The Case of the Sleeping Dog (3 page)

Pet food companies, she explained, need to find out what dogs like. New meals are tested all the time.

“Every company tries to stay ahead of the other companies,” she said. “Pet food is big business.”

The job was only for a month. One of the company’s
regular taste-testers, a cocker spaniel, was going to Walla Walla for a month’s vacation.

“If Elmo gets the job, he’ll live the month in luxury and eat like a plow horse,” Meg said.

“Can we watch him try out?” Sally asked.

“Sure. The first test begins at Good Eating tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock,” Meg said.

The company was only three miles north of Idaville. The detectives arrived there at ten.

Meg greeted them with Elmo in her arms and gloom in her eyes.

“Elmo got hurt half an hour ago,” she said. “A box of biscuits slipped off a forklift and hit his paw.”

“Oh, no,” Sally said. “Will he miss the tryout?”

“No,” Meg said. “But even though the injury is small, I have to keep it a secret. The company wants only healthy chowhounds as tasters.”

She carried Elmo to a corner for some quiet rest.

The detectives looked around. In a hallway near the testing room was a picnic table. On it were red bowls and yellow bowls filled with dog food.

Beside the bowls was a sheet that read:

FOR 11 O’Clock TRYOUTS

Below this, the names of the dogs and their owners were listed. The dogs, stalls, and bowls were numbered.

Elmo’s stall and bowls were number three.

Encyclopedia recognized the names of the other owners: Billy Dean, Frank Barlow, and Hugh Upton. They were sixth-graders.

At eleven sharp the food was brought into the testing room.

In the room were stalls made of panes of glass five feet high.

A red bowl and a yellow bowl were placed in each stall. The bowls held more food than the dogs could finish.

“This is the first of four days of tryouts,” a man in a white smock announced. “The better-tasting food is the one the dogs eat more of.”

He explained that the panes were there to keep the dogs separated. Otherwise, a free-for-all over the food might break out.

The other job-seekers were a German shepherd, a golden retriever, and a collie. All were purebreds, like Elmo.

“Purebreds make the best tasters,” Meg said. “That’s because their growth and life span are known.”

The dogs were moved to the glass stalls. Elmo always looked bored until mealtime. Now he yelped and whined and pulled at the leash. Chow had arrived.

The leashes were taken off. The dogs raced for the bowls.

Tails wagged. Mouths drooled. Pupils enlarged with pleasure. A few sniffs, and the choice was made.

Each of the four dogs dived into its red bowl.

“Elmo looks like he’ll eat everything in sight,” Sally said. “Those panes won’t stop him.”

“That little beagle has some mouth,” Hugh marveled.

“You sure you didn’t starve him for a week?” Billy asked.

“You ought to get him to a dog doc,” Frank said.

But Elmo didn’t finish his food. He didn’t dash around the panes of his stall, as Sally joked he would, and eat another dog’s food.

Rather, he did the opposite.

By and by his jaws slowed. His eyes rolled. Panting faintly, he sank onto his side and went to sleep.

Meg rushed to him. “Something is wrong,” she cried. “I’d better get him to the company clinic.”

Sally went with her. While she was gone Encyclopedia questioned Hugh, Billy, and Frank.

Each boy claimed he had come to the building a few minutes before the tryout. They said they did not know about Elmo’s injury earlier that morning.

By the following day, the animal doctors at the company clinic had made a discovery. Someone had put a fast-acting knockout powder into Elmo’s test food.

“Anyone could have done it,” Sally said. “Before the test, the bowls of food sat out on a picnic table in plain view.”

“It had to be Billy or Frank or Hugh,” Meg said. “With Elmo out of the running, their dogs have a better chance of winning the taste-tester’s job.”

Sally looked at Encyclopedia nervously. “Have you any idea who did it?”

The detective smiled. “Who else but—”

Who was guilty?

(Turn to
this page
for the solution to The Case of Sleeping Dog.)

A
gatha Matson, a fourth-grader, lived across the street from the Brown Detective Agency. In her backyard grew the biggest fig tree in Idaville.

Alas, Agatha didn’t get to eat many of the figs. Someone else got to them first.

Tuesday morning Encyclopedia and Sally saw Agatha by the big tree. She was talking to Slim Hall and Kirby Phelps. Now and again she shook a finger at them.

“I don’t like what I see,” Encyclopedia said.

Sally nodded. “Those boys are mean. If a rattlesnake bit them, it would curl up and die.”

“I’ve a hunch Slim and Kirby are the fig thieves,” Encyclopedia said. “Agatha must have caught them in the act.”

