Don't Tell Anyone

by Peg Kehret

“All right. I’ll probably regret this, but we’ll keep him here until his family comes to get him.”

  “Hooray!” Kylie shouted. “We get to keep Dinkle!”

  “Only until his owner comes for him,” Mrs. Perk said.

  “Can he stay in my room?” Megan asked.

  “No. We’ll block off the kitchen and keep him in there where there’s no carpet. He might not be house-trained.”

  Kylie threw her arms around the dog and began kissing his fur.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Megan said.

  “I really should be angry with you,” Mrs. Perk said. “You didn’t leave a note; I had no idea where you were.”

  “I’m sorry. I only expected to be gone a few minutes. You see, I saw this sign about new apartments and I—”

  Kylie began to sing.

  “Pet, pet, pet the dog.

  Scratch him on the head.

  He can stay with us tonight

  Right beside my bed.”

  “He’s staying in the kitchen,” Mrs. Perk said.

  Dinkle walked away from her, toward the living room.

  “Get the card table and block the doorway so he can’t get on the carpet,” Mrs. Perk said.

  Megan did.

  Dinkle whined.

  “He’s hungry,” Kylie said. “He wants mashed potatoes and applesauce and chocolate pudding.”

  Megan knew those were Kylie’s favorite foods.

  “He’s probably thirsty, after running so far,” Mrs. Perk said.

  Megan filled a bowl with water and put it on the floor. Dinkle lapped it eagerly, splashing water all around the bowl. Megan got a paper towel and wiped the floor. “What can I feed him?” she asked.

  “He can have my green beans,” Kylie offered.

  “We’ll go buy some dog food after we eat,” Mrs. Perk said. “Get washed now; dinner’s ready.”

  They had just finished eating when the telephone rang. Mrs. Perk answered. “Yes, officer,” she said. “I can bring her to the station. When do you want us to come?”

  Megan whispered to Kylie, “It’s the police. They must want to talk to me some more.”

  But why? she wondered. I already told them everything I saw.

  Mrs. Perk hung up and said, “The police want to talk to you again, Megan. I said I’d drive you to the station.”

  “Can I come?” Kylie asked. “Can we take Dinkle along?”

  “Dinkle will stay here. We’ll buy food for him on the way home.” She picked up the phone again and asked the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Faber, if Kylie could come over for a visit, briefly explaining why.

  Kylie howled in protest. “I want to go to the police station! It isn’t fair!”

  “I’m sorry, Kylie,” Mrs. Perk said. “I don’t know how long this will take. It’s best for you to stay with Mrs. Faber.”

  Still protesting, Kylie went next door while Megan and her mother got in the car. As they drove off, they heard a mournful howl from the kitchen.

  7

  Officer Rupp met Megan and her mother at the police station.

  After shaking hands with Mrs. Perk, Officer Rupp said, “I want you to tell me again, Megan, exactly what you saw.”

  Once more Megan told about the accident.

  “What make of car was the tan car?” Officer Rupp asked.

  “I don’t know,” Megan said.

  “Was it new? Shiny?”

  “It was old. The finish was dull, and there were some dents in it.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember more details, but all she could recall was the sound of the crash and the shocking sight of the tan car speeding away.

  “Did it have four doors or two?” Officer Rupp asked.

  “Four, I think.”

  “Was there anyone in it, other than the driver?”

  “I only saw the driver.”

  Officer Rupp gave Megan a sheet of paper that had a map of the accident area drawn on it. It showed the streets, the sidewalk, the freeway on-ramp, and the field.

  “Please sketch for me where the cars were and where you were when you saw the accident,” he said, handing Megan a pencil.

  “I’m not very good at drawing,” she said.

  “Just use an X for one car and an O for the other. Show me which way they were going and where they were when they collided.”

  Megan drew the accident as well as she could. While she worked, her mother looked at the sheet of paper. “Exactly where did this accident take place?” Mrs. Perk asked.

