The Case of the Barfy Birthday (2 page)

Frisco! Drake and Nell exchanged horrified looks. James Frisco was also in their fifth-grade class at school. Like Doyle and Fossey, Frisco was a scientist, but that’s where the resemblance ended. You see, Frisco enjoyed it when beakers bubbled over. Frisco grinned when things exploded. Frisco laughed out loud while pouring dangerous chemicals down the drain.

Frisco’s business cards read:

Drake could never let Zoe call Frisco! If Zoe called Frisco, he’d likely fill a bottle with dishwater, call it an antidote, and charge her five bucks plus tax and a tip. Who knows what would happen to Chloe without a proper antidote! The thought was too terrible to imagine!

“Never fear, Ms. Jackson, we’ll take the case,” said Drake.

“Say,” said Nell, peering through the plant to where Chloe was sitting. “Isn’t that your mother sitting beside Chloe?”

“Yes,” answered Zoe, “what about her?”

“She looks sick, too.”

Drake agreed. Mrs. Jackson was the color of mashed peas, with perhaps a splotch of spinach green here and there.

Zoe nodded. “Yes, but she didn’t drink any health shake, so there’s no worry there.”

“And isn’t that Lilly Crump sitting two seats away from Mrs. Jackson?” asked Nell.

Drake pushed up his glasses. Egads! Nell was right again! Just like Chloe and Chloe’s mother, Lilly was barfing into a basin!

“Hmm,” said Nell, “the last time we saw Lilly was yesterday at the birthday party.”

“I have a hunch,” said Drake, his mind working furiously.

“Ditto,” said Nell.

They pulled on surgical gloves.

Snap! Snap!

They marched across the waiting room.

“Afternoon, Chloe,” said Drake, patting her on the shoulder.

“Ooooooh, help me,” she moaned.

“Sorry you’re not feeling well,” said Drake.

Nell patted her other shoulder. “Do you mind if we examine you? Perhaps we can help.”

“Anything,” said Chloe weakly.

“Just try to relax,” said Nell. “This will be over in a jiffy.”

Mrs. Jackson moved over a couple of seats to make room for them. “Do whatever you need to do,” she said.

“Check,” replied Drake and Nell. They took Chloe’s pulse. They took her temperature. They had her say “Aaaaah.” They asked her and her mother a few questions. Then, just as Drake was pondering, Chloe leaned over, missed the basin, and . . . well . . .

Barf! . . .

Splat! . . .

. . . all over Drake’s shoes. (It was one of those curious scientific moments when, just for a second or two, Drake wished he’d picked a different career.)

Chloe groaned. “Sorry.”

But Drake was a professional. Even when splattered with barf. “No problem. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“Indeed,” said Nell with a nod. “Get well soon.”

And after questioning Lilly, plus a quick trip to the restroom for barf removal, both Drake and Nell were ready for action.

“There’s no time to lose!” cried Nell. “Back to the lab for analysis!”

“And a shower . . .” added Drake.

D
rake pulled a book off the shelf and sat next to Nell at the lab table.

He flipped through the pages until he found the right section: “Situation Critical: What to Do When You’ve Given Your Twin Sister a Health Drink and She Barfs and Barfs and Barfs.” After Drake read the section aloud, they discussed their observations. (Good scientists always discuss their observations.)

Finally, Drake said, “I have developed a hypothesis.” (A hypothesis, as every good scientist knows, is a scientist’s best guess as to what is happening.)

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Detective Doyle,” said Nell with a nod after Drake had explained his idea. “Let’s test it.”

And so, they got to work. In this case, it was detective work. Telephone detective work, to be precise. They were into their fifth phone call when Drake’s mother, Kate Doyle, poked her head around the door. “Do you two brilliant scientists want anything to eat or drink? Hot chocolate, perhaps? Deviled eggs? A muffin or two?”

“Muffins,” said Drake. “Blueberry. Hold the hot chocolate.”

“Coffee,” said Nell. “Decaf. Black. And two deviled eggs. No, make it three.” (In case you weren’t up on the latest in the scientific world, real scientists don’t drink hot chocolate. Ditto for real detectives. They prefer coffee. Decaf. Black. With muffins upon occasion. And don’t forget the deviled eggs.)

“No problemo,” replied Mrs. Doyle. Just as Drake’s dad was great for science equipment and driving fast, Drake’s mom was fabulous for food and drink. In fact, Mrs. Doyle owned her own company: Kate Doyle’s Fab Foods.

One phone call and one chart later, Mrs. Doyle was back with hot coffee (decaf, black), muffins (blueberry), and eggs (deviled).

“Now eat those eggs right away,” said Mrs. Doyle. “Don’t let them get warm, because you know what can happen . . .” And she warned them about the dangers that could lurk in food kept out of the fridge for too long.

“Thanks for the hot tip, Mom,” said Drake.

“And thanks for the fab food,” said Nell, before popping a deviled egg into her mouth.

