The Case of the Weird Blue Chicken Read online

  To Kevin Cornell

  —D. C.

  Doreen! I’m so flattered!

  —K. C.

  Chapter 1

  Dirt.

  Sugar.

  Poppy.

  Sweetie.

  You lost it.

  We’ll find it.

  You broke it?

  We’ll fix it.

  In trouble?

  We’ll get you out.

  Looking for trouble?

  We’ll bring it to you.

  Chapter 2

  I found the Chicken Squad flyer underneath my dog bowl this morning. I have been sharing a backyard with those four featherballs for two years. I already had all the information I needed about them, but you might not. Here’s what you need to know:

  Dirt: Short, yellow, fuzzy

  Real Name: Peep

  Specialty: Foreign languages, math, colors, computer codes

  Sugar: Short, yellow, fuzzy

  Real Name: Little Boo

  Specialty: Breaking and entering, interrupting

  Poppy: Short, yellow, fuzzy

  Real Name: Poppy

  Specialty: Watching the shoe (will explain later)

  Sweetie: Short, yellow, fuzzy

  Real Name: Sweet Coconut Louise

  Specialty: None that I can see

  They know trouble all right. They know how to cause it. Can they get you out of it? Not a chance. Will they make a heap of it if you leave them alone for more than two and a half minutes? You bet they will. And not the easy kind of trouble, either, like “Oops, I have a paper clip stuck in my nostril.” The hard kind of trouble. The ransom-note, accidental-fire, wing-in-a-sling, my-brother-is-stuck-in-the-garden-hose kind of trouble. And they manage to make that kind of trouble almost every single day.

  Despite all the commotion, all the squawking, and a handful of life-or-death situations, things seem to work out. There’s one reason for that. It’s not Dirt, Sugar, Poppy, or Sweetie, and it’s not even their eagle-eyed mother, Moosh. It’s me. J. J. Tully. Retired search-and-rescue dog, seven years on the job, two years in the yard.

  My advice? Keep an eye on them at all times.

  Chapter 3

  “Can I help you?” asked Sugar.

  It was early Tuesday morning. A tiny blue bird had just shown up in the chicken coop. The ground was still wet from the sprinkler. She didn’t wipe her feet before she came in.

  “I have a problem,” said the little bird.

  “You sure do,” answered Sugar. “You are leaving footprints all over my floor.”

  “Oh, sorry,” answered the little bird.

  “Uh-huh,” said Sugar. Sugar came out from behind the old shoe she was using for a desk. “How did you find us?”

  “The giant sign outside the chicken coop,” answered the bird. “Plus, there are these flyers all over the place.” She handed Sugar a stack of fifteen flyers.

  “Did anybody follow you here?” asked Dirt.

  “I don’t think so,” said the little bird.

  “Check the door,” said Sugar.

  The little bird went toward the door.

  “Not you, little bird,” said Sugar, looking directly at her sister Dirt.

  Dirt jumped up out of the old shoe. She walked to the door.

  “Any more chicks in that desk?” asked the little bird, pointing at the shoe.

  “I’ll ask the questions,” answered Sugar.

  Sugar made some observations:

  Small

  Blue

  Tiny feet

  Wings

  Possibly a weird blue chicken

  “Do you lay eggs?” asked Sugar.

  “That’s a very strange question,” said the little bird.

  Sugar made a new observation:

  Weird blue chicken does not like to answer questions.

  “I just need one more thing,” said Sugar. She pulled a cotton swab out of the shoe.

  “What’s that for?” asked the little bird.

  “I’m going to scrape under your arm with it.”

  “Why would you do that?” asked the little bird.

  “For the smell,” answered Sugar. “I give it to my dog friend, J. J. Now, hold still . . .”

  “I do not want my armpit scraped with a cotton swab,” said the little bird. She backed away toward the door.

  “Fine by me, Weird Blue Chicken,” said Sugar. “But if we can’t smell you, we probably can’t find you.”

