Hiss Me Deadly (2 page)

"And what big brother could resist that?" said Natalie. "Let's vamoose!"

Our first interviews should've been Pinky's teacher and fellow students. Unfortunately, they were all back in class.

Staggered lunch periods can make grown Pis weep with frustration.

But not us. We switched to Plan B: a trip to the custodian's office. You want to get in trouble? Ask the principal. You want the lowdown on the playground? Ask a janitor.

Maureen DeBree's cubbyhole was headquarters in the never-ending war on grime. Her assistants have come and gone. But Ms. DeBree remains—a mongoose without mercy—leading the cleanliness charge.

I rapped on her half-open door. "Ms. DeBree? It's Chet and Natalie. Do you have—?"

A rabbit's furry face peeked through the gap.

"You're not Ms. DeBree," said Natalie.

"And you're not Ham and Rye, the world-famous food jugglers," said the rabbit. "But let's be friends, anyway. I'm Anna Motta-Pia, junior janitor."

I sized her up. Ms. Motta-Pia had the usual buck
teeth and nervous nose you come to expect in a bunny. Her bulging eyes were brown as melted fudge, and her ears stood up like two tan ladyfingers.

(Or maybe I was just craving dessert.)

"Uh, Ms. Motta-Pia...," I began.

"Anna, please," she said. "Maureen is out. Y'all 5? come on in."

We followed her into the cramped office. Buckets, mops, brooms, and an army of cleaning products lined the walls. One desk—Ms. DeBree's—was as spotless as a Teflon necktie. The other, smaller desk overflowed with papers, parsley, and a half-eaten carrot.

Anna Motta-Pia hopped onto a stool. "I was fixin' to have a snack. Care for some greens?"

"Only at gunpoint," I said. "No, we're here to investigate a theft."

The bunny's eyes grew big. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes," said Natalie. "A pearl necklace was stolen."

"Mercy!" said Anna. Her nose twitched like a mischief-maker in the principal's office. "Right here at Emerson Hicky?"

"Yep," I said. "And we're trying to find out who did it." I leaned on her desk.

"Heavens to Flopsy!" said the rabbit. Her eyes flicked to a photo on the wall that showed about twenty bunnies in two rows.

"Your football team?" I asked.

"My family," she said. "But a theft, here? Maureen will be fit to be tied."

"It probably happened at recess, when the door was locked," said Natalie.

I nodded at a fat ring of keys hanging from a hook. "Who has keys to the first-grade classrooms?"

Anna nibbled the flower in the buttonhole of her
overalls. "Well ... Maureen and I, of course. Then, the teachers, and ... I don't rightly know who-all. The front-office folks?"

"Could anyone just slip in here and lift those keys?" I asked.

"Mercy no!" said the rabbit. "They're kept under lock and key—that is, when one of us isn't using them."

"How about the office copies?"

Her nose twitched some more. "You'd have to ask up there."

"We will," said Natalie.

Anna held up a furry finger. "I bet someone swiped the teacher's keys. I bet you anything!"

I eased up off the desk. "Leave the detecting to us, Anna. We private eyes try not to jump to conclusions until we have all the facts."

She hopped to her feet. "Ah, well, I'm sure y'all know best."

"That's what he keeps telling his mom," said Natalie. "But she still doesn't believe him."

Detectives have to knock on a lot of doors in the course of an investigation. No big deal. It's all in a day's work.

Unless we're knocking on the big red door that opens into Principal Zero's office.

A huge tomcat with a hair-trigger temper, Mr. Zero has munched up and spit out more tough guys than a champion gumchewer at a bubble-blowing contest.

This gecko doesn't like getting his tail chomped. That's why I always check instead with the secretary, Mrs. Maggie Crow.

When Natalie and I reached the office, we had to take a number. The black bird was already juggling two unhappy customers.

"No, I must see him now," said the first, a jumpy Chihuahua. "This just won't do."

Mrs. Crow narrowed her eyes. "Look, Miss Flemm, it ain't gonna happen. He's with the superintendent."

