The Case of the Missing Jolteon
Written by Chas. A.I. Bassos
Chapter One
Oh, No! Where Did it Go
In the little town of Puddleby, where the sidewalks shimmered with summer heat and the ice cream truck sang its siren song, lived two siblings who were about as different as a Pikachu and a Snorlax. Blake, almost eight, was a Pokémon card expert, very persuasive and a good negotiator. She could negotiate her way out of a punishment or into a scoop of ice cream as an extra treat. She like to use the words “Literally and actually…” and was quick with “Yes, but…” arguments that sometimes even left lgrown-ups a little dizzy.
Her younger brother, Charlie, was an eager to please five year old, big for his age but still small enough to hide in a laundry basket. Charlie had a brain that chewed through math problems like a Charmander through kindling. He was forever whining, “Awwww, not fair…” whenever Blake got to do something he couldn’t, which was often, because five is not eight, and the world is a cruel place when you’re not even a kindergartner yet.
Their house in Puddleby was a museum of Pokémon paraphernalia: cards in binders, figurines on shelves, and a Pikachu plush toy that had seen better days after Charlie used it as a pillow during a backyard campout. Blake, the self-proclaimed Pokémon Professional of Puddleby, had a collection that made other kids’ eyes pop like Poké Balls. She didn’t just collect cards; she negotiated trades like a pro. Last week, she’d swapped a slightly creased Machop for a holographic Vaporeon by convincing her friend Wyatt that “Machop’s muscles are, like, totally underrated, and besides, Vaporeon is just a fancy mermaid.” Wyatt was still scratching his head over that one.
Charlie, meanwhile, was no slouch. He couldn’t trade cards like Blake because nobody would take a five-year-old seriously but he could count add 2- and 3-digit numbers faster than you could say “Bulbasaur” and had recently figured out how to split a pack of twelve gummy worms into equal shares for himself, Blake, and their dog, Muffin. “Three worms each, plus three for Muffin,” he’d announced proudly, though Muffin only got two because Charlie “accidentally” ate one. Math was his superpower and he used it like a wizard.
This particular Tuesday started like most: Blake was sprawled on the living room rug, sorting her cards, while Charlie built a wobbly tower of magnetic tiles, muttering about how it wasn’t fair that Blake got to use the good scissors for her art projects. Their grandmother, YiaYia, was in the kitchen, humming a tune from the 60’s and stirring something that smelled like cinnamon and trouble. YiaYia was the keeper of snacks and secrets, but she was no pushover. Getting her to agree to anything required strategy, which was where Blake’s negotiation skills sparkled brighter than a shiny Charizard. “Actually, YiaYia, we need to go to Target,” Blake said, poking her head into the kitchen. “They’ve got new Pokémon packs, and Wyatt says there’s a rumor about a special edition. I’m not saying it’s true, but… we can’t risk missing it.” YiaYia raised an eyebrow, her wooden spoon pausing mid-stir. “And why should I drive you to Target when you’ve got enough cards to wallpaper the house?” “Yes, but…” Blake countered, leaning against the counter with the confidence of a courtroom lawyer, “these are for my collection’s variety. Plus, the extras are good for negotiating. Besides, Charlie could use some new crayons. He’s been coloring with stubs.” Charlie, who was eavesdropping from the living room, spoke up saying “My crayons are fine! But I’m sure I can find something else at Target.” YiaYia sighed, but Blake could tell she was winning. “I’ll think about it,” YiaYia said, which was code for “You’ve got me halfway there.” Blake grinned and returned to her cards, already planning her next argument. And right there and then is when the mystery began.
Blake was organizing her binder—Fire types on page one, Water types on page two, and so on—when she noticed something peculiar. Her prized Jolteon card, a colorful beauty with lightning bolts that seemed to crackle, was missing. Not misplaced. Not tucked behind a Magikarp. GONE! She flipped through the binder twice, her heart thumping like a Tauros stampede. “Charlie!” she hollered. “Did you touch my cards?” Charlie peeked over his block tower, his eyes wide as Poké Balls. “Nuh-uh! I was building! It’s not fair you always blame me!” Blake narrowed her eyes but believed him. Charlie was sneaky about snacks, not about cards.
She checked under the couch, behind the TV, even in Muffin’s dog bed (which yielded a squeaky toy and some suspicious crumbs). No Jolteon. But she did find something odd: a tiny scrap of paper wedged under the coffee table leg. It was yellow, like a Pikachu’s fur, with a single word scrawled in wobbly handwriting: “SPARK.” “What is this?” Blake muttered, holding the paper up to the light. It wasn’t her handwriting, or Charlie’s, which was even neater than hers. She showed it to Charlie, who squinted and said, “It’s a clue! Like in Scooby-Doo!” “Awwww. It’s not fair,” Charlie added, because he couldn’t help himself. “I wanna find clues too!” “Then help me,” Blake said, handing him the paper. “What does ‘SPARK’ mean?” Charlie scrunched his nose, thinking hard. “Maybe it’s about electricity? Like, Jolteon’s electric, right?” Blake nodded, impressed despite herself. Charlie was onto something. Jolteon was an Electric-type Pokémon, and “SPARK” could be a hint. But a hint to what?
She decided to search the house for more clues, dragging Charlie along because he was small enough to crawl under furniture. Their next find came in the kitchen, where YiaYia was now rolling dough for cookies. Tucked behind the sugar jar was another scrap of paper, this one blue like a Squirtle’s shell. It had a number on it: “12.” No words, just two numbers, written in the same wobbly hand: a one followed by a two “Twelve?” Blake said, scratching her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlie’s eyes lit up like a Charmander’s tail. “It’s a math clue! I’m good at math!” He grabbed the paper and started counting on his fingers. “Twelve could be… twelve cards, or twelve Pokémon, or… twelve cookies?”
“Charlie, we literally have to focus,” Blake said, but she was grinning. “It’s probably about Pokémon, since my Jolteon’s missing. Maybe it’s twelve Electric types?” Charlie shook his head. “Nuh-uh. You’ve got seven Electric cards. I counted last week.” Blake blinked. “You counted my cards?” “It’s not fair you have so many,” Charlie mumbled, then brightened. “Maybe twelve is… steps? Or minutes? Or… something you add to get twelve?”
