“So the cleaning frenzy is over?” Hayley asked. She was on her kitchen floor with Dodge and Hugo — getting a doggie fix — while Alicia and I scarfed peanut butter bars at the counter. We’d come to Hayley’s after school to do homework but were ignoring algebra in favor of snacks and relaxing.
I nodded vigorously while I chewed. “Back to regular crazy,” I confirmed. It had taken a few days for things to feel okay at 332 Salisbury Drive. “We had a big family meeting with a lot of crying,” I explained. “Mom told us that she’d tried to hide what Uncle Mark did — acting against orders — because she wanted him to die with honor. She made it look like she’d ordered the raid with no backup. She’s still mad at herself for not searching for the FIDO disk. But the camera was destroyed in the fire and there didn’t seem to be enough evidence. She was so worried about Dad she practically did Baudry’s cover-up work for him. She even said if it weren’t for me and Dodge, Uncle Mark’s death could have been in vain.” I felt a flash of pride as I told my friends that last part, and Dodge sat up straight and puffed out his chest. He was proud, too.
“Way to go, Dodgeball.” Hayley patted him and looked at me with wonder — the way I look at her when she whips up some new chocolate delicacy without a recipe.
“Wow. So what’d your dad say?” Alicia asked, splitting a peanut butter bar into three to share with Hugo and Dodge.
“At first he was a wreck,” I admitted. “He thought Mom had been acting guilty because she really was responsible for what happened to Mark. Now that he knows the truth, he’s mad at himself for not trusting her. And mad at his brother for acting impulsively. But that was Uncle Mark — impulsive.”
“That’s intense,” Alicia said.
I took a deep breath and let it out. “Right? But at least now that the case is solved and everything is out in the open, we can move on. We can be a family, and Dodge can finally have the couch back.” I leaned over and kissed his head. “Oooh, and get this — Mom offered to quit the force!”
Hayley’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“Totally serious. My dad almost fainted when she said that — ‘cause of course he’d love it if her job weren’t so dangerous. But then he said he knew she was a cop when he married her, and he wouldn’t want her any other way. After all, Bellport needs a solid police chief, especially when there’s a corrupt mayor in city hall!” I rolled my eyes.
“Not anymore,” Alicia put in.
The mayor had been removed from office — and not just until further notice — permanently. His trial was pending, but there was no way he’d be back. Ever.
We chewed in silence and were dangerously close to starting our algebra when Hayley’s mom came in. She stopped in the doorway and put her hands on her hips, staring at her daughter on the floor with two big dogs.
“What is this, dog central?” she asked.
Hayley sat up, looking a little nervous. She’d told Alicia and me it was okay to bring Hugo and Dodge along, but we all knew her parents were not dog people.
“Uh, sorry, Mom. We were just having a little hang time….” Hayley had an arm around each dog, and it was hard to say who was making the biggest goo-goo eyes: Hayley, Hugo, or Dodge.
Mrs. Gault crouched down and gave Hugo a scratch under the chin. “And what are you?” she crooned. “Are you a big bundle of hair and slobber? Yes, you are.”
My jaw almost hit the counter, and Hayley and I exchanged looks. For an antidog person, Mrs. Gault had slipped into doggie baby talk really fast. There might be hope yet.
“Let’s take these boys for a walk,” I suggested, hoping to ignore our homework a little longer. Alicia nodded, we grabbed the leashes, and the five of us scrambled out the door.
“Did you hear that?” I asked the minute we were outside. “She was practically singing to Hugo!”
Hayley’s eyes were bright — brighter than when she first met Taylor. “She let him lick her face,” she added.
I grinned and led the way to Pet Rescue, where a pair of brave black-and-white strays and a certain English bull terrier might be craving a burger and a visit from Bellport’s best baker.
We’d only gone a few blocks when I heard a yip that made me cringe and smile all at once. Dodge turned first, and we both spotted Muffet tearing up the sidewalk behind us.
“What is that?” Alicia asked, squinting in Muffet’s direction.
“And what is on it?” Hayley added wryly.
Muffet had a pink bow on her head and matching pink booties on three of her feet. We giggled at her outfit as she wagged her way toward Dodge and Hugo.
“That’s Muffet, Summer’s dog,” I told Alicia. Alicia’s eyes widened with understanding — no additional explanation necessary.
The three dog tails whipped back and forth like windshield wipers as they sniffed and paraded in circles, taking turns peeing on the same patch of grass. I shook my head, amused. Under the froof, Muffet had the heart of a Saint Bernard. She’d saved us earlier this week and was growing on me — and Dodge — by the minute.
When the sniffing and peeing was complete, my giant shepherd put out his paws and lowered his head, giving Miss Muffet a full play bow. “Arwoof!” he barked like a puppy. Hugo wandered away to sniff another tree, and the rest of us watched the odd couple and laughed. It was hard not to, and it felt good. In fact, it felt great.
