Who Stole New Year's Eve? Read online

  THE CHICKADEE COURT MYSTERIES

  #1 Who is Stealing the 12 Days of Christmas?

  #2 Who Stole Halloween?

  #3 Who Stole Uncle Sam?

  #4 Who Stole Grandma’s

  Million-dollar Pumpkin Pie?

  WHO STOLE NEW YEAR’S EVE?

  MARTHA FREEMAN

  CHICKADEE COURT MYSTERY #5

  Holiday House / New York

  This book was inspired by biofuel research at the Pennsylvania State University and elsewhere, by the boom in hydraulic fracturing for natural gas extraction in Pennsylvania, and by the annual First Night celebration in State College. While there may be similarities in the chemicals used for fracking and those used in the development of biofuels, most of the chemistry in this book is fictional.

  Text copyright © 2013 by Martha Freeman

  All Rights Reserved

  HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  www.holidayhouse.com

  ISBN 978-0-8234-3004-8 (ebook)w

  ISBN 978-0-8234-3005-5 (ebook)r

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Freeman, Martha, 1956–

  Who stole New Year’s Eve? Martha Freeman. — 1st ed.

  p. cm. — (A Chickadee Court mystery)

  Summary: Sixth-grader Alex and his friend Yasmeen are on the case when ice sculptures go missing from the local First Night festivities.

  ISBN 978-0-8234-2750-5 (hardcover)

  [1. Mystery and detective stories. 2. Ice carving—Fiction. 3. Carnivals—Fiction. 4. Pennsylvania—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.F87496Wjm 2013

  [Fic]—dc23

  2012019674

  For librarian Becky Collins, who told me her students feel left out on New Year’s Eve.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The first time I ever saw Eve Henry, I was holding a chocolate cream pie.

  Her family had just moved into the house down the street. I rang the doorbell, Eve answered, and her face lit up. I wanted to believe the smile was on account of my good looks. But it was probably on account of the pie.

  “Hello, I’m Alex Parakeet,” I said. “I’m in sixth grade. My mom and dad sent the pie and me over to welcome your family to the neighborhood.”

  That speech might not sound like much, but I had practiced it twice so I wouldn’t mess up.

  “Oh, wow, thanks.” Eve took the pie. “I’m Eve Henry. I’m from California, and I’m in seventh grade. Do you want to come in and meet my mom?”

  I didn’t know how to tell Eve no, so I sort of said, “Unhhh,” and then Eve explained that it was only she and her mom at home. Her dad was at work. He was a new professor at the college, and he was busy setting up his lab.

  Actually, I already knew Eve’s dad was a professor.

  The people on my street, Chickadee Court, had found out a couple of weeks ago that new neighbors were moving into the Dagostinos’ old house, and it didn’t take long for the details to spread: They were from California, and Eve was an only child; her mom had grown up in Belleburg, Pennsylvania, which is over the mountain from us here in College Springs.

  Besides being a professor, Eve’s dad supposedly had some big scientific idea that might change the world. The college was paying him a lot of money and building a big, expensive lab for his research.

  What was his big idea? That remained a mystery.

  “Please come in, Alex,” Eve said. “I don’t know any kids yet, and I’m sick of unpacking boxes.” With that, Eve turned and went back inside, leaving the front door open. What could I do? I went in.

  I have been in the Dagostinos’ house plenty of times, but now it looked strange. There were boxes everywhere and different furniture. In the kitchen, a lady who had to be Mrs. Henry was kneeling on the floor, cleaning out a cupboard. “Who was at the door, sweetie?” she asked without looking around.

  “Alex, uh . . . what’s your last name again?” Eve asked.

  “Parakeet,” I said. “Alex Parakeet.”

  Mrs. Henry sat up—“Oh, dear, so sorry. I didn’t see you!”—and got to her feet. Like her daughter, she had straight white teeth and blond hair, the way you’d expect on somebody from California.

  “A Parakeet on Chickadee Court?” Mrs. Henry said. “That should be easy to remember.” She wiped her hand on her jeans, then held it out. “I’m Jessica Henry.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Henry,” I said.

