“I knew all my detectives were talented, but I didn’t know you could each play music,” Rider said.
“Of course,” Ziggy said. “Music class was my favorite subject in school. Probably because my teacher gave us treats.”
“This gives me an idea . . . ,” Rider said, rubbing his paws together. “David, can you play the show tomorrow night with only one guitar? I have what the kids call a groovy plan.”
THE CONCERT OF CHAOS
“It looks like a zoo out there!” Ziggy gulped. He peeked out at the audience from behind the curtain. Rora and Westie looked over his shoulder. They gulped too.
“I don’t know if I can do this without all of my instruments,” Bow-Wowie said.
“That’s why we’re here,” Rider said, patting his friend on the back. You play your guitar. Westie will play the piano and keytar. Ziggy will play bass. And Rora is going to bring the beat with Westie’s very special drum set.”
“Where will you be?”
“Next to you,” Rider said, “playing the electric guitar that Moe and Wally let me borrow.”
“Boss, remind me why we are playing a concert when we should be solving a crime,” Rora said.
“Because we’re going to do both at the same time,” Rider said. “Criminals always return to the scene of the crime when they didn’t finish the job.”
“I get it,” Rora said with a nod. “You mean, whoever stole the other instruments probably wanted the whole set. Once they see Bow-Wowie up onstage with his famous guitar, they’ll make a grab for it.”
“Exactly,” Rider said.
“You’re using my last guitar as bait?!” the rock star whined. “Isn’t there some other worm we can use to fish with?”
“You have to trust me,” Rider said. “Now let’s go out there and raise the ruff!”
As soon as the band took the stage, the crowd went wild. Everyone began shouting and whistling.
Front row and center was Rotten Ruffhouse, the evil rottweiler crook. And he was staring right at Bow-Wowie. “Looks like you were right!” Rora yelled, winking at Rider. The thief had returned to the scene of the crime.
The group kept playing. They were waiting for Rotten to make his move. Instead, he was . . . dancing?
The band was halfway through the show when Bow-Wowie started singing his most famous song, “Black Cat.” That’s when Rotten jumped on the stage and ran toward Bow-Wowie. But he didn’t try to snatch the guitar. Instead, he started singing into the microphone like he was the lead singer.
The P.I. Pack was completely confused, but they needed to stop the criminal. “Catch that singing suspect, P.I. Pack!” Rider shouted.
Rotten saw the detectives and dove off the stage into the crowd. The audience went wild. They passed him hand to hand, letting him crowd-surf to the back of the room. “He’s escaping!” Ziggy cried.
“No, he’s not!” Rora said. She pressed a button on the Air-Drummer and started playing even harder. As she beat the drums, the cymbals began spinning and the ATV–drum set hovered off the stage. The Air-Drummer was part helicopter, and Rora flew it after Rotten!
A NOISY CHASE
“Are you slowpokes coming?” Rora shouted over the rat-a-tat drumming. Rider and Westie tossed their microphone cables up, latching onto the drum set. As the three flew over the crowd, the audience cheered even louder, thinking this was all part of the show!
Rotten looked back to see the detectives and ran out of the Bow-Wow Club. Rora kept beating the drums to chase after him. She barely made it under the door as Westie and Rider climbed onto the sides of the Air-Drummer.
“Nice drumming, Rora!” Rider said.
“Nice flying, Rora!” Westie said.
“Thanks, boys!” Rora blasted outside over the street traffic and after Rotten. Everyone stared at the music-making whirlybird. “Stop, you pesky mutt!”
“I told you I’m a rottweiler!” Rotten shouted back. The punk pooch leaped over cars and cabs. The Air-Drummer twirled and turned quickly to chase him.
Rotten jumped over a fence and turned down an alley, but it was a dead end. He had nowhere to go.
The Air-Drummer was in hot pursuit as Rora played even harder. The beating of the drums was louder than ever.
An old parakeet came to his window and shouted, “Keep it down out there, you young whippersnappers. I’m trying to sleep!” Then the old bird threw a rolled-up newspaper. It hit the off button on the Air-Drummer.
“Uh-oh!” Westie said.
The drum set fell out of the sky and landed on Rotten. “I give up,” he said, waving his hand.
Rider pulled the criminal out from under the Air-Drummer.
“You have the right to remain silent—” Rora started.
“Silent about what?” Rotten said. “I didn’t do anything. The only thing I am guilty of is seeing my favorite rock star in concert.”
“But you ran onstage!” Westie said.
“Of course I did. I have a VIP pass!” Rotten said. He held up a badge that read: VERY IMPORTANT PUP. “I won it on the radio for correctly answering twenty-five trivia questions about David Bow-Wowie. I’m his biggest fan.”
