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Authors: Donna Jo Napoli

Sly the Sleuth and the Sports Mysteries (7 page)

BOOK: Sly the Sleuth and the Sports Mysteries
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“Have you ever played a team sport, Princess?” I asked.
“No.”
I knew it. “We can't cheer for both sides at once,” I said. “It won't work.”
Kate put her hands on her hips and stood over me. “Don't be so negative, Sly.”
Just then Kate's mother came jogging up the sidewalk. She held a giant bag in her arms.
“Why's your mother here?” I asked.
“She brought us something.” Kate ran to meet her. Her mother jogged in place while Kate took the bag. Then she waved and jogged away.
Kate's mother was still on her health kick.
Brian poked at the bag. “What's in it?”
“Props.”
Props
“Pom-poms!” Kate handed them out.
“Cool,” said Melody.
“Cool,” said Princess.
I had to admit, those pom-poms were cool.
“I want pom-poms,” said Brian.
Kate reached around in the bottom of the bag. “Good. My mother remembered the measuring tape.” She handed me a coiled cloth tape. “Climb that tree, Sly.”
“I want pom-poms,” said Brian.
“The maple tree? Why?” I asked.
“We have to put up a basketball hoop.”
“I want pom-poms,” said Brian.
“You can't put a basketball hoop on a tree,” I said.
“We're not using it to really play,” said Kate. “It's just to give us the right atmosphere. My mother bought us four kiddie hoops.” She held out a plastic hoop. “We can put one up at each of our houses. Then when we practice, we can pretend the team just made a basket.”
“I want pom-poms,” said Brian.
This reminded me of Melody's method acting. “We can pretend the team just made a basket without putting up kiddie hoops,” I said.
“The hoops will make us cheer more realistically,” said Kate.
“What's realistic about cheering?” I asked.
“Are you afraid of climbing the tree?” asked Kate.
“I wouldn't say that,” I said. “I just don't like climbing trees.”
“I want pom-poms,” said Brian.
“I climb trees,” said Princess. In a flash, she was halfway up the maple.
Taxi came jumping out of the tree.
Brian went over and petted her.
“How high should I go?” Princess called down.
“Catch,” said Kate. She threw the tape. It hit the trunk and fell in the dirt.
“I'll throw it,” I said. “I'm the one who plays baseball, after all.” I threw Princess the tape.
“Now, hold on to one end and let the other fall loose,” said Kate. “The hoop has to go ten feet up.”
Princess let one end of the tape dangle down.
“Climb higher,” said Kate.
Princess went higher.
“Stop,” called Kate. “Oh, dear. You should have taken the hoop with you.”
“I'll hand it to her,” said Melody. She climbed the tree and handed Princess the hoop.
“You're not a squad of cheerleaders; you're more like a troop of monkeys,” I said.
“Don't be a bad sport,” said Kate.
“I want pom-poms,” said Brian. He petted Taxi behind the ears.
High
Brian and I stood under the maple looking up. The others had gone home.
The hoop was finally in place. It stuck out at a weird angle.
“What's it for?” asked Brian.
“The hoop? Haven't you ever seen a basketball game, Brian?”
“No. What's it for?”
“Players throw balls into it.”
Brian picked up a rock. He threw it. It didn't even hit the lowest branch.
“You have to be tall to play basketball,” I said.
“Can you throw a ball that high?”
“Sometimes. We play in the gym at school. It's hard, though.”
“Brian,” called Brian's mother from their kitchen door.
Brian went home.
I rubbed my hands in the dirt. It was cold, and the dirt was hard. But I knew dirt keeps hands from slipping. So I rubbed till I had a good layer.
I climbed that maple tree. Not all the way to the hoop. But high enough.
I don't like heights.
But I refuse to be the only chicken cheerleader.
Prunes
On Saturday afternoon, Melody and I made beads out of clay. A few minutes after she went home, there was a knock on the porch door.
I hadn't had a job sleuthing for a while, and I missed it. So I tried to guess who was at the door. Just to oil up my skills.
It wasn't Jack. Jack doesn't knock. He kicks his soccer ball at the door.
It wasn't Kate. Kate went to visit her uncle's farm this weekend.
It wasn't Brian. He comes in without knocking.
Maybe it was Princess. She's a little shy, though. She'd call before coming over.
I opened the door.
“Oh, good, Sly, you're home.” It was Brian's mother. She was holding a plate of cookies. They looked dreadful.
“What's up, Mrs. Olsen? Do you want to come in?”
She looked back over her shoulder. Then she looked at me again. “No. Brian's playing in the backyard alone, and he doesn't know I'm over here. So I mustn't stay. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
“Sure.” I waited.
