The Snake Mistake Mystery
Page 10
Come home immediately. The Bennetts were robbed.
“Oh no!”
“What’s wrong?” Renée leans in to read over my shoulder. She covers her mouth with her hand.
“Reuven, we’re going to have to leave you. Ping and Pong’s owners must have returned.” I swallow.
“They’ve been burglarized!” Renée blurts out.
“Geez! What does that mean for Noble Dog Walking?” Reuven asks.
“Probably that we’ll never be able to walk Ping and Pong again!”
DAY TWO, MISTAKE TEN
We say goodbye to Reuven and try to hurry home with Ping and Pong, worrying all the way as we go. “Do they think we did it?” Renée asks.
“I don’t know.” I pull Pong away in the middle of a long sniff at a fire hydrant. “Maybe someone saw us searching for the spare key.”
Renée allows Ping a five-second sniff at the same spot. “Could be the crook watched us find the secret hiding place.” She drags Ping away, too.
“Or maybe someone just smashed a window,” I suggest — the best scenario for our family business. “But would anyone have dared going in if the dogs were there?”
“Come on. An extra-long walk for these guys is always a good thing.”
“For them, yes. But also for the burglars.” Nothing we come up with sounds good for Noble Dog Walking. As we all make the final paw-steps to my house, I suck in a breath. Renée freezes alongside me for a moment.
“Oh no!” She covers her mouth with her hand.
A squad car sits on the street in front of the house.
“This is too much. I can’t get in trouble with the police,” Renée says.
“Relax. Probably nothing,” I bluff. We both know her father will go ballistic if the police talk to him about her as well as Attila. So I babble to comfort her. “They’re just going to ask us questions. We haven’t done anything wrong.” My voice squeaks just a little. Renée’s usually the one to calm me down. This is a switch for us and I’m not used to it all. “They can’t arrest us. We’re kids.”
I step inside first, slowly. Pong begins wagging immediately. As we move toward the entrance of the living room, a golden shepherd mix wags back. His face and pointy ears are black like a German shepherd’s, but his body looks bright blond like a golden retriever. Did they bring him to sniff out something?
“Renée and Stephen,” my dad calls. “Come in and sit down. Constables Jurgensen and Wilson want to ask you some questions about the Bennetts’ house.”
“Yes.” Constable Jurgensen leans forward in a chair — Dad’s chair, normally — forearms resting on his legs, his fingers laced together.
Constable Wilson sits tall on the loveseat, smiling at us. “Hi!” She gives a tight little wave. We’ve met them, and Troy, their police dog, before.
Renée sits next to Dad on the couch, and I squeeze in beside them. Pong circles and finally slumps down at my feet. Ping stays, standing and panting, eyes full only of Troy.
Constable Wilson fingers a loose black hair into the braid tucked in the back of her hat. “Stephen and Renée, right?”
We nod.
“Nice to see you again.”
Drifting away from Ping and Pong, Troy nudges Constable Jergensen’s hands. He snaps his fingers and the dog sits. Then his antifreeze-blue eyes fix on me, his fingers laced again. “You were just walking the Bennetts’ dogs, I understand. Do you mind telling us how you got in?”
“We, um, used a key,” I answer.
“You’re sure? Your father says he found your key in the dryer.”
Of course! Dad did the laundry. I never checked my pockets after. Not for treats or first aid or keys! A big mistake. Mistake ten.
“Did you maybe climb into a bathroom or a basement window?” Constable Wilson winces along with her words as though she understands we didn’t mean to do wrong.
“No!” Renée jumps. “We used the spare key hidden on the front lawn.”
“Good,” Constable Jurgensen butts in. “So why didn’t you return it?”
“I did put the key back in exactly the same spot as I found it.” I stare back at him.
“I watched him,” Renée pipes in.
