Sly the Sleuth and the Sports Mysteries (3 page)

“What are you doing?”

“Spreading grass seed.”

“In November?”

He stopped and smiled. “Most people don't know it, but fall is a great time for planting grass. This soccer field would be bare all spring if I didn't seed it now. And you want to know the real secret?” He leaned toward me. “A little bit every day for a week, rather than a ton of seeds all at once. It works like a charm.”

I looked at the seeds. They were mixed, big and little, yellow and brown, and, oh, what were those black and white ones? Aha! “You don't want flowers on the field, do you, Stuart?”

“Of course not,” he said.

I knew it.

As soon as the last bell rang, I ran outside. When Jack came out, I jumped in front of him.

“Come with me,” I said.

“What are you doing jumping out at people?” said Jack. “I'm the one who jumps out at people.”

“Just come.”

“I have soccer practice.”

“It's about your case.”

Jack twisted his mouth. “Okay.”

I led him to the art room.

“Well, hello, Sylvia,” said Mrs. Stambaugh. “Hi, Jack.”

Teachers often call me Sylvia until they get to know me better.

“Mrs. Stambaugh, can you tell us where you keep the seeds for those bird feeders?”

Mrs. Stambaugh gave us a puzzled smile. “In the shed. We can't keep them in the classroom. They might attract rodents.”

“We need to go to the shed,” I said.

“We already filled the feeders today,” said Mrs. Stambaugh.

“There's something you need to know, though,” I said.

“What?”

“Come with me. Please.”

I led Mrs. Stambaugh and Jack to Stuart's shed. Sure enough, there were two giant bags inside. One held grass seed. The other held birdseed. Including big black and white ones: sunflower seeds.The birdseed one was half empty.

“Stuart switched the bags by accident,” I said. “He's been seeding the soccer field with birdseed instead of grass seed.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Stambaugh.

“That's why there are so many birds on the field in the afternoon.”

“Case solved,” said Jack.

“The birds have been going to the field?” Mrs. Stambaugh brightened. “Oh, well, now even more will come to the feeder. How nice.”

The case of the Soccer Switch ended well. Everyone's happy again. Jack got to practice extra in time for the game, and the coach let him play a lot. Jack didn't make super kicks, but the team won anyway. So the coach was happy too. Happy enough to use team funds to buy Mrs. Stambaugh another bag of birdseed.That made Mrs. Stambaugh happy. She gave me a set of colored pencils as a reward for saving her winter project. That made Jack even happier. He said he didn't owe me anything: No one should get double payment for the same task. I gave half the pencils to Brian, so he's happy.

I can't help thinking that those birds must have missed some seeds here and there. That soccer field will look beautiful in spring, dotted with sunflowers. The thought makes me smile.

Case # 2:

Sly and the Kick Craze

The school bell rang. I gathered the stuff from my cubby.

It was Tuesday. Every other day of the week, Melody and I walked home together.

But not Tuesday. On Tuesday Melody had ballet lessons. I walked home alone. Tuesday was lonely.

I went to the end of the hall and turned left onto Melody's hall out of habit. I knew she'd be gone already.

But there she was, at her cubby. She was leaning over.

“What are you doing? Aren't you late?”

“Oh, hi, Sly. I was just looking at my knees.”

“You have on jeans. You can't see your knees.”

“Are you in a bad mood? You get like this every Tuesday.”

“Sorry.” I tried to perk up. “Why were you looking at your knees?”

Melody smiled. “I was thinking about kicks.”

“What about kicks?”

“You know. In ballet we do battements—high kicks with straight knees. But maybe bent knees are better underwater.”

No one would see kicks underwater. I put my hand on Melody's forehead. “No fever. How come you're delirious?”

She laughed. “I just . . . ”

“Hey, Melody!” Kate ran up behind Melody. “Do you have extra ballet junk I can borrow?”

Melody rolled her eyes at me. Then she turned to Kate. “It's too late. I told you. But you could start in January. That way you can ask for what you need as a Christmas present.” She put on her backpack and slung her ballet bag over one shoulder.

