Читать книгу The Great Mistake Mysteries 3-Book Bundle - Sylvia McNicoll - Страница 9

I don’t sleep great, squished against the wall by Ping and Pong. Next morning the phone wakes me. Dad calls me downstairs and, standing at the kitchen counter, hands me the receiver. It’s Mom and she’s at the airport in Amsterdam just finishing her lunch. “Hi, Stephen, how are you?”

I tell her about the fire alarm and remote-control bomb-detonating robot. “Then, in the middle of the night, there was a Volkswagen Beetle driving in the school parking lot.”

“The new model or the classic?”

“The classic.”

“I love those. You don’t see them that often.”

“It was the middle of the night, Mom.”

“You’re reading too much into things again. The fire alarm and the car don’t have anything to do with each other. People go for drives. Teenagers like to park and kiss late at night, you know.” She sighs. “Listen, I heard a great story from one of the other flight attendants.”

“Nothing involving pilot errors, right?”

“No, of course not.” Over the thousands of miles between us, I can hear the smile in her voice.

I smile, too.

“Yesterday, at LaGuardia Airport, a mastiff escaped from the cargo hold.”

“Don’t dogs have to be in cages to fly?” Already, her story makes me uneasy. Where are Ping and Pong? Oh good, I can see them outside the patio door. Dad’s let them out. “How could a mastiff escape from a cage?”

“They figure he chewed open his carrier, and when the baggage handlers came to get the luggage, he just burst through the door.”

“It’s really not safe for animals to travel in cargo, is it?”

“Lots of passengers are allergic, not just me, Stephen. It wouldn’t be healthy for us to have them in the cabin.”

I twinge with guilt over keeping Ping and Pong at our house overnight. Will they make Mom wheeze?

She continues. “So the escape isn’t the worst of it. The dog gallops away from the baggage handlers. And, of course, Flushing Bay borders the runway.”

“He doesn’t drown, does he?”

“No, no, silly.” She chuckles. “But he does jump in and starts swimming as fast as he can to get away from them. Forty-five minutes later, the coast guard finally catches up to him. By this time, the mastiff is so exhausted he’s happy to get in the boat.”

“That’s a great story,” I tell her. Where are Ping and Pong, anyway? Next door the Lebels have an in-ground pool, and there’s a gap under our fence.

I slide the patio door open but don’t call out to the dogs. Mom can’t know we’re keeping them at our house.

“Listen, I’ve got to go,” Mom says. “They’ve just finished repairing the engine, so we’re ready for boarding.”

“Did you have engine trouble?” I step outside and walk toward the gap.

“Gotta go. Love you, Stephen. See you Friday.” Click.

“Love you, too, Mom,” I whisper to a dead phone. Then I look under the fence. “Ping! Pong!”

It’s a warm day for October, and I can feel the hair at the back of my neck getting moist. Suddenly, there’s a rattle in the bushes behind me. Ping leaps on my back; Pong noses at my knees. I slump under their attack. “Come on in, guys.” I sigh but can’t help smiling as they follow me.

Inside, Dad smiles back at me and passes a bowl of oatmeal across the counter.

“They fixed the engine on the plane. Mom had to go,” I tell him.

He raises one eyebrow. “You know the mechanics always look over the planes between flights. That’s how they keep them safe.”

After twenty years of working at airports, Dad would know — I shrug my shoulders and sit down to eat. Ping and Pong look hopeful at my feet.

“What will we feed them?” I ask.

“I’m testing out my special dog stew.” He buzzes the food processor. “Leftover chicken from last night, mixed with carrots and oatmeal.” He sets down a couple of bowls on the floor.

They rush the bowls. Like I said, Dad’s a great cook, for dogs.

“Okay, so you’re off to school. I’m off to walk other dogs. These guys —”

“I can take them home and let them out at lunch.”

“You’ll need a note, then.” Dad grabs a sheet of Noble Dog Walking stationery and dashes off a permission note. “I’ve made it out for the whole week.”

“Great.” I grab it and stuff it in my backpack.

“Hurry and get dressed now. You’ll need to leave earlier to get these guys settled.”

The first mistake of the day turns out to be not asking Dad to drop off the dogs because I can’t hurry enough. By the time I struggle with them and their leashes and walk them to their house, not only do I feel bad for leaving them, I’m also ten minutes late for school, just enough to need a slip from the office.

As I head for the walkway at the front of the building, I’m surprised to see so many kids still outside. They seem to be heading in the other direction, laughing and chatting along the way like it’s the most normal thing. This feels like one of those nightmares where everyone knows something I don’t. “Hey, guys?” I want to call. But thinking of the fire alarm yesterday and how stupid I looked when I called out then, I stay quiet and try to figure it out myself. Why isn’t everyone settling down in their classrooms, waiting for announcements?

Then I spot the two police cars in the parking lot.

I try the front door and discover it’s locked. Something is terribly wrong.

day two, mistake two

“School’s closed for today. Go home.” The custodian, Mrs. Klein, walks up from behind me, coffee cup in hand.

“Why? It’s really nice out so we don’t even need the furnace today. Did the pipes burst?”

She shakes her head. “A car drove through the back doors.” Mrs. Klein sits down on the steps, sighs, and sips from her cup. “I found it when I came in this morning. Still running.”

“Was anybody hurt?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No one was in the car and no one was in the building. Some bricks are damaged, the doors and frame are wrecked, plus a couple of banks of lockers.”

“Was it an accident?” I remember Mr. Ron telling me how he learned to drive. Late at night might be the best time to practise in a school parking lot.

She shakes her head again. “Oh, no, someone drove it into the doors on purpose. And the car ran for a long time. The halls are full of fumes.”

Something bothers me about this, something I can’t put my finger on. “So, when will school open? When the doors get repaired?”

