Ghost and Max Monroe, Case #1,The Magic Box (The Ghost and Max Monroe) Read online

  To my great nieces, Nadya, Gabriella, Emma, Emily, Maya and Daniella — I love you to bits! And to Terry Kennedy — my partner in crime.

  ISBN 978-1-77138-251-9 (EPUB)

  Text © 2014 L. M. Falcone

  Illustrations © 2014 Kids Can Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Kids Can Press Ltd. or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright license, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and Kids Can Press Ltd. was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed in initial capital letters (e.g., Ding Dong).

  Kids Can Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative; the Ontario Arts Council; the Canada Council for the Arts; and the Government of Canada, through the CBF, for our publishing activity.

  Published in Canada by

  Kids Can Press Ltd.

  25 Dockside Drive

  Toronto, ON M5A 0B5

  Published in the U.S. by

  Kids Can Press Ltd.

  2250 Military Road

  Tonawanda, NY 14150

  www.kidscanpress.com

  Edited by Yasemin Uçar

  Designed by Marie Bartholomew

  Illustrations by Kim Smith

  Chapter icon illustrations by Andrew Dupuis

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Falcone, L. M. (Lucy M.), 1951–, author

  The ghost and Max Monroe. Case #1, The magic box /

  written by L. M. Falcone ; illustrated by Kim Smith.

  (The ghost and Max Monroe)

  ISBN 978-1-77138-153-6 (bound) ISBN 978-1-77138-017-1 (pbk.)

  I. Smith, Kim, 1986–, illustrator II. Title. III. Title: Magic box.

  PS8561.A574G46 2014 jC813'.6 C2013-908316-2

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Spot the Difference

  Don't Miss Case #2 …

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  HOW CHEAP ARE YOU? BAZAAR

  Dark clouds moved along with Max Monroe and his grandpa Harry as they drove down the dirt road that led to Harry’s house. Max hadn’t been there since he was a little kid.

  Max’s mom died two years ago, so he lived with just his dad. His dad was a news reporter for a major TV station. He covered stories all over the world. Usually, Harry came to look after Max when his father was away. But lately, his father was gone for longer and longer periods of time. There was a family meeting, and it was decided that Max should move in with his grandpa for the summer. Today was the day.

  “I forgot!” shouted Harry, slamming on the brakes.

  “Forgot what, Grandpa?” asked Max, prying his fingers off the dashboard.

  “The How Cheap Are You? Bazaar! It closes in five minutes! Hang on, Max!”

  Harry spun the car around and drove like a maniac. In exactly four and a half minutes, they arrived at the bazaar. Harry leaped out of the car and pounded down the steps. Max ran after him. Inside, he spotted Harry standing in front of two large tables covered with mystery books. He and his grandfather loved reading mysteries.

  THAT LOOKS LIKE A GARBAGE BAG TO ME

  Fill a bag — only $5.00, said the sign. Harry pulled out a huge green bag. The lady standing next to him frowned. “Wait just a minute here. That looks like a garbage bag to me.”

  Harry grinned. “Madam, the sign says, Fill a bag. Well, this — is a bag!”

  The lady scratched her head. Harry snapped open the bag. It was so big you could fit a moose in it. One hundred and sixty-four mysteries got jammed inside.

  Harry and Max drove to Harry’s house in the country. Max smiled when he saw it. It was the kind of house every kid loves — old and spooky looking, with black shutters and vines crawling around the windows.

  As they pulled into the driveway, water drops began to plop on the windshield. Then the rain came down in buckets. It didn’t stop for a week.

  Forced to stay inside, Max and his grandfather ate tons of popcorn and read mystery books — dozens of them.

  SOMEONE WAS CRYING

  The sun finally came out on a Saturday morning. Max slipped into his jeans and T-shirt and went outside. Harry didn’t believe in lawn mowers, so the grass was almost as tall as Max. He waded through it until he came to a tree. Grabbing the lowest branch, he began climbing. Higher and higher he went. Suddenly, he heard a sound …

  Someone was crying.

  The sound was coming from behind him. Max climbed back down and headed toward some bushes. He parted them and stepped through. Standing in front of him was a run-down house, smaller than Grandpa Harry’s, with an old wooden sign that said The Monroe Detective Agency.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE OLD POOP NEVER SOLVED ONE MEASLY CASE

  Max rushed into the kitchen and found Harry swinging on a hammock that was hanging in the big bay window.

  “Grandpa, you never told me you were a detective.”

  Harry shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “You never asked.”

  “I’m asking now.”

  “Fair enough. I was never a detective, Max.”

  Harry reached over and lifted a can of whipped cream off the table, then settled back in the hammock.

  “How do you explain the sign?”

