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Give My Regrets to Broadway: A Chet Gecko Mystery: A Chet Gecko Mystery – A Funny Animal Detective Story for Children (Ages 8-12) - Softcover
Buch 9 von 15: Chet Gecko
Inhaltsangabe
It's no mystery: Chet Gecko can’t sing. He can’t dance. He can’t act. Heck, he can’t even act normal. So why would he take the lead in Mr. Ratnose’s musical version of Shakespeare’s Omlet, Prince of Denver? A new case, naturally. The original leading man has disappeared, and something smells rotten in the realm of Ratnose. Did the third-act lip-lock with Shirley Chameleon scare him away? Or is foul play afoot? One thing’s for certain: This mystery won’t be over until the fat gecko—er, lady—sings.
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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor
BRUCE HALE is the author of five picture books as well as the Chet Gecko mysteries. A popular speaker, teacher, and storyteller for children and adults, he lives in Santa Barbara, California.
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Strike up the Bland
It was the first rehearsal for our play, and I wished I was at the dentist. Or staked to an anthill with red fire ants crawling up my nose. Or even on the losing end of a parent-teacher conference.
Anywhere but the auditorium.
Still, there I was-the last one into the building where the entire fourth grade waited. Given the choice, I'd rather pull the whiskers off a werewolf than perform in a dorky play like Omlet, Prince of Denver. But who had a choice?
The auditorium (or cafetorium, as the principal calls it) buzzed like a nest of baby rattlesnakes on Christmas morning. My teacher, Mr. Ratnose, huddled onstage with the other teachers. My fellow students fidgeted on the rows of wooden benches, jabbering amongst themselves.
Something was up.
I scanned the crowd. My partner and friend, Natalie Attired, had saved me a spot in the second-to-last row. Good ol' Natalie.
With a little luck, I could slip into place before Mr. Ratnose noticed my tardiness. Bending low, I hurried toward my seat. Just a few more steps...
I didn't see the foot in my path, but I sure felt it.
Ba-dump!
"Whoa!" I stumbled and staggered like a Rottweiler on Rollerblades.
Ka-flump! I sprawled in the aisle, flat on my face.
The room fell silent with worry.
"Haw-haw-haw!" burst from a hundred throats.
Or maybe they were just catching their breath.
I got up and brushed myself off, scowling at the guilty foot's owner-a chubby chipmunk. He smiled back as sweetly as a big brother with a carload of water balloons.
And then my bad luck multiplied.
Mr. Ratnose stepped to the edge of the stage. "Chet Gecko," he said, "even though you're tardy, I'm giving you an honor that many students dream of."
"You're letting me out of this dumb play?" I asked.
The kids giggled again. Mr. Ratnose glared at them, pricklier than a hedgehog's hug.
"Wrong," he huffed. "Our lead actor, Scott Freeh, has disappeared."
My ears perked up. (As much as two holes in your head can perk.) A missing persons case?
I trotted up the aisle. "You want me to find him, right?"
"Wrong again," said my teacher. "I'd like you to take on Scott's role."
"Me?"
"You."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm a private eye, not a hambone."
Mr. Ratnose crossed his arms. "Be that as it may. You will play the part, or you will write a fifty-four-page report on French classical theater."
He sure knew how to put the screws to a guy. The only thing I like less than looking foolish onstage is writing fifty-four-page reports (although math class and lima-bean pie are right up there).
I sighed. "Okay, I'll do it. Out of curiosity, what's the part?"
His black eyes sparkled, and a smile tweaked his ratty lips. "The lead: Omlet, Prince of Denver. You've got a dramatic duet with a ghost..."
"Swell," I said.
"A swashbuckling sword fight..."
"Not bad."
"And a romantic song with Azalea that ends in a kiss."
"That's-Wait a minute! A kiss!?"
Mr. Ratnose nodded. "Yes, you fourth graders should be mature enough to handle that by now."
My stomach churned and tumbled like a dingo in a washing machine. Sweat turned my palms into the Okefenokee Swamp.