  Mrs. Henry noticed the pie and fussed about how nice I was to bring it over.

  “My dad made it,” I explained. “Making pies is his job now.”

  “And I think it’s your dad who put up the five gold rings for us, too.” Mrs. Henry was talking about the Christmas display. Every year the people on our street decorate their houses to go with the “Twelve Days of Christmas” song. We’re the seventh house, so we’re seven swans a-swimming. Two houses over, the Henrys are five gold rings—and last week my dad, along with some other neighbors, put up the spray-painted Hula-Hoops so they wouldn’t have to.

  “My dad helped,” I said. And then, I think because I was a little uncomfortable, I kept right on talking. I explained how my mom was a police detective, the only one in College Springs, and how my dad didn’t have a paying job for a long time because he had been taking care of me and the house, but this fall he started a pie baking business.

  For me, this was already a lot of talking, but Mrs. Henry smiled and nodded so much that I also told her about some of the neighbors, like the Jensens, who host the annual holiday party; and Bub, who lives in a small house and makes good soup and bad coffee for anybody who stops by; and Sophie Sikora, who is a year younger than me and a loudmouth and some kind of electronics genius.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting them all,” Mrs. Henry said. “And the party is tonight, right?”

  I nodded. “Pretty much everyone goes, too—except this year my mom can’t. She’s busy with work.”

  Eve’s eyes widened. “You mean like she has to catch a murderer?”

  I smiled. “Nothing like that. Somebody’s been phoning in tips to the police department, and she has to investigate.”

  Eve’s mom said she’d always heard College Springs was pretty safe.

  I said, “Most of the time it is,” but I was thinking how actually a few bad things do happen—like last summer when my baseball coach got temporarily kidnapped. But before I could explain that, I heard Arf! Arf! Arf!, then toenails scrabbling against wood. Next thing you know, a white dust-mop of a dog bounded in from the hallway, pop-eyed and panting.

  Eve still had the pie in her hands, which turned out to be unfortunate because right away the dust mop forgot his fear, homed in on it, and sprang. Quick on her feet, Eve dodged so that the dog missed, but then she stumbled against the open cupboard door and the dog sprang again—bull’s-eye!

  Mayday! Mayday! The pie was goin’ down. En route, it did a slo-mo 360, but—amazingly—I managed to snag the edge of the pan. For a second I thought I’d saved the day, then—oh, heartbreak—the pie broke free and crash-landed—splat. The pan was still in my hand, but what had been dessert was now crust and goo—tasty crust and goo, I guess, because the dust-mop dog was all over it, not to mention that it was all over him, a chocolate-and-pie-crust mud bath.

  “Bad dog! Bad!” Mrs. Henry scolded.

  “Get away from there, pup.” Eve knelt and shoved him back. “Chocolate’s bad for you!”

  Arf! Arf! Arf! the little guy argued, which meant How can something be bad if it tastes good?

  After that, there was a flurry of cleanup activity—the dog, the floor, the pie’s remains—and I figured my job was to stay out of the way.

  “I never saw th
at kind of dog before,” I said after Eve had finished wiping pie off his face. “What is he?”

  “Mostly Maltese,” Eve said. “They’re very popular where I used to live in California. His name’s Marshmallow.”

  “Hey, guy.” I reached to scratch behind his ears; he licked my hand. “He likes me.”

  “He likes everybody,” Eve said, “except—” From the hall doorway came a loud mrrree-ow that overlapped Eve’s last word—“cats.”

  When we looked toward the sound we saw a very large orange feline who—I happen to know—is totally happy to terrorize dogs when he gets the chance.

  Mrs. Henry spoke to the cat. “Where did you come from?”

  And I said, “Sorry, uh . . . he’s mine; I guess he followed me from home then sneaked in the door behind me.” I crossed my arms over my chest and looked stern. “Way to go, Luau—scaring the new neighbor.”

  Luau ducked his nose and swished his tail, which meant, Can I help it if he overreacted?

  Eve looked first at Luau then at me. “Uh . . . Alex? Are you talking to your cat?”