“No, it won’t take that long. When the air clears. We’ve got huge fans in here blowing. Tomorrow we should be fine.”

I shrug my shoulders. “So everyone gets a holiday.”

“Not everyone,” she grumbles. “It’s convenient for Mrs. Watier, though. She’s going to have extra time to get ready for her rehearsal tea. And good for the rest of the teachers.” Mrs. Klein frowns. “But I’m cleaning up the broken bits of wall and locker in here.”

“You’re not invited to the tea?” I feel sorry for Mrs. Klein. It’s like she’s Cinderella.

“Well, I’m not part of the wedding party, so that makes sense. I wish they’d remembered to invite me to the special assembly, though. I had to ask them to let me sign the card.” Another sigh. “If you do your job right in this business, most people don’t think about you much.” She sips and swallows hard. “You have a good day, though, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

A mom with a little kindergarten-sized kid at her side walks up now, and Mrs. Klein repeats the news.

I stand there for a moment, mouth hanging open, as I take in the details a second time, all the while remembering last night, the dogs growling, that car …

Mrs. Klein didn’t say it was a Volkswagen, but when I shake myself out of it, I cut to the back of the school to get to the path. The yellow crime tape screams out warning and danger to me. I feel a little sick but I have to see anyway. A tow truck starts up just as I pass, and sure enough, it drags out a squashed orange VW Beetle.

I take a deep breath.

Nothing to do about it now. First a bomb threat, then a car smashes into the school. Am I the only one who sees the link? Last night we definitely should have called the police.

At least this means I can go get Ping and Pong and give them a morning walk. Mr. Ron twirls his stop sign as I approach the crosswalk. He’s wearing his hat backwards today. Makes him look like a big kid.

“Betcha this is your dream come true, Stephen. A day off in the middle of the week. Yup, yup.” Mr. Ron grins, then whistles and holds his stop sign up.

“Kind of scary,” I tell him as he struts across the street ahead of me. “What if we’d been in the school when the car crashed?”

“Oh, don’t you think it was planned to happen after hours?” He tips his head.

“Smashing into a school…. Why would anyone plan that?”

“Maybe Mrs. Watier will get the new gym for your school now. Did you ever think of that?”

“No, I didn’t.” I step onto the sidewalk and he follows. “Thanks, Mr. Ron.”

“Yup, yup. Have fun on your day off.”

“Sure.” I head straight for the Bennetts’ house. I must have left the dogs not twenty minutes ago, and yet, they act as though they haven’t seen me in a month. Ping leaps over Pong to get to me. Pong slaps him away with his tail and jumps on my legs for a pat. Ping yelps and springs straight into the air to plant a lick on my lips. Yuck!

Still, they make me forget everything. I sit down with them on the floor, accepting their happiness and patting them everywhere I can reach. Then I snap their leashes on.

I don’t feel like leading them past the school. A different walk is not only good for their minds, it’s also good for avoiding explosions and car smashes at schools. I head for the other path into the park, the one that leads us right by the community centre. A few skateboarders are fooling around in the concrete pit right next to it. I watch them until I hear some pounding on the library window.

I look toward it and see Renée. She’s wearing her hair in pigtails with sparkling clips today; they sort of look like Ping’s ears up at attention. She holds up a finger for me to wait.

Then she tears away from the window.

Here she comes, I think, ready to be a know-it-all about everything.

The door flings open.

“I know all about the Beetle crashing into the school already,” I tell her.

She ignores my testy tone. “You have to help me,” she cries. “You must have seen something. You have a perfect view of the school from your house.”

Is it my imagination or has the whole skateboard crowd stopped to listen?

“Maybe I did,” I say much more quietly.

A cyclist whirs by us, hand in the air, brushing all the leaves in the tree. He’s the tall freckle-faced kid with rusty hair in grade eight at our school, friendly-looking. Everyone calls him Red. At the library, he dismounts and heads past us to lock up his bike at the rack. He doesn’t seem to notice us at all. Still, I wait for him to finish.

Then I make what could be the biggest mistake of the day, mistake number two, when I ask Renée, “How can I help you?”

day two, mistake three

Renée looks around and lowers her voice. “Here, let me take Ping.”

I hand her his leash.

Suddenly, we hear someone call, “Hey, Ping!” Red, the cyclist, turns from the library door and walks back toward us. Ping rushes to greet him and gets rewarded with pats, so of course, Pong muscles in for attention.

Renée takes deep breaths. I know she’s dying for the guy to leave.

He suddenly squints up at me, his grey eyes sharp with suspicion. “What are you doing with the Bennetts’ dogs?”

Immediately, I pull out a Noble business card and hand it to him. “I’m their walker. The Bennetts are away for a few days, so I’m looking after Ping and Pong for them.”

He studies the card. “Oh, okay.” He tries to pass the card back.

“That’s all right. You keep it. Maybe you know someone who needs a pet walked.”

Renée rolls her eyes.

The cyclist nods. “Our Pomeranian could use a lot more exercise. She’s getting a pot.” He tucks the card into his front pocket and heads back for the library.

Renée lets go a gigantic sigh.

“I just want to help my dad grow his business, Renée.” We start walking, the dogs sniffing along the grass as we go.

“Yeah, well, you’re handing your phone number to people you don’t even know.”

“It’s a business phone. That’s what it’s for.” Still, Renée plants a worry in my head. Maybe this is mistake number three of the day, only it’s something I do on other days all the time. “We both know Red from school.”

“Never mind that now. Come over here. Sit, Ping! Give them treats so we can talk.”

Both of the dogs slump under the tree, and I give them each a liver bite.

“So, what did you see?” Renée asks.

“Well, the dogs came to stay with me last night. And around midnight, they started barking out the window. I got up to see what their fuss was about and saw that Volkswagen Beetle in the parking lot.”

