“You’re the guy in school who makes all those sculptures.” “Does the name Oliver Splathall ring a bell?” “I thought everyone knew me,” the boy said. Joe opened the clue book to the five Ws written on a page. “And answer the five most important questions a detective can ask,” Joe explained. “It’s our clue book,” Frank said, “where we write down our suspects and clues.” “Does this answer your question?” he asked. Joe smiled proudly as he pulled a book from his pocket. With a nod at Frank and Joe, he said, “You guys are the Hardys, right? Those kid detectives from school?” He was dressed in dark clothes from head to toe. “Nothing can stop us now!”īut halfway to the sign-up table a boy from Frank’s grade jumped into their path. “Can we please sign up for the mud run already?” Frank asked. “And they call us pests,” he said.įrank, Joe, and Chet headed back toward the mud pit, leaving the Zamoras to deal with the bugs. ![]() Creepy crawlies had invaded their pizza topping garden! Huh? Daisy, Matty, and Scotty glanced down and groaned. “I hate to tell you this,” Chet said, pointing to the plants, “but your garden is already swarming-with bugs!” “If people see all these fresh toppings, they’ll head to our pizzeria in swarms!” “Not if we want to spread the word about our pizza place,” Daisy explained. “Shouldn’t it be safe in your backyard,” asked Joe, “or behind the pizzeria?” “But why use the community garden right in the middle of a busy park?” “That’s why we hate the Mud Bud Run!” Matty said. There’s no way this stuff will protect it the whole day.” “After tomorrow our garden will be covered with mud and ruined. “What difference does it make, Matty?” Daisy sighed. “You don’t grow pepperoni and cheese, smarty-pants!” he exclaimed. “If you know so much about pizza, where are my favorite toppings, like pepperoni and extra cheese?” “We’re growing basil, oregano, tomatoes, peppers,” Daisy said. Their parents owned the Pizza Palace on Bay Street. When it came to pizza, the Zamora kids were practically experts. A different kind of plant was growing in each section. ![]() The Zamoras pulled some plastic wrap aside to reveal a circular garden separated into parts-just like a pizza. “Our pizza topping garden!” Scotty replied. We’re putting up all this plastic wrap to try to protect it.” When they asked about the sign and fort, Daisy explained, “This mud run is the worst. “And what’s with that weird fort they’re building?” Frank wondered. “What’s their problem with the Mud Bud Run?” asked Joe. They had put up a huge sign that read, THE MUCK STOPS HERE! MUDDY BUDDIES ARE FUDDY DUDDIES! He pointed to a giant structure made of ski poles and tons of plastic wrap by the mud pit.Įight-year-old Daisy Zamora and her six-year-old twin brothers, Matty and Scotty, were busily creating the structure. “Hey, what’s going on over there?” Chet asked. But not everyone was excited about the Mud Bud Run. “The mud will make everything super slippery!” Joe said excitedly. ![]() In it was a rubber tire wall to climb over, a curly slide, and a long giant tube to crawl through. “That’s when I’m dreaming about food!”īefore signing up, Frank, Joe, and Chet checked out the mud pit. ![]() “When aren’t you thinking about food, Chet?” Joe asked. Their friend loved to snack more than anything! When he was out of earshot, Chet said, “Free T-shirts? Why can’t it be free doughnuts or smoothies or chicken tacos?”įrank and Joe traded grins. “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 pointed to the sign-up table and said, “But you do get a free T-shirt if you sign up.” “Just a chance to get muddy and have fun.” “There is no prize, Chet, because it’s not a race,” Coach Lambert said, smiling too. “Like something good to eat!” said Chet with a smile. “Unless maybe there’s a yummy prize at the end?” “I’m not sure I want to enter the run, Coach Lambert,” Chet admitted. The boys turned to see Coach Lambert, a gym teacher at Bayport Elementary School, walking over. It was also the day before the first annual Mud Bud Run through the muddiest part of Bayport Park. It was Monday morning and the first day of spring break. Their friend Chet Morton chuckled, “Funny, Frank!” “Hmm,” nine-year-old Frank joked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “How often do I get to be dirty from head to toe?” “Is this mud run going to be cool or what, Frank?” eight-year-old Joe Hardy asked his brother.
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