  “I’m right here,” said the little bird.

  “You can go now,” said Sugar. “I’ve got your number. If you ever get lost, the Chicken Squad might be able find you. It will be tough without your smell on file, but we’ll try. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Have a nice day.”

  The little bird did not move.

  “Go on, scram,” said Sugar. “Get out of here.” Sugar went back behind the desk and picked up a tiny piece of newspaper she’d found on the ground.

  Again, the little bird did not move.

  Sugar put down the newspaper bit. “Are you lost?”

  “No.”

  “Did you lose something?” asked Sugar.

  “No.”

  Sweetie stuck her head out of the shoe.

  “How many chickens are in that thing?” asked the little bird.

  “For someone who walked in off the street, you sure do ask a lot of questions,” said Sugar. She came out from behind the desk and stood next to Dirt. “I’m gonna keep my eye on you, Weird Blue Chicken.”

  “Hang on, Sugar,” said Dirt. “I’ve got one more question before she goes.”

  “What’s that?” asked Sugar.

  “Do you need help, little bird?” asked Dirt.

  “Yes,” answered the little bird.

  “Then you’ve come to the right place,” said Dirt, wrapping her wing around the little bird. “What seems to be the problem?” Up close, Dirt could see that the little blue bird had tiny blue bird eyes. And there were tears in them.

  Chapter 4

  The little blue bird took a deep breath. “I have a really big problem.”

  Dirt and Sugar exchanged glances.

  “What is it, Weird Blue Chicken?” asked Sugar. “What seems to be your problem?”

  “It’s a bird,” answered the little bird.

  “What does he look like?” asked Dirt.

  “He’s six feet tall,” answered the bird.

  “Are you sure about that?” asked Sugar.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” answered the bird.

  “Birds don’t come in that size,” said Sugar. “You must have had a bad dream. I can’t help you if your problem is a big bird bad dream.”

  Dirt looked Weird Blue Chicken up and down.

  “How tall are you?” she asked.

  “I’m about four feet tall,” answered the little bird.

  “Ah, I see,” said Dirt kindly. “I think you are confusing inches with feet. It’s a common mistake. You are about four inches tall.”

  The little bird shrugged.

  Sugar rolled her eyes.

  “What else can you tell me about this bird?” asked Dirt.

  “He’s yellow,” answered the bird.

  “Can you be more specific, ma’am?” asked Dirt. “For example, I’m kind of a canary yellow. Sugar is kind of a dandelion yellow. Let me get my crayon box . . .”

  “Pipe down,” said Sugar. “Let the chicken talk.”

  The little bird said nothing.

  “Back to this other bird,” said Sugar. Her voice was serious. “You said he was in some kind of trouble.”

  “No,” said the little bird. “He is the trouble.”

  “That’s odd,” said Sugar. “Birds don’t u
sually cause trouble.”

  “Actually, birds cause trouble all the time,” said Dirt.

  “Pipe down!” said Sugar. “Let the chicken talk.”

  The little bird still said nothing.

  “What exactly do you think this bird did?” asked Dirt, using her kindest voice.

  “He kidnapped my house.”

  “That is a very serious accusation, Weird Blue Chicken!” said Sugar. “What kind of proof do you have?”

  “He’s sitting in my house, and he won’t leave,” answered the little bird.

  “House-kidnapping is kind of an awkward phrase,” said Dirt. “I think we should call it a house-napping.”

  “Pipe down!” said Sugar. “Let the chicken talk.”

  The little bird said nothing.

  “What makes you so sure it’s a bird?” asked Sugar.

  “I know a bird when I see one,” said the little bird.

  “You don’t know an inch when you see one,” said Sugar. “How can I be sure that you know what a bird looks like?”

  “How do you know he won’t leave?” asked Dirt.

  “I asked him to leave,” said the little bird. “And he said no.”