“Who was driving it?”

“Remember there’s only one light over the parking lot — I couldn’t tell.”

“Darn. So you can’t ID the perp for the police.”

“No. Why? Are you planning to join the force?”

“My brother texted me twenty minutes ago. The police officers took him in for questioning.”

“Can you blame them? He did spray paint a tank crashing into the wall of Champlain High.”

Renée frowns. “And the Beetle belongs to him.”

“Attila owns a car?” Ping gives a little growl now, so I dump out two more treats for the dogs.

Renée nods. “My grandfather gave it to him.”

“But I saw Mr. Sawyer driving it yesterday afternoon.”

“You know Mrs. Watier had him transferred to Champlain High.”

I didn’t know that, actually. “So, he’s custodian there, now. I’m glad he didn’t lose his job totally.”

Pong stretches out and flips to his back. Rubbing his tummy soothes him and me. Don’t get too attached to the clients, I hear my father’s voice in my head.

“My brother and some of his classmates were working on the Beetle during auto shop. Everyone has access to the keys there. Mr. Sawyer probably borrowed it.”

“Mrs. Watier was driving it yesterday evening.”

“She’s marrying Attila’s shop teacher, Mr. Moody.”

“So, she borrowed it, too?”

Renée nods. “Someone put something in her car’s gas tank. It stalled on the way to the high school, so she borrowed the Beetle to get to her appointment.”

“The wedding dress fitting, I remember. How did you find out about the gas tank, though?”

She chews the side of her mouth. “Well, my brother and his friends were laughing about it last night.”

“How did they know about it?”

“They didn’t do it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Well, they do have a strange sense of humour.” I stop patting Pong as he sits up and begins scratching his ear. “And your brother’s graffiti on the high school wall was a picture of a crash, after all. You can see how the police might suspect him.”

She nods as she scrubs at Ping’s head. “I swear it wasn’t Attila.”

“How can you be so sure?” I ask.

“Because he was souping the car up for Beetle Cruise Night at the mall. He might like painting a picture of a crash on a wall, but he would never have crashed that car.”

My phone plays a funny half-note and I grab it to answer. “Hey, I’m getting my first text message ever!” I select the little envelope icon and find a strange sentence from someone named M.Y.O.B.

Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. Otherwise, the dogs will get it.

So, who is this M.Y.O.B.? Mistake number three was definitely handing that particular person my business card.

day two, mistake four

My breathing speeds up and my heart does a drum roll as the message sinks in. “Oh my gosh, Renée. Someone’s threatening me.”

“Calm down and let me see.” She grabs the phone and stares at the message. “We have to take this to the police.”

“Are you kidding?” I look at Ping and Pong and want to hide them somewhere. “M.Y.O.B. will hurt the dogs.”

“But it will prove my brother isn’t the criminal. He doesn’t even know your number.”

“I may have given him my business card.”

Renée nods her head. “Of course you did. Is there anyone in all of Brant Hills who doesn’t have the Noble Dog Walking business card with your cell number on it?”

I frown. Dad and I handed out flyers with the card stapled to it. Everyone in the neighbourhood should have one by now. “Pass me back my phone.” I grab it, hit reply, and thumb type: I don’t know anything.

A few moments later, there’s a half-chime. Another message from M.Y.O.B. Fine, better keep it that way!

“Are you going to the police with me?” Renée asks.

“They’re only questioning your brother. They’ll find out about all the others who drove the car, without me having to risk the dogs.”

“The others were adults. They’re going to pin it on a kid first.” She frowns. “Are you sure you didn’t see something? M.Y.O.B. seems to think you did.”

“I wish I could remember. But something bothers me about what Mrs. Klein told me.”

“What?” Renée asks.

“She said the halls were full of fumes because the car ran all night. Once the driver jumped out, wouldn’t the car just shut down?”

“You didn’t hear about the brick on the accelerator?”

“No. You know more about this than I do. Why isn’t M.Y.O.B. threatening you?”

“When you were standing at your window, did you have your lights on?”

I think for a moment. “Sort of. Three night lights, anyway.”

“Whoever drove that car must have seen you and thinks you saw him.”

“You could be right. We need to test that.” I think for a moment. “What makes you think it’s a him. It could have been Mrs. Watier.”

“Seriously, why would she do that to her own school?”

“Maybe ’cause she wants to add a new gym.” I repeat Mr. Ron’s idea. “With that area wrecked anyway, the school board might let her.”

“And the bomb threat? Did she send that to her own office? She’s trying to get ready for her wedding this Saturday.” Renée pats Ping’s back absent-mindedly, without noticing what he’s doing, which is licking his personal parts.

“Does your brother like dogs?” I ask.

She glances down at Ping, and he jumps up to lick her face. She pulls away in the nick of time. “No, Attila got bitten once. Badly. But he’s still at the police station, remember?”

Beethoven’s Fifth suddenly plays from her pocket and she pulls out her phone. She squints at the screen. “Check that. Attila is at home now. Mom’s there, too. Gotta go.” She stands and Ping and Pong both spring up.

“See, he’s been released.” I smile. “And we’ve kept the dogs out of danger.” Ping and Pong cool the air with their wagging tails.

“Don’t you ever watch crime shows? It’s always a mistake to give in to the criminals.”

I frown. Renée’s almost always right. Mistake number four could very well be doing what M.Y.O.B. tells me.

day two, mistake five

I feel bad about not helping Renée’s brother, so the dogs and I walk her home. On the way we pass Mr. Ron at the bus stop. I barely recognize him without his yellow and orange vest and crossing guard cap. Plus, he has a Blue Jays cap pulled backwards on his head.

“Hi, kids.”

