Who Let the Frogs Out? Read online

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1 MUD BUDS

  CHAPTER 2 SWAMPY SHOCKER

  CHAPTER 3 CASE IN PLACE

  CHAPTER 4 HOPPER WHOPPER

  CHAPTER 5 HELLO, OLLIE!

  CHAPTER 6 SOIL TREATMENT

  CHAPTER 7 TANKS FOR THE CLUE

  CHAPTER 8 GROWING TADPOLES

  CHAPTER 9 SCULPTURE STANDOFF

  CHAPTER 10 SPRING BREAK RETAKE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MUD BUDS

  “Is this mud run going to be cool or what, Frank?” eight-year-old Joe Hardy asked his brother. “How often do I get to be dirty from head to toe?”

  “Hmm,” nine-year-old Frank joked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Every day?”

  Their friend Chet Morton chuckled, “Funny, Frank!”

  “Yeah,” Joe said with a smirk. “Very funny.”

  It was Monday morning and the first day of spring break. It was also the day before the first annual Mud Bud Run through the muddiest part of Bayport Park.

  “Hi, guys,” a voice called. “Ready to get muddy?”

  The boys turned to see Coach Lambert, a gym teacher at Bayport Elementary School, walking over. He had organized the mud run.

  “I’m not sure I want to enter the run, Coach Lambert,” Chet admitted. “Unless maybe there’s a yummy prize at the end?”

  “Yummy?” Coach Lambert asked.

  “Like something good to eat!” said Chet with a smile.

  “There is no prize, Chet, because it’s not a race,” Coach Lambert said, smiling too. “Just a chance to get muddy and have fun.”

  The coach pointed to the sign-up table and said, “But you do get a free T-shirt if you sign up.”

  “Okay, thanks, Coach,” Chet sighed.

  “Don’t forget, guys,” Coach Lambert told the Hardys and Chet, “the Mud Run kicks off at eleven o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.”

  The coach turned and walked away. When he was out of earshot, Chet said, “Free T-shirts? Why can’t it be free doughnuts or smoothies or chicken tacos?”

  Frank and Joe traded grins. Their friend loved to snack more than anything!

  “When aren’t you thinking about food, Chet?” Joe asked. “When you’re asleep?”

  “Nope,” Chet said with a grin. “That’s when I’m dreaming about food!”

  Before signing up, Frank, Joe, and Chet checked out the mud pit. In it was a rubber tire wall to climb over, a curly slide, and a long giant tube to crawl through.

  “The mud will make everything super slippery!” Joe said excitedly. But not everyone was excited about the Mud Bud Run. . . .

  “Hey, what’s going on over there?” Chet asked. He pointed to a giant structure made of ski poles and tons of plastic wrap by the mud pit.

  Eight-year-old Daisy Zamora and her six-year-old twin brothers, Matty and Scotty, were busily creating the structure. They had put up a huge sign that read, THE MUCK STOPS HERE! MUDDY BUDDIES ARE FUDDY DUDDIES!

  “What’s their problem with the Mud Bud Run?” asked Joe.

  “And what’s with that weird fort they’re building?” Frank wondered. “Let’s see what’s up.”

  The boys approached the Zamoras. When they asked about the sign and fort, Daisy explained, “This mud run is the worst. It’s going to totally ruin our garden. We’re putting up all this plastic wrap to try to protect it.”

  “What garden?” Chet asked.

  “Our pizza topping garden!” Scotty replied.

  The Zamoras pulled some plastic wrap aside to reveal a circular garden separated into parts—just like a pizza. A different kind of plant was growing in each section.

  When it came to pizza, the Zamora kids were practically experts. Their parents owned the Pizza Palace on Bay Street.

  “We’re growing basil, oregano, tomatoes, peppers,” Daisy said. “Even kale.”

  “Kale?” Chet cried. “If you know so much about pizza, where are my favorite toppings, like pepperoni and extra cheese?”

  Matty rolled his eyes. “You don’t grow pepperoni and cheese, smarty-pants!” he exclaimed.

  “What difference does it make, Matty?” Daisy sighed. “After tomorrow our garden will be covered with mud and ruined. There’s no way this stuff will protect it the whole day.”

  “That’s why we hate the Mud Bud Run!” Matty said.

