The Case of the Smelly Sneaker Page 2

  Chapter

  5

  Swiped!

  I thought I’d be watching the Turkey Bowl on Tuesday afternoon. Instead I was tackling a mystery. Somebody had swiped Bigs Maloney’s smelly sneakers.

  It was 1:45. We had just gotten back from the library. Ms. Gleason was on the reading rug, gabbing to a group of kids. They were trying to write a play about Squanto, the Native American who helped the Pilgrims.

  I was sitting at my table with Bigs, Lucy, and Stringbean Noonan. I drew a picture of a steamroller crushing a football player. I labeled the steamroller BIGS. I drew an arrow at the frightened football player. It read, THE GIRLS’ TEAM.

  Who says art is only for sensitive types?

  Lucy leaned forward and gave Bigs a friendly tap. She teased, “Are you ready to lose today?”

  “I’m ready to win,” Bigs replied, smiling broadly. He gestured toward the cubbies. “I’ve got my football sneakers in my backpack right over…”

  The smile fell from his face and crashed to the floor. “My backpack?!” he roared. “It was right on that hook. Where’d it go?”

  We found the backpack on the floor near the front door. The zipper was open. It was empty, except for a few rocks. “My sneakers are gone!” Bigs scowled. “They’ve been stolen!”

  A group of kids gathered around. Everyone felt bad for Bigs. Except Helen. She was only worried about the game. “No sneakers, huh?” Helen said. “Tough break, Bigs. But like they say on Broadway, the game must go on.”

  Bigs gestured to his heavy hiking boots. “I can’t play in these clunkers!”

  “He’s right,” Bobby protested. “The game’s called off. Our best player can’t play in boots.”

  Helen howled. “Called off? No way! Find someone else to take his place. Stringbean is wearing sneakers. He can play.”

  We turned to look at Stringbean Noonan.

  Stringbean shook his head from side to side. “Nuh-uh,” he said, his eyes wide and full of fear. “I’m allergic to football. It gives me a rash.”

  We didn’t call him Stringbean for nothing. Jasper Noonan was the skinniest kid in room 201. Sure, he was smart and friendly and all that good stuff. But Stringbean couldn’t tackle a cupcake. I’d hate to see him tangle with Lydia Zuckerman.

  “We’ll play tomorrow,” Bobby promised. “Right, Bigs? You’ve got another pair of sneakers at home, don’t you?”

  “I want my best pair,” Bigs stated, arms crossed. He turned to me. “Looks like you’ve got a mystery to solve, Jigsaw. No game until you find my sneakers.”

  I held out my hand. “You know our rates, Bigs. A dollar a day, plus expenses.”

  “But…” Bigs stammered.

  “But me no buts,” I said. “No money, no detective work. You do the math.”

  Bigs reached into his pocket, peeled off a dollar, and handed it to me. Bigs didn’t seem too happy about it—like George Washington was his best buddy. He hated to say good-bye.

  Mila pulled Bigs aside. “Can you remember the last time you saw your sneakers?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Bigs said.

  “Do you want us to find your sneakers or not?” I challenged.

  Bigs thought for a moment. “It was after recess,” he finally said. “I remember because I found some dinosaur fossils in the playground. I put them in my backpack when we came inside.”

  “Fossils?” I asked.

  Bigs shrugged. “Okay, okay. Just rocks, probably. But they looked cool.”

  His story made sense. If you found a cool rock, you kept it forever. Or until your mom made you throw it away.

  “You wanted to keep a rock?” Mila asked. She seemed confused. “Why?”

  “It’s a guy thing,” I explained.

  “Oh, like burping,” Mila noted.

  “Exactly.”

  “Recess was right before library,” I reminded Bigs. “Are you sure that’s when you last saw your sneakers?”

  “Sure I’m sure,” he stated.

  I reasoned, “Somebody must have sneaked in when we were at the library. It’s the only time the sneakers could have been taken.”

  “I guess,” Bigs mumbled.

  “One thing’s for sure,” I told him. “We’re looking for a sneaky sneaker thief.”

