The Best Mistake Mystery

by Sylvia McNicoll

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.? Mis
take 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 n
ever 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.