Sly the Sleuth and the Food Mysteries (3 page)

“Fluffy will eat them before we get a chance to play shuffleboard.”

“Cats don't eat cookies,” I said.

But Jack had already hung up.

“I'm going next door,” I said to my mother.

“At this hour? Brian is asleep. It's nearly your bedtime, Sly.”

“I'm going to talk with Mrs. Olsen. Besides, it's Saturday. It's okay if I'm up later. And it's for a case.”

“All right then.”

I rang Brian's doorbell.

The light over the steps went on.

Mrs. Olsen's face peeked around the curtain covering the glass in the door. She looked worried. Then she smiled. She opened the door.

“Hello, Sly. Brian's in bed.”

“I came to talk to you.”

“How nice. Would you like a snack?”

“I don't eat before bed.” This was one time I was grateful for my mother's rules. “Thanks anyway.”

We went into the living room and sat on the couch.

“Mrs. Olsen, did Brian have fish for dinner?”

“No. He hates fish. I never cook it.”

“Do you have any idea why his breath might smell like fish?”

Mrs. Olsen looked aghast. “Does his breath smell like fish?”

“Yes.”

“When did you smell it?”

“Tonight. When he came over.”

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Olsen put her hand to her mouth. “I guess I overdid it with that last batch.”

“Excuse me?”

Mrs. Olsen patted my knee. “I add fish oil to cakes and cookies.” She gave a little smile. “It makes them more nutritious.That way I don't feel guilty about giving Brian sweets. You'd never know it, of course. The taste is hardly there.”

That's what you think, I thought.

“Well, last week I read about a new concentrated fish oil. It's wonderful for you. So I bought a bottle. I used it in this week's cookies. Brian always gets cookies after dinner, you know. But if his mouth smells like fish, this oil is too strong.”

Brian eats fishy cookies every night. The poor kid.

“Oh my,” muttered Mrs. Olsen. “I thought his enthusiasm for cookies had dropped off. Oh my.”

“Treats are treats,” I said. “They're not supposed to be good for you.They're supposed to taste good.”

Mrs. Olsen put her hands together in her lap. “Well, Sly, treats can be both. I just made a little mistake buying this new oil.”

I don't like arguing with adults. And Mrs. Olsen was proud of her cooking. But this was Brian we were talking about. I looked at Mrs. Olsen hard. “Treats shouldn't taste like fish. Not even a little bit.”

Mrs. Olsen glanced away. “You know,” she said at last, “I can use olive oil from now on. Olive oil is good for you. It tastes good too.Yes. I'll make a new batch of cookies tomorrow.”

Warm relief filled me. And I hadn't broken Brian's trust. Sometimes things just went right. “I bet he'll love them.”

“If he loves my sweets too much, I'll have to make sure he brushes extra good.” Mrs. Olsen smiled. “We can't have rotten teeth now, can we?”

Rotten teeth.

Brian had said his mother didn't want him to rot. When I'd asked what he was talking about, he said teeth. But that didn't make sense: Fish oil won't rot your teeth. But junk food might.

After brunch on Sunday I sneaked behind our garage. I watched the hedge between Brian's backyard and Melody's backyard.

I waited.

Nothing happened.

I waited some more.

Brian ran out his back door. He cut through the hedge.

I knew he would.

I followed him.

He went around the front of Melody's house. And disappeared.

I crawled through the little tunnel between the bushes. Branches poked me hard. But I gritted my teeth; this was important.

“Hi, Brian,” I said.

“Hi, Sly.” He moved over and I squished in. “Want candy?” He slapped something in my hand.

“Sure.” I took a bite. It was a Hershey's bar. “This is good.”

“I know,” said Brian.

“Things taste good in the morning?” I asked.

“I have popcorn too.”

“Your mom doesn't know about this, does she? That's why you're hiding, right?”

“Candy makes her sad,” said Brian.

Hmmm. I wondered if Mrs. Olsen had ever tried chocolate. Chocolate makes my mother happy.

“Where did you get this junk food, Brian?”

“I traded at school.”

“What did you trade?” I asked.

“Toys.”

That sounded bad. “How many toys have you traded?”

“Lots.”

Oops. Brian needed his toys. Any kid did. “Did you start trading because your mother's cookies suddenly tasted bad?”

