Free The Fabled Fifth Graders of Aesop Elementary School by Candace Fleming Page B
Authors: Candace Fleming
faint blue smudge. And then—
“Aha!”
Outside Nurse Betadine’s office, he found half a blue paw print.
“The scoundrel is afoot,” he muttered.
Emberly rocked back on his heels and jiggled the coins in his pocket, just the way Arty McFardy always did when
he
was using his powers of deduction. Finally, Emberly said, “I deduce that Mr. Pickles went
that
way.”
He walked into Nurse Betadine’s office.
“Are you feeling sick?” she asked.
“No, I’m a sleuth,” he replied. “I’m solving the Case of the … ah … the … um …” Emberly snapped his fingers. “The Case of the Fugitive Feline.”
Nurse Betadine shrugged. “Sorry, there’s no cat here.”
“Mind if I take a look around?” asked Emberly.
“Be my guest,” replied the nurse. “But don’t touch anything. I just disinfected the place.”
Slowly, methodically, and with his magnifying glass pressed to his eye, Emberly searched for yet more clues—on top of the eye chart, inside the Band-Aid box, under the cot.
“Aha!” he cried. “A hairball.”
“Impossible,” said the nurse. “I keep my office scrupulously clean.”
“Impossible indeed,” replied Emberly, “and yet there’s the evidence. It means Mr. Pickles
was
here. But where is he now? Hmmm?” The boy detective rocked back on his heels and jiggled the coins in his pocket again. Finally, he said, “I deduce that Mr. Pickles, in a fit of gagging, left the comfort of his pillow to seek medical attention here in your office. Unfortunately, you were outside because of the firedrill. Alone, Mr. Pickles gacked up his hairball, and then …”
“Yes?” said the nurse. “And then?”
“Then, feeling better, he headed …” Emberly walked back into the hallway. Slowly, methodically, and with his eye pressed to his magnifying glass, he searched for clues. He discovered a single white hair lying in front of the gym’s double doors. “In here,” he concluded.
“But why?” asked Nurse Betadine, following along.
“We’re about to find out,” said Emberly.
Mrs. Gluteal was washing the sports equipment when they entered. “There’s nothing worse than a filthy kickball,” she said, looking up from her sudsy bucket.
“Stop!” cried Emberly. “You may be destroying evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” asked Mrs. Gluteal.
“Of Mr. Pickles,” he said.
“Who?” she said.
“The cat,” he said.
“We’re on a case,” put in Nurse Betadine.
“The Case of the Fugitive Feline,” said Emberly.
Mrs. Gluteal rolled her eyes. “Cats would nevercome in here,” she said. “They don’t like all the kicking, the screaming, the hurtling balls.” She dropped a cricket bat into the bucket.
“I know it appears improbable, but we must let the evidence decide,” replied Emberly.
Slowly, methodically, and with his magnifying glass pressed to his eye, he searched for even more clues. He searched through a basket of volleyballs and behind the bowling pins.
“Aha!” cried Emberly. “A mouse toy.”
“I’ve never seen that before in my life,” Mrs. Gluteal said defensively. “I swear.”
Emberly picked up the toy. “It’s still wet with drool,” he said.
“How unsanitary!” said Nurse Betadine.
Emberly nodded. “Mr. Pickles was definitely here.”
“How do you know it was Mr. Pickles?” asked Mrs. Gluteal. “That toy could belong to any cat.”
“It’s elementary,” replied Emberly, holding the cat toy with just two fingers. “When I last saw Mr. Pickles, he was drooling like a Saint Bernard. Only a hyper-salivating cat could leave a toy
this
wet.”
Once again, Emberly rocked back on his heels and jiggled the coins in his pocket. “I deduce that aftergacking up the hairball, Mr. Pickles suddenly felt frisky, so he came into the empty gym to play.” Emberly rubbed his chin. “But then why leave?”
Emberly walked to the door and looked at the room directly across the hall.
“I think I know,” he concluded.
“Aha!”
Outside Nurse Betadine’s office, he found half a blue paw print.
“The scoundrel is afoot,” he muttered.
Emberly rocked back on his heels and jiggled the coins in his pocket, just the way Arty McFardy always did when
he
was using his powers of deduction. Finally, Emberly said, “I deduce that Mr. Pickles went
that
way.”
He walked into Nurse Betadine’s office.
“Are you feeling sick?” she asked.
“No, I’m a sleuth,” he replied. “I’m solving the Case of the … ah … the … um …” Emberly snapped his fingers. “The Case of the Fugitive Feline.”
Nurse Betadine shrugged. “Sorry, there’s no cat here.”
“Mind if I take a look around?” asked Emberly.
“Be my guest,” replied the nurse. “But don’t touch anything. I just disinfected the place.”
Slowly, methodically, and with his magnifying glass pressed to his eye, Emberly searched for yet more clues—on top of the eye chart, inside the Band-Aid box, under the cot.
“Aha!” he cried. “A hairball.”
“Impossible,” said the nurse. “I keep my office scrupulously clean.”
“Impossible indeed,” replied Emberly, “and yet there’s the evidence. It means Mr. Pickles
was
here. But where is he now? Hmmm?” The boy detective rocked back on his heels and jiggled the coins in his pocket again. Finally, he said, “I deduce that Mr. Pickles, in a fit of gagging, left the comfort of his pillow to seek medical attention here in your office. Unfortunately, you were outside because of the firedrill. Alone, Mr. Pickles gacked up his hairball, and then …”
“Yes?” said the nurse. “And then?”
“Then, feeling better, he headed …” Emberly walked back into the hallway. Slowly, methodically, and with his eye pressed to his magnifying glass, he searched for clues. He discovered a single white hair lying in front of the gym’s double doors. “In here,” he concluded.
“But why?” asked Nurse Betadine, following along.
“We’re about to find out,” said Emberly.
Mrs. Gluteal was washing the sports equipment when they entered. “There’s nothing worse than a filthy kickball,” she said, looking up from her sudsy bucket.
“Stop!” cried Emberly. “You may be destroying evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” asked Mrs. Gluteal.
“Of Mr. Pickles,” he said.
“Who?” she said.
“The cat,” he said.
“We’re on a case,” put in Nurse Betadine.
“The Case of the Fugitive Feline,” said Emberly.
Mrs. Gluteal rolled her eyes. “Cats would nevercome in here,” she said. “They don’t like all the kicking, the screaming, the hurtling balls.” She dropped a cricket bat into the bucket.
“I know it appears improbable, but we must let the evidence decide,” replied Emberly.
Slowly, methodically, and with his magnifying glass pressed to his eye, he searched for even more clues. He searched through a basket of volleyballs and behind the bowling pins.
“Aha!” cried Emberly. “A mouse toy.”
“I’ve never seen that before in my life,” Mrs. Gluteal said defensively. “I swear.”
Emberly picked up the toy. “It’s still wet with drool,” he said.
“How unsanitary!” said Nurse Betadine.
Emberly nodded. “Mr. Pickles was definitely here.”
“How do you know it was Mr. Pickles?” asked Mrs. Gluteal. “That toy could belong to any cat.”
“It’s elementary,” replied Emberly, holding the cat toy with just two fingers. “When I last saw Mr. Pickles, he was drooling like a Saint Bernard. Only a hyper-salivating cat could leave a toy
this
wet.”
Once again, Emberly rocked back on his heels and jiggled the coins in his pocket. “I deduce that aftergacking up the hairball, Mr. Pickles suddenly felt frisky, so he came into the empty gym to play.” Emberly rubbed his chin. “But then why leave?”
Emberly walked to the door and looked at the room directly across the hall.
“I think I know,” he concluded.