The Make-Believe Mystery

  Contents

  Chapter 1: The Contest

  Chapter 2: Top Secret!

  Chapter 3: Gone!

  Chapter 4: A Real Mystery

  Chapter 5: Copycats and Copyrats

  Chapter 6: Starting from Scratch

  Chapter 7: A Creepy Note

  Chapter 8: And the Winner Is…

  1

  The Contest

  Class, I have a special project for you,” Mrs. Reynolds announced. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a brown paper bag.

  Eight-year-old Nancy Drew leaned toward Bess Marvin, who sat next to her. They were both third graders in Mrs. Reynolds’s class. Bess was one of Nancy’s best friends.

  “I wonder what’s in the bag?” Nancy whispered to Bess.

  “It looks like a lunch bag, so maybe it’s food,” Bess whispered back. She tossed her long blond hair over her shoulders and glanced at Mrs. Reynolds. “Hmm. Or maybe not.”

  Nancy leaned forward in her seat. Mrs. Reynolds was pulling folded-up pieces of paper out of the bag.

  “These have your names on them,” Mrs. Reynolds explained. She let the pieces of paper flutter through her fingers and back into the bag. “For this project, we’re going to need seven teams. I’m going to pick seven names out of this bag. Those students will be the team captains. Each captain will choose three or four other people to be on his or her team.”

  “If I’m a team captain, I’m not going to choose any girls,” Jason Hutchings called out. He turned to his friend Mike Minelli, and they gave each other high fives.

  “That’s enough,” Mrs. Reynolds said, frowning at the boys. “Anyway, each team will write a short story—a mystery short story set here at Carl Sandburg Elementary School. A week from tomorrow, all the teams will read their stories out loud in class, and we’ll vote on the best one.”

  A mystery short story! Nancy sat up in her seat. She loved mysteries. For one thing, she was the best detective at Carl Sandburg Elementary School. She had a special blue notebook that her father had given her. She wrote clues in it whenever she was working on a case.

  Still, writing a mystery short story would be different from solving a mystery, Nancy thought—a different kind of fun. She was excited about trying it.

  Across the room, George Fayne raised her hand. George was Bess’s cousin and Nancy’s other best friend. “Mrs. Reynolds? Won’t it be kind of hard for all the team members to write together?” George asked.

  “You’ll take turns,” Mrs. Reynolds explained with a smile. “You can decide on a story idea as a team. Then each team member will write one part of the story. The first person will write the first part. The second person will write the second part, and so on.”

  “Cool,” George said. “Kind of like the baton relay.” George, who was tall and had dark, curly hair, was really into sports.

  Mrs. Reynolds reached into the paper bag and picked out seven names for the team captains. “Katie Zaleski, Andrew Leoni, Julia Santos, Mari Cheng, Jason Hutchings, Nancy Drew . . . and Brenda Carlton,” she read out loud.

  “I knew I’d be one of the team captains,” Brenda Carlton said smugly.

  Bess glanced at Nancy and rolled her eyes. Nancy put her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling. Brenda wrote her own newspaper, which she printed on her father’s computer. She always acted as if she was the most important person in the class.

  Mrs. Reynolds had all the team captains take turns picking their teams. Nancy picked Bess, George, and Phoebe Archer. Brenda picked Jenny March, Emily Reeves, and her best friend, Alison Wegman. Jason Hutchings picked all boys, just as he’d said: Mike Minelli, Kyle Leddington, and Peter DeSands.

  “I’m passing out the composition books you’ll be using for your stories,” Mrs. Reynolds said. She went up and down the aisles and gave each of the team leaders a shiny purple notebook. “Each person can write his or her part and pass the notebook on to the next person on the team. Good luck!” she finished with a smile.

  Nancy took one of the purple notebooks from Mrs. Reynolds. She opened the notebook to the first page. It was fresh and new and white—just waiting for a story to be written on it, Nancy thought eagerly.

  • • •

  “How about a story where all the third graders get kidnapped by aliens?” Phoebe suggested. She, Nancy, George, and Bess were in the lunchroom, eating lunch. They were trying to come up with ideas for their mystery.