"Wh-who plays Azalea?" I choked out.
"Why, Shirley, of course."
My mind spun. A lip-lock with Shirley Chameleon, Smooch Monster and Cootie Queen of the Known Universe? Yikes! In fact, double yikes.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Mr. Ratnose. "Get up here and rehearse."
Right then, I gave myself a new case. I would find Scott Freeh before our play opened, or my name isn't Chet "Too Young to Be Smooched" Gecko.
2
Through Thick and Twin
Before you lose your lunch, let me reassure you: I didn't have to kiss Shirley that morning. We just read the play.
The kids who weren't acting got stage crew duty. They met in a corner with Ms. Bona Petite, the teacher in charge of scenery and stage props. What a happy bunch-knowing they'd get to play with hammers, saws, and paint.
Too bad I couldn't join them.
Instead, I sat with the cast and listened to Mr. Ratnose blather on about the meaning of the play, and how he'd improved on Shakespeare's Hamlet.
"You'll notice," said Mr. Ratnose, "that not only have I made it a musical, which Shakespeare probably wished he'd thought of..."
Ms. Petite sniffed and rolled her eyes.
"But I've also given it a happy ending." Mr. Ratnose beamed at us. "That way, no first graders in the audience will get nightmares."
Igor Beaver, a championship nerd, raised his paw. "Teacher, will we be wearing tights and doublets, like the actors of Shakespeare's time?"
Mr. Ratnose's tail curled happily. I could almost see the brownie points piling onto Igor's permanent record.
"Yes, Igor," he said. "We'll use traditional costumes."
Great. Now I'd have to wear sissy tights while frolicking around the stage like a doofus. Would the torture never stop?
Miraculously, it did. After we read through the play, the recess bell rang, and our teachers dismissed us. I buttonholed Natalie Attired for some sleuthing.
Did I mention already that Natalie, my mockingbird pal, is as sharp as a pocketful of pins (but without the annoying tendency to stick into your fingers)? She is. But she does have other irritating habits.
"Hey, Chet," she said, as we watched kids milling about. "Do you know why gorillas have such big nostrils?"
"Why?"
"Because they have such big fingers!" She cackled.
See what I mean?
I took Natalie by the shoulders. "Birdie, this is no time for jokes. We've got to find Scott Freeh, and pronto-so he can take back his stupid role."
"You don't want to play Omlet?" she asked. "It's such a great part."
"I don't care." I fumed. "I'd rather gargle with a skunk's bathwater than kiss Shirley Chameleon. Are you gonna help me or what?"
She held up her wings. "All right, don't get grouchy. I'll help."
"Great. First we need to know what Scott looks like."
"Easy-peasy," she said. "He looks just like that." She pointed to a skinny anole lizard beside Ms. Petite.
"Huh?"
"That's Scott's twin, Bjorn."
I straightened my hat. "Twin, eh? Let's start with him."
As we approached, Bjorn Freeh was just finishing up with Ms. Petite, a ground squirrel who put the ooh in ooh-la-la.
Every school has a teacher like this. All the boys love her, and all the girls want to be like her. Ms. Bona Petite had lustrous eyes deep enough to backstroke in, a face cuter than a box of bunnies, and a way of making you believe you were the only one in the world that mattered.
Not that I fell for any of that.
She touched Bjorn's arm. "Be strong," she said. Then she patted her jaunty cap and wafted off like expensive perfume on a summer breeze.
"You Bjorn?" I asked the anole.
He tore his gaze away from the ground squirrel and blinked at us. "Uh?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
Natalie chimed in. "What were you two discussing?"
"Oh, um, my brother's disappearance," he said.
"Funny," I said. "That's our favorite subject, too."
I sized up Bjorn. He had a tail as long as a third grader's Christmas list, and a head as flat as a frying pan.
Mmm, frying pan...termite crisps...My eyes glazed over with visions of lunch.
"So?" said Bjorn.
Regretfully, I reined in my appetite. "We need to find your brother," I said.
"ASAP," said Natalie. "Before he"-she pointed at me-"has to play Omlet."