Miss Flemm?
I muttered to Natalie, "That's Pinky's teacher."

"Sometimes we're good," she said. "Sometimes we're lucky."

The second visitor butted in. "You don't under-staaand," whined the little alligator lizard. "Somebody stole my dad's watch from my desk."

"Yeah, yeah," Mrs. Crow rasped.

"If I don't get it back, he'll killll me."

Mrs. Crow looked as if she wouldn't mind that one bit. "I said I'd tell the principal when he's free. Now, beat it."

Hmm ... another
theft? I waggled my eyebrows at Natalie.

She nodded. When the lizard shuffled out of the room, she followed.

"Honestly, Mrs. Crow," huffed the Chihuahua, "I must get some action on this right away. Classroom thefts cannot stand unpunished."

I edged forward.
Had Pinky changed her mind and told Miss Flemm about the missing necklace?

The crow toyed with a shiny ring. "Sorry you mislaid your tiara," she said.

"It was
stolen,
" said Miss Flemm, "from a locked room."

"Whatever," said Mrs. Crow. "Look, unless somebody's actually lost a limb or been snatched by aliens, I ain't opening that door."

"But—"

"I'll tell him when he comes out," said the crow. "Now why don't you get back to your kids before they steal your whole classroom."

The Chihuahua's eyes grew wider than the waistband of a hippo's undershorts. "They wouldn't—would they?" She trotted out the door.

I leaned on the counter. "Mrs. Crow, is it possible that someone could steal the office keys without you knowing?"

The big bird snorted. Her snort turned into a cackle, and the cackle into a cough.

"That's what I thought," I said.

Scooting out the door, I caught up with Pinky's teacher. "Miss Flemm?"

She turned her head, but didn't slow down. "Yes? Who are you?"

"Chet Gecko. Pinky's brother." Tipping my hat, I gave her my Number Two Friendliest Grin. I let my reputation do the rest.

"Oh," she said. "You."

Unfortunately, my reputation had preceded me.

"I hear your tiara went missing," I said. "Maybe
my keen detective skills can help you find it." I was polite. I didn't even ask what the heck a teacher was doing with a tiara.

She paused. "I'm listening."

"Was it stolen during recess?"

"Why, yes."

"And you're sure you had the room key with you at all times?" I asked.

Miss Flemm patted her flowered purse. "Always," she said. "This never leaves my arm."

"Could someone have taken the key from your purse?"

"Not likely," said Miss Flemm. "Just try it—go ahead."

I snaked my hand between the straps and started into the bag.

Snap!

The sides of the purse chomped together like a hungry shark's jaws, narrowly missing my fingers.

"Yikes!" I cried, cradling my hand. "That's some security system."

"The Little Nipper.
Nobody
steals from my purse," the Chihuahua growled. She continued walking.

Tagging along, I said, "Then the thief broke in?"

She sniffed. "No, and the door was locked when I returned from recess."

We had nearly reached the first-grade building. "One last thing?" I asked.

"Make it snappy," said Miss Flemm.

"About your students," I said. "Any sticky-fingered ones?"

She put a paw to the doorknob and turned. "Certainly not. These are well-behaved, obedient boys and girls."

And with that, she opened the door and stepped into pandemonium. Kids were flying paper airplanes, chasing one another, dancing on desks, and laughing.

"Everybody in your seats," the dog barked. "Now!"

As the door closed, startled kids dived for their chairs.

Ah, dear old first grade. I missed it. Like a case of chicken pox.

I caught up with Natalie at the edge of the playground. She was chatting with a fluffy owl.

"Got a minute?" I asked.

"For you?" she said. "Even more. Sixty whole seconds. See ya, Madison!"

The owl waved and fluttered off.

"So, what did you find out?" I asked.

"Plenty." She grinned. "Madison says the school fair will have a kissing booth, hayrides, cotton candy, maybe even clowns—"

My face froze. "Not clowns."

"What's wrong with clowns?"

"Uh, nothing," I said, suppressing a shudder. "I just don't like 'em, that's all."