  “Aliens? Hmm. That might be too scary,” Bess said. She picked up her fork and poked at the food on her plate. It was mushy and brown and gooey. “Speaking of scary . . . what is this, anyway? Yuck!”

  “I think they took yesterday’s mystery meat and put it in the blender or something,” Nancy said, making a face.

  Bess’s eyes lit up. “That’s it! ‘The Mystery of the Mystery Meat.’ That could be our story.”

  The other girls giggled. Bess started giggling, too. Pretty soon all four of them were laughing really hard.

  “Okay, okay,” George said, trying to sound serious. “We have to come up with more ideas. I know—what about a soccer mystery?”

  “What kind of soccer mystery?” Nancy asked her.

  George peeled a banana and took a big bite. “Maybe someone tries to keep our team from winning the big tournament,” she said after a moment. “Or maybe someone steals all our balls and equipment and stuff.”

  “Computer viruses,” Phoebe said suddenly. “What if there’s a computer virus that takes over all the computers at the school? And then all the computers in River Heights. And then all the computers in the whole world!”

  “That’s a cool idea,” Bess said. “I don’t know anything about computer viruses, though. Do you?”

  “Not really,” Phoebe admitted, shaking her head. Nancy and George shook their heads, too.

  Nancy took a forkful of mashed potatoes. She glanced around the lunchroom, searching for ideas. She saw the lunchroom lady taking money at the cash register. Kids were standing in line or walking around with trays. Others were eating, talking, and trading sandwiches.

  Nancy saw Brenda, Alison, Jenny, and Emily sitting together. Jason Hutchings was sitting with Mike, Kyle, and Peter. They had their heads bent together. They’re all working on their story ideas, she thought.

  Nancy’s gaze moved to the walls. On display were a bunch of collages made by the fifth graders. They had used objects like ice-cream sticks and bottle caps. Near them, over the doorway, was a banner that said Carl Sandburg Elementary School.

  Carl Sandburg! Nancy thought. She turned to her friends. Her voice was high and excited as she spoke. “What if we do a mystery about Carl Sandburg?”

  “You mean make up some guy named Carl Sandburg?” Phoebe said, looking puzzled.

  “Carl Sandburg was a real person,” Nancy explained. “He lived in Chicago, and he was a writer. My dad has a book of his poems and short stories at home.” Chicago was close to River Heights, where Nancy and her friends lived.

  “Is Carl Sandburg still alive?” George asked her.

  “I don’t think so,” Nancy replied.

  “I know, I know,” Bess said, waving her hand in the air. “Oh, this is so cool. We could have the ghost of Carl Sandburg haunting the school.”

  “Yeah!” Phoebe said, grinning. “A ghost. I like that.”

  Nancy got a piece of paper out of her backpack, and the four of them began jotting down notes. Pretty soon they had a couple of ideas for how the story could go.

  They also worked out a plan. Nancy would write the first part of the story. Bess would write the second part. George would write the third part, and Phoebe would write the ending.

  “This is a totally cool idea for a story,” Bess said. It was almost ti
me to head out to the playground, for recess. “We’ll definitely win the contest.”

  “Yeah, right. Dream on!”

  Nancy and her friends glanced up. Brenda was standing there. She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder and smiled meanly at them.

  “There’s no way you’re going to win the contest,” Brenda went on. “Because my team is going to win. We’re going to cream you guys!”

  2

  Top Secret!

  You’re going to cream us? Says who?” Phoebe snapped at Brenda.

  “Says me,” Brenda snapped back. “First of all, I’m the best writer in our class. Second of all, we came up with an awesome idea for our story. It’s going to blow you guys out of the water.”

  Bess stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, yeah? I bet our idea is a million, billion times better. It’s about—”

  “Bess!” George cried out, poking her cousin in the arm. “Shhhh, you’re not supposed to tell!”

  Bess’s hands flew to her lips. “Oh, yeah. Oops.”

  “You are not the best writer in the class,” Phoebe told Brenda huffily. “And your team isn’t going to cream our team, because our team is going to cream your team instead!”