  “Interesting,” said Sugar. She went to the door and tucked her wings behind her back. She was deep in thought. After seventy-three seconds of silence, she made an observation in her notebook:

  Have been standing here a long time. Should turn around.

  She turned to face the little bird. “I know what you need,” declared Sugar.

  “I need that bird out of my house,” said the little bird.

  “No,” said Sugar. “You need the Chicken Squad.”

  “Can the Chicken Squad get that bird out of my house?” asked the little bird.

  “I have absolutely no idea, ma’am,” answered Dirt. “No idea at all.”

  “Today is your lucky day,” announced Sugar. “The Chicken Squad will take your case. It will be dangerous. It will be hard, and it will require your full cooperation. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” said the little bird.

  “Good,” said Sugar. “Now, please go.” She leaned in close to the little bird and whispered, “Stay low. Keep your head down. Walk only in the shadows. Don’t attract any attention. Don’t tell anyone we spoke. And tweet three times when the coast is clear.”

  “I usually just fly away,” said the little bird.

  “That’s fine, too,” said Sugar.

  Chapter 5

  “We forgot to ask her where she lives,” said Dirt. Sugar was pacing back and forth in the coop.

  “We’re going to follow her,” said Sugar.

  “Why didn’t we just go with her?” asked Dirt.

  “I don’t trust her,” said Sugar.

  “Why not?” asked Dirt.

  “Never trust a weird blue chicken,” said Sugar. She shook her head. “You’ve got a lot to learn, little sis. It’s a tough world out there. Nothing is as it seems.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s a blue jay,” said Dirt, “not a weird blue chicken.”

  “Pipe down,” said Sugar. “Let the chicken talk.”

  “Um . . . she’s not here anymore,” said Dirt.

  “Right,” said Sugar. “C’mon, let’s go. I don’t want to lose her trail.”

  “What should I do?” asked Sweetie.

  “Stay in the shoe,” said Sugar. “In case another client comes in.”

  “Got it,” said Sweetie.

  A moment later she asked, “What should I do if another client does come in?”

  “Tell them to make an appointment,” said Sugar. “Then get back in the shoe.”

  “Got it,” said Sweetie.

  Sugar and Dirt walked side by side. They made a left turn, staying close to the shadows. Then they made another left turn. They walked single file against the back wall. They made another left turn.

  “Now what?” asked Dirt.

  “Turn left,” said Sugar.

  They turned left.

  “We are right back where we started,” said Dirt.

  “Exactly,” said Sugar. “Look behind you.”

  Dirt looked over her shoulder.

  “I don’t see anything,” said Dirt.

  “Exactly,” said Sugar. “Now we know we’re not being followed.”

  “Wow,” said Dirt. “That was really smart.”

  “Stick with me, kid,” said Sugar. “I know how the world works.”

  “Can I come with you guys?” Dirt and Sugar turned around to find the little blue bird right behind them.

  “Weird Blue Chicken! Where did you come from?” asked Sugar.

  “I followed you,” said the little bird.

  “How?” asked Sugar.

  “I stayed low. Kept my head down. Walked only in the shadows. And didn’t attract any attention.”

  A slow smile spread across Sugar’s face. “You’re a fast learner.”

  “But why did you follow us?” asked Dirt.

  “Because I don’t trust you,” said the little bird. “Never trust a small, yellow bird with glasses. You’ve got a lot to learn, kid.”

  “I like the way you think, Weird Blue Chicken,” said Sugar.

  Chapter 6

  Sugar, Dirt, and the little blue bird tiptoed across the yard. They stopped in the middle of the lawn and waited for the sprinkler to switch to the other side.

  “It’s right back here,” said the little bird. “It’s the oak tree. I call her Duncan.”

  “You named your tree?” asked Sugar.

  “Of course,” said the little bird. “Never trust a bird who doesn’t name her tree.”

  “Of course,” said Dirt.

  “I told you she was weird,” whispered Sugar.

