Free The Chocolate Meltdown by Lexi Connor Page B

stiffly with a stooped back. Mr. Bishop, as B had feared, wasn’t there. A substitute teacher took his place, a scowly older woman who really needed to tweeze the whiskers on her chin.
    “My name is Ms. Brewster,” she said. “Yourteacher, Mr. Bishop, isn’t feeling well. He’s left instructions that you’re to spend this class period in the library, reading.”
    The class gathered their things to file off to the library. Suddenly, Jason, clutching his stomach, ran to the sub and whispered in her ear. Her eyes grew wide, and she nodded. He bolted out the door.
    “Serves him right for stealing chocolate,” B muttered.
    “And for eating so much Pluto Candy crud,” George said.
    “Without sharing,” Trina added.
    They all grinned.

Chapter 15
    While Ms. Brewster read a magazine, B, George, and Trina commandeered a table in a secluded corner of the library. “This is perfect,” B said. “We need a new plan of attack.”
    Trina drummed her fingers on the table. “What would an expert detective do?”
    George passed around a bag of Enchanted Caramelicious Cremes. “Wouldn’t they pretty much do what we’ve been doing? Search for clues, follow suspects?” He noticed Trina hesitate over taking a candy. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I bought them well before the potion incident.”
    “What else could we do?” B said. Her gaze fell on a shelf of books with blue stickers on the lower spine. “I know,” she said. “Mystery novels! Let’s eachgrab a few and browse through them. Maybe they’ll give us ideas for how great detectives solve crimes.”
    They each took several books and began skimming through them.
    Several minutes passed while they studied their books. Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, Nancy Drew, Amelia Peabody, Sam Spade, Hercule Poirot, Encyclopedia Brown. So many interesting detectives, but many strategies didn’t fit their situation. For one thing, there were no fingerprints, no blood samples, no DNA to test, and not even any eyewitnesses.
    Or were there?
    “Here’s a thought,” George said. “In these old Agatha Christie novels, detectives liked to stage a reenactment of the crime. They gather together all the possible suspects, everybody who was involved, in the room where it all happened, and recreate the event.”
    “Why?” Trina said. “What good does that do?”
    George flipped through more pages. But B could already see the advantages. “That’s a brilliant idea,” she said. “You get everyone together, talking about what they each saw … maybe they all saw differentthings, you know? Put it all together, and something becomes clear.”
    “Or maybe,” George added, his thumb still in his book, “maybe, since the criminal is actually there, maybe they do or say something that proves they’re guilty.”
    “What have we got to lose?” Trina said. “Do you think we could get everyone together?”
    B thought a minute. “My dad could,” she said, “if we can sell him on the idea.”
    Trina fished around in her backpack and handed B a slick, compact Crystal Ballphone. “Oh, man, Dawn would be green with envy if she saw this baby,” B said.
    “Call your dad, right now,” Trina urged. “Ms. Brewster’s not looking.”
    B dialed her father’s office number.
    “Hey, Dad,” she said when he answered. “I have an idea.”
    And to B’s astonishment, her dad loved it. He listened to B’s entire explanation of why their plan might help, and agreed to call Madame Mel and ask her to bring Mr. Bishop and the mayor. They considered inviting Mr. Jameson, but after the PlutoCandies affair, B’s dad wasn’t eager to welcome any Jamesons back into the factory. “Besides, B,” he said, “the nonwitching world has no idea that there’s a problem, and we certainly don’t want to draw anyone’s attention to that fact, or rumors might spread that would hurt the company. It was a potion that caused the trouble, so there really has to have been a witch involved,