Kazu Jones and the Denver Dognappers

by Shauna Holyoak

  I stopped my bike so quickly it skidded on the path, shooting gravel from my back wheel. March and CindeeRae stopped behind me.

  “Are you okay?” I leaned toward him over my bike.

  The kid’s eyes were glassy, and one tear slid down his cheek, clearing a path through the grime on his face. “He took my dog.”

  We had been here the entire time and had ridden round the loop twice. Were we so focused on finding clues that we had missed witnessing an actual dognapping?

  The kid stood and started to jog toward Federal Boulevard. “I’ve got to go home and call the police.”

  We kept up with him on our bikes, riding slowly to match his pace. His hair was dark and wavy, and he wore a baseball tee with the number ten on the back. I thought I might have seen him at school. Was he a third grader?

  “Is your name Dimitri?” CindeeRae asked. He nodded.

  March and I turned to CindeeRae. Did she know everyone at Lincoln Elementary?

  She shrugged. “My reading buddy was in his class last year.”

  Dimitri stopped, as if all our talking made him forget what he was doing. “A van stopped next to us, and this guy opened the door and took Muffin.”

  “What did he look like?” I grabbed the Sleuth Chronicle from my basket and opened it to a clean sheet of paper.

  Dimitri looked around like he suddenly realized he was lost. He spun a slow circle, and the leash, missing its snap hook, flew in the wind like an empty kite string. I pictured myself down at the other end of the soccer field days ago with an empty leash in my own hand.

  “I don’t know,” Dimitri said, meeting my eyes for the first time. “He was wearing a mask.”

  “Was someone with him?” My pen bled into the paper as I waited.

  “No.” He turned around and began walking toward Summer Glen. A slow hiccuping cry started from deep in his throat. “I wouldn’t let go, so he cut the leash with a knife and drove away.”

  I wrote madly. “Which way did he go?”

  “That way.” He pointed over his shoulder toward Federal Boulevard.

  “What did the van look like?”

  “Big? No windows on the side, and pictures with writing that I couldn’t really read. It was too dirty.”

  I tapped my pen on the notebook. It had to be the same van!

  “We’ll take you home.” March slid from his bike and walked it to the other side of Dimitri so that we flanked him like guards. Dimitri’s shoulders quaked with sobs.

  Aside from me staring down the dognapping van after Crowley took Barkley, no one had seen the dognapper in action until today. Dimitri’s dog must have been special.

  “What kind of dog was Muffin?” I asked.

  “A Samoyed puppy.”

  I had no idea what a Samoyed looked like, but I guessed they were expensive, or else why would Crowley risk snatching Muffin in broad daylight while Dimitri held fast to his leash? Muffin might go for a nice sum to an illegal breeder or a puppy mill, and Crowley obviously didn’t care who else he might hurt in the process, as long as he got the dog.

  We shadowed Dimitri to his house on Grove Street, where his mother pulled him into a tight hug before rushing down their front steps and hugging us, too. We hadn’t seen anything, so we didn’t have much to say, but we nodded dumbly as we listened to Dimitri choke out something in Spanish, his words catching in his throat with his tears.

  As March, CindeeRae, and I walked our bikes four blocks to my house, I realized that, with all the details of Muffin’s dognapping tucked neatly inside the pages of the Sleuth Chronicle, we had only discovered one thing: Crowley was even more dangerous than we’d first thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The lunchroom sounded like a gaggle of geese during the week before Halloween. The tables were already crowded by the time we walked in, and the place smelled like spaghetti sauce and sour milk. March and I sat in the back corner with CindeeRae, Pat, and Jared.

  Jared placed a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos in the middle of the table for trade, and I snatched them, dropping a bag of grapes in their place. CindeeRae pushed a sandwich bag full of graham crackers next to them and said, “Is anyone even going trick-or-treating? Since Lobster…” She fiddled with her juice box. “The Denver Dognapper freaks my parents out, and they won’t let me.”

  “I think so,” Pat said, and Jared nodded.

