“Now what?” CindeeRae whispered.
“We investigate,” Madeleine said, using her outdoor voice. We shushed her again. Even CindeeRae, master of voice projection, knew when to keep it down.
“You’re a bunch of chickens.” Madeleine walked ahead to a bank of cotton candy and snow-cone booths. From there we could see more of the park, including the Sea Dragon and the Round-Up. Some of the rides had been pulled for reuse at other amusement parks or the new Magic Planet downtown. Darkened gaps marked where the Ferris Wheel, the Wild Cat, and the Sky Ride used to be, as if Godzilla had plucked them from the park and tossed them into the ocean.
We were walking toward the old Magic Summer Theater when a low hum rose in the chill air, followed by a chorus of barking. We stopped, and I turned my ear toward the noise.
“Is that what I think it is?” CindeeRae asked, her green eyes flashing against the park’s shadows.
“Let’s go.” Madeleine took off toward the sound, her black Converses slapping the pavement.
“She’s crazy.” March grabbed my elbow as I tried to follow after her. “We still need to be careful even if she isn’t.”
I stopped and looked around. He was right. This wasn’t how you launched a successful mission, I thought, watching Madeleine stomp down the park’s main thoroughfare and out of view.
CindeeRae, March, and I cut across the overgrown grass surrounding the backside of the shelter for the food court and carnival games. The barking came from inside that building.
Hugging the wall, we slunk around to the side, where we could just barely see the carousel pavilion across the path. White Christmas lights hanging from the eaves suddenly lit up against the late afternoon.
“That sound is a generator,” March whispered. “That’s how they’re powering the lights.”
“Who?” CindeeRae asked. “And for what?”
Her question hung in the air.
I tiptoed down the side of the building, March and CindeeRae following, and peeked around the corner to see what was under the shelter.
Dogs, big like Genki, were chained to shelter columns. Straw had been dumped on the cement floor, and each of them had cleared a perfect circle around their posts. The chains were just short enough to prevent them from reaching one another, and each post included a metal dish and a ratty blanket.
Once CindeeRae realized where the dogs were, she stepped into the open to search for Lobster.
Across the path, I could see the whole carousel pavilion, only it no longer housed a carousel, but a makeshift fight-ring on a platform, the railing spotted with blood.
I pulled CindeeRae back. “Those are fight dogs. Lobster won’t be here.”
We ducked behind the wall again, watching for Madeleine. Crouched low, I peeked around the shelter wall.
Crowley walked inside with another man.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I reeled back and landed on my butt, pressing a hand to my mouth to stop myself from yelping. March looked to see what had frightened me, and when he recognized Crowley, I had to dig my fingers into his arm so he wouldn’t take off without us. If we moved too fast, we’d all be caught. I shuddered at the thought.
After my breathing steadied, I eased back to my perch at the wall, trying to listen in, but their conversation was lost to the sound of the generator and maybe even the beating of my heart. Still, all I could think was that we had been right: Crowley had been part of the dognapping ring all along.
I dropped to my knees and crawled closer, trying to hear what they were saying. March grabbed at my ankle, but I kicked him away. They shifted as they talked, their backs mostly to me. Two bar tables stood between us, but if they moved just right they would see me.
“You’re being sloppy,” Crowley said. “All the news recently has been about dogfights. The police uncover you, and we’re not far behind.”
The man’s voice rose in anger. “Our operation’s tight—you worry about yourself and keep the big dogs coming our way. We’ll be fine.”
“I can’t get them to you any faster,” Crowley said. “We have a strict process. I’ll note the request for more, but you look full here.” There was a pause, and my breath caught in my throat as I waited for them to move. They stayed put. “What’s your capacity at the warehouse?”
“We need at least ten more,” the man grumbled, an angry edge still in his voice.
“Okay. We’ll work on it.”
I caught a glimpse of Madeleine peering around the carousel pavilion, and my heart seemed to explode in my chest.
