CONTENTS
Chapter 1: Welcome to Pawston
Chapter 2: A Shadow Surprise
Chapter 3: Where’s Westie?
Chapter 4: A Hiss-terical Owner
Chapter 5: Slippery Clues
Chapter 6: The Banana Splits
Chapter 7: Monkey Business
Chapter 8: Who’s Chasing Whom?!
Chapter 9: A Barrel Full of Bad Guys
Chapter 10: The Last Laugh
‘Something Smells Fishy’ Excerpt
About Walker Styles and Ben Whitehouse
WELCOME TO PAWSTON
Rider Woofson stared out of his office window, looking over the city skyline. Buildings stretched out for miles in every direction. This was Pawston, the animal capital of the world. Every day, thousands of animals went about their business, behaving as good citizens should.
But this city also had a darker side, known as the criminal underbelly. And it was not the kind of belly you wanted to scratch. Not unless you wanted to get bit!
That was where Rider Woofson came in. Rider was no ordinary canine. He was the greatest dog detective in Pawston—maybe even the world. And with the help of his pals in the Pup Investigators Pack, criminals didn’t stand a chance.
In fact, the only problem for the P.I. Pack was waiting for an actual crime to happen.
“Well, it’s been a pretty quiet afternoon, huh, Boss?” said Westie Barker.
“It is quiet,” Rider woofed. “Too quiet.” He fixed his crooked tie and adjusted his hat. “I don’t like it.”
“A day off must be terrier-fying for a working dog like you,” the West Highland terrier said with a laugh. He was fiddling with a screwdriver and what used to be a vacuum cleaner. “Try to enjoy it. You could grab a dognap or buy a new collar. Maybe play a game of fetch?”
“We’re not pups anymore,” Rider said, looking over his friend’s shoulder. “Say, what is that?”
“It’s my new toy project . . . a jetpack!” Westie said as he wagged his tail. The white-furred terrier was a true gadget expert. He was always building something new. “With this strapped to my back, I’ll be able to solve crimes faster than a speeding greyhound.”
“I bet that jetpack won’t get one foot off the ground,” Rora Gooddog said from across the room. She was the prettiest poodle on the block, and twice as smart. She was sitting at her desk, writing up a crime report.
“Flying is for the birds anyways,” said a floppy-haired mutt named Ziggy Fluffenscruff. “I like to keep my paws on the ground, thank you very much.” The young pup sniffed around the office. He followed his nose over to the file cabinet. After digging through a few papers, he pulled out a bone and hugged it. “Bow-wowza!” he yipped. “I knew you weren’t lost.”
“So you’re the one who put bite marks on this,” Rora said as she grabbed the bone back and returned it to the file cabinet. “This is evidence, not dinner. Now, quit thinking with your stomach.”
“Thinking with my stomach has helped solve lots of cases, you know,” Ziggy whispered to himself, curling up on the couch. “Like that one with the mean dog magician, Labra-cadabra-dor.”
“Kid, you’ve got a real talent there,” Rider said. “And I bet your nose could smell trouble a mile away.”
“Trouble?” said Ziggy, the youngest of the P.I. Pack. “No, thanks. I’d rather sniff out pupperoni pizza and super-duper sandwiches with pup-pickles on top.”
As Ziggy continued to talk about food, Rider looked out the window again. The bright lights of Pawston twinkled beneath him, but the city outside was still too quiet. And Rider knew exactly what that meant. Somewhere out there, the P.I. Pack’s next case was about to unfold.
A SHADOW SURPRISE
Mr. Meow stared into the eyes of a tiger. He shivered—not from fright, but from delight. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life! For this wasn’t a real tiger, but rather a small golden sculpture of a tiger that had two giant gems for its eyes.
“Neat statue,” said Frenchie, the French bulldog security guard. Frenchie worked for Mr. Meow, who owned a new jewelry store in Pawston called the Cat’s Meow.
