Free The Case of the Gasping Garbage by Michele Torrey

I ntroducing Doyle and Fossey.
    Science Detectives. Known throughout the fifth grade for their relentless pursuit of answers. And not just any answers. The right answers.
    On a damp, drizzly day, in an attic not too far away, Drake Doyle worked alone in his homemade laboratory. The laboratory was filled with the latest scientific equipment: a chalkboard, racks of test tubes, flasks and beakers, dozens of pencils, and a lab coat with his name on it.
    Drake’s hair was quite wild (some would say it stuck straight up) and the color of toast. Cinnamon toast, that is. And perched on the end of his nose was a pair of round glasses, making him look very scientific indeed. Which, of course, he was.
    On this damp, drizzly day, an experiment was under way. A very important experiment.
    The solution in the test tube fizzed and popped.
    Drake Doyle glanced at his watch, then scribbled the results in his lab notebook.
    Fizzed and popped.
Right on time.
Not a second late.
Experiment a SUCCESS.
    Drake slapped his notebook shut. (Serious scientists always slap their notebooks shut.) He shoved his pencil behind his ear just as the phone rang. “Doyle and Fossey,” he answered, speaking in his best scientific voice. Nell Fossey was Drake’s lab partner. They were in business together. Serious business. Their business card read:

    “Hurry! Hurry! It’s a major emergency!” someone screamed on the other end of the phone. “There’s a monster in my garbage can!”
    Drake pushed up his glasses with his finger. Obviously, this was an important phone call. Very important. And important phone calls were more important than important experiments. He set his test tubes aside. “Who is this?” he asked.
    “Gabby Talberg,” she shrieked. “Hurry! Hurry!”
    “Oh, hi, Gabby.” Gabby Talberg was in Drake’s fifth-grade class at school. She was a nice girl, even if she did talk too much. “Now, calm down and speak slowly. What seems to be the problem?”
    “Speak-slowly?-Are-you-nuts?-I-said-there’s-a-huge-giant-bloodsucking-monster-in-my-garbage-can-and-it’s-growing-bigger-and-bigger-every -second-and-I’m-alone-in-the-house-and-it’s-going-to-gobble-me-up-and-I-don’t-want-to-be-someone’s-dinner!” Gabby gasped for breath.
    Drake was excited. This could prove to be a great day for Doyle and Fossey, Science Detectives. They’d never had a monster assignment before. And, of course, it would be a great day for the small town of Mossy Lake. They’d publish their findings in the local newspaper. GARBAGE-EATING MONSTER DISCOVERED! MOSSY LAKE’S GARBAGE PROBLEMS SOLVED! Maybe they’d even lecture at Mossy Lake University!

    But Drake couldn’t allow his excitement to overwhelm his good scientific sense. That was the first rule of science. And Drake was a stickler about rules of science. He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak calmly. “What makes you think there’s a monster?” he asked.
    “All kinds of weird gasping noises are coming from my garbage can. Something’s inside. Hurry, Drake, you have to come over immediately and get rid of it. Because if you don’t, I’ll just have to call James Frisco.”
    Great Scott! thought Drake, horrified. Not James Frisco! Frisco was in their fifth-grade class at school. Frisco was a competitor. Frisco was a scientist, but he was a bad scientist. A very bad scientist. A mad scientist, you might say.

    Why was Frisco such a bad mad scientist? Because if Frisco didn’t like a number, he erased it. Because if an experiment asked for pink, Frisco used blue. Because if an experiment called for two, Frisco used one. (Or three.) But, most especially, because if an experiment said, “Adult Supervision Required, OR ELSE!” Frisco did it anyway. Alone.
    Drake knew that if Gabby hired Frisco, there was no telling what could happen. Knowing Frisco’s sloppy scientific techniques, Frisco might let the monster out of the can, and he and Gabby would never be seen again! Gobbled in the