  I scribbled in my detective journal:

  “Hmmm,” Mila said, pulling on her long hair. “I just had an idea. Follow me, Jigsaw.”

  Chapter

  6

  The Kid in the Hall

  Mila pointed down the hall. “There he is, George Seaver.”

  “Good thinking, Mila. Maybe George saw something.”

  George Seaver was a playground legend. He was the biggest troublemaker in school. Nearly every day his teacher, Mrs. Koosman, made George sit out in the hall. She even kept a desk out there for him.

  George had a way of making her batty. I’m sure George’s pet python, Fang, didn’t help. To this day, Mrs. Koosman refuses to open desk drawers.

  George was drawing a picture and giggling to himself. Without looking up, he said, “Jigsaw, Mila. What’s what?”

  “More like who’s who,” I said. “We’re working on a case. We’re wondering if you might have seen anything.”

  George finished the picture. It showed a boy flying happily above the clouds. I looked closer. The boy in the picture looked exactly like George. He shoved the page under a stack of papers.

  “What are you drawing, George?” Mila inquired.

  “Comics,” George replied. “I’m going to publish graphic novels someday.”

  “But in the meantime,” I added, “you’ll be happy making Mrs. Koosman bonkers.”

  George smiled devilishly. “Hey, it’s a living.”

  I told George about the case. Yes, he told us, he was out in the hall at that time. And, yes, he did see a few people go into the room.

  “Who?” Mila asked.

  George opened his palm. “The question is: How much?”

  “This better be worth it,” I said, and dropped two quarters into George’s hand. George pocketed the change. “Let’s see. Short girl, curly hair, red boots.”

  “Lucy Hiller,” Mila concluded.

  “That creepy Solofsky kid,” George continued, making a disapproving face. “Mr. Copabianco, the janitor. He emptied the trash.”

  “Anyone else?”

  George nodded. “Yeah, that girl who wins all the trophies. What do they call her? The Spring Street Superstar.”

  “Lydia Zuckerman?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

  “That’s the one. No doubt about it,” George said.

  We thanked him and returned to class.

  Ms. Gleason called us over to her desk. “What are you two up to?”

  I leaned close. “We’re working on a case.”

  Ms. Gleason put down her blue pencil. “Oh, my. Is it very, very dangerous?”

  I nodded.

  If Lydia Zuckerman had anything to do with this, it could be very, very dangerous indeed. But that’s life when you’re a detective. Danger is the name of the game.

  When the bell rang at the end of the day, we all headed for our buses. In the lobby, I heard Nicole Rodriguez call out, “Wrong way, Lucy! The bus is out here.”

  “My mom’s picking me up today,” Lucy told her. “I have to wait here. We’re going shopping at the mall!”

  I noticed Bigs and Ralphie. They were standing just inside the front doors.

  “Come on, guys. We’ll miss our bus,” I said.

  “Not today,” Bigs explained. “My mom is taking us to Gump’s Roller Mania. She’s leaving the twins with a sitter.”

  Ralphie smiled.

  “Oh,” I said. “Sounds like fun. See you around.”

  I slowly walked to the bus.

  I guess you can’t get invited to everything.

  Mila smacked me on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Jigsaw,” she said. “We’ve got a mystery to solve.”

  Chapter

 
7

  The List of Suspects

  Mila came over after school. We did our homework right away. Then we went down to my basement office.

  My dad was already down there. He was messing around in his workshop.

  “What are you doing home?” I asked.

  “I live here. Remember?” he replied.

  “I mean, why aren’t you at work?”

  He smiled. “My ducks.”

  “Your ducks?”

  “Yes,” he replied. He gestured to a couple of wooden ducks on his workbench. “Crested grouse, actually. They were calling my name. So I took the day off,” he explained.

  Mila looked to me for answers.

  “What can I say?” I told her. “It’s his hobby. He likes carving wooden ducks. Go figure.”

  “We’ll be in my office,” I said. My dad nodded, then picked up a paintbrush. He whistled softly to himself.

