"Murder To Go" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stine Megan, Stine William H.)

5 The Party Animal

Jupiter Jones sat on the corner of his bed and pulled on his socks. It was the day of the party at Big Barney Coop’s mansion and Jupe was nervous. This was going to be a tough assignment. Not because of the investigation — he was looking forward to that. But what was he going to say to people, more specifically, to girls at the party?

He stood up and tucked a bright polo shirt into his chinos. He faced his mirror. Not bad for a slightly overweight, medium height guy with unruly black hair. Wait a minute. Did the shirt look better tucked in or left out? It was stretching rather tightly over his stomach.

Then be began to have an imaginary conversation in his head. He was talking to a girl, the girl he’d like to meet at the party. She was petite and dainty, with short, curly hair.

“You probably haven’t noticed me, but I’ve been staring at you uncontrollably for half an hour,” said the imaginary girl with a smile.

“I notice everything,” Jupe answered confidently.

“Want some chicken?” she asked, temptingly holding out a plate of Big Barney’s best.

“No, thanks,” Jupe said, looking into the mirror in his room. “I’m trying to lose a few.”

“Gee, I really admire guys who have will power,” replied the girl in Jupe’s daydream.

She likes me, Jupe thought.

“Are you a friend of Big Barney’s?”

“Actually I’m here to see if he’s poisoning his chickens,” Jupe said bluntly.

The girl’s eyes opened wide. “You mean,” she said excitedly, “you’re a real detective?”

But by the time Jupe had tried on a more flattering T-shirt, his imaginary date was asking him a really tough question. “Why would someone who’s made millions selling fried chicken suddenly decide to poison his own food?” she asked.

“That’s a very astute question,” said Jupe. “And I’m not sure of the answer. Maybe he’s trying to scare ol’ Michael Argenti. Maybe he’s poisoning just a small sample of his own birds, so that when Argenti takes a sample, he’ll find contamination. Or maybe he’s poisoning Argenti’s Roast Roost chickens as a counter attack. There are a lot of possibilities.”

“You’re so smart and logical,” said the girl in the daydream.

“And I know judo, too,” Jupe added.

“You’ve probably already got a girlfriend,” the girl said.

“Well. ” Jupe said.

“Hey, Jupe. Are you ready?” asked a voice from behind.

Jupe snapped out of his daydream and saw Bob standing in the doorway. He was wearing a navy-blue and red striped polo shirt and white casual pants.

“Who were you talking to?” Bob asked as they walked to his car.

“Just going over the facts of the case,” Jupe answered, his face flushing.

When they arrived at Big Barney’s enormous mansion in Bel Air, Pete and Kelly were waiting for them.

“Hope you brought a lot of change,” Pete said. “You need bus fare to get from the front door to the pool.”

The mansion was a stately forty-room, three-story stucco building with ivy growing on the walls. But that’s where any semblance of elegance stopped. Everywhere there were reminders of how the Chicken King had made his millions. Instead of lawn jockeys there were chickens in jockey uniforms. The windsock on top of the flagpole was a rubber chicken. And many of the fat, round shrubs were trimmed into topiary versions of chickens wearing crowns.

The party was being held poolside, behind the mansion. There, two hundred people, young and old, were gathered around a chicken-shaped swimming pool, eating fried chicken, dancing, and having a great time.

“Remember, we’re not here just to have fun,” Jupe said. “Especially you, Kelly. Be sure to ‘forget’ to pick up your clothes from Juliet. That way you’ll have an excuse to see her again.”

“I know, I know,” Kelly said impatiently. “Come on, Pete, let’s go find Juliet. And if I catch you having any fun, I’ll tell Jupe on you.” Kelly laughed as they walked away.

“Why does she take everything I say so seriously?” Jupe asked Bob.

Bob shook his head. “No — why do you take everything she says so seriously? C’mon, let’s look around.”

They squeezed their way through the crowd. It seemed to Jupe that everyone had a juicy drumstick or — a chicken wing in their hand. They were pointing with them, waving them, even dueling with them. But most of all, they were chewing on them.

“This is torture,” moaned Jupe. “When the wind blows in our direction, I can smell all eight of the herbs and spices in Big Barney’s secret patented formula.”

“Jupe, have some chicken,” Bob said. “It won’t kill you.

Bob looked at Jupe and Jupe looked at Bob, and they both winced. Maybe it wouldn’t kill them, they realized — and then again, maybe it would!

“No, thanks,” said Jupe.

“Hi,” said a girl. She was about seventeen, with swept-back short brown hair. She had a juicy drum-stick in one hand and an empty soda cup in the other.