Leave it to Summer to spoil the moment. I leaned down to give Muffet a pat and when I stood back up there was Summer, all huffy and out of breath. She held Muffet’s fourth bootie and looked like she’d spent the afternoon sucking on lemons.
“She followed us,” I blurted, holding up my hands in innocence. I would not be accused of stealing Muffet again.
Summer glared. “I know,” she admitted. She blew a puff of air out her nose. “I’ve been chasing her. Muffet, come!”
Muffet ignored her and put her paws up on Dodge’s flank, barking. “Yip!”
“Muuuffeeet,” Summer whined.
I bit my lips together to keep from laughing while Summer begged her dog to come. Finally I took pity on her and patted my thigh. Even crushing like a puppy, Dodge was at my side in an instant, looking at my face and waiting for my next word. Our bond was tight and unbreakable. “Good dog,” I told him.
Summer quickly snatched Muffet up, and Muffet gave her a loving lick. The little dog acted like she’d just noticed Summer was there and was thrilled to see her. She kissed her again and again until Summer finally smiled.
It was hard to understand, but Muffet obviously loved her owner. They were an odd couple, even in matching outfits.
“Thanks,” Summer mumbled to me. I wasn’t sure if she was thanking me for putting Dodge on heel so she could catch her dog, or thanking me for bringing Muffet back … twice. But I didn’t care. She was thanking me and it had to be killing her.
“You’re welcome,” I enunciated, looking at Dodge. He was back to his old self — feeling better, just like me. He licked my hand and I smiled. Maybe there was a dog out there for everyone.
Dodge and Cassie are always sniffing for more clues!
Keep reading for a special peek at their next adventure in A Dog and His Girl Mysteries #3: Cry Woof
I slid my last bite of burger to Dodge and got up from the table. I was on cleanup. Ugh. Why was I always on cleanup when I had a new case to mull over? I thought about asking Owen or Sam to switch dish nights with me, then questioned my sanity. Sam would never do a task she could put off, and Owen would probably just grunt in response. The only way to get out of the dishes was to get them done.
Swooping up a handful of silverware and adding it to my stack, I headed into the kitchen.
Dodge followed, and not just because there were burger drippings involved. Dodge and I were a team. We did almost everything together, and he was better company than anyone else in the house. “Can you believe I’m on dish duty?” I groused in his direction.
He gazed back at me, his liquid brown eyes full of sympathy. Then he lo
wered his head, put his paws down in play position, and let out a little bark like he does when he wants me to throw the Frisbee.
“I know, I know,” I said. “We’ve got real work to do.” I gave him a pet and went back to the dining room for another stack. Then I opened the dishwasher. It was full of clean dishes. “Owen, you forgot to unload the dishwasher again!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Which maybe wasn’t totally necessary, but felt good anyway.
Lately Owen was a problem. He didn’t want anything to do with the rest of us anymore — especially me. Or at least that was how it felt. So even if I got him to come do his job, it wouldn’t be fun. It wouldn’t involve jokes and miniature water fights. Not like it used to.
Dodge thumped his tail on the floor, and I bent down so we were forehead to forehead. “Good idea,” I told him as I ruffled his neck fur. “It’ll be a lot faster.” I put the plates on the floor so he could get to work on the prewash. “No water needed!” I boasted, feeling efficient and environmental as I started to unload the clean dishes.
By the time I finished the bottom rack, the plates on the floor had been licked clean and Dodge was lingering over the burger platter, his big pink tongue searching for that last bit of flavor. I grabbed the last few dishes, loaded them, and closed the dishwasher. “Time for the good stuff!”
I darted into the hall and hit the stairs just in front of Dodge, who passed me halfway up. “No fair! Four-leg advantage!” I called as we rounded the corner and shoved open the door to our room.
Unfortunately, it was also my sister’s room — at least for a few more days. And there she was, Samantha the spectacular, sitting in our swivel chair with her sparkly shoes parked on our desk, dangerously close to a stack of innocently bystanding mysteries. “Ahem,” I said.
Sam didn’t even acknowledge me — she just kept nodding her sandy blonde bob, petting her cat, Furball, and leafing through her copy of Seventeen. I was about to get huffy when I realized she was plugged into her iPod. Annoying, but it explained not listening to me. That, and the fact that she was generally too busy listening to herself.
I ran my fingers through the fur on Dodge’s back, which was starting to rise. Dodge and Furball were not exactly friends, and right now my sister’s cat was glowering in our direction. Not that Sam noticed this — she was too busy gawking at glossy photos of teen pop stars. “Who’s the real teenager around here?” I asked, settling Dodge’s fur. Owen might have been fifteen, but Sam was ten going on sixteen.