“You haven't spent much time with Brian lately.”
“I've been busy.”
“Is that it?” Mrs. Olsen lowered her eyebrows a little. She looked sort of like a chimp. “Or did Brian do something to upset you?”
“Oh, no. Brian didn't do anything. I have cheerleading,” I said. “We practice after school at different houses. So I'm only home on Tuesday and Friday now.”
“Ah. So Brian hasn't done anything strange around you?”
“Has he done something strange around you?” I asked.
“This morning he had a friend over. Little Mitchell, from his nursery school. And Brian snuck into the kitchen and got my marble rolling pin, the one we made these cookies with—they're for you, by the way.” She handed me the plate.
I smiled bravely. “Thank you.”
“They've got prunes in them.”
Prunes in cookies. “Thank you.”
“Anyway, Brian made Mitchell roll him.”
“Roll him?”
“Yes. As though he was dough. He made Mitchell roll his legs and arms and chest.”
“That is a little strange,” I said.
“And it hurt. Brian kept saying, ‘Ouch,' and Mitchell wanted to stop, and Brian wouldn't let him, and then Mitchell came and got me.”
“Oh,” I said. “I guess that's stranger than I thought.”
“And he won't tell me why. So I was wondering if you'd talk to him.” Mrs. Olsen smiled. “You seem to understand him better than anyone.”
“Sure.”
What Works
Mrs. Olsen went into her house.
I went into her backyard. Brian was perched in the lowest crook of their apple tree.
He smiled at me as I came over.“Watch.” He put his hands on a branch and hung for about a tenth of a second. He dropped to the ground onto his bottom. “Ouch.”
“Brian, what's that you've got around your ankles?”
“I hung,” said Brian.
“I saw.” I waited for him to answer my question.
“You climbed your tree yesterday,” said Brian.
I didn't know anyone had seen me. “I was just experimenting,” I said. I knelt beside him. “You've got a duct tape roll around your ankle.”
“I had to push to get it on,” said Brian. “I had to squash my foot. Squish squash.”
“Is that our duct tape roll?”
“I'm going to give it back,” said Brian. He pulled on it. “Help me.”
I eased Brian's foot out. The duct tape roll was pretty heavy. “This is a bad thing to do, Brian. Look, it made a red mark across the top of your foot.”
Brian rubbed his foot.
“That must hurt,” I said.
Brian stopped rubbing his foot. He just looked at me.
“And you've got a magnet held on with a rubber band on your other ankle.”
Brian smiled. “Magnets work.” He reached over and picked up another magnet from the ground under the tree.
“Work at what? What do magnets do?”
“Don't you know? I thought you were smart, Sly.”
I sat on the ground beside him. “Why did you make Mitchell roll you with the rolling pin?”
“It didn't work,” said Brian.
“Were you trying to make it work? Did you want to become a cookie?”
Brian laughed. “You're funny, Sly. Maybe you're dumb. But I love you anyway.”
“Listen, Brian, your mother is worried about you. So stop doing strange things.”
“My mother is worried?” Brian looked somber. “Make me a list.”
“What kind of a list?”
“A list of strange things.”
He had a point.
Dinner
“First, no more having people roll you with the rolling pin.”
“It didn't work anyway,” said Brian.
“Second, no more wearing duct tape rolls and magnets on your ankles.”
Brian looked away.
At least he wasn't a liar. He wouldn't make a promise he had no intention of keeping.
“Want to tell me why you're doing these strange things?” I asked.
“Brian,” called his mother from the kitchen door. “Do you want humus for dinner? Or tofu?”
“Raisins,” said Brian.
His mother shut the door.
“What's humus?” I asked.
“Yellow mush.”
“What's tofu?”
“White stuff. It jiggles.”
“Raisins are a good choice,” I said.
He nodded.
I thought about Brian's dinner. “Want to eat with us tonight? We're having chicken and rice.”
“Okay.”
So I asked Mrs. Olsen and she agreed.
It was my job to make the rice. I'm good at it. I let Brian help me measure. “Two cups,” I said. “That's plenty.”
Brian looked in the pot with dismay. “That's nothing. We're going to be hungry.”
“No we won't. We'll add water and boil it, and it will fill the pot.”
“Really?”
“Sure, water makes it swell.”
“Good,” said Brian.
Hired
The phone rang early Sunday morning. It was for me.
“Sly, this is Mrs. Olsen.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Olsen.”
“I want to hire you—as Sly the Sleuth.”
“Is it about Brian? About how strange he's acting?”
BOOK: Sly the Sleuth and the Sports Mysteries
2.24Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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