The Case of the Haunted Haunted House Read online

  It was art day, and the art teacher let them work on their haunted house. They broke up into groups. Milo, Jazz, and Frida made a cardboard coffin lid that would fly open when anyone walked by. Other kids took on the tombstones and the giant spider.

  Gordy’s group was the most popular. He organized half of them to build a guillotine. The other half worked on a dummy with a head that flew off when the blade came down. To Gordy’s dismay, the art teacher drew the line at fake blood spattering all over people who came through the haunted house.

  Brooke refused to help, and went off to a desk to draw fashion designs. Emily B. tossed her ponytail and followed.

  Emily S. stood watching Jazz and Milo, tapping her foot nervously. Just as she took a step toward them, Brooke hissed at her from the corner. Throwing the coffin one last glance, Emily S. turned to join her friends.

  Jazz had karate after school, so Milo walked home alone. Waiting for him in the mailbox was an envelope. It said DM in the upper left-hand corner.

  A lesson from Dash!

  Cause and Effect

  Why did the suspect cross the road?

  (a) Why not?

  (b) Who cares?

  (c) To get to the other side, obviously.

  If you answered (a) or (b), you are not thinking like a detective. To solve a case, you often need to look at motive—why people do the things they do. The motive is the cause. The crime is the effect. One leads to the other.

  And if you answered (c)? Sorry—you’re still not thinking like a detective. Sure, people usually cross the road to get to the other side. But remember, the most obvious motive is not always the real one!

  Once, in my early detecting days, I was called in to investigate strange noises coming from a sea cave at night. Local fishermen refused to go near the place. Shaking with fear, one of them whispered that the sounds were from an ancient monster rising from the bottom of the ocean.

  Of course, world-famous private eye Dash Marlowe does not believe in sea monsters. So I asked myself, “What could cause someone to sneak into a dark, damp, chilly cave?”

  I was sure I knew the answer. It must be the gang of smugglers I’d been tailing. I planned to capture them single-handedly, find their hidden loot, and win a huge reward.

  At low tide, I went down to the cave. Cautiously, I crept inside. The darkness grew deeper and deeper, to pitch black. My flashlight flickered feebly.

  Suddenly I heard a noise. I sprang!

  A thump, another thump, a groan—and I had my prisoner. I shone the light into his face.

  But it wasn’t a smuggler. It was the fearful fisherman! He admitted that he had invented the “sea monster.” But what in the world was his motive?

  When I questioned him, he told me he had done it to get out of fishing. He was tired of tuna. He was sick of salmon. And he’d had it up to here with halibut. What he really wanted was to get his village on the TV news. He hoped that would attract crowds of tourists, and then he could open up a fancy hotel.

  We were lying in a puddle, so I let him go. As I slogged home, wet and shivering, I swore that next time I would think a little harder about motive.

  Motive, Milo thought. Who would have a reason to be in the empty learning cottage after dark? Not the custodian. Mr. Schiff hated it when after-school activities ran late. He said his cat got grumpy if he wasn’t home by five.

  Could someone be using the learning cottage for a criminal purpose? But what?

  Milo turned back to Dash’s lesson.

  To find the motive, you need to think like your suspects. Put yourself in their shoes. (I nearly broke my neck doing this in The Case of the Roller-Skating Robber, but that’s another story. . . .)

  So, why did the suspect cross the road? If you want to be a world-famous private eye like me, Dash Marlowe, the answer is (d): I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out!

  The lesson went on, with tips on how to get the truth from suspects. Dash said if you watched their body language, you could tell if they were nervous—which might mean they were hiding something.

  There were lots of signs: looking away, fidgeting, arm-crossing, blinking, touching the mouth while talking, swallowing a lot. . . .

  As soon as he finished his homework, Milo headed over to Jazz’s house.

  After she read the lesson, he said, “I can’t think of any reason why someone would be in the learning cottage. Can you?”

  Jazz shrugged. “Maybe Cody made the whole thing up.”

  “Why would he do that?” Milo asked.

