“My, aren’t the four of you darling!” she said to us. “Isn’t that my little Jeremiah? And your sister and her friend, too! And what’s your name, dear?”
“Sophie Sikora,” Sophie answered.
“Well, you’re a dear little angel, and I bet you’re hoping for some treats, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Sophie. “Only . . . I hope you don’t mind, but Jeremiah’s got to use the bathroom really, really bad. Can we come in?”
Jeremiah looked up at Sophie. “No, I don’t have to—”
To shut him up, Sophie patted his head, only it was more like she thumped him. “I know it’s embarrassing, Jeremiah, but she’s your teacher, right? She knows about this kind of junk.” Then she smiled up at Miss Deirdre, whose own smile was all of a sudden pretty fake looking.
“Uhhhh . . . ,” Miss Deirdre said. “Well, of course, I am a child development professional, but my house is at sixes and sevens right now, and—”
“That’s okay. My mother”—using Jeremiah as a battering ram, Sophie pushed past Miss Deirdre and into the house, talking all the while—“is a terrible housekeeper! Do you have cats? We have a cat. And her fur . . .”
Yasmeen and I, full of admiration, couldn’t do anything but follow.
Inside, Miss Deirdre’s smile disappeared and her eyes darted corner to corner. From the stand next to the front door, she pulled a big black umbrella, then held it by her side.
Sophie pretended not to notice anything strange. “Bathroom’s uh . . . that way, huh?” she said, and shoved Jeremiah ahead of her.
“Wait! No!” Miss Deirdre said.
Sophie paid no attention to her, just kept walking toward the back of the house. Most of the lights were off, but there was a room on the right that was all lit up. Through the doorway I could see it didn’t have regular furniture in it but counters and stools, and on the counters were glittering glass containers of all sizes. I didn’t see more, because Miss Deirdre dashed ahead of us and slammed the door shut.
“The bathroom,” she said, shooing us back toward the front door, “is down that hallway and—”
She never finished giving directions. From below us came a for-real caterwauling like you wouldn’t believe. And leading the chorus was a familiar voice, my own Luau, the undercover kitty: It’s about time you got here, guys! We felines in the basement could use a bit of rescue!
Miss Deirdre’s rosy cheeks went pale, but she wasn’t giving in. “Only my kitties.” She tried to smile. “You’ll just excuse me a minute, children, while I gather them up? You see, they’re not well socialized. I wouldn’t want any precious children to be scratched.”
“That’s okay,” Sophie said. “We love cats.”
Desperate, Miss Deirdre ceased to be the so-sweet preschool teacher. Her eyes flared, and she held up the umbrella like a weapon. “You two stop now. No more nonsense.”
The change in Miss Deirdre even intimidated Sophie. She stopped in her tracks and pulled Jeremiah close to protect him.
Would Miss Deirdre really have conked Sophie with the umbrella?
Would she have catnapped us?
Or would Sophie have displayed unexpected martial arts skills that saved the day?
I will never know because two things happened, one right after the other.
The first cracked all us kids up—and you can’t simultaneously battle a catnapping preschool teacher and crack up.
Through a doorway at the far end of the house came six cats, single file. The last in line was Luau, looking like his big-shouldered, muscley self. The others—well, they were the hilarious part. Each one was wearing his own little rainbow sweater, for one thing. And underneath, from tip of nose to tip of tail, each was as bald and pink as a watermelon jelly bean.
The other thing that happened was Mom. Lights flashing and siren blaring, she pulled up outside—with Officer Krichels right behind her.
Chapter Thirty-two
No surprise that Mom had a lot of questions for Miss Deirdre. But Miss Deirdre wouldn’t talk without a lawyer. So Officer Krichels drove her downtown to the police station. Then Mom called Sophie’s parents and the Popps.
“They’re fine,” she said into the phone. “I’ll bring them home as soon as animal control comes for the cats.”