“They made Mitchell sick too,” said Brian. Mitchell goes to Brian's nursery.

“Is that why you think your teeth are rotting? Because of the candy?”

“Have more,” said Brian. He slapped some in my hand.

I ate it and licked my fingers. “Well, you don't have to trade anymore.”

“I like candy,” said Brian. “Better than home cookies.”

I took Brian's hand. “Listen. Your mom's cookies are going to taste better from now on. Better than ever. You won't need junk food.”

“Junk food is good,” said Brian.

“For treats now and then,” I said.“You have to watch out for some candy, though.”

“Toffee,” said Brian.

“Exactly,” I said. “It sticks in your teeth.”

“Rotten teeth.” Brian's voice was sober.

“Brushing works,” I said.

I heard a rip. The smell of popcorn was strong. Brian chewed loudly.

I told Melody Brian was the dangerous guy in the bushes. She laughed. And she gave me two poster boards as payment. They're both used on one side. But the other side is good for signs, if I need more later.

And I might. Because I already solved Jack's case. His problem was that Fluffy-Clarissa-Punky kept eating the shuffleboard pucks. That was so easy to solve, I didn't charge him. I explained that she liked the fish oil in them. So, once his cat has eaten up all the fishy cookiepucks, he has two choices. He can buy regular pucks. The kind made of plastic. Like normal people use. Or he can ask Brian for more cookies—the new kind without fish oil.

Jack never has extra money. So he's decided to ask Brian to play shuffleboard often. And to bring cookies each time.

That will make Mrs. Olsen happy. So long as she never finds out what the cookies are used for.

And Brian is happy. He says home cookies taste good again. Better than ever, like I promised. Poor Brian. He'll never understand what a really good cookie tastes like. But at least he's happy. And he doesn't have to worry about rotting teeth. Plus Melody and I gave him old toys, to replace the ones he traded away.

Taxi got a bonus out of all of this. I took some of the fishy cookies from Jack's stash. I gave her one. And I told her about this case. She gnawed and purred the whole time I talked.

So everyone's problems were related. My father says it's like hitting two birds with one stone. But it was really three birds.

Actually, it was three fish. Ha. I was right: There was something fishy about how Jack and Brian were acting. Ha.

I'm glad when cases end up funny like that.

It was Friday. On Friday cheerleading practice met at my house. I hurried home to clean up before the others got there.

Brian was waiting by my back door. He had both arms squeezed around Taxi.

“Taxi doesn't like to be held,” I said.

“I have a present for her.” Brian followed me inside. He put Taxi down. He took off his backpack. Then he took off his jacket. “Look, Sly. Look at my shirt.”

His T-shirt had MASCOT printed on it in Magic Marker.

Kate was the captain of the squad. That's because the whole idea of the squad was hers. When Brian asked to be a cheerleader, Kate had said no. But she'd made him mascot, instead. Kate can be nice when she isn't being bossy.

“I've seen your mascot shirt a million times, Brian.”

“Good.” Brian unzipped his backpack. He held up a baby T-shirt. On it was printed MASCAT.

I stared. Brian practiced his letters at my house. I knew his handwriting. Brian had printed those letters.

“It's for Taxi,” said Brian. “Get it?”

I still stared.

“Laugh. My mom laughed.” Brian grabbed Taxi again. “Help me put it on her.”

I shook my head in amazement. But I put the shirt over Taxi's head. I fit her front legs through the armholes. It hung on her all crazy and baggy. “Brian, did you think of this yourself ? When did you learn how to spell
cat
?”

“
Cat
is in the
at
family,” said Brian. “With
bat
and
fat
and
sat.
Don't you know the
at
family, Sly? I can teach you. It's easy.”

My mother had said Brian was brilliant. Maybe she was right. I wasn't sure I liked the idea of having a genius neighbor. “It's a great shirt, Brian.”

Knock knock knock.
Melody and Princess came in.

Brian held Taxi up. “Look.”

“Meow.” Taxi squirmed free. She ran off.

“Wow,” said Melody.

“Cool,” said Princess. “Will Taxi wear it to basketball games?”

“Do you have a cat, Princess?” I asked.

“No,” said Princess.