Who Stole Halloween? (Chickadee Court Mysteries)

Who Stole Halloween? (Chickadee Court Mysteries)

Martha Freeman

Language: English

Pages: 232

ISBN: 0823421708

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Second in the Chickadee Court mystery series starring two ten-year-old sleuths, this humourous middle-grade mystery--a Texas Bluebonnet Award Masterlist title--is now available in paperback. Alex and Yasmeen are back in action, this time on the trail of a serial cat-napper. Halloween is the first cat to go missing, stolen right from her bed on the front porch in the middle of the night. One by one more cats from the neighborhood disappear. It's rumored that the Harvey House Ghost is back and seeking vengeance. Will he strike again? It's up to Alex and Yasmeen to find ut before Halloween is gone forever!














been by myself, I would have called Luau to come, then turned around and gone home. But Yasmeen was never going to let me get away with that. She just loves a mystery, the stranger the better. And guess what? The flyer on the gravestone was the start of another big mystery, one that would get me, and Yasmeen, and especially Luau into grave, grave trouble. Chapter Two Yasmeen was disappointed. “A flyer posted on a gravestone—that would have been mysterious,” she said. “But I guess it

over on Chickadee.” “What do you want to know?” Kyle asked. Yasmeen got right to the point. “You didn’t put ‘LOST’ on the flyer. Was there a reason?” Kyle nodded. “Halloween isn’t lost. Someone stole her.” “That’s terrible!” Yasmeen said. Without thinking, I clutched Luau tighter. Then I forgot I wasn’t detecting, and I asked, “How do you know?” Before Kyle could answer, a little girl came running down the stairs behind him, only stopping when she crashed into his knees. “Pow! Got you!” she

had stayed grimy black, easy to read. “Who’s F.A.S.?” Yasmeen said. “I don’t know,” I said. “I mean the F could be Floyd, but his last name was Anderson—A, not S.” Yasmeen took the watch from me, studied it for a minute, and started laughing. That was weird by itself, but then she said, “My parents have these fancy towels they put out for guests,” which was totally weird. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked. She ignored my question. “See here how the A in the middle is so much bigger than the

clothes I found in the fireplace?” Mr. Blanco said. “They were Floyd’s,” Yasmeen said, and she showed what was left of the pocket watch to Mr. Blanco. “Gilmore Harvey burned them, only he was in a hurry and didn’t do that great a job,” I said. “After that, he took his new portmanteau and he left town—never to return.” “There’s one other thing, though.” Yasmeen looked around the attic. It was dusty and dim, with crates and boxes everywhere. I bet there were a zillion clues to a zillion

Easter egg hunt and a Passover dinner. We celebrate St. Patrick’s Day and Chinese New Year. And when there’s something special like a new baby coming, there’s a party for that, too. The Lees live right next door—the other side from Yasmeen’s family—but even so, we were late getting to their house. My parents hadn’t found the handcuff key, and it took my mom a long time to do her makeup left-handed and attached to Dad. As we walked in the door they were both crabby and blaming each other. Mrs.

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