The Chameleon Wore Chartreuse (4 page)

Natalie looked down at me and smirked.

"Am not!" said Shirley.

"And I thought you liked Herman!" said a sassy mouse, Frenchy LaTrme.

"I don't, either!" said Shirley. "You guys are so thick!" She turned brick red and flounced off with her tail in a tangle.

I glanced at Natalie. I mouthed, "She likes Herman?"

Natalie shrugged. I turned back to the conversation.

"So are you cheerleaders doing something special at the pep rally today?" said the other football player, an armadillo with a cauliflower nose.

"You bet!" said Frenchy. Her tail swung in a circle. "Just wait until you see our routine with the Big Baboo—it'll knock your pads off!"

The Big Baboo! Sometimes a private eye gets lucky. I looked down at Shirley, who was wriggling across the playground. I looked back at the cheerleaders.

Stay, or follow Shirley? I decided to stay.

"Don't forget, Frenchy," said one of the mynahs. "We've got cheer practice next period in the gym."

"Okey-dokey!" said Frenchy the mouse. I had the feeling she always talked in exclamation points. Cheerleaders.

"Don't you love the part when we—" she started to say.

"Hey, Chet!" shouted a loud voice. "What are you doing up there?"

It was my sister, Pinky. The littlest first grader, with the biggest mouth.

"Shhh!" I said. She didn't take the hint.

"You know Mom told you never to climb on school buildings."

I shushed her again, but Pinky planted her fists on her skinny green hips. "I'm telling! I'm telling so bad," she said.

The other kids looked up at me and laughed. My cover was blown.

"Hey, look!" said Brick. "It's Super Gecko! Able to climb tall buildings with a single slither! Able to munch huge bugs with a single slurp!"

The armadillo joined in, "Yeah, and the only thing that can stop him is his archenemy, Baby-Sister Girl!"

They laughed until they snorted. This made the cheerleaders giggle even harder. I clammed up. A private eye has his dignity, after all.

I scrambled to the roof and stood beside Natalie. Pinky stuck out her tongue. "I'm telling Mom!" she shouted again.

"You do and you die, cockroach breath!" I said. Even a private eye's patience has limits. "Come on, Natalie."

I led the way over the back wall of the gym. Natalie floated lazily down beside me.

"To the dumps?" she asked.

"My reputation's gone there already. But before we join it, I've got some questions for the Big Baboo."

Natalie chuckled. "Anything you say, Super Gecko."

"Ah, shut up, Wonder Bird," I said.

Natalie and I slipped through the door into the gym. It stank of sweat, sneakers, and humiliating defeat in basketball.

Or maybe that was just me.

A couple of sixth graders were shooting hoops at the far end. Otherwise the building was deserted. We strolled over to the basketball players, a burly seagull and a snake.

"Hey, sports fans," I said. "Is either of you the Big Baboo?"

They stopped playing. The seagull's mouth twisted into a sneer and her chest puffed out. "Do I look like a big baboo?" she said.

"Beats me," I said. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Sonny, I'm a potentate of poobah," she said.

"What about you?" I asked the snake.

He coiled up lazily.

"He's a grand funkmeister," said the seagull. "But neither of us is a big baboo."

"Ah, I see," I said. Actually, I didn't.

"Can you tell us where to find the Big Baboo?" Natalie asked the snake. His forked tongue flickered.

"Hey, your guess is as good as ours," said the seagull. She stabbed a grimy wing feather toward the opposite wall. "Try the coach's office."

I glanced at the silent snake. "Tell me something," I asked the seagull, "does he ever talk?"

"Nah," she said. "But he's got a killer jump shot."

Natalie and I turned and headed for the coach's office. Coach "Beef" Stroganoff knows everyone who uses the gym. He'd know the Big Baboo.

I rapped on the glass of his half-open door. "Coach Stroganoff? Can we talk?"

Inside, a massive groundhog sat snoring in his chair, hind paws up on the desk. A little string of drool dangled from the corner of his mouth. Coach Stroganoff: man of action.

A sly smile twisted Natalie's beak. "Oh, Coach Stroganoff," she said in Mrs. Toaden's voice. "You're so big and strong. Can you help me?"

The coach's feet hit the floor. He came awake, shaking his head and flinging off the drool. "Beulah, honey?" he muttered. "Is that you?"

Coach Stroganoff and Beulah Toaden, eh? I'd have to remember that one.

"No, Coach, it's us," I said.

The coach's sleepy gaze swung to me. "Chet Gecko?" he said. "Don't you owe me some pushups?"

"Oh, uh ... no, Coach. You must have me confused with my evil twin." He grunted suspiciously.

"Coach, we're looking for the Big Baboo," said Natalie. "Can you help us?"

He blinked slowly and scratched his nose. "The Big Baboo? Why do you want the Big Baboo?"

"I want to talk with him ... or her," I said.

He stared at me while a smile slowly stretched the corners of his mouth. Coach Stroganoff chuckled, a sound like a bullfrog belching in a barrel.

"You want to talk to the Big Baboo?" he said. "Well, you're welcome to try. But your conversation may be a little one-sided."