  “To get attention?” Jazz said.

  “Or maybe—” Milo gulped. “Maybe there is a ghost.”

  “Milo, be serious—” She broke off. “Hang on. That could be it.”

  “You think the place is haunted?” Yikes. If even Jazz believed . . .

  “Of course not!” she said. “But what if that’s the motive?”

  “I don’t get it,” Milo said.

  Jazz bounced on her toes. “What if someone wants the kids at school to think it’s haunted? What if someone sneaked in at night dressed as a ghost? Fluttered around. Flashed a light.”

  “But why?”

  “A joke?” she said.

  They looked at each other. Then Milo said what they were both thinking.

  “Gordy!”

  Of course! They should have thought of Gordy right away. It was just the kind of thing that he would do.

  Jazz frowned. “But Gordy loves the haunted house. He wouldn’t want Ms. Ali to shut it down.”

  “Maybe he didn’t think of that,” Milo said. When it came to jokes, Gordy never seemed to think. Period.

  Still, everyone in the class knew that if Ms. Ali decided their haunted house was too scary, she might shut it down. And nobody would want that to—

  Suddenly a picture flashed into Milo’s mind: an angry snake about to strike.

  “Brooke!” he said. “She was mad about your idea getting chosen over hers. Maybe she wanted to get even.”

  Flipping open her little purple notebook, Jazz wrote:

  Jazz tapped her pen against her teeth and frowned. “There’s someone else who wouldn’t want our haunted house to do well.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Chris.”

  Milo had almost forgotten about the bet. “But he’s your brother. Would he really sink that low?”

  “I hope not. But he hates to lose a bet. One time he rolled in poison ivy just to win a bet with his best friend about who’d get it worse.”

  “Gross,” said Milo.

  Jazz went back to her list and added: Chris—wants to win the bet.

  Milo thought about what Dash had said. Think like your suspects. Put yourself in their shoes.

  But which shoes? Chris’s football cleats? Gordy’s untied sneakers? Or Brooke’s super-stylish boots?

  All three suspects had strong motives. Any one of them could be the ghost.

  Or the ghost could be . . . a ghost.

  He quickly pushed that thought aside. Okay. What would Dash do?

  “Question the suspects,” Milo said aloud.

  Jazz nodded. “Let’s talk to Chris.”

  They found him by the front door, getting ready to go out.

  “Chris, wait,” Jazz said. “We want to ask you something. It’s about the bet.”

  Her brother grinned. “Don’t waste your breath. That bet was fair and square. You’re not weaseling out now.”

  Milo stared at Chris. Did he look nervous? Was he hiding anything?

  Jazz put her hands on her hips. “I’m not weaseling. Haven’t you heard about our haunted house?”

  “So what? You haven’t got a chance. Those desserts are mine. Mmm. . . .”

  Rubbing his stomach, Chris left.

  Jazz was fuming. “What does he mean, we haven’t got a chance?”

  “Maybe he means he’s going to make sure we lose,” Milo said. “Maybe he really is the one haunting the learning cottage. Where’s he going, anyway?”


  They looked at each other. Then they ran to the door.

  It was getting dark, but they could see by the glow of the streetlights. Chris was starting down the block already, walking fast. They hurried after him.

  Chris turned the corner.

  Milo whispered, “Look! He’s heading toward the school!”

  They followed, keeping as far behind as they could without losing sight of her brother. Chris glanced back once, but didn’t seem to see them.

  As they drew closer to the school, Milo’s mind was a whirl. Had they solved the case? Was Chris the ghost?

  But Chris walked right past the school. He went up to a house and rang the bell. The door opened, and he went in.

  So much for that.

  Milo sighed. “Oh, well. Let’s go.”

  Jazz didn’t move. She was staring at the house. “Milo, that’s Cody’s house.”

  “Yeah, so? You said they’re on a football team together, right?”

  “Exactly!” Jazz said. “Don’t you see? Chris wanted to get our haunted house shut down. But he knew I’d find out if he spread the ghost rumors himself. So Chris got Cody to pretend he saw a ghost.”

