Suzanne Collier's Little Book of Mysteries and Mayhem

Suzanne Collier's Little Book of Mysteries and Mayhem

by Paula Diggs
Suzanne Collier's Little Book of Mysteries and Mayhem

Suzanne Collier's Little Book of Mysteries and Mayhem

by Paula Diggs

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Overview

Seven-year-old Suzanne Collier has great insights and a quirky personality that fit perfectly with her dream of wanting to be a detective. Motivated by her desire to solve crimes, Suzanne drives everyone crazy by asking too many questions. But when she stumbles upon her biggest mystery yet, Suzanne begins a quest to understand why people do the things they do.

As Suzanne attempts to solve the case of a dead hobo in an Illinois cornfield, she uncovers clues, helps two friends in need, and hopes she can solve the case before someone else gets hurt. Her next case comes quickly as Suzanne is led to help unravel a highway crime in Michigan where she saves a dog's life and learns the consequences of her thoughtless comments. In her final case, Suzanne exposes evil motives amid a dinosaur dig in Kansas, all while facing big changes as her family prepares to move to Minnesota-the place where Suzanne is certain witches, vampires, and frozen souls reside.

In this young adult novel, a girl turned amateur detective must rely on her skills and face her fears while attempting to solve three mysteries.


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781491771402
Publisher: iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date: 08/20/2015
Pages: 258
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.58(d)

Read an Excerpt

Suzanne Collier's Little Book of Mysteries and Mayhem


By Paula Diggs

iUniverse

Copyright © 2015 Paula Diggs
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-7140-2



CHAPTER 1

Just Listen to Me


A huge, slobbering Doberman pinscher clamps his jaws on the little dog's throat. Blood shoots out and splatters all over me. Next, a swarm of bats flies at my eyes. I can't see. Run and climb a tree to get away. Climb higher and higher — foot slips and I start to fall. Falling and falling down, down, down ... Below me a large bug stands on home plate, his bat in position to swing as I fall in front of him. A hand touches my shoulder and grabs me. "Help!" I cry. "Help, help me, please!"

"Calm down, Suzanne. It's all over. No one's going to hurt you. You're dreaming." My parents, Daddy Don and Mother, stand by my bed.

"No," I tell them, "Out there on the street. I can hear them."

"It's only crickets. Go back to sleep. You're seven years old, a big girl. Stop imagining things. Nothing's going to hurt you now."

Those bad dreams keep bothering me. Things without heads follow me around. They try to make me eat stuff that smells bad. Spam. Rat poison. It makes me gag. Sometimes I throw up in my bed. Last night was the worst ever.

When I come down for breakfast the next morning, Mother tells me I look like something the cat dragged in. What does that mean? They dragged my cat in when he was half starved. I couldn't get back to sleep at all. Ideas of dark things jumped around in my head. All night. A claw grabbed me. It held on. I had to stay awake or monsters would get me. I was alone. Really alone. All by myself. No one would help me.

"I cried in my sleep all night, Mother. I thought monsters were after me. I could hear their feet. I screamed and screamed, but no sound came out ..."

Mother takes things in and out of the drawer. One by one. Likes everything nice and tidy.

"You should've gone back to sleep" was all Mother said to me. She didn't say, "Oh, you darling girl, I wish you'd sleep with us." That's what I really needed her to say. I don't think they understand that I need to be in their bed where it's safe. It's scary to be alone sometimes.

I'll bet everyone has trouble sleeping once in a while. I know I heard something moving around outside. Maybe because of those terrible things I found out about and what happened to my friend Judy's family. Mother says it's only my imagination that makes me have bad dreams. I wonder if it will ever stop. All night I lie there and tell myself new stories, where I find out the answers and solve terrible mysteries and everyone loves me and wants to be my friend since Mother and Daddy Don don't let me sleep with them. That calms me down so I don't start screaming and wake up everyone. Sometimes it isn't real.

A big imagination is part of being me. My name's Suzanne, Suzanne Collier. Grown-ups always say, "What's your name? How old are you?" Mother says you can't ever ask them how old they are. That's rude. Bad manners — grown-ups know all about manners. It's not bad manners if they ask me, "How old are you, little girl?" I get in trouble if I'm rude, and then I have to go to my room. When that happens I just scream and cry until Mother or Daddy Don feels really sorry and lets me out so they can have some peace and quiet. For once.