  I looked at March. We had been going trick-or-treating together for years, but after getting in trouble for Mission: Geezer’s Garbage Raid, we hadn’t talked about it. I shrugged, and March said, “This is my last eligible year for T-or-T. Someone will pay if I can’t go.”

  T-or-T was what March called trick-or-treating. I had never heard anyone else call it that, including his family.

  “I’m glad my parents don’t want me to go,” CindeeRae said, but even with all her acting skills, I didn’t believe her.

  “But your parents could always go with you.” March pushed a single yellow Starburst to the center of the table with his pointer finger.

  “Or you could go with us?” I snatched the Starburst, without offering anything else for trade. March scowled at me, and I said, “It’s one Starburst. It shouldn’t even count as anything.”

  “What do you think of a party instead?” CindeeRae had gotten better about turning down her voice, but she was still the loudest one at the table. “We could eat lots of junk food without having to work for it.”

  Jared and Pat nodded, considering. I almost nodded with them before realizing March would think I was a huge traitor for even thinking about it, so I ducked my head instead. That’s when I caught sight of Madeleine Brown passing our table and shushed everyone. She stopped at the sound and turned toward us, eyebrows tilting together like they were conspiring.

  “You babies want to go trick-or-treating?” She plopped down next to March with Catelyn. “I mean, aren’t fifth graders too old to go trick-or-treating?” Madeleine wore a T-shirt with the number fourteen on the front.

  “T-or-T is cool,” March said, and I cringed. Didn’t he know this was the worst possible moment to use his weird Halloween lingo? “Dressing up is fun, and you get free candy. What fifth grader doesn’t like free candy?”

  “T-or-T is cool,” she mimicked, rolling her eyes. I stayed silent. Madeleine leaned across the table toward me. “What are you going to be for Halloween, Detective Jones? A superhero crime fighter? Sherlock Holmes?”

  My chocolate milk begged me to pour it over her head—the carton nearly twitched in my hand. I took a deep breath instead—even though the thought of Madeleine Brown walking home with sour-milk hair made me smile.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked. “Is that what detectives do when someone asks them a hard question?”

  She made detecting sound silly, babyish even. I leaned across the table and said, “Would you like it if I made fun of you for dressing up with a bunch of people in matching uniforms to chase a ball around? Probably not, because it’s mean. You can make anything sound dumb if you try hard enough. It’s sad that you want to be good at that.”

  Catelyn’s eyebrows shot up. Madeleine’s face was all pinched, like someone had cranked her nose a couple times.

  Madeleine stood and slammed her palms on the tabletop. “You, and all your friends, are freaks!” She stomped off, Catelyn shuffling behind to keep up.

  We sat quietly for a few seconds. Then March said, “That was the coolest thing ever.” He pushed three more Starbursts to me across the table.

  “Totally!” CindeeRae said, and we all hooted together, celebrating.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  By the time I got home from school, I was over our cafeteria victory and angry that Madeleine Brown had made fun of me and my detecting. Just thinking about it sent a stinging flush to my cheeks.

  I slammed our front door behind me.

  Genki heard and ran down the stairs. But then he read my mood and lay down by my feet, licking the bare skin at my ankles.

  From wher
e I stood I could see Mom at the kitchen counter making baked manicotti. In one hand she held a pasta shell and in the other a plastic bag full of the cheese filling. Two long rows of the stuffed shells lined the casserole dish at her side. I breathed in the happy scent, and exhaled a bit of anger. Baked manicotti was my favorite.

  Pearl Jam blasted from the portable speakers on the counter, Mom’s third-favorite band behind the Smashing Pumpkins and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. She probably didn’t even hear the door slam.

  “What’s wrong?” Mom asked, squeezing the mixture into the last shell. She wedged it into the casserole dish and looked at me.

  When I didn’t answer, she wiped her hands on the towel hung over her shoulder and turned off the music.

  The silence swallowed the room. “Today stunk!” I said.

  She walked toward me, a big smile stretching her cheeks. “I may have something that will make you feel better.”

  I was ready to list everything about the day that had upset me, my complaints about Madeleine Brown stacked on my tongue. Without anywhere to go, I swallowed them down, and it left my chest tight and hot.