  “What sign?”

  “The Monroe Detective Agency sign.”

  “Oh, that sign,” said Harry. “My brother, Larry, was a detective.” Max looked impressed. But Harry shook his head. “He wasn’t very good,” he went on. “The old poop never solved one measly case.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Harry shot whipped cream over his cornflakes. “The whole town laughed at him. Newspapers wrote about him. They called him the ‘bumbling detective.’ It broke his heart. That’s how he died — of a broken heart.”

  “Why did no one ever tell me you had a brother who died?”

  “He never left, so I don’t think of him as dead.”

  Max’s eyes widened.

  “Well, he’s dead,” said Grandpa Harry, “but his ghost still haunts the detective agency.”

  CRYING GHOSTS ... HAUNTED DETECTIVE AGENCIES

  Max pulled up a chair and sat beside his grandfather. “Your brother, Larry, is a ghost?”

  “Yup.”

  “And he haunts the detective agency in the backyard?”

  “Yup.” H
arry shot some whipped cream into his mouth, then set the can back on the table. “Sometimes he hangs around the house. But mostly, he sits in the coach house, bawling his eyes out.”

  “I heard crying!”

  “That’d be Larry. He likes to have a good cry around this time of day.”

  Max shook his head. “Crying ghosts … haunted detective agencies.” He was talking to himself now. “I’ll wake up any minute and everything will be normal.”

  “Hi-dee-ho!” said a voice.

  Max spun around.

  MAYBE YOU SHOULD SIT DOWN

  Harry smiled. “Max, meet your great-uncle Larry.”

  The color drained from Max’s face.

  “You don’t look well,” said the voice. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  “I am sitting down.”

  “See what I mean?” Harry laughed. “Dumb as a doorknob.”

  “Harry tells me you’re hooked on detective stories,” said the voice. “Come on. I’ll show you my office.”

  Max didn’t move.

  “Why don’t you let Max see you first, Larry?” suggested Harry.

  “Sure. No problem.”

  A man appeared, right out of thin air. He had a friendly face and bushy hair that stuck out all over, and there was no color to him. He looked like he’d escaped from a black-and-white movie.

  Max’s mouth dropped open.

  “Go on, Max,” said Harry. “Keep Larry company while I go grocery shopping. Today is Customer Appreciation Day. Free Ding Dongs!”

  “I don’t think so,” said Max.

  “Aw, go on,” said Harry. “Larry’s a hoot. You’ll see.”

  “I’ll race ya!” shouted Larry, shooting out the door.

  By the time Max got to the yard, Larry had disappeared.

  “He’s fast,” Max said to no one.

  CHAPTER 3

  I STOPPED FOR PIZZA

  When Max got to the coach house, Larry was sitting on the steps. “What took you so long?” he asked.

  “I stopped for pizza,” said Max.

  “You’re funny. I’m gonna like having you around.” Larry got up and slid open the window. “In you go.”

  “What’s wrong with the door?”

  “It’s locked. Dog swallowed the key.”

  “Grandpa doesn’t have a dog.”

  “Tell that to the crazy mutt that keeps coming around,” said Larry.

  Max climbed through the window. Larry walked through the wall.

  The office was covered with cobwebs. It was obvious no one had been in it for years — that is, no one except Larry. Max spotted a metal filing cabinet, a bookcase, a typewriter, an old oak desk and a wooden coatrack with a brown coat on it.

  “Cool coat,” said Max.

  “Try it on!” said Larry.

  Max lifted the coat and shook it, sending up a cloud of dust. Then he slipped it on. It almost reached the floor.

  Larry grinned. “A perfect fit!”

  Max loved it. The sleeves were a bit long, but other than that, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.

  “Harry bought me that coat when I was a skinny kid and had just graduated from detective school,” said Larry.

  “It’s not a typical detective’s coat,” said Max.

  “Harry’s not typical.”

  Max walked across the room, taking in some of the more unusual sights — a picture of a rooster, a snowman wearing a Hawaiian shirt … a cowboy hat. When he got to the desk, he slid into the swivel chair and spun around.

  “I used to spin around every day,” said Larry, “until the time I barfed up green candy floss.”

  “Candy floss?” said Max.

  “The circus was in town.”

  As Max started to get up, Larry said, “Open the top drawer. Open it. Open it.”

  Max pulled open the drawer. Inside were lots of loose papers and a detective’s notebook. It had a pencil tucked into the coil.

  “You can have that if you like,” said Larry.

  Max smiled. “Thanks.” He slipped the notebook into his pocket.

  “Now try bottom left.”

  Max pulled open the bottom drawer on the left side of the desk. It was full of old comic books called Starchy.

