The Case of the Crooked Carnival (3 page)

“Dr. Livingston, would you be so kind as to fetch my secret code card from my desk? Yes, that’s it … a little to the left … No, no, not my
Flying Saucer Identification Guide
… it’s right under your nose, that’s it … bring it here.” And giving Dr. Livingston a pat, Drake took his secret code card and held it over the note (while taking a sip of strawberry soda). The secret message appeared.

Alien Invasion! Drake was so shocked that for a moment the forces of gravity got the better of him. With a
burp!
and a
fizz!
strawberry soda bubbled out of his nose.

“Great Scott!” cried Drake, falling to the floor in a heap. “Aliens have invaded Mossy Swamp!”

Woof! Woof!
cried Dr. Livingston.

“Naturalist Nell could be in dire danger. Quick! To Mossy Swamp we go!”

Drake raced his bike over High Hill, around Lonely Loop, past Plum Pond toward Mossy Swamp, while Dr. Livingston ran alongside.

Mossy Swamp was a wetland filled with wildflowers, grasses, frogs, snakes, bogs, and bugs. To think that aliens had invaded it was almost more than he could bear. Perhaps even now the purple-headed, bloodsucking Martians were ripping the legs off frogs, smashing bugs under their scaly feet, and—horrors of horrors!—plowing the swamp under to make a landing pad for their flying saucers!

“Halloooo! Naturalist Nell! Yoo-hoo!” Drake cried upon arriving at the swamp, quite breathless.

Much to his relief, Nell popped up from the undergrowth. Except for a few twigs in her hair she looked okay. “Ah, there you are. Just preparing for our field trip tomorrow with the first graders.”

Taking no chances, Drake whipped out his
Super-Alien-Stunner-Shocker-Whammy
from his backpack (guaranteed to stun any bloodsucking Martian for sixty seconds or your money back). “Never fear, Naturalist Nell, Drake Doyle is here!”

“Uh—thank you, Detective Doyle, but I don’t think you’ll be needing that.”

“But—but your note said there was an alien—”

“Indeed there is an alien invasion. But it’s not what you think.” Nell pointed at a tall plant with purple blossoms (quite pretty, in Drake’s opinion). “Observe, the alien species.”

“Huh?”

“Purple loosegoose, a noxious weed. Not all aliens come from outer space, you know.”

In the space of a nanosecond (one one-zillionth of the time it takes to blink), Drake Doyle overcame his disappointment. And though battling purple-headed weeds was not nearly as exciting as battling purple-headed bloodsucking Martians, an alien was an alien. He hastily put away his
Super-Alien-Stunner-Shocker-Whammy,
whipped open his notebook, grabbed his pencil from behind his ear and said, “Take it from the top.”

Nell paced, her hands clasped behind her back. “You see, it’s all about ecosystems.”

“Ah yes, ecosystems—the balance of nature.”

“When a large number of plants and animals live together successfully for a long period of time, the ecosystem is said to be
balanced
. But when something happens, say a drought or disease—”

“—or a new strip mall perhaps?”

“Precisely—then the ecosystem becomes
out of balance
and many plants or animals may die.”

“Tragic.”

“And as you know, Detective Doyle, Mossy Swamp is a wetland. And wetlands are part of a vast ecosystem, with everything interconnected. The animals and bugs have what they need to live and reproduce, and likewise the plants.”

Drake was scribbling furiously. “Uh-huh, yes, I see … fascinating, really …”

“Now, noxious weeds are plants that
do not belong
in an ecosystem. In other words, they are alien invaders. Case in point, purple loosegoose.”

“Did it arrive by spaceship perhaps?”

“Negative, Detective Doyle.”

“Let me guess, Naturalist Nell. Did it arrive as a seed, carried by a bird through its droppings?”

“Happens all the time.”

“Or perhaps carried on the wind from someone’s backyard—someone who didn’t know that purple loosegoose is a noxious weed and planted it simply because it was pretty?”

“Again, correct.” Suddenly, with no warning, Nell grabbed the purple loosegoose, and with an “Arrgggh!” ripped it up by the roots.

Drake stared at her, his mouth hanging open. He dropped his pencil into the muck. (Normally his partner was quite even-tempered, so this exhibit of raw animalism was extraordinary.)

“Unless we stop the purple loosegoose,” she was saying, “it will take over Mossy Swamp!”

“Good heavens!” cried Drake. “Are you certain? I mean—it
does
look fairly harm—”

“I’m quite certain.” Nell stuffed the purple loosegoose into her backpack. “Come, Detective Doyle. Let us proceed to Nature Headquarters immediately, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

V
ines snaked everywhere. Gigantic leaves glittered, and papier-mâché trees soared overhead. Indeed, if you didn’t wander too far, you might think you were deep in a jungle. But it was really just Nature Headquarters, AKA Nell’s bedroom.

Mixed in among the smells of rabbit fuzz and frog water, were squeaks, screeches, squawks, and, if you listened closely, a little snoring as well.

