Suddenly, the door next to the Braeburn family’s room opened and out walked Rita and Pierre! What were they doing in there?
The surprises continued: Bert Anderson walked down the hall with a smile on his face! What in the world could have put that old grouch in a good mood?
Jerry and Maya looked at one another curiously. Every member of the staff seemed to be acting suspiciously this evening! The manager’s bloodstained bandage, Rita and Pierre meeting in the room right next to the Braeburns, and Bert Anderson in a good mood for once.
“There’s something fishy going on,” Jerry whispered to Maya. Before she had a chance to respond, the door to the Braeburns’ suite burst open.
“Winston’s gone!” howled Mrs. Braeburn. “We’ve looked everywhere! He’s nowhere to be found in our suite. Our precious dog has been stolen!”
Mr. Braeburn ran up and down the hallway with the red velvet cushion in one hand and a sausage in the other. He hoped to lure the dog back.
After a while, he stopped, turned to the hotel manager, and started to threaten him: “If Winston isn’t back here within the hour, you’ll be sorry!”
The hotel manager mopped sweat from his forehead, bowed down, and began to grovel. He promised that they would search the hotel from top to bottom. Rita, Pierre, the hotel manager, Bert, Jerry, and Maya all ran off in different directions. They searched every broom closet and guest room from the basement to the attic. But there was no sign of Winston.
An hour later, the hotel staff gathered outside the Braeburns’ suite again.
The hotel manager, Ronnie Hazelwood, adjusted his bandage. He took a deep breath before knocking.
Mr. Braeburn flung open the door.
“Well . . . we have, er . . . um . . . haven’t . . . ,” mumbled the manager.
“You haven’t found our dog!” roared Mr. Braeburn. “Disgraceful! We demand compensation for Winston. Our poor little dog has, no doubt, disappeared for good. We will leave the hotel first thing tomorrow morning, and you should be thankful we aren’t going to the police! The hotel can pay for the room.”
Mrs. Braeburn tottered over. She leaned dramatically against the doorway and held her hand to her forehead.
“Naturally,” groaned the manager.
Mr. Braeburn slammed the door with a bang.
It was a sad group that was left to say good night to one another in the hallway that evening. Maya and Jerry walked down the stairs, both deep in thought.
“Something doesn’t seem right here,” said Jerry. “I can feel it in my bones.”
They entered the lounge again, where the fire had died down to mere embers. Jerry and Maya sat on the sofa and went over what they knew.
“A dog worth $30,000 has disappeared,” began Jerry. “The dog couldn’t have escaped from a locked hotel room, so he must have been stolen. Everyone on the staff knows that the master key, which opens all the rooms, hangs in the cabinet in reception. Who needs money the most?”
“The manager, Ronnie Hazelwood, needs money for this hotel,” continued Maya. “And he has mysteriously hurt his hand. Did he take Winston? Did that snappy little dog bite the manager’s hand as he was kidnapping him?”
“Rita and Pierre want to start a restaurant, and they need $30,000 to get started. What were they doing in the room next to the Braeburns? Were they listening through the wall, and did they creep in when everyone was asleep? Have they taken the dog to get the money for their dream project?” asked Jerry as he looked into the embers.
“Or is it Bert Anderson, the old grouch?” asked Maya. “Why was he suddenly in such a good mood? Did he take the dog? Nobody would find it easier to get ahold of the master key than he would. If he sells the dog, he could buy that stamp he wants so badly for his collection.”
“There’s something familiar about the Braeburn family,” said Jerry thoughtfully.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Maya. “Come with me!”
CHAPTER 6
Apples on the Net
Maya dragged Jerry through the darkened hotel, and finally came to the manager’s office, where it was completely quiet. Maya reached for the door handle and, finding it unlocked, hurried them both inside. She went to the desk and switched on the manager’s computer. It started with a hum.
“Let’s search the Internet. There are millions of websites about different topics, so we should be able to find something to help us understand what’s going on!”
“Good idea!” exclaimed Jerry.
“We’ll search for each of the things we learned tonight,” said Maya.
The first thing Maya typed was Chinese apple dachshund. It took only a moment for the results: No results.
It seemed there was nothing on the Internet about a breed of dog called the Chinese apple dachshund.
“I’d say that if we can’t find anything about the Chinese apple dachshund on the Internet, then it isn’t a real breed of dog,” said Maya.
“So you think the Braeburn family is lying about what kind of dog they have? But why?”
“I don’t know yet. Let’s keep searching. What else do we know about the family?” asked Maya.
“We know their names,” said Jerry.
Maya typed in Braeburn + Pippin + Winston and clicked the search button.
Once again, the computer started to search, and two seconds later, a link appeared: Popular apple varieties.
“I knew it!” exclaimed Jerry. “I knew there was something familiar about their names. I’ve heard all those names before, but not for people. They are types of apples. Everyone in the family is named after a different kind of apple. Keep clicking, Maya!”
Maya clicked on the link, and a long list of apple varieties came up.
