Date Published: 06-13-2024
Publisher: Magnetic Lion Productions
The chipocalypse is the greatest mystery to hit the seaside town of Fry Cove. Join Steven F Seagull on the adventure of a lifetime in this Pencraft Best Book engaging read about courage, friendship and teamwork, which reviewers hail as ‘an unexpected delight.’
Who stole the chips? Was it the Deny the Fry colony, who want all seagulls to quit eating chips? Or was it the seagull mafia boss, Stefano Giacomo, who has concocted a dastardly plot to convert all seagulls to pizza and pasta? As part of the newly formed CIA (Chips Investigation Agency), our reluctant hero, along with Charlie, Steven Colton, the karate chopping Bart, and Steven Rhys pit their wits to solve the mystery.
Whether you’re a fan of whimsical tales or simply in need of a feel-good read, this Readers' Favourite 5 Star ‘war of the best carbohydrates’ book is sure to leave you smiling.
Excerpt
Nervous, I flew alongside my dad, wondering what to expect. Fry Cove looked so peaceful and calm from the air, hiding the chip chaos. Dad took me to a rooftop on the edge of Fry Cove, where we found a hole and squeezed inside the lair of his ex-crime fighting friend.
It was dark inside, except for the light coming through the hole. A seagull emerged from a shadowy corner, smoke surrounding him in a cloudy haze.
“Who goes there?” he grumbled.
My dad held up his wings like he was surrendering.
“It’s okay, it’s me, Steven Petronius.”
A bedraggled seagull hopped forward, a twig drooping from the corner of his beak.
“Hmph, long time no see,” he said. “How long was it since we were both in the seagull police force?”
They slapped each other on the back, and began chuckling.
“This is Steven Sherlock,” my dad said. “He’s a very old friend.”
Both of them tipped their heads back and cackled, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!”
“Remember the time we busted that American fries racket?” Steven Sherlock said.
“Oh yeah,” Dad said. “Our finest hour.” He beckoned to me. “This is my son, Steven Fitzgerald.”
The ex-detective’s eyes scanned me.
“A fine boy,” he commented. “What can I do for you? Is it anything to do with the chipocalypse?”
“Still as sharp as ever!” my dad said. “My boy just joined the newly formed CIA, or Chips Investigation Agency. Its mission is to solve the mystery of our missing chips, and restore order in Fry Cove.”
I gulped, my mind racing at the thought of the responsibility I had accepted.
“That’s brave of you,” said Steven Sherlock. “Pull this off, and you’ll be the hero of Fry Cove.”
I hung my head low, knowing I was far from heroic.
“Unfortunately, Steven Zeus put the Artful Dodger in charge of the CIA,” Dad said, shaking his head.
“That fool,” Steven Sherlock scoffed. “So, it means you need all the help you can get.”
He finished his twig, and stubbed it out on the floor.
My dad asked, “Have you got any old tools of the trade to get my boy started?”
Steven Sherlock lifted a wing tip in a lightbulb moment.
“I have something that could help.”
He waddled to the side of the room, which received light from the hole. Pulling out a drawer, he dipped in, lifting something out. It was shiny, but dusty. He dropped it on the floor with a clunk.
“You’ll find this useful when looking for clues,” he said. “It’s my old spy glass.”
He demonstrated by picking it up with one foot, peering through it.
“You can see many things not visible to the seagull eye. It makes tiny things bigger.”
“That’s…great,” I said, not sure how it would help.
“Hmmm,” Dad said. “What else do you have in your arsenal?”
Steven Sherlock rubbed his wings together with glee.
“Glad you asked! I have the full Chip Stealing Investigation tools here!”
He used his beak to pull a cord. A series of drawers and cupboards popped out, revealing a full range of crime fighting equipment. There was so much technology, it made my mind boggle.
“Here, we have a sophisticated tool for analysing wing tip prints.”
I stared at the equipment wide-eyed.
“While over here,” he added, “I have some special cement for making casts of footprints, chalk for drawing around dead gulls, and a poop splatter examination kit. It can also analyse ketchup, mayonnaise, and even barbeque sauce smears.”
“It’s so…hi-tech,” I said.
“You’re in the best of wings,” Dad said. Turning to Steven Sherlock, he added, “Where do you suggest my boy starts?”
He pulled the cord again, and the equipment rolled back into its secret location.
“Go to the places of previous chip sightings, and use the spy glass to find clues. Take samples of any ketchup smears or small items that you think are suspicious, then bring them back to me in these little bags.”
He passed me some empty chip bags.
“Okay,” I said, my voice quite shaky.
“You can do this,” Dad said. “I believe in you.”
It was time to show Fry Cove my capabilities, but could I live up to my dad’s expectations?
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