Mr. Pin: The Chocolate Files Read Free Page B

dip his wing into the case and lightly touch a chocolate egg. He preened his wing, then announced, “There is something wrong with this chocolate.”
    Just then, the lights went on. The air-conditioning hummed again, and a man in a long white coat came running toward Maggie and Mr. Pin.
    â€œWhat’s missing?” asked the man.
    â€œDinosaur eggs,” said Mr. Pin. “The eggs in the case are fake.”
    â€œFake protoceratops eggs. What a tragedy!” said the man, leaning over to study the case.
    â€œBad chocolate is always a crime,” said Mr. Pin.
    â€œWe were going to CAT scan the eggs to see what was inside. Museums have been finding unhatched fossil dinosaurs inside fossil eggs.”
    â€œCould the dinosaur eggs ever hatch?” asked Maggie.
    â€œOh, no,” returned the man in the white coat. “But the eggs do tell us a lot about what dinosaurs were like. The CAT scan takes a picture of what’s inside the egg, like an X ray.”
    â€œYou must work for the museum,” said Mr. Pin.
    â€œYes,” said the man in white. “I am a paleontologist. I study dinosaurs. I am Professor Hugo Femur.”
    â€œI’m Maggie and this is Detective Pin.”
    â€œReasonable rates,” said Mr. Pin, tipping his checked cap.
    â€œGlad to meet you,” said Professor Femur. He ran his hand through his white hair and tapped his smudged, round glasses. “Looks like we need a detective around here. Do you think you could find the thief who stole the eggs?”
    â€œNo problem,” said Mr. Pin. “We’re on the case.”

2
    The sky was black. The air was quiet. But a summer storm was about to hit. Maggie and Mr. Pin made it back to Smiling Sally’s diner just as rain pelted Monroe Street.
    Smiling Sally dished up two pieces of chocolate cream pie as the two detectives walked in.
    â€œJust made it,” said Sally, spinning a plate in her hand. “You’re the first to try this batch.”
    Mr. Pin took a large forkful and shoveled it into his beak. First he looked startled. Then he coughed and held his side.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asked Maggie.
    â€œGrit,” said Mr. Pin. He shook his beak and swayed a little on the diner stool.
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘grit’?” asked Smiling Sally.
    But Mr. Pin had trouble talking.
    Smiling Sally looked alarmed. “Are you all right?”
    â€œNot all right,” gasped Mr. Pin. His eyes clouded and the last thing he managed to say was “Chocolate.”
    Maggie caught Mr. Pin just before his beak landed in the chocolate cream pie. “I don’t understand how he could want more chocolate at a time like this,” she said out loud. But it wouldn’t be the first time, thought Maggie, that Mr. Pin seemed unusually interested in chocolate.
    Smiling Sally helped Maggie carry Mr. Pin to the back room and set him down on the cot.
    â€œIt was just a pie. Just a chocolate cream pie,” said Smiling Sally.
    Maggie took off Mr. Pin’s cap and fanned his forehead. After what seemed like an awfully long time, Mr. Pin slowly opened his eyes.
    â€œWhat happened?” asked Sally, smoothing his feathers.
    â€œDon’t eat the chocolate,” whispered Mr. Pin. “It’s bad.”
    â€œMaybe you’re allergic to it,” suggested Maggie.
    â€œNot possible,” snorted Mr. Pin.
    â€œMaybe you’ve just had too much,” said Sally. “After all, it seems like all your cases are solved by eating chocolate.”
    â€œI am not allergic to chocolate,” insisted Mr. Pin. “This chocolate is bad. It contains grit.”
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘grit’?” asked Sally again. “I buy the best chocolate from Luigi.”
    â€œGrit is a lot like sand,” explained Mr. Pin. “Someone must have known that too much grit can make a penguin sick.”
    â€œOh dear,” said Sally.

    â€œI