The Purple Fingerprint Page 2

  “Save Mr. Lizard!” the fan club chanted. “Save Mr. Lizard!”

  The four girls bumped into one another as they hurried through the glass doors.

  “May I help you?” a guard asked.

  “Yes,” Karen said. “We have something for Mr. Lizard.”

  A woman with dark hair and glasses was standing nearby. “I’ll take it,” she said. “I’m Jane, the producer of the show.”

  “And I’m that other guy,” the man with her said with a wink. He had bright red hair.

  “It’s him!” Bess squealed under her breath. “It’s Mr. Lizard.”

  “Thanks, girls!” Mr. Lizard said. He wiggled his hand behind his head.

  Mr. Lizard’s giant shoes thumped as he walked down the hall. Jane followed him, carrying the big envelope.

  Nancy and her friends were too excited to speak. They hurried out of the station and onto the sidewalk.

  “We did it!” Karen announced to the fan club. “Thanks to Nancy!”

  “Nan-cy! Nan-cy!” the kids cheered.

  Nancy felt very proud—until the doors swung open and Mr. Lizard marched out. In his hand was the yellow envelope.

  “What’s the big idea, kids?” Mr. Lizard asked. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  Nancy stared at Mr. Lizard. Why was he so angry?

  Mr. Lizard reached into the envelope. He pulled out a sheet of notebook paper.

  Everyone gasped. Written on it in big purple letters were the words “Get rid of Mr. Lizard!!”

  Nancy’s knees turned to jelly.

  She didn’t write that nasty note. And she had no idea who did!

  3

  Prove It or Else!

  Now my show will be canned for sure,” Mr. Lizard said. He gave Karen the envelope with the petition and walked back into the station.

  “How did that happen, Karen?” a girl wearing a Mr. Lizard wig asked.

  Karen handed the envelope to Nancy. “Why don’t we ask Nancy?” she said angrily. “She was in charge!”

  All eyes turned to Nancy.

  “I didn’t write that note!” Nancy blurted, her eyes wide. “I wrote ‘Save Mr. Lizard’ on his picture.”

  “Show them, Nancy,” George said.

  “Yeah!” Bess said. “Show them.”

  Nancy reached into the envelope. The three sign-up sheets were there. But the colorful picture of Mr. Lizard was gone!

  “It was in here,” Nancy said.

  “I told you they were spies,” Peter told Karen. “They probably work for the Clever Cook, too.”

  “Yeah!” A girl pointed to Bess. “That one has chocolate all over her hands!”

  Bess gasped. She hid her smudgy hands behind her back.

  “I don’t know how the note got inside my envelope!” Nancy insisted.

  “But she’s going to find out,” George said. “Right, Nancy?”

  “Huh?” Nancy asked.

  “Nancy is the best detective in school,” Bess bragged to the fan club. “If anyone can find the person who wrote that nasty note, Nancy can.”

  “Unless she wrote it,” Peter muttered.

  “Come on, you guys,” Karen told the fan club. “Let’s go to my house. We can bury our Mr. Lizard wigs in my backyard.”

  Nancy watched as the kids left, dragging their signs behind them.

  “Great.” Nancy groaned. “Now everyone thinks I did it.”

  “Big deal,” George said. “You’ll show them they’re wrong.”

  Nancy looked at the nasty note. “But where do I start?” she wondered out loud.

  “Where you always do,” Bess said cheerily. “In your detective notebook.”

  Nancy nodded. Her friends were right. It was time for another mystery.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out her notebook. A polka-dotted pencil was tucked inside.

  “Let’s get to work,” Nancy said.

  The girls sat down on a nearby bench. Nancy opened her notebook to a fresh page. On top Nancy wrote, “Who Wrote the Nasty Note?” Then she began to think.

  “Someone switched the nice picture with the nasty note,” Nancy said.

  “But where?” Bess asked.

  “Probably inside my cubby,” Nancy replied. “The person had to be in the hall while we were in the classroom.”

  “I have a hunch,” George said. “I’ll bet the culprit is hiding the nice picture of Mr. Lizard somewhere.”

  “That’s a good hunch!” Nancy said. She wrote the thought in her notebook. Then she looked at the nasty note again.

  “Whoever wrote this,” Nancy said, “must own a purple marker.”