“I’ll call with news,” Crowley said, and ducked out the shelter, away from the carousel. The other man followed him to the path but then turned in the opposite direction, toward the old log-barrel ride. I stood as soon as it looked like the coast was clear.
March and CindeeRae raced toward me, and the dogs pulled at their chains and barked at us, baring their teeth. We backed away from them, moving deeper into the shelter. Most were pit bulls with clipped tails and ears, their fur spotted with blood. One of the biggest dogs seemed to be missing an eye, or it was just too swollen for me to see. I swayed, dizzy.
The barking echoed under the tin roof and vibrated in my chest. Madeleine, hearing the commotion, waved at us from the pavilion. “I’m over here, guys,” she yelled.
My stomach dropped. I grabbed CindeeRae’s and March’s hands and pulled them to the back of the shelter and out the opposite side, the chains clanging as the dogs strained toward us. Motioning for Madeleine to follow, we rushed down the path, just as two men—the one we’d seen with Crowley, and another man—charged at us from the log-barrel ride. The man who had been with Crowley was short and had thick arms covered in tattoos, while the other was tall and skinny with a scraggly beard that he had braided into a tiny point.
We shot the other way, sprinting toward the exit behind the Jack Rabbit. Madeleine’s soccer speed put her in the lead, while March fell behind. As we were passing the old Magic Summer Theater, I looked back over my shoulder for him and realized he had fallen, his leg caught in a hole from an upended fence post.
I veered off, looping around the Viking ship to get back to March, CindeeRae following me. As the men drew closer, their feet pounding on the pavement, Madeleine appeared like a ghost, dragging March to his feet just as the men rounded the corner to the old Magic Summer Theater. With superhero strength, Madeleine wrapped March’s arm around her shoulder and ran down the path with him like they were competing in a three-legged race. CindeeRae and I changed direction and caught up to them just as they slipped through the break in the fence.
Madeleine screamed as we ran to our bikes, “Kidnappers! We’re being attacked! Help!”
No one followed after us as we pedaled home, our bikes weaving in and out of the bright streetlights.
Madeleine called the police tip line from her cell phone as we huddled around her in March’s basement. We listened as she told them about the dogs chained up inside Magic Planet, and the big men lumbering about. She hung up when they asked for her name and number, and we all stood breathless for a few seconds.
Because it was dark, our parents came to pick us up, and I walked with Madeleine to our bikes parked in March’s driveway. Her mom sat in the front of a big SUV, talking on the phone while Madeleine lifted her kickstand with the toe of her shoe.
“You’re not bad to hang out with,” I said. “So why are you so mean and bossy?”
She stopped walking her bike to look at me, and I thought her expression was probably the same one she gave soccer opponents trying to score a goal. “You try being the biggest kid in your class and Korean. When I was younger, kids picked on me all the time.” She shrugged. “They don’t anymore.”
There was no excuse for being mean, but I understood what it was like to be different. “Well, I just wanted you to know that I think you’re brave.” I busied myself with my kickstand. “And you saved March today, so…thank you.”
Even in the darkness I could see a grin
curl at her lips. “You’re kinda bossy, too,” she said. “But I think you’re a good detective.”
It was almost a direct quote of the first item from the friendship list I had written down for Mrs. Hewitt last week. We shared a smile as her mom stepped from the SUV. I watched Madeleine roll her bike to the car and remembered the day I tried pelting her with a Jolly Rancher but hit our music teacher instead. I snorted.
Madeleine turned around and looked at me just as Dad rounded the corner of Colonial. “What?” she asked.
I repeated a line from our detention song. “‘Teacher thinks that I sound funny…’”
Madeleine added, “‘But she likes the way you sing.’”
“Unlikely,” I blurted, and this time Madeleine laughed, too.
“Totally unlikely,” she agreed.
I waved to her as I rode my bike toward Dad.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Dressing like Velma made me walk with a bit more sass, my red Mary Janes snapping on the school tiles as March and I headed up the stairs to our classrooms. After Madeleine had told me I made a good detective, I had decided to wear my Velma Dinkley costume with pride. But even the added confidence hadn’t helped me shake the feeling that our Magic Planet discovery only meant we still had no idea where the doggie-holding headquarters were.
