{"product_id":"bridget-vanderpuff-and-the-ghost-train-2-isbn-9780593754108","title":"Bridget Vanderpuff and the Ghost Train #2","description":"\u003cb\u003eFollow the brilliant Bridget Vanderpuff on a thrilling new adventure as she investigates the mystery of the ghost train haunting her town—perfect for fans of Katherine Arden and Beth Lincoln!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBelle-on-Sea is getting ready for the Night of the Hungry Ghosts, the most frightfully fun time of the year. Mr. Vanderpuff's bake will be the centerpiece of the whole parade, but he needs a new creation and he's totally stumped. To make matters worse, salty old seadog Captain Lufty and his Hat Rat, Barry, have warned that something is coming to Belle-on-Sea. Something terrible…\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter a ghost train is seen rattling into town, people start to go missing—first the librarian, then the mayor. Bridget and Tom begin tracking the train's tracks, delighted to be in the thick of another mystery.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen the unthinkable happens: the ghost train takes Mr. Vanderpuff! Someone—or some\u003ci\u003ething\u003c\/i\u003e—is out to destroy Belle-on-Sea. But they've forgotten one important detail… This is Bridget's town.\"An absurd, sincere, and whimsical series...A charming readalike for fans of Roald Dahl’s \u003ci\u003eMatilda\u003c\/i\u003e.\"—\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Wordplay, creative inventions, ample footnotes, and boisterous illustrations continue the playful, energetic, and occasionally over-the-top vibe...A delectable concoction that contains a dash of Sherlock Holmes and a sprinkling of the supernatural.\"—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003eMartin Stewart is an award-winning Scottish author and former secondary school English teacher who likes to eat a lot of cake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid Habben is an illustrator and fine artist based in Salt Lake City, Utah.\u003cb\u003e1\u003cbr\u003e Footsteps\u003cbr\u003e memories * lockpicks * surprises\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBridget Vanderpuff slid another lockpick from her teeth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Can’t you go any faster?” asked Tom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget thinned her lips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Tom Timpson,” she whispered, reaching for her Listening Glass. “I am going as fast as I can.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “But I—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eSsh!\u003c\/i\u003e”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget pressed on the earpieces.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nothing—­just the breeze from the open window, the bubble of voices in the street, and the distant hiss of evening’s tide.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “No footsteps. We’ve still got time.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eTime?\u003c\/i\u003e” hissed Tom. “There’s no \u003ci\u003etime\u003c\/i\u003e! I’m going to get caught, again, and I’ll ruin \u003ci\u003eeverything\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget shook her head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Why you thought hiding in a \u003ci\u003eglass\u003c\/i\u003e cabinet would—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I \u003ci\u003esaid\u003c\/i\u003e sorry. This is hopeless, isn’t it? There’s no way you’ll be able to—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Do you remember the Orphanage?” Bridget said quickly, producing a new lockpick from her explosion of orange hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tom blinked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Of course I do.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Good,” said Bridget. She angled the pick—­a hooploop—­into the little brass lock. “And do you remember the bear trap in Miss Acrid’s office?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They shared a grin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Of \u003ci\u003ecourse\u003c\/i\u003e I do,” he said again. “I lost count of the number of times she put me in that thing.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “One hundred and seventy-six,” said Bridget, who never lost count of anything. She gave the lockpick another \u003ci\u003etwist\u003c\/i\u003e, then took a different one—­a tweezle-tip—­from her hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I never did anything to deserve that bear trap,” said Tom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget raised an eyebrow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Oh, all \u003ci\u003eright\u003c\/i\u003e,” said Tom, holding his hands up. “Maybe \u003ci\u003esometimes\u003c\/i\u003e I—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Put cod liver oil in Miss Acrid’s apple juice?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “That was \u003ci\u003eyour\u003c\/i\u003e idea, I just—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Tied the enormous laces of her enormous boots to the ceiling fan, then turned it up to ‘Good Heavens That’s Fast’?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Well, yes, but it \u003ci\u003ewas\u003c\/i\u003e you who put the—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Paint in her toothpaste?” interrupted Bridget.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They laughed quietly. Tom’s breath fogged inside the cabinet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “What did she shout at us?” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget leaned back, pulled her hair over her ears, and screamed: “All \u003ci\u003eright\u003c\/i\u003e, you horrrrrid little \u003ci\u003eur\u003c\/i\u003echins! \u003ci\u003eWhaaaaii\u003c\/i\u003e are my lovely \u003ci\u003etooths\u003c\/i\u003e all \u003ci\u003ebogg\u003c\/i\u003eing and bloooo?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tom shuddered—­the impersonation of Miss Acrid’s seagull shriek was chillingly good.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I’m glad she’s gone,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Not just gone.” Bridget nodded. “Locked up in Barefoot Prison.