The Snake Mistake Mystery

by Sylvia McNicoll

  “Boo!” Star jumps out from behind the hedge. The bright street light turns her face ghostly white.

  “Aaaah!” My heart leaps into my mouth.

  “What are you doing out at this hour?” Renée asks her.

  “Why? It’s not past my bedtime yet.” All in black — leggings, long-sleeved sweater, and knitted cap — Star looks like a ninja, except for the star-shaped sparkle in her nose. “You guys, on the other hand, should be in bed.”

  “We’re checking on our snake trap,” I answer.

  “Cool. I’m on the hunt for a missing spray-paint can. White. Attila thought he’d left it near the creek but I looked everywhere.”

  “Does he usually leave his paint cans near his graffiti?” I ask.

  “Sometimes. Till he’s finished. The spot wasn’t exactly high traffic.” She shrugs her shoulders. “But it’s missing. And I bet only the kid who sprayed all the cars knows where it is.”

  “You’re trying to prove Attila’s innocence,” Renée says.

  “That’s right. The police want to make him for the two break-ins, too. He’s a bodybuilder — so what? Doesn’t mean he wants to steal a Mr. Universe medal.”

  “He has his own phone,” Renée adds. “Probably a more up-to-date one than Mr. Mason has. And a pretty great computer. Grandma bought it for when he goes to college.”

  Attila still has about another eight months of high school, so he seems pretty spoiled with technology. Still, I don’t think people steal electronics for their own personal use. But pointing that out to Renée doesn’t seem like a good idea.

  “I wonder which car was the last one to be vandalized,” Star says. “He probably ran out of paint then and trashed the can nearby.”

  “Mr. Lebel’s Mustang. Next door to us,” I answer. “Because he didn’t spray our car.”

  “Okay. I’ll check near your house. In the meantime, if you really want to catch snakes, you should head down to the creek.”

  “We’re looking for a particular snake,” Renée says. “Before you go, can we interest you in the animal shelter’s Cat-astrophe blowout cat sale?” She pulls a flyer from her jacket pocket and pushes it at Star.

  “Maybe.” Star looks at the brochure as she saunters off.

  At King’s house, we turn up the walkway and I grab the key from under the flowerpot. Click, the door creaks open. The house is dark.

  “Are snakes nocturnal?” I whisper to Renée.

  “They come out whenever they want to, Stephen.” She flips on a light switch. “As long as it’s warm enough.”

  With all the windows shut, it feels toasty. Still no slither marks in the drywall dust on the living room floor. We make our way carefully to the family room at the back, switching on more lights as we go. I can hear the whirring noise before I get there. “Drat. Zombie mouse is still doing his thing.”

  “What do you think? Should we leave him on?” Renée asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t think there’s any point. King can’t be here. And with our luck, we’ll start an electrical fire.”

  “Let’s put a new mouse in the aquarium, just in case he’s still here somewhere.” She goes to the freezer and, wrinkling her nose, takes out a frozen body. “Should we nuke him?”

  “No! Just take the wrapper off.”

  Meanwhile, I unplug our zombie mouse, throw him in one of my dog-doo bags, and pack up the little motor to return to Reuven. Renée turns off all the lights. We back out of the house, and I slip the key back under the winter cabbage.

  “Here now!” a cannon-shot voice calls out.

  I look up and see Mr. Rupert clomping our way in big black boots and a camouflage military uniform. Jumping to a wrong conclusion, he grabs my shoulder. The first mistake-of-the-day award goes to him.

  “What are you kids stealing from that house?”

  DAY TWO, MISTAKE TWO

  I try to shrug him off but his grip is tight.

  “Let Stephen go!” Renée squints hard at him.

  He releases me but takes out his cell phone. “I’m calling the police!”

  “Don’t!” Renée grabs his arm this time.

  I can’t believe she did that. He is so scary.

  Quickly, I explain. “We’re not taking anything that doesn’t belong to us.” I lift up the bottle so he can see. “This is a snake trap!”

  “And that other thing, what’s that? Looks like a bomb.”

