Free The Case of the Missing Dinosaur Egg by June Whyte Page A

him into an empty cage lined with shredded paper. “There are three Australian egg-laying mammals. The platypus, and two species of Echidna.”
    Excitement bubbled inside of me.
    “Echidnas? Can we see a baby echidna?”
    “None have hatched yet, I am afraid. However, there are six echidna eggs under heat lamps in the shed. Maybe there will be a new-born puggle for you to see next time you come.”
    “Puggle?”
    “That is what baby echidnas are called,” he said, “Even a baby platypus is sometimes called a puggle. Here, help me put these little guys back to bed.”
    Bending down he scooped one baby platypus up in his hand and passed it to me.
    “Put him in the end cage, the one with the blanket over it. Platypuses prefer the dark.”
    I looked down at the creature sitting in the palm of my hand. So warm—so odd looking. Afraid I’d squash the tiny bundle, I carried it carefully to the end cage and placed it on the clean straw.
    “Later I will add other native animals, like kangaroos, wallabies and koalas to the sanctuary. Baby animals that have lost their mother,” the professor continued as he put the other two platypuses to bed. “But this lot will be enough to get me started.”
    “Wow!” said Jack, looking completely blown away. “All those eggs in the shed. They’ll hatch into snakes and lizards and other cool stuff. Right?”
    “That is right. Now, I think Alex has had enough porridge.” The professor picked up the baby cockatoo from the floor, wiped him down and settled him back in his cage. “You too, Larry,” he said, unhooking the lizard from his coat and tucking him into another cage with three other baby blue-tongues. “And I think it’s time I walked you two children back to the front gate. You don’t want the riding school to send out a search party. Do you?”
    While we walked, Jack bombarded the Professor with questions about the sanctuary. He didn’t even stop talking when Barnaby trotted up behind him and butted his pocket, looking for more carrots.
    You know, one thing I’ve always liked about Jack—when he gets caught up in a project, he always gives it his full attention.

TWELVE
    One eye on the stable clock, I pulled a notebook from my horse gear bag and flicked it open at the page headed: ‘Professor’s Egg Mystery’. The cartoony horse’s head on the front of my horse gear bag glared at me. ‘Hurry-up-you’ll-be-late-for-Kate’s-lesson’, the glare seemed to say. Turning my back on the bag, I read the following:
    Why does the professor have so many ‘No Trespassing’ signs on his property?
    What is he hiding?
    Is he an egg smuggler?
    Does he have a mean accomplice hidden somewhere nearby?
    Why does the professor need a people-eating bull to keep trespassers away?
    Do platypuses hatch looking like pink jellybeans?
    Okay, most of these questions had been answered…sort of. But was I missing something? My gut feeling kept telling me the professor and his eggs weren’t as squeaky clean as he made out. Yet, his explanation made sense. Starting a native sanctuary by hatching the eggs was an environmentally friendly way to go.
    Still deep in thought, I returned the notebook to the bag, picked up my riding helmet and crammed it on my head. Truth was—I didn’t really want to let go of the professor’s egg mystery. Deep down I didn’t want him to be a vet instead of a mad scientist.
    How was I supposed to write another Rebecca Turnbull P.I. mystery when there was no mystery to solve?
    *
    Rebecca Turnbull tightened the belt on her pale peach trench coat. She slipped on a pair of soft leather gloves and strode out into the cold night-air, her fierce Doberman, Fang, panting at her heels.
    She was bored.
    Bored. Bored. Bored.
    Her mobile phone wasn’t ringing. The police hadn’t contacted her for weeks. No convenient dead body had turned up on a park bench or in a cupboard or dropped from a tree.
    Seriously, if she didn’t land a new case soon, she’d resort to buying