Edgar Allan's Official Crime Investigation Notebook Read Online Free PDF Page A

be in the same room with anybody, and they are taking up all the good rooms. I am sitting in the bathtub with all my clothes on because I don’t feel like sitting on the toilet, and there are no chairs in here.
    Am I the only one who cares about Slurpy? I wonder if he is dead. Is there such a thing as a Goldfish Heaven in the clouds? Since clouds are really floating water molecules, then I suppose fishes could feel right at home in them. Maybe there are entireschools of goldfish spirits in the clouds.
    Maybe Slurpy is happier being with all the other dead fish. I always thought that he looked lonely in that little tank. On the other hand, Mister Furball kept him company. Maybe they stayed up late and did tricks for each other. It would be nice to have a friend like that.
    I just had a bad fantasy.
    I imagined that I walked into Ms. Herschel’s room and found Mister Furball gone. I said, “The thief has struck again!” and everybody looked at me and said, “Oh no!” and here’s the bad part…it was exciting! I
want
Mister Furball to get stolen!
    A nice person wouldn’t want an innocent hamster to be the second victim in a dramatic crime wave.
    I just really really want to solve a mystery. Everybody has something they’re good at except me. This could be my thing.
    Through the crack under the bathroom door, the sound of Henri’s clarinet music drifted in. His parents had joined him on the ukelele and accordion. Throughthe bathroom window, which was open slightly, he heard the groan of his neighbor’s car starting and farther off, the sound of a siren.
    Edgar imagined being very high up, as high as a cloud. He imagined floating up there, like the spirit of a goldfish, looking down and seeing the whole world at once, seeing all the people getting into cars and washing dishes and feeding babies; seeing all the kids working on computers and doing their homework and watching TV; seeing all the teachers in their houses, grading assignments and drinking coffee; and seeing all the hamsters, too, running around in their cages and the fish swimming in their tanks; and even seeing a real skunk creeping around in the woods and a thief creeping around on the street; and there in the middle was a boy, fully dressed, in his bathtub, writing and worrying, alone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    The next morning Edgar kept his fingers crossed the entire bus ride and all the way down the hall. When he walked into Ms. Herschel’s room and saw Mister Furball running on the wheel inside his cage, he uncrossed his fingers and slumped into his chair. No criminal had crept in. No thrilling second theft had occurred. It was just another ordinary day.
    I am disappointed that Mister Furball is safe. What kind of person am I?
    Ms. Herschel is about to take attendance, and Patrick Chen is still not here and all I’m thinking is I hope he is sick. How will I feel if Patrick Chen has a brain seizure and dies? Will I feel happy then? I am definitely not a nice person.
    Just as Ms. Herschel was finishing taking the roll, Patrick walked in and announced that he had solved the mystery.
    Edgar felt sick to his stomach. A metaphor poem came to him all at once. He grabbed his pencil.
    ME
    by Edgar Allan
    I am a big glass
    but instead of being filled
    with orange juice,
    I am filled
    with hatred.
    Toward a certain someone.
    Even though I know that isn’t nice.
    Ms. Herschel set down her coffee cup. “You’ve solved the crime already, Patrick?”
    â€œThrough interviews and forensic analysis,” Patrick nodded.
    Interviews and forensic analysis! All I have to rely on is my own stupid brain, Edgar thought.
    â€œYesterday I interviewed the principal and Mrs. Peabody at the front desk,” Patrick went on. “They said there were no strangers on school property yesterday during the time of the crime, so I believe that the thief is someone who belongs at this school.”
    â€œGood job, Patrick!”