“Is that why you stole his instruments?” Rora asked.
“What?!” Rotten barked. “I would never steal his instruments. Let me go back to the concert with you, and I’ll help however I can.”
Rider scratched his head. If Rotten Ruffhouse was innocent, then this was turning into a real mystery.
The Ghost Strikes Again
When the three detectives and Rotten returned to the concert, Bow-Wowie was still onstage playing a solo. The crowd was hypnotized by the music. Even Rotten Ruffhouse started to tear up.
“Are you crying?” Westie asked. “I thought you were a tough dog.”
“I am,” Rotten said, wiping a tear from his snout. “But Bow-Wowie’s music is just so . . . bow-wow-wow.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” the rock star shouted to the crowd before running offstage. Rotten and the detectives were there to meet him.
“Mr. Bow-Wowie, it’s an honor,” Rotten said. He kneeled down before the rock star.
“Are you the thief?” Bow-Wowie asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Rider said. “He’s your biggest fan.”
Suddenly, gasps filled the concert hall. The Pack ran to see what was happening. The lights were flashing and Bow-Wowie’s favorite guitar was moving around on stage . . . on its own.
“It must be the ghost!” someone yelled. The crowd exited safely out of the Bow-Wow Club as fast as they could.
“After that guitar!” shouted Rider. But the lights shut off. When they came on again, the last guitar was gone.
“Nooooooooooooo!” David Bow-Wowie fell to his knees. “All of my dear instruments are gone! I’ll never play music again!”
“Nooooooooooooo!” Rotten Ruffhouse fell to his knees. “All of my dear songs are gone! I’ll never hear them again!”
“Did you see that?” Westie cried. “G-G-G-Ghosts are real!” He tucked his tail between his legs and hid behind his friends.
Rider and Rora were stumped. “I’ve never had a case I couldn’t solve,” Rider said.
“Wait a minute,” Rora said. “Where’s Ziggy?”
“Right here,” Ziggy said as he poked his head up from the metal trap door to the basement. “And don’t worry. I have all the ant-swers.”
The Whole Tooth and Nothing But the Tooth
“Well, spit it out already, kid!” Rora barked. “Who’s the thief?”
“Not thief,” Ziggy said. “Thieves. As in more than one. I suspected they might strike again, so I stayed behind while all of you chased Rotten.”
“How did you know Rotten was innocent?” Rider asked.
“I saw his VIP badge when Frenchie let him up onstage.”
“Is this the part with the ghosts?” Westie asked nervously.
“There are no ghosts haunting here,” Ziggy said.
“Then who made the lights f
lash and then turn off?” Rora asked.
“That was part of the show,” Ziggy said. “It’s all automatic.”
“But the instruments moved on their own!” said Westie.
“No, they were actually moved by the thieves—only the thieves were too small to be seen.”
“What are you talking about, kid?” Rora said. “This is a flea-brained idea.”
“Not fleas,” Ziggy said as he borrowed Rider’s magnifying glass. Everyone could see a trail of tiny black ants moving along the floor. “Ants follow each other based on a scent they make. This way they can search for food and still find their way back home. When we were first here, I could smell maple syrup everywhere. I thought that I was just hungry like always until I heard Mr. Bow-Wowie’s story about his uncle.”
“But my uncle hasn’t been here for years. He moved to New Yorkie City and started his own maple syrup company.”
“Your uncle may not be here anymore, but the ants have always been here,” said Ziggy. “They stole your instruments and something else I think you’ll want. Follow me so I can show you the good news.”
“I hope there’s no bad news.” Bow-Wowie frowned.
Ziggy led everyone into the basement. “There’s no bad news, Mr. Bow-Wowie, but there is better news: I know how to save the Bow-Wow Club forever.”
Ziggy walked into the middle of the room and pulled up the old floorboards. Underneath were all of Bow-Wowie’s instruments!
“My dear instruments are saved!” Bow-Wowie sang out. “I will play all of you every day for the rest of my life!”
“My music is saved!” Rotten cried out. “I will come to all of your shows for the rest of my life!”
Westie gave a sheepish laugh. “See . . . I knew there was no such thing as ghosts.”
“Sure you did,” Ziggy said with a smirk. “Looks like the mystery is solved.”
“Not quite, kid,” Rora said. “Why did the ants take the instruments?”
“I can answer that one,” Rotten said. “David Bow-Wowie is a very superstitious rock star. He puts a few dabs of syrup on all of his instruments before a show!”
Bow-Wowie nodded that this was true.
“Why would you do that?” Rora asked.
“You see, my uncle loved syrup,” Bow-Wowie explained. “And my uncle is the only one who told me to follow what I love too. Everyone else told me to be a dentist. But my uncle understood me. He loved syrup, and I loved playing music. So I add syrup to my instruments for good luck.”
