My ears perked up.
“You don’t say. . . .”
She came right up to the cage.
“Sometimes it behooves breeders to have our wings clipped.”
“You don’t say. . . .”
For all I cared, she had just recited the small print off the bottom of a mattress tag.
All I had heard from her rant was “Blah, blah, blah, rendezvous, blah, blah, blah, behoove.”
Chapter 19
Show and Tell
“You wrote the notes,” I said to Sugar.
Sugar took another step toward the cage, careful not to get too close.
“Did not.”
“Did.”
“Did not.”
“Did.”
“Did not.”
It was like a game of Ping-Pong.
I hate Ping-Pong.
“Spill it, Sugar,” a voice piped up.
Moosh stepped out of the kitchen shadows.
All the color drained from Sugar’s face.
She instinctively took a step back from the trouble coming her way.
I had one second to act.
I sucked my breath in through my nose as hard as I could.
Sugar was dragged right between the two bars and stuck to my nose like a stray sock on a freshly dried towel.
I had no idea what I was going to do with her.
It was Moosh’s turn to come up to the cage.
I thought she’d come to rescue Sugar.
I was wrong.
“J.J.’s right,” she said. “I knew it as soon as I saw the note.”
Aha. I knew she knew more than she said she knew when she knew it.
It explained her bouncing left foot.
It wasn’t a tap or a tic—it was a tell.
A tell is something people do when they’re lying.
In Moosh’s case, it was something she did when she knew more than she said she knew when she knew it.
Moosh stuck her beak through the bars.
“I’m waiting,” she said.
“I wrote it,” Sugar confessed. “I sent Poppy and Sweetie into the house, but I had to make it look like Vince took them.”
“Why in the world would you do that?” Moosh asked.
“For the books,” Sugar answered.
“What books?” Moosh said. “We don’t have any books.”
“Look around, Moosh. This house is filled with books,” I said.
Moosh’s eyes got big and wide.
“Vince said I had to help him get J.J. into the house or he wouldn’t let me back in to read the books,” Sugar added.
Finally Moosh understood that Sugar had been coming and going to this house for a long time.
“You faked a kidnapping? With Vince the Funnel?”
Moosh raised her voice so high, I thought she might cough up a vocal cord.
“Vince promised me he wouldn’t hurt them. He let them watch TV.”
Moosh considered this for a second.
“Vince forced you to write those notes?” she said.
“Actually, they were my idea,” said Sugar. “I had to make sure you went to J.J. for help.”
“That’s enough!” a voice interrupted.
Vince had come into the kitchen with Poppy and Sweetie in tow.
“I should have known you’d sing like a bird,” he growled at Sugar.
“I am a bird,” she chirped.
Vince bared his teeth. “You’re lucky you’re in that cage.”
He turned to me.
“Congratulations, Hero Dog. You figured it all out.” Vince snickered. “But you’re still in a cage, and you’re still going to the vet to get ear tubes. You can thank your little chicken family for that.”
I charged the front door of the cage as hard as I could.
The door didn’t budge.
When I got back on my feet, the chickens were gone.
Vince got as close to the cage as the funnel would let him.
“So who rescues the rescue dog?” he asked.
“Don’t you think your dog walker is gonna notice that I’m not you?”
“Regular guy is gone for the holiday. His cousin is filling in. Never seen me before,” he answered.
“You’ve got a bigger problem,” I added.
“What’s that?”
“When Barb gets back, she’s gonna know the wrong dog got the tubes,” I said.
“Yeah, but she’s not gonna care,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“She’s going to be too upset over the demise of her pet chickens . . . and she’s gonna blame you.”
Sugar made a very strange noise right before she fainted.
I had forgotten she was still in the cage with me.
So, apparently, had Vince.
“Don’t even bother trying to warn them,” he sneered. “The doggie door is controlled by the black tag on my collar. They can’t get out unless I let them out.”
He was still snickering when he left the room.
So that’s what that funny black tag on his collar was for.
I thought it was the on/off switch for the lamp.
I needed more information from Sugar.
One good dose of dog breath was all it took to wake her up.
“All this for a book?” I asked.
“It’s a really good book,” she whispered.
Then she fainted again.
Chapter 20
RHBWR
“Tell me everything you know. Now,” I said when Sugar came to.
Sugar spilled her guts for real this time.
There was still one step left in Vince’s plan. As soon as it was dark, they had to help him get his funnel off.
“Vince says when we’re done, everyone will know that you’re a dupe and he’s a dirty double-crosser,” she ended.
“Do you have any idea what that means?” I asked, exasperated.