March, dressed like Steve Jobs, asked, “The usual T-or-T tonight?”
“I don’t know. Mom and Dad are nervous about the dognapper situation. Maybe we can tag along with Maggie?” We reached the top of the stairs, where kids mingled in clusters, showing off their costumes.
“Two stormtroopers,” I said, unable to help myself from playing slug-bug Halloween.
He cocked his head to the side, searching for the second stormtrooper. It took him a while because Sandy McAllister had colored the entire thing pink. “Oh,” March said. “A stormtroopress.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Three cats,” he said. “I don’t know if Maggie’s taking anyone tonight. She said something about being too old for that. Plus, there’s a party somewhere.”
Maggie had been taking half the Winters kids around for a few years, since Marshall and Candy felt outnumbered with all of them. Since we were ten, March and I had gone trick-or-treating alone because the neighborhood was usually busy enough that our parents didn’t worry. We worked from my house on Honeysuckle to Morningside, where we stopped at the Furman house to eat homemade pizza, which they pulled hot from a stone oven on their back patio. Then we hit the Colonial loop before stopping at the Rollinses’ on Summer Glen; they were a cute old couple who always dressed like mummies and served hot chocolate until eight thirty. We would finish Summer Glen, drop back to Honeysuckle, and end at my house by nine.
“My parents could shadow us from half a block away.” I imagined them as Goku and Wonder Woman, holding hands and flirting down the block. Ew.
“Okay.” The bell rang and March gestured toward the bathroom. “Oh, and if I see a Scooby-Doo, can I call it a twofer since Velmer is on his team?”
I turned around to see Sky Mendelson dressed in a full-body Scooby costume, complete with a doggie hood that covered his head.
I rolled my eyes and turned back to March. “Vel-ma,” I clarified, drawing each syllable out like a separate word. The more we talked, the edgier I felt. “Plus, it’s not ‘Scooby’s Team.’ It’s called Mystery Incorporated.”
March shrugged, no longer interested in that part of the conversation. “It’s my theory that kids wearing animal costumes get more treats at T-or-T.”
“Trick-or-treating!” I said. “Gah! You are such a geek.”
March’s brows drew together, hooding his eyes. “Halloween makes you grouchy.”
I turned and walked to my classroom without saying good-bye.
During lunch recess, we spread the newspaper on the pavement outside the foursquare courts, and CindeeRae read aloud the article about the dogfighting bust. A picture of three men, handcuffed and lying on the ground, was displayed above the fold. Four of the ten dogs had already been returned to their owners, while the rest were being treated by a veterinarian. There were no pictures of the dogs. We knew why.
After CindeeRae followed the story to page five and read to the end, she crumpled the paper into a big wad and threw it over her shoulder. I scrambled after it, tearing the article from the paper and folding the sheets neatly so I could put it in the Sleuth Chronicle later.
“We’re no closer to finding our own dogs than we were before.” CindeeRae sat with her knees pulled under her chin, cat hood covering her face.
“And it just keeps getting more dangerous,” March said. “We should tell our parents. We have enough information now—they would believe us.”
“But we still don’t know where they’re keeping the dogs.” I stuffed the folded newspaper into the waistband of my Velma skirt.
“Maybe they missed something at Crowley’s house,” March said. “If we told the police we were the ones that called, and that we saw him there, maybe they’d search again.”
March was right; maybe it was time to come clean and let the police know what we had discovered about Crowley, if they would even believe us.
“Officer Rhodes thinks I made everything up, remember?” I said. “I’m not a credible witness.”
The roar of the playground behind us seemed to grow as we sat silent.