  Mom pointed to the window seat before turning back to her chore. Laid out on the navy cushions was a Velma costume, complete with an oversize orange turtleneck, a red skirt, orange knee-highs, and red Mary Janes. It was perfect and horrible at the same time.

  “I don’t want to be Velma anymore,” I whispered.

  Mom froze. “Why not?” The smile had completely melted from her face. But my cheeks still burned as I remembered Madeleine’s sneer.

  “Because it’s stupid,” I blurted. “It’s a baby costume.” Everything I said was wrong, but I meant it. I was surprised those two things could happen at the same time.

  Mom didn’t reply, but got back to work covering the manicotti with marinara sauce, her eyes down. I felt silly, stranded in the entryway to our house with my backpack still on my shoulders.

  As I slipped off my shoes and turned toward the stairway, Mom spun around, her face red. “Shitsurei!” How rude. She leaned forward on the counter, palms down. The pose made her look big and angry. Spit angry.

  “I give up, Kazuko!” Her lips trembled as she spoke. “You’re constantly getting into trouble, and you never want to spend time with your family anymore! And when I go out of my way to get you something you asked for less than a week ago, you tell me it’s stupid.”

  Genki whimpered at my feet and then walked toward the dining room, where he would probably quiver under the table for about forty minutes.

  “Go to your room. I don’t want to see you before dinner.”

  I felt anchored to the floor, shocked by Mom’s response.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked.

  Genki whined from the other room, as if he were answering for me.

  “Yes, Mom.” And as respectfully as possible, I shifted my eyes away and walked upstairs to my room, careful to close the door quietly behind me.

  Dad came into my room after he got home from work, holding a pink plastic brain in one hand. “Hey, Bug.” He walked to my bed and sat next to me, squeezing the squeaky brain before dropping it next to me on the floor. His green button-down shirt was crisp and smelled like a forest cologne. As soon as he smiled, my heart didn’t feel so heavy.

  “Wow! Your room’s looking nice.”

  I gathered all my homework and pushed it into its folder. For two hours I had cleaned my room and then decided I should probably catch up on spelling assignments. “Mom’s kinda mad at me, so I thought I should do something she’d like.”

  “Yeah. I heard you had a scuffle this afternoon. Mom’s stress about the exhibit, and this whole dognapping business, is taking its toll. On both of you.”

  “Maybe.” I slid the folder into my backpack and scooted closer to Dad. He pulled me to his side and draped his arm around my shoulder. I closed my eyes and leaned into him, inhaling his scent.

  “I think we all need to do something fun,” Dad said. “What do you think about heading to Sleepy Hollow as soon as it gets dark?”

  Sleepy Hollow was an actual street in Highlands Prime—a rich Denver suburb—and every Halloween the houses were decorated with elaborate lights and displays. The week before the thirty-first they had a big block party every night where vendors set up food trucks and picture booths or sold glow-in-the-dark trinkets and face painting. People in crazy costumes wove down the street, and many residents staged events in their front yards, like a witch’s brew with hags bent over a smoking cauldron or a mini–spook alley weaving through a makeshift maze.

  There was even a doggie parade, where owners walked their costumed pets up and down the block. This wasn’t Genki’s favorite activity, since he was prone to public panic attacks, but when we picked the right costume—mostly cloaky ones that hid his face—he did okay. Two years ago he even placed in the Puppy Dog Masquerade, although someone entered their cat and Genki disqualified himself by chasing it through the neighborhood. March and I spent the entire night running after him, Genki’s Little Red Riding Hood costume catching air like a parachute.

  I almost liked going to Sleepy Hollow more than I liked trick-or-treating, except there wasn’t as much candy.

  “I really don’t feel like it,” I said.

  “Come on, Kazu. We haven’t missed a night at Sleepy Hollow for ten years now. We’re not starting this Halloween.”

  I nodded because I couldn’t think of another response.

  “Let’s go and have a good time, all decked out.” He leaned over and grabbed the pink brain before handing it to me.