“None whatsoever,” she said.
“It means Vince is a liar and you are in serious trouble.”
It was Dirt.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“Under the couch,” Dirt answered.
“Doing what?” I asked her.
“RHBWRing,” she said.
“Stop mumbling,” I said.
Dirt rolled her eyes.
“Oh, got it,” I said.
Moosh’s voice arrived in the kitchen before she did.
“I’m not leaving here without Sugar. So let her go, J.J.—she can’t help you,” she said.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
“Dirt! Where have you been?”
“Under the couch,” she said.
“Doing what?” demanded her mother.
“RHBWRing,” she answered.
“Stop mumbling,” said Moosh.
Dirt let out a heavy sigh.
“Never mind—we’re leaving,” said Moosh. “I’m sorry for all the trouble, J.J., but I’m getting my family out of here.”
“Where are Poppy and Sweetie?” asked Sugar.
She sounded worried.
“I sent them to wake Vince up so we can take off his funnel and get out of here,” said Moosh.
Dirt was through the door before Moosh could finish her sentence.
Sugar made that funny sound again, like she was going to pass out.
This time I caught her before she fell over.
“Moosh, that funnel is the only thing between Vince and your chicks,” I said. “Once that thing is off, you’re doomed. All of you.”
Moosh ignored me. “I won’t be tricked again,” she said. “We’re leaving.”
“Moosh, you’re not listening.”
I was getting pretty agitated.
“Vince is not going to let you go.”
I shoved Sugar out through the bars to let Moosh know I was serious.
Dirt was back in a flash, with Poppy and Sweetie behind her.
“Mom, the doggie door is locked. We can’t get out.”
Moosh looked scared.
“I can take him,” she squawked.
“No, you can’t,” I said.
Dirt took a good look around the kitchen.
The note on the fridge.
The lock on the cage.
The recycle bin full of bottles.
“I have a plan,” she said.
Then she grabbed a pencil and paper and drew her own diagram.
Chapter 21
Rescue
The sun had set and the kitchen was dark.
The fireworks had begun. They shed just enough light for us to make out our own shadows.
Unlocking the bolt was easy for Moosh. All it took was some jerky movements of her head with her beak in the loop of the bolt.
I have to admit, she’s pretty handy with that sharp beak of hers.
I had Poppy, Sweetie, and Dirt in the cage with me, but we could barely see one another.
I knew that they were counting on me, but it suddenly hit me that I was counting on them, too. It was not a great feeling.
All kinds of things can affect the outcome of a rescue—timing, weather, terrain, fatigue . . . and sometimes just dumb luck. We were counting on everything going just right. That rarely happens with people—I had no idea what the odds were with chickens.
Vince arrived right on time.
About two feet in front of the crate, Moosh stopped him in his tracks.
“I’ll take off the funnel. I’ve got the sharpest beak,” she said.
Her voice shook a little, but Vince didn’t seem to notice.
“Fine by me,” said Vince.
Moosh had to act fast now.
If she hesitated, we were lost.
I had a new appreciation for the pajama guy in the snowy cave, the lost skier in the Alps, and the victims waiting under piles of debris. My heartbeat always pounded with excitement as the rescue got closer . . . theirs was always pounding with fear. It was not the same feeling. I like the rescue beat much better.
“This is harder than it looks,” said Moosh, buying herself some time as she worked furiously on Vince’s collar instead of the funnel.
“Hurry it up,” Vince growled. I said nothing. But silently, I seconded the motion. He sounded like he meant business. Moosh stood her ground and kept on pecking.
“Lower your head,” she told him.
Carefully Moosh clipped the infrared tag off Vince’s collar and held it in her beak.
Then she dropped it to the floor and quickly kicked it to Sugar.
Wait for it, I told myself.
My heart was pounding.
Vince caught a glimpse of Sugar running toward the crate with the tag.
Wait for it, I told myself.
I held my breath.
While Sugar was running back to the cage, Dirt, Poppy, and Sweetie ran out the back of the crate between the bars.
Now.
I threw open the unlocked cage door and made just enough room for Vince.
Vince came down hard on his front paws and slid right in headfirst.
It wasn’t the linoleum that did him in; it was the empty plastic bottles.
Just one more reason to recycle.
Gingerly, I stepped over his big back paws and out the door.
Dirt did the honors of slamming the door closed.
Moosh slid the lock back into place.
Vince was inside the cage.
I was outside the cage.
Just the way I liked it.
“Great plan,” I said to Dirt.
“Great teacher,” she replied.
My heart was still pounding.
But it was the rescue beat now.
