The Make-Believe Mystery

Chapter 1: The Contest

Chapter 2: Top Secret!

Chapter 3: Gone!

Chapter 4: A Real Mystery

Chapter 5: Copycats and Copyrats

Chapter 6: Starting from Scratch

Chapter 7: A Creepy Note

Chapter 8: And the Winner Is…

1

The Contest

C
lass, I have a special project for you,” Mrs. Reynolds announced. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a brown paper bag.

Eight-year-old Nancy Drew leaned toward Bess Marvin, who sat next to her. They were both third graders in Mrs. Reynolds's class. Bess was one of Nancy's best friends.

“I wonder what's in the bag?” Nancy whispered to Bess.

“It looks like a lunch bag, so maybe it's food,” Bess whispered back. She tossed her long blond hair over her shoulders
and glanced at Mrs. Reynolds. “Hmm. Or maybe not.”

Nancy leaned forward in her seat. Mrs. Reynolds was pulling folded-up pieces of paper out of the bag.

“These have your names on them,” Mrs. Reynolds explained. She let the pieces of paper flutter through her fingers and back into the bag. “For this project, we're going to need seven teams. I'm going to pick seven names out of this bag. Those students will be the team captains. Each captain will choose three or four other people to be on his or her team.”

“If I'm a team captain, I'm not going to choose any girls,” Jason Hutchings called out. He turned to his friend Mike Minelli, and they gave each other high fives.

“That's enough,” Mrs. Reynolds said, frowning at the boys. “Anyway, each team will write a short story—a mystery short story set here at Carl Sandburg Elementary School. A week from tomorrow, all the teams will read their stories out loud in class, and we'll vote on the best one.”

A mystery short story! Nancy sat up in
her seat. She loved mysteries. For one thing, she was the best detective at Carl Sandburg Elementary School. She had a special blue notebook that her father had given her. She wrote clues in it whenever she was working on a case.

Still, writing a mystery short story would be different from solving a mystery, Nancy thought—a different kind of fun. She was excited about trying it.

Across the room, George Fayne raised her hand. George was Bess's cousin and Nancy's other best friend. “Mrs. Reynolds? Won't it be kind of hard for all the team members to write together?” George asked.

“You'll take turns,” Mrs. Reynolds explained with a smile. “You can decide on a story idea as a team. Then each team member will write one part of the story. The first person will write the first part. The second person will write the second part, and so on.”

“Cool,” George said. “Kind of like the baton relay.” George, who was tall and had dark, curly hair, was really into sports.

Mrs. Reynolds reached into the paper
bag and picked out seven names for the team captains. “Katie Zaleski, Andrew Leoni, Julia Santos, Mari Cheng, Jason Hutchings, Nancy Drew . . . and Brenda Carlton,” she read out loud.

“I knew I'd be one of the team captains,” Brenda Carlton said smugly.

Bess glanced at Nancy and rolled her eyes. Nancy put her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling. Brenda wrote her own newspaper, which she printed on her father's computer. She always acted as if she was the most important person in the class.

Mrs. Reynolds had all the team captains take turns picking their teams. Nancy picked Bess, George, and Phoebe Archer. Brenda picked Jenny March, Emily Reeves, and her best friend, Alison Wegman. Jason Hutchings picked all boys, just as he'd said: Mike Minelli, Kyle Leddington, and Peter DeSands.

“I'm passing out the composition books you'll be using for your stories,” Mrs. Reynolds said. She went up and down the aisles and gave each of the team leaders a shiny purple notebook. “Each person can write his or her part and pass the notebook on to the next person on the team. Good luck!” she finished with a smile.

Nancy took one of the purple notebooks from Mrs. Reynolds. She opened the notebook to the first page. It was fresh and new and white—just waiting for a story to be written on it, Nancy thought eagerly.

• • •

“How about a story where all the third graders get kidnapped by aliens?” Phoebe suggested. She, Nancy, George, and Bess were in the lunchroom, eating lunch. They were trying to come up with ideas for their mystery.

“Aliens? Hmm. That might be too scary,” Bess said. She picked up her fork and poked at the food on her plate. It was mushy and brown and gooey. “Speaking of scary . . . what
is
this, anyway? Yuck!”

“I think they took yesterday's mystery meat and put it in the blender or something,” Nancy said, making a face.

Bess's eyes lit up. “That's it! ‘The Mystery of the Mystery Meat.' That could be our story.”

The other girls giggled. Bess started giggling, too. Pretty soon all four of them were laughing really hard.

“Okay, okay,” George said, trying to sound serious. “We have to come up with more ideas. I know—what about a soccer mystery?”

“What kind of soccer mystery?” Nancy asked her.

George peeled a banana and took a big bite. “Maybe someone tries to keep our team from winning the big tournament,” she said after a moment. “Or maybe someone steals all our balls and equipment and stuff.”

“Computer viruses,” Phoebe said suddenly. “What if there's a computer virus that takes over all the computers at the school? And then all the computers in River Heights. And then all the computers in the whole world!”

“That's a cool idea,” Bess said. “I don't know anything about computer viruses, though. Do you?”

“Not really,” Phoebe admitted, shaking her head. Nancy and George shook their heads, too.

Nancy took a forkful of mashed potatoes. She glanced around the lunchroom, searching for ideas. She saw the lunchroom lady taking money at the cash register. Kids were standing in line or walking around with trays. Others were eating, talking, and trading sandwiches.