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She checked the Listening Glass again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There \u003ci\u003ewas\u003c\/i\u003e something: a distant rumble, as of thunder heard from under a blanket . . . then all was silent, leaving only the grandfather clock \u003ci\u003etick tocking\u003c\/i\u003e outside Bridget’s Room of Bed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She \u003ci\u003econcentrated\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tom watched her fingers dancing on the lock, eyes closing as she listened to the whispers and clicks of the pins inside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Does it ever make you sad?” he asked, gazing up at the teeming shelves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget breathed in, her blood bubbling with Vanderpuff’s sensory \u003ci\u003ewhoosh\u003c\/i\u003e: smells she could taste—­fragrances she could almost \u003ci\u003ehear\u003c\/i\u003e, such was their\u003ci\u003e zinging, smacking, popping\u003c\/i\u003e power.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Butter. \u003cbr\u003e                         Strawberries. \u003cbr\u003e          Vanilla. \u003cbr\u003e                                        Chocolate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her heart quickened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Each scent played like a musical note in her mind, a mouthwatering wave of orchestral yumminess that filled her with so much joy she thought she might burst with happiness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “What could possibly make me sad?” she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “You know . . .” said Tom, picking at his sleeve. “The Orphanage. Being an Errant Child. The dungeon. The Great Maze. \u003ci\u003eAll\u003c\/i\u003e of it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003ePfft,\u003c\/i\u003e” said Bridget, blowing up a tendril of fringe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “What did you say?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I said \u003ci\u003epfft\u003c\/i\u003e! So what if Miss Acrid dropped me in the Bottomless Pit! It never—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Why would an orphanage need a \u003ci\u003eBottomless Pit\u003c\/i\u003e?” asked the mayor, who was hiding behind the curtains.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “It wasn’t \u003ci\u003ereally\u003c\/i\u003e bottomless, ma’am,” said Bridget. “It only went down for three or four miles.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The curtains wobbled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “She also locked you in a suitcase and threw you in the lake,” said Tom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Not just a suitcase,” replied Bridget.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A trunk.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A backpack.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Holdall.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Satchel.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Clutch.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The clutch \u003ci\u003ewas\u003c\/i\u003e a bit of a squeeze,” admitted Bridget. “But I always got out. Didn’t I?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tom gave her a soft smile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Always.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget took a scooptop pick from her hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “And I always got you out of that bear trap, didn’t I?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tom put his hand on the glass.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Every time,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget pressed her hand against his.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “So I always had you beside me, singing something silly.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eSilly?\u003c\/i\u003e” said Tom. “I thought you liked ‘Good Luck, Mr. Chipmunk!’”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  “That glass thing is moving,” said Mr. Constantine, the stationer, from behind a pot plant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget spun around.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Listening Glass was hopping on the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She snatched up the earpieces.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eFootsteps.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Loud and clear—­and getting closer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Oh, Bridget!” wailed Tom. “I’m sorry! Just throw a blanket over me, or—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eSssshh!\u003c\/i\u003e” hissed Bridget, swapping back to the hooploop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Blocking out the rattle of the Listening Glass, she focused on the lock’s tickling pins, working the pick like a cellist’s bow until, with a neat, spinning \u003ci\u003eclick\u003c\/i\u003e, the pins aligned—­and the lock swung open.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “You did it!” hissed Tom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Listening Glass toppled on its side.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Quick!” whispered Bridget, pulling him free in a shower of crumbs. “Hide!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The door burst open, silhouetting a man wearing sparkling chef’s whites and a towering, cream-whip hat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mr. Ernest Vanderpuff—­the world’s finest baker—­stepped into the shop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Hello?” he said. “Is somebody there?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eSURPRISE!\u003c\/i\u003e” shouted Bridget, leaping to her feet alongside Tom, the mayor, and all the people of Belle-on-Sea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They laughed as the great man staggered backward,hat clutched to his chest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Good heavens, my dear!” said Mr. Vanderpuff, hugging Bridget and lifting her from the floor. “I nearly jumped out my clogs! Whatever is going on?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Oh, Bridget, you did it!” said Pascal. He climbed onto Bridget’s shoulder. “If Tom had been seen, the surprise party would have been \u003ci\u003eruined\u003c\/i\u003e!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A surprise party?” Mr. Vanderpuff beamed as people began clapping him on the back. “For me?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bridget wrapped her arms round his waist, and gave him a humungous hug.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Happy birthday, Dad!” she said.","brand":"Penguin Workshop","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300086108389,"sku":"NP9780593754108","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593754108.jpg?v=1767723077","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/bridget-vanderpuff-and-the-ghost-train-2-isbn-9780593754108","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}