  “No,” Renée answers. “It’s a motor. Makes the mouse move so the snake thinks it’s alive.”

  He doesn’t ask about the little black bag with the dead mouse in it. “You say you were trying to catch a snake in a house? Why not the creek? Saw one there the other day.”

  “We’re not trapping snakes for fun,” I explain. “The owner’s pet python got loose.”

  “Noble Dog Walking was hired to look after the python,” Renée adds.

  Mr. Rupert shakes off Renée’s hand. “Tell it to the cops. There have been two break-ins this week. And car vandalism!” His thumb hovers over the phone screen. He taps once, twice.

  Renée touches his arm, gently this time. “Mr. Rupert, have you ever thought of adopting a cat?”

  “What?” he sputters but stops tapping.

  “You know …” Her voice soothes now. “You walk the streets after midnight. You must be lonely.”

  “I patrol, not walk. Someone has to keep the neighbourhood safe.”

  “Do the police like that?” I ask. “Aren’t you out on probation? You’re not carrying your replica gun, are you?”

  While the street light made Star look pale, it turns Mr. Rupert’s face a deep shade of tomato soup. “My taxes pay their salary!” he huffs, but his thumb closes the screen and he slides his cell phone back into his pocket.

  “This Monday the animal shelter is having a sale. Half off, and you can get your cat neutered for free,” Renée tells him.

  He frowns. “My wife always wanted one.”

  “Here. Take a flyer.” Renée yanks another one from her jacket pocket. “Think about it. Pets lower your blood pressure. And cats aren’t that much work.”

  He looks confused. Renée has that effect on me sometimes, too. I keep explaining to him. “Mr. Rupert, we’re trying to catch the criminals, too. My dad’s business is at stake. We’re losing customers.”

  “My brother Attila’s been questioned,” Renée adds.

  “You shouldn’t be out at night!” Mr. Rupert says.

  “You shouldn’t be ‘patrolling,’ either.” Renée makes air quotes with her fingers.

  “I ought to tell your parents,” Mr. Rupert says.

  “We should team up,” I suggest instead.

  “Share information!” Renée adds. “Did you see the Diamond Drywall van earlier?”

  “Someone needs to report him. Speeding like that.” He shakes his head.

  “Unsafe,” I agree. “Especially with the skateboarders in the middle of the street.”

  “I hate house flippers anyway. Skateboarders, too, for that matter.”

  Kids, dogs, and people in general. “The drywall guy is a house flipper, too?” I ask.

  “You must know.” Mr. Rupert raises his eyebrows. “He’s your snake owner!”

  “We were hired by a woman,” I quickly explain. “She’s away. Left on a plane.” Does over-explaining make me sound guilty?

  “They’re a couple,” Mr. Rupert says. “The drywall guy and her.”

  “Mr. Rupert, that’s great information,” Renée exclaims. “But we should head home now. I think I saw a flashing red light. Police may be heading this way.”

  Mr. Rupert marches off quickly.

  “Do you think we can trust him?” I ask her as we walk in the other direction toward home.

  “No. I don’t think we should trust Star, either. Both of them
are suspects. But you know what they say, keep your friends close …”

  “And your enemies closer,” I finish.

  When we get home, I slip the dead mouse into the trash in the garage. Then we sneak back into the house and head up the stairs to the music of Dad’s strange snore. Roghhhhhh! Pewt, pewt, pewt, pew.

  So deep asleep, he’ll never know about us leaving the house after midnight. And tomorrow being Sunday, we can sleep in, anyway. “Good night,” I tell Renée.

  “Sleep tight,” she answers.

  I strip down to my pajamas and bury myself in blankets for a great, long snooze. I close my eyes.

  But my mind tries to sort through all the details that float through my thoughts: a missing snake, an empty ring box, spray-painted cars, a stolen phone and laptop, a stolen Mr. Universe medal. What do they have in common? Not Noble Dog Walking. Can’t just be Noble Dog Walking.