“This is stupid.” Madeleine stood, her pirate scarf falling to cover half her face. She kicked the garbage can next to the school, and a deep echo rang from the bin. I shook my head in frustration. This would be one of the few times I actually agreed with her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CindeeRae caught up to us as we reached the flagpole outside. The ruffling of all the costumes and the hum of Halloween excitement swelled around us, and I wanted to cover my ears against the happy noise. We had no plan, and nowhere to look for new clues.
As I followed them to the bus turnout, I stopped when I recognized a mom standing outside her car in the carpool lane, waving wildly. She was parked three spaces ahead of Madeleine’s mom with her dark hair in a perfectly straight bob. Watching her as Madeleine and Catelyn walked past to their own car gave me a chill of déjà vu.
“Hey.” CindeeRae pointed. “Isn’t that your mom?”
My mom hadn’t picked me up from school unexpectedly since Papi died two years ago. Papi was Dad’s dad, who died in a car accident.
I turned from the carpool lane and ran toward my bus, putting as much distance between me and Mom’s news as I could. But I wasn’t used to running in the Mary Janes and tripped in the middle of the walkway, my treat bag flying into the air and scattering all around me.
March and CindeeRae hovered above. “Are you okay?” March asked. When I didn’t answer, they both dropped to the ground and began picking up the Tootsie Rolls, glow sticks, and spider rings Mrs. Thomas had given us for Halloween. I felt dizzy and confused, as if I had just been spun wildly and released, with no one to catch hold of me.
Madeleine reached me before Mom did, her voice panicked. “What happened?”
My red Velma skirt was torn, and my knees were bleeding, and I pushed the newspaper pages that had fallen from my waistband against my skin to stop it. When Mom reached me, she knelt and asked, “Kazu, are you okay?”
I looked Mom in the eyes. They were red-rimmed.
“Genki?” I knew Mom had come to school because Genki was missing. I don’t know how he did it, but Crowley had stolen my dog; he had taken my absolute best friend in the world.
“I’m so sorry,” Mom answered, and I ducked my head to my bloody knees and cried.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I sat in the front seat of the car, feeling like my chest had been split open with blunt-edge scissors. March and CindeeRae had missed their buses and sat in the backseat, their silence somehow making the car quieter than it would’ve been without them.
“Sweetie.” Mom rested her palm on my leg. “Genki jumped
the fence, and I thought he was chasing squirrels again, so I drove to all his favorite places and couldn’t find him. When I went to the police station to file a report, they said four other dogs had been taken in the last two days. It seems the dognappers strike in batches.”
Mom watched me process the information. I turned my head toward the window.
I had almost forgotten March and CindeeRae were in the car when CindeeRae spoke, unexpected and loud like a megaphone. “Lobster was taken from my backyard one night. He’s purebred, so Daddy thinks the dognappers may have sold him to a puppy mill. But we’ll get him back when they catch the dognapper.”
I couldn’t help but wonder what Crowley would do with Genki. He was a big dog, bred to fight, and if you didn’t know about his social anxiety disorder, you might think he snacked on Chihuahuas. What if Crowley sold Genki to dogfighters? Or maybe worse, what if he became a lab dog, injected with all sorts of things that would turn him into a Frankendoggie?
“Madeleine’s dog was taken, too,” I mumbled to Mom under my breath.
“What, sweetheart?”
March answered for me, like he had last week when I stopped talking. “Madeleine Brown, this girl at our school. Her dog disappeared two nights ago from Sleepy Hollow. She was a wreck.” His voice turned on the last word when he realized I was kind of a mess, too, but instead of changing it, he just mispronounced it. Wrecky.
By the time Mom pulled in front of CindeeRae’s house, CindeeRae had invited herself over for a Halloween party later that night, since she couldn’t go trick-or-treating, and I no longer wanted to. Mom promised lots of candy, and maybe a scary movie. I imagined March’s tormented push against the back of my seat at the thought of surrendering his last eligible night of T-or-T. But when Mom parked in front of his house, he got out of the car and yelled, without a hitch, “See you at the Halloween Par-tay, Kazu.”
Kazu Jones and the Denver Dognappers Page 13
