The Hamster of the Baskervilles (7 page)

across the grass. Closer and closer it came, easing toward me. I sat frozen.

The shadow loomed over me, its red eyes gleaming. It opened a wide, fanged mouth that smelled of ... peanut butter?

"
Yaaah!
" I screamed, snapping out of my trance.

I found myself face-to-face with the were-creature of Emerson Hicky.

It was real.

"
Aieee!
" keened the startled monster. All I saw was fur and fangs.

It leaped backward like an Olympic gymnast in instant replay. By the time I staggered to my feet, the hairy creature was galloping for the administration building in a blur of speed. I pushed my skateboard in pursuit.

Then I thought,
What happens if I catch it?

I needed backup. Rounding the corner, I pawed my pocket for the walkie-talkie. The monster had nearly made the shadows of the admin building.

Whizzing down the hall, I fumbled for the radio's talk switch. Where was—ah, found it!

"Natalie, come—"

Bwa-gonnng!

Unfortunately, I also found a pole.

The world spun like a whirling dervish playing Twister. I watched it spin. I wondered why the air felt so hard under my back. Oh yeah. It was the ground.

Head ringing, I picked myself up from the cement. Through the dizziness, a voice in my head repeated my name. Was I cracking up?

"Chet! Chet, what's happening?"

I grabbed my throbbing skull to silence the voice and found ... I was wearing a walkie-talkie for a hat.

Natalie spoke again. "Chet? Come in, Chet!"

I clutched the radio to my face and thumbed the button. "You're supposed to say
over
" I groaned.

"THAT'S NOT FUNNY! OVER!" she yelled.

I held the walkie-talkie away from my ear. "Settle down," I said.

"I was worried about you, you nincompoop! Over!"

"I saw the monster. By the admin building."

"Why didn't you say so?"

By the time Natalie flapped up, I had gotten myself back together—or as together as I get, anyway. I scanned the shadows, but nothing moved.

Carefully, we circled the building. The creature's gunboat-sized pawprints led up to some bushes by the teachers' lounge. Then they stopped.

The monster was too big to hide behind a shrub. Had it leaped to the roof? I climbed the wall and poked my head over the top. Nothing.

Natalie took wing and scouted the area. Still nothing. For the next half hour, as teachers arrived and the sky grew pink, we searched the grounds.

Finally, we admitted it: The creature had given us the slip.

Discouraged, Natalie and I hunkered down on a wall at the edge of the playground. Students trickled onto campus.

The rascal moon slunk below the rim of the hill. I could have sworn the Man in the Moon was sticking out his tongue.

"Well," said Natalie, "what now, hotshot?"

I frowned. "I don't know what now. Cool Beans says that were-creatures only come out at night. So we can't track the monster till sundown."

She cocked her head. "True ... but we don't know for sure that the monster's causing the vandalism...."

"So we go back to Plan B," I said, standing up. "We keep the squeeze on the Stinkers."

"And hold our noses," Natalie cackled.

I squared my shoulders and gave myself a pep talk. We were doing this for our school, we were doing this for my teacher—but most of all, we were doing this for the doughnuts.
Yum.

We made for the portable buildings. All around us, the school was waking up in earnest. Passing sleepy students in the corridor, I figured we had just enough time to grill a gang member before class started.

The morning bell disagreed.
Rrrring!

As I grumpily trudged to class, I thought,
There's
a word for someone who lets bells boss him around.
I slid into my seat and remembered what it was: a
dingbat.

Morning recess was as welcome as the first sip of stinkberry milk shake after a brisk crawl across the desert. Kids poured out the door. I squeezed between them, eager to find Natalie.

Just as I was about to make tracks, someone tugged on my tail.

"Hey!" I said, trying to break free. "Easy; that thing comes off."

"Really? Let's see," a voice said.

I twisted around. Bosco Rebbizi had a fistful of tail. I jerked it from his paws.

"Sorry, only one per customer."