  “Do you think Mom will still let me wear the Velma costume?” I ducked my head so I wouldn’t have to look in his eyes.

  He bent toward me and whispered, “I heard you said it was too babyish.”

  I looked at Dad, hoping he could see all that I hadn’t been able to tell Mom that afternoon. “Maybe for school. But not for Sleepy Hollow or trick-or-treating.” Not for times when Madeleine Brown couldn’t see me.

  Dad nodded like what I said made sense. After a pause he asked, “Why didn’t you tell Mom that, Bug?”

  I could only shrug. For some reason, Mom triggered my most honest reactions minus the charm or courtesy reserved for other adults. It’s like I couldn’t help myself when she was around; it spewed out unchecked, like foam from a shaken soda bottle.

  “Grab your Velma costume and get ready.” Dad stood and walked toward the door. “March is coming with us, so be prepared to party hard with Steve Jobs.”

  Even at my glummest, I had to smile at that. “Is it okay if we invite one more person?” I asked.

  He was already thudding down the stairs when he yelled his response. “Of course!”

  Dad ducked his head to fit in the car, and the black tips of his Dragon Ball Z wig bent against the car’s ceiling. Mom smoothed down her costume after clicking the seat belt in place. She didn’t care that the real Wonder Woman hadn’t worn blue pleather leggings and a red, white, and blue cape; she claimed her makeshift costume kept her warm.

  “You ready for this, Kazu?” she asked like we were going to the doctor’s. We hadn’t officially made up yet, but going to Sleepy Hollow together seemed an unspoken truce. It helped that I wore the Velma costume. Plus, I cleaned my room, so I had practically apologized out loud.

  “Yes,” I said. “But we don’t have to stay for very long.”

  “Are you kidding?” Dad said. “I look forward to this all year.” He turned to smile at me, and the motion nearly pulled the plastic wig from his head. He yanked it down before turning back in his seat, and it snapped against his neck like a rubber band.

  I yanked the seat belt over my orange turtleneck sweater, poking Genki, who was trying to snuggle my side.

  “Genki’s hot-dog costume is cool,” I said, petting the mustard stripe down his back.

  “It just accentuates what we already knew.” Dad started the car and pulled from the driveway, the sky darkening quickly as the sun went down.
Turning onto March’s street made me antsy, and when Dad told me to run and grab March, I asked him to honk the horn instead. I knew Mr. Crowley wouldn’t terrorize me in front of my parents, but I didn’t want to risk meeting him on the street again.

  March’s mom walked him to the car and then leaned in to chat with Mom as March climbed into the backseat.

  “Steve Jobs won?” I asked.

  He was wearing a long-sleeved black turtleneck shirt with a white apple on the chest, jeans, and tennis shoes. His mom had buzzed his hair, and he wore wire-frame Gandhi glasses.

  “It wasn’t much of a contest.”

  “Are you going to carry that the whole time?” I asked him.

  March held a white iPhone box in one hand—his prop.

  “Are you going to carry that the whole time?” He motioned at the Sleuth Chronicle clutched to my chest.

  “Yes.” I couldn’t think of a better Velma accessory.

  March shrugged. “I can put the box in my back pocket if I need to.” He leaned forward to get a better look at me. “Nice seventies costume.”

  “Velma!” I said. “You know, from Scooby-Doo.”

  He gave me a slow nod and then said, “Sheesh, you’re grouchy.”

  We both sat back in the seat and looked out opposite windows. As Dad turned from Colonial to Summer Glen, we passed Mr. Crowley’s house.

  A chill traveled my spine, and I looked away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The closer it got to Halloween, the more crowded Sleepy Hollow became. The blocked-off street was flooded with small families and their toddling children. March, CindeeRae, and I stopped to take it all in. Dad had picked up CindeeRae on the way, and she wore a black hoodie with ears, a furry white bib, and matching leg warmers over black leggings and ballet shoes.

  As she twirled ahead of me, a kitty tail flared out behind her. “You’re a cat?” I asked in a hushed voice, afraid Mom might overhear and want to trade me in for CindeeRae, a kid willingly dressing up as a cat for Halloween.