"But it's such a great part," said Bjorn.
"Never mind the part," I said....
It was the first rehearsal for our play, and I wished I was at the dentist. Or staked to an anthill with red fire ants crawling up my nose. Or even on the losing end of a parent-teacher conference.
Anywhere but the auditorium.
Still, there I was-the last one into the building where the entire fourth grade waited. Given the choice, I'd rather pull the whiskers off a werewolf than perform in a dorky play like Omlet, Prince of Denver. But who had a choice?
The auditorium (or cafetorium, as the principal calls it) buzzed like a nest of baby rattlesnakes on Christmas morning. My teacher, Mr. Ratnose, huddled onstage with the other teachers. My fellow students fidgeted on the rows of wooden benches, jabbering amongst themselves.
Something was up.
I scanned the crowd. My partner and friend, Natalie Attired, had saved me a spot in the second-to-last row. Good ol' Natalie.
With a little luck, I could slip into place before Mr. Ratnose noticed my tardiness. Bending low, I hurried toward my seat. Just a few more steps...
I didn't see the foot in my path, but I sure felt it.
Ba-dump!
"Whoa!" I stumbled and staggered like a Rottweiler on Rollerblades.
Ka-flump! I sprawled in the aisle, flat on my face.
The room fell silent with worry.
"Haw-haw-haw!" burst from a hundred throats.
Or maybe they were just catching their breath.
I got up and brushed myself off, scowling at the guilty foot's owner-a chubby chipmunk. He smiled back as sweetly as a big brother with a carload of water balloons.
And then my bad luck multiplied.
Mr. Ratnose stepped to the edge of the stage. "Chet Gecko," he said, "even though you're tardy, I'm giving you an honor that many students dream of."
"You're letting me out of this dumb play?" I asked.
The kids giggled again. Mr. Ratnose glared at them, pricklier than a hedgehog's hug.
"Wrong," he huffed. "Our lead actor, Scott Freeh, has disappeared."
My ears perked up. (As much as two holes in your head can perk.) A missing persons case?
I trotted up the aisle. "You want me to find him, right?"
"Wrong again," said my teacher. "I'd like you to take on Scott's role."
"Me?"
"You."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm a private eye, not a hambone."
Mr. Ratnose crossed his arms. "Be that as it may. You will play the part, or you will write a fifty-four-page report on French classical theater."
He sure knew how to put the screws to a guy. The only thing I like less than looking foolish onstage is writing fifty-four-page reports (although math class and lima-bean pie are right up there).
I sighed. "Okay, I'll do it. Out of curiosity, what's the part?"
His black eyes sparkled, and a smile tweaked his ratty lips. "The lead: Omlet, Prince of Denver. You've got a dramatic duet with a ghost..."
"Swell," I said.
"A swashbuckling sword fight..."
"Not bad."
"And a romantic song with Azalea that ends in a kiss."
"That's-Wait a minute! A kiss!?"
Mr. Ratnose nodded. "Yes, you fourth graders should be mature enough to handle that by now."
My stomach churned and tumbled like a dingo in a washing machine. Sweat turned my palms into the Okefenokee Swamp.
"Wh-who plays Azalea?" I choked out.
"Why, Shirley, of course."
My mind spun. A lip-lock with Shirley Chameleon, Smooch Monster and Cootie Queen of the Known Universe? Yikes! In fact, double yikes.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Mr. Ratnose. "Get up here and rehearse."
Right then, I gave myself a new case. I would find Scott Freeh before our play opened, or my name isn't Chet "Too Young to Be Smooched" Gecko.
2
Through Thick and Twin
Before you lose your lunch, let me reassure you: I didn't have to kiss Shirley that morning. We just read the play.
The kids who weren't acting got stage crew duty. They met in a corner with Ms. Bona Petite, the teacher in charge of scenery and stage props. What a happy bunch-knowing they'd get to play with hammers, saws, and paint.
Too bad I couldn't join them.