I blink a couple of times. He seems happy, and way less sweaty, but his hands look large and empty. “Going to the mall to get a birthday present for my maw.” He holds those big hands open to me. No stop sign in them. “Great to have the free day. Yup, yup. Won’t be so crowded to shop.”

Imagine a guy that age having a “maw” to birthday shop for. What else don’t I know about him?

“Whatcha getting her?” Renée asks.

Nosy, although I kind of wanted to know, too.

“I already bought her an ashtray. Sick of cleaning up her butts in the backyard. Had the perfect one, too. But I lost it. Smoking is bad. I shouldn’t encourage her.”

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Ron.”

“Yup, yup.” He waves and smiles.

“Geez, how old would his mother be?” Renée whispers to me. “Does it matter if she smokes?”

“’Course it matters. You can’t taste your food as well. Your hair and clothes smell. You get yellow fingers and teeth. Blech!” For such a smarty-pants, she could be pretty dumb sometimes.

“But she’s probably a hundred and fifty. Don’t all old ladies have yellow toenails and smell gross?”

“Not my grandma.” I give Renée a hard stare. “She paints her nails and wears lemon perfume.”

As we near Renée’s corner, we see Mason Man standing back with a grin on his face, admiring the brick wall he put up along the driveway. I have to tug to keep Pong from saluting it.

“Hi, Mr. Mason, looking good.” I’m hoping my flattery will help him forget about the dog-peeing incident.

“Yeah, you got that right. The whole house will fall down before this baby will budge.”

Renée struggles to keep Ping on the other side of the walk. Mr. Mason’s work should be safe. “But they’re used bricks, aren’t they?” she asks.

I turn and raise my eyebrows at her. “They’re antiques!” The whole house will fall down … that remark reminds me about the car driving into the school. “Mr. Mason, did anyone steal one of your reclaimed bricks?”

“No, I keep track of every one of these Standards. People like them for bookshelves and candy dishes, so I lock ’em up at night.”

“Candy dishes? Really?” Renée says, and I elbow her.

Mr. Mason doesn’t seem to notice. “Say, it looks like I’m going to get some work at your school. I’m going to take you up on that free dog walk you offered.”

“Great, great!” I lie politely. I’ve got Ping and Pong for another two days. When will I find the time? “Just give me a call and we’ll arrange something.”

“I’ll call your father. Bailey knows him. Tell him I’m going to need another bag of those liver bites, too. That dog will do anything for those treats.”

“Sure will, Mr. Mason.”

We turn the corner, dogs leading the way.

“What’s with the brick question?” Renée asks when we’re far enough away from Mr. Mason. “We don’t even know what kind was found on the accelerator.”

“Just thought we’d eliminate that possibility.” We arrive at her house now and stand in front of it, talking.

“So you are helping me clear Attila, after all.” She smiles and punches my shoulder.

At the front window, the curtain rustles and her brother steps in front of it, his arms folded. He wears his hair in a mohawk and lifts weights, I’m sure, because his T-shirt looks tight around the top of his arms and chest. Attila stares at Pong, a bullet-hard stare. Then, eyes narrowed, he looks at me.

Mistake number five might be Renée’s, because right now, I’m thinking I’ll probably find more evidence that will prove Attila guilty instead.

day two, mistake six

As she hands me Ping’s leash, Renée doesn’t seem to notice Attila scowling at the window. “Aren’t you afraid the criminal will find out you’re investigating?”

“Sure,” I answer. “But we have to find out who it is. Or I’ll never feel safe.”

Her smile stretches into a grin. “You always see way more into things than other people do. With you on the case, we’re bound to find the real criminal.”

Mom and Dad always say I see more into things, too, only they make it sound like a bad thing. I grin back at Renée. She’s right about everything, after all. “Thanks.” I spot Buddy the Rottweiler coming from the end of the block. “Gotta go now. Pong doesn’t like that dog heading our way.” I start walking the other way, pulling the dogs along.

“Try to think about what you saw that night!” she calls after us.

If I can hear her, then Buddy’s owner, the lady in the lime running suit, can, too. And who knows who else is listening.

I turn and, leashes still in my hand, put a finger to my mouth. “Shhh!”

A bicycle whirs by and Ping catches me off guard as he lunges at it. Rouw, rouw, rouw! Red, the kid from grade eight, just smiles and calls to the dogs as he continues home. I pull Ping back while keeping Pong tight against me.

Had Red heard her? Too late now.

The dogs wag goodbye to the friendly voice, and we continue past the Bennetts’ and our house. It hasn’t been a full hour’s walk, so for old times’ sake, we cross Brant Street over to Jessie’s side of the neighbourhood. No sign of the skateboarding kid, but his school didn’t get closed for the day, so he’s probably still in class. We walk around the bend and Ping begins yapping.

There’s Jessie’s old house. Mrs. Watier’s TZX isn’t sitting in the driveway, which is a good thing because all the shrubs, the light posts, the doorframe, and the mailbox are wrapped in toilet paper. An autumn breeze blows through some of the strands, which annoys Ping and now Pong, who strains to attack.

I yank the leash. “C’mon boys. It’s just a joke someone played on the future newlyweds.” Doesn’t seem funny to me, a waste of paper and a mess to clean up. I glance back. Well, maybe it’s a little funny. The house looks like it’s wearing little wedding veils, which makes me smile. I peek into the backyard and see that our old playhouse looks bridal, too.

We continue on, and at the strip mall, just before we cross over Brant again, I see him getting out of his car heading for the pizza place: Mr. Sawyer, our former custodian. His long, blond hair kind of screams Look at me. I remember how poor Mrs. Klein said no one notices you if you do your job right.

But I sure did notice Mr. Sawyer pushing his mop around, until about the second week of school. Renée says he purposely tripped Mrs. Watier with it and sent her flying. I don’t think that could be true. There’s that rumour about them having gone out, after all. He’s just a very strong guy, former Mr. Universe and all, the Superman of mopping. He knocked kids down all the time, especially if they tracked in dirt. Mrs. Watier might just be more tippy with those high-heeled boots.