  The oak tree was the tallest tree in the yard. With the thick leaves of summer, it looked like a solid wall of green. It was impossible to see anything hidden behind it.

  “Where’s your nest?” asked Dirt.

  “I don’t have a nest,” said the little bird. “I have a house.”

  “That’s a little strange, don’t you think?” asked Sugar. “Birds are supposed to build nests, not live in houses.”

  “Do you live in a nest?” asked the little blue bird.

  “Of course not,” said Sugar. “I’m a chicken. I live in a chicken coop.”

  “And I’m a bird,” said the little bird. “So I live in a birdhouse.”

  “You’ve got me there, Weird Blue Chicken,” said Sugar.

  “I don’t see it,” said Dirt. “I don’t see your house.”

  The little bird hopped from place to place on the ground below the tree. “It should be right up there,” she said. “This is where it’s always been—about seven inches off the ground. It’s red. It has a hole in the middle for a door, and a beautiful slanted green roof. It’s about eight feet high and four feet wide.” Dirt pulled out a sketchpad and a box of crayons from behind her back.

  “Somebody get this kid a ruler,” said Sugar.

  “It’s okay,” said Dirt. “I know she means eight inches high and four inches wide, and it’s about seven feet off the ground.”

  Sugar walked around the base of the tree. “I don’t see it, ma’am,” she said. “I’m starting to think you dragged us all out here for nothing,”

  Dirt turned her sketchpad around. “Is this it?”

  “That’s it!” The little bird gasped. “How did you do that?”

  “I’m a good listener,” said Dirt. “Red house, square front, round hole, green slanted roof.”

  “Wait just one minute,” said Sugar. “Describe this house-napper again. This time I want details.”

  “Well, he’s short, yellow, and kind of fuzzy,” said the little bird.

  “Hmm,” said Sugar. “Anything else? A tattoo? A limp? A dangerous-looking scar?”

  “I don’t remember any scars or tattoos,” said the little bird.

  Dirt showed her a sketch.

  “Not quite,” said the little bird
. “His head is weird. It looks like an egg.”

  Dirt adjusted the sketch.

  “Not quite,” said the little bird. “His eyes are more round.” Dirt adjusted the sketch again.

  “Closer,” said the little bird. “He’s got two orange feathers sticking out of the top of his lumpy head. They are about two feet long.”

  “Inches, kid, INCHES!” snapped Sugar.

  Dirt adjusted the sketch AGAIN.

  “That’s him!” screamed the little bird. “You did it! That’s the egg-headed bird who stole my house.”

  “Oh, brother,” said Dirt. She passed the sketch to Sugar.

  “Oh, brother,” said Sugar.

  “That is no egg-headed little bird,” said Dirt.

  “It isn’t?” asked the little bird.

  “That, madam,” said Dirt and Sugar, “is our brother!”

  “Oh, brother,” said the little bird.

  “You can say that again,” said Sugar.

  “Oh, brother,” said the little bird.

  “Knock that off, kid,” said Sugar.

  Chapter 7

  “We’ve got to find your brother,” said the little bird.

  “We’ve got to find your house first,” said Sugar. “Poppy will be inside the house.”

  “What’s a poppy?” asked the little bird.

  “Our brother. His name is Poppy,” answered Sugar.

  “Where would he take a birdhouse?” asked Dirt.

  “Don’t you mean why would he take a birdhouse?” asked the little bird.

  Dirt and Sugar looked at each other.

  “He’s kind of . . . unpredictable,” said Sugar.

  Dirt nodded in agreement.

  “Did you have anything valuable in the house?” asked Sugar.

  “Absolutely not. Not at all. Nope. Nothing. Why would I have anything valuable? That’s ridiculous. Where would I even get anything valuable? I mean, really. I’m just a bird. Boring blue jay, actually. What a strange question. Now that I think about it, I believe that the contents of my house are none of your business! Good day, sir!”