“Neat?” Mr. Meow snapped. “I would say it’s more than ‘neat.’ This ‘statue’ is a world-famous piece of art called the Tiger’s Eye. The sculpture is meow-nificent, and those gems are worth millions.”
“Millions?!” Frenchie gulped. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ worth that much.”
“Well, you have now,” Mr. Meow said. “And I suggest you take extra care to keep a watchful eye tonight. Who knows who might want to steal a thing of such value.”
“Then what’s it doin’ here in your store, Mr. Meow?” Frenchie asked. “Should it be in a museum or somethin’ somewhere?”
“It should be, yes,” Mr. Meow began to explain. “The Tiger’s Eye is on tour across the country. But as the Pawston Museum caught fire last week, I said I’d house this purr-fect piece in my fine jewelry store. Tomorrow, we will open the doors for Pawston’s finest citizens to come and see such beauty. But for now, I need my beauty sleep. Good night, Frenchie.” Mr. Meow started for the front door.
“Hold up,” Frenchie called to his boss. “You don’t want to forget this!” The security guard gave him an umbrella. “It’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there!”
“It certainly is.” Mr. Meow frowned. “This weather is purr-fectly awful.”
Mr. Meow disappeared into the stormy downpour. Frenchie double-checked the doors to make sure they were locked up tight.
After making his first rounds, Frenchie took a seat to watch his favorite scary movie: Franken-Pooch. But around ten o’clock, a dark shadow floated across the skylight. “Is someone there?” he asked, turning on his flashlight.
A quiet swish sounded above him. Frenchie aimed his flashlight up, but no one was there. A few seconds later, he heard another swish. His ears perked up and he flashed the light in the new direction. Still nothing.
“Guess my imagination is gettin’ the best of me,” Frenchie said with a smile, shutting off his flashlight. “Probably just the wind.”
But as Frenchie turned to leave, a shadow appeared on the wall. At first, the shadow was the size of a small pup, but then it began to grow taller, and taller, and taller, and taller. . . .
WHERE’S WESTIE?
“Nothing warms my paws like a good cup of tea in the morning,” Rora said as she poured herself some hot water.
Ziggy was busy making a stack of bread, eggs, cheese, ketchup, bacon, dry dog food, and then more bread.
Rora looked at Ziggy and shook her head. “Hey, kid. What are you doing?”
“Making a work of art,” Ziggy said proudly. “There’s nothing better than a breakfast sandwich with extra kibble.”
He lifted the massive sandwich into the air. But before he could take a bite, Rider flung open the office door and hit the sandwich. Eggs, bacon, and kibble splashed all over poor Ziggy.
“My masterpiece . . . ,” he whimpered.
“That’s right, Ziggy,” Rider Woofson said. “A masterpiece has been stolen!” Rider held up a copy of the Pawston Paw Print, the town newspaper. The first five pages were all about the theft of the Tiger’s Eye sculpture. “I smell a mystery, P.I. Pack,” Rider said. “I also smell bacon.”
Ziggy sniffed at his breakfast sandwich all over the floor. He began scraping bits and pieces back onto a plate.
“The whole team needs to be ready to go if we get the call,” Rider said, grabbing his magnifying glass from his desk. “Speaking of the whole team, where’s Westie?”
As if to answer Rider’s question, Westie crashed through the window and began flying around the room in a large circle. “I�
��m flying!” Westie cried out over the roar of his jetpack.
“Hey, birdbrain, get your feet on the ground!” Rider said. “Before you hit the—”
But it was too late. Westie hit the ceiling fan, which sent him crashing into Ziggy and his almost-fixed sandwich.
Rora laughed at Westie and Ziggy. “Hope you boys are as good at cleaning up as you are at making a mess.”
“I’ll clean up later,” Westie said, already fiddling with his jetpack. “First, I need to figure out if the problem with the thruster output is caused by—”
“What about my breakfast? Someone needs to make sure I get fed,” Ziggy whined.