Natalie cocked her head. "Looks like someone's got a case of Bozo-phobia."

"What's that?"

"Uncontrollable fear of clowns," she said.

I forced a laugh. "Don't be a sap. Now can we get back to the
case,
worm-brain? What did you find out?"

"Oh, that. The alligator lizard said his dad's digital watch was stolen from his desk at recess."

"And? Is he in Pinky's class?"

"Nope," said Natalie, grooming her feathers. "He's in another room."

I stroked my chin. "Hmm. So we've got a busy little thief."

"Or
thieves,
" she said.

"Birdie," I said. "You know just how to cheer up a private eye."

She lifted a shoulder. "It's a gift."

"Now, why don't we—"

The class bell rang. While it may be true that crime never stops, detective work sometimes does. I shook my head and tromped back to class.

It ain't easy being a grade-school PI.

You've heard that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Not true. After spending lunchtime away from our sour substitute, I wasn't any fonder of her than I had been in the morning.

I suffered through her lessons anyhow. And when late recess rolled around, I led the charge for the door.

Natalie caught up with me at our unofficial office, the scrofulous tree.

"Time to compare notes," I said, patting the space beside me.

She cocked her head. "Are we talking about your fake excuse notes, or notes on the case?"

"The case, funny bird. What's the
what?
"

"What?"

"The
what,
" I said. "Like who, what, when, where, why? What've we got so far?"

Natalie settled in on a tree root. "Let's see, at recess, some kid—"

"Or teacher," I said.

"Stole your sister's pearls, the lizard's watch, and Miss Whosit's tiara."

"From two different rooms." I cupped my chin in my hands and stared up into the tree's scraggly leaves. "Hmm. That's
when
and
where.
So what's the
why?
"

"Someone wants to look pretty while telling time?" said Natalie.

We chewed this over. "Nah," we said together.

Natalie stretched a wing. "So how about the
who?
"

"The what?"

"The
who,
" she said. "Who's the logical suspect when something goes missing at Emerson Hicky?"

We looked at each other.

"Duh," I said, hitting my head. "Johnny Ringo. Why didn't I think of it sooner?"

"Because you needed my superior brainpower?" she said with a grin.

I gave her a look. "Smugness is so unattractive in a private eye."

Johnny Ringo was a plump raccoon with a fondness for the finer things—especially the finer things that didn't belong to him. He was smoother than
silverfish butter and slicker than a sackful of eels in olive oil.

Johnny Ringo was the black heart of Emerson Hicky's black market.

This wheeler-dealer usually wheeled and dealt at the playground's edge with his beefy wolverine sidekick. (And you
really
don't want to get kicked in the side by that guy, I can tell you.)

Sure enough, we found the raccoon moving hot goods underneath some oak trees. As we approached, a blue jay stuffed something into his book bag.

"And there's more where that came from," Johnny said.

The bird spotted us. "Yeah, uh, thanks." He flapped off in a hurry.

"Hey, Johnny," I said. "How's tricks?"

He grinned and spread his paws. "Tricks are for kids, amigo. Listen, you wanna go stand over by the sandbox? You're bad for business."

"Funny," I said, crossing my arms. "Business is just what we came to talk about."

Natalie scanned the area. "Where's your friend?"

"Rolf?" said Johnny Ringo. He glanced at his digital watch. "On coffee break. Get to the point. You're burning up daylight."

"Nice watch," I said. "The point is this: A pearl necklace went missing today."

The raccoon inspected me with his mild, amused eyes. "So? Stuff vanishes all the time."

"And a lot of it vanishes into your paws," said Natalie.

"Rumors, mere rumors," said Johnny Ringo. "I get a bad rap."

"You're a bad raccoon," I said. "Tell me, where were you during the little kids' early recess?"

His ringed tail twitched. "Where I always am, snoop: Ms. Burrower's class."

"Uh-huh," I said, uncrossing my arms. "And you didn't happen to step out for a bathroom break and a bit of light robbery?"