The Mystery of Mr. Nice by Bruce Hale Read Free Book Online Page A

I said. I'd straighten her out after we were free. She gave me a big-brother sort of feeling. The kind I get when I want to cream my little sister, Pinky.
    For a frog, Popper had clever fingers. She untied us all in less time than it takes to sing "Polly Wolly Doodle" backward.
    As soon as he was free, Principal Zero started making plans.
    "I'll fetch the police," he said. "Chet, Natalie, you go to the PTA meeting and stall them until we get there."

    "What about me, me, me?" said Popper. She quivered like a tuning fork.
    "You come with us," said Natalie.
    My stomach rumbled. It was long past snack time. "But, Principal Zero," I said, "why do you need us at the meeting? Can't the cops handle this? After all, they've got these crooks dead to rights for the kidnapping and for doing away with Mrs. Shrewer."
    His tail twitched. Mr. Zero frowned. "She's just hiding," he said. "Look, you don't understand. I'm not worried about the criminals, I'm worried about the PTA. Once they vote on something, they never change their minds."
    Natalie cocked her head. "Oh," she said. "You mean—"
    "Exactly," he said. "You've got to keep them from voting on Knuckles McGee's plan, or it's curtains for Emerson Hicky."
    And he wasn't talking about interior decorating.
    We dashed downstairs. Principal Zero waddled. He tried using the phone, but the crooks had disconnected it. Spoilsports. They weren't as dumb as they looked.
    Principal Zero growled. "I'll call from next door. The police can pick me up. You get over to that meeting, pronto!"

    We didn't need to hear it again. Natalie, Popper, and I burst out the front door and down the driveway.
    "Natalie," I said. "Take me on your back. We've got to fly over there."
    "Me too, me too!" said Popper. She hopped like a jumping bean on springs.
    "What do I look like," said Natalie, "a passenger pigeon? There's no way I'm letting you two on my back."
    "Oh, all right," I said. Then my mental flashbulb went off. "Hey, stop the presses—I've got a great idea!"
    "
Hmph,
" said Natalie. "Beginner's luck."
    I stood on my skateboard and lifted Popper onto my shoulders. I gripped her ankles tightly.
    "Popper, grab Natalie's feet. Natalie, just grab back and flap away. You can tow us there, like water-skiing!"
    Natalie sighed and shook her head. "Chet, you've been watching too much TV. But ... okay. Let's do it."
    She flapped a couple of times for altitude, then grabbed Popper's hands. And away we went. Faster and faster we rolled. I didn't know if the principal's plan would work.

    But I knew one thing.
    If we didn't make that meeting on time, at least we'd make it big on
The Wild World of Sports.

17. Pandemonium at the PTA
    Wind whipped my coat and lifted my hat. We took a corner on two wheels.

    "Yee-haw!" I cried, like a Texas detective.
    "Urk!" Popper seconded.
    Solo skateboarding would never be the same again.
    Heading into the last stretch, Natalie was gasping like a weaselly sixth grader trying a cigarette. Popper was stretched out like a torture victim on the rack.
    And me? I was ready for action.
    "Faster, faster!" I said. "Get the lead out!"
    Natalie flashed me a dirty look. "You try towing ... a lard bucket and a pipsqueak ... see how fast ... you can go," she said between pants.
    Dames. They get so moody sometimes.

    We rolled into the school parking lot. The auditorium waited just ahead. So did the curb.
    "Natalie, there's a—"
    Ba-gonk!
    There was no time to react. My skateboard rammed the curb. The impact jerked Popper's legs from my hands. She and Natalie hit the grass in a tangle of feathers and webbed feet.
    Like a slow-motion movie, I watched myself tumble through the air. Unfortunately, things sped up as I landed—
whomp!
—right on top of them.
    When the world stopped spinning like a windup ballerina, I staggered to my feet. Natalie and Popper didn't stir.

    "Stop lollygagging around, you guys," I said. "Let's go!"
    They groaned. These junior detectives—always lying