The Case of the Crooked Carnival by Michele Torrey Page B

here!”
    Nell frowned. “The music appears to be coming from these pipes.”
    “Curious.” Drake knelt next to Nell. “Hellooooooo. Aaaaaanybody theeeeeeere?” he called into one of the pipes.
    And, just like that, the music stopped.
    “Fascinating,” said Drake.
    “Eerily so,” said Nell.
    “See what I mean?” cried Edgar.
    Nell cocked an eyebrow and looked at Drake. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.
    Drake nodded. “At least I think I’m thinking what you’re thinking.”
    “Well then,” said Nell, sticking her pencil behind her ear, “I think we’ve seen enough.” And up the stairs they went.
    To everyone’s surprise, Edgar’s grandmother was standing at the top of the steps. She looked rather upset, as if she’d forgotten her name, or perhaps left her favorite book out in the rain. “They’re here,” she said.
    “Who?” said Drake and Nell and Edgar together.
    She lowered her voice to a whisper and glanced over her shoulder. “The ghosts. The ones Edgar’s always talking about. I—I heard them.”
    Drake patted her hand. “Never fear, Grandmother Glum. We heard the ghosts, too.”
    Grandmother Glum gasped. “You—you did?”
    “Indeed,” said Nell, handing her a business card. “Only we have a hunch that it’s not what you think.”
    “Now, without further ado,” said Drake, “Scientist Nell and I must return to the lab.”
    “And then?” asked Edgar and Grandmother Glum together.
    “Expect our report before nightfall,” said Nell.
    Edgar sighed sadly. “You probably won’t call. No one ever does. And even if you do, it’ll be too late.”
    And on that cheery note, out the door they went, blinking in the brilliant sunshine, leaving Edgar and his grandmother behind in the dark.

B ack at the lab, Drake pulled a book off the shelf and thumbed through it to find the right section: “Haunted House Analysis: What to Do When Ghosts Moan, Play Bebop, or Just Clank Their Chains, and Everyone Is Quite Gloomy.”
    And while Drake and Nell read the section aloud, Drake’s mom, Kate Doyle, stuck her head around the door. “Had breakfast yet?”
    “Negative,” they replied.
    “How do cinnamon pancakes sound, with whipped cream and strawberries?”
    “Make it so,” said Drake.
    “Like a dream,” said Nell.
    “Affirmative,” replied Mrs. Doyle. “Hot chocolate anyone?”
    “No, thanks,” said Drake.
    “Just coffee,” said Nell. “Decaf. Black.” (Real scientists don’t drink hot chocolate. It makes them sleepy, and as everyone knows, it’s more difficult to crack cases when one is sleepy.)
    “Roger that,” said Mrs. Doyle, and she was back in five minutes twenty-two seconds with coffee and breakfast. (Scientifically speaking, Mrs. Doyle was a whiz. You see, she owned her own catering company and so was quite used to whipping up specialties in nothing flat.)
    So after saying “Thanks a billion!” to Mrs. Doyle, Drake and Nell washed their hands and sat at the lab table. They ate their breakfast and shared their observations. Then they developed a hypothesis. (Of course, as any scientist knows, a hypothesis is simply an educated guess.)
    “Based upon our observations, Scientist Nell, I believe the haunting of Edgar’s home is being caused by …”
    Nell took a few notes, and nodded. “Agreed, Detective Doyle. Let’s test our hypothesis.”
    So, for the rest of the morning, that’s what they did. Using the latest in scientific gadgetry (their lab was filled with gadgets, compliments of Mr. Sam Doyle, who owned his own science equipment and supply company), they assembled a mini-simulation of what they believed was occurring at Edgar’s home. After lunch (peanut butter and banana sandwiches with apple slices on the side), they tested the simulation.
    “Ah-ha! Just as we thought,” said Nell with a satisfied smile.
    “Our hypothesis is correct,” said Drake. And without wasting another second, he phoned Edgar. “Meet us in the lab, Mr.