Chapter 22
Inside Out
There was still something I didn’t understand.
I turned to Vince.
“Why did you chase me away from here the first time? What about that wrestling match with the doggie door?”
“Big search-and-rescue hero,” he snarled. “Dogs like you are easy to read. If you didn’t think the chicks were in danger, there wouldn’t be any rescue, would there?”
He had a point.
Poppy and Sweetie were next.
“And you’ve been watching television for two days?”
“We came for the TV, we stayed for the books,” said Sweetie.
Couldn’t argue with that.
The fireworks were over and it was time to go.
Those little chicks were still in a heap of trouble with their mom, but at least my trouble was over.
“What’s wrong with you, anyway?” I asked Vince.
“What do you mean?”
“The giant funnel?”
“Chronic ear infection.”
I changed the subject.
“Why did you let Sugar in here in the first place?”
“Can’t reach my ears.”
“Sorry?”
“She scratches my ears with her beak.”
I tried not to laugh.
I still had something on my mind.
“How did you know that Sugar wrote the notes?” I asked Moosh.
She took a deep breath. She was back in my good graces and wanted to stay there.
“Call it mother’s instinct,” she said.
“You could have told me,” I answered.
“You would have walked away,” she replied.
“True,” I said.
“I was just a worried mom looking for my kids. I did what I had to do.”
She was looking me in the eye.
Her left foot was perfectly still.
“All right, Moosh. You and me are square.”
I thought she smiled, but again, it’s tough to tell with a beak.
Chapter 23
Reward
“About that cheeseburger . . .” I said to Moosh.
“There’s no cheeseburger,” she said, “but you knew that.”
“I guess I did,” I replied.
Moosh headed back to the living room and hopped up on the couch.
I watched as Sugar waited a beat, then did the same.
The rest of the brood followed.
They were finally all together, but there was a huge spot between Moosh and Sugar.
It didn’t make any sense.
“That must be one big chicken you’re missing,” I joked.
Moosh looked right at me.
Sugar motioned for me with her tiny wing.
The spot between Moosh and Sugar was just my size.
It did look kind of comfy up there.
I jumped up on the couch.
Moosh.
Me.
Sugar.
Poppy.
Sweetie.
Dirt.
Sometimes, you find yourself exactly where you belong.
Epilogue
Vince the Funnel got his ear tubes as planned and came back with an even bigger funnel wrapped around his head. Occasionally we hear a crash coming from the house, and we know he still hasn’t quite adjusted to it.
I had to give Vince credit, though. He knew exactly how to push my buttons. Smart guy. Can’t stand him, but he’s a smart guy.
Sugar is teaching the rest of the family to read. We helped ourselves to a few books before we left the house that night. Barb doesn’t seem to have noticed.
Sometimes when the chicks gather in the doghouse, I entertain them with tales of rescue from my glory days. It was Dirt who asked me why my rescue days were over. She always catches me off guard, that one. I wasn’t ready to tell that story yet. But sooner or later, I’ll tell. And if Sugar has her way—and she usually does—I guess it’ll be sooner, not later, because Sugar . . . well, that chick will sure go a long way out of her way for a good story.
About the Authors
DOREEN CRONIN is the New York Times bestselling author of favorite picture books such as RESCUE BUNNIES, the Diary of . . . series, and CLICK, CLACK, MOO: Cows That Type, a Caldecott Honor Book. When she was growing up, Doreen’s dogs were
named Archie and Trapper (after two of her favorite television characters). She lives in Brooklyn, New York. You can visit her online at www.doreencronin.com.
KEVIN CORNELL spends his days writing and drawing from his doghouse outside Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He can do several popular tricks, including “Sit,” “Stay,” and “Illustrate books”—such as THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON: A Graphic Novel and the upcoming children’s book MUSTACHE! You can visit him online at www.kevskinrug.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Copyright
The Trouble with Chickens
Text copyright © 2011 by Doreen Cronin
Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Kevin Cornell
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cronin, Doreen.
The trouble with chickens : a J.J. Tully mystery / Doreen Cronin ; illustrated by Kevin Cornell. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: A hard-bitten former search-and-rescue dog helps solve a complicated missing-chicken case.
ISBN 978-0-06-121532-2 (trade bdg.) — ISBN 978-0-06-121533-9 (lib. bdg.)
[1. Dogs—Fiction. 2. Chickens—Fiction. 3. Humorous stories. 4. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Cornell, Kevin, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.C88135Tr 2011
[Fic]—dc22
2009031213
CIP
AC
11 12 13 14 15 CG/RRDC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
EPub Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780062069771
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