Nancy saw Brenda, Alison, Jenny, and Emily sitting together. Jason Hutchings was sitting with Mike, Kyle, and Peter. They had their heads bent together. They're all working on their story ideas, she thought.

Nancy's gaze moved to the walls. On display were a bunch of collages made by the fifth graders. They had used objects like ice-cream sticks and bottle caps. Near them, over the doorway, was a banner that said Carl Sandburg Elementary School.

Carl Sandburg! Nancy thought. She turned to her friends. Her voice was high and excited as she spoke. “What if we do a mystery about Carl Sandburg?”

“You mean make up some guy named Carl Sandburg?” Phoebe said, looking puzzled.

“Carl Sandburg was a real person,” Nancy explained. “He lived in Chicago, and he was a writer. My dad has a book of his poems and short stories at home.” Chicago was close to River Heights, where Nancy and her friends lived.

“Is Carl Sandburg still alive?” George asked her.

“I don't think so,” Nancy replied.

“I know, I know,” Bess said, waving her hand in the air. “Oh, this is so cool. We could have the ghost of Carl Sandburg haunting the school.”

“Yeah!” Phoebe said, grinning. “A ghost. I like that.”

Nancy got a piece of paper out of her backpack, and the four of them began jotting down notes. Pretty soon they had a couple of ideas for how the story could go.

They also worked out a plan. Nancy would write the first part of the story. Bess would write the second part. George would write the third part, and Phoebe would write the ending.

“This is a totally cool idea for a story,” Bess said. It was almost time to head out
to the playground, for recess. “We'll definitely win the contest.”

“Yeah,
right.
Dream on!”

Nancy and her friends glanced up. Brenda was standing there. She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder and smiled meanly at them.

“There's no way you're going to win the contest,” Brenda went on. “Because
my
team is going to win. We're going to cream you guys!”

2

Top Secret!

Y
ou're going to cream us? Says who?” Phoebe snapped at Brenda.

“Says me,” Brenda snapped back. “First of all, I'm the best writer in our class. Second of all, we came up with an awesome idea for our story. It's going to blow you guys out of the water.”

Bess stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, yeah? I bet our idea is a million, billion times better. It's about—”

“Bess!”
George cried out, poking her cousin in the arm. “Shhhh, you're not supposed to tell!”

Bess's hands flew to her lips. “Oh, yeah. Oops.”

“You are
not
the best writer in the class,” Phoebe told Brenda huffily. “And your team isn't going to cream our team, because our team is going to cream your team instead!”

Brenda narrowed her eyes at Phoebe. “You want to bet?”

Phoebe looked startled. “Huh? Uh, sure.”

Brenda smiled her mean smile again. “Okay, Phoebe. If my team wins, you have to sharpen my pencils for the rest of the year. If your team wins, I'll sharpen yours.”

The rest of the year! That was a long time, Nancy thought.

Phoebe smiled uncertainly at Brenda. “Okay, uh, sure. You've got a bet.”

“Great,” Brenda said, turning to go. She glanced over her shoulder and added, “You'd better start practicing.”

“Practicing what?” Phoebe asked her.

“Sharpening pencils,” Brenda replied nastily.

• • •

That night after dinner, Nancy sat on the living room couch with her feet
tucked under her. The purple notebook was propped on her lap, and she had a freshly sharpened pencil in her hand.

Her brown Labrador puppy, Chocolate Chip, was curled up in a ball next to her. Chip's eyes were closed, and she was snoring quietly. Once in a while Nancy would reach out to scratch Chip's ears. That made her tail thump rhythmically against the couch.

Carson Drew walked into the living room. “Here you go, Pudding Pie,” he said, handing Nancy a fat book. “It's the collection of Carl Sandburg's poems and short stories you asked for. I got it at a used book store in Chicago years ago,” he added.

“Thanks, Daddy,” Nancy said eagerly.

She took the book from her father. The cover was old and worn. When she opened it, a pleasant dusty smell—an old-book smell—wafted up from the pages.

Carson sat down on the couch and pointed to the table of contents. “You might like the stories in this section. They're called ‘Rootabaga Stories,' and
Carl Sandburg wrote them for children,” he told her.

Nancy turned to the section with the “Rootabaga Stories.” The stories had really great titles: “How Gimme the Ax Found Out About the Zigzag Railroad and Who Made It Zigzag” and “The Story of Jason Squiff and Why He Had a Popcorn Hat, Popcorn Mittens, and Popcorn Shoes.”

“When Carl Sandburg wrote these stories, most stories for children had to do with kings and queens and castles,” Carson explained. “He wanted to do something . . . well, a little different.”

“I know!” Nancy said suddenly. “I could use some of Carl Sandburg's titles and characters in
our
story! You know, maybe as clues or something.”

Carson patted her on the shoulder. “That's a terrific idea, Pudding Pie. See, you're a brilliant writer as well as a brilliant detective.” His eyes twinkled as he rose. “I'll leave you to do your work now. Writers need lots of peace and quiet to create their masterpieces, you know.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Nancy said with a grin.

Carson went into his study to do some work of his own. He was a lawyer and was in the middle of a big new case.

Nancy turned her attention back to the “Rootabaga Stories” and read a couple of them. She really loved Sandburg's funny titles and characters, and his funny style of writing, too.