The Powder Puff Puzzle Read Online Free

asked.
    Dawn turned the corner. “Right here.”
    “Right here?”
    Dawn stopped to take a breath.
    She pointed.
    “I don’t see anything,” said Jason. “Not one thing.”
    “You see a house,” said Dawn.
    “A yuck green spinach house,” said Jason.

    Dawn went up the front path. She looked up.
    The painter was up on the ladder.
    The roller was on a pole. It was going up and down.
    “Hey,” Dawn yelled. “Do you have a car?”
    “A red one. It looks like a mess.” The painter pushed at the red striped hat. A long skinny tail of hair fell down the back.
    It looked like a gray mousetail.
    “Hey,” said Jason. “A woman painter.”
    “Pauline,” said the painter.
    Dawn slapped her hat down on her head. “That’s the name on the license plate.”
    The painter rolled some paint across the side of the house. “That’s right,” she said.
    “But where’s the car?” Dawn asked.
    Pauline came down the ladder. She was carrying a can of green paint.
    It was nearly empty.
    She pointed with her thumb. “Car is out in back. In the shade. It’s too hot in the driveway for my cat.”
    “Your cat?” Dawn gulped. “I lost mine.”
    “A gray cat?” Pauline asked.
    Dawn shook her head. “No, black.”
    “White spot on his nose?”
    Dawn shook her head again. “No, on his ear.”
    “Does he have a tip on his tail?” Pauline asked.
    “Yes, a white one.”
    Pauline grinned. “This one has a green one. He got his tail in some paint.” She leaned forward. “What’s his name?”
    “Powder Puff.”
    “Hmm,” said Pauline. “I call my cat Jumper.”
    “That’s a crazy name for a cat,” Jason said.
    “Crazy cat,” said Pauline. “He jumped right into my car. He ate my lunch. He drank my soda.”
    Dawn took a step forward. “I think . . .”
    Pauline was smiling at her. “I think so too.”
    “How did you guess?” Jason asked.
    Dawn took a breath. “I knew Pauline was in the bakery. She was eating a cookie.”
    “Larry said the painter was in the bakery,” Jason said.
    “Right,” said Dawn. “Then I saw the green paint at the hardware store.”
    Jason frowned. “I don’t . . .”
    “Pauline was carrying a box. A heavy one.”
    “Cans of paint,” said Pauline.
    “That’s what I thought,” said Dawn.
    They went around to the back of the house.
    Pauline’s car was parked under a tree.
    The windows were open wide.
    Powder Puff was curled up on a pillow asleep.
    “Good thing I’m a private eye,” said Dawn. “This cat was probably lonesome for me.”
    “I’ll miss this cat.” Pauline smiled. “Wake up, Jumper,” she said. “It’s time to go home.”

A Biography of Patricia Reilly Giff
    Patricia Reilly Giff came from a family of storytellers. She learned to read when she was four and never stopped, delighted with that widening world of story. She read through her classes in her elementary school, St. Pascal Baylon, and through her years at her high school, the Mary Louis Academy. Perhaps that’s why math and science are still so mysterious to her.
    She majored in history and education at Marymount College and then went on to St. John’s University for a master’s degree in history, delighted that she could read her way through the lives of kings and queens, through plagues and wars.
    In 1959, she married James Giff, a New York City detective, who had stories of his own. It was a perfect match because he thought it was fine that she spent hours reading instead of attending to the pots on the stove or the potatoes growing in the closet.
    She spent the next twenty years raising their three children—James, William, and Alice—teaching, first in New York City and then Elmont, Long Island, and attending Hofstra University for a professional diploma in reading.
    But always she wanted to write stories of her own, so her husband built her a small office out of two closets in the kitchen.
    That was the beginning. She wrote about her childhood and her children, she wrote about the