No one says a word for a moment. The two police officers look at each other. With a few hairs loose again from that braid of hers, Constable Wilson seems more friendly. She speaks first. “When Mrs. Bennett came home, she didn’t have her house key. She’d misplaced it. When she looked for the spare, it wasn’t in its hiding spot.”
“Oh wow! How did she get in?” I ask.
“She called your dad, and luckily, he had your key from the dryer,” Constable Wilson explains. “Did anybody see you get that spare key from its hiding spot?”
“Nobody that we noticed,” I answer.
Again, the constables look at each other.
“If we figured out where the Bennetts hide their spare key, anyone could figure it out,” Renée says.
And she’s right. That only makes sense. So how come it feels like we’re the ones in the wrong?
“Did you go into her kitchen cupboards at any time?” Constable Jurgensen barks.
Pong’s ears twitch. Ping’s tail freezes.
“For dog food, sure,” I answer.
“You did not, at any time, go into the cookie jar in the very same cupboard?”
“No.”
Renée nods her head in agreement.
“Mrs. Bennett had about seven hundred dollars in it.” Constable Wilson’s bottom lip buckles.
“Who keeps seven hundred dollars in a cookie jar?” Renée can never resist. “Doesn’t she believe in debit cards?”
“She says she keeps it to pay workers. They prefer cash,” Constable Wilson says.
“It’s missing,” Constable Jurgensen adds, staring at Renée now.
“Did you check the cookie jar for fingerprints? Because we never touched it,” she snaps.
If I let this go and they actually dust that jar, things could go a lot worse for us.
“Um, do you mean the cookie jar shaped like a large Dalmatian dog?” I ask.
“That’s the one,” Constable Wilson says.
“I may have moved it to get to the next can of dog food,” I say.
“You moved it but you didn’t look inside?” Constable Jurgensen asks.
“No. I didn’t think it would be right to take a cookie without asking,” I answer.
One of his eyebrows does a stretch as his lips pull down. He’s quiet as his fingers finally unlace. “Well, that’s it for now.” Constable Jurgensen raises himself up slowly. Troy jumps to his paws, as do Ping and Pong.
Suddenly, we’re all standing. The living room feels crowded.
“If you think of anything else …” Constable Wilson puts a business card into my hand as she walks past me. “Just call us.”
Constable Jurgensen freezes me with one last stare.
Constable Wilson touches the brim of her hat and nods.
And they’re gone.
Ping barks one note. The whole room sighs in relief.
“You should have texted me that you couldn’t find your key.” Dad moves into his own chair, picks up his knitting, and clicks those needles together like a mad fiend.
“I thought I could find it by myself.” My feet feel hot suddenly so I pull off one holey sock, and naturally, Ping goes for it, shaking it side to side while one end is still in my hand.
I pull the second one off and Pong latches onto the toe of it. Renée takes over the tug-of-war with Ping.
“What about the dogs?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we return them?”
“No. Mrs. Bennett just stopped at home briefly. She’s off on another flight.”
“You’re going to board the dogs even though Mrs. Noble is allergic?” Renée asks.
“Oh, man,” I groan.
Dad nods. “I need pizza,” he complains and orders out for supper.
Pizza is relaxing.
Suddenly, Renée drops her end of the sock and hugs Ping. “You’re just the cutest dog alive. I can’t believe I’m never going to be able to walk you again.”
Ping yips. Maybe she’s hugging too tightly.
“Why don’t you check on Mickey,” I tell her in order to free Ping and break up the feeling of sadness. “I’m going to feed the dogs.”
She heads up the stairs while I raid Dad’s emergency kibble supply. I set out two people-bowls full and make the dogs wait while I count. Only this time, I hold Ping back for an extra three counts. Pong gets a head start. They both finish at the same time.
Renée returns after a bit, just as the doorbell rings. Dad answers, and cheese and pepperoni smells warm the air as he pays the delivery boy. We wash our hands and set the table, and everyone sits down to eat.
