Sly the Sleuth and the Food Mysteries Read Free

Brian on Friday. He’s coming to your house to play shuffleboard.”
    â€œI’m always nice to Brian,” said Jack.
    That was true. Jack was a good guy. I had only said that about being nice because I was upset.
    â€œBut I can’t come get the cookies,” said Jack.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œFluffy will eat them before we get a chance to play shuffleboard.”
    â€œCats don’t eat cookies,” I said.
    But Jack had already hung up.

Fish
    â€œI’m going next door,” I said to my mother.
    â€œAt this hour? Brian is asleep. It’s nearly your bedtime, Sly.”
    â€œI’m going to talk with Mrs. Olsen. Besides, it’s Saturday. It’s okay if I’m up later. And it’s for a case.”
    â€œAll right then.”
    I rang Brian’s doorbell.
    The light over the steps went on.
    Mrs. Olsen’s face peeked around the curtain covering the glass in the door. She looked worried. Then she smiled. She opened the door.
    â€œHello, Sly. Brian’s in bed.”
    â€œI came to talk to you.”
    â€œHow nice. Would you like a snack?”

    â€œI don’t eat before bed.” This was one time I was grateful for my mother’s rules. “Thanks anyway.”
    We went into the living room and sat on the couch.
    â€œMrs. Olsen, did Brian have fish for dinner?”
    â€œNo. He hates fish. I never cook it.”
    â€œDo you have any idea why his breath might smell like fish?”
    Mrs. Olsen looked aghast. “Does his breath smell like fish?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhen did you smell it?”
    â€œTonight. When he came over.”
    â€œOh, dear.” Mrs. Olsen put her hand to her mouth. “I guess I overdid it with that last batch.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    Mrs. Olsen patted my knee. “I add fish oil to cakes and cookies.” She gave a little smile. “It makes them more nutritious.That way I don’t feel guilty about giving Brian sweets. You’d never know it, of course. The taste is hardly there.”
    That’s what you think, I thought.
    â€œWell, last week I read about a new concentrated fish oil. It’s wonderful for you. So I bought a bottle. I used it in this week’s cookies. Brian always gets cookies after dinner, you know. But if his mouth smells like fish, this oil is too strong.”
    Brian eats fishy cookies every night. The poor kid.
    â€œOh my,” muttered Mrs. Olsen. “I thought his enthusiasm for cookies had dropped off. Oh my.”
    â€œTreats are treats,” I said. “They’re not supposed to be good for you.They’re supposed to taste good.”
    Mrs. Olsen put her hands together in her lap. “Well, Sly, treats can be both. I just made a little mistake buying this new oil.”
    I don’t like arguing with adults. And Mrs. Olsen was proud of her cooking. But this was Brian we were talking about. I looked at Mrs. Olsen hard. “Treats shouldn’t taste like fish. Not even a little bit.”
    Mrs. Olsen glanced away. “You know,” she said at last, “I can use olive oil from now on. Olive oil is good for you. It tastes good too.Yes. I’ll make a new batch of cookies tomorrow.”
    Warm relief filled me. And I hadn’t broken Brian’s trust. Sometimes things just went right. “I bet he’ll love them.”
    â€œIf he loves my sweets too much, I’ll have to make sure he brushes extra good.” Mrs. Olsen smiled. “We can’t have rotten teeth now, can we?”
    Rotten teeth.
    Brian had said his mother didn’t want him to rot. When I’d asked what he was talking about, he said teeth. But that didn’t make sense: Fish oil won’t rot your teeth. But junk food might.

Melody’s Bushes
    After brunch on Sunday I sneaked behind our garage. I watched the hedge between Brian’s backyard and Melody’s backyard.
    I waited.
    Nothing happened.
    I waited some more.
    Brian