Blake was starting to see why Charlie was a math wizard. The number 12 could mean anything; steps to a hiding spot, a time, or even a code. But she was the Pokémon expert, so she focused on the “SPARK” clue. “Jolteon makes sparks, right? So maybe the clue’s pointing to something electric in the house. Like… the lamp? The TV?” They checked the living room lamp (nothing but dust) and the TV (just a remote with dead batteries). But then Charlie, crawling under the dining table to “be a detective,” found a third clue: a red scrap of paper stuck to the underside of a chair. It read, “EVOLVE.”
Blake’s brain kicked into high gear. “Evolve? That’s totally a Pokémon thing! Jolteon evolves from Eevee, but only with a Thunder Stone. Maybe the clue’s about evolution?” Charlie, still under the table, said, “It’s not fair I can’t reach the cookies from here.” But then he added, “What’s a Thunder Stone? Is it worth twelve?” Blake laughed. “No, it’s a special item in Pokémon. But good thinking—maybe the twelve is connected to evolution somehow. Like, twelve… what? Twelve Eevees? Twelve stones?” The siblings sat on the floor, staring at their three clues: “SPARK” (yellow), “12” (blue), and “EVOLVE” (red). Blake’s Pokémon knowledge told her these were tied to Jolteon—its electric sparks, its evolution from Eevee—but she couldn’t crack the puzzle. Charlie, meanwhile, was muttering about numbers. “Twelve is six plus six, or four times three, or… maybe it’s two groups of six?” “Literally, Charlie, you’re a genius,” Blake said, though she wasn’t sure how it helped. “But we need to figure out how all this fits with Pokémon. Jolteon’s my favorite card, so whoever took it knows me. And these clues… they’re like a game.” “It’s not fair,” Charlie said, hugging his knees. “I want a favorite card too.” “You will,” Blake promised. “But first, we’re solving this. Team Blake-and-Charlie, right?” Charlie grinned, and they high-fived, ready to hunt for more clues. The house was full of hiding spots, and Puddleby was full of suspects—Wyatt, who’d been eyeing her Jolteon last week; YiaYia, who might’ve hidden it to teach Blake a lesson about “too many cards”; or even Muffin, though dogs weren’t exactly masterminds. The mystery was afoot, and it would take Blake’s Pokémon expertise and Charlie’s math magic to crack it. Somewhere, a spark was waiting to ignite their next discovery.
Chapter Two
The Trail Gets Tangled
The sun was dipping low in Puddleby, painting the sky like a Psyduck’s daydream. Blake was pacing the living room like a detective in a cartoon, her Pokémon binder clutched tight. Her missing Jolteon card was still GONE, and the three clues—“SPARK” (yellow), “12” (blue), and “EVOLVE” (red)—were burning holes in her brain. Charlie, her sidekick, was sprawled on the floor, keep score of a football game he was playing in his head and muttering about how it wasn’t fair that Blake got to be the “boss detective.” His math skills were itching for a problem to solve, but so far, the clues were as clear as a Mudkip in a mud puddle.
“Literally, Charlie, we need to think like a team,” Blake said, tapping her chin. “I’ll be a detective and you be my helper. Whoever took my Jolteon is playing a game, leaving these papers as clues. We’ve just got to follow the clues, Charlie.”
Charlie said to no one in particular: “Halftime, Bucs 26, Lions 14. Bucs ahead by 12. Then he looked up. “Aww! It’s not fair. I want to be a detective too?”
“Yes, but…” Blake started, then caught herself. Charlie’s puppy-dog eyes were more powerful than a Hypno’s pendulum. “Fine, you’re Co-Detective. But you’ve got to help with the math part. That ‘12’ clue is totally your thing.
Charlie grinned, his imaginary football game forgotten. He grabbed the blue paper with “12” scrawled on it and held it like a treasure map. “Maybe it’s twelve hiding spots? Or twelve Pokémon in a team?”
Blake shook her head, her ponytail bouncing. “Teams are six Pokémon, max. Acturally, Charlie, you’ve got to know the basics. But… twelve could be something else. Like, twelve cards in a stack? Or twelve steps to somewhere?”
Their brainstorming was interrupted by YiaYia, who poked her head out of the kitchen. “Are you two still hunting for that card? You’re noisier than a flock of Pidgeys. Dinner’s in ten minutes—wash your hands.”
“YiaYia, wait!” Blake said, sensing an opportunity. She was a master negotiator, whether it was trading a slightly bent Weedle for a pristine Flareon or convincing YiaYia to extend bedtime. “We’re on a case, and we need your help. Did you see anyone near my binder? Like, Wyatt? Or… Muffin?”
YiaYia snorted, wiping her hands on her apron. “Muffin’s no thief, unless it’s cookies. And Wyatt was here yesterday, but he was too busy eating my baklava to snoop. Why don’t you check the backyard? You kids are always leaving toys out there.”
Blake’s eyes lit up. “The backyard! Yes, but… what if the thief hid the card outside? Like, in the treehouse or the sandbox?”
Charlie scrambled to his feet. “It’s not fair! I can’t climb the treehouse ladder good. Blake always gets to go up!”
“You’ll get there,” Blake said, ruffling his hair. “C’mon, Co-Detective. Let’s check outside before dinner.”
The backyard was a jungle of possibilities—overgrown grass, a rickety treehouse, and a sandbox that Muffin treated like a personal spa. Blake scanned the area like a Staraptor, while Charlie poked at the sandbox with a stick, hoping for buried treasure. That’s when Blake spotted something glinting near the base of the treehouse ladder. She dove for it, pulling out a green scrap of paper, folded into a tiny triangle. Unfolded, it revealed another clue: “SHOCK.”
“Another one!” Blake crowed, waving the paper. ‘SHOCK.’ That’s gotta be about Jolteon—its attacks are all electric, like Thunder Shock!”
Charlie toddled over, peering at the clue. “It’s not fair. Why is it always electric stuff? What about… water Pokémon? I like Squirtle.”
“Literally, Charlie, focus,” Blake said, but she was grinning. “This is good. ‘SPARK’ and ‘SHOCK’ both point to Electric types. But we still don’t know where Jolteon is.”
Charlie, undeterred, returned to the sandbox and started digging like a Sandshrew. After a moment, he squealed and held up a plastic Poké Ball, the kind that came with cheap toys. Inside was another clue: a white scrap of paper with the number “3” written in that same wobbly handwriting.
“Three!” Charlie said, bouncing. “Now we got twelve and three! That’s math! I can do math!”
