Free Riley Mack Stirs Up More Trouble by Chris Grabenstein Page A

into the forest.
    â€œThis time, I packed my lock-picking tools,” said Jamal.
    â€œExcellent,” said Riley.
    â€œHey, Riley?” said Mongo.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œWhat’re we gonna do with the water once we scoop it out of the creek?”
    â€œTake it to Ms. Kaminski.”
    â€œThe science teacher?”
    â€œYep. She’s totally into all sorts of forensic stuff. She watches every one of those CSI shows on TV and has set up her science lab to be like a mini–crime lab.”
    â€œSo,” said Jamal, “she could check out our water. Put it under the microscope and tell us what kind of toxic chemicals are floating around inside it.”
    â€œExactly. And if she can’t, she’ll know who can.”
    They reached the chain-link fence.
    There was a new, fluorescent orange sign attached to it:
    No Trespassing
    By Order of
    Fairview Police Department
    â€œUh-oh,” said Mongo. “They could arrest us for trespassing if we go any farther.”
    â€œNah,” said Riley. “They’ll arrest us for breaking and entering first. Jamal?”
    Jamal grabbed the padlock and inserted a slender metal tool up into its keyhole. The sleek pick looked a little like that thing a dentist uses to poke your teeth to see if you have cavities.
    â€œCake,” said Jamal when the lock’s hasp popped open.
    â€œOkay,” said Riley. “I plucked most of the dead fish out of a pool just beyond those bushes.”
    â€œShould I relock the gate?” asked Jamal. “In case somebody else comes along while we’re down by the stream?”
    â€œNo need,” said Riley. “This will only take like a second.” Riley pulled a twenty-four-ounce sports bottle out of his backpack and twisted open the lid.
    The three friends hurried up the path, through the woods, and down to the muddy creek bank.
    â€œThis is horrible,” said Jamal.
    â€œYeah,” said Riley as he crouched to scoop up the water sample.
    Jamal and Mongo were staring at the water in disbelief. Dozens and dozens of dead fish floated in the shallow pond where water pooled behind a row of rocks before rippling its way downstream. There were so many white-bellied fish littering the surface of the creek that it looked like someone had dumped tons of upside-down hamburger buns into the stream.
    â€œWe got to figure out what’s killing these fish,” said Mongo. “It could probably kill us, too.”
    Jamal just nodded. He was struck dumb by the sight of all the poisoned fish.
    â€œThat should do it,” said Riley, tightly resealing the cap on his water bottle. “I sent Ms. Kaminski an email last night. Told her, even though school was officially out, me and Mongo were working on a science project. She was impressed. Said she’d meet us in the lab at eleven.”
    Jamal glanced at his watch. It was ten. “We better hustle.”
    â€œYeah. Come on.”
    Riley, Mongo, and Jamal clambered up the creek bank.
    As they neared the gate, they heard voices.
    â€œQuick!” said Riley. “Hide!”
    They ducked into the bushes.
    â€œYou see?” said a very familiar voice. “I had my men post a few more signs. Should keep out any looky-loos till your people clean things up.”
    It was the police chief!

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    â€œWE DON’T NEED TO CLEAN it up, John,” grumbled the second man. “We own it.”
    Riley recognized the second voice, too: Sara’s father, Mr. Paxton, the country club president.
    â€œWell, Prescott,” said the chief, “don’t forget who foreclosed on this land for you in the first place. Made it possible for you to snatch up the whole forest, dirt cheap.”
    â€œ Nyes , Chief. I just wish you had moved a little faster.”
    â€œSorry,” said the chief, not sounding sorry at all. “I got busy.”
    â€œRight,” said Mr. Paxton. “That thing with your mother and the