The Case of the Terrible T. Rex (2 page)

And so the science detectives got to work. They whipped out their lab notebooks and their pencils. They shone their headlamps around.

“Wiley’s dad, Mr. Millard, is in his sleeping bag,” observed Nell. “He appears to be a very sound sleeper.” As if to prove Nell’s point, Mr. Millard rolled over and gave a little snort, followed by a snuffle and a snore.

Drake pushed up his glasses. “I couldn’t help observing that the tent is rather lopsided and not staked down very well.”

“My dad made me pitch the tent myself. I got tangled in a thorn bush but finally did it.” Wiley frowned. “I hate tents. I hate camping. This is stupid, and we’re all going to turn into werewolves if you guys don’t put it into hyperspeed.”

“Mm-hmm, yes, yes, I see.” Drake scribbled a note to himself:
Wiley’s dad out like a light, tent lopsided, Wiley tangled in thorn bush, nature appreciation lesson a failure.

“The smell of stinky eggs is especially strong in here,” said Nell.

Wiley’s eyes widened. “It’s the stench of the werewolf.”

Nell fanned her face with her lab notebook. “Not only is it stinkier in here, but have you noticed it’s getting steamy and hot?”

“Excellent observation, Scientist Nell.” Drake wrote:
Tent stinky, and getting steamier and hotter by the second.
“Now, tell me, Mr. Millard,” said Drake, dabbing his forehead with a hankie. “When did you first hear the howling?”

“Right after we hit the sack,” Wiley said. “Dad fell asleep right away, but I couldn’t get comfortable. That’s when I heard—”

But before Wiley could finish his sentence, they all heard it.

A howl …

Coming from outside the tent, down a ways, and just a little behind.

Then another howl … and another …
The hair rose on the back of Drake’s neck. “Great Scott! We’re surrounded! There’s an
army
of werewolves out there!”

Suddenly, the floor of the tent began to bubble. And boil. And ripple and roil. And then, just when they thought it couldn’t get any more frightening, a most horrible howl came from
beneath their feet.

“Jeepers creepers!” screamed Wiley. “The werewolves are clawing their way through the floor!”

“Emergency evacuation procedure!” cried Drake and Nell. “No time to lose!”

Together with Wiley, they dragged Mr. Millard—sleeping bag and all—out of the tent, zipping it shut behind them.

“Stand back, everybody!” cried Nell.

Then, before their very eyes, the tent blew up like a balloon.

Bigger and bigger … Howling and howling … Until it began to rise in the air, straining against the stakes. One by one, the stakes popped out of the ground. Then the tent floated off into the steamy night.…

“A
mazing,” said Nell.

“Fascinating,” said Drake.

“Werewolves can do that?” asked Wiley.

While they watched, the tent hovered in the moonlight, eerily glowing like a ghost before slowly deflating and sinking to the ground.

“Hmm,” said Drake. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Scientist Nell?”

“Indeed I am, Detective Doyle.”

“Problem?” asked Mr. Doyle, glancing over his newspaper.

“Nothing Doyle and Fossey can’t handle, Mr. Doyle,” said Nell. “Kindly wake Mr. Millard while Detective Doyle and I fetch the tent. We must return to the lab for analysis.”

“I’m on it,” said Mr. Doyle. And he was. After all, Mr. Doyle was their man.

Back at the parking lot, Mr. Millard loaded the rest of the camping gear into his truck. “No video games for a week, Wiley.”

“A week? But—but—”

“We’ll buy a tent and camp again tomorrow. There are no such things as werewolves.”

“But—but—” Wiley turned to Drake and Nell. “You’ve got to help me,
please
!”

“Not to worry,” said Drake. “Whatever is happening, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

So without further ado, Drake, Nell, and Mr. Doyle hopped into their car and zoomed off.

Back at the lab, Drake and Nell got to work.

Nell examined the tent. Drake pulled a book off the shelf and thumbed through until he found the right section: “Creepy Campout Analysis: What to Do When Werewolves Howl All Around You, Your Imagination Goes Bazonkers, and Your Tent Floats Off into the Night.”

Just then, Mrs. Kate Doyle poked her head around the door. While Mr. Doyle was great for squealing around corners, Mrs. Doyle was fabulous for food and drink—so fabulous that she owned her own catering company. “Need anything?” she asked. “Hot chocolate, maybe?”

“No, thanks,” said Drake.

“Just coffee,” said Nell. “Decaf. Black.”

“Affirmative,” said Mrs. Doyle. And she was back in a flash with coffee. No cream, no sugar, just coffee. “I’m off to bed,” she said.

“Check,” they said.

Nell phoned her mother, Ann Fossey. “Campout emergency, Mom. We’re pulling an all-nighter.”

“Ah, yes.” You see, Nell’s mother knew about all-nighters. Professor Fossey taught wildlife biology at Mossy Lake University, where all-nighters were quite common. Especially when one was observing the nocturnal habits of whiskered screech owls. “Don’t drink too much coffee, and call me in the morning.”