Blake took the Poké Ball, inspecting it. “Okay, Math Wizard, what’s twelve and three? Like, add ’em? Subtract ’em?”
Charlie scrunched his face, counting on his fingers. “Twelve plus three is fifteen. Twelve minus three is nine. Or… maybe it’s twelve divided by three? That’s four!”
Blake’s jaw dropped. “Four? Wait, that’s… kinda smart. Maybe it’s four something. Four clues? Four hiding spots? Or…” She paused, her Pokémon expertise kicking in. “Jolteon’s got four legs. Maybe it’s a clue about the card itself?”
Charlie beamed, proud of his math magic. But Blake was already thinking about the other clues. “EVOLVE” was still nagging at her. Jolteon evolved from Eevee with a Thunder Stone, but what did that have to do with “SHOCK” or the numbers? She decided to test a theory. “Charlie, let’s count twelve steps from the treehouse. Maybe it’s a treasure map thing.”
Charlie nodded, eager to be useful. They stood at the treehouse ladder, and Charlie counted aloud, taking big steps: “One, two, three…” At twelve, they landed near the garden shed, where YiaYia kept her tools and a family of cranky Spinaraks. Blake poked around, finding nothing but cobwebs and a rusty trowel. But Charlie, ever the crawler, squeezed behind a flowerpot and emerged with a sixth clue: an orange paper with the word “STONE.”
“STONE!” Blake yelped. “Like Thunder Stone! This is totally about Jolteon’s evolution. Whoever is leaving these clues knows Pokémon, Charlie. They’re, like, a mastermind.”
“Awww. It’s not fair,” Charlie said, brushing dirt off his knees. “I found the clue, but you get to know all the Pokémon stuff.”
Blake knelt beside him. “Team Blake-and-Charlie, remember? You’re killing it with the numbers. I bet the next clue needs your brain to crack it.”
Charlie perked up and they huddled over their clues. The backyard was turning into a clue factory, but Jolteon was still missing. Blake’s mind raced—were the numbers a code? Did “12” and “3” point to a location, like a locker or a page in her binder? And why all the electric and evolution hints? She knew Jolteon’s stats by heart—Speed 130, Special Attack 110—but that wasn’t helping yet.
Charlie, meanwhile, was adding and subtracting his head. “Twelve and three… maybe it’s three groups of four? Or twelve things and three things? Like, twelve flowers and three pots?”
Blake laughed. “You’re literally going to solve this before me, Charlie. But we need more. Let’s check the treehouse tomorrow—it’s too dark now, and YiaYia’s gonna yell about dinner.”
As they trudged inside, Blake glanced at the clues again. The thief was clever, leaving a trail that teased her Pokémon knowledge and Charlie’s math skills. Was it Wyatt, getting revenge for that Vaporeon trade? YiaYia, teaching us a lesson? Or someone else entirely, like their neighbor Mrs. Figg, who once called Pokémon “those little gremlins”? The mystery was growing, and Blake and Charlie were determined to chase it down—together.
Chapter 3
The Treehouse Angle
The morning sun peeked over Puddleby like a curious Sunflora, and Blake was already plotting like a Meowth with a coin to steal. At almost eight years old, she was the Pokémon card queen of her schoolyard. Her binder was a “literal” treasure chest that made other kids green with envy. Her missing Jolteon card was still out there, somewhere, and the six clues were driving her nuts. Charlie, her five-year-old co-detective, was munching cereal at the kitchen table, his math-brain buzzing like a Voltorb. He kept muttering, “It’s not fair…” because Blake had poured herself the last of the chocolate milk.
“Actually, Charlie, we’re searching the treehouse today,” Blake said, waving a spoon like a baton. “The clues are pointing outside, and that ‘STONE’ was totally a Thunder Stone hint. Whoever’s behind this is, like, a Pokémon genius.”
Charlie slurped his cereal, milk dribbling on his chin. “Awww. It’s not fair. I can’t climb the ladder good. What if the clue’s up high?”
“Yes, but…” Blake countered, her lawyer voice kicking in, “you’re small, so you can squeeze into tight spots. Team Blake-and-Charlie needs both of us. You do math, I do Pokémon. Deal?”
Charlie grinned, his spoon forgotten. “Deal!”
YiaYia, flipping pancakes nearby, chuckled. “You two and your detective games. Don’t fall out of that treehouse.”
Blake saw her chance. “YiaYia, if we solve this case, can we go to Target? They’ve got new Pokémon packs, and Charlie needs crayons. Right, Charlie?”
Charlie nodded, though he whispered, “It’s not fair. My crayons are okay.” Blake shot him a look, and he clammed up.
“I’ll think about it,” YiaYia said, her eyes twinkling like she knew something. Blake filed that away—YiaYia was tricky, and tricky people made great suspects.
The treehouse was a wobbly fortress of plywood and nails, perched in the backyard oak like a Taillow’s nest. Blake scrambled up the ladder, her binder tucked under one arm, while Charlie clung to the rungs, muttering about fairness. At the top, the treehouse was a mess—old comics, a broken yo-yo, and a half-eaten bag of gummy worms that Charlie swore he didn’t hide. Blake scanned the floorboards, her Pokémon senses tingling.
“Check for clues,” she said. “Anything yellow, blue, red, green, white, or orange, like the papers.”
Charlie pushed a crate aside, his 5-year-old-with-7-year-old strength paying off. “Found something!” he yelled, waving a purple scrap of paper. It read, “BOLT,” in the same wobbly handwriting.
“BOLT!” Blake squealed. “Like Thunderbolt, Jolteon’s best move! There is no doubt this about my card. But where is it?”
Charlie, still on his knees, pointed to a corner. “There’s more!” Tucked in a crack was another clue: a black paper with the number “4” scrawled on it.
“Four?” Charlie said, his math gears turning. “We got twelve, three, and four now. Twelve divided by three is four, right? Maybe it’s… four clues left? Or four Pokémon?”
Blake’s eyes widened. “Literally, Charlie, you’re a genius. Four could refer to Jolteon’s four legs, or… maybe four evolutions? Except Eevee’s got eight evolutions, so that’s weird.” She frowned, her Pokémon expertise hitting a snag. “Let’s keep looking.”