“Hi, Mr. Sawyer!” I wave to make sure he realizes that someone cares enough about him to remember his name.

A mistake, number six of today, ’cause I’m always counting.

Mr. Sawyer’s brow furrows and he frowns. It’s clear he doesn’t remember me. The dogs start barking — there’s something white fluttering from behind him. He gives the Ping Pong team a glare. Not a dog lover. When he finally turns away, I see a long piece of single-ply tissue sticking to the back of his jacket. If he is M.Y.O.B., he might now think I’m investigating him.

day two, mistake seven

“Toilet papering Mrs. Watier’s house — that’s a joke, not vandalism,” I tell Ping and Pong as they strain to go back. “People tie signs and cans to wedding cars all the time.” Mr. Sawyer may have driven that orange Beetle in the afternoon, but the toilet-papering joke doesn’t mean he drove it into the school.

Do you joke with someone who had you transferred? Someone who might have broken up with you? She is marrying someone else, after all. But now that he works at Champlain High School with Mrs. Watier’s fiancé, maybe the two of them like to play tricks on each other.

As a quick double-check, I pull out my cell and press “return call” on M.Y.O.B.’s text. Then I stop the call immediately. What am I thinking? What if M.Y.O.B. really is Mr. Sawyer? He’ll imagine I’m trailing him, and it will be me and the dogs, alone against the Mad Mopper.

I stash the phone in my pocket and walk a few steps. Pong jostles into me from the back. That funny bleep, bleep sound comes from my pocket. My classic mistake, number seven of the day, has to be butt-dialing M.Y.O.B.

Luckily, nothing rings, buzzes, or sings on Mr. Sawyer. I grab my phone, press “end,” and lock the keyboard this time. Meanwhile, Mr. Sawyer disappears into the pizza place.

That probably puts him in the clear, although he could have left his phone in the car.

The dogs don’t give me a lot of time to stew about it. Across the street, a rabbit hops through one of the yards, and they drag me toward it. From there I lead the team to our house rather than the Bennetts’.

“Da-ad!” I call as we step inside. “I’m home! School got cancelled today!”

“I heard. Lucky!” he answers from the kitchen.

As usual, he’s acting all positive so I don’t get anxious. But this time, it’s about a real crash, not just a threat.

I unleash the dogs and they rush to Dad. I follow behind in time to see Pong jump on him and Ping just jump, up and down, like a Jack-Russell-in-the-box.

“Down!” Dad rustles a bag of his liver bite treats, and Ping immediately stops. He shakes Pong off his legs with his knee. “You know, you could work on training these guys while their owners are away.”

“I’m trying to get them to walk nicer. Remember you suggested they were too hard to even take out together.”

“That’s true. You’re doing well.”

My mouth opens for a moment to say something else. But if I talk to Dad about the threatening text, won’t he just tell me I shouldn’t worry, that it’s just some kid fooling around?

Or worse, he could decide we have to go to the police, which would put the dogs in danger. I decide not to share with him. Instead, I know I need to tell him about the free walk he has to give, but I stall with some good news first. “Mr. Mason wants another bag of treats for Bailey.”

“That’s great. He told me they were way overpriced. He can be a real tightwad sometimes.”

I cringe as I get ready to deliver the not-so-good news.

“I’ll take the liver out of the freezer right now so I don’t forget.” He opens the door and removes a small bag. “I’ll buy some more, too. It’s on special this week.”

I clear my throat. “I may have offered Mr. Mason a free walk for Bailey.”

Dad drops the bag on the counter and stares at me. “We already have his business. Why would you do that?”

“Well, I am working on getting Ping and Pong to walk only on city property but sometimes they get confused …” I explain to Dad about the peeing incident.

“Oh, that big cheapskate. He was just trying to get something for nothing. Dogs always mark their territory on whatever’s left around: construction material, workers’ tools, even lunch pails if they’re within reach. He knows that. He has a dog.”

“Dad, I’m sorry. I offered to walk Bailey to make up for it. But he insists it has to be you.”

“You have these guys to look after. And they’re not well behaved enough to just add a third dog.”

“Yes. So you can keep the money from one of the extra walks I’ve given them.”

Dad reacts immediately. He’s a bit of cheapskate himself. “That’s a great solution. You’re a very smart kid!”

day two, mistake eight

If I’m such a smart kid, why can’t I figure out who smashed the Beetle into the school? After all, it’s someone who thinks I know. “Dad, is it okay if I use the computer for a while? I want to do some research.”

“Go ahead. I need to walk five Yorkies. New client of mine.”

“Five, Dad? All with one owner?”

He nods. “And they have little-dog syndrome. They’re yappy and snappy …” He holds up a bag of his special treats. “But I have my secret weapon.”

Immediately, Ping and Pong sit dutifully at his feet, watching that bag. Dad flips them each a liver bite.

“Have a good walk,” I tell him and head for the computer.

The dogs follow me to the den and slump down at the chair in front of the screen. Feeling their warm breath on my ankles, I Google “reverse phone number lookup.”

I select Canada 411.ca and copy M.Y.O.B.’s number into the search bar. After a moment a message reads: No listings were found. Please try again.

Of course. It’s a cellphone. You can’t look up names and addresses for those. Or can you? I immediately Google that question and read an article about how the police have to get court orders before phone companies will release information on unlisted numbers.

Ping barks a warning as my phone rings.

Not M.Y.O.B. I sigh with relief. R. Kobai, the caller name reads. Kobai is Renée’s last name. Still, I answer in official Noble Dog Walkers’ form.

Renée doesn’t even say hello. “The police are charging my brother now.”

