While Brick got his tongue-lashing from Principal Zero, I puzzled. This case had more unanswered questions than a five-hour math test.
Where was Billy? What did Herman have to do with his disappearance? Why hadn't Shirley told me she was a cheerleader?
And what the heck was "osmosis"? (I needed to learn that for Monday's science quiz.)
I puzzled until the secretary called out, "Number 187!"
I got up, turned the knob, and stepped into the principal's office. Behind the desk sat the enormous Mr. Zero. Big Fat Zero, the kids called him. But never to his face.
"Come in, Mr. Gecko," he purred.
I shut the door. Principal Zero picked up the note Mr. Ramose had written. He stroked his whiskers.
"So you've been giving poor Mr. Ratnose a hard time, eh?" he asked. "Why did you disrupt his class?"
"I just wanted to come to the principal's office."
Mr. Zero eyed me suspiciously. "You wanted to come here? What for?"
"Just wanted to say, Have a nice weekend."
"That can't be it," he said.
"Oh yeah. That's it. Have a nice weekend, Principal Zero."
His eyes narrowed. He sharpened his claws on the office drapes. They looked pretty ragged, like he'd done it a time or two before.
"I know you're up to something," he said. "And I don't like your attitude."
"Neither do I," I said. "It's pretty bad. I stay up late at night worrying about it."
Principal Zero ground his teeth. His tail twitched. He looked scarier than a grumpy parent on report-card day. But he had nothing on me.
"I'm letting you go this time, young Gecko," he said. "But watch your step. I've got my eye on you."
I slipped out the door before he could change his mind. On the way back to class, I reviewed what I had so far on this case.
Absolutely nothing.
Without a break, I'd never find Billy before the football game. My stomach whimpered.
If things didn't start looking up, I'd have to ask for help. But first I wanted to put the squeeze on Shirley. She was holding out on me, and I had to know why.
I stepped into Mr. Ratnose's class. His nerves were ragged. I could tell because it was quiet-reading time again. Once a day was normal. Two reading periods meant my teacher had a headache. Three times meant he was on the edge of a breakdown.
I eased into the chair behind Shirley and opened a book.
I scrawled a quick note and slipped it to her. It said:
Why didn't you tell me you're a cheerleader?
She stamped her foot and wrote back:
It has nothing to do with the case, and it's none of your business, anyway!
Is so! I wrote. I was good with comebacks. And how do you know Herman the Gila Monster?
Shirley started to write something, then scribbled it out. She wrote again and slipped me another note:
Wouldn't it be easier to talk? Why are we writing notes?
They always do this in spy movies, I wrote back.
Shirley sighed and turned in her chair. She whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "Chet, Herman caught me doing—I'd rather not say. Look, I hired you to find my brother. Why are you sticking your nose into my business?"
"Your business may be connected to your brother's disappearance," I said. "I've got a hunch Herman's up to something, and Billy's involved."
"Well, hurry up and find him," she said. "I'll be dead meat if he's not at that football game."
And I knew what that would mean: Bye-bye, stinkbug pie.