  Bess ran her finger across the “Get rid of Mr. Lizard” message. “And he or she doesn’t like Mr. Lizard,” she said sadly.

  “Who wouldn’t like Mr. Lizard?” George asked.

  “Jimmy Koombs,” Nancy remembered. “He wanted Mr. Lizard to go away forever.”

  “And he saw you put the petition inside your cubby,” George pointed out.

  “But how could Jimmy have gotten into your cubby?” Bess asked.

  “Easy,” Nancy said. “He could have left his class to get a drink of water.”

  Nancy wrote the word “Suspects” on the next page. Then she wrote Jimmy Koombs’s name right under it.

  “Jimmy didn’t sign the petition either,” Bess remembered. “When I asked the first graders, he sat on his hands.”

  Nancy suddenly remembered another person who wouldn’t sign the petition.

  “Mrs. Carmichael refused to sign, too,” Nancy said. “And she had a copy of the Clever Cook’s cookbook.”

  “You mean all those yummy lunches were the Clever Cook’s?” Bess cried.

  “The enemy has wormed his way into our lunchroom!” George said with narrowed eyes.

  Just then Nancy thought of something.

  “Mrs. Carmichael uses a purple marker to write her lunches each week,” she said.

  “But Mrs. Carmichael is nice,” Bess said. “Why would she ruin our petition?”

  “My dad told me that sometimes people do things without thinking,” Nancy said.

  Bess and George nodded. Mr. Drew was a lawyer. He often gave Nancy good advice.

  Nancy added Mrs. Carmichael’s name to her list of suspects. She was glad to have two suspects. But she was also worried.

  “The school has hundreds of kids.” Nancy sighed. “Anyone could have done it.”

  “Nancy, look!” Bess cried.

  Nancy turned to see where Bess was pointing. A bald man carrying a cardboard box was leaving the station.

  “That’s Mr. Lizard,” George hissed. “Without his red wig.”

  The girls ran over to Mr. Lizard.

  “Isn’t it supposed to be a secret that your hair is fake?” George asked Mr. Lizard.

  “What difference does it make?” Mr. Lizard groaned. “Soon I’ll be flipping burgers and wearing a hairnet.”

  Nancy stared at the box in Mr. Lizard’s arms. A giant shoe stuck out.

  “You’re not cleaning out your dressing room, are you?” Nancy asked.

  “Sure,” Mr. Lizard said. “I’ve got to make room for the Clever Crook—I mean Cook.”

  “We’re sorry about that nasty message, Mr. Lizard,” Nancy said.

  “Too late,” Mr. Lizard said. “The president of the TV station saw it. Now she thinks you all want to get rid of me.”

  “No!” Bess cried, waving her arms.

  “The petition really said ‘Save Mr. Lizard,’” George insisted. “And Nancy here is going to prove it.”

  “How?” Mr. Lizard asked.

  “For starters,” Nancy said, “can you think of anyone who may not like you?”

  “Just one kid,” Mr. Lizard said. “He wanted to come on my show with his science project. But I told him no.”

  “Who was it?” Nancy asked.

  “It’s no use, kids.” Mr. Lizard sighed. He dumped the box into a trash can. “The Clever Cook is coming to the station in two days. T
hen I’m history.”

  Mr. Lizard wiggled his fingers behind his head. Then he walked away.

  “I’m never eating the Clever Cook’s lunches again,” Bess said, pouting. “I’ll eat tuna sandwiches—till I grow gills!”

  The girls walked to the trash can. They stared at Mr. Lizard’s cardboard box.

  Next to the giant shoe was a brown folder. Nancy pulled it out. The white label on the folder read, “Nasty Mail.”

  “Bess, George!” Nancy said excitedly. “I think we just found some more clues!”

  4

  Ice Scream

  It’s not polite to read other people’s mail,” Bess said as Nancy opened the folder with Mr. Lizard’s mail.

  “It’s not polite to send nasty letters either,” George told Bess.

  Nancy pulled out three letters. Each had been written on a computer. They were on the same stationery—blue and white with a black insect design.

  “Phooey!” George said. “None of the letters are signed.”

  “But the letters are on the same stationery,” Nancy said. “That means they probably came from the same person.”

  Each girl took a letter. Each read hers out loud.