  Like my brother Billy said, “Dad’s a little quackers.”

  Mila and I talked about the case. We tried to answer all the “W” questions—when, where, what, why, and who. We already knew when, where, and what. But we were still working on why and who. I wrote a list of suspects in my journal. Each one had been seen going into room 201 at the time of the crime.

  “What about Mr. Copabianco?” Mila asked.

  “Mr. Copabianco was just doing his job,” I replied. “He always gets the trash in the afternoon. Besides, why would he want Bigs Maloney’s sneakers?”

  “Yeah, why,” Mila murmured. “That’s the big question.”

  “Why is easy. The thief wanted Bigs out of the game,” I reasoned. “Bigs couldn’t play without his sneakers. You heard Helen. She wanted the boys to use Stringbean Noonan instead. That would have given her team a fighting chance.”

  I circled Lydia Zuckerman’s name. “Suspect number one,” I said.

  “I think Bobby did it,” Mila suggested.

  “Bobby? Why would he steal from his own teammate?” I asked.

  “Look at what happened next,” Mila argued. “When the sneakers turned up missing, Bobby canceled the game.”

  “He had no choice,” I said.

  “He was afraid of losing,” Mila declared.

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “Bobby has been bragging about the Turkey Bowl nonstop.”

  “Exactly,” Mila replied. “If the boys lost, he’d look foolish.”

  “Tell you what,” I said. “You check out Bobby and Lucy. I’ll pay a visit to Lydia Zuckerman. I want to know what she was doing in room 201.”

  “Be careful,” Mila warned. “Lydia’s no pushover.”

  “Neither am I,” I said.

  I yawned, long and slow, as if the idea of confronting Lydia Zuckerman wasn’t worth worrying about.

  If I was nervous, nobody had to know.

  Chapter

  8

  Lydia

  Helen Zuckerman opened the front door. “Jigsaw!” she squealed. “What are you doing at my house?”

  “I’m here on business,” I stated. “A little matter of stolen sneakers. Is your sister home?”

  “Lydia?” Helen asked in surprise.

  I dug my hands into my pockets. “You got another sister I don’t know about?”

  Helen led me into what she called “the exercise room.” I heard Lydia’s grunts and groans from behind the door. “Thirty-six … thirty-seven … thirty-eight…”

  The place was a regular gymnasium. There was a weight set on the far wall. An exercise bike. A rowing machine. The works. Lydia was on a floor mat, doing sit-ups. She wore sweatpants and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off.

  “Not now,” Lydia said.

  “I’ve only got a few questions,” I offered.

  “I’m busy,” Lydia retorted.

  Lydia grabbed a towel and ran it across her face. She started on a set of push-ups.

  I stood beside her, arms on my hips. “I don’t want trouble,” I said. “But a witness saw you at the scene of a crime. I’m not leaving until you give me answers.”

  “What crime?” Lydia grunted.

  “Bigs Maloney’s sneakers took a walk,” I told her. “Thing is, Bigs’s feet weren’t in them at the time.”

  Lydia sighed and slowly rose. I stood my ground. Lydia glared at me. She leaned forward then blew into my face, like I was a birthday candle. I didn’t flinch. Lydia laughed softly. “You’ve got guts, Jones.”

  Lydia grabbed a hand weight. “You talk. I’ll lift.”

  I checked my detective journal. “Our witness says you were in room 201 at around one-thirty,” I said. “Is that true?”

  “I was delivering interschool mail,” she answered. “There was a letter for Ms. Gleason.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “You’re the detective—you prove it,” Lydia snapped. “All I know is I put an envelope in Ms. Gleason’s in-box.”

  “Too bad about the Turkey Bowl,” I said.

  “It’s all the same to me,” Lydia commented. “I was planning on a football game today. No game, that’s okay, too. I’ll get my exercise one way or another.”

  I turned to leave.

  Lydia looked me up and down. “Hey, detective. You ever think about exercising?”

  “I tried lifting weights once,” I answered. “But they were too heavy.”

