Free The Fabled Fifth Graders of Aesop Elementary School by Candace Fleming Page A

so let’s begin finishing up,” she said.
    But the fifth graders never got a chance to finish. At that moment, the school bell began clanging hysterically.
    “Fire alarm,” Mr. Jupiter said calmly from the back table, where he’d been grading the students’ macroeconomics papers. He stood. “You know the drill.”
    Just as they had practiced dozens of times before, the fifth graders lined up quickly.
    Ms. Bozzetto hurriedly checked to make sure the windows were closed, wiping blue paint on her smock as she went.
    Mr. Jupiter picked up the guinea pig cage and flipped off the lights. Then he led the students and the art teacher down the hallway and out the nearest exit.
    The fifth graders burst out the door and onto the blacktop.
    Theatrically, Lenny and Bruce fell into each other’s arms, gasping and panting.
    “We’re alive!” Lenny fake-wheezed.
    “Fresh air!” Bruce fake-coughed. He pounded on his chest.
    “Knock it off, you two,” said Mr. Jupiter. “Fire drills are serious business.” He began counting heads. “Is everyone here?”
    Rachel shook her head. “Pffft. Pffft.”
    “What’d you say?” asked Ham.
    “Pfcat,” repeated Rachel. “Pfcat.”
    “Did you say ‘cat’?” asked Ham.
    “Cat!” shrieked Ms. Bozzetto. “We forgot Mr. Pickles!” She lunged toward the school.
    But Mr. Jupiter restrained her. “Katrina, you know you can’t go back inside. That’s a violation of the fire code.”
    Ms. Bozzetto slumped, then nodded.
    “Besides,” added Mr. Jupiter, “it’s just a drill. Mr. Pickles is completely safe. Mark my words, we’re going to return to class to find him peacefully dreaming on his pillow.”
    But when the students were finally allowed back into their classroom, they found Mr. Pickles—
    “Missing!” wailed Ms. Bozzetto. She pressed the now catless pillow to her heart, mixing white cat hair with the smears of ultramarine blue.
    “She may be even messier than I am,” Rose said to Missy. Then—“Oops!”—Rose stepped backward into the guinea pig cage, which Mr. Jupiter had just returned to the table. Guinea pig fur mingled with her pudding.
    Still clinging to her pillow, the art teacher cried, “Oh, where, oh, where has my precious pussycat gone?”
    Emberly whipped out his magnifying glass. “This is a case for Emberly Everclass,” he declared.
    “Get serious,” snorted Stanford. “What do you know about detecting?”
    “Plenty,” replied Emberly. He added proudly, “I’ve read all six hundred and thirty-six McFardy Boys books, mysteries featuring Marty and Arty McFardy and their bull terrier, Beans.”
    “Whew,” whistled Ham. “I’m impressed.”
    “I am too,” said Mr. Jupiter, “and as much as I want to encourage the discussion of books, Ms. Bozzetto needs our help.”
    The boys nodded.
    “We will organize ourselves into two search parties, just like the time Colonel Wesley Wimberly-Kemp’s hot-air balloon was lost in the wilds of Patagonia and I—”
    “Focus, Mr. Jupiter,” Ms. Bozzetto said.
    “Of course,” said Mr. Jupiter. “Boys will come with me. Girls will go with Ms. Bozzetto.”
    “But that’s not how it’s done,” argued Emberly. “This is a mystery. You don’t just go searching willy-nilly when you’re investigating a mystery. You’resupposed to follow clues. You’re supposed to use your powers of deductive reasoning. You’re supposed to look through a magnifying glass.”
    “I appreciate your enthusiasm for the detectival arts, Emberly, but Mr. Pickles has gotten a head start.” Mr. Jupiter turned to the students. “Class, spread out.”
    Emberly hung back. That was what the McFardy boys always did when investigating a mystery. They hung back so they could look for clues … alone.
    Once his classmates were gone, Emberly began searching—slowly, methodically, and with his magnifying glass pressed to his eye. On the door frame, he uncovered a drip of blue paint. In the hall, on Rose’s locker, he found a