Rider was about to tell his P.I. Pack to get it together when the phone rang. The detective picked it up on the first ring. “What can I help you with, Mr. Mayor? I see. We’ll be right there.” As soon as he hung up, Rider grabbed his hat and announced, “The P.I. Pack is officially on the case. Let’s go!”
A HISS-TERICAL OWNER
Mr. Meow snarled. “I am hiss-terical with anger!”
“It’s going to be okay,” the mayor said, trying to calm the upset store owner.
“How will it be okay?” Mr. Meow asked. “My store has been broken into, my guard has been frightened halfway to the end of his leash, and the Tiger’s Eye sculpture has been stolen! My reputation is ruined!”
“I believe that’s where we come in,” Rider said, arriving with Rora and Ziggy. They appeared from the large crowd of animals that had gathered to see what had happened. Rider took off his hat and offered a polite nod.
“Mr. Meow, meet Rider Woofson, Pawston’s finest detective,” the mayor said. “If anyone can find the missing sculpture, it’s him and the P.I. Pack.”
“Let us hope so,” Mr. Meow said. “Otherwise, I’ll be crying over more than spilled milk.” With that, Mr. Meow stormed off.
“Mr. Mayor, I’d like to get started if you don’t mind,” Rider said, always ready to get down to business. “First, I would like to speak with the security guard.”
Frenchie was shaken up, but he was happy to help. Rider asked him to describe the event exactly as he remembered it.
“Everything was fine until just after ten o’clock,” Frenchie began. “That’s when the noises started. I went to see who was there, and then I saw it. . . . It was a giant shadow, I swear! I didn’t see a face, but it musta stood at least twenty feet tall!”
“Bow-wowza!” Ziggy said. “A shadow giant! That’s like something out of a scary movie!”
“Like Franken-Pooch!” Frenchie said, his eyes getting wide. “Do you think it’s possible that a monster stole the Tiger’s Eye?”
“I do not,” Rora said matter-of-factly.
“Mr. Frenchie, thanks for your time.” Rider walked away and the Pack followed. “Sounds like someone got scared watching a silly movie and is wagging a tall tale. Now let’s go check inside for clues.”
“Where’s Westie?” Ziggy asked. “He’s always skipping all the hard work.”
“Right up there, kid.” Rora pointed up at the sky. A small speck was making circles over the jewelry store.
“I can’t get down!” Westie barked from above.
“Make like a cat and land on your feet!” Ziggy shouted.
“Quit fooling around, Westie,” Rider said. “We have a crime to solve.”
But as Rider and his team moved into the jewelry store, he glanced back at the onlookers. A mean-looking rottweiler was standing at the edge of the crowd. The fur on the back of Rider’s neck stood up. He had a bad feeling about that dog. And Rider always trusted his instincts.
SLIPPERY CLUES
“A gal could get used to this kind of scenery,” Rora said inside the jewelry store. She was admiring all the gold and jewels. “Think the owner will pay us in diamonds? After all, diamonds are a dog’s best friend.”
“We don’t do our work for the money. We do it for justice,” Rider said. He sniffed around for clues.
“I do it for the kibble and cookies,” Ziggy said. “Ooh, this is shiny. . . .” Ziggy was reaching out to touch a large diamond when Rora swatted him away.
“No touching, kid,” Rora said. “Not until after we dust for paw prints.”
“Well, no sign of forced entry at any of the doors or windows,” Rider said as he checked the exits. “Mr. Meow keeps this place locked up as tight as an obedience school.”
“So what are you saying?” Ziggy asked. “The Tiger’s Eye just vanished? Maybe it really was a giant shadow monster?!” Ziggy started to get excited at the idea of a real monster—then he got scared.
“It wasn’t a monster, kid,” Rora said, rolling her eyes.
“There must be a good explanation around here somewhere,” Rider said, rubbing his jaw and scanning the room.
“While you try to figure that out, I am going to grab a bite to—whoa!” Ziggy suddenly slipped, flipped, and landed upside down. “Why is the room upside down?” Ziggy asked.