I'm seven, going on eight. I know how old Mother is. She's twenty-nine, and she takes an empty Coke bottle and rolls it on her behind so she won't get fat since she had my baby sister, Kathleen. Kathleen is one year old and doesn't talk words yet. I know lots of things. Daddy Don is thirty-one years old. He's something called a psychologist and always wants to know what I think about something or how I feel. Once he asked me what I want to be when I grow up.

I know I'm a detective now because I try to figure out why things happen. I tell myself stories in my head. Sometimes they're real. With answers to questions. Detectives find out why. That's what they do, and what I want to become. A detective. Sometimes it's horrible. I just watch what happens carefully and think about it. Bad things are out there. I like arithmetic. Numbers always add up. You can figure them out. That's my best subject. It isn't easy to be me. I ask too many questions. No one likes that.

My teacher always makes me work in the hardest arithmetic book she can find so that I stay busy and don't bother others by asking questions. I'm the best reader in my class, but the girls don't like me. I don't think the boys do either. No one really likes me or chooses me to play at recess. Kids are lots harder than numbers. Those girls call me nosy because I ask so many questions. Sometimes Miss Fit. But I never had a fit at school. Or maybe because I like to smell things to learn about them. Everyone's head smells different. Baby Kathleen's smells like sunshine and cookies.

One time the university president, Mr. Catell, came to our house for dinner. Mother made fried chicken and cheesy party potatoes. I got to help bring the rolls around to people. Daddy Don had a serious face. When I went behind Mr. Catell, I noticed his nice bushy hair, so I took a good smell of his head. It had a strong smell of tobacco smoke and oil. I said to him, "You smell just like a bear." That's a nice friendly thing to say. Winnie the Pooh is a bear.

All those grown-ups got red faces, and Daddy Don started humming. Mother said, "Upstairs!" to me. That hurt my feelings. I sat in my room by myself and sang, "The bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see." No one came to tell me to put my pj's on when it got dark. No one brought me supper, even though fried chicken is my favorite. I could smell the food downstairs through the heating grate in my floor.

After the guests left, Mother came upstairs and stood at my door. She didn't say anything. She just stared at me.

Later I heard Daddy Don say, "She's only a child."

Mother told him, "I have to teach her a lesson." I study my lessons all the time. It's better if they yell at you. Sometimes I feel like no one likes me. Not even Mother, and she's supposed to — I'm her child.

I bite my fingernails when the girls make faces at me. Mary Beth is their leader. She has blonde curls and bows in her hair. She kicked me in the shin once when I told her I could teach her the times tables. She couldn't learn them. Prime numbers are more fun than times tables anyway. Prime numbers are perfect just by themselves. School isn't very much fun for me at recess. No one plays with me.

Daddy Don says it will be easier when I go to university. When will that be? Daddy Don teaches at the University of Illinois. He is a professor of psychology. That is a hard thing to be because you study people all the time. People are very hard to understand. His assistant, Philo, is my very best friend. Grown-ups usually don't make faces, but they never listen; Philo listens to me. He's twenty-three. My best kid friend is Judy. She's eleven. She's a sad, quiet girl because her parents passed away. When you pass away, it's like you are asleep, but you don't wake up. Ever. Mother doesn't want me to think about that all the time or ask so many questions about the dead robin I found because it gives her a headache and she has to lie down. Mother says we should be happy. She likes to smile. Even when Baby Kathleen does number two in her diaper and smells to high heaven. Mother hates to be disturbed when she goes into her room to read. She always shuts her door.

Sometimes I sit outside and sing my little lonely song to her. It goes like this: "Mother went into her roooom, Mother went into her roooom, I'm here all alone, Mother, and I need to talk to you." I sing it over and over until she comes out. Then she doesn't seem happy. Mother doesn't like to listen to all the ideas I have to tell her. "Please stop talking, Suzanne. Don't talk, please, please, please." That's what she says to me. "Go get something to read, honey."

I'm learning to be a detective, so I guess I should read everything. I'm not supposed to look at newspapers. I get too excited and talk about all the stories that I don't understand. Mother and Daddy Don hide the newspapers under the kitchen sink. I found this one today and took it out behind the garage at the end of our lot. It's musty and dark back here, and no one can see me. Bushes. I read every word. Even the want ads. I might want a job as a detective. I know how much everything costs. I like this newspaper. It's the Champaign-Urbana Free Press, June 8, 1944. Something is happening on beaches in a place called Normandy. Part of a huge war. Seven-year-olds like me shouldn't read so much. That's what our fat neighbor, Mrs. Jones, told Mother. Mother doesn't want me to read about bad things like that terrible man, Hitler. He's the one who caused the war. People and animals suffer. I can't stand it. Nice and cool here under the leaves. Grown-ups want you to think everything is nice, and if it isn't, it's your fault. I can't say mean, that's rude. Hurts people's feelings.