“Some good news is that we have an old client back. Buddy, the Rottweiler.” Dad bites off the point of his pizza slice.
“Yay!” I punch the air. Ping yips but no one else joins me.
Pong sits quietly, eyeing the mozzarella string Dad wipes from his chin. “The bad news is his owner is paying by cleaning our house.”
“That’s good news, too. She’s a professional. She can get rid of the animal dander so Mom won’t get wheezy.” Pong slumps down against my ankle.
“She does have a special pet vacuum cleaner. Which is why I invited the canine officer in. No reason the poor dog should stay in the car.” Dad takes another bite of pizza, chews, and swallows. “But we really could have used some dog-walking money.”
Renée wipes her mouth with a napkin. She’s done. Dad and I only eat three more slices ourselves. Nobody has much of an appetite.
The rest of the night we don’t talk any more about the robbery or the dogs. For a little while, Renée knits alongside my father in the living room while the dogs and I watch YouTube puppy videos. Then we head for bed, exhausted. Tomorrow’s a PA day, so we can sleep in anyway. “Good night!” Renée says to Dad.
“Oh, by the way,” Dad says, “your father’s coming tomorrow morning with fresh clothes for you.”
That’s really nice of him, I think. He’s never done that before. The dogs and I head off for my bedroom, and Renée heads down the hall for the guest room with Mickey. That’s the trouble with having a girl as a friend. No bunking together in front of the TV or in my room.
I set my alarm for eight, since we don’t have school tomorrow. Eight should be fine. I lie back in bed. Both dogs leap up to join me. Ping circles three times before settling and I squish up against the wall.
My eyes feel heavy but electricity crackles in my brain. I keep thinking about my tenth mistake of the day. If I had only done my routine pocket check, I would have brought our own key and maybe the Bennetts’ house wouldn’t have been robbed. For sure, that mistake will cost us my favourite clients. My arm reaches across Pong’s warm, heaving body. I might never walk Ping or Pong again. Pong’s heart thumps under my wrist. Ping’s breath rasps out in a crazy-loud snore for such a small dog. It’s like there’s a dinosaur trapped in that little rib cage. I love these guys. I have to think of a way to make that mistake right. I’m never going to fall asleep.
day three
DAY THREE, MISTAKE ONE
But then I do. I wake up before the alarm goes off with hot breath panting on my face. My eyes open to a long snout sniff-sniff-sniffing at me. A tongue takes a swipe at my nose. Wet! I wipe it with a pajama sleeve. Pong. Ping gives a happy yap and paws the blankets off of me.
I jump up. “Guys, I remembered something important!”
Overnight, it’s come to me, one strange detail: a brown saddlebag slung over his shoulder. Attila wears black. The saddlebag was the only spot of colour on him that afternoon of the storm when Renée and I bumped into him in front of our new client’s house. Is it possible King was curled up in that bag?
My body takes me to the window to check the weather, as I always do in order to dress for the dog walk. The sun’s shining, another great day for late October.
How can I even suggest it to Renée? Attila loves lifting weights so he understands the value of the Mr. Universe medal, and he knows all our clients. He likes snakes — he painted the image of King times three on the cement pipe. Maybe it was after he set him loose at the park. Not sure why he’d spray-paint cars, but Attila always seems angry with his dad and the world. Or maybe Star did the car vandalizing. Something to distract the police from the break-ins that involved no real breaking. She was only pretending to look for that can of paint the other night.
I’m standing in front of the window for a few moments before I realize Renée is outside already, sitting in a car in front of the house with her father. Her head’s down and she looks like she’s crying. Her father reaches to hug her and she falls into his arms. This doesn’t look like a clothes delivery at all. Something’s up.
I sigh. Whatever it is will not make it easier for me to tell her what I know.
I don’t want to disturb their privacy so I lie back down in bed. The dogs jump up on me and immediately try to lick me into action again. I scrunch up my face to resist but it’s impossible. Finally, I get back up and dress. They want their breakfast, they need their walk. Our last walk together ever. I sigh.