Rider put on a glove and picked up the banana peel stuck to Ziggy’s foot. “You just slipped on our first clue,” Rider said with a smile. “Good job, Zig.”
“A banana peel and no banana? No fair,” Ziggy said, sniffing at the clue. “Hey, I know where this banana came from! They grow on trees in Central Bark Park.”
“That’s some nose you got, kid,” Rora said.
“Thank you! I never ever forget a—whoa!” Ziggy slipped, flipped, and landed on his back. “Smell. Ouch. That did not feel good.”
“You found another banana peel?” Rider asked.
“No, I slipped in a puddle this time,” said Ziggy. “A puddle of monster drool! See? It is a monster!”
Rider bent down and licked the water. “That’s not drool—that’s rainwater . . . from last night’s storm.” Rider looked up. “Looks like someone came in through that open skylight.”
“A banana peel and a skylight? How do those fit together?” Rora asked, thinking out loud.
“Watch out, everybody!” Westie shouted. He zoomed in through the skylight. His jetpack was smoking but still flying.
“Westie, fly outside, or you are going to make a mess of the crime scene!” Rider shouted.
“Aye, aye, I’ll try, Captain!” said Westie, zipping over their heads. “But this jetpack has a mind of its own!” Westie steered himself out through the front door, just missing a giant jewelry case filled with diamonds and rubies. Two seconds later, there was a loud CRASH!
The rest of the P.I. Pack rushed out of the Cat’s Meow to see what had happened. Westie flew over the crowd and across the street, where he crashed into a big sign above the Pawston Theater. “I’m okay,” he moaned.
“Well, would you look at that,” Rider said. The sign out front read:
Ziggy and Rora followed Rider’s gaze. “Clue number three?” Rora asked.
“Grab a nice suit when you get down, Westie,” Rider hollered. “Tonight, we’re going to a show!”
“Sounds like a plan,” Westie answered from above and waved his paw in the air.
THE BANANA SPLITS
“Let me get that for you,” Rora said to Rider as she helped fix his bow tie. The entire P.I. Pack was dressed up for the theater.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Rider said as he guided Rora, Ziggy, and Westie to their seats. “If my hunch is right, we’re about to meet the thieves who stole the Tiger’s Eye.”
“Who cares about thieves—this popcorn is amazing!” Ziggy said, chewing with his mouth open.
“I’m excited to use these mega 3-D binoculars I built last month. I can see every inch of the stage from here,” Westie said, fiddling with little dials and knobs on a rather large pair of metal goggles he was wearing.
“Shhh, the show is starting.” Rora hushed the others.
The lights dimmed, and a dozen monkeys lowered themselves from the top of the stage. Hand in foot, each monkey formed a link in a chain. “That’s how they got into the store through the skylight,” Rora whispered. “Teamwork.”
&
nbsp; The show continued as the Banana Splits did one trick after another, performing all kinds of amazing acrobatic and aerial feats. Then the monkeys jumped on one another’s shoulders to form one giant body. They walked across the stage as one unit. “The shadow giant!” Ziggy said.
Westie handed Rider his mega 3-D binoculars. “Put these on.”
“Not now,” Rider said.
“Trust me, you’ll want to see this.”
Rider put on the goggles and looked to where Westie pointed. At the back of the stage, something shimmered in the dark. Rider adjusted the binoculars, and the Tiger’s Eye sculpture came into focus. “They have the statue!” Rider exclaimed. But as he stood up, someone else in the crowd did too—the scary-looking rottweiler.
The rottweiler ran down the aisle and disappeared behind the side curtain. “After him!” Rider said to his P.I. Pack.
“But my popcorn!” Ziggy cried as Westie dragged him behind Rora toward the stage.
“There he goes!” yelled Rider, pointing at the rottweiler. The rottweiler was just about to grab the Tiger’s Eye, but the monkeys got to it first. A dozen monkeys ran all over the stage, tossing the statue back and forth to one another.
“They’re playing keep-away with the statue!” Ziggy shouted.
The Case of the Missing Tiger's Eye Page 1