Mother doesn't like it when I pretend I'm a witch and scare Baby Kathleen a little so she screams. "Real or make believe?" is what Mother said to me when I told her the mean man walking by our house was going to hurt somebody. I could see it in his mean, bumpy face and bugged-out eyes. I knew something bad was going to happen. Teachers always think it's my fault. When Butch pulled my pigtails and made me cry, my teacher wanted to know what I did to Butch. Butch used to be the marble champ at my school.

I got a new agate shooter for practicing my flute for a recital. It was hard to practice that flute. I hated scales. "Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti, do." Does that make any sense? I had to watch out my window when I did them and tried to learn a new song for the recital because that's what my hero Nancy Drew, the detective, would do. Watch. You have to keep your eyes open all the time. What happened isn't pretend. I could tell all about it, but it's very scary. I'm hardly ever scared, but sometimes I get the jimmers all up and down my back and just gasp for breath. I saw something that was a torn shirt. Maybe blood on it. A shoe. That scared me and made my stomach hurt.

Here comes my kitten, Mr. Sir Kit Cat. He likes to sit with me and purr. He can see lots of things with his cat eyes, just like me. So I'll tell how the mystery started just a few days ago not long after I got my kitty if the bad parts won't scare you and keep you awake at night. There were five people. Some badly hurt or tricked and missing. Five is a prime. Prime numbers are so beautiful. Just like beautiful birds flying in the sky. Just perfect all by themselves.

CHAPTER 2

Spring Has Sprung


"The birds that sing in the spring, tra-la." Mother stands in the kitchen and sings. Then she says, "Spring has sprung, the grass has riz, I wonder where my boyfriend is?" She smiles at Daddy Don with her cutesy smile. That's so annoying.

"Right here, ma'am," Daddy Don answers and flicks the towel he's drying the dishes with on her behind.

Mother puts her hands in front of her face and makes a big "O" with her mouth. Mother has a nice round behind. Like a big marshmallow. "Spring has sprung" — that makes no sense at all. All it does is rain, and mud is everywhere. Illinois is a muddy state. I can't even get my bike out of the garage because the ground is so deeply mud. It's worse today because I have to wait here inside the house and watch Baby Kathleen while those two parents go off to a reception at the university for Daddy Don's new book. I read it, and it's very boring. Psychology. I didn't read the whole thing, just the first page. There are no people or conversations. All the pictures are just lines. It's called Essentials of Psychology. No one will want to read it; who likes boring books? It's not exciting at all. I like books with people and animals. That's exciting. Some animals are hunters and bite. Mysteries are best when there's something to figure out. There's no mystery in psychology, just lots of long, long words.

Our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Jones, can't come and take care of Baby Kathleen like she was supposed to because her little boy, Bobby, has a kitten that's missing. Bobby is only four. He's upset and crying and has hiccups that won't stop. Mother's white dress is very pretty. She smells like roses. She won't let me hug her, not even a little. She doesn't want to wrinkle. Important is a word she likes to use.

"Oh, I don't know about leaving them. Suzanne isn't very ..." she says to Daddy Don.

"She'll do fine, just fine. We won't be gone long. Mrs. Jones said she'd come over with Bobby as soon as he stops crying. That can't be long. She'll stay until we get back," Daddy Don tells her.

"Suzanne, listen to me," Mother says.

A worried face. When she uses her tight, stringy voice, I start to itch. Now I've scratched myself, and it's bleeding. I have to lick it off so Mother won't put alcohol on it that stings. If you swallow your own blood, does your body know how to digest it? Can you eat yourself?

"Suzanne!" Mother says. "This is important. Pay attention. You must take very good care of Baby Kathleen Stay inside. Mrs. Jones will be over soon. It's too muddy out to play. Don't go out. Do you hear me?"

I sing a song to myself in my sweet little voice. "Ring around the rosey."

"Stop that; listen to me right now."

"Pocket full of posies."

