Free The Statue Walks at Night by Joan Lowery Nixon

CHAPTER ONE

    S EAN QUINN SHOVED HIS chair back from the dinner table.
    â€œI’m not going to take a bath tonight,” he announced to his family. “Sam Miyako said that alligators can travel thousands of miles through sewers, from city to city, and suddenly pop up in your bathtub.”
    Mrs. Quinn sighed. “Sam Miyako strikes again,” she said.
    Brian, Sean’s thirteen-year-old brother, narrowed his eyes. “And if they’re big enough,” he said teasingly, “they could crawl out of the bathtub and into your bedroom.”
    â€œThe story’s not true,” Mr. Quinn explained to Sean. “In the first place, sewers are not connected from one city to another.” As his father explained to Sean about city regulations and sewer systems, Sean began to fidget.
    â€œBut Sam Miyako says it’s true,” Sean insisted.
    Mrs. Quinn gave Brian a stern look. “I like Sam,” she told Brian. “And I’m glad he’s your best friend. But he has got to stop trying to scare the younger children.”
    â€œI’m not so young, Mom,” Sean insisted, and sat up taller. “I’m nine.”
    â€œIsn’t that too old to believe everything Sam Miyako tells you?” Mr. Quinn asked Sean.
    Sean shrugged. “I guess so.”
    â€œI’ll make you a promise,” Mrs. Quinn said. “If an alligator does show up in the bathtub, you can keep him for a pet.”
    Sean thought for a moment. The idea of having an alligator in his bathtub was scary, but it was fun thinking about having one as a pet. No one else in his class would have an alligator as a pet, Sean thought. Not even Miss Know-It-All, Debbie Jean Parker.
    Suddenly an alligator in the bathtub didn’t seem so scary.
    â€œThanks, Mom,” Sean said, grinning.
    The doorbell rang as Brian and Sean finished clearing the table, and Mrs. Quinn got up to answer it. In a few minutes Mrs. Maggie Gomez, the curator of the Redoaks County Museum, followed Mrs. Quinn into the kitchen.
    â€œJohn,” Mrs. Gomez said. “Thank goodness you’re home.”
    Mr. Quinn stood. “Maggie, you know our boys, Brian and Sean,” he said.
    â€œOf course,” Mrs. Gomez answered, and smiled. “John,” she said, turning back to Mr. Quinn, “something terrible has happened at the museum. I want to hire you as a private investigator.”
    â€œWe’ll talk in the den, where it’s more comfortable,” Mr. Quinn said. He turned to Brian and Sean. “Suppose you boys say good night.”
    Brian and Sean said good night, then started up the stairs. But halfway up, Brian stopped.
    â€œ Suppose you go upstairs,” he whispered to Sean, “isn’t the same as ‘You have to go upstairs,’ is it?”
    â€œNo,” said Sean, catching on. “And ‘Something terrible at the museum’ sounds like an interesting case for a pair of private investigators!”
    â€œLike us,” Brian and Sean said together.
    Growing up with a father who was a professional private investigator, Brian and Sean had had many opportunities to help him on his cases. It began because Mr. Quinn liked to “talk out a case” with himself. Talking out loud, he said, helped him think. Brian and Sean liked listening to their father. Sometimes he would stop talking and ask them what they thought about a case.
    Brian and Sean especially liked that their father didn’t consider their questions or comments silly just because they were kids. He said that being a kid could actually be an advantage to an investigator. A kid could look at something with a different perspective than an adult, he said. And being able to look at evidence from different angles was often the key to cracking a case.
    After a while, Mr. Quinn began to treat Brian and Sean almost as if they were his assistants. Their help had paid off, too. In one recent case, for