While we waited for Mom, Yasmeen, Sophie, Jeremiah, and I sat on the sofa in Miss Deirdre’s family room, bald kitties draped all over us, snuggling for warmth. At first, it had been more than creepy to touch these strange alien creatures in their fuzzy rainbow sweaters, but now we were getting used to it. If you focused on their eyes, you could almost remember they were cats.
“I have thought and thought, and I still can’t figure out what Miss Deirdre was doing,” Yasmeen said. “Why did she shave them?”
“Why did she steal them in the first place?” Sophie said.
“I’m just glad nobody’s pushing me around anymore,” Jeremiah said, glaring at Sophie.
“I’m sorry, kid, but it was an emergency,” she said.
“I thought you were really brave,” I told her.
Sophie looked at me, like she expected me to say more.
“And I am really sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it when I said we shouldn’t have let you help. I was just so frustrated. I thought I was never going to get Luau back.”
Luau twisted in my lap and looked up at me, which meant, That would be enough to drive anyone over the edge.
Sophie looked like she didn’t think I was quite sorry enough. “Okay, I guess,” she said. “But it was a terrible thing to say after all the work I did. And I had to spend my own money at the hardware store, too. I had to buy—” She started to detail the teensy-weensy parts she had purchased to transform the baby monitor, and all their prices. It was not very interesting, so I interrupted her.
“Did anybody else notice that weird room? Miss Deirdre sure closed the door fast.”
Yasmeen moved the kitties on her lap aside, stood up, and grinned. “Who else wants to take a look?”
“I’m in,” I said. “Mom’s still on the phone. Don’t touch anything, Sophie.”
The room was toward the back of the house. I pulled my sleeve over my hand so I wouldn’t get fingerprints on the knob. When I opened the door, the lights were still on.
“What is all this stuff?” I asked.
Yasmeen was looking around, shaking her head. “I know what it looks like,” she said. “A laboratory. My aunt works in one at the hospital.” She pointed at a machine that looked like a mini-merry-go-round. “That’s a centrifuge,” she said. “And this one is an autoclave—for sterilizing test tubes and stuff.”
“What I don’t get is why a preschool teacher would have a room like this in her house,” Sophie said. “It’s like she was a mad scientist or something.”
“She made really good play dough,” Jeremiah said.
I walked farther inside. On one counter I found Ziplocs full of dried green stuff like the herbs Bub keeps for soup. On a shelf above these were three larger Ziplocs full of something that looked like white fur. Next to these was a cardboard box labeled GEL CAPSULES and a neat row of yellow pill bottles.
“These are like the ones my dad got from Mr. Blanco,” I said.
Then I looked again. Were they like the ones my dad got from Mr. Blanco? Or were they the very same ones my dad got from Mr. Blanco?
A second later, I had my answer. “What does this say?” Jeremiah held up a white label printed with black letters.
Yasmeen read over his shoulder. “HOMESPUN REMEDIES—EYESIGHT.”
And suddenly the whole thing made sense—more or less. We were standing in the lab where my dad’s eyesight pills were manufactured. And what were they manufactured from? Cat fur, that’s what! Miss Deirdre was stealing cats, shaving them, and using their fur as an ingredient in the pills. Cats have great eyesight, so the homespun idea would be that a dose of their fur would improve people’s eyes, too.
It was a pretty lame idea, an
d I couldn’t say I was real surprised that Dad’s eyes were as bad as ever. I smiled when I thought of what he would say when he found out his miracle pills were full of cat fur.
In the cafeteria the other day, Yasmeen had promised Kyle that she wouldn’t bring his cat, Halloween, back to him. So when we went to Kyle’s front door later that night, I held Halloween and Yasmeen stood innocently beside us. Sophie and Jeremiah had already gone home. Mom was in her police car waiting for us at the curb.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Yasmeen asked. “I mean, Kyle seems like kind of a delicate kid. Seeing his cat in this condition could give him a heart attack.”
Halloween meowed her rusty-hinge meow. Ugly as she was, she did seem to be a good cat. I wondered if she knew how she looked and if she cared.
“I don’t know about Kyle,” I said, “but after what she’s been through, this poor kitty shouldn’t have to go to the pound overnight. She deserves to be home.”