“Check.”

Click.

Next Drake and Nell shared their observations. Then they developed a hypothesis. (As all scientists know, a hypothesis is your best guess as to what is happening and why.) Nell said, “Based on our observations, Detective Doyle, I believe the tent floated off because …”

Drake listened carefully. “Agreed. Let’s test our hypothesis.”

So for the rest of the night, that’s exactly what they did. They built simulations. They tested this. They tested that. And by the time they’d finished breakfast (strawberry crêpes, plus orange slices and hot blueberry muffins, compliments of Mrs. Doyle), Drake and Nell had their answer.

Drake phoned Wiley. “Mr. Millard? If you would be so kind as to come to the lab …”

“How many werewolves do I have to battle tonight?” said Wiley the moment he arrived. “A hundred? A thousand? Did you develop a secret weapon? Maybe an anti-full-moon formula?”

“First things first, Mr. Millard,” said Drake. “Have a seat and allow Scientist Nell to explain.” Nell whacked the chalkboard with her long, wooden pointer. “Imagine the Earth as a peach, if you will. Have you ever eaten a peach?”

Wiley scratched his head. “Uh, do I get bonus points for this?”

“The skin of the peach is like the
crust
of the Earth. The crust is the solid outer layer on which we stand.” Nell stamped the floor to demonstrate.

“Ah, yes, the crust,” said Drake. “Quite solid. Rocks and whatnot.”

Nell said, “Now, the juicy flesh of the peach is like the Earth’s
mantle
. The mantle is hotter and softer than the crust.”

“Quite so,” said Drake.

“Finally,” said Nell, “the pit of the peach is like the
core
of the Earth. The core is very hot.”

Wiley frowned. “What I can’t figure out is just
how
the werewolves floated the tent. Are werewolves allowed to have wings? ’Cause I don’t think that’s allowed. That’s against the rules.”

Nell whacked the chalkboard again with her wooden pointer. “Listen carefully, Mr. Millard. Your life may depend upon it.”

Wiley gulped. “My—my
life
?”

“Affirmative,” said Drake. He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. “Now, the core of the Earth is composed of two parts. The inner core is solid, but the outer core is composed of hot liquid rock, called
magma
.”

“Also known as
lava
,” said Nell.

Drake pushed up his glasses with his finger. “As you can imagine, all of the heat beneath the Earth’s surface creates pressure. When a volcano erupts, the Earth is releasing this pressure.”

“Quite right, Detective Doyle,” said Nell. “It’s like a pot of boiling water with the lid on so tightly that no steam is allowed to escape. Eventually the pressure from the steam blows the lid off.”

“Now,” said Wiley, “about those werewolves?”

Drake stopped his pacing and looked quite serious. “That’s just it, Mr. Millard. There aren’t any werewolves.”

Wiley looked stunned. As if he’d just found out there were no such things as mashed potatoes, or baseball games, or arms and legs. “But—but—the howling. I heard—you both heard—”

“Indeed,” said Drake. “But it wasn’t werewolves making that racket—it was
steam
.”

“Steam?” For a second, Wiley looked disappointed, for as everyone knows, battling steam is not nearly as exciting as battling werewolves.

“It was a
fumarole
, to be precise,” said Nell.

Wiley laughed. “What the heck is that?”

“A fumarole is no laughing matter,” said Nell.

“Indeed not,” said Drake.

“Fumaroles are caused when water drains down into the Earth and pools next to magma,” said Nell. “The water heats—”

“Steam is produced—” added Drake.

“And the pressure forces the steam out of the Earth’s crust,” continued Nell, “sometimes with a howl, like a boiling hot teakettle.”

“What about the stinky air?” asked Wiley.

“Dissolved minerals in the steam,” said Drake.

“And the tent floating off?” asked Wiley.

“Again,” said Nell, “steam. When you tangled with the thorn bush, you accidentally tore a hole in the floor of the tent, allowing steam to enter. As we know, steam is very hot, and hot air rises.”

Drake drew a quick diagram on the chalkboard. “Basically, your tent became a hot air balloon. We escaped just in the nick of time.”

“So I pitched my tent on a fumerole?”

“Correct,” said Drake. “No more camping on Waxberry Hill. We’ll send a full report to your father.”

Wiley shook their hands. “Amazing work. How can I thank you enough?”

“Our pleasure,” said Drake and Nell.

Later, Drake wrote in his lab notebook:

Wiley one happy customer. park service notified about fumaroles. Received "Warriors Versus Werewolves" video game.

Must return in one week.

Paid in full.

I
t was a perfect morning in Mossy Lake for observing mama birds and their hatchlings. In fact, perched on a ladder in her backyard, Nell Fossey was doing just that. She peered between the tree branches. She adjusted her binoculars. She sketched a bird in her notebook.