Ginger had not gone to the creek looking for a mystery. She had gone because the morning was warm, the house felt too quiet, and she wanted to see whether the little pool beneath the fallen cottonwood still had tadpoles in it. She carried an old tin cup for scooping up water, a piece of string she had found in a kitchen drawer, and half a peanut butter sandwich wrapped in waxed paper.

None of these things, Ginger would later realize, were particularly useful for solving mysteries.

She had barely reached the creek when she found the first clue. There in the damp mud beside the water were three deep marks. Ginger crouched down and studied them. They weren't shoe prints, and they weren't the tiny tracks of a rabbit or bird. Each mark looked as though something had pressed three long fingers into the mud.

Ginger looked toward the trees, but nothing moved. She looked back at the tracks. “Hmm,” she said. That was the sound Ginger made when she was thinking very hard.

She followed the marks along the creek until they disappeared beneath a patch of grass. A few feet farther on, she found the second clue—a clump of grayish-brown fur caught on a low branch. Ginger carefully pulled it free. Now she had tracks and fur.

This was becoming serious.

She tucked the fur into her pocket and continued downstream. Before long, she discovered something else: several small stones scattered across the bank and a patch of mud that looked as though someone—or something—had been digging.

Ginger's imagination immediately went to work. Perhaps a strange animal had come down from the mountains. Perhaps it lived underground. Perhaps it came out only at night.

A sudden splash made Ginger jump. She spun around, but there was nothing there. “Who's there?” she called.

The creek burbled past as though it hadn't heard her.

Ginger picked up a stick. She wasn't entirely sure what she planned to do with it, but holding a stick seemed like the sensible thing for a detective investigating an unknown creature.

She moved more carefully now. Near the bend in the creek, she found the strangest clue yet—a shiny silver button. Ginger picked it up and turned it over in her hand.

Animals did not usually wear buttons. At least none she knew.

Her mysterious creature had suddenly become even more mysterious.

Ginger put the button in her pocket beside the fur and continued along the bank. The tracks appeared again near the water, and this time she could see them clearly. Three long toes.

Ginger froze. She had seen tracks like that before.

“Turkey?”

A loud gobble exploded from behind the bushes, and Ginger nearly dropped her stick. Out marched a large wild turkey.

Ginger stared at it. The turkey stared at Ginger. For several seconds, neither one moved. Then the turkey puffed itself up importantly and walked straight past her.

Ginger burst out laughing. “So you're the monster!”

The turkey paid no attention.

That explained the tracks, but it did not explain the fur. Or the digging. Or the button. Ginger frowned. Apparently she had more than one mystery.

She continued downstream until she reached the fallen cottonwood. The little pool was still there, but Ginger had completely forgotten about tadpoles. Something rustled beneath the tree.

Ginger tightened her grip on the stick.

The rustling stopped.

Then a striped face appeared from behind the log.

Ginger's eyes widened as a raccoon climbed slowly into view. Its paws were muddy. Its fur was grayish brown. Scattered around it were several small stones it had apparently moved while poking around the creek bank.

The raccoon looked at Ginger. Ginger looked at the raccoon.

“That explains quite a lot,” she said.

The raccoon turned around and disappeared into the brush.

Ginger sat on the fallen tree and emptied her pockets. The fur belonged to the raccoon. The tracks belonged to the turkey. The disturbed mud and scattered stones were probably the raccoon's work too.

That left only the silver button.

Ginger held it up and was still examining it when she heard voices farther up the creek. Two boys came scrambling down the bank. One of them was looking at the ground.

“I know I lost it somewhere around here,” he complained.

“Lost what?” Ginger called.

The boy stopped. “A button. Off my jacket.”

Ginger looked at the silver button in her hand. Then she looked at the boy.

Her great creek mystery had just become considerably less mysterious.

She handed him the button. “Hey! You found it!” he said.

“I did.”

“Thanks!”

The boys hurried away, and Ginger sat quietly for a moment. Turkey tracks. Raccoon fur. Raccoon digging. A boy's button. Four clues, three perfectly ordinary explanations, and not a single mysterious creature from the mountains.

Ginger wasn't disappointed. Actually, she thought it was rather funny that she had managed to turn a turkey, a raccoon, and a missing button into one enormous mystery.

Then she remembered why she had come to the creek in the first place.

“Tadpoles!”

Ginger hurried to the little pool and knelt beside it. There were dozens of them. She unwrapped her peanut butter sandwich, settled onto a warm rock, and watched them dart through the shallow water.

Then something moved on the opposite bank.

Ginger stopped chewing.

Two yellow eyes were watching her from beneath a tangle of roots.

She leaned forward.

The eyes disappeared.

Ginger waited, but nothing came out.

She smiled and took another bite of her sandwich.

That mystery could wait until tomorrow.