The door opened and a lady—Kyle’s mom, I guess—was on the other side. “It’s awfully late for trick-or-treating,” she said. Then she spotted Halloween and shuddered. “Oh, dear,” she said. “A pet rat wearing a sweater!”
Kyle came up behind her then, and right behind him—what a surprise—was Cammie. Kyle looked at Halloween, looked at me, looked at Halloween, and then eagerly reached for her. “What happened to you, pal?” he said as he pulled the cat close.
Yasmeen couldn’t believe it. “How did you even recognize her?” she asked.
“A man knows his own cat,” Kyle said.
“Oh, my gracious, don’t tell me that poor, hideous creature is—” his mom said.
“Halloween!” Cammie hollered. “Cool! Can we take the sweater off? I always wanted to know what cats look like naked!”
Chapter Thirty-three
Mom didn’t ask us a lot of questions Halloween night. She was concentrating on Miss Deirdre and the bald kitties. But when she and I were sitting at the breakfast table the next morning, it all came out—how we had borrowed the baby monitor and Sophie had turned it into a wire for Luau, how we had used Luau as catnapper bait.
Like I predicted, Mom was not totally thrilled with our methods.
“The baby monitor didn’t belong to you in the first place,” she said.
“I know that, Mom.”
“And what right had you to put your cat at risk?” Mom nodded at Luau. He had been snoozing on his cushion under the counter, but when he heard cat, he looked up. “A poor, dumb animal,” Mom went on, “who can’t speak for himself.”
“A poor, dumb animal?” I said. “Mom, he volunteered!”
Mom sipped her coffee. “Right,” she said.
Luau interrupted with a meow. He had padded over to sit by Mom’s chair. Now he leaped lightly into her lap and started circling.
“He’s telling you it was his idea,” I said.
“Oh, is he?” Mom said. “I thought he was telling me there’s a new box of cat treats in the cupboard.”
“I don’t see how he can say it any more clearly. He liked being the undercover kitty. He was proud to serve his fellow felines.”
Mom stroked Luau. “Have it your way,” she said. “But about that baby monitor, how much have you got saved?”
Oh, this was just great. Here Yasmeen and I had solved the crime, caught the catnapper, returned Kyle’s cat—and instead of getting a reward, it was going to cost me cold, hard cash.
I sighed. “If I use my birthday money,” I said, “I’ve probably got enough to pay Mrs. Lee back.”
“Good.”
It seemed like a smart idea to change the subject. So I asked Mom what she had found out from Miss Deirdre. “Was I right?” I said. “Was she making those pills for Mr. Blanco?”
Mom nodded. “She’s an animal lover big-time, and she got interested in these alternative kinds of cures after she read some book about homespun remedies. Her idea was that she could do well by doing good.”
“What does that mean?”
“She thought she could rescue neglected cats and make money at the same time,” Mom said.
“Wasn’t she scared when she was stealing the cats?” I asked. “She almost got caught a couple of times.”
Mom smiled. “That was her big inspiration. You know, I think maybe Miss Deirdre was such a successful teacher because she’s a kid at heart. For example, she loved to play dress-up.”
“You mean she had a costume for catnapping?”
“More like a disguise,” Mom said. “She knew how the Harvey ghost was supposed to steal cats at Halloween. So she decided to confuse matters by transforming herself into a ghost. And I don’t mean she wore some cheesy old sheet either. She had gray face makeup and a veil, and her dress was more like a gauzy gray gown.”
“Doesn’t sound good for fast getaways,” I said.
“She made it short so she wouldn’t trip,” Mom said. “She wore gray tights and running shoes with it. I guess she was pretty proud of the costume. Even though she was sitting in a police station, she wanted to tell me all about it.”
I said I thought it was too bad Miss Deirdre had turned out to be a bad guy. “She’s good at a lot of things. How did she make the pills, anyway?”
“Apparently, she collected the fur, bleached it white, ground it into a powder, and put the powder into the gel capsules.”
“Did she really think they would work?” I asked. “I mean—ick—swallowing cat fur? Poor Dad!”
