The Best Mistake Mystery

by Sylvia McNicoll

  When Dad answers, I give him a shortened version of everything that’s happened, starting with the Pong dognap.

  He’s stunned. I can tell because he really has no comments, nothing to say that I’ve over-analyzed or over-thought anything. Nothing to put things in a way sunnier light. “I’m just taking the liver bites out of the oven. I’ll be there in five minutes,” he says and hangs up.

  The police arrive before him and cuff Serge’s hands behind his back.

  Mrs. Watier walks through the gate moments later, no future groom in sight. She gasps when she spots her son and those handcuffs. She rushes over and hugs Serge. I wonder whether she wants to slug him, too.

  Renée and I tell the dognapping story all over again, and the officer gives us her card. “We’ll need to take your statements at the station later, with a parent present.”

  Ping and Pong wrestle with each other. Now that they’re over being happy to see each other, they need a walk.

  Dad pushes through the gate as the police lead Serge away. I can smell cooked liver.

  Mr. Sawyer follows them out.

  “Wow,” Dad says, “you guys solved the crime.” In his hand is a bag of fresh dog treats. Ping and Pong immediately sit quiet and tall. Ping even holds his paw out.

  I smile, happy that it’s all over.

  “Renée, I can give you a lift home. Or do you want to go back to school?” Dad asks.

  “I’d really like to walk the dogs with Stephen.”

  “So, you don’t want a lift, either?” he asks me. “You don’t want to go back to class?”

  “No!” I shake my head.

  “So you don’t need me at all?” Dad says.

  “Oh, yes, I do!” I take two steps and reach my arms around him for a hug. He hugs me back. “I’ll take those dog treats, too.”

  He hands over the bag. “You could have told me all this was happening to you. I can’t believe you dealt with it all on your own.”

  “It was a mistake, I’ll admit that. But it turned out okay, which is the important thing. And it’s not even the worst mistake I made. It’s certainly not as bad as forgetting to put the landing gear down and doing a belly dive with an airplane.

  “And if the kids at school hear that we found the person who crashed the car into the school, maybe when I get to university they will remember me for solving that crime, instead of dropping my drawers when I had no gym shorts underneath … or shouting fire when there really wasn’t one … or bringing raw beef liver for lunch.”

  “You’re over-thinking this, Stephen,” Renée says.

  “It’s one of my worst flaws,” I admit.

  “But it’s your best quality, too. Who else would have figured out that brick connection?”

  Who else keeps accidentally butt-dialing people? I have to admit, some of my worst mistakes lead to something interesting.

  the aftermath

  Mom comes home late the next night. Right away, she’s red-eyed and all stuffed up.

  Busted! But how could the dog dander cause her to react so quickly? “Sorry, Mom. We kept Ping and Pong here for a couple of nights. I vacuumed everywhere they could have been.”

  “Mrs. Bennett texted me about the great job you did watching her dogs.” Mom peers around as she hangs up her coat. “The house looks good.” She points to her eyes and circles her finger to her nose. “This is from the hearing dog we had on our flight. We have to allow service dogs in the cabin.”

  “Poor you. Let me make you a tea,” Dad says.

  “I gave the owner your business card,” Mom says as she follows him into the kitchen. “He lives on Overton.”

  “What a coincidence,” Dad says.

  I tag along behind them into the kitchen. “Mom, I have to tell you everything that happened with Ping and Pong and with the car that drove into the school.”

  “Okay. I’m a little hungry. Do you have anything around to eat?”

  “Liver bites! They’re such a big hit. Mom, even Mr. Mason bought some.”

  She grins. “Yeah, but I hate liver.”

  “Let me make you some peanut butter apple,” I suggest.

  We sit at the table and she helps me cut up the fruit. Dad spreads the peanut butter on them and Mom and I share.

  “Mmm,” Mom says and sighs. “Go ahead, tell me.”

  “Well, it turns out the principal’s son Serge sent the bomb scare email to his own mother.”

  “Wow. He must have really wanted her attention.”

  “Yeah, he didn’t want her to marry his shop teacher,” I explain. “He put something in her gas tank so she wouldn’t be able to get to her wedding dress fitting. But instead she borrowed the car his shop class was working on.”

  “The Beetle?” Mom asks.

  “Yes. When he saw it in the driveway, he grabbed the keys and took off with it. He abandoned it in the school parking lot. Just trying to throw another hitch into her plans.”

  “I heard she’s actually postponing the wedding now,” Dad says.

  “Who told you that?” I look at him.

  “Oh, I chatted with Mr. Sawyer at the grocery store. He seemed pretty happy about that, too.”

  “Anyway,” I continue, “Serge is not the one who drove the car into the school. Our crossing guard did that.”

  “Not the nice man who’s been your crossing guard since forever?” Mom asks.

  “Yup, yup,” I answer, imitating Mr. Ron. “He loves Volkswagens and when he noticed it sitting there with the keys in the ignition, he couldn’t resist taking it for a spin. Only he can’t drive very well. He doesn’t even have a license.”

  “But that wouldn’t matter if he just drove it on private property,” Dad says.

  “Except that he crashed it into the school by accident,” I say. “Probably the second-worst mistake he’s made in his life.”

  “Oh, dear. Was he hurt?”

  “No. But the first worst mistake he made was that he didn’t report it. Instead, he started up the car again, leaving a brick on the accelerator so that it would look like vandalism.”