  “They’re my favorite,” gushed Larry. “You gotta read them. Starchy’s this kid who turns into a superhero at eight o’clock every night. He can’t fly — but he can run fast.”

  NINCOMPOOP?

  Just as Max was lifting out the comic books, Larry burst out crying. “I can’t stand myself,” he sobbed, flinging himself on top of the desk. Max leaped out of the chair. “I’ve ruined the Monroe name. It used to stand for something. Now, because of me, it stands for … for … nin-com-poooop!”

  “Nincompoop?”

  “I deserve to be tarred and feathered!” wailed Larry.

  “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

  “I deserve to be beaten with a rubber hose!”

  “Uncle Larry, calm down.”

  “I deserve to be dropped from a tree … on my head!”

  Max tried not to laugh.

  “If ooooonly I could have a second chance. That’s all I want — a second chance to make things riiiight.”

  At that very moment … the phone rang.

  CHAPTER 4

  PRETTY PLEASE, WITH A CHERRY ON TOP?

  Larry jumped off the desk and stared at the phone. “That phone hasn’t rung in twenty years! Who could be calling?”

  “Why don’t you answer it and find out?” asked Max.

  “Oh, no! I couldn’t!”

  Larry paced back and forth, wringing his hands. Then he spun around. “You answer it, Max!”

  “Who, me?”

  “Pleeease?”

  Max shook his head. “I don’t think so, Uncle Larry.”

  “Pretty please, with a cherry on top?”

  Larry sounded so desperate that Max gave in and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Larry, is that you?” asked the voice on the other end of the line.

  “No … it’s Max.”

  “This is Marty Macbee. Can I talk to Larry? It’s an emergency!”

  Max covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Marty Macbee. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Why would he want to talk to me? I’m dead!”

  “Want me to tell him?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”

  Max cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but —”

  Suddenly, Larry started waving his arms, motioning for him to stop. Then he grabbed the phone, squeezed his eyes shut and said, “Hello?”

  “Larry … this is Marty … Ted Crane’s son. My father was a good friend of your mother’s?”

  Larry’s eyes popped open. “Marty the magician? How ya doin’? I remember when you cut Aunt Gracie in half. Boy, did that turn out wrong.”

  “I’m in big trouble, Larry. You’re the only detective I know. I really need your help.”

  “Hold on a minute, Marty. Gotta let the dog out.” Larry threw the receiver into the drawer and slammed it shut.

  CAN’T YOU SEE I’M DEAD?

  “It’s a case, Max! What should I do?”

  “Take it!”

  “Are you nuts? Can’t you see I’m dead?”

  Larry was jiggling up and down nervously and staring at the drawer.

  Max said, “You’re being given a second chance — just like you wished for.”

  Larry stopped jiggling. “You’re right! This is a second chance! And maybe, if I solve this case …” His eyes got misty, and he sat down slowly. “The Monroe name will get its honor back.”

  He reached for the drawer again and then stopped. “Who am I kidding? I’ve never solved a case in my whole life! I’ll screw this one up, just li
ke all the others. I can’t do that to poor old Marty. I can’t!”

  He started bawling again.

  “I’ll help you,” Max said.

  Larry looked at Max with hope in his eyes. “Harry told me you love mysteries. But … are you any good?”

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER 5

  A MOTORCYCLE WITH A SIDECAR

  Larry and Max walked quickly through the tall grass. “Marty’s in town, at 15 Carson Lane,” said Larry. “It’s about fifteen minutes from here.”

  “How do we get there?” asked Max.

  “You don’t drive?”

  “I’m ten.”

  “I drove when I was eight.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Grandpa took the car to go shopping, and we can’t wait for him to get back.”

  Larry thought for a second. “I’ve got it!”

  He disappeared.

  A few moments later, Max heard an engine roar. Looking around, he saw his uncle emerge from the garage sitting on a motorcycle with a sidecar. He wore an aviator’s cap, goggles and a long coat over his body. He looked human.

  Larry handed Max a hockey helmet. “Hop in!”

  Max slipped on the helmet and jumped into the sidecar.

  “Hold on, Max!” Larry gunned the motor and then shot out of the driveway like a cat on fire.

  The motorcycle tore through the streets in town. In no time, they were screeching around the bend onto Carson Lane and whipping into the driveway of number 15. Larry slammed on the brakes so hard Max practically flew out of his seat.

  The wooden house was two stories high with dark green shutters on every window. Pink and white balloons danced along the backyard fence. Between the balloons was a sign:

  ME? SCARE PEOPLE? NAH.

  Larry slipped out of his coat, hat and goggles, and then headed toward the gate. Max caught up to him. “You have to disappear now, Uncle Larry.”