“I’m the first one here, then?”
In truth, there were many piles of garbage littering the snow beside Aunt Avril’s house. They were heaped in tidy mounds, like a dozen multicolored molehills.
The big waste bins that were normally tucked against the side of the fence had been tipped over, their lids askew. A week’s worth of Zumbro trash and recycling had been recklessly dumped.
At first, Spencer thought it was an animal. Raccoons, skunks . . . any number of critters could have ventured into Hillside Estates and torn into the garbage. But that didn’t explain the sorted piles. Spencer didn’t know of a single creature that would ransack a recycle bin and then separate the plastics from the newspapers. . . .
Spencer saw a blur of movement as something rounded the corner from the back of the house. He leapt forward, hurling his vac dust in a widespread Palm Blast. The Glopified dust struck dead-on, sending the approaching figure toppling into the overturned garbage can. The lid flopped shut and the black can quivered, pivoting in the snow and grating against the side of the house.
Daisy appeared at Spencer’s side, Baybee raised aggressively in her hand. “Are you all right?” she asked Spencer as the vac dust subsided.
“Fine, actually!” shouted a response from the depths of the black trash can. “I’m . . . I’m fine!” The lid of the garbage can snapped back as someone kicked from within.
Spencer readied a second blast of vacuum dust, but the stranger who emerged from the trash can looked so peculiar that any sense of threat was momentarily forgotten.
He was a short man, Spencer could tell once he managed to get on his feet. His striped overalls were tucked into tall yellow rubber boots that squeaked underfoot as he righted himself in the snow.
The man tugged at his unbuttoned coat—a tan tweed jacket with patches sewn onto the elbows. It looked nice, like something a businessman might wear to a meeting. But the man’s long necktie, made entirely of duct tape, didn’t seem to match.
To round off the whole attire, the stranger was wearing a leather aviator cap, like an air force pilot from World War II. The brown cap was worn and weathered, the straps flapping against the man’s cheeks and the buckle jingling beneath his chin.
The man straightened his cap, twitched his pencil-thin mustache from side to side, and took a step toward Spencer and Daisy.
“I’m the first one here, then?” His voice had an unusual accent, but Spencer couldn’t place it. New York, maybe?
“Who are you?” Spencer asked, his fingers tightening on the vacuum dust.
“Who am I?” He looked around, his face long with mock astonishment that no one had recognized him. “The name is Bernard Weizmann. Dr. Bernard Weizmann.”
“Dr. Bernard Weizmann?” Daisy whispered.
“You know him?” Spencer glanced at his shivering classmate.
Daisy shook her head. “Never heard of him. But he sounds like a wise man.”
The man chuckled, smoothed his duct-tape tie, and took a bow. “Call me Bern, Bernie, Bernard. Whichever you prefer.”
“What are you doing at my house?” Spencer said.
“Ahh!” Bernard gave an overexaggerated wink. “But this isn’t your house, is it? The Zumbro family appears to be renting here—more likely tending, free of charge. No doubt a generous offer from Uncle Wyatt and Aunt Avril.”
Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat. He wasn’t cold, despite the frigid air. “Who sent you?” Was this common information among the BEM? “How do you know all this?”
“I just read the piles, kid.” Bernard pointed to the multicolored mounds of trash and recycling in the snow.
“Wow!” Daisy said. “You’re like some kind of garbage-reading fortune-teller?”
Bernard shook his head, aviator straps flapping. “Garbologist,” he said. “I’m a garbologist.”
“Wait,” Spencer said. “Garbologist? Like someone who studies . . . garbage?”
Bernard held up a hand. “Don’t act so disgusted. The garbage is my friend.”
“What does it tell you?” Daisy asked.
A smile flashed across Bernard’s face. “Anything I want to know.” He took a knee in the snow, surrounded on all sides by organized piles of Zumbro trash. His eyes, stark blue in the bright reflection from the snow, danced from mound to mound.
“Your mum’ll be back in a flash,” Bernard said, glancing briefly at Spencer. “Not yet noon and she’s had quite a hectic day. Preparing a birthday party for a younger sibling.”
Bernard’s hand darted out, scattering one of the piles. He lifted a shred of orange gift wrap and let it flutter back to the snow. “Max, I assume. Judging by the gift receipts, I’d say he’s turning four, maybe five.”
Bernard picked up an empty sugar box. “Max won’t settle for a party without cake.” Bernard’s tongue came out, carefully licking a dark smudge on the side of the box. “Chocolate cake. Your mother hoped to have enough sugar for the recipe.” He tossed the box. “And indeed she did. But it was the eggs . . .”
Bernard lifted an egg carton from the trash and opened it to reveal jagged shells still glistening from a fresh crack. “She needed three eggs. And she only had two.” The garbologist shrugged. “So she ran to Food Mart. Be back in a flash, though.”
A sudden, prolonged honking rang out from the street. Spencer swiveled to see the Zumbro SUV trying to pull into the blocked driveway.
“That was amazing!” Daisy said. “Is it really Max’s birthday?” Spencer could only nod. “How’d you do that?”
Bernard Weizmann stretched his hands over the trash and grinned. “It’s all here. You just gotta know what you’re looking for.”
The SUV finally parked against the roadside. Spencer saw Alice and Max climb out. His mom had a Food Mart bag in one hand, the clear outline of a rectangular egg carton hanging gently in the bottom.
“So what if you guessed it right,” Spencer said. “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here, sorting through my family’s trash!”
Bernard clucked his tongue defensively. “I wasn’t sure if this was the right place. I can’t go ringing doorbells without doing a bit of research on the family.” He stood up, dusting the snow off his striped overalls. “Turns out that it is the right place, though. So we can go inside now, if you please.”
“No, I don’t please,” Spencer said. “Not until you clean up this mess!”
“This is not a mess!” Bernard shouted back. “This is scientific research!” The garbologist took a deep breath. “Look, Spencer. Your dad handpicked me to be on this team. The pieces are moving. So we can stand out here and bicker like schoolgirls.” He turned to Daisy. “No offense.” Then back at Spencer. “Or, we can get inside and figure out who called the team.”
“What team?” Daisy said. “I thought Alan didn’t play baseball.”
“It’s not about baseball,” Bernard said. “It’s about saving the world.”
“I thought we were trying to save education,” Daisy said.
“Destroying education is only the BEM’s first step toward world domination. If education fails, the rest of the nation will follow too easily,” Bernard continued. “But we have a chance to stop them this very day!” The garbologist turned his blue eyes on Spencer. “Didn’t you hear? Someone found the package.”