  “You mean . . . Cody didn’t really see a spooky light?” Milo said slowly.

  “Of course not. Aren’t you listening? They made it up.”

  Milo pointed at the learning cottage. “Then what’s that?”

  Milo and Jazz stared at the light bobbing in the window of the learning cottage.

  “This is great!” Jazz said.

  Milo’s stomach fluttered. “It is?”

  “Let’s go!” She dashed off, then turned back. “Are you coming, or what?”

  “Um . . . what?” he mumbled.

  Hands on hips, Jazz stared at him. “Don’t you want to catch the ghost?”

  Slowly he followed her. Sure, they wanted to catch the ghost. But what if the ghost caught them first?

  They headed toward the flickering light, Jazz in the lead. Almost there—

  OOMPH!

  Something heavy slammed into Milo, knocking him down and pinning him to the ground. A bright light shone straight into his face.

  “Gotcha!” a boy’s voice said.

  “Chris?” said Jazz.

  The light swung away, and the weight lifted off Milo. He pushed up to his feet.

  “See, I told you, Cody,” Chris said. “There’s no ghost. It’s just my sister faking ghost stuff to get kids all stoked about her lame-o haunted house.”

  “ME?” Jazz yelled. “You’re the one trying to get us shut down so you can win the bet!”

  As they both started shouting at once, Milo looked toward the learning cottage. The light was gone.

  Milo shivered. Was it a real ghost, or just a person? Either way, their noise seemed to have scared it off. Milo wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

  Jazz and Chris argued the whole way home. Chris said he’d caught them red-handed, and threatened to tell the principal. Jazz said they had caught him red-handed, and threatened to tell their parents.

  “When we saw the light inside the learning cottage, we were all outside,” Milo pointed out. “How could any of us be the ghost?”

  Chris didn’t look convinced. “Maybe you got a friend to go in there.”

  Jazz crossed her arms. “Or you did.”

  This wasn’t getting them anywhere. Milo wondered how Dash Marlowe would deal with a pair of squabbling siblings.

  “What about our other suspects?” he asked Jazz.

  Her eyes widened. “Brooke and Gordy! We haven’t even questioned them yet.”

  Chris agreed to call a truce—for now. But he said they’d better find the real ghost soon. If they couldn’t . . .

  “Then your haunted house is history.” Chris smirked.

  The next morning, they went straight to work. They found Brooke on the swings, flanked by the Emilies.

  “We want to talk to you,” Jazz said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Brooke crossed her arms.

  Milo tried to remember what Dash had said about crossed arms. Wasn’t that one of the signs that a suspect was nervous?

  “Have you heard about the learning cottage ghost?” Jazz asked.

  “Sure. All the kids are talking about it.” Brooke swallowed. Another sign!

  Jazz went on. “We don’t believe it’s a real ghost. We think someone has been sneaking in there after dark.”

  Brooke swallowed again. Wow, Milo thought. She must be nervous, all right—though he never would have guessed it from the snooty look on her face.

  Emily S. seemed nervous, too, the way she was tapping her feet in the dirt. But then again, she always did that.

  Jazz stared Brooke straight in the eyes. “Well? Was it you? Are you the learning cottage ghost?”

  Brooke’s fingers moved to her mouth. Another sign!

  The fingers came out holding a big chewed-up wad of gum. Daintily, Brooke placed it in a foil wrapper.

  Gum! Milo gave himself a mental smack in the head. No wonder she kept swallowing.

  Brooke said, “Why in the world would I pretend to be a ghost?”

  “You didn’t want the haunted house,” Milo said. “Maybe you’re trying to ruin it. If Ms. Ali finds out that all the little kids are scared—Ow!” He stared at Jazz, who had just jabbed him in the ribs.

  Brooke smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “If Ms. Ali finds out, then goodbye, haunted house. Right?” She laughed. “Better hope nobody tells her.”

  Brooke marched off, with the Emilies trailing behind her.

