Contents
Chapter 1: Coconut Scream Pie
Chapter 2: Sack Attack!
Chapter 3: Carnival Creep
Chapter 4: What’s the Buzz?
Chapter 5: Tattoo Clue
Chapter 6: Creamed!
Chapter 7: Hogs and Frogs
Chapter 8: Isabelle’s Surprise
1
Coconut Scream Pie
Bess!” eight-year-old Nancy Drew said to her best friend. “The pie-eating contest hasn’t started yet!”
“I know,” Bess Marvin said. She licked whipped cream off her thumb. “But practice makes perfect. This is just a sample.”
George Fayne, Nancy’s other best friend, leaned her elbows on the long picnic table inside the tent where the contest was about to take place. George’s real name was Georgia. “When aren’t you practicing, Bess?” she asked.
Nancy smiled. It was a sunny Monday in late June. School was out for the summer. It was also the first day of the River Heights Carnival. The girls were excited to be there.
The carnival was held every year behind Riverbank Middle School. For a whole week people came to enjoy the games, contests, and yummy food. There was even a piano-playing chicken named Henrietta Von Peck.
The girls had permission to go to the carnival every day. But this year would be extra-special. The girls’ favorite singer, Isabelle Santoro, would be singing at the carnival on Thursday.
Isabelle was fifteen years old and lived in River Heights. She had sung on the TV show Mr. Lizard’s Funhouse twice and even had her own song on the radio.
“Look!” Bess said, pointing. “That must be first prize!”
Nancy looked to see where Bess was pointing. A giant stuffed panda stood near the opening of the pie-eating tent.
“I just remembered something,” George said. “Isabelle once told Mr. Lizard that she collects pandas.”
“I know!” Nancy said. “If one of us wins the pie-eating contest, let’s give the panda to Isabelle.”
The three friends gave one another high-fives. Then a tall girl with short brown hair walked into the tent.
“Oh, no!” Bess wailed. She tugged at her blond ponytail. “It’s Chloe Mondesky!”
“You mean Cruncher Mondesky.” George groaned. “We don’t have a chance.”
Nancy’s heart sank. Cruncher was eight years old and went to school in the next town. She had been the pie-eating champ for two years in a row.
Cruncher grinned as she ripped open a jumbo chocolate and caramel candy bar.
“Look!” Nancy whispered. “Cruncher is eating a candy bar. Maybe she’s spoiling her appetite.”
“Or just warming up,” George said. Her dark curls bounced as she shook her head. “Cruncher eats everything in sight.”
“Not everything,” Bess said in a whisper. “Last year I heard Cruncher tell someone that she hates coconuts.”
“Big deal,” Nancy said. “The pies in the contest are banana cream. They are every year.”
Cruncher took a seat at the table. There were six other tables in the tent. All of them were filled with hungry kids.
“Excuse me,” a girl’s voice broke in. “Is this the place for the pig-out contest?”
Nancy groaned. She’d know that voice anywhere. It was Brenda Carlton.
Brenda was in the girls’ third-grade class at Carl Sandburg Elementary School. She was very nosy and very snooty.
“It’s the pie-eating contest,” Nancy corrected. “Did you enter, too, Brenda?”
Brenda took a seat at Nancy’s table. “No way,” she said. “I’m writing about the carnival for my newspaper, the Carlton News. It comes out once a week, you know.”
“And you remind us about it every single day,” George complained.
“Why don’t you write about Isabelle?” Bess suggested. “She rocks!”
“She sings like a parrot with crackers in her mouth,” Brenda said.
“Nuh-uh!” Bess snapped.
“Uh-huh!” Brenda snapped back.
“Welcome, kids!” a man wearing a baker’s hat interrupted.
“It’s Simon the Pieman!” Nancy said.
Simon’s booth at the carnival looked like a fairy-tale cottage. He sold the yummiest mini-pies. They had names like Little Boy Blueberry and Mother Gooseberry.
Even Simon’s kids—triplets—got into the act. Every summer Nicky, Vicky, and Ricky dressed up as the Three Little Pigs. Their job was to walk around the carnival reminding everyone to try Simon’s pies.
