The Case of the Fire Alarm

by Dori Hillestad Butler

  “I’m going to report this to the superintendent,” Mrs. Argus tells Mom. “And then I’m going to call Zack’s parents. We’ll see how they feel about having a dog in this school.”

  With that, Mrs. Argus lets go of my collar and storms out of the office.

  Mom looks at me.

  “I didn’t attack him,” I say again. Then I lie down on my pillow and make myself as small as I can. I’m not a bad dog. Really, I’m not.

  Ellie comes into Mom’s office. “It’s okay,” she says to Mom. She bends down and gives my ears a scratch. “The nurse said it was just a little scrape. Zack is fine. He said Buddy didn’t mean to knock him down. He’s on his way back to his classroom.”

  “Thank goodness,” Mom says, leaning back in her chair. “You know, we had a therapy dog at my old school. It was such a positive experience. Kids read to him. He helped with peer conflict. Everyone loved him. I had no idea people here wouldn’t be in favor of the idea.”

  “Most people are in favor of it,” Ellie assures Mom. “It’s just—”

  Ellie’s words are cut off by a noise so loud and so horrible I feel like my head is about to explode.

  3

  Fire!

  “STOP!” I howl. “Make that horrible noise STOP!”

  Mom gets up from her desk and snaps the leash to my collar. Then she brings me out into the hallway. The noise is even louder out here.

  Classroom doors swing open. Kids and teachers pour out of all the rooms, but no one is stopping that noise.

  “I DIDN’T KNOW THERE WAS GOING TO BE A FIRE DRILL TODAY!” one of the teachers says loudly.

  “THERE WASN’T ONE SCHEDULED!” Mom replies.

  “THEN WHY IS THE FIRE ALARM GOING OFF?” a girl asks. “IS THE SCHOOL ON FIRE?”

  Fire? Sniff ... sniff ... I don’t think the school is on fire. I don’t smell smoke. But it’s hard to concentrate on my nose with all that NOISE pounding through my head.

  Mom hands my leash to Ellie. “Would you take Buddy outside, please?”

  “Sure,” Ellie says. She leads me into the sea of humans moving down the hall. We walk beside kids who are yelling, “FIRE! FIRE!”... down the stairs ... around the corner ... and out the door.

  Oh, much better! It’s quieter out here. But my ears are still ringing.

  Ellie and I walk all the way to the fence. I see Jazzy sitting in her yard on the other side of the fence. She is watching everyone come out of school.

  “Do you hear that noise?” I ask Jazzy.

  “Yes,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “It’s just a fire drill.”

  Fire drill? “What’s a fire drill?” I ask. I heard people in the school say those words. But Mom said there wasn’t a fire drill scheduled for today.

  “A fire drill is when humans pretend there’s a fire—” Jazzy stops. “What’s that?” She tilts her head.

  It sounds like sirens. They’re coming closer. And closer. I hear a loud horn beep, then I see flashing lights.

  “Is that a fire truck?” I ask, stretching my neck. Why would a fire truck come if this is just pretend? I make my way through the crowd of kids to get a closer look.

  “Slow down, Buddy,” Ellie says, holding tight to my leash.

  It’s not just one fire truck. It’s one ... nine ... seven fire trucks. And one ... four police cars. They are all driving around to the front of the school.

  Is the school on fire?

  I can’t get to where the fire trucks are because there’s another fence in the way. But the door to the school is standing wide open. I make a run for it.

  “BUDDY!” Ellie cries as I yank the leash out of her hand.

  Oops. I didn’t mean to pull the leash ... but maybe it’s good that I did. If the school is on fire, I don’t want to put Ellie in any danger. “You stay here,” I tell her. “I’m just going to check things out.”

  I race toward the school, then skid to a stop. That horrible NOISE is still sounding inside the building. Do I really want to go back in there? I could just let the firefighters handle the problem.

  No. I’m better at sniffing out trouble than most humans are. If there’s a fire, I’ll find it. And if there are humans trapped in the school, I’ll find them, too.

  I head for the door, but a man who smells like cleaning stuff stops me. “You stay out here, boy,” he says to me.

