The Mysterious Disappearence of Leon
Read The Mysterious Disappearence of Leon Online
Authors: Ellen Raskin
Tags: #Young Adult, #Mystery, #Humour, #Childrens
Table of Contents
1 For Want of a Name of a Soup
2 Leon’s Fourteen Messages—and Two More
3 Mrs. Carillon’s Lists and Letters
4 Missing: One Husband. Found: Two Twins
6 A Familiar Face in a Dented Head
“Leon, I mean Noel!”
Mrs. Carillon shrieked and threw her arms around a skinny man with brown hair, red moustache, and sunglasses. The little man struggled desperately to free himself from her tight embrace.
She didn’t realize her mistake until a pretty blonde woman hissed, “Seymour, what are you doing?” and yanked him out of her arms. Mrs. Carillon watched the couple hasten away. She was too confused and embarrassed to feel someone tapping her on the shoulder.
“Mrs. Carillon?” And another tap.
Mrs. Carillon spun around. A tall, clean-shaven man with brown hair and sunglasses smiled down at her.
“Leon?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Noel,” he replied.
NOVELS BY ELLEN RASKIN
The Mysterious Disappearance of Leon (I mean Noel)
Figgs & Phantoms
The Tattooed Potato and other clues
The Westing Game
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published in the United States of America by E. P. Dutton, a division of NAL Penguin Inc., 1971 Published by Puffin Books, 1989.
This edition published simultaneously by Puffin Books and Dutton Children’s Books, divisions of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2011
Text and illustrations © Ellen Raskin, 1971
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE PUFFIN EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Raskin, Ellen
The mysterious disappearance of Leon (I mean Noel)
Reprint Originally published: New York : Dutton, c. 1971.
Summary: The disappearance of her husband is only the first
of the mysteries Mrs. Carillon must solve.
eISBN : 978-1-101-48605-4
[1. Mystery and detective stories. 2. Humorous stories.] I. Title.
Pz7.R1817My 1989—[Fic] 88-30658
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
This book is dedicated to Claire Laporte,
a reader who has grown up with my picture books.
1
*
For Want of a Name of a Soup
Names
It’s a funny thing about names. Some are long, some are short; some mean something, others don’t; but everyone and everything has one, or two or three.
Little Dumpling Fish had four names. Her first name was Caroline. Her nickname was Little Dumpling. Her last name was Fish, but that was changed to Carillon
1
when she married Leon Carillon—all because of a pot of soup.
As for Leon, he changed his name to ? .
A Pot of Soup
Mr. and Mrs. Fish and five-year-old Little Dumpling lived on a small farm next to the small farm of Mr. and Mrs. Carillon and their skinny son Leon. The Fishes grew tomatoes; the Carillons grew potatoes.
Thanksgiving used to be a happy time when the two families sat down together to a twelve-course turkey dinner. This November, snow was already on the ground, firewood was in short supply, and there was no money for either turkey or trimmings. What kind of a feast could they make out of tomatoes and potatoes?
“Soup,” decided Mrs. Fish.
Mrs. Fish arrived at the Carillon kitchen early in the morning, determined to make the best soup anyone had ever tasted. The two wives grated potatoes, pulped tomatoes, chopped parsley, and diced onions. What they did next is still a closely guarded secret,
2
but they fussed over the simmering pot all day long.
The table looked almost festive. Steam rising from the soup bowls masked the chips in the Carillons’ china, and a candle stub flickered from its saucer over the purple-flowered tablecloth.
Mr. Fish was the first to sip the soup. The cooks stared, waiting for his opinion. Mr. Fish stared back. Mr. Fish’s eyes bulged.
“Yipes!” he cried, and spit the soup halfway across the table, dousing the candle. The children giggled; the women were horrified. “Too hot,” he said, fanning his red tongue.
“Blow!” said Mrs. Fish, and everyone blew.
Mr. Carillon was the next to sip the soup.
“Slurp,” he said, and blew and slurped again.
“Wonderful,” Mr. Carillon announced at last. “Wonderful soup.”
Leon, imitating his father, blew and slurped. “Wonderful,” he said. “Wonderful soup.”
Mr. Fish tried again. “Good is good, and this soup is good,” he said and took another mouthful. “It’s better than good.”
Another mouthful. “Best soup I’ve ever tasted.”
Everyone was eating heartily now; everyone but Little Dumpling Fish, who wasn’t taking any chances. She was still blowing.
Two helpings, three helpings, four for Mr. Fish, and the pot was empty. For the first time, in a long time, their stomachs were full.
The Naming of the Soup
Leon and Little Dumpling were building a snowman in the backyard. Their mothers were scrubbing pots. The men were still sitting at the table, still praising the soup.
“Best soup I’ve ever tasted,” Mr. Fish said for the tenth time.
“Best soup
anybody’s
ever tasted.” Mr. Carillon said.
“Hmmm,” hmmed Mr. Fish, fishing for something new to say. “We should put it on the market, it’s so good.”
“Probably make us a million dollars,” said Mr. Carillon, wanting the last word.
“A million dollars!” shouted Mrs. Fish, running in from the kitchen with Mrs. Carillon close on her heels.
“Money is money,”
3
especially when you don’t have any; and these two families were so poor that the women had to patch the patches on their threadbare clothes. “A million dollars!” she repeated.
“Let’s see,” Mrs. Carillon said, “to begin with, we’d need three more pots and a bigger chopping block. . .”
“And Ball jars and sealing wax. . .”
“And labels.”
“Bet we could put up five hundred pints a month, easy,” said Mrs. Fish.
“You might just have something there,” Mr. Carillon said, impressed with her instant arithmetic.
Mr. Fish nodded in agreement.
“We’ll start small,” he predicted, “but in no time, mark my word, we’ll make that million dollars. Half for you, and half for us.”
“Half?” shouted Mr. Carillon. “What do you mean, half? The soup was made in my house in my pot on my stove with
my
potatoes.”