“Are you kids ready to dig into my pies?” Simon called out. He walked around the tent, putting a pie in front of each kid.
“Not yet,” Bess said. She neatly laid a napkin over her crisp white pants. “Don’t you want a napkin, George?”
“What for?” George asked. She rolled up the sleeves of her T-shirt.
“What will you do if you get whipped cream all over you?” Bess asked.
George shrugged. “Lick it off!”
Nancy giggled. She still couldn’t believe Bess and George were cousins. They were so different.
“Okay—on your mark!” Simon began to shout. “Get set. And go!”
Nancy brushed back her reddish blond hair and grabbed her pie. She was about to lean over when she heard a loud splat.
Glancing to the side, Nancy saw Cruncher. Her whole face was buried in her pie.
Then Cruncher jerked her face up. “Yuck! These pies aren’t banana cream. They’re . . . they’re coconut!”
“Sorry,” Simon said. “But Shirley Vega wanted a new flavor this year. And she’s the director of the carnival.”
“You mean she wanted a new champ!” Cruncher growled. “I wouldn’t eat coconuts if I were stranded on a desert island!”
Cruncher grabbed a wad of napkins and wiped cream off her face. Then she ripped into another candy bar and stormed out.
“What a story!” Brenda exclaimed. She began writing as she left the tent. “Champ loses title but not her appetite!”
Nancy shook her head. Couldn’t Brenda write about something nice for a change?
The contest went on without Cruncher. Nancy, Bess, and George ate as fast as they could. But in the end, the winner was a nine-year-old boy named Tyrone.
“Oh, well.” Nancy sighed as Tyrone took the panda. “So I won’t be the pie-eating champ this year.”
“But you’ll always be the school’s best detective,” Bess pointed out.
Nancy smiled. She did love solving mysteries more than anything. She even had a blue detective notebook where she wrote down all her suspects and clues.
The girls left the pie-eating tent and walked through the carnival.
Nancy hardly recognized the middle school. Game booths and food stands were lined up next to the building. On the soccer field stood a kiddy Ferris wheel, a bouncy castle, and a twenty-five-foot caterpillar tunnel.
Nancy could hear croaking sounds coming from the frog-jumping contest on the basketball court.
“We have a whole hour before Bess’s mom picks us up,” Nancy said, glancing at her watch. “Why don’t we play some—”
“Bluuuuurp!”
Nancy didn’t finish her sentence. Something cold and wet landed on her right shoulder. She looked over and screamed.
Sitting on her shoulder was a big, slimy bullfrog!
2
Sack Attack!
Eww!” Nancy cried. She wiggled her shoulder, and the bullfrog hopped off.
“Give me Frogzilla!” a boy’s voice demanded. “Give him to me now!”
Nancy saw Orson Wong running toward them. Orson was in the girls’ class. He was nice, but he could be a pest sometimes.
“It’s not fair!” Orson said. He reached down and gra
bbed the croaking frog by its middle. “It’s unjust!”
Orson was wearing a white T-shirt with the words FROGZILLA RULES printed on it. Strapped over his shoulder was a plastic carrying case with tiny holes.
“Frogzilla was supposed to be in the frog-jumping contest,” Orson said. “But he was disqualified.”
“What does that mean?” Bess asked.
“It means Frogzilla isn’t allowed to jump,” Orson said. “The director said I gave him a push.”
“Did you?” Nancy asked.
“No way!” Orson said. He shrugged. “It was a high-five. For good luck.”
“Bluuuurp!” Frogzilla croaked.
Nancy could see Brenda standing nearby. Her head was tilted as if she was listening to every word.
“I don’t get it,” Orson went on. “The rules say we can walk next to our frogs. We can blow on them. Why can’t we give them a high-five?”
“Rules are rules,” Nancy said.
“Rules, shmules!” Orson said. “Frogzilla trained for this race for weeks. I even put him on a special diet!”
Orson pulled a jar of giant black horseflies from his pants pocket.
“Ewww!” Bess cried.
