The Case of the Toxic River

By Cindy Cipriano

Grace Brooks is a total and unashamed nerd. She loves her life, her friends, and her little dog Neutrino. That is until one day she’s uprooted to Miller’s Island, North Carolina, to start over as the new kid in school. There she meets Jack, and they quickly bond over their love of science and all things nerdy. Together they embark on an epic adventure, travelling through time to solve the mystery of The Toxic River.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vulpine Press
• Release date: Jun 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781910780596

Cindy Cipriano

Cindy Cipriano lives in North Carolina with her husband, son, and their twenty-seven pets.Not really.Just three dogs who think they are children and three cats who think they are raccoons. It only seems as if they make twenty-seven. When Cindy isn't writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and the avoidance of cooking.Fading, The Fading Series Book One, (Clean Teen Publishing) releases in 2018. This is the first in a three-four book series in which seventeen-year-old Leath Elliott wonders if the new boy in town is literally the boy of her dreams.Cindy's Miller's Island Mysteries series is described as innovative in blending science and fantasy. Eighth graders, Grace and Jack, travel through time solving mysterious science events. Miller's Island Mysteries #1 The Case of the Toxic River (Vulpine Press) released in August 2017. MIMS #1 is the first in an eleven-book series.Cindy's first novel, The Circle, Book One of The Sidhe (2013), won the 2014 Moonbeam Children's Book Silver Award for Pre-Teen Fiction – Fantasy. Other titles in the series include The Choice, Book Two of The Sidhe (2015), and The Lost, Book Three of The Sidhe (2017). Look for The Secret, Book Four of The Sidhe to release in May 2018. The series follows Calum, Laurel, and Hagen from middle through high school as they first rescue Calum's kidnapped cousin, and then save the Otherworld from dark Sidhe. This series is published by Odyssey Books.Cindy's article, Level Up Intrinsic Motivation, was published in the JOURNAL OF INTERDISCIPLINARY LEADERSHIP in 2016 and two of her short stories were published in the Children's anthology, Doorway to Adventure (2010).

Book preview

Miller’s Island Mysteries

Book 1

The Case of

The Toxic River

Cindy Cipriano

Copyright © Cindy Cipriano 2017

Miller’s Island Mysteries Book 1: The Case of The Toxic River

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Vulpine Press in the United Kingdom in 2017

ISBN: 978-1-910780-59-6

Cover by Paige Selby-Green

Illustration by Connor Delaney Bullard

www.vulpine-press.com

For Connor

Always

Teach us to number our days

that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

Psalm 90:12

Chapter One

MIMS

Miller’s Island, North Carolina, isn’t such a bad place. After all, it is on the coast, and the beach isn’t crowded. A small aquarium sits on the south end of the island, a maritime forest on the north. Cooper’s Pier is dead center. It’s a greasy spoon with the best fried egg sandwiches I’ve ever eaten. 

Miller’s Island Middle School isn’t so bad either. I mean, aside from our mascot, the Jellyfish. Really? With all the sea life around here they couldn’t have picked a better mascot? How ’bout the Killer Whales? Or, the Electric Eels?

Seriously though, I do love the school building, and I mean love! Miller’s Island Middle School, or MIMS as we call it, opened ninety-two years ago as a boarding school. Let that sink in. Ninety-two. The main building is an H-shaped, two-story brick building. Nothing special on the outside. But inside’s a whole different story.

Every hallway, every room, every office has beautiful, darkly stained, ninety-two-year-old hardwood floors. I love the way the floorboards groan and creak when I walk across them. I love that my footsteps combine with those of thousands of other students who have walked these halls and together, we have fine-tuned each creaky echo. This realization brings a small sense of belonging as I struggle to fit in at this new-to-me school.

Aside from classrooms and offices, the trusty hardwoods lead to a multitude of long-forgotten rooms, closets, and cubbies. Since I’m new to MIMS, it’s easy for me to claim confusion when I’m discovered in a corridor no longer used by the school. I’ve been given numerous warnings about safety issues whenever I’ve been caught straying. Each mini-lecture, like the current one, cycles back to the hardwoods.

These floors used to be cleaned with kerosene and sawdust, says Mr. Jackson, the maintenance man and mayor. Yeah, that’s right. Our maintenance man is also the mayor of Miller’s Island. Mr. Jackson’s just caught me for the third time this week on one of my explorations and it’s only Tuesday.

We want everyone to go home at the end of the day. That’s why we take our fire drills so seriously, says Mr. Jackson, scratching a patch of silver whiskers on the bottom of his chin. He holds up the stopwatch that perpetually hangs from around his neck. Two minutes and twenty seconds was our best time. We want to shave seconds of that time, missy. We can’t do that if we have to hunt down wandering students. He pauses, waiting for my reaction.

Yes, sir, I say tentatively. Unsure how to respond to a non-question.

These floors, he says, tapping his right foot, have decades of kerosene soaked into them. If we ever have a real fire, heaven forbid, do you know how quickly these boards will burn?

No, sir, I say.

Faster than snake acrost a frozen pond.

A what across a what?

I’m distracted, wondering why a snake would be out in the wintertime, much less slithering across a frozen pond. My thoughts are interrupted by the walkie-talkie clipped to Mr. Jackson’s belt.

Jackson. You there, Jackson? asks a squawking voice.

Right here, Ms. Babbitt, says Mr. Jackson.