“Really? When so many other people drove that Beetle?”

“Yes, well, they traced the bomb threat email to an IP address at Champlain High.”

“Don’t tell me. It’s the computer that your brother usually works on in IT class.”

“Yes, but you know everybody uses each other’s computers sometimes.”

“Sure.”

“You need to bring your cellphone to the police now and show them the threat.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell her.

“Why not? The police will find the guy immediately and the dogs will be safe.”

“That’s what you think. Have you never seen the spy shows where they give an agent a phone to use and then throw it away?”

“Yes, but secret agents have tons of money for all kinds of gadgets. Our criminal probably doesn’t.”

“Maybe, but I think they may be watching me. If they see me going to the police, they’re going to pitch their phone, which will be registered to a phony name, anyway. Then they’re going to come for Pong and Ping.”

Renée sighs at the other end.

“We are going to go to the police, eventually. I just want to have more information for them to go on.”

“That’s dangerous, too, and you know it. The criminal may notice.”

“I know. Listen, do me one favour. Dial this number from your own phone and see if a cell rings in your brother’s room.”

“He didn’t do it. I already told you.”

“We’re eliminating suspects. Humour me.” I give her the number.

“What if the real criminal picks up?”

“Just say ‘Sorry, wrong number,’ and hang up quickly. At least they won’t link the call to Noble Dog Walking.”

“Okay. Hang on.” I can hear the blip, blip, blip of her cellphone dialing, then the drum roll of a phone ringing and ringing. “How long should I give it?”

“I don’t know. Are you near his bedroom? Can you hear anything going off?”

“No. And I’ll tell you why not. It’s not Attila. If it were him and he was threatening you, he’d block his number.”

“He can do that?”

“Star sixty-seven on his phone. M.Y.O.B. has to be pretty stupid not to use it, too.”

“Um, I didn’t know that.”

“No, but you wouldn’t prank call someone. Or threaten them, either. If you did, you would find how to do it anonymously beforehand.”

“You’re right.” I sigh. “So we know our criminal has to be pretty stupid.”

“Cross Attila from your list. He’s not stupid.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Once she’s gone, I decide to look up Mr. Sawyer in the online phone directory. There are quite a few in the Halton region, but there’s an R. Sawyer who lives right on Jesse’s old street. The teachers used to call Mr. Sawyer Bob, which is short for Robert. Has to be him! Mr. Sawyer is Mrs. Watier’s neighbour, and she practically fired him! Wow. I’d be pretty annoyed with her if I were him. ’Course, he did mop her down, whether accidentally or not.

Did he not have his cellphone with him when I called M.Y.O.B.? Had he thrown it away already?

Then a bigger question hits me. If you’ve already driven a car into the principal’s school, would you bother TP-ing her house as well? It seemed like overkill.

I can’t think of anything else to look up, so I close the browser. The dogs follow me back upstairs to my bedroom, where I gaze at the school from my window and try to imagine that Volkswagen all over again, try to remember something that I may have seen but just didn’t register. Maybe I should have someone hypnotize me, like they do on crime shows.

Over on the far corner of the field, just past the school, I see the bus pull up and Mr. Ron get off with a large pink bag in his hand. He’s been my crossing guard since kindergarten, and I realize I still don’t even know where he lives. I look to the left of our house: a retired couple lives there. And to the right, the Lebels, a family with two little white-haired kids, are our neighbours. Beyond those houses, we don’t really know anybody on our street, except for the Bennetts and only because they work for the same airline as my mom and use our dog-walking service. Anyone in our neighbourhood could have seen what happened last night in the park. Had the police checked with them?

I come up with a plan and call Renée back. “Do you want to go for a walk tonight? I mean really late?”

“Sure. What time should we meet?”

If I were watching some mystery movie right now and the twelve-year-old kids decided to wait till their parents were asleep to sneak out in the middle of the night, I’d know it was a mistake. That something awful would happen. Mistake number eight today is not listening to that voice inside that tells me the very same thing.

“Midnight at the front of the school.”

day two, mistake nine

“Walk nice!” I command Ping as I hold a liver bite close to my knee. I’m taking him around the block on his own so I can concentrate on training him properly, hoping a one-on-one session will help for our midnight walk. When he follows right at my heel the whole way, I give him one of Dad’s magic treats.

It’s at this point my cellphone rings.

“Noble Dog Walking, Stephen Noble speaking.”

“I’ve got a brilliant idea.”

“Hi, Renée. What is it?”

“Ask your dad if I can come for a sleepover.”

“It’s the middle of a school week and you’re a girl. He’ll never go for it.”

“Don’t tell him I’m a girl.”

“He already knows.”

Renée’s voice goes up a notch. “Maybe he’ll forget. Just say you’re worried about Renée.” She sounds desperate. “With all the fighting going on at my house, it’s not a good environment for a kid to be in. Your dad’s not going to say no to that.”

For her to plead for this sleepover, I have to think she’s not having a great time. “Um … just how bad is it over there?”

“Terrible. My father wants to send Attila to mili­tary school. Mom believes he’s innocent. They’re all yelling at each other. And all the while, they tell me to go to my room. That this doesn’t concern me.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best. Call you back later.”

As I glance down to slip my phone back into my pocket, the leash pulls hard. A skateboard rattles in the distance and I look up.

It’s that guy we knocked down in the park, the one who seemed so angry the other day. Ping lunges for him but I snap him back. “Pssht! No! Leave it!”

Ping looks up at me and argues. Rouf, rouf, rouf!

“No, no!” I hold one finger up with another liver bite tucked in my hand. “Sit!”

He whines as he lowers his butt. His mouth opens and his tongue quivers as he pants.

“Qui-et!” I warn.

He licks his chops and shuts his mouth. His eyes laser on to that liver bite.

