Hiss Me Deadly

Sandpiper

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN HARCOURT
Boston • New York

Copyright © 2007 by Bruce Hale

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Sandpiper,
an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,
Boston, Massachusetts. Originally published in hardcover in the
United States by Harcourt Children's Books, an imprint of
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, New York, 2007.

SANDPIPER and the SANDPIPER logo are trademarks of
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should
be submitted online at
www.harcourt.com/contact
or mailed to the
following address: Permissions Department, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Publishing Company, 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.

www.sandpiperbooks.com

The text of this book is set in Bembo.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Hale, Bruce.
Hiss me deadly/Bruce Hale.
p. cm.
Summary: Chet Gecko is hired by Principal Zero
to investigate the disappearance of valuable items from
Emerson Hicky Elementary—including Mama Gecko's pearls.
[1. Geckos—Fiction. 2. Animals—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction.
4. Stealing—Fiction. 5. Humorous stories. 6. Mystery
and detective stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.H1295Hi 2007
[Fic]—dc22 2007002952
ISBN 978-0-15-205482-3
ISBN 978-0-15-206424-2 pb

Printed in the United States of America
DOH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my best buddy Betsu: Friends 4-eva, brah!

I'm Chet Gecko, best lizard detective at Emerson Hicky Elementary. (True, there are no
other
lizard detectives, but let's not quibble over details.)

I am an only child. I have
only
one sister. And that's plenty more than enough, believe me.

I don't have to look up my family tree because I know that I'm the sap. When my sister got robbed, she turned to me for help. And like a dope, I jumped in with both feet.

But a simple case of theft soon grew more challenging than playing Chinese checkers on a bucking bronco. Valuables started vanishing from school, and the top brass called me in. True, I don't know all that much about theft, but I do know what time it is when
a possum steals your refrigerator: time to get a new refrigerator.

I followed the twisty trail of clues until I'd unearthed more suspects than a zombie membership drive. The more I learned, the less I knew. (Of course, this happens to me at school all the time.)

The heat was on. As I drew closer to uncovering the shadowy puppet master behind it all, I got myself in a spot tighter than a blue whale's bikini. Would I make it out with my skin?

Not to worry. As any detective will tell you, it's always darkest before dawn. So if you're going to steal your neighbor's newspaper, that's the time to do it.

You could attend Emerson Hicky Elementary for a long time without knowing its substitute teachers. And you could know its subs for a long time without meeting Barbara Dwyer.

And that would be just swell.

Barb Dwyer was a sourpuss porcupine with a face like a bucket of mud. From the tips of her many quills to the shapeless hat on her head, she was a surly sub, and she didn't care who knew it.

I could have gone my whole life without meeting her. But because Mr. Ratnose called in sick one gray Wednesday, we were stuck with the dame.

Through math and English classes she had ridden us hard, like a rhino going piggyback on a house cat.
We were taking a breather, doing some silent reading. Most of the kids favored
Winnie the Poobah,
our assignment.

I had slipped the latest
Amazing Mantis-Man
comic book inside old
Winnie.

Private eyes like to live dangerously.

A gentle whisper broke my concentration.

"Chet?" It was Shirley Chameleon, leaning across the aisle.

I gave her a look. She was worth looking at. Shirley had big green peepers, a curly tail, and a laugh like the pitter-pat of raindrops on daisies.

Not that I cared about any of that. She was also a major cootie factory.

"Mm?" I said, glancing back at my comic book.

"Do you, um ... are you going to the fair on Friday?" Shirley toyed with her scarf, one eye on me, one eye on the substitute teacher. (Literally. Chameleons have some gross habits.)

I leaned over. "Depends. Will they have clowns?"

"Why?" she said.

"Because I
hate
clowns."

"Who's whispering?" a voice snapped. Ms. Dwyer scanned the room.

We clammed up. A minute later, Shirley bent back across the aisle.

She batted her eyelashes. "I don't know about
clowns," she whispered, "but I do know that they're having a
dance.
"

I knew it, too—the Hen's Choice Hoedown, where girls ask boys.

"I was trying to forget about that," I said.

Ms. Dwyer thundered, "No more whispering. Eyes on your books!"

Shirley gave it a rest for another minute. Then she murmured, "If you're, um, going to the fair, maybe you'd come to the dance with me? As my date?"

"Your
date?!
" I spluttered, shattering the quiet.

"That's it!" cried Ms. Dwyer. She waddled up the aisle toward me, quills bristling. "You! What's your name?"

Although I wanted to say
Seymour Butts,
I stuck with the truth. "Chet Gecko."

"You've disrupted my class enough for one morning."

I let my book drop. "But
she—
"

Ms. Dwyer noticed my
Amazing Mantis-Man.
"And you're reading this ... this trash? A
comic book?
"

"It's research," I said. "For my science report."

