The Case of the Elevator Duck (A Stepping Stone Book(TM))

The Case of the Elevator Duck (A Stepping Stone Book(TM))

Polly Berrien Berends

Language: English

Pages: 64

ISBN: 0394826469

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Eleven-year-old Gilbert, self-styled private eye, takes on his toughest case when he finds a duck in the elevator of his housing project. In this easy-to-read mystery, "the solution is credible, the plot is fresh, the style casual and natural."--Bulletin, Center for Children's Books.  

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duck in our apartment one bit. “We wait two years to get into the projects,” she says, “and now you bring home a duck. A duck! If the housing police catch us with a duck in our apartment, we will all be out on the street. No, Gilbert, I won’t have it!” I take my mother’s hand and lead her into the bathroom. I lift up the lid of the hamper. “Look, Mama,” I say. We both look. Easter is still sitting there—real quiet—on my striped pajamas. He tips his head to one side and looks up at Mama. Maybe

his wing feathers. I pick it up and start thinking. First I ask myself what are the facts. I am pretty sure Easter is a lost duck and not a ducknapped one. After all, nobody would go to all the trouble of stealing a duck and then leave it in the elevator. No, I am pretty sure Easter just walked into that elevator himself. I also think he is a project duck. Even Easter could not have walked through our neighborhood and stayed alive. The dogs would have gotten him. Or the cats. Or the kids. So

bathtub! Not cool! “You don’t mind if we just have a quick look around, do you?” the Housing Inspector is saying. “Well,” says Mama. “Excuse me,” I say. “I have to go to the bathroom.” I make it to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Easter quacks hello and I cough loud and hard to cover up. I take Easter’s rolled oats and water and put them in the linen closet. Easter I put into the hamper. Next I flush the toilet. While the toilet is making its flushing noise, I run water in the

Easter is the only duck I know. Then I remember from school that wild ducks migrate. They fly hundreds and hundreds of miles to the same place every winter. They can do that because they have an amazing sense of direction. Easter is not a wild duck. Easter is a domesticated duck, like from a farm. And he is a city duck at that—a duck that probably doesn’t even know how to swim. Even if domesticated ducks are supposed to have a good sense of direction like wild ducks, the chances are that Easter

almost sure that we have already passed Easter’s floor and that he just doesn’t know how to use his sense of direction. It has taken at least 45 minutes to go six floors. There are still eighteen to go. And it doesn’t look as if the man and woman on 18 are ever going to stop hugging each other and go home. I am just thinking of quitting and going home myself when the door on 18 opens. I hear this voice say, “All right, you two. Break it up.” I peek through the railing to see who it is. It is

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