And she was staring right at Bob. “I’ve been watching you ever since you came in.”

Bob gave her a winning smile and said, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

The girl laughed. “Now there’s a new line,” she said. “Sure you know me. I’m your mother.”

Bob laughed and steered the girl away. “Hi, Mom. Let’s go get something to drink and I’ll tell you what a wonderful kid I was.”

Jupe sat down in a lounge chair and watched Big Barney work the crowd like a night club comedian. Every once in a while his big voice boomed across the pool, drowning out the chatter of all the other party guests.

But suddenly another voice caught Jupe’s attention. It was coming from a man standing directly behind Jupe. Jupe casually turned his head. He saw an energetic man in a white suit introducing himself to a blonde young woman who was only a few feet away.

“Don Dellasandro,” the man said, handing the woman his business card.

“Peggy Bennington,” said the blonde.

“It’s nice to network with you, Peggy,” Don said.

The more Jupe listened, the more certain he was that he recognized the man’s voice.

“I’m doing some market research, Peggy,” said Don. “Do you want to taste something that’s going to impact on your life significantly?”

“Sure.”

Don handed her a small foil-wrapped candy.

Jupe stood up to get a better view.

“Miracle Tastes?” Peggy said, reading the words on the wrapper.

“That’s my company and this is my latest,” said Don.

Peggy unwrapped the candy. It was a piece of chocolate. Jupe thought it looked cream-filled.

“I try to stay away from candy,” Peggy said.

“But this is zero calories!” Don said with a grin. “And that’s only half the miracle.”

The candy was in Peggy’s right hand, which Dellasandro pushed closer to her mouth. “Taste it and enter the twenty-first century.” Peggy finally took a bite.

“It’s really good!” she exclaimed.

Jupe’s tongue was practically hanging out of his mouth. The man noticed.

“Don Dellasandro,” the man said, handing Jupe his business card and a candy at the same time.

The candy was smooth and creamy and delicious.

“What do you taste?” Don asked.

“I distinctly taste three things,” Jupe said. “Dark chocolate, marshmallow, and mint. No calories? How do you do it?”

“Flavorings,” Don replied. “That’s what Miracle Tastes is all about. I create flavors. And you did perfectamento at picking out the tastes. I’m glad I interfaced with you.”

Jupe’s eyes opened wide. He had been so interested in the delicious calorie-free candy that for a second he’d forgotten about Don’s voice — until that moment. But there was no doubt in Jupe’s mind. Don Dellasandro was the man who had been calling the hospital every half hour to ask about Juliet Coop! “I’ll be interfacing with her,” he had told Jupe just before he hung up.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a card, do you?” Don said. “You’re one heck of a taster.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Peggy Bennington said, laughing at Don. “He’s a teenager.”

As a matter of fact, Jupe thought to himself, I do have a card. But that was the last thing Jupe wanted to do — give Don Dellasandro one of his Three Investigators cards. He didn’t want Dellasandro to clam up just when Jupe needed to ask him a million questions. Like, why had he called the hospital? Why was he being so mysterious on the phone? And what was Don’s connection to Juliet or Big Barney?

Juliet came up to them just then and took Don Dellasandro’s arm. “Don, I’ve got to have another candy. You didn’t warn me I couldn’t stop eating them,” she said happily.

Don gave Juliet another piece of candy in the Miracle Tastes wrapper. “This kid is a natural taster,” he said, pointing at Jupe.

“Don’t steal Jupiter Jones from me,” Juliet said. “Jupe and his friends are detectives, and they’re going to help me figure out where I was the day of my accident.”

Keep your face frozen, Jupiter told himself. Don’t let on that Juliet just blew your cover.

“No kidding,” Don said, looking at Jupe with narrowed eyes. “I never would have known it to look at you, pal.”

Jupe had to find Bob and Pete fast. He had stumbled onto some kind of a clue, although he wasn’t sure what it was.

Jupe excused himself and wandered through the crowd, looking for his friends. Near the beak end of the chicken pool there was a cluster of people, and in the middle, towering over his guests, stood Big Barney Coop. Anyone who was six feet six inches would stand out in a crowd. But that wasn’t enough for Big Barney. He wore a bright-orange jogging suit with his chicken emblem stitched over his heart.

“And I said, ‘I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure out why the chicken crossed the road,’ ” Barney said with a guffaw. Laughter did not just come out of Big Barney Coop. It detonated, and when it did, even though the jokes weren’t the funniest, the aftershocks made the crowd roar.

“Big Barney, just what did happen with the whipped cream chicken shortcake?” someone asked.

“What can I say. 1986,” Big Barney said. “The world just wasn’t ready for an all-chicken dessert. Hey, does everyone have enough to eat?”