  Officer Rupp said, “At the on-ramp to Interstate 90, near the corner of 148th.”

  “At the field where the cats are,” Mrs. Perk said.

  Megan finished the drawing and explained it to Officer Rupp.

  “Please tell me everything you can remember about the driver,” he said.

  “I only caught a glimpse of him.”

  “Hair color?”

  “I didn’t see his hair. He had on a cap.” Megan had already said all this when Officer Rupp questioned her at the field. Why was he asking the same things again?

  “Could you guess the driver’s age?”

  “Kind of young.”

  “How young? A teenager? Twenties?”

  Megan shook her head. “I didn’t see him well enough to be positive, but I think he was a teenager.”

  “What about skin color?”

  Megan thought hard. “White. I’m sure he was white.”

  “Do you think you could describe him for a police artist? We’d like to try to get a drawing that resembles him.”

  Megan agreed to try.

  The artist came and began questioning her. “Was his face long or round?”

  “Sort of long.”

  To Megan’s surprise, the artist drew on a computer rather than on paper. He showed Megan two sketches. “Did his eyes look like this—or more like this?”

  “I saw him from the side, and only for an instant. I’m not sure about his eyes.” Megan knew her answers were not useful, but she couldn’t help it. In her mind, she had a faint idea of what the driver had looked like, but trying to put that fleeting glimpse into words was impossible. “His hair was kind of shaggy,” she said, “as if he needed a haircut.”

  The artist kept asking questions and making changes in the sketch until finally Megan said the drawing resembled the person she had seen. She knew the image still wasn’t exactly right, but she didn’t know what needed to be changed.

  Officer Rupp thanked her for her help and then said, “If you remember anything else, no matter how unimportant it might seem, call me.” He gave Mrs. Perk a business card. “This is my pager number. Call any time, day or night.”

  “Does the injured woman’s family know about the dog yet?” Mrs. Perk asked.

  “Not yet. Can you keep him overnight?”

  “Yes. How is the woman? Have you talked to her?”

  Officer Rupp shook his head. “She died soon after she arrived at the hospital.”

  “Oh no,” Mrs. Perk said.

  Megan got a sick feeling in her stomach. The woman she had tried to help, Dinkle’s owner, was dead.

  “That’s why it’s so important to find the other driver,” Officer Rupp said. “This is no longer merely a hit-and-run accident, although that would be bad enough. The charge now could be vehicular homicide.”

  Megan stared in disbelief.

  “We have not yet notified the victim’s family,” Officer Rupp said, “because we can’t reach anyone. For now, I’d appreciate it if you did not talk to anyone about this.”

  “You do think the crash was accidental, don’t you?” Mrs. Perk asked.

  “Why do you ask that?”

  Mrs. Perk looked sheepish. “I read a lot of detective novels,” she said. “When an accident victim’s spouse can’t be found immediately, sometimes it turns out not to be an accident at all, and the spouse is guilty of murder.”

  “We’re waiting for results of the autopsy to establish the cause of death,” Officer Rupp said. “At this time we�
��re looking into all possibilities.”

  On the way home, Megan and her mother stopped at the market. “Pick out some dog food,” Mrs. Perk said. “I need to get a few other things. I’ll meet you at the check-out counter.”

  Megan looked at the dozens of different kinds of dog food, unsure which one to choose. She finally selected a package with a picture of a dog that looked a little like Dinkle.

  When they arrived home, Megan could hear Kylie singing a half block away. Looking toward the sound, she saw Kylie leading Dinkle on a leash. The neighbor, Mrs. Faber, walked with them.

  Kylie bellowed, to her usual tune:

  “Walk, walk, walk the dog

  Up and down the street.

  Scoop the poop and take it home

  Keep the sidewalk neat.”

  Megan couldn’t believe her ears. There was her sister, happily carrying a little plastic bag full of dog-doo and singing about it at the top of her lungs. Megan hoped none of the other neighbors were listening.

  “Mom!” Kylie shouted. “I took Dinkle for a walk!”