“I caught these beauties myself,” Orson said proudly. “Premium Grade-A pests!”
“It takes one to know one,” George whispered to Nancy.
“I heard that!” Orson snapped. He shoved the jar back in his pocket. Then he placed Frogzilla into his carrying case.
“We’ll show this stupid carnival,” Orson muttered. “Right, Frogzilla?”
“Bluuurp!” Frogzilla croaked.
Orson marched away with Frogzilla swinging from his shoulder.
“What did Orson mean by that?” Bess asked. “That they’ll show the carnival?”
“It’s just pest talk,” George said.
Brenda ran over, waving her reporter pad. “Check out this headline,” she said, “‘Frog contestant hopping mad!’”
“Why don’t you write about something nice?” Nancy asked. “Like the new Ferris wheel at the carnival.”
“Did it get stuck yet?” Brenda asked, her eyes shining. “Or make anyone sick?”
“No,” Nancy said.
“Then what good is it?” Brenda said. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked to the honey-roasted peanut stand.
“Come on.” Nancy sighed. “Let’s forget about Brenda and play some games.”
First the girls played the beanbag toss, then the color wheel, and finally the giant ring toss.
Nancy flung the plastic ring. She held her breath as it landed on top of the old-fashioned milk bottle. But instead of circling it, it fell right off.
“Rats!” Nancy said. She pointed to the shelf filled with toys. “I wanted to win that stuffed panda for Isabelle.”
“We all did,” Bess said.
“There’s still the big potato sack race tomorrow,” George said. “I’ll bet there’ll be more pandas there.”
“Yes!” Nancy cheered under her breath. The potato sack race was her favorite contest of all.
The girls joined arms and skipped toward the balloon gate to meet Mrs. Marvin. Nancy heard some giggling.
She turned and saw the triplets, Nicky, Vicky, and Ricky. They were dressed in their usual Three Little Pigs costumes.
The costumes looked like fuzzy pink pajamas. Written on the back of each was PIG OUT AT SIMON THE PIEMAN’S.
The costumes covered the triplets from head to toe, but their hands were free. Free enough to hold ice cream cones, bags of nuts, and cotton candy.
“Nicky! Vicky! Ricky!” Nancy called.
The Three Little Pigs spun around. They stared out of the eyeholes in their hood-masks.
“Hi!” Nancy said, waving.
The triplets waved their cones and cotton candy. Then they scurried away.
“Where are they going?” Nancy asked.
“Maybe to hog some more food.” Bess giggled.
“Cute!” George said.
Mrs. Marvin picked the girls up in her red minivan. Nancy was the first to be driven home.
When Nancy ran into the kitchen Hannah Gruen was placing fresh-baked cookies on a plate. Hannah had been the Drews’ housekeeper since Nancy was only three years old.
“Hannah, do we have any potato sacks?”
Nancy asked. “I want to practice for the potato sack race tomorrow.”
“No,” Hannah said with a smile. “But we’ve got plenty of pillowcases.”
“Hannah, you’re a genius!” Nancy said. She grabbed a cookie. “And a pretty amazing cook, too. But I think I’ll save this for later.”
Upstairs in her room Nancy hopped back and forth inside a flowered pillowcase. Her Labrador puppy, Chocolate Chip, wagged her tail and chased her.
Nancy felt the pillowcase tangle around her legs. She fell down on the rug. Chip began licking her face.
“Great!” Nancy giggled. “It’s a good thing I’m not a potato. Or I’d be mashed!”
• • •
At eleven the next morning Hannah drove the girls to the carnival. She promised to pick them up at two o’clock sharp.
The girls got their carnival passbooks stamped with the date. Then they ran through the balloon gate.
“Look!” Bess cried, pointing. “It’s Isabelle Santoro!”
Nancy’s heart flipped when she saw Isabelle Santoro standing a few feet away.
But as they ran closer, Nancy could see it wasn’t Isabelle at all.
“It’s a cardboard cut-out,” Nancy said, tapping Isabelle’s face. “But don’t worry. We’ll see the real Isabelle soon.”