They rummaged through the treehouse, finding nothing but spiderwebs and a lost sock. But as Blake climbed down, she noticed something odd: a small, shiny object wedged in the oak’s bark. It was a tiny plastic Thunder Stone, the kind that came with Pokémon toys. Taped to it was a pink paper with the word “CHARGE.”
“CHARGE!” Blake said, hopping to the ground. “Like Wild Charge, another Jolteon move. This is getting intense.”
Charlie, still on the ladder, whined, “It’s not fair. I didn’t find that one.”
“You found ‘BOLT’ and 4” Blake said, helping him down. “We’re a team, remember?”
Back in the kitchen, they spread out their nine clues. Blake was sure the words—SPARK, SHOCK, BOLT, CHARGE, STONE, EVOLVE—were all Jolteon-related, but the numbers were a puzzle. Charlie, munching a pancake, said, “Maybe twelve minus three is nine, and nine minus four is five? Or… twelve plus three plus four is nineteen?”
Blake laughed. “You’re overthinking it, Math Wizard. But ‘4’ matching twelve divided by three is cool. Maybe it’s a pattern.” She glanced at YiaYia, who was humming innocently. Too innocently. “YiaYia, you sure you didn’t see my Jolteon?”
“Me? I’m just making pancakes,” YiaYia said, but her smile was sneaky. Blake added her to the suspect list, right under Wyatt and above Muffin.
The clues were piling up, but Jolteon was still gone. Blake wondered if the numbers pointed to a place—like page 12 in her binder, or 3 steps from the treehouse. Charlie’s math was key, but her Pokémon knowledge was the glue. They needed more clues, and Blake had a hunch: the garage—where Dad kept his tools and old Pokémon cards—might be next. The mystery was twistier than a Seviper, but Team Blake-and-Charlie was on the case.
Chapter 4
The Garage Gambit
By noon, Puddleby was hotter than a Magmar’s hiccups, and Blake was itching to crack the case. Her missing Jolteon card was taunting her, and the nine clues were like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces upside down. Blake could out-talk anyone, whether it was trading a scuffed Pidgey for a shiny Growlithe or convincing her friend Sarah to lend her a rare Mew card “just for a day”. But she could not figure out what those clues meant. Charlie, five and full of math magic, was kicking a soccer ball in the backyard, grumbling, “It’s not fair…” because Blake got to hold the clue papers.
“Charlie, c’mon!” Blake called, heading for the garage. “The clues are all electric and evolution stuff, but Dad’s got old Pokémon stuff in there. Maybe there’s another hint.”
Charlie kicked his ball, then ran after her. “It’s not fair. The garage is spooky. There’s spiders!”
“Yes, but…” Blake said, opening the garage door, “spiders don’t steal cards. Unless they’re Ariados, and those are rare. Let’s be brave, Co-Detective.”
The garage was a cave of chaos—tools, boxes, and a bike with a flat tire. Dad’s old Pokémon cards were in a dusty shoebox, which Blake had raided once (with permission, mostly). She went straight to the shoebox, while Charlie poked at a stack of paint cans, counting them aloud. “One, two, three… ten cans! Not twelve, though.”
Blake rolled her eyes. “Literally, Charlie, focus. Help me look.” She opened the shoebox, finding faded cards but no Jolteon. Instead, she spotted a clue: a silver paper taped to a rusty Charizard card. It read, “FLASH.”
“FLASH!” Blake said. “Like Jolteon’s Pin Missile—it’s all sparkly and fast. This is so my card’s trail!”
Charlie, crawling under a workbench, squeaked, “I got one!” He held up a brown paper with the number “6” in wobbly handwriting. “Six! Now we got twelve, three, four, and six!”
Blake high-fived him. “Math Wizard strikes again! Okay, what’s twelve, three, four, six? Like, twelve divided by six is two, twelve divided by three is four… maybe it’s a sequence?”
Charlie’s eyes sparkled. “Or… six plus six is twelve! And three plus three is six! It’s pairs!”
Blake blinked. “Literally, you’re blowing my mind. Pairs could mean something—like, pairs of Pokémon? Or pairs of clues?” She was about to dig deeper when she tripped over a toolbox, knocking it open. Inside, nestled among screwdrivers, was another clue: a gold paper with the word “VOLT.”
“VOLT!” Blake said, waving it. “Like Volt Switch! This thief is obsessed with Jolteon moves.”
“It’s not fair,” Charlie said, hugging his soccer ball. “I didn’t find that one either. And I got spider webs on me under that bench.”
“You found ‘6,’ ” Blake reminded him. “And your pairs idea is huge. Let’s figure this out.”
They sat on the garage floor, surrounded by their eleven clues. Blake’s Pokémon brain was buzzing—SPARK, SHOCK, BOLT, CHARGE, FLASH, VOLT were all electric-themed, and STONE and EVOLVE screamed Thunder Stone and Eevee. But the numbers? 12, 3, 4 and 6. Charlie was on it, scribbling on a scrap of cardboard. “Twelve divided by three is four, twelve divided by two is six… maybe it’s about dividing stuff? Like, dividing cards.
Blake nodded, impressed. “Or dividing steps to a hiding spot. Let’s try six steps from here.” They counted six steps from the toolbox, landing at a shelf with Dad’s old radio. Behind it was… nothing. Blake groaned. “This is harder than a Gyarados raid.”
Charlie tugged her sleeve. “What if it’s Dad? He knows Pokémon. He’s got that Charizard card.”
Blake gasped. “Dad? He’s too busy fixing stuff. But… maybe. He’s sneaky enough.” She added Dad to the suspect list, alongside Wyatt, YiaYia, and Muffin (who was probably innocent). The clues were everywhere, but Jolteon was still a ghost. Blake’s negotiation skills might come in handy soon—she could trade Wyatt a card to tell her if he knew something. For now, they needed one more clue to crack the code, and Blake had a feeling the front porch, where Mom kept her gardening stuff, was calling their names.
Chapter 5
The Treasure That Wasn’t a Clue
The Puddleby sun was lazier than a Slakoth by mid-morning, and Blake was starting to think the mystery of her missing Jolteon card was laughing at her. Blake was not only a Pokémon card expert but also a jewelry lover. Her dresser was a glittery shrine of beaded bracelets and fake tiaras. She loved to look in YiaYia’s jewelry box, hoping YiaYia would see her and offer her another beautiful ring or necklace.