The beagle’s back, says Ms. Babbitt. That one from Wheeler’s farm. The dog must have come in during lunch. He was last spotted running toward Ms. Fischer’s room.

Stubborn mutt, says Mr. Jackson. Comes inside at least once a week. He pushes a button on the walkie and says, On my way, Ms. Babbitt.

Mr. Jackson heads toward the sixth-grade wing then seems to remember that I’m out-of-bounds. Turning back, he says, Well, come on then. Let’s get to class, missy.

I follow him out of the dimly lit corridor, all the while planning my next exploration. When we reach the main hallway, Mr. Jackson turns left and I go right. On my way back to the eighth-grade wing, an orange and yellow poster catches my eye.

MIMS Fall Festival

Rides, Movies, Food, and Eighth Grade Lock-In

Mr. Jackson’s footsteps sound in the distance and I move to take a closer look at the poster. The festival is on October 31. A hayride, pizza party, and a movie in the media center. Lots of things designed to keep kids busy when they’ve outgrown trick or treating. I’m not even remotely interested in going to the fall festival, until I read the last line.

Students must bring their own sleeping bags and pillows to use in the dormitories

Eighth graders only

It hits me. Lock-in equals overnight slumber party. And, we’ll be staying upstairs in the never-used dorms. I wonder what I might find in MIMS, given the whole night to explore.

On second thought, maybe I will go.

I smile, already scheming that while everyone else watches the movie, I’ll be checking out every square inch of MIMS, safety issues or not. I can’t explain it, but I feel an unusual connection to this old building. This old dinosaur. It seems as out of place, as I am. It’s for this reason I feel we belong to each other.

I make a mental note to snag a permission slip for the festival and head toward the lockers, amazed again by the total lack of locks. MIMS is a small town, filled with kids who’ve grown up together. Stealing would be tantamount to taking something from your own family. It took me several days to convince my parents I didn’t need a lock for my locker here.

The bell rings and I sprint to science class. Science used to be my favorite subject. Okay, I guess it still is. There’s no denying it. I’m a total and unashamed nerd. I have several stickers plastered on my laptop and a closet full of T-shirts that proclaim as much. Like the green T-shirt I’m wearing now has Girls in Science written in blocky letters across the front. But, science at MIMS is different to science at my old school in Columbia, South Carolina.

For the millionth time, I think I’d give just about anything to be back in Columbia with my best friend, Aubrey Wilson. Someone I’d known all my life. Aubrey and I had just finished our second year of middle school. Like all rising eighth graders, we felt we’d done our time, and were now entitled to run the school. Aubrey’s mother worked in the guidance office, so we were assured a third year of identical class schedules.

Aubrey and I had spent our first day of summer vacation talking about how eighth grade was going to be our best year ever. We talked about our new teachers, dissecting every conversation we’d ever heard about each one, trying to determine who was the fun one, the crazy one, the mean one. After we sorted that out, our talk turned to boys. Aubrey was sad that Logan Foster, the boy she liked, had moved on to high school.

So I guess I missed my chance, said Aubrey.

I know it sounds catty, but I doubt Aubrey has or will ever miss a chance with any boy. Even at nine o’clock, after an all-night slumber party, Aubrey looks like she just left a magazine photo shoot. Of course, that makes us total opposites. Aubrey has curly black hair, dark eyes, and olive-toned skin. I have what my mother calls dirty-blonde hair, a fair complexion, and light green eyes.

Don’t worry about it, I said in true best friend form. You’ll see Logan next year when we get to high school.

That perked Aubrey up a bit. For the next few minutes, she called out the names of some of the boys in our grade, and we considered each as possible dates to the big eighth-grade dance. Feeling bold, I finally admitted to my crush on Mason Sanders.

Well, duh, said Aubrey, giggling. I already knew that. It’s a little obvious, the way you get that big grin on your face whenever he’s around.

I swallowed hard. Think anyone else notices?

Anyone, like Mason? she teased. Then sensing my distress, Aubrey quickly added, Oh, no way. Boys are so clueless. She grinned wickedly. But we can fix that.

Thus began a weeklong conversation on the least awkward way for me to let Mason know how I felt. A couple more months of this, and I might have actually had the courage to approach him. In the end, we decided it would be best if the big reveal took place over the summer, away from school where everyone knows or wants to know everyone else’s business.

I’ve got it, said Aubrey on a lazy afternoon. I’ll invite Mason to my birthday party and you can talk to him then. I mean you just have to.

Why? I asked.

Because, this is our last grace period year, said Aubrey.

Explain?

She sighed. When we get to high school, we won’t have that fall back. You know, the whole she’s-a-middle-schooler-so-cut-her-some-slack thing.

That’s one of the things I loved about Aubrey. Her logic was simple, but at times brilliant. Buoyed by her grace period theory, I felt my confidence grow. I decided I’d tell Mason exactly how I felt about him at Aubrey’s birthday party. No question.

Looking back, I wonder how Aubrey and I could have been so blissfully unaware of the train that was barreling down on us.

I’ve been transferred, said Dad, matter-of-factly one night at dinner.

What do you mean transferred? I asked. I had somehow been oblivious to the tension that had been building in the air at home over the past few days. At that moment, my parents’ hushed conversations, late-night phone calls, and strange, spring-cleaning type behavior crystallized into impending doom for me.

Mom looked at me, her blue eyes swimming in tears. Your dad’s job is being moved to North Carolina, sweetie. So, we have to move, too.

I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. It’s not something I like