An announcement came over the loudspeaker. The potato sack race would begin in ten minutes on the soccer field.
“Wait for meeee!” Brenda called as she ran through the balloon gate.
“Are you in the potato sack race, too, Brenda?” Nancy asked.
“And crawl into a dusty old bag?” Brenda scoffed. “I’m here in case something exciting happens at the race.”
“She means in case someone slips and falls,” George whispered to Nancy.
“I heard that!” Brenda snapped.
The girls ran to the soccer field.
“Hi, I’m Nina,” a teenage girl wearing a carnival cap said with a smile. “Grab a potato sack and jump in!”
She pointed to a stack of sacks. Some of them were thick and brown. Others had been made from brightly colored sheets and blankets.
Down the field was a red ribbon finish line. Near it were a few stuffed animals.
One was a panda!
The girls each grabbed a sack and hopped in. Twelve other kids did the same.
But as they hopped to the starting line, George slowed down. “What’s that crunching noise?” she asked.
“And why do my feet feel so wet?” Bess asked.
Nancy’s feet felt wet, too. And the bottom of her sack felt kind of crunchy.
“Uh-oh,” Nancy said. She stepped out of her sack. Her blue sneakers were covered with sticky yellow stuff.
Nancy peeked inside her sack.
“Oh, no!” she cried. “My sack is filled with raw eggs!”
3
Carnival Creep
My sack is filled with eggs, too!” George cried. She shook a dripping foot. “Look at my gross sneakers!”
Bess was wearing sandals. “Look at my gross toes!” she wailed.
Other kids stepped out of their sacks. Their feet were messy, too.
While the kids tried to clean their sneakers a woman with bright red hair hurried over. She was carrying a clipboard and wearing a yellow carnival cap.
“It’s Shirley Vega,” Bess whispered. “The director of the carnival.”
“What’s this about eggs in the potato sacks?” Shirley demanded.
Nancy could see Brenda inching her way over with her reporter pad.
“I don’t know how it happened, Shirley,” Nina said. “I brought the potato sacks out before the carnival op
ened. They were perfectly clean then.”
“It’s not your fault, Nina,” Shirley said. She narrowed her eyes. “Someone is making trouble at the carnival. This isn’t the first thing to happen.”
“Does this mean there won’t be a potato sack race?” a girl asked.
“Not if I can help it!” Shirley said. She turned to Nina. “There are more sacks inside the school. Let’s get them.”
Shirley and Nina went inside the school. Nancy and her friends found a water hose to wash off their icky feet.
“That’s it!” Brenda called as she ran over. “The perfect story for my paper. ‘Trouble at the River Heights Carnival!’”
“Don’t, Brenda,” Nancy warned. “Then nobody will come to the carnival.”
“And Isabelle might not come either,” Bess said.
“So what?” Brenda said. “I told you she sings like a parrot.”
George pointed the water hose at Brenda, but Nancy grabbed her arm.
“And speaking of Isabelle,” Brenda said. “Maybe I’ll give her a copy of my newspaper. I do know where she lives.”
“You wouldn’t!” Nancy said.
Brenda began to walk away. “A good reporter always tells the truth.”
“Wait!” Bess called out. “If Nancy finds the troublemaker will you forget about the article?”
“Bess!” Nancy said. “I didn’t come to the carnival to solve a mystery.”
“But you did bring your detective notebook, didn’t you?” Bess asked.
“Yes . . . but,” Nancy said slowly. She carried her notebook wherever she went.
“Then you came to solve a mystery!” Bess said cheerily. She turned to Brenda. “Well? Is it a deal or not?”
“I guess,” Brenda said. She pointed a finger at Nancy. “But you have to solve your case by Wednesday.”
“That’s tomorrow!” Nancy complained.
“I know,” Brenda said. “I want to finish my article tomorrow night. That way I can deliver my papers Thursday morning.”
Nancy frowned. Thursday was the day Isabelle was supposed to sing. She had to do something!
“Okay,” Nancy told Brenda. “But only if you agree to one more thing.”
“What?” Brenda asked.