Charlie, her five-year-old co-detective, was kicking pebbles in the driveway, his math-brain itching for a new number to crunch. He too was an artist, almost as good as Blake, who could draw a Charizard so fierce it practically breathed fire. Charlie’s Squirtles were pretty great, though, even if he whined, “It’s not fair…” when Blake’s art got more praise. “Actually, Charlie, we’re searching the front porch today,” Blake said, adjusting her favorite sparkly headband. “Mom’s gardening stuff is there—maybe a clue’s hiding in a flowerpot.” Charlie scuffed his sneaker. “Awwww! It’s not fair. The porch is boring. What if there’s bees?” “Yes, but…” Blake said, “bees don’t steal cards. And you’re small enough and strong enough to check under the porch. Team Blake-and-Charlie, right?”
Charlie sighed but followed her to the porch, where Mom’s gardening tools and pots were scattered like a Bellsprout convention. Blake poked through a bag of soil, hoping for a colored paper, while Charlie crawled under the porch swing, muttering about fairness. They searched every corner—behind the watering can, inside a cracked planter—but found nothing. No yellow, blue, or purple scraps. No numbers. Not even a spiderweb. “Literally, this is the worst,” Blake groaned, flopping onto the swing. “What kind of mystery has no clues?” Charlie emerged; dirt smudged on his face. “It’s not fair. I got all dirty for nothing.” But then his eyes caught something glinting in the grass near the porch steps. He scrambled over and dug out a small, gold locket, its chain tangled like a Grimer’s goo. “Whoa!” Blake said, snatching it from his hand. The locket was heart-shaped, with a tiny rose etched on it. Her jewelry-loving heart did a flip. “This is gorgeous! It’s like, vintage. I bet it’s worth a million bucks.” Charlie’s lip quivered. “Awww. It’s not fair! I found it! Why do you get to keep it?” “Yes, but…” Blake started, then stopped. Charlie’s eyes were wet, and she knew a meltdown was coming. “Okay, let’s show YiaYia. Maybe it’s hers.”
They ran inside, where YiaYia was kneading dough for bread. Blake held up the locket, its gold catching the light. “YiaYia, look! We found this by the porch. Can I have it? It’d go perfect with my blue bracelet.” YiaYia’s eyes widened, and she dropped her dough with a plop. “Oh my goodness… that’s my locket! I lost it when I was a little girl, playing in the yard. It’s got a picture of my mama inside.” Blake’s heart danced. She was sure YiaYia would want her to have a reminder of her great grandmother. But Charlie, tears brimming, said, “Awww. It’s not fair! I found it, YiaYia! Blake always gets stuff!” YiaYia knelt, her apron dusted with flour. “Now, Charlie, you both found it. And Blake, this locket’s special to me, but…” She hesitated, looking at Blake’s hopeful face and Charlie’s wobbly lip. “I’ll think about it. For now, it stays with me.” Blake pouted but nodded. “Yes, but… can we at least get a reward? Like, a trip to Target?” Her negotiation skills were always on standby. YiaYia chuckled. “We’ll see. You two are better than a pair of Digletts, digging up treasures.” Back in the living room, Blake was grumpy—no clues, no locket. Charlie was still sniffling, so Blake had an ide She drew tiny lightning bolts for the electric clues and a Jolteon in the corner, its tail curling. Charlie added his adorable Squirtle doodle in the margin, but Blake’s Jolteon was a masterpiece, all sleek and sparkly. The map feels alive, like a Pokémon adventure, with Blake’s polished art and Charlie’s playful scribbles blending perfectly. Blake taped the map to the fridge, proud of their work. “This’ll help us crack the case. Tomorrow, we’re checking the school playground. I bet there’s a clue by the slide.” Charlie nodded, wiping his eyes. “It’s not fair we didn’t find a clue, but the map’s cool.” “Team Blake-and-Charlie,” Blake said, and they fist-bumped, ready for the next hunt—even if Blake was still dreaming of that locket. “Let’s draw a map of where we found the clues. You’re good at art, and I’m awesome at it. Maybe it’ll help us figure out the mystery.” Charlie perked up. They grabbed paper and crayons, and Blake sketched a map of the house and yard, marking the clue locations.
Chapter 6
The Playground Puzzle
By afternoon Puddleby was buzzing like a Beedrill’s nest, and Blake was itching to get back on the Jolteon trail. Her eleven clues were locked in her brain, and the fridge map was her new obsession. Charlie was sketching a Pikachu at the kitchen table, his art skills shining even if Blake’s were sharper. He was still grumpy about the locket, muttering, “It’s not fair…” every five minutes. “Actually, Charlie, the playground’s next,” Blake said, grabbing their map. “Kids trade cards there. Maybe someone left a clue by the slide or swings.” Charlie added a lightning bolt to his Pikachu. “It’s not fair. The slide’s too hot. What if we get burned?” “Yes, but…” Blake said, folding the map, “hot slides mean no one’s there, so we can search in peace. C’mon, Co-Detective.”
They biked to the school playground, the map tucked in Blake’s backpack. The playground was a sun-baked jungle of metal and rubber—slides, swings, and a climbing wall that Charlie avoided because, “It’s not fair, I’m too short.” Blake beelined for the slide, checking under it for colored papers. Nothing. She climbed the monkey bars, peering into corners. Zilch. Charlie, meanwhile, was digging in the sandpit, his hands unearthing bottle caps and a lost yo-yo. “Charlie, focus!” Blake called, but then she spotted Wyatt by the swings, shuffling his card deck. Time for some negotiation.
“Hey, Wyatt! You know anything about my Jolteon? Like, did you hide it for revenge?” Wyatt blinked, clutching his cards. “Nuh-uh! I wouldn’t steal. You already tricked me out of my Vaporeon.” “Yes, but…” Blake said, leaning in, “if you help us, I’ll trade you my extra Machop. Deal?” Whyatt thought about it for 2 seconds, then shook his head. “I didn’t touch your card. But… I saw your Papou here yesterday, acting weird by the climbing wall.” Blake’s eyes narrowed. Papou? He was always tinkering in his workshop, not hanging at playgrounds. She added him to the suspect list, right under Dad. “Thanks, Wyatt. But no Machop for you, then.”