Instead, I sat with the cast and listened to Mr. Ratnose blather on about the meaning of the play, and how he'd improved on Shakespeare's Hamlet.
"You'll notice," said Mr. Ratnose, "that not only have I made it a musical, which Shakespeare probably wished he'd thought of..."
Ms. Petite sniffed and rolled her eyes.
"But I've also given it a happy ending." Mr. Ratnose beamed at us. "That way, no first graders in the audience will get nightmares."
Igor Beaver, a championship nerd, raised his paw. "Teacher, will we be wearing tights and doublets, like the actors of Shakespeare's time?"
Mr. Ratnose's tail curled happily. I could almost see the brownie points piling onto Igor's permanent record.
"Yes, Igor," he said. "We'll use traditional costumes."
Great. Now I'd have to wear sissy tights while frolicking around the stage like a doofus. Would the torture never stop?
Miraculously, it did. After we read through the play, the recess bell rang, and our teachers dismissed us. I buttonholed Natalie Attired for some sleuthing.
Did I mention already that Natalie, my mockingbird pal, is as sharp as a pocketful of pins (but without the annoying tendency to stick into your fingers)? She is. But she does have other irritating habits.
"Hey, Chet," she said, as we watched kids milling about. "Do you know why gorillas have such big nostrils?"
"Why?"
"Because they have such big fingers!" She cackled.
See what I mean?
I took Natalie by the shoulders. "Birdie, this is no time for jokes. We've got to find Scott Freeh, and pronto-so he can take back his stupid role."
"You don't want to play Omlet?" she asked. "It's such a great part."
"I don't care." I fumed. "I'd rather gargle with a skunk's bathwater than kiss Shirley Chameleon. Are you gonna help me or what?"
She held up her wings. "All right, don't get grouchy. I'll help."
"Great. First we need to know what Scott looks like."
"Easy-peasy," she said. "He looks just like that." She pointed to a skinny anole lizard beside Ms. Petite.
"Huh?"
"That's Scott's twin, Bjorn."
I straightened my hat. "Twin, eh? Let's start with him."
As we approached, Bjorn Freeh was just finishing up with Ms. Petite, a ground squirrel who put the ooh in ooh-la-la.
Every school has a teacher like this. All the boys love her, and all the girls want to be like her. Ms. Bona Petite had lustrous eyes deep enough to backstroke in, a face cuter than a box of bunnies, and a way of making you believe you were the only one in the world that mattered.
Not that I fell for any of that.
She touched Bjorn's arm. "Be strong," she said. Then she patted her jaunty cap and wafted off like expensive perfume on a summer breeze.
"You Bjorn?" I asked the anole.
He tore his gaze away from the ground squirrel and blinked at us. "Uh?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
Natalie chimed in. "What were you two discussing?"
"Oh, um, my brother's disappearance," he said.
"Funny," I said. "That's our favorite subject, too."
I sized up Bjorn. He had a tail as long as a third grader's Christmas list, and a head as flat as a frying pan.
Mmm, frying pan...termite crisps...My eyes glazed over with visions of lunch.
"So?" said Bjorn.
Regretfully, I reined in my appetite. "We need to find your brother," I said.
"ASAP," said Natalie. "Before he"-she pointed at me-"has to play Omlet."
"But it's such a great part," said Bjorn.
"Never mind the part," I said....