Nell placed the purple loosegoose onto a shelf for later classification, and sat at her desk with Drake. “Observe,” she said, clicking the computer mouse. “This video scene was taken last year in a wetland much like Mossy Swamp.”

Together they watched a most horrible scene unfold. At first the wetland looked quite cheerful. Birds chirped. Snakes slithered. Frogs hopped. Butterflies flitted among the grasses and wildflowers.

Drake pushed up his glasses. “Say, isn’t that a cluster of purple—”

“Sharp eye, Detective. Indeed, it is our alien invader, purple loosegoose. Now observe….”

A troop of Boy Scouts appeared on the screen. They trooped merrily along the wetland path, stopping for photo ops, or to sniff the flowers. All in all, it looked like a pleasant outing.

But Drake was disturbed. Something wasn’t quite right. “Say, isn’t the purple loosegoose growing? I mean—
fast?
”

Sure enough, in the time it takes to say “Bob’s Your Uncle,” the purple loosegoose overwhelmed the path. There was a flash of purple, an arm here and a leg there, then the troop of Boy Scouts disappeared in a tangle of beautiful purple blossoms, to the tune of
“Help! Help!”

And then the video abruptly ended.

Drake jumped up. “Jeepers creepers!”

“Jeepers creepers is right,” said Nell. “Once purple loosegoose reaches a certain stage in its life cycle, it grows out of control. Eventually it takes over entire wetlands, muscling out other plants and leaving little food for the bugs and animals that live there. The ecosystem collapses and most species die.”

“Great Scott! Purple loosegoose is
worse
than a purple-headed bloodsucking Martian!” cried Drake.

Nell’s mouth formed a thin line. “Brace yourself, Detective Doyle. It gets worse.”

“Worse? How could it get any worse?!”

“Have you forgotten? Tomorrow is the annual first-grade field trip to the wetlands. And
we’re
the guest lecturers.”

Drake gulped. Nell was right. This was worse.

Nell tapped her watch. “And, by my estimation, tomorrow is the day all the purple loosegoose let loose and grow like mad.”

Suddenly, Drake felt faint. “Egads! We could all be swallowed alive! What on earth shall we do?”

“That’s the thing, Drake,” Nell said. “I just don’t know what to do. Cancel the field trip, I suppose, and close the wetland to the public. Not very scientific. And while it may save the first graders, it certainly won’t save the wetland.”

“My, my,” said Drake. “This is dire. Quite dire. There, there. Chin up, Naturalist Nell. Dire as it may be, we must find a solution.”

And so, as all scientists do when stumped, they brainstormed. They brainstormed and brainstormed, talking louder and louder until they were shouting. Now, you might think they were desperate, or mad at each other perhaps, but they were shouting for a different reason altogether. You see, it was becoming difficult to hear because the noise in the jungle was growing louder by the second. Not squeaks, screeches, squawks or a little snoring, mind you, but a steady
chomp! Chomp! CHOMP! CHOMP!

The
chomp! Chomp! CHOMP! CHOMP!
grew louder and louder until Nell finally screamed, “WHO’S MAKING ALL THAT RACKET?” The noise stopped. Then there was a little burp.

Drake and Nell glanced in the direction of the burp. Right where Nell had placed the purple loosegoose were nine fat beetles. The purple loosegoose was gone. One of the bugs patted its belly, sighed, and burped a bug-sized
buuuurrrrp!

Drake pushed up his glasses. “You don’t suppose …”

Nell blinked. “This is amazing …”

“The beetles ate the loosegoose!” cried Drake.

“Fascinating. My mother gave me the beetles for my birthday. Scientific name:
Chompicus cinderellus.
Picky eaters. So far all they’ve eaten is spinach. I worried that I’d have to return them to the wetlands where my mother first classified them. They’ve been moping around for weeks. Hungry, no doubt.”

“Hungry for purple loosegoose,” said Drake.

Nell cocked her eyebrow. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Detective Doyle?”

“Indeed I am. There’s no time to lose.”

“Check.”

So, after gathering the beetles they were off.

Back at the swamp, Nell released the beetles. Soon there was a
chomp
….

Which grew to a
Chomp!
And then a
CHOMP!

And finally, a satisfying,
CHOMP! CHOMP! CHOMP!

The next morning, the wetland looked quite cheerful. Birds chirped. Snakes slithered. Frogs hopped. Butterflies flitted among the grasses and wildflowers.

A group of first graders appeared on the scene. They trooped along the wetland path, whistling merrily, some stopping for photo ops, some stopping to sniff the flowers. Meanwhile Nell Fossey chatted about ecosystems, before inviting Drake Doyle to chat a bit about alien invasions. All in all, it was a pleasant outing.

Later that day, Drake wrote in his lab notebook:

Aliens destroyed.
Beetles superheroes (and super fat).
Professor Fossey says we’re onto
something here.
Received immense satisfaction for
a job well done.