As she turned, Charlie shouted from the sandpit. “Blake! Look!” He held up a teal scrap of paper with the word “THUNDER” scrawled on it. “THUNDER!” Blake said, sprinting over. “Like Jolteon’s Thunder attack! Nice one, Charlie!” Charlie grinned, then pointed to the climbing wall. “There’s more!” Taped to a low rung was a gray paper with the number “2” in wobbly handwriting. “Two!” Charlie said, bouncing. “We got twelve, three, four, six, and two. Twelve divided by six is two! It’s a pattern!” Blake high-fived him. “Literally, Math Wizard, you’re killing it. Maybe the numbers are counting down—twelve, six, four, three, two… to one clue left?”
They checked the climbing wall, finding a final clue: a navy paper under a rock, reading “EEVEE.” Blake gasped. “EEVEE! Jolteon’s pre-evolution! This is actually the Thunder Stone path.” “Awww. It’s not fair,” Charlie said, pocketing a shiny pebble. “You know all the Pokémon stuff.” “But you’re nailing the numbers,” Blake said, updating the map with their new clues: “THUNDER” , “2”, and “EEVEE”. They now had fourteen clues, and Blake’s Pokémon brain was buzzing again—THUNDER, SPARK, SHOCK, BOLT, CHARGE, FLASH, VOLT were Jolteon moves, while STONE, EVOLVE, EEVEE screamed evolution. Charlie’s math was tying the numbers together: 12 ÷ 6 = 2, 12 ÷ 3 = 4. Maybe the final clue would be “1,” completing the set?
Blake glanced at Wyatt, still by the swings, and Papou’s “weird” behavior nagged at her. “Let’s ask Papou tomorrow. He’s sneaky, like YiaYia. Maybe he’s in on it.” Charlie nodded, clutching his pebble. “Team Blake-and-Charlie?” “Always,” Blake said, and they biked home, the map crinkling in her backpack, ready to unravel the next twist.
Chapter 7
Papou’ Office Whodunit
The Puddleby air was thick with summer stickiness, like a Lickitung’s tongue, and Blake was ready to grill Papou like a Magikarp on a campfire. She was a Pokémon card tycoon, always checking card values online to brag about her collection’s value. Her missing Jolteon card was still gone, and the fourteen clues were pinned to the fridge on their crayon-drawn map, a masterpiece of Blake’s sharp lines and Charlie’s wobbly charm. Charlie was doodling a Bulbasaur. He was still annoyed about YiaYia’s locket, muttering, “It’s not fair…” as he colored.
“Actually, Charlie, Papou is our next lead,” Blake said, clutching the map. “
Wyatt said he was acting weird at the playground. Maybe he’s got my Jolteon in his office.” Charlie added a vine to his Bulbasaur. “It’s not fair. Papou’s office is dusty. What if I sneeze?”“Yes, but…” Blake said, her lawyer voice smooth, “you’re tall enough to check his bookshelves and small enough to search under his desk. You’re just the right size for the job. Let’s go.”
Papou’s office was very large and stuffed with books, papers, and camera equipment. Papou, with his white beard, bald head and sneaky grin, was building a complicated Lego set of the Orient Express. Blake marched in, map in hand. “Papou, tell me the truth…. Did you take my Jolteon? Wyatt saw you at the playground, acting all suspicious.”
Papou chuckled, setting down his sandpaper. “Me? I’m just building this Lego train. Why would I want your card? It’s not worth a million bucks, is it?”
Blake’s eyes lit up—card values were her jam. “Well, a PSA 10 Jolteon’s like $50, but that’s not the point. Someone left clues, and you’re sneaky enough to do it.”
“Yes, but…” Papou said, mimicking her tone, “I was at the playground fixing the climbing wall. No card-stealing here.”
Blake wasn’t convinced, but Charlie was already poking around, counting books on the first shelf. “One, two, three… fifteen books! Not twelve, though.” Then he tugged open a desk drawer and gasped. Inside was a lime-green paper with the word “WATT” scrawled in wobbly handwriting.
“WATT!” Blake said, snatching it. “Like Electric Watt, Jolteon’s energy! Papou, this was in your drawer!”
Papou raised an eyebrow. “That’s news to me. I have no idea how that got in my drawer. But if I ever catch who was in my office without permission, they’re gonna be in a mess of trouble. You kids are better detectives than I thought. Maybe you can figure out who put that there. ”
Charlie, digging deeper, found another clue: a beige paper with the number “1” taped to the bottom of a stapler. “One!” he said, bouncing. “We got twelve, six, four, three, two, and one! It’s a countdown!”
Blake high-fived him. “Math Wizard, you’re on fire! Twelve divided by twelve is one, twelve divided by six is two… it’s a pattern. Maybe one clue’s left?”
They searched the office, but Papou’s grin was throwing Blake off. She decided to negotiate. “Papou, if you tell us what you know, I’ll trade you my extra Psyduck card. It’s worth, like, $5.”
Papou laughed. “Tempting, but I’m innocent. Why don’t you check the card shop downtown? Kids are always trading there.”
Blake added Papou to the suspect list, just in case. They updated their map, Blake drawing a lightning bolt for “WATT” and Charlie coloring the workshop lime-green. The new clues—“WATT” (lime-green) and “1” (beige)—fit the electric theme, and Charlie’s countdown idea was spot on. But Jolteon was still missing, and Blake was starting to wonder if the clues were leading somewhere bigger—like a card worth more than her whole collection. Tomorrow they were going to the card shop and Blake’s negotiation skills were ready to shine.
“It’s not fair,” Charlie said, admiring their map. “Your lightning bolts are better than my Squirtle.”
Chapter 8
The Card Shop Caper
By noon, Puddleby was hotter than a Torkoal’s back, and Blake was buzzing like a Jolteon with a plan. Her missing card was out there, and the sixteen clues on their fridge map were her roadmap to glory. Blake was a Pokémon value guru, always bragging that her holographic Charizard was worth $200 (on a good day). Her negotiation skills were legendary—she’d once traded a worn Diglett for a pristine Leafeon by convincing her friend Sarah it was “basically a collector’s item.” Charlie was drawing a Magikarp, his drawings almost as good as Blake’s, who could make a Mew look like it was floating. He was still grumbling, “It’s not fair…” about Papou’s office being so dusty and made him have a sneezing fit.
“Actually, Charlie, the card shop’s our next stop,” Blake said, folding the map. “Kids trade there, and someone might know about my Jolteon. Plus, I can check card prices.”
Charlie added a fin to his Magikarp. “It’s not fair. The card shop is busy. What if I lose my crayons?”
