The Mysterious Cases of Mr. Pin Read Free Page A

stop. Still, every time he tasted the chocolate he said, “Not quite right. One more, please.”
    Soon it was getting dark. Just as Mr. Pin was about to give up, he pointed with his wing and said, “Follow that truck!”
    It was the white panel truck speeding straight down Michigan Avenue, past where they were parked!
    â€œWake up!” Maggie yelled at Jones, who had fallen asleep.
    â€œNever mind,” said Mr. Pin. “I’ll drive.” He leaned Jones to one side, hopped up onto his black bag, and took the wheel.
    Maggie got on the radio and called O’Malley for help. Then she asked him to call Sally and tell her she was all right.
    Meanwhile, Mr. Pin swerved back and forth between buses and taxis. Horns blared and buses beeped. But when people saw a penguin driving a police car, they just stopped and stared.
    â€œOh, no!” shouted Maggie. “I think we’ve lost him. All units,” she said into the radio. “We need to find a white panel truck with the letters B A K . The driver may be the Picasso thief.”

    The radio was silent. Jones snored loudly. Then all of a sudden a voice came through.
    â€œSpotted him just past Ohio Street.” It was Hank, a trucker from Sally’s diner.
    â€œThanks,” said Maggie. “That’s a roger. Over and out.”
    â€œGlad to help,” said Hank.
    Mr. Pin sped down Michigan Avenue to Ohio Street. There he saw the thief turn into a side street and park in front of a small bakery specializing in extra-large wedding cakes.
    Mr. Pin pulled into a dark alley.
    Green eyes glinted in the light as the thief got out of the truck.
    â€œThat’s him,” whispered Mr. Pin.
    â€œHe’s going into the bakery,” said Maggie.
    â€œIt has to be the bakery we’re looking for,” said Mr. Pin. “But where’s the painting?”
    â€œIn the bakery,” said Maggie.
    â€œI have to know for sure,” said Mr. Pin, hopping out of the car.
    â€œBe careful,” said Maggie. “Art thieves are dangerous.”
    But Mr. Pin had disappeared into the alley’s shadows.
    He made his way to the back door of the bakery and slowly opened it. He heard shouts inside, so Mr. Pin hid in a cake box wedged between two blocks of dry ice. Frost collected on his wings, but he enjoyed the cold.
    Two men were arguing.
    â€œLeave that painting here, Borris,” said one baker. He had on a tall white hat.
    â€œIt’s too risky, Max,” said Borris, the green-eyed baker. “That crazy penguin and the redhead are on to us. They know about the bakery. We have to move the painting.”
    â€œToo late!” shouted Mr. Pin as he slammed a freezer door into a cream-puff pastry cart. The cart skidded into Max, who toppled over a large chocolate cake.
    â€œHmmm. That chocolate smells familiar,” said Mr. Pin, sniffing with his beak.
    Outside sirens blared. Police lights twirled.
    But Borris was getting away! He was carrying a very large wedding cake out the front door.
    Mr. Pin grabbed his black bag and hopped after him.
    As the thief started his truck, Mr. Pin opened his bag and emptied his prized rock hopper rock collection in front of the tires.
    The motor whirred and the wheels spun, but the white truck wouldn’t budge. The rocks had stopped the thief cold.

    Squad cars skidded to a stop around the truck.
    Police nabbed the thieves. They were handcuffed and loaded into a paddy wagon.
    â€œBut where’s the painting?” boomed O’Malley, arriving on the scene.
    â€œThe cake!” shouted Mr. Pin, pointing to the cake in the truck.
    â€œOh, no,” groaned Maggie. “You can’t be hungry at a time like this.”
    Mr. Pin tasted the cake with the tip of his wing. “It’s chocolate!” he said excitedly.
    â€œCalm down, penguin,” said O’Malley. “It’s just a cake.”
    â€œIt’s a cake with a painting inside,” said