  My thoughts tumble and spin like clothes in a washing machine. Somehow, I end up in a strange scene. A wedding. I see Janet Lacey in a long, white gown, and she’s walking toward the counter at the animal shelter.

  On all sides, she’s surrounded by cats. Hundreds of them: large and small, tiger-striped, and spotted orange and black. They’re mewing and meowing, and she’s walking to the beat of their sounds. So weird.

  I know she’s marrying herself, so what will happen when she reaches the counter?

  The cats part, and I see a large gold coin hanging from the counter — we’re talking dinner-plate-sized — with a blue and white ribbon attached to it. I can make out Mr. Sawyer’s face on the polished mirror surface, so that’s how I know it has to be his Mr. Universe medal. I also somehow know that Ms. Lacey is marrying it, which sounds crazy, but it’s not any crazier than her marrying herself when you think about it.

  From the cat gallery, a cell phone plays a tune — the theme from one of Dad’s favourite dog shows, The Littlest Hobo. Cats turn and hiss at the cell phone owner who, of course, is Dad. He shrugs but answers it, nodding his head. Then he holds it out toward me and calls, “Stephen, it’s for you. Mom’s calling.”

  And that’s when I wake up. But I can still hear Dad. “Phone! Stephen! Are you up yet?”

  Blam, blam, blam, he pounds on my door. “Stephen! Mom’s on the line.”

  I open my eyes. I’m not dreaming anymore. I sit up. “Come in, Dad.”

  The door opens and he hands me the phone.

  “Hi, Stephen.”

  “Mom.” I blink and yawn. “How are you?”

  “So good, now that I’m talking to you.”

  I can hear her smile as she talks and I struggle to shake off my sleepiness. Everything always seems better when she calls. “Mom, King’s missing.”

  “Oh no, that’s too bad. Poor Salma. She came onto the plane weeping about having to break up with her boyfriend.”

  “Were they engaged?” I ask, still thinking about my strange wedding dream.

  “She wasn’t wearing a ring. But I didn’t ask. She was crying so much, everyone was looking at her.”

  “Did you say she broke up with him?” I ask. “Why was she crying?”

  “Maybe she really didn’t want to. But she said he never finished things he started, didn’t clean up around the house.”

  I’ll say, I thought, remembering all the drawers hanging open and the sheets on the floor.

  “But she showed me a photo of him and he was hot! Some kind of bodybuilder. Does drywall, but I gather he doesn’t work that much.”

  “A bodybuilder?” I repeat and think about that exercise room back at King’s house.

  “Yeah, lifts weights but won’t lift a finger.” Mom laughs and I laugh along, too.

  “Anyway,” Mom continues, “she was worried he wouldn’t feed her pet snake. Revenge, you know. And she was going to be away three days. So I asked where she lived. Anything to stop her crying. Figured Dad could drive there and make sure. When she told me her address, I knew you could help her.”

  “Well, there was an awful storm here when you called yesterday morning, Mom.”

  “I know. Takeoff was delayed.”

  “We didn’t get there till later. But there was a mouse in the aquarium.”

  “So King should have been fine. You wouldn’t believe it. The man ahead of Salma somehow got it into his head that a snake had escaped on the plane and that’s why we were delaying takeoff.”

  “That’s just silly.”

  Mom doesn’t say anything for a second.

  “Right?” I say. “I mean, that’s never happened before, has it? A snake loose in an airplane?”

  “Well … once. On Air India. I heard they had to remove some seats to fit a stretcher in. And after they put the seats back in, some passengers noticed a snake curled up in one.”

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  “Me? I never worked for Air India.”

  “No. For that guy who thought a snake was loose on your plane.”

  “Well, that was ridiculous. I think he’d had too much to drink. With the sheets of rain coming down and the lightning, there was no doubt about why we were delaying. We told him to calm down or get off the plane.”

  “That worked?”

  “That and an extra bag of cashews.”

  Just like Mickey, I think. “We’re hoping King will find his way back in the aquarium. We gave him a fresh mouse. When is King’s owner getting back?”

  “Monday evening.”