He lumbered to his feet and pushed open the equipment room door. The small space was jammed with jump ropes, balls, and exercise mats.

In a tall case by the wall stood a statue of our team mascot, the Golden Gopher. It looked pretty goofy to me, but it meant a lot to the school. No accounting for taste.

"Find your friend yet?" said Coach Stroganoff. He smirked.

I stepped deeper into the room and looked around. A dark shape caught my eye. Slumped among the bats and balls was a big, stuffed dummy. It looked like a huge monkey, the mascot of our rival school, Petsadena Elementary.

And hanging around its neck was a sign that read
BIG BABOO
.

Coach Beef Stroganoff's laughter chased us out of the gym. I leaned against the outside wall. If geckos had ears, steam would have been shooting out of mine.

"Rats!" I said. "They tricked me, those rotten Rat Sisters! They slipped me a red herring."

"A red herring, eh?" said Natalie. "I'd like a couple of those, marinated in olive oil."

"No, you ding-dong," I said. "They gave me a false lead. A dead end. And I wasted precious time on it. How long before the bell rings?"

Natalie glanced at the clock on the gym wall. "Not long," she chirped.

We might have just enough time to make it to the dump and back before lunch period ended. It would be close, but a private eye lives for danger.

I snagged my skateboard from the bush where I always stash it. We took off.

Five minutes later, I hopped off my skateboard outside the fence. Natalie landed on a nearby stump.

"Why wouldn't you carry me?" I said. "I've never flown before."

"And you won't fly with me," she said. "You are one heavy gecko, Chet. You should lay off the deep-fried termites."

Termites.
Mmm,
that reminded me, I still hadn't eaten lunch. My stomach groaned.

We entered the gate. The dump stretched all around us, as far as the nose could smell. Hills and valleys of old tires, leftover dinners, fat cockroaches, and plain old junk covered the ground.

A shack leaned on the fence like a lovesick walrus on a rock. Inside, a mangy dog snoozed on the floor.

"Hey, mister," I said. "We need some information."

The dog opened one eye. Probably the biggest workout he'd had all day.

"What do I look like, the public library?" he said. "You want information, answer my riddles first."

"Fire away," I said. "I'm a detective."

"What kind of dog likes air conditioning?"

"Uram...," I said.

"A hot dog!" said Natalie.

"Not bad," said the dog. He raised his head and scratched at a flea. "Okay, what is the most expensive dog?"

"Hmm...," I said.

"A golden retriever!" said Natalie.

The mangy dog sat up and smiled, his wet tongue hanging out. "You're good," he said. "One more: What does Lassie use to make her dog biscuits?"

"Well...," I said.

"Collie flour!" said Natalie.

The dog wagged his tail and knocked over a stack of tin cans. "You sure know your dogs," he said. "Now, what can I help you with?"

Natalie grinned at me. I snorted, "Hmph." Then I told him about the missing chameleon, Billy.

"Sure, I saw him earlier," he said. "He and this big guy were arguing. The big guy pushed him around, then they left with an old wig, a wiggly bag, and a pigskin."

"Eeeww," said Natalie.

"Was the pig still inside the skin?" I asked.

The dog snorted. "Don't you young pups know anything? A pigskin is what we called a football, back when I was the fastest halfback around."

"Enough chin waggling, Pops. No time for a side trip down memory lane," I said. "Where did Billy and Herman go when they left here?"

"Look, noodlehead," he said. "You're the detective. You figure it out."

The dog closed his eyes and went back to sleep. A distant bell rang—lunch period was over!

We beat feet. I glanced longingly at the juicy cockroaches as we raced out the gate. Lunch would have to wait.

"Billy and Herman left together?" said Natalie.

I jumped on my skateboard and pushed off. "Maybe he's forcing Billy to help him do something. And if I know my Gila monsters, Herman is up to no good."

"Sounds like Billy is in trouble," said Natalie, napping just ahead of me.

"Yeah," I said. "And we'll be in trouble, too, if Ms. Glick catches us."

Gila monsters were one thing. But Ms. Glick, the Beast of Room 3, was another kind of trouble altogether.

Natalie and I flew back to school. Well, actually, she flew. I skateboarded. Coming up the hill, she said, "Good thing I was there, eh?"

"You weren't too bad," I said.

"See, I told you a private eye needs a partner."

"We'll talk about it later," I said. "Right now, we have bigger problems."

At the school gate stood Ms. Glick. She looked meaner than a plateful of lima beans, and uglier than the first day of school after vacation.

Her sharp teeth glinted in a smile.

"Well, well," she said. "Looks like a tardy slip for Miss Natalie. And as for you, Chester Gecko..."

I hate it when they use my full name.

"You'll stay in detention with me and miss the football game after school," said the Beast of Room 3.

She chuckled. Then Ms. Ghck plunged a scaly paw into her purse, grabbed a pen, and scrawled two pink slips. It hurt. But a private eye never shows pain.

I took the detention slip. "See you later, alligator," I said.

Her jaws snapped shut with a click. "Sassing a teacher," she snarled. "That's another day's detention. Want to try for three days?"

I decided my wit had punished her enough. I clammed up.