  Oops. I tried to act casual. “Uh, sure,” I said. “Like everybody does. You know, ‘Nice kitty,’ ‘Good kitty.’ ‘Fat kitty. . . .’ ”

  Luau wiped a paw over his whiskers. Fat?

  “I’d better take him home,” I said, “before he causes any more trouble.”

  At the door, Eve thanked me for coming over. “Now I’ll know one person at the party tonight, at least.”

  “I’ll introduce you to Yasmeen, my best friend who happens to be a girl,” I said. “Her family’s eight maids a-milking, next door to my house. Maybe you’ve seen her?”

  “The tall African American girl?” Eve asked.

  I nodded. “Her family’s from Trinidad. She’s really smart. You guys’re gonna get along great.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Jensens’ annual holiday party starts just after dark, which is around four-thirty in December, and every year it’s the same. The grown-ups hang out upstairs in the living room, and the kids stay downstairs in the basement. There are two Christmas trees, two fireplaces, twinkle lights everywhere, eggnog, snacks, and a million cookies.

  The highlight comes at eight o’clock when Professor Jensen flips a switch to turn on the lights and music for the twelve-day display all down Chickadee Court. By then, people from all over have come to watch. Outside on the sidewalk, they whistle and applaud.

  My dad had had some last-minute pie orders to fill, so the Jensens’ house was full of people by the time we arrived. After Professor Jensen welcomed us and took our coats, Mrs. Henry—standing by the fancy white Christmas tree in the living room—spotted me, smiled, and waved me over. Next to her was a tall man with curly gray hair and glasses. It had to be her husband, Professor Henry, and this was my chance to solve the mystery of his big idea. Only, I had to wait because he was busy talking to Yasmeen’s dad.

  Since they’re both professors, their conversation was super-brainy, and I couldn’t exactly follow it, but one thing was obvious: They weren’t getting along at all!

  Mrs. Henry shrugged at me and looked embarrassed and finally interrupted: “Dear? I told you about Alex?”

  The two professors had been glaring at each other. Now they looked down and glared at me.

  “Hi,” I said in a small voice.

  Mrs. Henry explained about the welcome pie and how I’m almost the same age as Eve. Slowly, Professor Henry’s frown faded, and then he said nice to meet you and thanks anyway for the pie.

  I said, “You’re welcome,” then did my best to sound jolly and enthusiastic the way grown-ups do at parties. “So, Professor Henry, what brings your family to College Springs? Are you doing any interesting work at the college?”

  Professor Henry opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Mrs. Popp came up and held her hand out to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  Uh-oh. Now it was up to me to introduce them to each other. I mean, I was the only one who knew all the names. So I tried, but I got confused and actually introduced Mrs. Popp to her own husband.

  Oops.

  Everybody laughed; I blushed, and for the next few minutes boring grown-up chitchat hummed above my head. Then it stopped, and when I looked up, four pairs of eyes were aimed at my face.

  “Wait, what?” I said. “Sorry. I forgot to listen. I mean—”

  Mrs. Popp laughed. “Our new neighbors were just saying, Alex, that their daughter Eve’s birthday is next weekend—on New Year’s Day, in fact. She’s hoping to have a get-together the day before. I’m sure you and Yasmeen could plan to attend? And perhaps encourage the other children?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said. “We usually go to Ice Carnival, but—”

  “Oh, that’s right!” said Mrs. Henry. “How could I have forgotten? My brother’s a sculptor who lives over the mountain in Belleburg. In the winter he works in ice, and the carnival is his most important contract. Tell you what, how about if the kids come over after Carnival? We could have a New Year’s Eve party to celebrate Eve’s birthday.”

  “Wow, that would be great!” I said. “Usually I hate New Year’s Eve because all the grown-ups go to parties and there’s nothing for me to do.”

  Professor Popp wagged his finger. “There is good reason for that, my young friend. It is not a holiday for children. Your parents, I am sure, would never permit you to be out so late.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Mrs. Henry. “Staying up one night a year never hurt anybody.”

