Read The Hamster of the Baskervilles for Free Online Page B

head down, a hamster with glasses and curly brown—a
hamster?!
    I leaned toward Cool Beans and whispered, "Don't look now, but there's a hamster behind you."
    He turned.
    "I told you not to look," I said. "That could be the were-hamster."
    The big possum chuckled. "What, Lauren? Man, are you blowin' on the wrong kazoo. Lauren Order is my assistant. She's a were-critter like I'm the ringmaster of a flea circus."
    All the same, I kept an eye on her. Lauren nodded to the librarian and mumbled, "Omga gabacca brewers shastnow."
    "Huh?" said Cool Beans and I together.
    "Gonna go back to Ms. Burrower's class now," she repeated, slightly louder.
    "All reet, sugar beet," said Cool Beans. "Catch you on the flip side."
    She slipped out the door as softly as a ghost's whisper. I handed the possum another book. He cocked his massive head.
    "A were-thing at school, huh?" he muttered. "What do you know?"
    I cleared my throat. "So do these were-creatures stay that way all the time?"
    "Naw, just for a few nights around the full moon," he said. Cool Beans patted the book. "Rest of the time, they're just regular goofs."
    I leaned forward. "So if this were-creature is just a normal animal in the daytime, how am I supposed to find it?"
    He grinned. "I dunno. You're the gumshoe, Jackson. I'm just a librarian."
    "Thanks for reminding me," I said. "Sometimes I forget."

13. Lower the Boom-Boom
    After the cool cave of the library, the sun's heat slapped my face like a spurned cheerleader. I squared my shoulders and plowed onward. It takes more than a sunny day to stop this private eye.
    The halls were empty—just the way I like them. I decided to stretch my luck by making one more stop before returning to class.
    Just down the hall from the library, the cafeteria squatted like a happy hippo, widemouthed and full of interesting smells. I smiled. Might as well grab a snack and check for evidence at the same time.
    First I headed for the kitchen, where I knew the cafeteria ladies would give me a warm welcome.
    But before I could step inside, I met a chilly attitude.
    "You there, Gecko!"
    It was Ms. LaRue, just leaving the cafeteria, as warm and cuddly as a king-sized cactus in high heels. She nibbled a grub-worm cookie and wore her usual frown.
    "What are you doing here?" she asked.
    "Well, I—"
    "Get back to class at once. You can detect on your own time."
    I knew that look in her eyes. I'd get as far arguing with Ms. LaRue as I would trying to tow the entire football team in a little red wagon.
    "Then I guess this is where we say so long," I said.
    She snarled in response. I didn't know a hedgehog could snarl.
    "As they say in Rome,
Harry Verducci.
" I turned and ambled back to class, wondering idly why she didn't want me detecting just then.
Hmph.
There's just no pleasing some teachers.

    Mr. Ratnose's classroom was as full of fun as a warm bucket of boogers. Most of the kids stood in tired clusters around their science projects—except for the oddballs like Igor Beaver, who were rootin'- tootin' and rarin' to go.
    Shirley Chameleon looked up as I slid into my seat. "So what did Principal Zero want?"
    In the next group over, Bosco made with the radar ears. "Just the usual," I said. "A mean tongue-lashing, followed by a serious tail chewing."
    "
Eeew,
" said Rynne Tintin. "Sounds painful."
    "You don't know the half of it, sister."
    Igor wrung his paws together. "People, please. Can we get back to work?"
    I rolled my eyes and prepared to dive into Dullsville. But just then, another miracle occurred: recess.
    A massive sigh of relief blew like Hurricane Jezebel through the room. I wove between the departing kids and headed for the candy machine. This having two cases at once was working out just fine. Now if I could only figure a way to get out of the rest of my classes....
    I fed my quarters into the slot, popped the button, and grabbed a Sowbug Twinkie. As I peeled back the wrapping, a familiar face poked through the passing