“Good boy.” I finally give it to him.

“Where’s the other dog?” The skateboarder walks back toward us, his board tucked under his arm. His brown eye studies me; his green one seems to watch Ping.

I hesitate for a moment. Last time we met this guy, he was swearing at me.

“You know, the greyhound — where is he?” He’s smiling and friendly today.

Why was he in such a bad mood the other evening?

“Oh, Pong is at home right now. I’m giving them individual attention.”

“Good, ’cause, you know, I thought maybe something had happened to him.”

“No. Nothing.” His suggestion makes me ner­vous. Does this skater boy know who’s threatening us? “We look after our customers well. The dogs are either on a leash or in a fenced area at all times.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“We have surveillance cameras on the property and we lock the gate,” I bluff. I watch the skater’s face.

He doesn’t react.

This is easily mistake number nine today. Skater dude can check our house. He can lift the latch on the gate; he can look for cameras.

For now, he smiles and gives a finger wave as he steps on his skateboard again. “They should definitely be safe, all right. See you around.”

day two, mistake ten

I take Ping back in the house and don’t bother with Pong. He’s quieter and better behaved, anyway.

Dad comes back from walking the Yorkies and joins us in the kitchen, where I set down water bowls for the dogs. “Dad, have you ever thought of putting cameras up or locks on the gate?”

Dad just stares at me for a moment like he’s trying to read inside my brain.

Lap, lap, lap. The dogs drink. There’s nothing quite as calming as the sound of their tongues slurping up the water.

I smile. “Wouldn’t surveillance be a great way to keep the burglars and kidnappers away?”

He blinks and shakes his head. “No, that would make me a paranoid person.” He turns and washes his hands at the kitchen sink, shakes the water off his fingers, and glances back at me. “Which I’m not.” He grabs a package of tortillas from the cupboard and rips them open with his teeth. “Sit and have lunch with me.”

I pull out a chair and watch as he sprinkles cheese on the tortillas, drains a tin of tuna, dumps it on top, and slides the plate in the microwave. “Are you thinking of branching out into cat food?” I ask.

“Never, but a little bit of kale or spinach would make this a complete meal for a dog.”

“We could probably use the vegetables, too.”

Dad takes a bag of mini carrots from the fridge, rinses them, and puts them on a plate with a white salad dressing as dip. “Satisfied now?”

I nod and throw the Ping Pong team a carrot each. When Dad serves up the fishy pizza, I let the dogs sample first. They don’t seem to mind that there’s no kale on it. Then I taste. Not bad. A splash of salad dressing improves the flavour.

“You know they have surveillance cameras at the school,” Dad says as he finishes his tuna-cheesy thing.

“Really?” I continue eating mine till I’m done. Then I lick the fish from my fingers.

“Says so right here on InsideHalton.com. You can read the article.” He passes me his iPad with the page open on the screen.

Ping yips at me, so I set out some plates of Dad’s homemade dog food. That gives me peace and quiet to scan the article. Nothing new, a bit about the bomb squad blowing up a school bag, a longer bit about the orange Beetle crashing into the school and how a red brick on the accelerator kept it running all night.

“It says the images were too grainy to identify a driver.”

Dad nods his head. “Maybe the guy was too far away. Remember, it’s the brick on the accelerator that sent the car through the school.”

The brick, the red brick — the colour is a new detail! The reclaimed Standards that Mason Man used were red. He might be the only person I didn’t see driving the VW that day, but he certainly needed the work the crash provided him. He had the motive.

Pong runs his long nails on the patio door, letting me know he wants to go out. I delay for a moment because I need to be with the dogs so they don’t duck under the fence to visit the Lebels’ pool and so M.Y.O.B. doesn’t do anything to him.

“Dad, would you happen to know Mr. Mason’s cell number?”

“Why? Maybe you should let the dog out.”

“In a minute. I just want to compare his number with another caller’s on my cell.”

Dad reads out Mr. Mason’s phone number but it doesn’t match M.Y.O.B.’s.

“Okay. By the way, I didn’t tell you that my friend Renée —”

Pong whimpers. Ping barks. Heads tilted, eyes riveted on me, they demand I pay attention.

Dad interrupts, too. “You’ve finally made a friend. That’s good.”

He’s forgotten I mentioned her before. Is she a friend, really? I wonder. Or just another lonely kid like me? She likes how I read a lot into things and she’s smart, even if she can be a know-it-all. “Yes, well, Renée’s having a hard time of it at home. Attila, the brother, is charged with the car crash into the school and I’m worried …” I touch the patio door handle to get the dogs to stop their noise. I grab a treat for them, too, and let them see it. Instantly, they sit, quietly studying my hand.

“His brother is the one who drove that Beetle?” Dad asks.

I don’t correct him on the “his” part. I have to work up to that. “The Beetle belongs to Attila, yes. And he drives it, but Renée doesn’t think he’s the one who wrecked the school with it. Anyhow, Mr. and Mrs. Kobai are arguing and Renée asked to sleep over tonight.”

“Your mother’s not here and all. Better have them call me.”

“So it’s a yes, if it’s okay with them? We won’t stay up late. Renée’s a keener about school and homework …”

“I like him already. Absolutely. He’ll get a break and you’ll have a distraction from the car crash, too.”

Renée was right again. Still, what will Dad say when he sees she’s a girl? He’ll be okay with it, I think. I mean, he can’t say no once her parents call. I slip the dogs their treats and open the door, and they push each other to get out first. I follow. “Thanks, Dad.” Mistake number ten of the day belongs to him if he thinks having Renée over will stop me thinking about that Beetle. My investigation has only begun.

T

On the seven o’clock walk that evening, I swing the dogs around a different way to pick up Renée. We walk by Mr. Mason’s house. It’s a small brick bunga­low with a red-brick drive and walkway. The flowerbeds are also edged in red and there’s a brick patio in the front.