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Give My Regrets to Broadway
Anbieter: World of Books (was SecondSale), Montgomery, IL, USA
Verkäuferbewertung 5 von 5 Sternen
Paperback. Zustand: Very Good. Hale, Bruce (illustrator). It's no mystery: Chet Gecko can t sing. He can t dance. He can t act. Heck, he can t even act normal. So why would he take the lead in Mr. Ratnose s musical version of Shakespeare s Omlet, Prince of Denver? A new case, naturally. The original leading man has disappeared, and something smells rotten in the realm of Ratnose. Did the third-act lip-lock with Shirley Chameleon scare him away? Or is foul play afoot? One thing s for certain: This mystery won t be over until the fat gecko er, lady sings. Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers 00108412897
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Beispielbild für diese ISBN
Give My Regrets to Broadway
Anbieter: World of Books (was SecondSale), Montgomery, IL, USA
Verkäuferbewertung 5 von 5 Sternen
Paperback. Zustand: Fair. Hale, Bruce (illustrator). It's no mystery: Chet Gecko can t sing. He can t dance. He can t act. Heck, he can t even act normal. So why would he take the lead in Mr. Ratnose s musical version of Shakespeare s Omlet, Prince of Denver? A new case, naturally. The original leading man has disappeared, and something smells rotten in the realm of Ratnose. Did the third-act lip-lock with Shirley Chameleon scare him away? Or is foul play afoot? One thing s for certain: This mystery won t be over until the fat gecko er, lady sings. Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers 00096831589
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EUR 4,06
Versand gratis
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Beispielbild für diese ISBN
Give My Regrets to Broadway
Anbieter: World of Books (was SecondSale), Montgomery, IL, USA
Verkäuferbewertung 5 von 5 Sternen
Paperback. Zustand: Good. Hale, Bruce (illustrator). It's no mystery: Chet Gecko can t sing. He can t dance. He can t act. Heck, he can t even act normal. So why would he take the lead in Mr. Ratnose s musical version of Shakespeare s Omlet, Prince of Denver? A new case, naturally. The original leading man has disappeared, and something smells rotten in the realm of Ratnose. Did the third-act lip-lock with Shirley Chameleon scare him away? Or is foul play afoot? One thing s for certain: This mystery won t be over until the fat gecko er, lady sings. Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers 00050861182
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Give My Regrets to Broadway: A Chet Gecko Mystery (9)
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ISBN 10: 0152167307
ISBN 13: 9780152167301
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Give My Regrets to Broadway: A Chet Gecko Mystery â" A Funny Animal Detective Story for Children (Ages 8-12)
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Zustand: very_good. Hale, Bruce (illustrator). Book is in very good condition and may include minimal underlining highlighting. The book can also include "From the library of" labels. May not contain miscellaneous items toys, dvds, etc. . We offer 100% money back guarantee and 24 7 customer service. Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers ZEV.0152167307.VG
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Give My Regrets to Broadway: A Chet Gecko Mystery â" A Funny Animal Detective Story for Children (Ages 8-12)
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Zustand: good. Hale, Bruce (illustrator). Fast Free Shipping â" Good condition. It may show normal signs of use, such as light writing, highlighting, or library markings, but all pages are intact and the book is fully readable. A solid, complete copy that's ready to enjoy. Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers GWV.0152167307.G
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Give My Regrets to Broadway: A Chet Gecko Mystery
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Zustand: very_good. Hale, Bruce (illustrator). Fast Free Shipping â" Very Good condition book with a firm cover and clean pages. Shows normal use and some light wear or limited notes markings. A solid, nice copy to enjoy. Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers GWV.0152167307.VG
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Give My Regrets to Broadway: A Chet Gecko Mystery (Chet Gecko, 9)
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Give My Regrets to Broadway: A Chet Gecko Mystery (9)
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HMH Books for Young Readers, 2005
ISBN 10: 0152167307
ISBN 13: 9780152167301
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Paperback. Zustand: Good. Hale, Bruce (illustrator). This is a used book in good condition and may show some signs of use or wear . This is a used book in good condition and may show some signs of use or wear . Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers mon0000980767
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Give My Regrets to Broadway
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Paperback. Zustand: Fair. Hale, Bruce (illustrator). It's no mystery: Chet Gecko can t sing. He can t dance. He can t act. Heck, he can t even act normal. So why would he take the lead in Mr. Ratnose s musical version of Shakespeare s Omlet, Prince of Denver? A new case, naturally. The original leading man has disappeared, and something smells rotten in the realm of Ratnose. Did the third-act lip-lock with Shirley Chameleon scare him away? Or is foul play afoot? One thing s for certain: This mystery won t be over until the fat gecko er, lady sings. Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers CIN0152167307A
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