My hamster is a detectiv.., p.1
My Hamster is a Detective, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Books by Dave Lowe
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About Dave Lowe
About The Boy Fitz Hammond
Copyright
Books by Dave Lowe
The Stinky and Jinks series
My Hamster Is a Genius
My Hamster Is a Spy
My Hamster Is an Astronaut
My Hamster’s Got Talent
My Hamster Is a Pirate
My Hamster Is a Detective
The Incredible Dadventure
The Mumbelievable Challenge
The Spectacular Holly-Day
For Charlie Cook, Alice Guest, Kenny Horton,
Ellie Kingsbury and Kitty Smart –
something to read with your dads.
THE JINKS FAMILY
Me, Lucy, Mum, Dad and Stinky
Chapter 1
It was my hamster who woke me up, as usual. His name was Stinky and he was like a small, furry alarm clock.
I wasn’t a big fan of getting up so early, but I loved Saturdays because it meant I had two whole days to spend with Stinky. Even if he was pretty grumpy sometimes.
‘What do you want to do today?’ I asked him, sitting up sleepily. When he didn’t answer, I said, ‘Let’s have some kind of adventure!’
He glared at me through the bars of the cage.
‘An adventure?’ he spluttered. ‘How exactly do you propose I have an adventure, Ben, seeing how I’m stuck in here all day? Oh, perhaps I could go on my wheel for a fantastic running-around-but-getting-absolutely-nowhere adventure. Or maybe I could have an incredible taking-a-nap adventure in my tiny house. Or a fun poo-counting adventure – what wonderful adventures I could have here, inside this very cage!’
He could be really sarcastic, for a hamster.
‘You don’t have to stay in there,’ I said. ‘I can get you out whenever you like.’
He shuddered.
‘I am most certainly not coming out, not when that monster might be lurking around.’
The ‘monster’ was Delilah, my little sister Lucy’s ginger kitten, and she was actually very cute. The kitten, I mean, not Lucy.
‘In that book I’m reading,’ I said, ‘the kids have adventures all the time. They’re called the Secret Seven – seven kids and a dog who are always solving mysteries. The dog helps a lot and, unlike you, he can’t even talk.’
‘The dog in the story,’ said Stinky, ‘is he stuck inside a cage the whole time?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Well then,’ he said. ‘If he was, he wouldn’t be quite so helpful, would he?’
I groaned. ‘Come on, Stinky. We could be a gang. Me and you. It would be fun. We could call ourselves the Secret Two.’
‘The Secret Two?’ he said. ‘What’s the big secret?’
‘Well, nobody else knows that you’re a genius, do they? Or that you can talk. So, that’s two secrets straight away.’
‘First of all,’ he said sniffily, ‘a gang needs more than two. Two is a pair or a duo – certainly not a gang. Secondly, the Secret Two is a rather dull name. The Secret Seven, the Famous Five – they’re good names because the same letter starts both words. It’s called “alliteration”.’
‘“The Daring Duo”?’ I suggested.
‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘but what about “the Tenacious Two”?’
‘That depends,’ I said, ‘on what “tenacious” means.’
‘It means never giving up,’ he said.
‘In that case, I love it. The Tenacious Two! Now all we need is a mystery to solve.’
‘How about the mystery of the nine-year-old boy who didn’t clean out his hamster’s cage for a whole week?’
‘Very funny. How about the mystery of the hamster who pooed too much and was always moaning about everything?’
Just then, though, there was a loud knock at the front door, and suddenly we didn’t need to find a mystery any more.
Because a mystery came to us.
Chapter 2
A few seconds after the first knock came a double knock, loud and impatient.
My dad was noisily cooking breakfast, my mum was in the shower, and my little sister was unusually quiet – not tap-dancing or singing or acting – which meant she was probably still asleep. So I bounded out of my room and answered the door.
Right away, I wished I hadn’t.