  “Now I get it,” Frank admitted. “But why use the community garden right in the middle of a busy park?”

  “Shouldn’t it be safe in your backyard,” asked Joe, “or behind the pizzeria?”

  “Not if we want to spread the word about our pizza place,” Daisy explained. “If people see all these fresh toppings, they’ll head to our pizzeria in swarms!”

  “I hate to tell you this,” Chet said, pointing to the plants, “but your garden is already swarming—with bugs!”

  Huh?? Daisy, Matty, and Scotty glanced down and groaned. Chet was right. Creepy crawlies had invaded their pizza topping garden!

  “Oh no!” Daisy cried. “The bugs are back!”

  Scotty turned to Matty. “And they call us pests,” he said.

  Frank, Joe, and Chet headed back toward the mud pit, leaving the Zamoras to deal with the bugs.

  “Can we please sign up for the mud run already?” Frank asked.

  “Sure, Frank,” said Joe. “Nothing can stop us now!”

  But halfway to the sign-up table a boy from Frank’s grade jumped into their path. He was dressed in dark clothes from head to toe.

  With a nod at Frank and Joe, he said, “You guys are the Hardys, right? Those kid detectives from school?”

  Joe smiled proudly as he pulled a book from his pocket. “Does this answer your question?” he asked.

  “What’s that?” the boy asked.

  “It’s our clue book,” Frank said, “where we write down our suspects and clues.”

  “And answer the five most important questions a detective can ask,” Joe explained. “Who, what, where, when, and why.”

  Joe opened the clue book to the five Ws written on a page. “See what I mean?”

  The boy looked at the page and shrugged. “I guess,” he said.

  “You look familiar,” Joe told the boy. “But I can’t think of your name.”

  “I thought everyone knew me,” the boy said. “Does the name Oliver Splathall ring a bell?”

  “Sure,” said Chet. “You’re the guy in school who makes all those sculptures.”

  “Sand sculptures in the summer,” Frank said. “Leaf-pile sculptures in the fall.”

  “Snow sculptures in the winter,” Joe went on, “and in the spring—mud pies!”

  “They are not mud pies!” Oliver gasped. “They are earth-infused statues combined with the collective sense of the sublime.”

  Frank, Joe, and Chet all stared at Oliver.

  “Anyway . . . I stopped you because I need a detective,” Oliver explained, “to find out whose dumb idea it was to have this mud run.”

  “That’s easy,” Joe said. “It was Coach Lambert’s.”

  “I knew you would be good, thanks!” Oliver said with a smile. “Now I just have to talk Coach Lambert into calling the whole thing off.”

  “Calling off the mud run?” Joe asked. “Why?”

  “Every spring I use mud from that pit to make my sculptures,” Oliver explained. “With so many kids running through, its perfectly lumpy texture will be ruined.”

  “Perfectly lumpy texture?” Chet murmured to himself. “I thought mud was mud.”

  “Sorry, Oliver,” Frank said. “But I don’t think the coach will call the mud run off.”

  “Most of the kids can’t wait for it tomorrow,” Joe added.

 
; “And my fans can’t wait for my mud sculpture show in two days!” Oliver said before turning away in a huff.

  “Where are you going, Ollie?” called Joe.

  “To think of another plan,” Oliver called back. “And don’t call me Ollie!!”

  As Oliver walked away, Joe asked, “What do you think his plan will be?”

  “All I know is that our plan is to be in this mud run tomorrow,” Frank declared. “So let’s sign up once and for all!”

  The Hardys and Chet walked alongside the mud pit toward the sign-up table. They were almost there when a frantic voice shouted, “Out of our way! Out of our way! Out of our way!”

  The boys whirled around to see a man racing straight toward them. A pack of dogs was running in front of him—a pack of all breeds and sizes!

  “To the side, boys!” the man yelled. “Now!”

  Frank, Joe, and Chet looked around. To one side was a hot dog cart. To the other was—

  “The mud pit!” Joe shouted. “Everybody jump!”

  SWAMPY SHOCKER

  The charging dogs were only feet away when Frank, Joe, and Chet leaped into the pit with a SPLASH!

  The pit wasn’t deep, but it was deep enough to leave their pants splattered!

  “Bleeech!” Chet complained.