“Aha!” said Jerry. “Now we know that: (a) there is no breed of dog called the Chinese apple dachshund, and (b) everyone in the family has a name that matches a type of apple.
“But what do we do now?” he asked. “I’m sure that the Braeburns are planning some sort of scheme. We need to find some proof!”
He looked at Maya, who was spinning around on Ronnie Hazelwood’s chair.
“We need more pieces of the puzzle,” she said. “What else do we know?”
Jerry sighed. They seemed to have gotten stuck just as they thought they were about to solve the mystery.
“I know!” exclaimed Jerry. “We know they have stayed in hotels in New York, Miami, and Chicago.”
“But how does that help us?” asked Maya.
“Don’t you see?” said Jerry. “Let’s run the entire list of apple names with New York + Miami + Chicago. The computer will find if there is any connection—a connection between the types of apples and the city names.”
Jerry and Maya typed in everything and searched again. Now, a list of newspaper articles from New York, Miami, and Chicago came up.
“Bingo!” said Jerry.
They clicked on the newspaper articles, all of which appeared to be about an unusual family—a family that had lost its dog on various occasions in exclusive hotels across the country!
From various newspapers in New York, Miami, and Chicago, the links read:
Jerry and Maya read each article. It looked as if the family traveled to luxury hotels and used a different name in each place. When it was time to check out, their “valuable” dog always disappeared. It was the same story in every city. The family in room 13 was a fraud. But now they had been found out!
Jerry and Maya looked at one another. Now it was just a matter of tricking the family into giving itself away. They switched off the computer and crept quietly out of the hotel.
They made their way home through the dark, empty streets, with the soft glow of holiday decorations lighting the way. Their eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. But now they knew what they had to do in the morning!
&
nbsp; CHAPTER 7
In a Red Case
The Braeburn family was planning to leave the hotel that morning. Around 9:00 a.m., the hotel manager, Ronnie Hazelwood, came downstairs. He walked with heavy steps: He had not slept much the night before.
Maya and Jerry explained what they had learned and told him their plan. Ronnie Hazelwood beamed with joy.
“Excellent work! You’ve saved the hotel!” he exclaimed. “I’ll ask the police chief to come immediately.”
A little later, the Braeburn family came downstairs. Mr. Braeburn carried a big red suitcase. Mrs. Braeburn was sobbing, and Pippin was looking down at the floor. Jerry and Uncle Larry fetched the other suitcases from room 13.
When everything was ready, Mr. Braeburn said:
“My family is heartbroken. We didn’t sleep a wink last night. We miss our beloved little dog. I don’t think your money can ever make up for our sorrow. But I do understand if you insist on paying our bill so that you’ll feel as if you’ve done the right thing.”
The hotel manager had to hide under the counter to keep his huge smile from showing. But when he stood up again, he had pulled himself together.
“An express letter came for you this morning, Lord Lambourne,” he said.
The manager held out the letter. Mr. Braeburn put down the red suitcase and took the letter without saying anything about being called Lord Lambourne. Jerry and Maya could barely keep still. He had walked straight into the trap! Mr. Braeburn tore open the letter. It said:
The man with the many apple names staggered backward. His wife looked at him, horrified. He bumped into the red suitcase and it wobbled. From inside came a muffled woof!
Mr. Braeburn looked around in bewilderment.
“We wrote that letter,” said Maya. “And I’m guessing your beloved little dog is inside that suitcase there,” she continued, nodding toward the red suitcase.
“Watch what you say, child!” hissed Mrs. Braeburn. “How dare you suggest such a thing? You think we would lock our own little darling in a suitcase?”
Her outburst was followed by another woof! Mr. Braeburn opened the case, and sure enough, there was Winston, fat and drowsy. A disgusting smell wafted through the hotel foyer.
Presumably, the dog had been given tranquilizers to keep him quiet. Next to him was a half-eaten sausage.
It seems like the only true thing the Braeburns said was that their dog passed gas, thought the hotel manager.
Just then, the police chief came through the hotel entrance.
“Aha!” he said, wrinkling his nose at the smell. “The hotel manager explained everything to me on the phone. It seems we have a case of a lost dog and an attempt to cheat the hotel out of a lot of money.”
The police chief pointed to the dog.
“Here is the missing pooch, and I presume these are the criminals,” he continued, fixing his gaze on the Braeburn family.
Pippin crouched down next to the dog and petted him. Winston panted heavily and farted.
The hotel employees watched as the police chief escorted the gloomy family out of the hotel.
The minute the doors closed behind them, celebrations broke out.
The manager, Ronnie Hazelwood, looked happily at his staff, and then at Jerry and Maya. “Thank you, Jerry and Maya! You have saved me and the entire hotel from disaster.”
CHAPTER 8
Truth Revealed
The hotel manager smiled at Jerry and Maya.
“I promise that you can eat at the holiday buffet free of charge—for the rest of your lives!” But then he fell silent, because there were still a number of questions unanswered.
The hotel manager turned to Rita and Pierre.