  “‘Dear Mr. Lizard,’” Nancy read. “‘You are like mold growing on stinky cheese.’”

  “‘Mr. Lizard,’” Bess read. “‘I hope you grow a fungus on your big toe.’”

  Bess turned to Nancy and George. “What’s a fungus?” she asked.

  “Something yucky,” George said. She began to read her letter. “‘Mr. Lizard. ‘Eat ants for breakfast!’”

  “Eww!” Bess said. “Those letters aren’t just nasty—they’re gross!”

  “Mold . . . fungus . . . ants,” Nancy said slowly. “Hmm. Those were all part of Dalton Feivish’s past science projects.”

  Nancy pulled out the petition and looked for Dalton’s name.

  “Aha!” Nancy said. “Dalton didn’t sign the petition either. Which probably means he doesn’t like Mr. Lizard!”

  “Because Mr. Lizard wouldn’t let him bring his science project on the show!” George said, snapping her fingers.

  “Now you have three suspects, Nancy,” Bess said happily.

  “And if Dalton has a purple marker,” Nancy added, “he’ll be my number one suspect.”

  The girls ran back to Mr. Lizard’s cardboard box for more clues. George pulled out the pair of giant shoes.

  “George!” Bess cried. “You’re not going to wear those, are you?”

  “Nope,” George said. “I’m saving them for Mr. Lizard. He’s going to need them when he goes back on TV.”

  Nancy heard a car horn honk. She turned and saw Mrs. Marvin pulling up in her red minivan.

  “Well?” Mrs. Marvin asked the girls. “Did you save Mr. Lizard’s Funhouse?”

  “Not yet, Mom,” Bess said. “But we’re working on it.”

  “Then how about working on some ice-cream sundaes at the Double Dip?” Mrs. Marvin asked.

  “Cool!” Nancy, Bess, and George cried at the same time. The Double Dip had the best ice cream in River Heights.

  The girls chatted about the case inside the minivan. But when they reached the Double Dip their thoughts turned to their favorite flavors—strawberry, rocky road, and mint chocolate chip.

  Mrs. Marvin lined up at the register to pay. The girls carried their dishes of ice cream to a round table.

  “I wonder if the Clever Cook has recipes for ice cream,” George said.

  “If he does,” Bess said,“they’re probably stuffed with hard-boiled eggs.”

  “Yuck—gross!” Nancy complained.

  “Speaking of gross,” George said. “Look who’s sitting across the parlor.”

  Nancy looked over her shoulder.

  Dalton Feivish was sitting alone at a table. He had a dish of vanilla ice cream in front of him. But instead of eating it he was staring at it.

  “Dalton Feivish!” George whispered. “Are we lucky or what?”

  “And look!” Nancy whispered. “Dalton’s backpack is next to his foot. That’s probably where he keeps his pencils and pens.”

  “And purple markers,” Bess whispered.

  The girls stood up from their table. They walked over to Dalton.

  “Hi, Dalton,” Nancy said.

  “Silence!” Dalton ordered. “I’m in the middle of an experiment. I’m seeing how long it takes ice cream to melt.”

  “What’s so great about that?” George asked.

  “I sprinkled it with pepper and onion powder,” Dalton said. “And a dash of my own spit.”

  “Ewww!” Bess cried.

  Nancy was grossed out, too. But she had to talk to Dalton.

  “What a cool experiment, Dalton,” Nancy said. “Maybe you should show it on TV. Like maybe . . . Mr. Lizard’s Funhouse?”

  Dalton squeezed his hands into fists. He pounded the table. “Don’t ever mention Mr. Lizard to me again!” he shouted.

  The girls exchanged glances.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” Dalton said, “I must focus. In the name of science!”

  Dalton narrowed his eyes. He continued to stare at the ice cream.

  The girls stepped back from the table. Nancy could see Mrs. Marvin waving to them from their table.

  “In a minute, Mom!” Bess called.

  “Dalton is mad at Mr. Lizard,” Nancy whispered. “So he might have written those letters.”

  “The nasty note, too,” George said. “I wonder if he has a purple marker.”

  Nancy looked at Dalton’s backpack. A red plastic case with tiny holes was sticking out of one pocket.

  “Look!” Nancy said. She pointed to the backpack. “Dalton probably keeps his pens and pencils in that red case.”