  Brenda narrowed her eyes at Phoebe. “You want to bet?”

  Phoebe looked startled. “Huh? Uh, sure.”

  Brenda smiled her mean smile again. “Okay, Phoebe. If my team wins, you have to sharpen my pencils for the rest of the year. If your team wins, I’ll sharpen yours.”

  The rest of the year! That was a long time, Nancy thought.

  Phoebe smiled uncertainly at Brenda. “Okay, uh, sure. You’ve got a bet.”

  “Great,” Brenda said, turning to go. She glanced over her shoulder and added, “You’d better start practicing.”

  “Practicing what?” Phoebe asked her.

  “Sharpening pencils,” Brenda replied nastily.

  • • •

  That night after dinner, Nancy sat on the living room couch with her feet tucked under her. The purple notebook was propped on her lap, and she had a freshly sharpened pencil in her hand.

  Her brown Labrador puppy, Chocolate Chip, was curled up in a ball next to her. Chip’s eyes were closed, and she was snoring quietly. Once in a while Nancy would reach out to scratch Chip’s ears. That made her tail thump rhythmically against the couch.

  Carson Drew walked into the living room. “Here you go, Pudding Pie,” he said, handing Nancy a fat book. “It’s the collection of Carl Sandburg’s poems and short stories you asked for. I got it at a used book store in Chicago years ago,” he added.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” Nancy said eagerly.

  She took the book from her father. The cover was old and worn. When she opened it, a pleasant dusty smell—an old-book smell—wafted up from the pages.

  Carson sat down on the couch and pointed to the table of contents. “You might like the stories in this section. They’re called ‘Rootabaga Stories,’ and Carl Sandburg wrote them for children,” he told her.

  Nancy turned to the section with the “Rootabaga Stories.” The stories had really great titles: “How Gimme the Ax Found Out About the Zigzag Railroad and Who Made It Zigzag” and “The Story of Jason Squiff and Why He Had a Popcorn Hat, Popcorn Mittens, and Popcorn Shoes.”

  “When Carl Sandburg wrote these stories, most stories for children had to do with kings and queens and castles,” Carson explained. “He wanted to do something . . . well, a little different.”

  “I know!” Nancy said suddenly. “I could use some of Carl Sandburg’s titles and characters in our story! You know, maybe as clues or something.”

  Carson patted her on the shoulder. “That’s a terrific idea, Pudding Pie. See, you’re a brilliant writer as well as a brilliant detective.” His eyes twinkled as he rose. “I’ll leave you to do your work now. Writers need lots of peace and quiet to create their masterpieces, you know.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” Nancy said with a grin.

  Carson went into his study to do some work of his own. He was a lawyer and was in the middle of a big new case.

  Nancy turned her attention back to the “Rootabaga Stories” and read a couple of them. She really loved Sandburg’s funny titles and characters, and his funny style of writing, too.

  After a while she had lots of great ideas swirling around in her head. She was ready to begin writing.

  Picking up her pencil, she wrote:

  THE GHOST OF CARL SANDBURG

  ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

  by Nancy Drew, Bess Marvin,

  George Fayne, and Phoebe Archer

  Once upon a time, there was a school called the Carl Sandburg Elementary School. It was a really nice school, and everyone liked it there.

  That is, until the ghost started haunting it.

  At first, no one believed there was a ghost. After all, ghosts don’t really exist, right? But then everyone had to believe it because of the weird stuff that started happening.

  One morning one of the kids found this note taped to his cubby:

  A TIN BRASS GOOSE

  TWO BLUE RATS

  THREE WHISPERING CATS

  It was written in creepy-looking red ink that looked like blood. Or maybe it was blood. The teachers and the principal figured one of the kids had written it. The principal said during the morning announcements that the person who wrote it should come forward right away. But no one did.

  And then someone found the second note. . . .

  Just then Chocolate Chip stirred, opened her eyes, and let out a big doggie yawn. Nancy yawned, too. It was very late.

  “Let’s go up to bed, Chip,” Nancy said, closing the purple notebook. “I think we’ve done enough work for one night.”