“I want good stuff for Christmas,” said Kate. “Not ballet junk.”

“Stop calling it junk.” Melody frowned. “The winter recital is only three weeks away. There isn't time for you to learn everything. And I don't have extra gear with me today, anyway.” Melody smiled at me. “Got to go. We can talk about kicking later.” She ran through the exit doors.

Kate looked at me. “I'm going to take ballet lessons.” She seemed a little sad.

I knew all about Melody's recital. So I'd already figured out what they were talking about. “January is a good month to start,” I said. I like to be encouraging.

“I'm starting now,” said Kate. “Today.”

Jack jumped out at us. “Ballet's stupid,” he said. He grabbed his pack out of the cubby beside Melody's. “See ya.” He waved and pushed through the exit doors. Jack likes to wave.

“Like I said,” mumbled Kate, “today. My mother's going to talk to Melody's ballet teacher. My mother can talk anyone into anything.” She went out the exit door.

That part about her mother was true. Kate's mother was a determined person.

If she wanted ballet lessons for Kate, she'd get them.

How much ballet could a person learn in three weeks?

I stood in my driveway and called, “Taxi.”

“See?” said Brian. “She won't come.”

“Taxi.”

“She's cold,” said Brian. “She's in a cave somewhere and she won't come out.”

“Taxi doesn't get cold,” I said. “She's an outdoor cat.”

“It's winter,” said Brian.

“Not officially. It won't be winter till December twenty-second.”

“It's cold,” said Brian. “I'm cold. Taxi's cold.”

“Taxi's different from us. Her fur grows extra thick in the cold. It keeps her warm. Besides, she has a spot in the garage if she wants. She's happy.”

“Then why won't she come?” said Brian.

He had me there. Taxi always comes when I call. She's special that way. “Taxi,” I called.

Taxi appeared from the other side of the house.

I sat on the porch steps and petted her. “Where were you, Taxi? I was worried about you.”

“Then take better care of her,” said Brian.

I narrowed my eyes. “Who's been talking to you about cats?”

“Pets need care,” said Brian.

I knew it. He'd been lectured to. “Did you do something bad to Wilson?”

Brian blinked. “It was an accident.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, not an accident. A mistake.”

“What did you do?”

“Frogs like water,” said Brian. “And a shower is water.”

“You gave Wilson a shower?” I imagined a bunch of frogs in Brian's bathtub. Then I imagined his mother discovering them. I put my hand over my mouth so Brian couldn't see my grin. After all, it's not nice to laugh at someone's mother.“That doesn't sound like such a bad mistake.”

“The shampoo got Wilson sick,” said Brian.

“Shampoo? Brian, frogs don't even have hair.”

Brian picked up a clump of dirt and smashed it on the driveway. “Wilson better get strong again.” He didn't look at me, but I could see his chin crumple.

I went over to Brian. I put my arms around him. “I hope so, Brian.”

“Is he crying?” Melody came through Brian's yard. Her backyard touched his, so we always cut through his. “Come hug me, Brian. We can cry together.” Her face was so sad.

Brian looked at her. “Did your puppy die?”

“No,” said Melody. “Why would you ask such a terrible thing?”

“He's just worried about Wilson,” I said. “What happened, Melody?”

“My recital's ruined.”

“The recital will be wonderful even if Kate's in it,” I said.

“What?” said Melody.

“Kate won't be good, but who cares? You can still do everything perfectly. And when Kate messes up, you'll look even better.”

“What are you talking about?” said Melody.

“Kate. Her mother got her into your ballet class, right?”

Melody shook her head. “What gave you that idea?”

This was embarrassing. I had jumped to conclusions. My father says a good sleuth never jumps to conclusions. “Tell me what you're talking about,” I said in a business-like voice.

Melody reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a pair of ballet slippers. “Smell.”

I stepped back. “I don't want to smell your shoes.”