“Yes, but…” Blake said, slinging her backpack, “you can draw a clue picture to help us think. Your art’s awesome.
The card shop was a Pokémon paradise—glass cases with shiny cards, kids shouting trade offers, and a clerk who looked like he’d seen too many Pikachu plushies. Blake scanned the room, her value radar pinging. A PSA 10 Mewtwo was $500! She dreamed of a card worth millions, like the fabled Pikachu Illustrator. Charlie, clutching his crayons, stayed close, eyeing a Squirtle figure.
Blake spotted Sarah by a trading table and went full negotiator. “Sarah, listen. My Jolteon’s missing, and someone’s leaving clues. Do you know anything about that? I’ll trade my extra Jigglypuff—it’s worth $10—for info.”
Sarah smirked. “A Jigglypuff’s, like, $2. And I don’t know about your card. But… I saw your Mom buying card packs here last week. Weird, right?”
Blake’s jaw dropped. Mom? She barely knew Pikachu from Pidgey. Blake added her to the suspect list, above Papou. “Yes, but… if you hear anything, tell me, and the Jigglypuff is yours.”
As Sarah walked off, Charlie tugged Blake’s sleeve. “Look!” He’d found a crimson paper taped under a display case, reading “JOLT” in wobbly handwriting.
“JOLT!” Blake said. “Like Jolteon’s spark! Nice one, Math Wizard!”
Charlie beamed, then pointed to a nearby trash can. “There’s more!” Inside, crumpled but readable, was a violet paper with the number “0.”
“Zero?” Charlie said, scratching his head. “We got twelve, six, four, three, two, one, and zero. Twelve divided by… infinity is zero? That’s weird.”
Blake laughed. “Charlie, you’re literally thinking too hard. Maybe zero means the end, like, no more clues? Or… no value?” Her value-obsessed brain spun—could the clues lead to a worthless card? No way.
They searched the shop but found nothing else. To clear their heads, Blake suggested drawing a clue picture. They sat at a table, and Charlie sketched a Jolteon surrounded by numbers—12, 6, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0—while Blake added electric sparks and words like “SPARK,” “VOLT,” “JOLT.” Her Jolteon was sleek, with dollar signs in its eyes (a Blake touch), while Charlie’s numbers glowed like Poké Balls
Blake taped the picture to their map at home, proud of their art. The new clues—“JOLT” (crimson) and “0” (violet)—fit the electric theme, and Charlie’s countdown (12 to 0) was close to cracking. Mom’s card-shop visit was suspicious, and Blake wondered if the clues were leading to something huge—like a really valuable card . Tomorrow, they’d hit Timmy’s house to rule him out, and Blake’s negotiation skills were ready to close the net.
“It’s not fair,” Charlie said, admiring their picture. “Your Jolteon’s cooler than my Squirtle.”
“Team Blake-and-Charlie,” Blake said, and they high-fived, the mystery sparking brighter than ever.
Chapter 9
Wyatt’s Telltale Trade
Puddleby’s morning sparkled like a Cleffa’s giggle, the air sweet with honeysuckle. Blake strode down the sidewalk, her clue map crinkled in her backpack, her glittery earrings catching the sun. Her binder, with cards worth $500 (she bragged to anyone listening), fueled dreams of high value cards. Charlie, pedaled beside her, his Charmander sketch, with flames almost as fierce as Blake’s Gyarados, tucked in his pocket. “Awwww. It’s not fair. Why is it always me tagging along to Wyatt’s?” he grumbled, dodging a sprinkler.
“Charlie, Wyatt is literally our last suspect,” Blake said, adjusting her sparkly headband. “Your math cracked the countdown. If you quiz him with me, I’ll trade you my Bulbasaur card, worth $8.” Her Pokémon bribe was sneaky good, her grin gleaming.
Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Bulbasaur? Deal!” He pedaled faster, nearly crashing into a mailbox.
Wyatty’s house was a Pokémon shrine—posters of Blastoise, a Pikachu lamp, cards scattered like confetti. Wyatt, sorting his deck, clutched his Vaporeon—Blake’s old trade. Blake went full negotiator. “Wyatt, my Jolteon’s gone, and someone’s leaving clues. Are you behind it? I’ll trade a Jigglypuff, worth $10, for the truth.”
“Jigglypuffs are only $2, Blake,” Wyatt scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t take your card. I’ve been trading with Sarah, not plotting to steal your cards.”
“Yes, but…” Blake countered, leaning in, “you were at the playground when you said you saw Papou acted weird. Fess up, or no Jigglypuff—and I’ll tell Sarah your Vaporeon’s creased.” Her value obsession shone, knowing that even a small crease dropped its value significantly.
Wyatt flushed. “I swear, I just traded at the playground! Papou was fixing some equipment and he was muttering something about ‘sparking fun.’ That’s all!” Blake knew he was telling the truth. Wyatt was too focused on trading to think up a bunch of clues.
Charlie, rifling Wyatt’s card box and found no papers. “It’s not fair—no clues!” he said, kicking a soccer ball. But his math brain whirred. “We got twelve, six, four, three, two, one, zero. Twelve divided by twelve is one, twelve divided by infinity’s zero… one clue left, right, Math Whiz!” Blake said, high-fiving him. “One clue left to find my Jolteon.”
Back home, they updated their map, Blake’s Jolteon crackling with lightning, Charlie’s Squirtle splashing crimson and violet for “JOLT” and “0.” Blake teased, “Your Squirtle’s cute, but my Jolteon’s a beast.” Charlie stuck out his tongue, and they laughed.
Mom’s card-shop visit nagged Blake—too sneaky for a Pikachu newbie. “Attic tomorrow,” she said, suspecting a parental plot. Charlie nodded, they were almost ready to crack the case.
Chapter 10
The Attic’s Mysterious Chest
Puddleby’s noon shimmered like a Lanturn’s glow, dusting the town in summer gold. Blake’s mind was buzzing, her clue map crinkled in her pocket, her beaded necklace glinting as she dreamed of finding the missing Jolteon card from her collection and then making a trade for an even better card to add to it. Charlie followed her to the attic, coughing and rubbing his itchy eyes. “It’s not fair…attics are so dusty,” he said, sneezing as they climbed the creaky stairs.