Because standing there on our doorstep, for the first time ever, was Mrs Gilligan from next door, glaring down at me. I gulped.
Some of the kids on our street said that Mrs Gilligan was a witch. Her back garden was known as The Graveyard – if a ball went over her fence, it never came back.
I know that witches aren’t real of course, but she did look like one. She had long grey hair, a pointy nose and was wearing a floor-length black dress. She even had an actual black cat, called Bruiser.
I held the door open, unable to speak.
‘Are your mother or father in?’ she asked impatiently.
I could only get one word out. ‘Dad!’
My dad came bustling out of the kitchen, with his stripy apron on and a wooden spoon in his hand. Breakfast was the only thing he was ever allowed to cook, and even then he usually burned something, but whenever he was in the kitchen he acted like he was a fancy TV chef.
‘Mrs Gilligan!’ he exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure? We’re about to have scrambled eggs on toast – my own special recipe. Please join us. Come in! Come in!’
‘No,’ she said, thin-lipped. ‘Have you seen my Bruiser?’
‘Not recently,’ Dad said, still smiling. ‘Though he does come to our garden from time to time, hunting birds, digging up plants, burying his poos and so on.’
‘I think,’ she said, ignoring him, ‘that he’s been taken.’
‘Taken?’
‘Stolen.’
Dad had a very puzzled look on his face.
‘Why on earth would anyone want to steal Bruiser?’ he said.
‘What’s wrong with Bruiser?’ she snapped.
‘Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,’ he said, though there was a whole lot wrong with Bruiser. ‘I mean, why would someone steal a cat?’
‘I think,’ she said, ‘he’s been cat-napped.’
‘Cat-napped?’
‘Like kidnapped,’ she explained. ‘Only with a cat.’
‘He’s probably just wandered off somewhere,’ my dad said. ‘You know what cats are like. But if we see him, we’ll let you know straight away, won’t we, Ben?’
I nodded.
Mrs Gilligan scowled and marched back to her house, without saying thank you.
Dad closed the door. ‘Poor lady,’ he muttered.
‘You said that she was a horrible person before,’ I pointed out.
‘Well, I shouldn’t have said that. She isn’t always very nice, that’s true. But she must be really sad and lonely. Bruiser is the only real family she’s got.’
Smoke and the smell of burning breakfast were wafting from the kitchen, and while Dad hurried back to it, I rushed off to my room to see Stinky.
‘Bruiser next door has vanished!’ I announced, breathlessly. ‘The Tenacious Two have got their very first mystery!’
Stinky didn’t seem quite so excited though.
‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘one less cat in the neighbourhood is nothing at all to worry about. Quite the opposite, in fact. And that particular feline won’t be missed by me, let me tell you.’ Stinky had met Bruiser once, and only just lived to tell the tale. ‘That cat is the single most unpleasant animal I’ve ever encountered. Who in their right mind would steal him? Furthermore, he is rather old, and cats often go away when they’re about to die. Perhaps that’s what happened. Or it’s possible that he was hit by a car. Or got lost. Either way, it isn’t much of a mystery, is it?’
But then my sister woke up, stomped around the house, and everything changed.
‘Mum!’ she shrieked. ‘Dad! It’s Delilah! She’s gone!’
Chapter 3
We all looked for the kitten – well, apart from Stinky of course. He was having a nap.
Dad went out into the garden and was looking behind bushes on his hands and knees.
Mum went up and down the street, calling, ‘Delilah! Here, kitty, kitty!’
Lucy and I searched the house, from room to room – in every cupboard, under every bed, behind every curtain. I even looked in all the kitchen drawers, in case she’d somehow got trapped there.
But there was absolutely no sign of Delilah.
My mum and dad eventually came back inside, shaking their heads.