  The man and his canine crew kept charging until the dogs pounced on a hot dog that rolled off the cart. As the man stopped to get control of the pack, the three boys noticed his T-shirt. It read, THE GOLDEN BONE.

  “What’s the Golden Bone?” asked Chet, his eyes lighting up. “A new place for barbecue ribs?”

  Joe shook his head. “It’s a fancy spa for dogs,” he explained. “Aunt Trudy started taking in foster dogs and sometimes brings them there for special treatments.”

  “Like Shi Tzu Shiatsu and Stretch and Fetch,” Frank added. “Aunt Trudy says the Golden Bone is a very relaxing place.”

  The dogs seemed to relax after they’d eaten the frank on the ground. But there was nothing relaxed about the man with them as he argued with Coach Lambert, who had approached him and the dogs.

  “What do you mean I can’t run with my dogs here?” the man demanded. “I am the owner of the Golden Bone spa!”

  “I know you are, Mr. Frederick,” Coach Lambert said. “But tomorrow is the day of the mud run, so you can’t bring your dogs here while it’s going on.”

  “Mud doesn’t bother my dogs,” Mr. Frederick insisted.

  “How do you know?” asked the coach.

  “The Golden Bone has a treatment called Soak and Croak,” Mr. Frederick explained. “Dogs relax in a mud bath to the soothing sounds of croaking frogs.”

  “Frogs?” Chet whispered. “Is he serious?”

  “My dogs also run in this spot every morning for their Daily Doggy Dash,” Mr. Frederick argued. “They must stick with their wellness routine!”

  “The dogs can still dash tomorrow, Mr. Frederick,” Coach Lambert said, “after the kids complete the Mud Bud Run.”

  Mr. Frederick bit his lip to keep from arguing more. Clutching the leashes tightly, he began walking his dogs away.

  Coach Lambert turned to Frank, Joe, and Chet, still standing in the mud pit. “No jumping in the mud pit until the run tomorrow, guys,” he said.

  The coach left to oversee a delivery of porta-potties. The three boys trudged out of the pit to inspect their mud-splashed jeans.

  “I know what we’ll be doing tonight,” Joe groaned. “Laundry!”

  Chet frowned as he stomped mud from his shoes. “I’m out, you guys,” he said. “I don’t want to do this mud run tomorrow.”

  “Why not?” asked Frank.

  “Because,” Chet said, “the only mud I like is Mississippi mud pie!”

  After saying good-bye, Chet left to buy a hot dog. Frank and Joe were disappointed but still determined to do the Mud Bud Run together.

  “Let’s finally sign up for this run.” Frank said. “Before they’re out of space!”

  “And free T-shirts,” said Joe with a smile. “Come on, Frank, let’s do this!”

  • • •

  The next day couldn’t come quickly enough for Frank and Joe. It was the morning of the Mud Bud Run, and the Hardy brothers were ready to get muddy!

  It was ten thirty when Frank and Joe walked into the park with Aunt Trudy.

  “Too bad Mom and Dad can’t watch us run today,” Joe said.

  “What am I, chicken liver?” Aunt Trudy joked. “I’ll be cheering you guys on since your mom and dad are working today.”

  With a smile, she added, “Not everyone is on spring break, you know.”

  Frank and Joe smiled too. They were glad their aunt lived in the apartment above the Hardys’ garage. With all the cats and dogs she brought home waiting for adoption, they were never alone!

  “Have fun, guys,” Aunt Trudy said when they reached the mud pit. After giving them a thumbs-up sign, she joined the crowd of spectators.

  Frank and Joe were directed to the starting point. It was underneath a purple-and-yellow balloon arch about ten feet away from the mud pit, and kids had already begun milling around the area.

  It wasn’t long before Coach Lambert’s voice crackled through an electronic bullhorn: “Will all Mud Buds gather at the starting point under the balloon arch so we can start the run?”

  “This is it!” said Joe excitedly.

  “Ready, Mud Buds?” the coach declared. “On your mark . . . get set . . . GO!”

  “Yay, Frank, Joe!” Aunt Trudy shouted. “Show that mud who’s boss!!”

  The brothers ran with everyone else toward the mud pit. But when the kids up front reached the pit, they stopped short. Their sudden halt sent those behind them bumping to a stop too!

  “What happened?” Frank asked.