  “Hush, Kylie,” Mrs. Perk said. “Keep your voice down.”

  “I still had a leash,” Mrs. Faber said, “from when I used to have Pepper. Dinkle was howling at being left by himself, so it seemed a good time to teach Kylie the proper way to walk a dog.”

  “She showed me how to use a bag to clean up after Dinkle,” Kylie said. “All you do is—”

  “Hush, Kylie!” Mrs. Perk repeated. She thanked Mrs. Faber and then instructed Kylie to put her bag in the garbage can.

  Megan took Dinkle inside and fed him. He gobbled all the food and then put one paw in the empty bowl, to keep it from sliding across the floor while he licked it.

  “Smart dog,” Megan said. Dinkle wagged his tail.

  After the dishes were done and Kylie had gone to bed, Mrs. Perk said, “We need to discuss those cats, Megan. I thought you weren’t going to feed them anymore.”

  “We never finished talking about it,” Megan said, “because you had to answer the phone. I planned to talk to you again as soon as I got home today, but then I saw the accident and rescued Dinkle and everything got so confusing.”

  Megan’s eyes filled with tears. “The most terrible thing has happened, Mom. All the cats are going to be killed unless I can save them.”

  “Calm down, Megan. Those cats are not going to be killed.”

  “Yes, they are!” Megan told her mother about the apartment building. “I had just copied the information from the sign when I saw the cars crash. The building is going to start next week.”

  “You won’t be able to stop construction of the apartments,” Mrs. Perk said. “The landowner has every right to build there.”

  “Maybe I can delay it until the cats are caught and taken somewhere else to live.”

  Mrs. Perk sighed. “Before you were born,” she said, “when I dreamed of a daughter, I thought of tea parties and storybooks. Instead I got the police, a frightened dog, and a bunch of homeless cats in danger.”

  “We can’t just let all those cats get bulldozed,” Megan said.

  Mrs. Perk smiled at Megan. “No,” she said, “we can’t. It isn’t their fault they have no home.”

  Megan let out her breath in relief. “What do you think I should do?” she asked.

  “Call one of the groups who help animals, such as PAWS or the Humane Society. See if they will get involved. There’s even one group called Feline Friends that does nothing but help homeless cats; I read an article about them recently. An organization will have a lot more clout than you will if you try to rescue the cats alone.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “I’m afraid you’re in for a big disappointment,” Mrs. Perk said. “Even with help, it may be too late. Still, I’m glad my daughter is a compassionate person who wants to solve problems instead of just looking the other way.”

  “Is it okay if I keep feeding the cats until they’re rescued? One of them is going to have kittens any time. She needs good food.”

  “All right. Just be careful. I don’t want any more scratches.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  It wasn’t until she was in bed that Megan remembered the man in the blue truck, who had offered to call the building department. She had forgotten to tell Mom about him. Well, it didn’t matter. Mom’s suggestion to call the groups who help animals was a better idea anyway. They would know the right way to catch the cats, and where to take them.

  8

  Dinkle howled in the night. Megan got up twice to quiet him, but each time she left him alone, he immediately began howling again. The third time that Megan went to the kitchen, Mrs. Perk got up, too.

  “He’s lonesome,” Megan said.

  “Oh, all right,” Mrs. Perk said. “Let him sleep on the floor beside your bed. None of us will get any rest if we leave him in the kitchen.”

  Dinkle did not stay on the floor. He curled up next to Megan, and she petted him until he fell asleep. After that, the only sound from Dinkle was a gentle snoring.

  The next morning, Megan dressed quickly and brought in the Daily Tribune. She imagined the headline: YOUNG HEROINE RESCUES SCARED DOG. She wondered if it was too early to call Chelsea.

  She flipped through the front section of the paper, looking for a picture of herself and Dinkle. It was not there. She went back through the paper more slowly and found the headline: POLICE SEEK DRIVER IN FATAL HIT-AND-RUN ACCIDENT.