"I don't care if it's
War and
frikkety
Peace,
" she growled. The porcupine held her hand out for the comic. I gave it to her. "You, mister, will sit outside until you learn some manners."

Bo Newt chuckled. "Guess I'll see ya next year, Chet."

The substitute wheeled on my friend. "Would you like to join him?"

"Uh, no sir," said Bo.

"Ma'am!"

"No sir, ma'am," said the newt.

Ms. Dwyer gritted her teeth, then glared at me. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go and reflect on your bad behavior."

It's no use arguing with a walking pincushion. Followed by Shirley's mournful gaze, I rose and ambled out the door.

Five minutes of sitting on the hard cement was enough reflection for any gecko. My tuckus was going to sleep. But the sub let me stew.

On the far-off playground, little kids squealed with joy and freedom.

I sighed. Idly, I twirled the tip of my tail. No case to solve, no comic to read. It would be a long, boring timeout.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Footsteps slapped down the hall. "Chet! Chet!"

The last thing I expected was my little sister. And yet, there she stood, big as life—Pinky Gecko, first grader and first-rate pain in the tushie.

"Little blister," I said. "What brings you here?"

She frowned. "My feet. But, but ... how come you're sitting in the hall?"

"I'm on guard duty—watching out for cocka-poos."

"Cocka-whose?" she said.

"Never mind."

Pinky turned her woeful eyes on me. "Help me, big brother."

I pointed. "Okay, the loony bin is
that
way."

"Not funny," she said, pouting. "Mom's pearls, they're missing!"

I scratched my head. "Run that by me again?"

"The pearls." Pinky shuffled her feet. "I, um, borrowed 'em for show-and-tell."

"Smooth move, moth-brain," I said. "And what, you accidentally flushed them down the john?"

"I'm
not
a moth-brain," she said. "I showed 'em before recess. An', an' when I came back from recess, they ... disdappeared from my desk!"

I stood. "Have you told your teacher, Miss uh..."

"Miss Flemm? I can't."

"Why not?" I asked.

Pinky's lip quivered. "She'll tell Mom."

"Yeah, so?"

"Mom doesn't know I borrowed 'em."

My eyebrows rose. "Ah."

"An', an', an'..." Her eyes misted up like dawn over Mosquito Lake.

Before the waterworks began, I gently placed my hands on her shoulders.

"And you want me to find the pearls, is that it?"

She nodded. "Mm-hmm."

I chewed my lip. We'd had plenty of crime at Emerson Hicky Elementary—cheating, blackmail, vandalism, kids trying to take over the world. But no crook had made it this personal. No crook had
ever
picked on my family before.

My fists clenched. This punk was going down hard, like a skydiving brontosaurus. Why, I'd even tackle the case for free.

But I'd never let Pinky know that.

"You realize if I do this, you're gonna owe me big-time?" I said. "We're talking breakfast in bed, sharing desserts, no hassling me for two—no,
three
weeks..."

"A-anything you say." Pinky sniffed. "Just find the pearls."

I hate to see a reptile cry—even if she's my own flesh and blood.

"Stop your sobbing, sister," I said. "I'm on the case."

After a long morning of pretending to learn stuff, a gecko needs to tuck into some serious grub. And I knew just where to find it—this funky little joint called the cafeteria. What it lacked in style, it made up for in quantity.

That Wednesday, Mrs. Bagoong and her staff had gone all eastern European on us. The menu boasted squash-bug blintzes, fruit-fly borscht, and a bunch of other stuff I couldn't even spell, much less identify.

I munched a heaping trayful while waiting for my partner and pal, Natalie Attired. She's an elegant mockingbird with a taste for puzzles and a wit like a razor's edge.

"Hey, Chet," her voice chirped from behind me. "What do you get when you eat onions and beans?"

"Ugh, don't tell me."

"Tear gas!" She cackled.

Make that a
dull
razor's edge.

Natalie settled in beside me at the table. "What's the word, private eye?"

"Kumquat," I said.

"Actually, I was hoping for two words:
new mystery
." She pecked at a fly in my soup.

"Hey! Keep your beak out of my borscht, and I'll tell you what's new." In short order, I laid out the case for her.

Natalie smoothed her feathers. "Your own sister, a client?"

"Yeah."

"The same sister you called
pure evil in a little pink dress?
"

"Well, yeah." I forked another bite of blintz into my trap.

"Either you're going soft, or we're getting paid a
lot
" said Natalie.

I chewed. "Listen, birdie. This goon picked on my sister.
Nobody
picks on Chet Gecko's little sister."

She cocked her head. "Except Chet Gecko."

1 lifted a shoulder. "Well, of course. Anyway, I
get to write my own ticket with her. Pinky says she'll do
anything
to pay me back."