  “But ... but ... ” I sputter. “I can help.”

  “No one goes back inside until the all clear is given,” the man says. “That includes dogs.”

  Fine.

  I run along the outside of the school. Sniffing ... sniffing ... sniffing. I still don’t smell fire. I don’t even smell smoke.

  So why did the fire trucks come if there’s no fire? And why did that terrible noise go off if no fire drill was scheduled?

  I’m kind of worried about all of this. It would help if someone I knew gave me a little pat or told me I was a good dog.

  I look around. I don’t see Connor or Ellie in the crowd. But I do see my old friend Jillian. She is standing off to the side with a girl I don’t know.

  I go over and nudge Jillian’s hand to get her to pet me. But Jillian is too busy talking to her friend to give me any attention.

  “Are you sure no one saw you?” the friend whispers. She smells like honey and cinnamon.

  “I’m sure,” Jillian whispers back. “I saw a kid go into the boys’ bath-room, but he didn’t see me. No one saw me.”

  A school bell rings, and everyone starts moving quickly toward the building.

  I hear Ellie calling, “Buddy? Come here, Buddy!”

  Ah, there you are, Ellie! I run to her. She picks up my leash, and we head for school.

  No one is blocking the door anymore. And that terrible NOISE inside the school has finally stopped.

  “Was there really a fire?” a boy asks.

  “I don’t think so,” says one of the teachers.

  “Then why did the fire alarm go off?” a girl asks.

  No one answers her.

  The kids all go back to their class-rooms, and Ellie and I go back into the office. Mom is already in there. She’s talking to a firefighter who is wearing a heavy coat, boots, and pants that all smell like smoke, fire, and mud. But he didn’t pick up the smoke, fire, and mud here.

  “There’s no fire,” the firefighter tells Mom. His jaw is set tight. “I think one of your kids pulled the fire alarm.”

  4

  Clues

  Mom has my leash tied around her belt. It isn’t very tight.

  We follow the firefighter down the hall and around the corner, my nose to the ground. I smell people. LOTS of people have walked down this hallway. I also smell paint ... and glue ... and books ... and crackers and cheese. Oh, I LOVE crackers and cheese. They’re my favorite foods!

  The crackers and cheese smell is coming from that room over there. I pull toward that room, and the leash slips away from Mom’s belt.

  Wow! What a great classroom this is. Little kids are sitting at their desks, munching on crackers and cheese. I wonder if five or nine of those kids would share their crackers and cheese with me ...

  “Look! There’s Buddy! Hi, Buddy!” the kids say when I walk in.

  The girl closest to the door offers me her cracker. “Hey, thanks!” I say, gobbling it up.

  The next kid hasn’t even started eating his crackers and cheese. “If you don’t want your crackers and cheese, I’ll take them,” I offer.

  Oh! It’s Blueberry Muffin Kid, otherwise known as Zack. The kid I accidentally knocked down outside. I guess he’s still mad about that because he’s not going to share his food with me.

  “Hey!” says a sharp voice. I hear hands clapping, and I look up.

  It’s Mrs. Argus. Why do I keep running into her?

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Argus,” Mom says right behind me. She grabs my leash.

  Mrs. Argus clicks her tongue. “First your dog knocked one of my students down. Now he’s running around loose, stea
ling food from my first-graders.”

  What? No, I’m not!

  “I promise this won’t happen again,” Mom says as she leads me out of the room.

  “But ... I didn’t steal anything,” I say. “I’m being a good dog! Really, I am.”

  “Bye, Buddy! See you later, Buddy!” the kids say.

  I wag my tail at them, then go down the hall with Mom and the firefighter.

  “This is the alarm that was pulled.” The firefighter points at a small red box on the wall. It’s up pretty high. Too high for me to sniff without getting up on my hind legs. That’s okay. If that’s the thing that made the terrible noise, I don’t need to sniff it. I want to stay as far away from it as I can.

  “I can’t imagine who would have pulled the alarm,” Mom says, rubbing her chin.

