Jupe stood up to leave, but just then a figure came charging out from the locker room. He was dressed in an oversized green, purple, and white parrot costume. He looked so comical that Jupe automatically sat down again — almost as if he’d been knocked down by the parrot’s ridiculous appearance.
“Who’s that? ” Jupe asked.
“Beats me,” Bob said. “Looks like some kind of goofy mascot.”
The parrot gave each of the cheerleaders a hug. Then he started running around the gym, doing cart wheels and jumps. But while the cheerleaders were forming a human pyramid, the mascot did a back flip and landed badly.
“Aarrrgh!” he screamed in pain, rolling and holding his leg. “My leg! It’s my leg!”
“Uh — oh,” Jupe said, jumping to his feet and running down the bleacher steps as fast as he could.
The cheerleaders quickly gathered around the parrot. By the time Jupe and Bob reached the floor, Nora had removed the parrot’s costume head and was trying to help the guy stand up.
“I think I broke it,” the guy moaned.
“It doesn’t look broken,” Jupe said with authority. “I’d say a badly sprained ankle.”
“Let’s get Steve over to the health center,” said Cathy, talking a mile a minute. “This could be a real tough break, if you know what I mean.” She and Pat helped the Shoremont parrot limp out of the gym.
“Poor Steve,” Sarah said in her sweet Southern voice. But she was looking right at Jupe when she said it.
“Poor everybody,” Nora said. “Now we don’t have a mascot for the game. How are we going to find another parrot by tomorrow?”
“Whoa, guys,” Bob said, stepping into the middle of the crowd. “Not to worry. I’m sure our friend here, Jupiter Jones, would be honored to be your mascot.”
Jupe aimed his eyes like flamethrowers at Bob. “Are you out of your mind? No way!”
Bob ignored Jupe’s angry stare. “Let me reason with him a minute,” he told the cheerleaders. He pulled Jupe quickly away from the group.
Jupe muttered under his breath, “Have you gone certifiably insane? I do not do cartwheels. I do not jump. And I would rather go to graduation in my underwear than wear a stupid fuzzy purple and green parrot costume!”
“Will you lighten up about fifty notches!” Bob said “Don’t you want to solve this case?”
“What’s that got to do with anything in the Western civilized world?” Jupe said, astounded.
“Jupe, I said we’d get a break. Well, it’s only a sprain, but let’s not get technical. This is the perfect disguise! The parrot practices with the cheerleaders and hangs around the basketball team. Tell me that’s not the perfect undercover setup. How can you say no?”
Jupe didn’t say no. All he said was “Absolute total humiliation.”
Jupe and Bob rode back to Bob’s house in absolute total silence. As soon as Bob stopped the car, Jupe got out and went straight to the kitchen. He was already digging through the Andrews’ freezer when Bob caught up.
“Where are the microwave hot-fudge sundaes?” Jupe asked.
“Jupe, you told me to hide them from you.”
“Well, now I’m telling you to unhide them from me,” Jupe said. “Aha!” He reached into the farthest corner of the upright freezer and pulled out a package of ice cream sundaes. He practically threw two sundaes into the microwave.
“Jupe, what about your half-portion diet?”
“No problem. I’m only going to eat one of them,”
Jupe said with a maniacal smile. He set the timer on the oven and pushed start.
Bob reached for the phone and hit number two on auto-dial. “Pete, it’s Bob. Get over here fast. It’s a binge alert!”
In less time than it took the microwave to thaw the hot-fudge sundaes, Pete arrived.
“How’d you get here so fast?” Bob said as Pete charged through the door.
“Hey, the Ark has a V-8 engine,” Pete said.
“Yeah,” Bob said, “but it drives like it’s running on V8 juice.”
Pete laughed and spied the hot-fudge sundaes in the microwave. “Hey, thanks, guys,” he said. He had one half-eaten by the time he reached the table and swung his leg over to sit down backward on a chair. “What’s the crisis?”
Bob answered. “I volunteered Jupe to be the Shoremont mascot at the basketball game tomorrow night. He’s got to wear a parrot costume.”
“He said honored. He said I’d be honored to be their parrot,” Jupe moaned.
“Jupe, I don’t think this parrot bit is such a bad idea,” Bob said. “I mean, look how we hung around Duggan’s office after Steve’s accident and got asked to leave. But if you’re the parrot, you have a perfect excuse to hang around all the time. No one will question you. And that’s when we’ll strike!”
“Fine,” Jupe said. “I see the investigative possibilities. But what am I going to do at the game? I don’t do back flips, front flips, cartwheels, handstands, or splits. Have you guys got any constructive suggestions?”
“Sure, Jupe,” Bob said with a straight face. “Why don’t you just do what parrots always do?”
“What’s that?”
“Stand around making nasty comments while you preen and molt!”
“This is let’s talk sports for a Thursday night. It’s 7:20 and I’m Al Windsor,” said the radio announcer. “Back to our phones in a minute.”
Instantly commercials started playing on Pete’s car radio. Bob started singing along, and Jupe started grumbling from the back seat. “Al Windsor? That’s the guy who’s teaching my college speech class. Lose him! Let’s listen to the news.” He ruffled feathers on the Shoremont parrot costume next to him.
“Come on, Jupe, this is my favorite call-in show,” Pete said. “And anyway, we’ll be at the Shoremont gym in a minute.”
“Okay,” said Al Windsor, coming back on the air, “I’ve got Sam on the line from Hermosa Beach. How ya doin’, Sam? Let’s Talk Sports.”
“Hi, Al. I’m doing fine,” said the caller. “Listen, Al, I wanted to ask you about the Shoremont-Costa Verde basketball game tonight.”
“Big game, a must-win situation for both teams,” Al Windsor commented.
“Yeah, I know,” the caller said. “But did you see the paper this morning? I mean, the Costa Verde coach — Bernie Mehl — was really laying into Shoremont’s Coach Duggan.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” Al Windsor answered. “You’re talking about the big headline where Bernie Mehl said, and I quote, ‘Coach Duggan will do anything to win — and I mean anything’ ”
“Right,” the caller said. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”