Lucy was sobbing by now. I was used to my little sister crying, but this time it was different. I mean, she usually cried because of little things. Like, for example, if somebody had sticky-taped sponges to the bottom of her tap shoes to make them quieter (OK, that was me), or called her something like, ‘Lucy Poo-cy’ (me again). Those times, she’d burst into noisy sobs, but it was probably just an act to get me into trouble. She did a lot of acting in shows, so her performan
This time, though, she was properly sad. Her face was all red and actual tears were streaming down her cheeks, so I fetched her a tissue and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Dad beckoned me over to him, secretively.
‘Let’s not mention the Mrs Gilligan thing to Lucy,’ he whispered.
‘You mean the cat-napping?’
‘Shh! That old lady’s a bit odd, and if your sister thinks that Delilah has been stolen, it will only make her more upset.’
I nodded, but I doubted that Lucy could possibly get more upset.
Then Dad got the whole family together for a chat. We all sat around the small kitchen table, me and Dad on one side, Mum cuddling Lucy on the other.
‘We’re going to find Delilah,’ my dad announced.
‘She’s gone,’ Lucy whimpered. ‘Lost forever.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Dad. ‘She’s misplaced, that’s all. It’s like when we “lost” the TV remote last week – remember? We finally found it in the fridge, didn’t we?’ (Dad himself had absent-mindedly put it in there when he was getting a glass of milk.)
My mum jumped up to check the fridge, just in case, but there were no cats in there, so she sat back at the table and put her arm around Lucy again.
‘Delilah probably just fancied a bit of fresh air,’ Dad said, grinning. ‘That’s what cats are like. She’ll come back when she’s hungry or thirsty. No doubt about it.’
Lucy wiped her eyes and nodded. My dad was great like that – he was one of those people who always tried to stop you feeling sad. (Like when I tripped over and grazed my knee, he told me a story about a man who had his entire left leg bitten off by a hippo. ‘At least you’ve still got a left knee,’ he had said to me, and it was silly, but it did make me feel a bit better.)
‘I once heard about a cat,’ Dad continued, now, ‘that sneaked away on a ship for a holiday, only to come back home safe and sound two weeks later.’ This made Lucy smile. ‘Or was that a dog?’ He frowned. ‘Or it might have been a chicken, now I think about it.’
Mum rolled her eyes at him and then looked at me.
‘Ben,’ she said, ‘you and Dad go and ask all the neighbours if they’ve seen Delilah. Lucy and I will leave a dish of milk in the garden and wait here in case she comes back.’
My dad leaped up and I followed him outside.
‘If we split up,’ he said, ‘we can do this in half the time. Next-door neighbours first. Who do you want to ask? Mrs Gilligan or the Eggingtons?’
I didn’t really want to go to either house, but I chose the Eggingtons. They were a bit less scary than Mrs Gilligan. But it was a very close thing: we had the worst next-door neighbours in the world.
While my dad walked over to Mrs Gilligan’s house, I nervously edged up to the Eggingtons’ front door, knocked and waited.
Edward Eggington was in my class at school and he was horrible. He was a know-it-all, a bully and a big-head, and twice he had put Stinky’s life in danger. His dad was a scientist, probably an evil one, and they were always working on mysterious experiments together.
But it was Mrs Eggington who opened the door. She was a big woman with frizzy red hair and a frown. She said she hadn’t seen Delilah, and quickly closed the door on me.
So I went up the street, knocking on doors. Everyone else was much nicer, but none of them had seen a kitten.
The last house I tried was old Mr Browning’s, eight doors up. He had a huge grey moustache, was a bit deaf and was sure I was trying to sell him something.
‘No, thank you,’ he boomed, when he opened the door. ‘I don’t need anything.’
‘It’s about our cat,’ I said.
‘I certainly don’t need a cat,’ he said. ‘What would I do with a cat? No, thank you. Good day.’
After Mr Browning, I’d had enough, and I hurried back home to tell Stinky what had happened.
‘Two cats missing!’ I said. ‘Now we’ve got a mystery!’
‘If all the cats in the world went missing,’ he said, ‘it wouldn’t worry me one bit. However,’ he added, ‘it is a puzzle.’