  The firefighter glances at me. “Your dog looks like he wants to help us find out who did it,” he says with a smile.

  “Oh, no,” I say. I’m about to tell the firefighter that I’m a therapy dog now. I don’t solve mysteries anymore.

  But then I remember Mrs. Argus. She thinks I’m a bad dog. She thinks I attacked one of her students. And now she thinks I’m a thief, too! I need to do something to show her I’m not a bad dog.

  Maybe I should help Mom and the firefighter find out who pulled the alarm. Then Mrs. Argus will see what a GOOD DOG I am, and she won’t try to get me kicked out of the school.

  I get right to work. Sniff ... sniff ... sniff. My nose is my best tool for crime-solving.

  Whoever pulled this alarm must have left a trail. All we have to do is find it ... and follow it.

  Here it is! “Follow me, guys,” I say.

  Wait. There’s another trail over here. And another one over here. And another one over here. And another one over here!

  This isn’t going to work. There are too many trails. Too many people have walked down this hallway.

  How else can I solve this mystery? Are there any other clues?

  I see some mud on the floor. There’s mud by the fire alarm and all along the hallway. Could that be a clue?

  I don’t want to get too close to that alarm box, but I have to see if there are any clues up there. I get up on my hind legs and sniff.

  Paint? Is that paint on the alarm? That’s what it smells like. I think the color of that paint is called green.

  Mom pulls me down.

  “Yeah, but do you see the paint on the alarm?” I say. I hop back up on my hind legs to show her the paint, but she pulls me down again.

  “You should talk to the teachers who have classes in this hallway,” the firefighter says. “See if any of them saw anything.”

  Mom nods. “I’ll also find out if any of their students had a bathroom pass about the time the alarm went off.” She points at the two closed doors across the hall. “Someone in the bathroom could have seen or heard something.”

  I paw at Mom’s leg. “Ask the teachers if their kids were painting this morning, too,” I say.

  “Buddy, shh!” Mom says.

  “A kid in the bathroom may have seen something,” the firefighter says. “But if he was away from the rest of his class, he could have been the one who pulled the alarm.”

  Wow, that’s a smart firefighter!

  “Are you guys writing this stuff down?” I ask Mom. “We should make lists of things we know, things we don’t know, and things we can do to find out what we don’t know.” That’s what a good detective does.

  Here is what we know about this case:

  The fire alarm went off.

  Fire alarms are LOUD!!!

  Somebody pulled the alarm on purpose.

  There is mud in the hallway by the alarm.

  There is green paint on the fire alarm.

  Here is what we don’t know:

  Who pulled the fire alarm???

  Here are some things we can do to find out who pulled the fire alarm:

  Find out which kids were painting this morning.

  Find out whether any of the teachers saw anything.

  Find out if anyone was in the bathroom. That person may have seen something OR that person may be a suspect!

  “So, who’s going to do what?” I ask. I look at Mom. Then I look at the firefighter.

  Neither of them volunteers to do anything.

  “How about I sniff around and see if I can find out which kids were painting this morning,” I offer, just to get things moving. We aren’t going to solve this case by standing around.

  “Hey, what’s this?” Mom peers closer at the alarm box. She presses her finger against the smudge of paint, then looks at her finger with surprise. “Paint?” she says.

  Yes, it’s paint. I showed you that eleventy-twelve minutes ago!

  My ears twitch. I hear footsteps.

  I watch the hallway to see who’s coming. Oh, it’s Ellie! I wag my tail.

  “There you are, Sarah,” she says. “There’s a phone call for you in the office.”

  Mom turns. “Can you take a message, please? We’re in the middle of something here.”

  “Sure,” Ellie nods.

  “And would you take Buddy with you?” Mom asks. “He’s getting in the way.”

  Getting in the way?

  “I’d be happy to,” Ellie says, reaching for my leash. “Come on, Buddy.”

  I don’t want to go with Ellie. I want to stay and solve the Case of the Fire Alarm. “Please can’t I stay?” I ask Mom.

  Mom turns to the firefighter, and they start talking in hushed voices. But no one understands what I am saying. I have no choice but to follow Ellie back to the office.