  The article said that a twelve-year-old girl who was feeding some feral cats in a nearby field had witnessed the accident, but it did not mention Megan’s name. It didn’t give the dead woman’s name, either. Megan wondered if the woman’s family knew yet. The article had a description of the tan car and a number to call if anyone had information about it. The artist’s sketch was there, but it didn’t look much like the driver Megan remembered. She wished she could have given a better description.

  Disappointed not to find a picture of herself and Dinkle, Megan laid the paper on the table. She had expected to be a celebrity at school today. She had planned to cut her picture out of the paper and show it to all her friends.

  The journalist, Amy somebody, had said she was going to use Megan’s picture. Why had she changed her mind?

  Megan fed Dinkle and took him for a walk. Afterward, while she ate her breakfast, she looked in the telephone directory. She wrote down the numbers of three agencies that help animals.

  She tried Feline Friends first but got a message saying that the office opened at nine o’clock. It was too early. She got similar messages when she tried PAWS and the Humane Society.

  She didn’t want to explain the situation on voice mail, so she left no messages. She would call after school.

  She hoped one of the agencies would be willing to help the cats. If they weren’t, Megan wasn’t sure what she would do.

  Shane shifted in his chair at the county building department, waiting for his number to be called. He needed to be sure that nothing would hold up the construction of the apartment complex.

  “There has been no opposition to the project,” the clerk said, when it was finally Shane’s turn. “Unless there’s a last-minute problem, you can pick up the building permit tomorrow.”

  A last-minute problem, Shane thought, such as a bunch of wild cats with no place to go.

  Shane hurried out to his truck. There would be no last-minute problem, no reason for Brice to delay clearing the field. Shane would see to that.

  On Friday morning, Shane would drive to Elmwood and cash the forged check and close out his savings account.

  With luck, he would sell his truck by Friday, too. His ad was already running in Auto Trader, and two people had called about it.

  He would fly the Colby hot-air balloon and stage the crash-and-burn “accident” Friday night, then head for New Mexico.

  Once the apartment project was started, the money Shane had stolen would not be missed until the end of June, when the bookkeeper figured the quarte
rly business taxes. Maybe not even then.

  If the theft was discovered, Brice would never accuse Shane because by then Brice would think Shane was dead.

  Everything was working out exactly as Shane had hoped. All he had to do was keep the kid quiet about the cats. That should be a piece of cake.

  That afternoon, Megan hurried home from school. She planned to walk Dinkle, feed the cats, and then start telephoning the animal agencies.

  As she approached her house, she heard her sister’s song coming from the end of the block.

  “Walk, walk, walk the dog

  Up and down the street. . . .”

  Good, Megan thought. Kylie’s taking care of Dinkle. That will save me some time.

  She took her homework out of her backpack and put the cat food and the jar of fresh water in. Then she wrote a quick note to her mother, got on her bike, and took off before Kylie could see her and beg to go along.

  The smashed van was gone. Megan did not go to the place where it had been. It gave her a strange feeling to know that yesterday at this time, a woman had died there. Although she had never met the woman, Megan felt sad.

  She walked quietly toward the tree where she had left the dish of cat food yesterday. She looked from side to side as she walked, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mommacat.

  At the base of the tree, Megan saw a package the size of a shoe box, wrapped in plain brown paper. Someone had written on the paper with a red marker: CAT FOOD.

  That’s odd, Megan thought. Had someone seen her feeding the cats and wanted to help? But why do it this way? Why not just put the cat food in the dish?

  She picked up the package; it was too light to be full of cat food. She removed the wrapping paper and opened the box. Inside was a sheet of white paper, with a message written in the same red marker.

  If you want the cats to live, don’t tell anyone. You are the only one who knows. Keep it that way.

  There was a P.S. at the bottom of the page. It said: Do not show anyone this note.

  Megan read the message a second time. If you want the cats to live, don’t tell anyone.

  Don’t tell anyone what? About the accident?

  She put the note in her pocket, then stuffed the box and the wrapping paper in her backpack.