“Why were you meeting in room 14 last night?”
Everyone turned to Rita and Pierre. Pierre looked at his feet, and Rita blushed all over.
“We love each other,” said Rita finally. “And we want to get married, move to France, and open a restaurant.” Rita’s blush turned into a smile.
That made the hotel manager smile, too!
Then Ronnie Hazelwood turned to Bert Anderson.
“And what about you, Bert—why did you look so pleased with yourself yesterday evening?”
The strange grin came back to Bert Anderson’s face.
“The stamp was burned,” he began. “The store that was selling the stamp caught fire last night.”
“But I thought you really wanted that particular stamp,” said the manager.
“Oh, I did! Nothing would please me more. But if I can’t have it, I don’t want anyone else to, either.”
The hotel manager shook his head. Bert Anderson was strange and always would be. But that didn’t make him a criminal.
“And now, I bet you’re all wondering what I did to my hand,” said Ronnie Hazelwood.
The manager held up his bandage.
“You probably thought that nasty little dog, Winston, had bitten me.” The hotel manager laughed. “In fact, I just happened to cut myself on a broken glass when I was cleaning up the kitchen.”
Now that the case was solved, the hotel staff could relax again. The manager offered everyone breakfast in the dining room. They were all talking at once about what had happened when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It was the church caretaker,
Roland Sussman.
“Sorry to disturb you, but I wonder if I left my scarf when I came for the buffet yesterday? It is red and dotted with green apples,” he said hesitantly.
“The only apples we know of are sitting in jail as guests of the police chief,” the manager said with a smile.
Everyone in the dining room burst out laughing. Ronnie Hazelwood, Rita Henderson, Pierre Chalottes, Uncle Larry, Jerry, and Maya laughed until tears ran down their faces. Even grumpy old Bert Anderson allowed himself an uncharacteristic grin.
The caretaker, Roland Sussman, didn’t understand what was going on, but he didn’t really care as long as he got his scarf, which he did. After he left, the hotel staff returned to their usual tasks.
Once they were alone, the manager turned to Jerry and Maya.
“It’s quite possible that there will be something in the paper about my hotel in the next few days. And that will be good for business. So, thank you, again,” he said, and shook hands with the two detectives.
Outside, it had begun to snow. The peace of the holiday season finally fell upon the town and its little hotel.
And sure enough, the newspaper ran a story the very next day:
The Whodunit Agency Solves Yet Another Case
With great observation skills and an excellent under-standing of modern technology, a pair of young detectives, Jerry and Maya, have solved another complex case. This time, they caught a family of high-class frauds. The criminal family had been living in luxury in expensive hotels across the country. To avoid paying the hotel bills, the family faked the theft of their dog. Hotel managers in several states had allowed the family to leave without paying in order to avoid claims for compensation.
The police chief in Pleasant Valley has announced that the family is still, in a way, living free of charge, and that an airy backyard for a certain Chinese apple dachshund is urgently needed.
The Circus Mystery
Pickpockets and Ice Cream
It was summertime in the town of Pleasant Valley. The sun had been shining brightly all day, and a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees in town.
“Hi there, kids!” someone called out to Jerry and Maya as they bicycled down the street.
It was the police chief, who was standing in front of a little newspaper stand enjoying an ice-cream cone. Jerry and Maya pedaled over to him. The police chief was an old acquaintance, and it was always good to talk to him.
“What a fantastic da
y,” he said. “Perfect ice-cream weather, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” replied Jerry. “Maya and I are on our way to the beach for a swim.”
“Lucky things,” the police chief said with a laugh. “We poor police officers have to keep our noses to the grindstone day in and day out.”
Jerry and Maya looked at each other and winked. The police chief didn’t exactly seem overwhelmed with work.
“Have you been busy at the station?” asked Maya, curious all the same. The two friends ran a small detective agency together, and Maya was always on the lookout for an exciting new case.
“I really shouldn’t tell you this,” said the police chief. “But you have helped me before, and I’m sure you can keep a secret, can’t you?”
Jerry and Maya nodded eagerly.
The police chief leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Pickpockets! At the circus outside town! Several people were robbed at the first performance yesterday. I’ve called the police stations in the other towns where the circus has performed, and it’s always the same thing: Cell phones, necklaces, and wallets disappear after each show.”
The police chief nodded thoughtfully and continued, “But as soon as the circus leaves town, the thefts stop, too. It seems as if the thief is part of the circus.”
The police chief leaned in even closer, and Jerry saw that the scoop of melting ice cream was about to plop right out of the waffle cone in the chief’s hand. The police chief narrowed his eyes and whispered, “I’m going to the circus to check it out—in plain clothes, of course. It takes a trained eye like mine to spot a skilled pickpocket. I’m going to both shows this evening: the one at 6:00 p.m. and the one at 8:00 p.m.”
With a splat, the chief’s ice cream fell out of the cone and landed on the sidewalk. The police chief frowned at the sticky puddle at his feet, but before he could react, his cell phone rang.
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