  Lydia smiled. “You’re funny, Jones.”

  “Yeah, a regular laugh riot,” I mumbled. I shut the door behind me.

  Walking home, I thought it over. I was certain that Lydia was telling the truth. The letter to Ms. Gleason would be easy enough to check.

  Then it hit me. I remembered Lydia’s words: “I was planning on a football game.”

  She was planning on it.

  I thought of my old pal Ralphie.

  He had different plans.

  So did Bigs Maloney.

  And so did Lucy Hiller.

  All three of them had plans.

  Only none of their plans included football.

  Chapter

  9

  The Confession

  “May I be excused?” I asked at dinner.

  “So soon?” my mother asked. “Don’t you want dessert?”

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  My mother felt my forehead. “Are you feeling ill?”

  I pushed back my chair. “It’s not that, Mom. I’ve got business to take care of.”

  I called Mila from the hallway. “I think Ralphie and Bigs are in on this together,” I said. “Lucy might be involved, too.”

  “Go on,” Mila said. “I’m listening.”

  I continued. “Remember after school? Ralphie and Bigs had plans to go roller-skating.”

  The silence lasted a few moments. Then Mila suddenly gasped, “I get it! They already knew there wasn’t going to be a football game!”

  “Very good, detective,” I said. “They knew the Turkey Bowl would be canceled. They even planned on it.”

  Mila added, “Lucy had plans to go to the mall.”

  “Bull’s-eye,” I said. “You win the rubber chicken. But how did they do it?”

  “It could have been Lucy,” Mila suggested. “Lucy told me she went back to room 201 to get an overdue library book she’d left in her cubby.”

  “And Bobby?” I asked.

  “That’s the funny thing,” Mila said. “He went back at the same time as Lucy. They were in room 201 together.”

  “Bobby and Lucy together,” I murmured. “Meet me at Ralphie’s house. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

  Mila was already in Ralphie’s room when I arrived. We’d been there plenty of times before. It had dark paneling and the roof sloped in sharp angles. It felt like a cozy little cave.

  Like Bigs Maloney on the football field, I decided to plow right up the middle. Only the name of my game was crime-busting. “You’re hiding something,” I told Ralphie. “You knew there wouldn’t be a game today.”

  “But…”

  I cut him short. “No buts, Ralphie. No tall tal
es. Just give me the truth.”

  Ralphie stared at me. He was deciding which way to go. Or maybe he was trying to think of a good lie. Finally, he just smiled.

  “Bigs and Lucy were in on it, too,” Ralphie confessed. “We never wanted to play that game in the first place. Don’t get me wrong. I love football. But I want it to be fun. With Helen and Bobby, it was like, um, a war or something.”

  Mila and I exchanged glances.

  “I was the last one out of the classroom when we went to the library,” Ralphie explained. “It was my job to turn out the lights. After everyone left, I took the sneakers from Bigs Maloney’s backpack. I hid them in the trash can.”

  “The trash can?” Mila repeated. “Why?”

  “We needed Lucy to be involved, too,” Ralphie said. “She’s a girl. That way it wouldn’t be like the boys were scared or anything. It was the boys and girls together, you know. Lucy didn’t want to play, either. She was supposed to smuggle the sneakers out of room 201.”

  “Supposed to?” I echoed. “Didn’t Lucy do it?”

  “She tried,” Ralphie said. “But I think Bobby knew something was up. He followed Lucy into the classroom. She never had a chance.”

  “Imagine that,” I mused. “Bobby Solofsky helped prevent a crime. That’s a first.”

  “Where are the sneakers now?” Mila asked.

  Ralphie picked at the sleeve of his sweater. “That’s what worries me,” he admitted. “They’re still in the trash.”

  “Does Bigs know?” I asked.

  Ralphie shook his head. “He thinks Lucy’s got ’em.”

  I chewed it over, like a dog with a big bone. “Okay,” I said. “It’s time for Operation Rescue.”

  Chapter

  10

  To the Dumpster