  The stern expression on Professor Popp’s face said he thought staying up one night a year would, too, hurt somebody; it might even be fatal. Meanwhile, Professor Henry said, “Hmph. I didn’t realize people in College Springs were such goody-goods.”

  Uh-oh. Were they going to start arguing again?

  I didn’t stick around to find out.

  Instead, I excused myself and went downstairs to hang with the kids. In the basement, Toby Lee and Cammie Richmond were trying to strangle each other with tinsel, but that was just usual. Meanwhile, there were two TVs going, one with video games and one with A Charlie Brown Christmas, and a bunch of food on a table in the middle of the room—three kinds of chips, Hershey’s Kisses, Christmas cookies with white icing, brownies, and Oreos. In a cooler on the floor were cans of Pepsi, Coke, and Orange Crush.

  As I guess you can tell, the Jensens really know how to put on a party.

  Eve Henry was by the food table. I was glad she had found somebody to talk to—a black girl wearing a red dress and shiny black shoes, her billowy hair pulled back with barrettes.

  I was trying to decide which chips to eat first when the black girl waved.

  Huh?

  I looked around, looked back—and realized the girl was waving at me. Also, she wasn’t just some random person—she was Yasmeen!

  Sorry if you already figured that out. But Yasmeen only dresses up for church and she always wears her hair in braids. This new version of her was different—pretty.

  That idea was so weird that I squelched it.

  “Alex, you have the strangest expression on your face—doesn’t he, Eve?” Yasmeen said.

  Eve shrugged. “I thought that was just the way he always looks.”

  “I’m fine.” I stuffed a handful of nacho chips in my mouth and crunched. “Hey, Eve—what’s your dad’s big scientific idea, anyway? I didn’t have a chance to ask you today, so I was gonna ask him just now, but, uh . . . that didn’t work out.”

  Eve blinked. “I’m not supposed to talk about it yet, I don’t think. There’s supposed to be an announcement in the newspaper.”

  Yasmeen cocked her head. “Ohhh, so it’s some kind of a big deal, huh?”

  Eve shrugged. “Where we lived in California, people thought so.”

  Now I was really curious, but Eve wasn’t saying more, and then my friend Ari called me over to the sofa, where he was playing video games. I figured he wanted my advice on Lousy Luigi—I am pretty good at it—but it tu
rned out to be something different.

  “Who’s the babe?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “The ‘babe’?” I repeated. “You mean Eve?” This was almost as bad as Yasmeen being pretty.

  “Duh!” said Sophie Sikora, who had leaned over to listen.

  I skipped over the whole “babe” thing and explained about Eve, including her birthday and how there might be a party.

  “Cool!” said Sophie. “What this town needs is something for kids to do on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Can I come?” Ari lives around the corner.

  “I don’t know for sure if it’s even happening,” I said.

  “Be right back,” Sophie said, and she headed toward Eve. One thing about Sophie, she gets to the bottom of things.

  I turned my focus to Lousy Luigi. The Jensens have the latest version, the one with a cannon for shooting oregano. My Luigi guy was knee-deep in cheese when Sophie came back.

  “That new girl’s pretty nice, and she says if it’s okay with her parents, everybody’s going to be invited—except for little kids like my brother Byron, of course.”

  Ari pumped his fist. “Yes!”

  I handed him the game controller. I had an idea. “Sophie, could you help me with something?”

  Sophie said, “Sure, and I hope it’s another mystery because that would be totally great. Can I tell you how boring my life is lately? A girl can only get so much excitement out of math extra credit and fighting with her parents.”

  “It’s a kind of a mystery.” I explained how I was trying to find out Professor Henry’s big idea.

  “That’s easy,” said Sophie, and before I could even get to my feet, she was rocketing up the steps.

  I caught up with her in the upstairs hall, just in time to hear the sharp thud of the front door closing and feel a blast of cold outside air. In the living room, the grown-ups were acting funny. Some were talking too loud and smiling too hard; some weren’t talking at all.

  Sophie turned to the nearest one. “Mrs. Ryan, what happened here?”