I eyeballed the ferret. Suspicion clung to him like stink on a skunk. (Of course, he
was
a Stinker.) Still, it couldn't hurt to ask about the latest vandalism.

"So," I said, "nice job with the holes in the playground."

He gave me a dead-eyed look. "What holes?" asked Bosco. "The only hole I know is the one in your head."

Everybody's a comedian.

"Where you been?" he demanded. "And what about your mean stunt?"

"Um, we want to make sure it's a really good—er,
bad one. In fact, I'm going to the library right now to research it. Bye."

Bosco grabbed my shoulder and spun me to face him. "Having second thoughts, Gecko?" he asked. "Trying to weasel out of it?"

I narrowed my eyes. "No, that's your department."

He stuck his face in mine.
Whew!
Bosco's breath smelled like something even a dingo wouldn't touch. "Meet us by the portables after lunch," he snarled. "Be there."

I unpeeled his fingers from my coat. "Only if you brush after eating," I said.

The ferret grunted and swaggered off. I watched him go, then shrugged. Time to follow our other lead and learn more about my supernatural encounter.

Natalie was lounging by the library doors. "Come on," I said. "Let's go in and tell Cool Beans about the were-critter."

"It wouldn't be much of a conversation," said Natalie.

"Why not?"

"He called in sick today," she said.

Dang. Sometimes a detective can't even detect. When that happens, I do what all great private eyes do.

I go play on the swings.

When gypsy-moth tacos perfume the air and horsefly brownies wait on a plate, how bad could life be? I won't say that food cures all ills, but it sure helps a detective get through the no-clues blues.

I savored lunch to the last nibble. Wiping my mouth, I pushed back the tray. "Bring on the bad guys; I'm ready to rumble."

Natalie cocked her head. "You look ready to urp," she said. "How could you have eaten that third brownie?"

"Alimentary, my dear Watson. Now, let's pay the gang a little visit."

Natalie and I strolled toward the portable buildings. (But how portable are they, really? Have you
ever tried to lift one?) On the way, we debated what to tell Bosco and company.

"Why don't we say we're going to sell spittlebug cookies to raise money for the gang?" said Natalie.

"Hmm, I don't think that's what Erik had in mind."

We turned a corner and came upon Ms. LaRue and the janitor, Luke Busy, talking nose to nose. She started. He growled.

"What are you sniffin' around for, peeper?" said Luke Busy. The muscles in his shoulders humped, like camels doing the limbo under a blanket.

"I go to school here, remember?" I sneered.

Tough guys always set me off.

A leer played over his long snout. "Keep on wisecrackin', and you might get what's comin' to you," said the badger. Ms. LaRue's spikes rose, then flattened again.

"Oh yeah?" I said. "And you might hit a home run with a spaghetti noodle. But I doubt it."

Natalie pulled my arm and dragged me past them. "Come on, Chet."

Luke Busy snorted. "Some other time, Gecko—when I've got less on my mind."

"Could there be any less?" I said.

The big badger snarled. Ms. LaRue put a paw on his arm. "Down, Luke," she hissed. The hedgehog
gave us a rusty smile. "He's, uh, cleaning up my classroom; it looks like it was vandalized by a wild animal."

More vandalism?
I stared. This school was turning into a bigger disaster zone than my last report card.

"G'wan, beat it," said Luke.

He had a point. We beat it.

Natalie and I slipped behind the portables to meet the Dirty Rotten Stinkers. We slouched like punks and sneered like punks. We thought we were pretty tough.

We were sadly mistaken.

"Gecko and bird!" barked Erik. "C'mere!"

With attitude to spare, we strutted over to the giant tarantula.

"Time's up, punks," he rumbled. "What's yer dirty trick gonna be?"

Just then a familiar green face poked around the corner. "Chet?" It was Shirley Chameleon.

"Not now, Shirley," I said.

She batted her eyes. "I thought maybe we could study English together," she said, turning a lovely rose color. "That is, if you can spare some time from Mr. Ratnose's case."