  • • •

  The next morning in school, Nancy walked into her classroom. The purple notebook was in her backpack. Mrs. Reynolds hadn’t arrived yet, but most of the kids were at their desks. They all seemed to be talking about the short-story contest.

  “We’ve got the coolest idea for a mystery!” Katie Zaleski was saying in a loud, excited voice. Katie was one of the team captains. She got excited about lots of stuff.

  “Ours is way cooler,” Brenda said. She shot a smug look at Phoebe and then at Nancy.

  Emily Reeves, who was on Brenda’s team, added, “But it’s top secret. We’re not telling anyone what it is.”

  “Well, ours is top secret, too,” Katie said quickly.

  As Nancy passed Kyle’s desk, she overheard him say to Peter in a low voice, “Oh, great. We don’t even have an idea for our story yet.”

  Nancy reached her desk and sat down. As she slid her backpack off her shoulders, Bess leaned toward her and whispered, “Did you write the beginning of . . . um . . . you-know-what last night?” she whispered.

  “Uh-huh,” Nancy said. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the purple notebook.

  She held it across the aisle to Bess. “Your turn,” she said.

  Just then a pair of hands reached out and grabbed the notebook from her. Nancy whirled around. Mike Minelli was standing in the aisle. He had the notebook, and he was opening it to the first page.

  “Give that back!” Nancy cried out.

  Ignoring her, Mike took a few steps back. Everyone in the class had fallen silent.

  In a loud voice, Mike began to read: “‘Once upon a time, there was a school called the Carl Sandburg Elementary School. It was a really nice school, and everyone liked it there. That is, until—’ ”

  3

  Gone!

  No!” Bess leaped out of her chair and swiped the purple notebook out of Mike’s hands.

  With a nasty laugh, Mike grabbed for the notebook again, but Bess was too fast for him. She went back to her desk, shoved the notebook in her backpack, and hugged the backpack to her chest. She glared furiously at Mike.

  “Way to go, Bess!” George called out from across the room.

  “That was really mean,” Nancy told Mike angrily. “Our story is private
and top secret, like everyone else’s.”

  “I guess it’s not so private and top secret anymore,” Mike said with a grin.

  Mrs. Reynolds came into the room just then. Mike scooted quickly into his seat with a noisy scraping of his chair.

  “Good morning, class,” Mrs. Reynolds said. She set her books down on her desk. “This morning we’re going to be doing language arts.”

  Mrs. Reynolds picked up a piece of chalk and began writing on the chalkboard. Nancy turned to stare at Mike. What had he meant by saying that Nancy’s team’s story wasn’t so private and top secret anymore? He’d read only the first couple of lines out loud.

  Or had he managed to sneak a peek at more than that?

  • • •

  Over the weekend Bess and George wrote their parts of the story. On Monday after school, the two of them, Nancy, and Phoebe met at Nancy’s house to go over the story so far.

  The four girls were sitting cross-legged on Nancy’s bed. Nancy had just read her part of the story, and now Bess was about to read hers. She had the purple notebook propped in her lap.

  “Wait till you guys hear what I wrote,” Bess said, flipping through the pages. “It is so awesome.”

  “Speaking of awesome, how about a snack?”

  Nancy glanced up to see Hannah Gruen walk into the room, carrying a tray. Hannah was the Drews’ housekeeper. She had been with them since Nancy’s mother died five years earlier.

  Hannah set the tray down on the nightstand. There was a big bowl of buttered popcorn, four glasses of apple juice, and lots of napkins. Chocolate Chip, who’d been asleep on the floor, woke up and sniffed at the popcorn.

  “Thanks, Hannah!” the girls said in unison.

  “You mystery writers need your energy,” Hannah said, winking. “Let me know if you want refills on the juice.”

  After Hannah left the room, Bess grabbed a fistful of popcorn and stuffed it into her mouth. A piece tumbled to the floor. Chip promptly scarfed it up. The other girls started in on the popcorn, too.

  “Mmm, yummy,” Bess said. “Okay. So, here’s my part of the story. Are you guys ready?”

  “Ready,” Phoebe said, nodding. Nancy and George nodded, too.