I stepped forward with a sigh. “Can you get your feet off the desk? It’s not a footstool.” She didn’t respond, so I shoved her ridiculous shoes lightly to get them off the desk. “I need some —”
Sam shot to her feet, sending a hissing Furball and a stack of my favorite old mysteries to the floor. Her blue eyes flared, and she was wearing mascara, which was against the rules. “I am so glad I only have to share a room with you for a few more days,” she snapped as she glanced down at my copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles before following Furball out the door.
Dodge licked my hand to let me know he was there, and I picked up the books before plopping on my bed. Part of me, a big part, was totally psyched that I wouldn’t have to share a room with my little sister much longer. But another part was sad. Another part was already lonely. It seemed like everything was changing in my house, and all at once. Mostly it was Owen, but now it was Sam, too.
The changes started after Owen’s birthday, when he announced that he was moving out of his bedroom into the bonus room in the basement. He said he “needed space.” But even an idiot could see the basement room was smaller, and there was hardly any light.
Naturally, the minute Owen announced his plan, Sam called dibs on his room. I probably should have put up a fight and insisted the bigger room be mine — I’m two years older than she is. But the whole thing happened so fast. Plus I didn’t want to hear one of Sam’s “you have no idea how hard it is to be the youngest” rants. It’s not like being in the middle is a picnic.
After that, Sam started obsessively marking the stuff she’d be taking with glitter tape. I looked around the messy room and noted that I was about to be left with my bed, a few books, and the ancient clown lamp Dad found at a thrift shop when I was three. Sam despised its faded paint and slightly torn shade, but I loved the way the night-light illuminated the clown’s red nose — so much that I pretended to be afraid of the dark just so I could turn it on.
For all I knew, Sam was planning on taking the clown lamp at the last minute, out of spite. Then I’d be left with my bed, my books, and Dodge.
I felt a rush of gratitude for my dog, who had parked himself next to my bed and was looking at me with total devotion. I leaned down to push my face into the longish fur around his neck. “It’ll be nice when it’s just us,” I said into his soft black ear. I rested my head against him for a minute, inhaling his smell — a mix of dry straw, good dirt, and cut grass. Comfort.
Dodge lifted his head and licked my face — a big beggy wet kiss. “You’re right,” I agreed. “We do have work to do.” Grabbing the laptop Sam and I shared, I slid onto the floor next to Dodge. I did a lengthy search on Verdel Ward, reading and rereading all the recent articles about him, and started some lists in my notebook. The first included suspicious stuff: no body, no will, no friends. The second was stuff to investigate — stuff I’d need answers to: Who was the last person to see Ward? Was he really dating someone? Was there ever a —
An IM popped up on my screen.
Bittersweet: What are you doing online? Thought you finished your homework.
It was Hayley, my best human friend. Hayley had waaay less hair than Dodge but was just as loyal. She was also in my grade at Harbor Middle, was allowed on school grounds, and never ever sniffed anyone inappropriately.
Clued-In: I’m working on a new case.
Bittersweet: Excellent! Murder?
(Hayley was totally into true crime.)
Clued-In: Maybe. Missing and presumed dead: Verdel Ward.
Bittersweet: The mean rich dude? Hope he stays missing! Made a new cupcake today — calling it the Elvis. Peanut butter and banana with a candied maple bacon crumble. Tell Dodge.
Clued-In: ?
I told Dodge, who stopped staring at my computer screen and whimpered excitedly. “Don’t worry — she’ll save them for you. She doesn’t even eat bacon!” I said with a laugh. “Now please stop slobbering on my shirt!” I wiped off my arm and rubbed the small drool pool that had formed on the carpet with my shoe. By the time I turned back to the screen, Hayley was offline. The girl moved fast — maybe from all that sugar.
I closed my laptop and flipped back to the first list in my notebook. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got so far,” I told Dodge, reading over the page. “The way I see it, we need to start with three things: One, who saw Ward last? Two, why is there no will? And three, does this mysterious girlfriend actually exist?”
Dodge’s jaws opened in a wide, stretchy yawn. I chuckled. “It seems far-fetched to me, too. Who would want to date a greedy old grump? Maybe she was after his money and didn’t know he didn’t like to spend money …”
Or maybe she killed him, I thought. Only Mom said he disappeared swimming and the girlfriend lived far away. So that didn’t make any sense. Ward wasn’t the first Tempest Point swimmer to be swept out to sea. Sam was right about the caution signs, and everyone knew about the riptides. “Why would Ward swim at Tempest Point?” I had just finished writing the question when Sam barged through the door wearing sunglass-printed pajamas and holding Furball under one arm. Dodge and I ignored them, but I did close my notebook. The last thing I needed was Snoopy Sam meddling in our case. I quickly got ready for bed and snuggled under the covers. I let the questions bounce around in my head while I curled my fingers into the fur of my good dog, Dodge.
Copyright © 2013 by Jane B. Mason and Sarah Hines Stephens. All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks an
d/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First printing, June 2013
Cover art by Steve James
Cover design by Nina Goffi
e-ISBN 978-0-545-63255-3
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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