The Case of the Terrible T. Rex by Michele Torrey Page B

“When did you first hear the howling?”
    “Right after we hit the sack,” Wiley said. “Dad fell asleep right away, but I couldn’t get comfortable. That’s when I heard—”
    But before Wiley could finish his sentence, they all heard it.
    A howl …
    Coming from outside the tent, down a ways, and just a little behind.
    Then another howl … and another … The hair rose on the back of Drake’s neck. “Great Scott! We’re surrounded! There’s an army of werewolves out there!”
    Suddenly, the floor of the tent began to bubble. And boil. And ripple and roil. And then, just when they thought it couldn’t get any more frightening, a most horrible howl came from beneath their feet.
    “Jeepers creepers!” screamed Wiley. “The werewolves are clawing their way through the floor!”
    “Emergency evacuation procedure!” cried Drake and Nell. “No time to lose!”
    Together with Wiley, they dragged Mr. Millard—sleeping bag and all—out of the tent, zipping it shut behind them.
    “Stand back, everybody!” cried Nell.
    Then, before their very eyes, the tent blew up like a balloon.
    Bigger and bigger … Howling and howling … Until it began to rise in the air, straining against the stakes. One by one, the stakes popped out of the ground. Then the tent floated off into the steamy night.…

“A mazing,” said Nell.
    “Fascinating,” said Drake.
    “Werewolves can do that?” asked Wiley.
    While they watched, the tent hovered in the moonlight, eerily glowing like a ghost before slowly deflating and sinking to the ground.
    “Hmm,” said Drake. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Scientist Nell?”
    “Indeed I am, Detective Doyle.”
    “Problem?” asked Mr. Doyle, glancing over his newspaper.
    “Nothing Doyle and Fossey can’t handle, Mr. Doyle,” said Nell. “Kindly wake Mr. Millard while Detective Doyle and I fetch the tent. We must return to the lab for analysis.”
    “I’m on it,” said Mr. Doyle. And he was. After all, Mr. Doyle was their man.
    Back at the parking lot, Mr. Millard loaded the rest of the camping gear into his truck. “No video games for a week, Wiley.”
    “A week? But—but—”
    “We’ll buy a tent and camp again tomorrow. There are no such things as werewolves.”
    “But—but—” Wiley turned to Drake and Nell. “You’ve got to help me, please !”
    “Not to worry,” said Drake. “Whatever is happening, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
    So without further ado, Drake, Nell, and Mr. Doyle hopped into their car and zoomed off.
    Back at the lab, Drake and Nell got to work.
    Nell examined the tent. Drake pulled a book off the shelf and thumbed through until he found the right section: “Creepy Campout Analysis: What to Do When Werewolves Howl All Around You, Your Imagination Goes Bazonkers, and Your Tent Floats Off into the Night.”
    Just then, Mrs. Kate Doyle poked her head around the door. While Mr. Doyle was great for squealing around corners, Mrs. Doyle was fabulous for food and drink—so fabulous that she owned her own catering company. “Need anything?” she asked. “Hot chocolate, maybe?”
    “No, thanks,” said Drake.
    “Just coffee,” said Nell. “Decaf. Black.”
    “Affirmative,” said Mrs. Doyle. And she was back in a flash with coffee. No cream, no sugar, just coffee. “I’m off to bed,” she said.
    “Check,” they said.
    Nell phoned her mother, Ann Fossey. “Campout emergency, Mom. We’re pulling an all-nighter.”
    “Ah, yes.” You see, Nell’s mother knew about all-nighters. Professor Fossey taught wildlife biology at Mossy Lake University, where all-nighters were quite common. Especially when one was observing the nocturnal habits of whiskered screech owls. “Don’t drink too much coffee, and call me in the morning.”
    “Check.”
    Click.
    Next Drake and Nell shared their observations. Then they developed a hypothesis. (As all scientists know, a hypothesis is your best guess as to what is happening and why.) Nell