Bosco's eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute, are you still doing that goody-good private eye stuff?"

"Uh, I—"

Shirley smiled. "He sure is. Chet's the best detective at Emerson Hicky."

I had to admit it, she was right. But her timing stunk.

Kurt the rat flashed a grin full of used grease and broken glass. "Awww, ain't that sweet? The teacher's pet."

He held Mr. Ratnose's pointer and tapped it meaningfully against his other paw. Bosco, Erik, and a couple of other mugs started drifting toward us. Storm clouds gathered in their faces.

I hooked a thumb at Shirley. "Don't listen to her," I said. "She's just a dame, see?"

Both Natalie and Shirley turned on me, outraged. "Hey!" they said together.

Suspicion sprouted like toadstools among the gamy gang.

"Ya tried to worm yer way in," Erik rumbled.

"You spied on us," said Bosco.

"You're no Stinkers, you stinkers!" said Kurt.

I looked at Natalie.

Uh-oh.
The jig was up. Time for us to get jiggin'.

I turned a broad smile on Bosco and Erik. "Well, I've had a wonderful time," I said. "But this wasn't it."

"
Aargh!
" A snarl of frustration ripped from a
dozen throats. Couldn't ask for a better exit cue than that.

I snatched the pointer from Kurt's paws.

Natalie took to the sky; I took to my heels. Shirley stepped back. Dirty Rotten Stinkers swarmed after us like army ants after the Gingerbread Man.

They chased me down the hall, over the library, and out across the playground.

My breath grew short; I had more pants than a department store's menswear sale. The extra brownies sloshed in my gut, and my side burned with a dull fire.

"There he goes!" echoed behind me. I rounded a corner at top speed. I had just seconds to find a hiding place, but only one suggested itself: the Dumpster.

I climbed, held my nose, and dove.

Fshoomp!

The rotting garbage embraced me as tenderly as a mama skunk holds a rotten egg.

Ugh. The things I do for detection.

After spending the rest of lunchtime buried under slimy leftovers, I needed a bath, a nap, and to have my head examined.

Instead, I shuffled back to class.

My aroma went before me. Thoughtful students cleared extra space around my desk. Even Shirley Chameleon kept her cooties to herself.

And Bosco? He sat in his chair, glaring. That ferret gave me an evil eye so mean, it made the Big Bad Wolf look like a pound puppy. But as long as we were in class, he couldn't lay a glove on me.

Probably.

"Bosco Rebbizi," said Mr. Ratnose. "Eyes front!"

Sometimes, it helps to have a strict teacher.

"Uh, Mr. Ratnose?" I asked.

"Yes, Chet Gecko?"

"I found your pointer in the trash."

He took it from me, holding the rod at arm's length. "Hmm. So I smell," he said.

The class broke into groups. We were supposed to put the finishing touches on our projects for that evening's Science Fair.

But all the time, my mind was burrowing through the litter of clues I'd uncovered.

Questions ping-ponged through my head.
How can I prove that Bosco trashed the classroom
—
or was it the were-thing? Will the were-whatsit rampage tonight? And how the heck do you spell
photosynthesis?

Some key was missing—a connection between all the weird events of the past few days. But it stayed even farther away than my stinked-out classmates.

At recess, I sat inside with an open book, pretending to study. Bosco and some Stinkers taunted me through the open door: "Chicken Gecko!
Bwak, bwak!
"

After Mr. Ratnose shooed them off, he shot me a strange look.

"What, you've never seen me study before?" I asked. "Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf."

"Mister, you'd have to turn over a whole tree."
My teacher wrinkled his nose. "By the way, how is my case coming?"

"I'm very close," I said, with a confidence I didn't feel.

Mr. Ratnose's ears twitched. "You'd better be. If you don't solve this case by tonight, our deal is off."

He shuffled back to his desk and began grading papers.

My box of doughnuts was going, going, gone. I wondered again: What was I missing? (Besides a mansion, my own TV show, and a lifetime supply of chocolate-covered dung beetles, I mean.)