobby Solofsky, I caught him trying to steal Cheez Doodles from my lunch box. That was way back in preschool. But some things never change. Like my dad says, “A zebra can’t change his stripes.”

  And Bobby Solofsky couldn’t change his ways. He was as straight as a plate of soggy spaghetti.

  And twice as slippery.

  Chapter

  4

  Something Fishy

  “Prove it?!” Bobby repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. “PROVE IT?!”

  The tips of his ears turned red with anger. “Prove it” was not what Bobby wanted to hear. Still, looking at the four of us standing across from him, Bobby saw there would be no other way. “Okay. I will prove it,” he finally snapped back.

  “Good,” I answered. “What was in the purse?”

  “Money. Gobs of it,” Bobby replied. “My mom’s money—and I want it back, every stinking penny.”

  I let out a slow, sleepy yawn. Ho-hum. “Strike one. Anybody could have guessed that, Solofsky. What else was in the purse?”

  A smile visited Bobby’s face. It looked lost there, like a tourist who’d taken the wrong bus. Smiles didn’t usually find their way to Bobby’s face. Smirks and sneers, yes. Smiles? Nope, not often.

  I repeated the question to Solofsky.

  He paused, thinking it over. “Oh, yeah, I remember,” Bobby said. “Tickets! My mom and me went to see Peter Pan last night.”

  There it was, that same fishy smile swimming across his face. I didn’t like the look of it. “You?” I exclaimed. “Peter Pan?!”

  Bobby folded his arms across a New York Yankees T-shirt. “Yeah, I always liked Twinkle Bell.”

  “Tinker Bell,” Mila corrected.

  “Whatever,” Solofsky snorted. “Just hand over the green stuff.”

  “Sorry, Solofsky. I can’t do that,” I replied. “There’s something fishy about your story.”

  “What do fish have to do with this?” Bobby protested.

  “Both smell,” I replied.

  I turned to Joey. “Who else knows about this purse you found?”

  “Nobody,” Joey answered. He bit his lip. “Except, er, maybe we showed Mike Radcliff.”

  “And Eddie Becker,” Ralphie added. “And Geetha Nair and Kim Lewis and…”

  I raised my hand. “Hold on. Is there anyone you didn’t tell?”

  Ralphie pointed at Bobby. “Yeah … him!”

  I knew that Mike Radcliff was Bobby Solofsky’s best friend. So I asked, “Did you show Mike and the others what was inside the purse?”

  Joey nodded and sheepishly bleated, “Yes. Did I mess up?”

  “Mike Radcliff is Bobby’s neighbor,” I pointed out. “He could have easily told Bobby about the purse—and what was inside it.”

  “So what?!” Bobby protested. A spray of spit spewed from his mouth. Ugh. If I needed a shower, I would have taken one at home.

  “Mike is my friend,” Bobby said. “Besides, it wasn’t a secret. So what if he did tell me about the purse. Mike’s a good guy. Obviously, you rats wanted to keep the money for yourselves.”

  “Save your breath, Solofsky. You’re wasting air,” I said. “This is not your mom’s purse—and you never went to see Peter Pan last night.”

  “How would you know?” Bobby challenged.

  “I swung an imaginary baseball bat in my hands. ‘It’s Tinker Bell, not Twinkle Bell. That’s strike two.”

  “Anybody could make a little mistake,” Bobby said.

  I shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Second, you said you saw the play last night. But look at this ripped ticket. It says ‘I-N-E-E.’ The first three letters are missing: M, A, and T. This ticket is for the MATINEE ONLY.”

  Bobby stared blankly. I could tell I’d reached the outer limits of his vocabulary.

  “A matinee is an afternoon show,” Mila explained. “You said you went last night. You lied, Solofsky.”

  I swung the imaginary bat once again. “Strike three, Bobby. You just whiffed with the bases loaded.”

  Solofsky scratched his head, muttering to himself. He was trying to think of a clever reply. It looked like it put a strain on his brain. Finally, Bobby pointed at me and cried, “I’ll get you back for this, Jigsaw Jones. Sooner or later, I’ll make you pay.”

  We watched him ride off in silence. Then Ralphie slapped me on the back. “Great work, Jigsaw!”

  Joey still seemed troubled. “Then whose purse is it?”

  “This shopping list might give us the answer,” Mila said. “Follow me, guys! I’ve got an idea.”

  Chapter

  5

  How the Cookie Crumbles

  Mila led us to a tidy row of stores on Waverly Avenue. We stopped about ten feet from Huck’s Hardware. Joey pointed to the ground beside a row of hedges. “We found the purse right there,” he told her.

  I knelt down with my handy-dandy magnifying glass. The dirt was still wet from last night’s rain. When I stood up, my knees were muddy.

  Mom wasn’
t going to like that. But, hey, what are knees for, anyway?

  “It rained hard last night,” Mila noted. “But the satin purse was pretty dry. No bad water stains. The owner must have dropped the purse this morning.”

  “Makes sense to me,” I agreed. “Let me look at that list again.”

  Ralphie read over my shoulder. He noted, “I bet one of these stores sells tape, cards, candles, and wrapping paper.”

  “But what about the cake?” I asked. “That’s the important item on this list. Look at the writing. All capital letters. Three exclamation points. Then look at the other items on the list. Candles, card, wrapping paper, tape. I’d bet my baseball cap it’s somebody’s birthday.”

  “Where can you get a cake around here?” Mila asked.

  Joey and Ralphie grinned happily. “Grandma’s Bakery!” they chimed.

  Ching, ching. Bells jingle-jangled when we opened the front door. Grandma’s Bakery was cool and airy and it smelled like a slice of heaven. Two teenage girls stood behind a glass counter filled with pastries. The tall girl smiled, flashing big white teeth. The other girl was short and grim. She looked like she’d just swallowed a sourball. I noticed that her hair was a spiky mess. It was possibly the worst haircut I’d ever seen—and I’d seen a few in my time. Sometimes on top of my own head.

  I asked the tall girl if anyone had picked up a birthday cake this morning.

  “Why should we tell you?” the Bad-Haircut-Girl sniped.

  “I’m working on a case,” I explained. “I’m a detective.” I handed her a business card.

  The Bad-Haircut-Girl sneered, “Yeah, right. You don’t look like detectives to me.”

  “Oh, just ignore Brenda,” the tall girl remarked. She pulled out a thick black book filled with the day’s receipts. “We keep track of our special orders,” she informed us, leafing through the pages.