“She’s scolding them and they’re grinning,” Sally said angrily. “They think it’s all a big joke.”

“This could become ugly,” Encyclopedia said. “If Agatha doesn’t ease off, Slim and Kirby might rough her up.”

“Then let’s have action,” Sally growled.

She marched out of the detective agency and across the street.

Encyclopedia trailed uneasily. Sally was forever making war on bullies, big or small.

Slim and Kirby were both.

Slim was nearly six feet tall and skinny enough to hide under a racing stripe. His arm muscles looked like fleabites on a noodle. But, oh, how he liked to punch holes in things!

Kirby was barely five feet tall. His size was no shortcoming. As a junior-high-school wrestler, he was undefeated.

“I caught these two stealing figs,” Agatha told the detectives. “When my dad comes home, he’ll make them wish they had stayed in their own backyard.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Kirby snarled. “Slim’s dog, Blackie, chased a cat, and we chased Blackie. We just stopped under this tree to catch our breath.”

“We didn’t pick a single fig,” Slim said. “Who cares if you don’t believe us! You’re so far gone you need a search warrant to find your brains.”

“Did you actually see them picking figs?” Sally asked Agatha.

“N-No,” Agatha admitted. “But I saw them chewing like mad.”

“That’s good enough,” Sally declared.

“Stay out of this,” Slim warned Sally. “Go somewhere and unscramble an egg.”

“How could we steal her figs?” Kirby demanded. “Use your eyes. We’d need a ladder.”

The detectives gazed up at the tree. Kirby was right. The figs on the lowest branch looked too high for anyone to reach.

“Is there a stick they could have used to knock down the figs?” Sally asked.

Agatha shook her head.

Sally looked up at the tree again. She seemed to be thinking over the problem of height. At last she turned to Kirby with a knowing smile.

“You stood on Slim’s shoulders,” she said.

“You’re wacko!” Kirby cried.

“Prove me wrong,” Sally challenged. “Stand on Slim’s shoulders. Go on!”

“Okay,” Kirby said. “We’ll do it your way to start. Afterward, I’m going to make you a nurse’s pet.”

Slim walked to a spot directly under the lowest figs. Kirby got on his shoulders.

“I’ll stretch as far as I can,” Kirby hollered at the detectives.

He reached above his head. The figs were five to six inches beyond his grasp. He dropped to the ground.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said, and moved toward Sally.

“Careful,” Slim warned. “She likes a fight.”

“Don’t worry,” Kirby replied. “She’s only a girl. I can take her.”

“Take me where?” Sally scoffed.

Kirby spat and lowered himself into a wrestler’s crouch. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

His enjoyment ended before it started.

Sally shocked him with an uppercut. She followed with a left hook that knocked him flatter than a pot holder.

Agatha stared at Sally wide-eyed. “He’s a star on the wrestling team, and you put him away! I can’t believe it.”

“Believe me!” Slim howled, and flew at Sally. “Nobody can do that to my pal and get away with it!”

Sally raised her guard. “A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do,” she sighed.

A rap on Slim’s nose stopped him in his tracks.

A follow-up right to the belly caused his breath to explode with the
whoosh
of a steam engine starting up.

For a time he jiggled about like a boy with shooting pains. Then he flopped upon Kirby, belly to belly.

“Biff, bop, belly flop,” Sally quipped.

She smiled down at the two boys at her feet.

Gradually her smile faded.

“Maybe they were telling the truth,” she said in a worried voice. “I don’t see how they could have reached the figs without a ladder.”

“They didn’t need a ladder,” Encyclopedia replied.

How had Slim and Kirby reached the figs?

(Turn to
this page
for the solution to The Case of the Fig Thieves.)

T
he last Thursday in June the Idaville Youth Club held a mouse show in South Park to help victims of Hurricane Sadie.

The storm had struck Lange City, fifty miles north of Idaville, the week before.

As admission, people brought clothing, or blankets, or bottled water, or food that wouldn’t spoil.

Encyclopedia and Sally each dropped packages of hard candy into a box marked
SWEETS
. Then they headed for the judge’s area.

Mr. McRea, the chief judge, was examining a black mouse named Hawthorne.

As its young owner watched nervously, Mr. McRea let Hawthorne run up and down his arm to see how lively he was. He measured the length of Hawthorne’s tail. He blew on his fur to see the undercoat.

“A mouse must have a long head, but the nose should not be too pointed,” Mr. McRea told his audience.

He noted the other features of a winning rodent.