  George brought her finger to her lips. She tiptoed quietly to Dalton’s table. Dalton was still staring at his ice cream when George pulled out the red case.

  George hurried back to Nancy. She winked as she handed her the case.

  Nancy gave George a thank-you smile. But when she opened the plastic case she gasped.

  The case wasn’t filled with pencils, pens, or even purple markers. It was filled with soggy soil, apple slices, and—

  “Worms!” Nancy cried.

  5

  The Pumped-Up Purple Print

  Eeek!” Bess shrieked when she saw the worms.

  Nancy jumped. She tossed the case with the worms to George.

  “I don’t want it!” George cried. She tossed the case to Bess. Bess shrieked even louder and dropped it on the floor.

  Nancy gulped. The case snapped open, and the worms came crawling out. Other customers jumped up and screamed as the worms wiggled this way and that.

  “Look what you did!” Dalton cried. He got down on his knees and began scooping up the worms. “My worm farm is my next great science project!”

  “You mean gross!” George said.

  Nancy took a deep breath. Then she and George kneeled on the floor and helped scoop up the worms. Bess stood on the side with her eyes squeezed shut.

  “What is going on here?” Mrs. Marvin demanded as she walked over.

  “Sorry, Mom,” Bess said. “It was an accident.”

  “Thanks to you!” Dalton said. He shut the lid of his red case with a snap.

  Cathy Perez, the owner of the Double Dip, marched over, too. “I’m afraid you kids will have to leave,” she said. “And please don’t bring bugs in here again.”

  “They’re not bugs,” Dalton said as they left. “They’re earthworms.”

  While Mrs. Marvin got the minivan, the kids waited outside the Double Dip.

  “Why were you going through my things anyway?” Dalton asked the girls.

  Nancy explained all about the petition and the “Get Rid of Mr. Lizard” message. And about the purple marker they thought he had.

  “I am mad at Mr. Lizard,” Dalton admitted. “He wouldn’t let me bring my stinky cheese experiment on his show.”

  “So it was y
ou!” Nancy cried.

  “He said my project was too gross,” Dalton went on. “Even for his show.”

  “So you wrote him nasty letters?” Nancy asked with a frown.

  Dalton nodded.

  “But I didn’t mess up your petition,” he said. “I wasn’t even in school this afternoon. I was at the dentist.”

  Nancy tilted her head to study Dalton. Was he telling the truth?

  “If you don’t believe me,” Dalton said, “you can ask my mom.”

  “Did someone say my name?” a cheery voice called.

  Nancy turned. She saw a dark-haired woman carrying two shopping bags.

  “Tell them, Mom,” Dalton said. “Tell them where I was this afternoon.”

  “Oh, Dalton was at the dentist,” Mrs. Feivish said. She shook her finger at Dalton. “He’s been eating too many of those worms lately.”

  “Eating worms?” the girls shrieked.

  “Gummy worms,” Dalton said, rolling his eyes. “Du-uh!”

  Nancy watched as Dalton and his mom walked away. She took out her notebook and crossed off Dalton’s name.

  “Now we’re left with Jimmy Koombs and Mrs. Carmichael,” Nancy said.

  “Should we go to the Koombses’ house now?” Bess asked. “I can ask my mom to drive us there.”

  “We can check on Jimmy at school tomorrow,” Nancy said. “Let’s just go home.”

  “Good,” George said. “Because today was the pits. First the petition. Then the worms—”

  “And worst of all,” Bess said. “We never got to finish our ice cream!”

  Mrs. Marvin drove Nancy home. After doing her math homework Nancy joined her father at the dinner table.

  “I think you’ll like dinner tonight,” Hannah Gruen said. “It’s stuffed shells with three kinds of cheeses.”

  “Yum!” Nancy said.

  Hannah had been the Drews’ housekeeper since Nancy was three years old.

  “I got the recipe from a new cookbook,” Hannah went on. “It’s called The Clever Cook Cooks.”

  Nancy jumped in her chair. “Th-th-the Clever Cook?” she stammered.

  “What’s wrong, Pudding Pie?” Mr. Drew asked Nancy.

  Nancy took a deep breath. Then she explained everything about her new case.

  “Now I have to find out who switched the nice picture of Mr. Lizard with that creepy message,” Nancy said.