  “Won’t he go to jail for that?” Mom asks.

  “I don’t think so,” Dad says. “He’s offered to pay for the damage, and Mr. Mason’s letting him fix the wall with him. Mrs. Watier will try to get the charges reduced to reckless driving.”

  “Only he can’t be our crossing guard anymore.” I sigh.

  Mom sips at her tea and frowns. “Maybe it was time for a change, anyway.”

  Dad nods. “They’ve already replaced him. A nice lady with black hair and dark sunglasses.”

  “But all that’s not even the worst part of the story,” I continue.

  “There’s more?” Mom asks.

  “Yes. Serge kidnapped one of the Bennetts’ dogs. Pong, the greyhound.”

  “Oh my gosh. Did you tell them?”

  “Of course. We had to,” Dad says. “But Stephen rescued him, so they’re very happy with us.”

  “Serge wanted five hundred dollars so he could run away to his father’s in Montreal. Mom, he was threatening to hurt Pong.”

  “Well, I hope he faces some serious consequences,” she says.

  “Mr. Sawyer told me he would probably just get a community service sentence. He has no priors. Mrs. Watier’s hoping he can serve it at an animal shelter,” Dad says.

  “What!” I gasp.

  “It’s a new program. Nurturing animals helps troubled kids feel better about themselves. And Serge really liked Pong. He never would have hurt him. He just needed to make you think he would, to get your money.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Mr. Sawyer.” Dad shrugs. “He actually tried to take an interest in Serge when he was going out with Mrs. Watier.”

  “I’m very proud of you, Stephen.” Mom smiles and pats my
shoulder. “I have a little story to tell you. Nothing to top yours, though.”

  “It doesn’t involve pilot error, does it?”

  “No, actually it involves a flight attendant’s mistake. Friend of mine. You remember Jeannie? Red hair? No? Anyway, she missed her flight from New York back to Toronto because of it.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “She decided she’d take the subway downtown because she wanted to absorb the local culture — we never have a lot of time at these layovers, so she was cutting it close, anyway — when these two kittens jumped onto the track …”

  “No, no, Mom!” I cover my ears.

  “Relax, Stephen. I love animals, too, you know. I gave that dog on the flight my piece of chicken.” Her nose honks as she blows it again. “Just because they make my eyes weep and my nose run doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you awful stories about them. Does an animal ever die in any of my stories?”

  “No. That’s true. Go ahead.”

  “Okay, well. A subway worker tries to grab them, but these two little kittens make a break for it. The transit authorities have to shut the power ’cause the third rail carries 600 volts. No one can run along it if that’s on. Which meant six miles of track between stations were closed for an hour and a half.”

  “So what happened?” I ask.

  “Like I said, she missed her flight.”

  “To the cats, I mean. Did they rescue them?”

  “Well, yes. Six hours later the kittens returned to the same spot where they were first spotted, and that same worker caught them.”

  “But the trains were only shut for ninety minutes.”

  “You’re over-thinking this. The kittens are safe. Maybe they used up some of their nine lives.”

  “And Pong and Ping are home, too,” Dad continues. “No bombs exploded at the school.”

  “Only a backpack.”

  “Speaking of redheads, I have a crazy story, too,” Dad says. “I saw the strangest thing when I was walking Buddy through Brant Hills.”

  “Is Buddy a Rottweiler?” I ask.

  “Yeah. New client.”

  “I gave his owner our card,” I tell him.

  “Yes, thanks. Great job. Anyhow, I see this tall red-haired kid walking a chubby little Pomeranian, and when the dog squats to do his business, the kid scoops it into a bag and puts the bag in the tree.”

  “You’re kidding. I’ve put his poop bag in the trash for him before,” I say, although I really put it in the recycling bin. “Didn’t know Red was doing it, though.”

  “So get this,” Dad says. “I called him out on it, and he explained that he likes to ride through later on his bike and grab the poop bags from the branches to put in the trash. Sort of a sport for him. Like a knight jousting.”

  “Jousting for dog doo. That explains a lot. I’ll have to tell Renée.”

  “Renée, that’s the girl you had the sleepover with? Wasn’t she the one you found so annoying before? You called her … wait a minute … Princess Einstein, right?” Mom asks.

  “Yeah, she’s really smart.”

  “But that’s what you didn’t like about her.”

  “Maybe it was more that I thought she was showing off all the time about it. But I was wrong, Mom. She just can’t help herself. She has to share everything she knows. Blurts it out, really. She helped me walk the dogs and solve the crime, after all.

  “Anyhow, she doesn’t annoy me anymore. That was just me not understanding her … a mistake. Probably the worst one I made all month.”

  acknowledgements

  A special bombs away goes out to Staff Sergeant Glenn Mannella of the Halton Regional Police Service Emergency Services Unit, who took the time to show me his way-cool equipment, including his remote control robot, and also share a couple of his stories with me.

  Copyright © Sylvia McNicoll, 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover image: © Tania Howells

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  McNicoll, Sylvia, 1954-, author

  The best mistake mystery / Sylvia McNicoll.

  (The great mistake mysteries)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4597-3625-2 (paperback).--ISBN 978-1-4597-3626-9 (pdf).--

  ISBN 978-1-4597-3627-6 (epub)

  I. Title.

  PS8575.N52B473 2017 jC813’.54 C2016-903430-5

  C2016-903431-3]

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