I look out the window. Who's that walking down our street? Oh, the mean bumpy-faced man with his bad vicious dog. Attacked a little dog right in front of my eyes. A snarling Doberman pinscher. Swings a baseball bat as he walks. Why does he need a bat? He's not playing baseball. A bat hits something. That's what a bat is for. What is he going to hit?

"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."

Mother uses her loud voice. "Suzanne, stop it!

"Yes, Mother, I'll do just what you say."

That man stands looking around at the vacant lot. He can't see me, but I know he will do some bad thing. Just like his dog.

"Ring around the rosey, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Yes, Mother, yes, yes, yes."

"Take good care of your sister. You are seven years old and know what to do. If you have a problem before Mrs. Jones comes, go over to her house. Take Kathleen with you. Don't make faces at Baby Kathleen; see, she's getting upset. Be a good sister. We have to go."

Mother pulls Baby Kathleen's little hands off her skirt, and Mother and Daddy Don hurry out the back door. Baby Kathleen throws herself down on the floor and starts to scream. Now what do I do? This is too hard on me. I hate that crying.

"Take my hand," I tell her. "We can go out and watch them drive away." We walk out to the garage on the grass where it isn't too muddy. The driveway is deep in mud. What is Mrs. Brown across the street doing with her broom? Sweeping away at something lying on the ground twitching. Mother says she's blind as a bat. A bat flew into my hair one night, and I screamed bloody murder.

"Watch out! No, no Kathleen, don't walk there. Not there. No! See what you've done. Now you're stuck in the mud. Your shoes are stuck." This is not good, I think. Mother is looking out the car window at us. Oh, no, they're turning around. Baby Kathleen looks at me with her big brown eyes.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Suzanne Collier's Little Book of Mysteries and Mayhem by Paula Diggs. Copyright © 2015 Paula Diggs. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Part I New Shooter,
Chapter 1 Just Listen to Me, 3,
Chapter 2 Spring Has Sprung, 10,
Chapter 3 In Which I Solve My First Mystery, 14,
Chapter 4 A Sticky Wicket, 20,
Chapter 5 Magic Flute, 25,
Chapter 6 I've Lost My Marbles, 33,
Chapter 7 Bad Habits, 42,
Chapter 8 Don't Cry over Spilled Milk, 50,
Chapter 9 Nine Lives, 60,
Chapter 10 I'm Not a Cook, 68,
Chapter 11 Fan Dance, 74,
Chapter 12 Home Run, 80,
Part II Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, Say Your Prayers,
Chapter 13 Not a Surprise, 89,
Chapter 14 Flutter by, 93,
Chapter 15 Or Else, 97,
Chapter 16 Navel Gazing, 102,
Chapter 17 Cap Size: Small, 108,
Chapter 18 Night Lights, 114,
Chapter 19 Trouble to Boot, 121,
Chapter 20 Lost in the Woods, 127,
Chapter 21 Grin and Bear It: Needs and Wants, 132,
Chapter 22 Poached Legs Are Toast, 137,
Chapter 23 To Build a Fire, 141,
Chapter 24 Nowhere to Run, 145,
Chapter 25 Castaways, 149,
Chapter 26 Step-by-Step, Inch by Inch, Slowly I Turned, 153,
Chapter 27 Biting the Hand that Stifles, 158,
Chapter 28 Shake, Rattle, and Roll, 162,
Chapter 29 All Sewed Up, 166,
Chapter 30 Up in the Air, 170,
Chapter 31 Roadside Treasure, 174,
Chapter 32 Keyed Up, 177,
Part III Dem Bones,
Chapter 33 Change Is a Constant, 187,
Chapter 34 The Dangerous Web, 191,
Chapter 35 Restless Night, 194,
Chapter 36 Worse and Worser, 196,
Chapter 37 Lamentations, 199,
Chapter 38 Wedding Bells, 202,
Chapter 39 Against My Will, 206,
Chapter 40 Food for Thought, 210,
Chapter 41 Seven Deadlies, 213,
Chapter 42 High Life, 217,
Chapter 43 Not a Ghost of a Chance, 221,
Chapter 44 Clear as Mud, 226,
Chapter 45 Field Day, 230,
Chapter 46 As Long as a Telephone Wire, 235,
Chapter 47 Starry, Starry Night, 238,
Chapter 48 No Way Out, 242,
Chapter 49 All's Well that Ends, 246,
About the Author, 251,

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