  5

  Telling Lies

  It’s not fair! I could help Mom and the firefighter. I could find clues that they miss. If they’d let me.

  When Ellie and I get back to the office, I go right to my pillow, turn a circle, and plop down. I wonder how Mom and the firefighter are doing. Did they talk to any teachers? Did they find out whether anyone was in the bathroom? Did they find out which kids were painting this morning? And what about the mud on the floor? Did they ever even notice that?

  Mom comes back a little while later.

  I sit up. “Well?” I say.

  She doesn’t offer any information. She just closes her door, sits down at her desk, and starts writing something on a piece of paper.

  I get up and walk over to her. I wish I could read what she was writing on that paper. But I don’t know how to read.

  “Hey, Buddy,” she says, patting my side. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay,” I tell her with my eyes. “Did you solve the case? Do you know who pulled the fire alarm?”

  Before Mom can answer, there’s a knock on her door. Ellie pokes her head into the room. “You wanted to see these three?” she says.

  “Yes,” Mom says. She motions for them to come in.

  Hey, I know these kids. I know all of these kids. First there’s Michael, who is Mouse’s new human. Then Jillian, who is Kayla’s old friend. And finally, Zack, the kid I accidentally knocked down outside.

  They all walk very slowly into Mom’s office. I smell FEAR on all three of them. Lots of fear, which is strange because Mom is so nice! Why would anyone be afraid to come and visit her?

  Ellie brings an extra chair from the main office and sets it beside the other two in front of Mom’s desk.

  “Sit down,” Mom says.

  Michael, Jillian, and Zack all sit. Ellie closes the door on her way out.

  “You’re probably wondering why I called you down here,” Mom begins. “It’s about the fire alarm. Somebody pulled it. On purpose.”

  Mom waits, but no one says anything.

  “Did you know that it’s a crime to pull a fire alarm when there’s no fire?” Mom asks. “What if there had been a real fire across town when the firefighters were busy with our false alarm?”

  Still nothing from Michael, Jillian, or Zack.

  “You three weren’t in your classrooms when the alarm went o
ff,” Mom says. “In fact, you were all somewhere near the alarm. Do any of you know who pulled it?”

  Michael and Jillian glance at each other. Zack looks down at the floor.

  Hmm. Michael and Zack both have mud on their shoes. Jillian doesn’t have mud on her shoes.

  Could either of those boys have pulled the alarm? I go over and sniff them. I don’t really smell anything interesting on either one of them.

  I do smell something interesting on Jillian, though. Paint.

  Where is it? Where’s the paint? While Jillian scratches my ears, I sniff, sniff, sniff the bottom of her leg ... her lap ... her hand. Ah, there it is! On her hands. It’s the same color as the paint on the alarm.

  But that doesn’t mean Jillian pulled the alarm. Jillian was Kayla’s friend. She’s a nice girl. She would never commit a crime.

  “Your class was in the library when the alarm went off,” Mom says to Jillian. “But your teacher says you had a bathroom pass.”

  “Yes,” Jillian says softly.

  Michael’s mouth drops open. “That girl didn’t go into the bathroom!” he says. “She went into that other room across the hall.”

  “What other room?” Mom asks. “The art room?”

  “I don’t know,” Michael says. “Whatever room is next to the alarm. She went in there right before the alarm went off. I could tell she was up to something. She kept looking over her shoulder like she didn’t want anyone to see her. I don’t think anyone else was in that other room.”

  “I was in the bathroom,” Jillian insists. “I was in the bathroom the whole time.”

  My stomach tightens. Jillian is not telling the truth!

  It’s hard to explain how I know that. But you can see a lie in a human’s eyes, mouth, and in the way they hold their bodies. Sometimes you can even smell it on them.

  Mom turns to Michael. “What were you doing in the hallway?” she asks. “The rest of your class was outside when the alarm went off.”

  “I had to go to the bathroom,” Michael says.

  “Did you have a bathroom pass?” Mom asks.

  Michael pauses. “No,” he says.

  “Why not?”