  Ribbit! Croak!

  “And what’s that weird noise?” added Joe.

  The blurps and croaks seemed to be coming from the mud pit. The brothers squeezed through the crowd to see what was up.

  At the edge of the pit, they looked down. Frank couldn’t believe his eyes. Neither could Joe.

  “Holy guacamole, Frank!” Joe shouted. “This mud is hopping—with frogs!”

  CASE IN PLACE

  Frank and Joe weren’t the only ones surprised by the frogs. Michael Sanders, a boy in Joe’s third-grade class, pointed to the creatures and shouted, “Dudes, this is soooo cool!”

  “Best. Surprise. Ever!” exclaimed Lynn Russo, from Frank’s class.

  Coach Lambert rushed over. When he saw the frogs, his jaw dropped.

  “Thanks for putting them in there, Coach!” Joe said with a smile. “What could be swampier than frogs?”

  The coach shook his head hard. “I did not put frogs in the mud!” he insisted. “They weren’t here when we set up the obstacle course yesterday!”

  Clem, the park’s night watchman, stood nearby. “Those frogs weren’t here last night, either,” he said. “I would have heard those croaks for sure.”

  “What about early this morning?” Coach Lambert asked, “Before we all got here for the mud run?”

  “The park opened at seven,” another park employee said. “I walked past the mud pit and there were no frogs anywhere.”

  The kids waited impatiently, eager to run. Joe tried counting the frogs, but more kept popping up all through the mud pit. So far he’d counted about two dozen. Cool!

  “Can we run now, Coach Lambert?” Joe asked.

  “Run?” said the coach. He seemed to think about it until he finally said, “I guess we can restart the run. A few frogs never hurt anyone.”

  Coach Lambert lifted his whistle to his lips. But just as he was about to blow—

  “STOP!!!” a voice boomed.

  Frank and Joe recognized the voice. It was—

  “Aunt Trudy!” Frank gasped.

  The brothers’ aunt burst through the crowd. She had gotten hold of Coach Lambert’s bullhorn and was still shouting through it: “This mud run must be stopped, Coach. I repeat�
��STOPPED!”

  “Um . . . is there a problem, ma’am?” Coach Lambert asked.

  Aunt Trudy lowered the bullhorn. “You bet there is,” she said. “If the kids run through the mud, all the poor frogs in there will be in danger.”

  “But the kids want to run,” said the coach. “I’m sure they’ll be careful not to step on—”

  “We must protect all the creatures of the earth!” Aunt Trudy shouted through the bullhorn again. “Warts and all!”

  Frank and Joe traded worried looks. Would Aunt Trudy really stop the Mud Bud Run?

  “Coach,” Aunt Trudy went on, “do you really want to be blamed for dozens of trampled froggies? Well . . . do you?”

  Coach Lambert’s eyes began to water. “I caught a frog once when I was a kid,” he said. “A tiny frog I named Larry.”

  “Well, then do it for Larry,” Aunt Trudy said gently.

  The coach took the bullhorn from her. He raised it to his lips and shouted, “Attention, all runners! The Mud Bud Run is canceled until further notice!”

  Disappointed groans rose from the crowd. As the runners sulked away from the mud pit, Aunt Trudy smiled at Frank and Joe.

  “Now that I have saved those creatures, I can save one more,” she said. “Mind if I head to the animal shelter? I heard there’s a wired-haired terrier named Stan who needs a foster home.”

  “Sure, Aunt Trudy,” said Frank. “Joe and I can grab lunch on Bay Street.”

  Lynn and Michael stood nearby. They watched as Aunt Trudy hurried away.

  “She’s your aunt?” Michael asked the brothers.

  “Your aunt Trudy just stopped the Mud Bud Run!” Lynn complained.

  “No, she didn’t,” Joe insisted. “It was the frogs, and you know it.”

  “Whatever,” Lynn muttered before she and Michael walked away too.

  Frank and Joe turned to look at the frog-filled mud pit. Heads kept popping up, joining the chorus of blurps and croaks.

  “How did all those frogs get in there?” Joe wondered out loud. “And right before the Mud Bud Run too?”

  To get answers, the brothers spoke to more park workers, even the owner of the hot dog cart. No one had seen frogs in the mud pit before or had any idea how they got there. But then Frank thought of something.