“Charlie, the attic’s our last chance,” Blake said, firmly. “All you have to do is find the one clue that is left, which is what your numbers predicted. If you find that clue, I’ll sketch you a Charizard, flames blazing.” Her art bribe was a winner. Charlie grinned. “Charizard? Let’s go!” He dodged a cobweb, eyes wide.
The attic was a Pokémon relic vault—boxes of faded cards, a Pikachu plush toy with a droopy ear, a lamp flickering like a Voltorb. Blake’s jewelry obsession perked at a tarnished bracelet in a corner, but she focused on a dusty chest, its lock rusted. Charlie pried it open, revealing old comics and a Squirtle figurine. Blake flipped through a tattered Pokémon Adventures issue, and a glossy card slipped out: a Magikarp, its scales shimmering gold. “Seriously, a Magikarp?!” she said, puzzled. “Pretty, but… lame?”
Charlie grabbed a blue paper tucked in the comic: “SPLASH.” “Magikarp’s move!” he said. “Eighteen clues—twelve, six, four, three, two, one, zero, plus eleven words!” Blake’s brain spun. The electric clues (SPARK, JOLT, VOLT) and evolution hints (EEVEE, STONE) led to… water? “SPLASH fits Magikarp’s Gyarados evolution,” she mused.
Whose chest was this? Not YiaYia’s; she’d claim her locket, but not comics. Dad’s grin last week felt sneaky, but he would deny it. They updated their map, Blake’s Magikarp glowing, Charlie’s numbers (12 to 0) circling in purple. “We will ask Mom and Dad for the truth tomorrow,” Blake said, clutching the card. Charlie high-fived her, their spark splashing toward answers.
Chapter 11
The Parental Plot Revealed
Puddleby’s evening twinkled like a Staryu’s gem, the kitchen warm with cookie scent. Blake gripped her Magikarp card, her bracelet jingling, her $500 binder itching for a new star. Charlie was sketching a Bulbasaur, its vines sharp as Blake’s Mewtwo. “Why’s it always me asking grown-ups?” he said, crayon hovering. “Charlie, we’re cracking this,” Blake said. “Your math got us eighteen clues—grill them, and I’ll trade you my Pidgey, worth $5.” Her card bribe landed.
Charlie nodded, standing tall. “Deal!” Blake spread the clue map, her jewelry obsession noting Mom’s new sapphire necklace? “Mom, Dad, my Jolteon’s gone, and we found this Magikarp in an attic chest with clues—SPARK to SPLASH. Was this YOUR plan?”
“The way I have figured it out is this, said Charlie. Mom went to the card shop and bought the Magikarp. Dad’s grin and Jolteon match the electric clues, and the clues—house, playground, shop—needed grown-ups to hide the clues. Mom and Dad have the Jolteon. It’s all your summer plan to keep us busy!” Blake clapped. “Charlie, you are brilliant.”, she said. Mom laughed, Dad grinned. “You caught us,” Dad said, pulling the missing Jolteon from his wallet. “We set a summer scavenger hunt to keep you busy—Blake’s Jolteon was the spark. But, Charlie, you are wrong about that Magikarp.” Blake squinted. “Mom, you bought packs at the shop!” Mom shrugged. “Just regular packs, not shiny cards.”
Blake pulled out her phone, searching “Shiny Magikarp Neo Revelation.” Her jaw dropped. “It’s worth $5,100!” Mom gasped, Dad whistled. “Five thousand?!” Mom said. “That’s not pocket change! We certainly did NOT buy a five-thousand-dollar Pokémon card. That came from somewhere else.” They checked the chest’s origin. They called YiaYia and Papou and they both swore the chest wasn’t theirs. “Maybe the people who lived in the house before” Papou guessed. No one knew whose chest it was. The owner of the chest in the attic stayed a Puddleby riddle for many years. How did a valuable Pokémon card get into an old chest stuck between old comic book pages in a dusty attic?
Later they updated their map just for fun and for a memory of their summer scavenger hung. They added Blake’s golden Magikarp, Charlie’s Squirtle circling clues—yellow, blue, crimson, violet, blue for SPLASH. “We’re going to Target tomorrow, right?” Blake said, working on YiaYia to take her to their favorite store. This time YiaYia did not say “we’ll see.” This time she said “Yes, tomorrow a trip to Target!”
Chapter 12
The Wand of Fairness
Puddleby’s morning hummed like a Yanma’s wings, the sun bright as a Sunflora. Blake was hyped for Target, her earrings sparkling, her binder now worth $5,600 with the $5,100 Magikarp. Charlie clutched his Magikarp sketch, its gold scales nearly matching Blake’s Charizard. “It’s not fair I don’t have a shiny card,” he said, bouncing in YiaYia’s car. “Charlie, Target is our prize,” Blake said. “Your math solved the Jolteon mystery. Get something epic at target and, also, I’ll draw you a Gyarados because you were a great co-detective.” Her art bribe and flattery worked. Charlie beamed. “Gyarados? Yes!”
Target was Pokémon chaos—card packs stacked high, Pikachu plush toys toppling, kids begging for holos. Blake's trained Pokémon eyes saw a $500 Mewtwo, but quickly said “not a good deal. I can get it cheaper somewhere else. I might even be able to trade for it.” Charlie sprinted to the toy aisle, snagging a magician’s wand with a starry tip and a 64-pack of crayons. “I’m a Math Wizard!” he shouted, waving the wand like a band leader.
At checkout, YiaYia paid, winking—no negotiating necessary. YiaYia loved spending money for toys for her grandkids. Papou always grumbled that she spoiled them. YiaYia said “Yes and it makes me happy.” When they got home, Charlie tied his Pikachu towel as a cape and waved his new wand at Blake. Then spinning it around the living room, he repeated over and over: “From now on, everything will be fair!” Blake huffed. “It’s not fair you get a wand and crayons!” Charlie pointed to her binder. “Yes, but…you’ve got your Jolteon back plus a $5,100 Magikarp!”
Blake grinned, her $5,600 binder a treasure. They drew a final map, Blake’s Magikarp shimmering like a lake, Charlie’s Squirtle juggling crayons. Blake’s art was flawless, but Charlie’s colorful chaos glowed. “Your Squirtle’s a champ,” she said. The chest’s owner—some Puddleby stranger?—stayed a mystery, but with Jolteon back, a $5,100 card in her collection and Charlie’s wand sparking fairness, their summer shone brighter than Magikarp’s scales.