Mr. Ron and Mr. Mason sit there chatting, frosty glass mugs in their hands, Bailey sprawled at their feet. The old golden retriever gives us a slow wag and then hoists himself to his feet to greet Ping and Pong.

“Hey there, Stephen,” Mr. Ron calls, lifting his mug in a salute.

“Hi, Mr. Ron.” Big hands, round belly, shaggy hair, he’s like a teddy bear compared to strong, bald Mason Man. Opposites, like Ping and Pong. Or maybe even me and Renée. How is it that I’ve never seen them together before?

The dogs all seem happy to see each other, but I keep a tight rein on my team so as not to allow the leashes to tangle the way they did when they met Buddy, the Rottweiler.

“Hi, Mr. Mason,” I call and he just grunts at us. The bricks around his house are a different red than the Standards he used at the house near Renée’s. There might be a million different kinds of brick that could have been used on that Beetle’s accelerator. No clue here.

We continue on to Renée’s house. Ping does walk closer to my heels, looking up constantly to my hand, but my treat bag is almost empty. One of my arms has definitely grown longer with Pong’s constant pulling. I ring the doorbell and my heart stops when Attila comes to the door instead of Renée.

“I — I —” I stutter. Ping growls low, which starts Pong on a rumble, too.

“Renée told you I was charged, didn’t she?” He scowls at me, and then turns to face her. “What a big mouth.”

Renée moves around him with a small kiwi-coloured rolling suitcase. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, one bright-red stone sparkling from the elastic. “Stephen is helping me find the real crook.”

Attila just grunts and shuts the door after her.

The dogs instantly change into a super happy mood. Ping gives a nibble at one of the suitcase wheels.

“Leave it!” I tell him and lure him off it with a liver bite.

Renée pats him, and I pass her the leash so we can roll along.

“Why isn’t Attila in jail?” I ask her.

“Too young. He’s out on bail.”

“You shouldn’t have told him about me helping you!”

“Look, Attila does crazy stuff, no question about it. He might even prank call girls he likes. But he blocks the number. And nothing rang in his room when I dialed M.Y.O.B.’s number like you asked me. Doesn’t that prove he’s innocent?”

“No. Ringing could have helped prove him guilty. That’s all. Let’s drop off your suitcase at my house and keep walking, so these guys get their exercise.”

We pass by the wall Mr. Mason finished earlier and make sure to keep the dogs away from it, which reminds me, “Did you know the brick on the Beetle’s accelerator was red?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Score one for me over Princess Einstein. I nod. “I read about it on InsideHalton.com.”

“These are red.” She points. “Or do you consider that colour brown?”

“Maybe rust, I don’t know. But so are all of the ones he used in his own landscaping. There must be tons of red bricks around.”

“Um, Stephen, just to let you know, my brother has a bookshelf made of planks and bricks.”

“Red ones?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you check if any are missing?”

“No.” She sighs. “But if it makes you happy, I will.”

“We have to treat everyone as though they’re a suspect.”

“Sure we do.” She rolls her eyes at me.

“At the very least, we can stay a step ahead of the police about Attila.”

“True.” She brightens over that answer. “Ping’s walking a lot better now.”

“That may end when I run out of these.” I rattle the treat bag and pull back on Pong to try to get him to heel nicely, too. When he slows, I slip him a treat and Ping yaps his complaint to me.

“What happens when the dogs go back to their owners, Stephen? Will you tell the Bennetts about the threat?”

“No. If I tell any adults, the police will become involved immediately. You know that. I just hope this will all be over by then.” We turn onto the walkway to my house, and I open the door for Renée, who pushes her suitcase into the house. Dad’s not around to meet her. Probably a good thing.

On the rest of our walk, I show Renée Mrs. Watier’s house, complete with its toilet paper wedding veils. “Do you think someone is trying to sabotage her special day? First, there’s a bomb scare on the day of her dress fitting. Then someone puts something in her gas tank. A car crashes into the school in time for her rehearsal tea.”

“That’s brilliant reasoning, Stephen!” Renée says. “What do you have in mind for tonight’s midnight walk?”

Later, when Dad meets Renée, his eyebrows raise. “Stephen, you never told me Renée was a girl.”

“You knew that,” I answer. “Remember when I told you she helped with the dogs? You even said I should marry her.”

“Slipped my mind.”

“Do you not think boys and girls can be friends? Lots of people are like that,” Renée says to him.

“No. That’s not it. I haven’t spoken to your parents yet, and I need to know they’re all right with you staying over at a boy’s house. Especially when his mom’s not here. Would you like to get them for me?” Dad hands her the phone.

She dials. “Hi, Mom. I’m at Stephen’s. Yes, I want to have a sleepover at a boy’s house.” She pauses. “You don’t think boys and girls should have sleepovers? But you and Dad have them all the time.” Renée turns to Dad and hands him the phone. “She wants to speak to you.”

Dad listens for a while. “Yes, it’s all right with me. Stephen mentioned something about doing homework together, and we do have a spare room … Yes, it sounds like you’re going through a rough time … I hope things turn out well … Yes, I’ll make them both lunches … Thank you. I’m glad Stephen has made a new friend, too.”

When he hangs up, he sends me up to the guest bedroom with clean sheets. It’s not exactly like a sleepover with Jessie where we pile sleeping bags on the couches in the basement.

But we do end up playing Wii sports. We design a great avatar complete with glasses and a ponytail to represent Renée. I beat Renée at bowling, but she’s a whiz at golf and gives me some great pointers.

Before bed, we coordinate our phone alarms and set the volume on low.

“Goodnight,” I tell Renée and head for my own room. There I lie down and count Jack Russells and greyhounds jumping over fences till my eyes grow heavy.