  “In time for the Cat-astrophe.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The animal shelter’s having a cat sale, and the lady there gave me some flyers to pass around.”

  “That’s nice …” I can hear voices in the background. “Listen, Stephen. I have to go. I hope Salma’s snake comes back. But don’t worry too much about it. I love you!” Click!

  “I love you too, Mom.” I stare at the receiver and miss her for another long moment. Then I take a breath and head downstairs for the kitchen, where Dad is making breakfast.

  Before I can put the phone back in the cradle, it rings again and I see the name of the caller in the window. Mr. Rupert. Here’s where I make mistake number two of the day. Before Mr. Rupert can snitch on us, I rush to confess about sneaking out of the house after midnight.

  “Dad, you know how we set that snake trap up with the dancing dead mouse? We realized, late last night, that we needed to check on it. So we could make sure King didn’t escape. Only, Mr. Rupert saw us. I think that’s why he’s calling now.”

  DAY TWO, MISTAKE THREE

  “You mean you went out after we’d all gone to bed? How can I trust you anymore?” Dad shakes his head but finally picks up the phone like it’s a smoking gun. “Hello? Yes. He’s sitting right here. Sure.” Dad hands me the receiver.

  “Hi, Mr. Rupert.”

  “I found the paint can.”

  That’s why he’s calling? “Really? Where?”

  “Pretty close to your friend Renée’s house. Next door, actually. North side.”

  Reuven Jirad’s house. But Reuven was with us the whole time.

  “Right where her brother might have thrown it on his way home,” Mr. Rupert continues.

  “It’s not Attila, Mr. Rupert. It can’t be Attila.” If only for Renée’s sake. So much for the thief leaving the can behind where the trail of painted cars ended. “Do you think the police will want it as evidence?”

  “Yes. I’ll have to tell them where I found it. It won’t look good for him.”

  And some of Attila’s fingerprints are bound to be on it.

  “Well, I’ve given you plenty of information,” he continued. “Here’s a question for you. Who else knows about the Mr. Universe medal? Besides Mr. Sawyer himself?”

  “Anybody who went into Mrs. Irwin’s studio, I guess.”

  “Right. Well, I�
�ll leave that with you,” he says and hangs up.

  “Goodbye to you too!” I put the receiver down and face Dad.

  “You are grounded.”

  Right on cue, Renée stumbles sleepily into the kitchen as if following the scent of pancakes.

  “And Renée …”

  Her head flips to attention at the mention of her name.

  “You need to go home. Tell your parents about going out last night. You cannot come here and then head out at all hours of the night.”

  Renée’s mouth drops open, then shuts again. “Can I have breakfast first?”

  At this point, the phone rings a third time. Dad picks up. “Hello, Mrs. Kobai. Yes. Yes, well something’s come up … I see. Oh. That’s too bad. Sure.” Dad’s eyebrows huddle like storm clouds. “Do you want to speak to her? I understand. Perhaps that’s best. All right. That’s okay. Tomorrow’s a day off for them, anyway. Don’t give it another thought.” He hangs up and frowns.

  “Did something happen? Are my parents okay?” Renée asks.

  “They’re fine,” Dad says so quietly that it’s hard to believe they are. “But … they have things they need to work out. Your mom asked if you could stay here another night.”

  Renée’s lip trembles.

  It’s one thing when you want to stay over at a friend’s house; it’s another when your parents don’t even want you to come home.

  Dad sets a plate on the table. “Sit, everybody. We have pancakes.” His smile looks toothy fake and his eyes beg me to help. “Chocolate spread, too. If you like.”

  “Chocolate and syrup! Even better,” I tell Renée. “Yay!” I try to sound cheery. I should be happy. Mrs. Kobai’s call seems to have changed Dad’s focus. Renée will sleep over again — so how is that in any way being grounded?

  I push my luck a little harder. “Dad, we promised we would help Reuven with his paper route today. Also, can we walk Ping and Pong? After that, you can ground me forever, if you like.”

  “Grounding isn’t supposed to be convenient,” he snaps.

  A tear slides down Renée’s cheek.