‘It’s a puzzle,’ I said excitedly, ‘for the Tenacious Two.’
Chapter 4
The next day was Sunday and I woke up early again, still baffled by the mystery of the missing moggies. Stinky was already awake of course. He’d been thinking too, and thinking always made him hungry.
‘A piece of carrot would be just the thing for breakfast,’ he said, so I went to fetch him one.
On my way to the kitchen, though, I saw a white envelope lying on the carpet by the front door. I picked it up and stared at it. It was completely blank on both sides – no writing, no stamp, nothing. I hesitated, then carefully opened it and unfolded the piece of paper inside.
I gasped and stared at it for a few seconds longer. Number 10 was next door – Mrs Gilligan’s house. Then I rushed to Mum and Dad’s bedroom.
‘Mum! Dad!’
‘What is it?’ my mum asked sleepily. When she sat up in bed, I thrust the note into her hand. And when she read it, she went very pale. She nudged my dad, who was still snoring, and then shook him harder. He groaned and blinked his eyes open.
‘Read this, Derek,’ she said, handing him the note.
As soon as he read it, he sprang up in bed like he’d been zapped.
‘Blimey!’ he said. ‘The old woman was right. It is a cat-napper! A cat-napper! Our cat’s been napped!’
He leaped out of bed, wearing his pyjamas, and hurriedly pulled on his dressing gown – inside out. Then he groped around wildly for the belt to the dressing gown and almost tripped himself up when he couldn’t find it.
My mum, though, stayed calm. ‘I think it’s best we don’t tell Lucy about this yet,’ she said softly. ‘Derek, call the police.’
‘I’ll just pop next door first,’ said Dad, clutching the note, ‘and see if Mrs Gilligan got one of these too.’
I followed him outside and then stood nervously next to him on Mrs Gilligan’s doorstep, waiting. When she opened the door, I looked past her into the dark, gloomy hallway. I knew she wasn’t an actual witch or anything, but it did look like the kind of house where you might find a cauldron.
She didn’t invite us in.
‘Did you get one of these?’ my dad asked, waving the note at her.
She nodded.
My dad sighed. ‘I’m going to call the police, Mrs Gilligan,’ he said. ‘This is a very serious business.’
‘Don’t!’ she pleaded. ‘The note said not to. If we don’t do what they say, we might never get the cats back.’
Her bottom lip started to wobble and it looked like she was about to cry. At that moment, I actually felt sorry for her, even though she still had two of my Frisbees in her garden.
‘OK,’ said Dad. ‘I won’t call the police – for now.’
He was a real soft touch, my dad.
Chapter 5
‘Where’s my carrot?’ Stinky said impatiently.
‘Never mind the carrot,’ I replied, waving the ransom note at him. ‘I’ve got something that’s much more interesting.’
‘More interesting than a carrot?’ He frowned. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’
I put the note down inside Stinky’s cage for him to study.
‘Don’t poo on it,’ I said to him. ‘The police might need it as evidence.’
He glared at me, then walked up and down on the note for a very long time, deep in thought.
The silence was driving me crazy.
‘Can you believe it?’ I said excitedly. ‘It’s an actual ransom note, like in the movies! Why do they cut out the letters from a newspaper anyway? Wouldn’t it be easier to just write it?’
‘The police have people called handwriting analysts.’
‘Ana-whats?’
‘Experts who can tell a lot about a person just by looking at the handwriting.’
I sighed. ‘Does that mean we still have no clues at all?’
‘On the contrary,’ Stinky said. ‘We have a number of clues. First of all, the letters are cut from the same newspaper that your parents get – The Chronicle.’ Stinky knew this because I used sheets of old newspaper to line his cage. (It made cleaning out his poo easier, and it gave him something to read.) ‘So,’ he continued, ‘there is a good chance that the cat-napper reads The Chronicle too. When the paperboy comes, ask him who else in our street gets it.’