“Actually it was 1985,” Jupe interrupted. He couldn’t stop himself.

Everyone looked at Jupe, including Big Barney.

“That was the year you installed water fountain hoses for washing down little kids after their meals,” Jupe said.

“Hey, guy, you’re absolutely on the moola,” Barney said, walking over and holding out his hand to Jupe.

Jupe shook it and got a joy buzzer blast.

“Turn the page, guy,” Big Barney said, putting his arm around Jupe’s shoulders. “Go ahead. My life is flashing before my eyes and I’m loving every word of it.”

“Well, 1986 was the year you added sugar to the French fry oil and you had live chickens marching in front of your restaurants with picket signs that said ‘I’ll do anything for Big Barney,’ ” Jupe said.

“I’m going to adopt this guy!” Big Barney announced to the crowd. “Juliet, you’ve got a new brother!”

While Jupe and Barney traded Chicken Coop history, Pete and Kelly were talking with Juliet. She was perched near the back of the low-diving board.

“Great party,” Kelly said. “What a crowd. Who are all these people?”

“I don’t know — just a bunch of people Dad invited,” Juliet said. Her shoes were off and she was dipping her toes in the water. “I mean, I’m really confused, and I’m usually just the opposite — super-organized. This memory loss is driving me crazy. People keep coming up to me, saying ‘Glad you’re better,’ and I can’t tell if I don’t know them or I just don’t remember them.”

“You haven’t seen a tall, ugly guy, maybe wearing an army camouflage jacket?” asked Pete.

Juliet shook her head. “Doesn’t sound like my type,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, Juliet, I forgot to tell you about him,” Kelly said. “I call him Mr. Sweetness. He came to your room the night of your accident. I had the feeling you didn’t know him, especially since he never showed up again.”

A look of real fear crossed Juliet’s brow.

“Let us worry about that,” Pete said. “Hey, how’s your car? I might be able to help you fix it up if it’s not totaled.”

“My car? Big Barney shipped it off to the junkyard real fast. He wouldn’t even let me see it,” Juliet said.

“And you still don’t remember anything that happened to you that day?” Kelly asked.

“No,” Juliet said. “Maybe something will click when I go back to work next week.”

That evening after the party, the Three Investigators sat around eating pizza in Jupe’s workshop at The Jones Salvage Yard. Jupe tried to stick to his diet by coming up with a compromise: After every slice of pepperoni pizza he ate two pieces of cantaloupe. It wasn’t exactly a system Mrs. Teitelbaum would approve of.

“So what if Don Dellasandro called the hospital a lot?” Pete asked.

“It’s the way he called, the sound of his voice, what he said,” Jupe said, leaning back in his swivel chair.

“Okay, we’ll find out more about him,” Bob said, swigging a cola. “But what’s this about having a date tomorrow?”

“We have a date with Big Barney’s chickens,” Jupe said. “He practically adopted me at the party. I guess he recognized a true fan. I managed to secure an invitation to visit his research lab and main offices.”

“What do you think we’ll find? Boxes sitting around marked ‘poison’?” Pete asked, licking a piece of pizza cheese off his fingers.

“I don’t know what we’ll find there,” Jupe answered. “It depends on how thoroughly we snoop around.”

“It sounds great to me,” Bob said. “But — ”

“We know,” Jupe and Pete said in unison. “Sax Sendler’s Rock-Plus Talent Agency comes first.”

“Sorry,” Bob said. “Good luck, guys.”

They finished the pizza, closed up the workshop, and walked outside the big iron gates of the junkyard to Bob’s and Pete’s cars. The sky was pink, but not for long.

“Look what’s parked across the street,” Pete said, pointing down the block to a black Porsche convertible. “Sixty thousand dollars on four mag wheels. An awesome machine!”

“But look at the driver—the guy leaning on the hood,” Jupe said quietly. “He’s wearing an army camouflage jacket. Just like Mr. Sweetness. ”

For one second Pete froze. Then he took off running down the street toward the man. “Hey, you!” Pete shouted.

Bob and Jupe followed, but the man in the jacket hopped into his Porsche and roared away.

Instantly Pete turned back and headed for his own car. He jumped behind the wheel and zoomed down the street after the Porsche.

“Great acceleration,” Pete said out loud to himself as his Scirocco pulled up right behind Mr. Sweetness’s Porsche.

But as they came to the first curve and Pete hit his brakes, he suddenly wished that he weren’t going so fast — because the brakes were gone. The pedal was pumping nothing but air!

Pete was speeding down a hill at 50 miles per hour, headed straight toward a busy intersection with a flashing red light!