Free Sly the Sleuth and the Food Mysteries by Donna Jo Napoli Page B

our bushes.”
    â€œHave you seen him?”
    â€œNo,” said Melody. “He hides when I come.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œHe isn’t here now,” said Melody.
    There was something wrong with that logic. But I let it go. What mattered was that Melody was afraid. “If he hides when you come, he can’t be very scary.”
    â€œUnless he’s waiting for the right moment,” said Melody.“Then he’ll do something awful.”
    â€œMaybe no one’s living here. Maybe someone’s just throwing trash behind the bushes.”
    â€œFind out,” said Melody. “Because if someone’s living here, he’s dangerous.”
    Melody liked to be dramatic.
    But she could be right.

Pong
    I pushed my way through.The branches poked my tummy and chest. They pinned me to the house. So I squatted.
    Near the base of the bush there was more room. But not much.
    I gathered the trash. The potato chip bag was half full.And there was one piece of toffee left in the candy wrapper. I stuffed everything in my pocket.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” called Melody from the other side of the bushes.
    â€œGathering clues.”
    â€œWhat did you find?”
    â€œTrash.”
    â€œI know that,” said Melody. “What else?”
    â€œGive me time.” I felt around.
    The leaves between this bush and the next were broken off at the bottom. I crawled under the broken leaves. It was like a tunnel. It scraped at my back. I wound up out on the front lawn.
    I stood beside Melody. It would be hard for anyone my size to go through that tunnel. But it wouldn’t be hard for a dog. “Did Pong discover the trash?”
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œIt’s my job.” I liked saying that. It sounded sleuthy. “Go get Pong.”
    â€œWhat? Are you going to interrogate him?” Melody giggled.
    â€œJust get him, okay?”
    Melody went inside. She came out with Pong.
    Pong yipped happily and ran at me.
    I roughhoused with him. He likes that.Then I sat on my heels.
    Pong sniffed at my pocket.
    â€œAha!” I pulled out the potato chip bag. I offered Pong a chip.
    He ate it.

    â€œAha! Pong likes potato chips.”
    â€œAll dogs do,” said Melody. “So what?”
    I thought of offering Pong the toffee. But toffee is sticky. Pong probably couldn’t chew it right. “Does he like candy too?”
    â€œYesterday he came out with a Rice Krispies Treat in his mouth. He swallowed it before I could stop him.”
    â€œAha!” I said. “Pong knew there was trash behind your bush. Maybe Pong put it there. Maybe he eats trash there.”
    â€œPong eats anything he finds,” said Melody. “And he doesn’t go behind things to do it. He’s too young to know he shouldn’t eat junk. Besides, where would Pong get all that stuff?”
    â€œGood points. But whoever left that trash back there was skinny,” I said. “And short.”
    Melody looked surprised. Then she laughed. “Are you saying someone Pong’s height did it? A leprechaun?”
    Melody’s Irish. Her leprechaun jokes crack me up. A leprechaun eating junk food—I laughed too.

Interruptions
    After dinner I went to my room. I spread the clues on my desk.They didn’t look like the sort of thing someone dangerous would eat. They looked like the sort of thing a kid would eat.
    The phone rang.
    My mother called up the stairs, “Sly, it’s Jack.”
    I walked to the hall phone. “Hi, Jack.”
    â€œDid you solve Melody’s case yet?”
    â€œDon’t rush me.”
    â€œI have to,” said Jack. “My cousins love shuffleboard. And remind Brian to bring cookies. I just called and told him. But you remind him too.”
    Jack wanted Brian to bring cookies? Brian’s cookies were made by his mother. Mrs. Olsen was a health nut.And her cookies tasted like it. No one liked them.
    Oh! Now I