Mom laughed. “Well, she added herbs, so it was tasty cat fur, at least, and clean, too. But your dad told me early this morning he’s pretty embarrassed. In fact, he’s at the eye doctor now.”
“Is Mr. Blanco going to get in trouble?” I asked. “It seems like maybe there would be a law against selling pills made out of cat fur.”
“The district attorney says it’s not the kind of consumer fraud case he’s used to,” Mom said, “so he’s still looking into it. There was no real harm done, so my bet is Mr. Blanco will get off with a slap on the wrist.”
“The D.A. is going to slap Mr. Blanco’s wrist?”
“Not literally, Alex,” Mom said. “It just means the punishment won’t be too severe. At the very least, Mr. Blanco will have to return Daddy’s money and promise to be more careful about what he sells in the future.” She took another sip of coffee and stretched. Luau had to hold tight to keep from falling out of her lap. “You know,” she said, “I’m going downtown to question Miss Deirdre again later, and there are still a few things I don’t understand.”
“No prob, Mom. After talking to Kyle last night, I’ve got it all figured out.”
“In that case,” she said, “why did Kyle call you and Yasmeen off the case? Was Bub right? Was there a ransom note?”
I shook my head no. “It was the ghost,” I said.
“You mean Miss Deirdre dressed up,” Mom said.
“No,” I said, “I mean the real ghost. Kyle was at the Harvey house on Sunday buying catnip. He hoped maybe he could use it to lure Halloween home. Anyway, when he was there, the ghost of Gilmore Harvey started making noise—”
“The ghost of Gilmore Harvey started making noise?” Mom repeated.
“The ghost makes noise, Mom. Trust me. Anyway, Kyle became convinced it was the ghost who stole Halloween.”
Mom said that was no wonder. “He’s a morbid kid, anyway, and he saw Miss Deirdre in full regalia when she stole his cat.”
I nodded. “Anyway, when that happened, he was afraid it was a warning that he should stop looking. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to Yasmeen and me, so he called us off, too.”
“He’s a Gloomy Gus, all right,” Mom said. “And I guess that also explains why he put the LOST flyer in the cemetery in the first place.”
“You got it,” I said. “He was hoping the ghost would see it and return the cat. Hey—but can I ask you something? How did you figure out about Miss Deirdre—that she was the catnapper? It was sure lucky you and Officer Krichels arrived
when you did.”
“Luck nothing.” Mom smiled. “It was superior police work and my brilliant powers of deduction.”
“That’s what I meant to say. So how did you do it?”
“The grocery receipt,” she said. “Mrs. Timmons isn’t the only one who makes salt dough. I reread my notes from questioning Kyle. Cammie told me she had just made a unicorn out of play dough at school. Play dough, salt dough . . . It seemed like it was worth asking Miss Deirdre a few questions at least.”
“And the next thing you knew, you were organizing a bald-cat rescue mission.”
“Righty-o,” Mom said, “and this morning I’ve got a date with a catnapper and her lawyer. Your dad, on the other hand, will be spending a pleasant day cleaning the basement. Care to join him?”
I had kind of thought since Yasmeen and I solved the crime and all, maybe we could celebrate. I mean, weren’t we sort of heroes? But apparently, Mom didn’t see it that way. She probably wondered why I sounded sarcastic when I answered her. “You know I’d love to, Mom, but I have some errands to run.”
“What errands?” she asked.
I told her Yasmeen and I were going over to Mr. Blanco’s store to return the ledger book and the old newspapers, but on the way we were stopping at Bub’s. We wanted to fill him in on who stole Halloween and see if he had any ideas about the other mystery: What had really happened on that Halloween more than a century ago? Was it true Gilmore Harvey was murdered by his very own cat?
“I thought you and Yasmeen were done with mysteries for a while,” Mom said.
“We were till last night,” I said, “but solving one kind of gives you energy for another.”
“I know what you mean. And anyway, Dad will be happy to save you one of the grungier jobs. We wouldn’t want you to feel left out.”
Who Stole Halloween? Page 10