After Mrs. Doyle left, Drake and Nell returned to making phone calls and drawing charts.

The phone calls sounded a lot alike.

“Hello?” the person would answer, usually in a very weak or wobbly sort of voice. Then Drake or Nell would ask a few questions about yesterday’s birthday party. Then they’d have to wait while . . .
barf!
. . .

Then, Drake or Nell would say, “Get to the ER, ASAP. Situation critical.”

After each phone call, Drake and Nell filled in more details on the master chart. (Details like who was sick, who ate a hamburger, who took a refreshing dip in the pool, and so forth.)

Finally, three muffins and two and a half cups of decaf later, Nell announced, “We have our answer! Quick! Back to the hospital!”

While Mr. Doyle’s car screeched around this corner and that corner, Nell called her mom, Professor Ann Fossey, on Mr. Doyle’s cell phone. “I’ll be home in an hour, maybe less. The Case of the Barfy Birthday is in the bag,” replied Nell.

“That’s nice, honey. I hope you’re remembering to wash your hands frequently.” Now, this might seem like an odd thing for a parent to say, but for Professor Fossey it was perfectly normal. Professor Fossey was a scientist herself. She taught wildlife biology at Mossy Lake University, and so she knew all about good laboratory technique and washing your hands.

“Don’t worry, Mom. It’s in the bag.”

When they arrived, the ER was very crowded. Sitting with Chloe, Mrs. Jackson, and Lilly were all of the people Drake and Nell had phoned.

Zoe dashed up and pulled Drake and Nell behind the potted plant. “Quick! The antidote!”

Drake and Nell glanced at each other. “We apologize, Ms. Jackson,” Drake said gravely, “but there is no antidote.”

There followed a moment of stunned silence (if you ignored the general hubbub). Then Zoe paced, talking aloud. “I wonder if there’s still time to hire Frisco. Or jog to the Mexican border.”

“Relax, Zoe,” said Nell. “No antidote is needed.”

Zoe looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t poison your sister,” said Drake.

Zoe’s mouth dropped open.

“Allow Scientist Nell to explain,” added Drake.

Now it was Nell’s turn to pace behind the plant. “Imagine yourself lying in bed. You roll over just as your alarm clock rings. Now, did your alarm clock go off
because
you rolled over? Of course not. They merely happened at the same time.”

Zoe glanced at her watch. “I really should be getting to the Mexican border.”

“You see, Ms. Jackson,” Nell continued, “just because two things appear to be related does not mean that they are. You thought you poisoned your sister because she barfed when she drank the health shake. The truth is, she was already sick, and your health shake just tasted nasty.”

“Are you sure?” asked Zoe. “That’s good, I guess. But what made her sick?”

“Excellent question,” said Nell.

Drake pushed up his glasses. “We first became suspicious when we observed that your mother was also sick. And, of course, there was Lilly Crump, green as a guppy. Coincidence? Maybe. To find out, we did a little investigating.”

“We discovered that all three had become sick at the same time,” said Nell. “And all three were at your birthday party yesterday.”

“Very suspicious indeed,” said Drake.

“So you think something at the party made them sick?” asked Zoe.

Drake nodded. “Precisely. We called everyone who attended the party. We wanted to know where they sat, what they ate, and so on.”

“I don’t understand,” said Zoe.

“You soon will. Chart, please!” ordered Nell.

Drake unrolled a chart. Nell whipped out her wooden pointer and whapped the chart. “Observe. Out of the eighteen people who attended the party, eleven became sick. You will notice that everyone who became sick had one thing in common. They all ate the chicken salad. Those who didn’t eat the chicken salad didn’t get sick.”

Zoe frowned. “I still don’t get it. Why would chicken salad make people sick?”

“Bacteria,” said Nell.

“Bacteria?” asked Zoe.

“Germs, if I may be so blunt,” said Drake. “Bacteria, or germs, are tiny organisms that live everywhere. They can make people sick.” Drake rolled up the chart and began to pace. “You will recall that yesterday was rather warm.”

“Hot, in fact,” added Nell. “Bacteria love to grow where it’s warm.”

“After a few hours of sitting in the hot sun,” said Drake, “the bacteria multiplied and multiplied until the chicken salad was loaded with them. One bite would have made anyone sick.”

“So I
did
poison everyone!” Zoe moaned. “I’ll get life in prison for sure!”

“It’s called food poisoning,” said Drake. “Easily prevented by keeping hot food hot and cold food cold. Never warm. Unless you eat it right away. And, of course, everyone knows to wash their hands frequently. Preparing food with dirty hands is the leading cause of food poisoning.”

After giving Zoe a few more important food-serving tips, they spied the doctor talking with Mrs. Jackson. Drake and Nell hurried over.

“So glad you’re here,” Drake and Nell said to the doctor. They shook her hand. They quickly explained the problem, raising their voices to be heard over the chorus of barfs. They gave her the chart, plus their business card.