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The Case of the Midnight Mystery

By Becca Wierwille

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An ear-piercing scream jolted Scout Grace Bell from her peaceful slumber.
Heart pounding, she sat upright. She tried to slide off her bed to investigate.
She couldn’t.
Her body was wrapped up like a burrito in her sleeping bag. She wasn’t in her bed but on a camping mat inside a canvas tent.
Scout was a camper this week.
And someone in her tent had screamed.
“Get off me!” a girl shrieked. “I can’t breathe!”
A single, tent-shaking bark followed her shriek.
Oh, pumpernickel. It didn’t take long to put the clues together.
Barnaby, Scout’s massive dog for the summer, was sitting on a fellow camper.
“Barnaby!” Scout unzipped her sleeping bag as other campers stirred and groaned. “Come here!”
Her zipper snagged on her pajama pants. She yanked the zipper.
Without her watch, she couldn’t tell what time it was in the windowless tent. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she spotted the mats spread across the wooden platform floor and the girls her age in each of them.
And, even though he looked a little blurry without her glasses, she saw the enormous Saint Bernard mix sitting on one of the girls.
Scout knew that feeling. The long, fluffy hair tickling her chin, the drool dripping on her cheek, and an impossible weight upon her chest. No wonder the girl couldn’t breathe.
Scout unsnagged her zipper as the camper pushed Barnaby off her mat. Barnaby lumbered across the tent to Scout. His tail thumped the floor. Scout pulled him close to muffle the sound.
The girl gasped for air. “How much does he weigh?”
“Almost two hundred pounds. One hundred eighty, to be exact. Sorry about that.” Scout winced. “He’s very friendly.”
On the mat beside Scout, the camp nurse’s daughter, Ella Drew, rolled over to pet Barnaby. Ella was ten, like Scout. “Is he supposed to be in here?”
“No.” Scout glanced at their fellow Tent 8 campers, who burrowed deeper into their sleeping bags. “And he certainly wasn’t supposed to do something so contemptible as waking everyone before it’s time.” Scout ducked her head. “Contemptible.”   Scout was used to this large dog of unknown origin and his sometimes contemptible behavior—like when he’d shown up and eaten her favorite pocket dictionary about two weeks ago.
Her tentmates were not.
Unfortunately for them, it was time to wake up. Sunlight blasted through the tent as Kimmy, her favorite counselor, rolled up the flaps. Kimmy had been born missing half of her right arm but could do everything with one hand.
“Good morning, girls!” Kimmy said. “It’s Monday, our first full day of camp!”
A few campers stretched. Others pressed pillows over their heads.
Scout put on her sweatshirt and glasses, redid her two braids, and tugged on socks and shoes. Her heart thudded with excitement. “Morning, Kimmy!”
This was a week for the Pathfinders, the ten-to-thirteen age group at Blueberry Creek Wilderness Camp. As the daughter of the wilderness camp director and program manager, Scout lived on the property. But this week, she got to be a camper.
“Sorry about Barnaby coming in,” Scout added. “He must’ve missed me.”
Kimmy laughed. “Doesn’t look like he’s causing any harm.” 
Scout grinned. Good thing Kimmy was a dog person. “Not at the moment.”
Ella sat up, rubbed her eyes, and shivered. “It’s cold.”
“Layers are a camp essential,” Scout said.
The sun would soon heat the cool summer morning, and they’d shed their sweatshirts. After two years at Blueberry Creek, Scout had more camping experience than the average ten-year-old.
Still, she didn’t get to be in a tent often. She planned to cherish every second. She hadn’t packed a single Evangeline Eggwhistle, Detective Extraordinaire novel. Her new dictionary from Ella was hidden in the bottom of her suitcase, for use only in case of an emergency.
This week, no one would be calling her “Detective Dictionary,” the nickname Scout had been given by girls in her class two years ago. It wasn’t a bad detective name, but it was not a way to fit in with her fellow campers.
To fit in, Scout needed to participate in camp activities. Not bury her nose in a novel or dictionary.
And the first thing she’d enjoy on this beautiful July morning?
A campfire breakfast.
Scout volunteered to get the breakfast box from the pavilion with Barnaby and Ella. The three friends strolled through the girls’ tenting area. Morning sunlight danced across green leaves.
“Is a breakfast box just a box with breakfast in it?” Ella asked.
“Essentially! We—”
A scream cut off Scout’s words.
The second of the morning.
This time, Barnaby couldn’t be the cause. He stood next to her, ears stiffened, nose twitching.
Scout and Ella froze and stared at each other.
“W-what was that?” Ella asked.
Scout frowned. “I don’t—”
Barnaby ran.
“Barnaby, stop!”
Barnaby’s contemptible morning behavior continued. He did not stop.

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