  Jazz glared at Milo. “I can’t believe you said that! Now Brooke’s going to run straight to Ms. Ali.”

  “If she’s the haunter, she already thought of it,” Milo said.

  “And if she isn’t?”

  Jazz was so annoyed, she insisted on questioning Gordy alone. “You can go and look for clues at the scene of the crime.”

  Milo stared at the learning cottage. “You want me to go in there? By myself?”

  Jazz raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you really think it’s haunted.”

  Crossing his arms, he looked away and swallowed. “Of course not.”

  Slowly he crossed the parking lot. Anyway, it was daytime, he told himself. And with all these people around, nothing could happen to him. Right?

  Milo pushed the door open.

  It was dark and gloomy inside. He flipped the switch, and mysterious shapes appeared in the dim light.

  With Gordy in charge, the class had put in blue and green light bulbs and thrown sheets over the desks and chairs. Fake cobwebs hung in the corners.

  Gordy was really good at this haunting thing. Maybe he was the culprit.

  Milo edged his way into the room. It was pretty spooky, even in the daytime.

  Don’t be a chicken, he told himself. Pretend you’re Dash Marlowe in the deep, dark cave. Shining your flashlight all around. Searching for smugglers and hidden treasure . . .

  Wait a minute.

  Searching . . .

  Searching with a flashlight . . . for something hidden in the dark.

  That was it!

  On the playground, Jazz shook her head. “The ghost isn’t the sea monster, it’s Dash? Milo, you’re not making any sense.”

  He tried to explain more clearly. “What if we got the motive wrong? Maybe whoever was in the learning cottage wasn’t trying to scare anyone. Maybe they were looking for something. That’s why they’d need a light—to search in the dark!”

  “What could they be looking for? There’s nothing in there but a bunch of haunted-house stuff.”

  “There used to be more. Remember all that junk we cleaned out? What if we got rid of something someone wanted?”

  Jazz frowned. “Anything that wasn’t trash, we took to the lost and found.”

  Hmm. She was right.

  Wait . . .

  “That bag never got to the lost and found!” Milo said. “The office was locked, so I stuck it in our classroom closet, and
, well—I guess I forgot about it.”

  They stared at each other. Then they bolted toward the school.

  “Bathroom!” Jazz gasped as they squeezed past the startled recess monitor. They raced down the hall.

  The bag was still in the back of the closet, right where Milo had left it. They dumped it out on the floor.

  Milo scanned the mess. Which item could be important enough to make somebody sneak into the learning cottage after dark—twice?

  Not the kitty poster, that was for sure. Not the jigsaw puzzle, even if it wasn’t missing pieces. Definitely not a sheet of dopey stickers saying Super-Duper Reader!

  He picked up a spiral notebook and leafed through it, but all it had in it were math problems. Unless they were a secret code . . .

  Then Jazz held up a DVD in a blank case. “What’s this?”

  They ran over to the classroom computer.

  Jazz slid in the DVD and they waited, breathless, until a video started playing onscreen.

  A girl stood on a stage. As the camera moved in, Milo saw that she wore a pink fuzzy romper, like a baby. On her head was a pink bonnet, and over the romper . . .

  “Oh, no. Please tell me that’s not a bib!” Jazz said.

  Music started: “Baby face. You’ve got the cutest little baby face. . . .”

  The girl began to tap dance.

  Who was she? If only the camera would zoom in a little closer.

  Wrapped up in watching, Milo and Jazz didn’t notice footsteps coming up behind them.

  The song was just ending. With a final tap and twirl, the girl stopped and the camera zoomed in on her face.

  “Emily!” said a voice behind them.

  Milo and Jazz spun around. Brooke and the Emilies stood in the doorway, staring at the screen.

  Milo looked at Emily S. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who sneaked into the learning cottage. You were searching for this DVD you dropped.”

  Emily didn’t answer.

  “The light in the window—that was your flashlight. And the moaning . . .” He frowned. “Well, I guess you must have been upset when you couldn’t find what you were looking for.”