“And the ants found the syrup and took the instruments back to their home,” Westie concluded.
“I should have trusted your gut, Ziggy,” Rider said. “And your nose. But what’s this about saving the club?”
“Oh yeah,” Ziggy said. He pulled back the rest of the floorboards. There were hundreds of chunks of gold.
“Bow-wowza! It’s the old missing gold!” Bow-Wowie yelled with joy.
“Bow-wowza, indeed,” Ziggy said. “After following the ants and the smell of maple syrup down here, I began to wonder. If the ants love syrup enough to steal instruments, they probably love syrup enough to steal gold, too.”
Ziggy took down a framed picture from the wall. “I’ll bet your uncle had sticky fingers. They were probably covered in syrup all the time. If he touched that gold, then the gold was covered in syrup, so the ants stole that, too.”
“You did it, kid,” Rora said. “You solved two mysteries with one solution.”
“I’m proud of ya, Zig,” Rider said.
“I am in your debt,” Bow-Wowie said. “You saved my instruments and the Bow-Wow Club. How can I ever repay you?”
“Ever hear of a thirty-foot-long super-sandwich?” Ziggy said with a grin.
A Long Hiss Good Night
After the great discovery, David Bow-Wowie used the gold to pay the bank. Then he invited his fans back to the club for a second free concert. He played music all night to celebrate the Bow-Wow Club staying open. For a special song, the rock star asked the P.I. Pack to join him on the stage. Bow-Wowie spoke into the microphone. “I’d like to give thanks to one of my oldest friends—the greatest detective in Pawston—Rider Woofson!”
The crowd cheered.
“I’d also like to thank my new friends, with an extra special shout out to the pup who saved the day—Ziggy Fluffenscruff!” The crowd cheered again.
“But someone special gets a little extra love from me tonight. . . .”
Both Rora and Rotten Ruffhouse perked up their ears.
“My instruments! The best friends a musician can have!” The rock star hugged his guitar close. Rora and Rotten frowned.
Across the street, in a tall building, a cat stood in the window. He began hissing at the moon. He even slammed his paw onto his windowsill in anger. “I wassss sssso closssse!”
Mr. Meow turned away and hissed some more. “I ussssed maple ssssyrup to lead those antssss to thosssse ssssticky instrumentssss. Rotten kept going on and on about Bow-Wowie’s foolish ssssuperstition. It would have been the perfect crime, if not for that mutt detective and his smelly sidekickssss! One of thesssse dayssss, Rider Woofsssson, I will have my revenge.”
The wicked cat looked down at the Bow-Wow Club. But no one noticed him as the wonderful music blared into the street and everybody danced.
Check out Rider Woofson’s next case
“Kee-yah!”
The Pawston Martial Arts Dojo was filled with animals practicing their best moves. At the front of the class was Westie Barker, a brilliant terrier with a mind for science. Lately, he was trying to learn the fighting style of Bark-Jitsu.
“Kee-yah!” Westie shouted again as he hit a plank of wood, but it didn’t break.
“You’ve got this!” the P.I. Pack shouted from the front row. They were sitting with the friends and family of the entire class.
“I hope Westie gets his yellow belt this time around,” said Rora Gooddog, the smartest dame in the P.I. game.
“Me too,” said Rider Woofson. Rider was the team leader and the best dog detective in Pawston City. “Westie’s been working very hard.”
“Can you believe all the snacks here are healthy?!” barked Ziggy Fluffenscruff, the youngest member of the team. “They don’t have candy or potato chips or anything tasty.”
“Do you always think with your stomach, kid?” Rora asked.
“If my tummy is a-rumbling, then I’m a-grumbling,” Ziggy replied with a smirk.
“Silence in the dojo, please,” said Sensei Hiro. “Today, our students will begin to learn the secrets of Bark-Jitsu.”
WALKER STYLES grew up reading kids’ books, so it makes sense that he’s writing them now. And when he isn’t writing books, he’s out solving mysteries around the city of Manhattan, where he lives. Just the other day, he lost the book he was reading. Following all the clues, Walker deduced the couch ate it! (Well, the book was under the couch cushions. Still, mystery solved!)
BEN WHITEHOUSE is an illustrator based in Birmingham, UK. He has previously worked in the animation industry as a character designer, animator, and stop-motion puppet maker before finding his feet within the world of illustration. You can visit him at stopmotionben.com.
RiderWoofson.com
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Little Simon hardcover edition May 2016
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Designed by Laura Roode. The text of this book was set in Courier Std.
This book has been cataloged with the Library of Congress.
978-1-4814-6304-1 (hc)
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Undercover in the Bow-Wow Club Page 2