Unless I can prove to the Bennetts that Noble Dog Walking is innocent. In fact, if we find the real criminal, perhaps the company’s value will increase. Pet owners may see us as the true protectors of their animals and homes that we are.
Today is Cat-astrophe day. Will Attila be there with Star? Today, Noble Dog Walking could be vindicated.
I wander back to the window and watch Renée get out of the car and slam the door. Her head is bowed, her shoulders slumped. Her dad gives her a goodbye honk of the horn and I watch a remarkable change come over her.
Renée seems to take a breath, then throws her shoulders back, lifts her chin high, and waves madly, cheerfully even.
Wow. I used to think her cheery sparkle was her most annoying feature. Now I am amazed. She’s brave. I want to be that cheery, too, when everything goes wrong. As she turns, I quickly duck away from the window so she doesn’t know I’ve been watching.
“Come on, boys,” I tell the dogs. Their ears leap up. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
Pong pushes me to the side of the doorjamb in his rush to be the first out. Ping ducks under him and dashes down the stairs, barking all the way. Pong tumbles after.
“Hey, Renée,” I say gently when we meet on my way to the kitchen.
She smiles brightly. “I have some good news.” Ping leaps up to her waist for some attention and she stoops to pat him.
“Really?” I squeak. “Good news?”
“Some.” She scrubs behind Ping’s ears and he flips over on his back in bliss. “I get to keep Mickey, no worries.”
“Your father agreed? That’s great!”
Pong muscles in for some pats from Renée, too.
She smiles and strokes his head. “No. I didn’t ask him.”
“I don’t understand.”
That’s when her mouth buckles and her voice cracks. “Dad is moving out.”
“Aw, geez, Renée. I’m sorry.” Happy family, that’s what she wrote on her stone, and instead, her parents’ marriage falls on the rocks.
“It’s okay,” she says, trying to smile again.
I put one arm around her and squeeze her shoulder as we continue to the kitchen. I know it’s not really okay but I can pretend along with her. “Let me grill you a chocolate-hazelnut san
dwich for breakfast.” I decide I won’t tell her about my overnight breakthrough regarding Attila.
Dad stumbles in to make coffee and I fire another chocolate special on for him. I think the gooey delicious sandwiches make us feel better. Chocolate helps release endorphins, after all. Renée holds Ping while I feed Pong his kibble, then she releases him and the little dog eats, too.
“This could be our last walk together,” I tell the dogs. “Where do you want to go?”
“Wherever you take them, be back by eleven. Mrs. Bennett will be here for her dogs then.” Dad slurps at his coffee just a little.
I set an alarm on my phone for 10:45 so we know to head home, wherever we are. Then I head for the door with Renée.
The dogs follow us, Ping barking his excitement. He dodges the leash a few times, teasing me with his terrier humour, but then I settle both dogs down with liver bites.
“Why don’t we walk them up to the other side of Brant,” Renée suggests as we step out into the October sunshine. “Let’s see if we can chat with Mr. Sawyer about his medal.”
“All right. We can make sure he looked at his Cat-astrophe flyer, too.” Pong and Ping, of course, want to walk in the opposite direction, toward their favourite park. I tug Pong westward on Cavendish, and that helps Ping adjust his thinking.
“We have to announce the criminal at the animal shelter. Save Noble Dog Walking.” Renée taps the bridge of her glasses. “And I’m pretty sure I know who it is.”
“Really? Do you think Mr. Ron could be robbing houses?” I ask innocently. “He’ll take just about any job for money. Crossing guard, bricklayer, dog walker.” I’m just throwing random detail at her really, hoping Renée will come up with her brother’s name on her own.
“No. Not Mr. Ron.”
Ping leaps up on a tree where another Halloween witch has flattened herself in a crash landing. They could use Dad’s air traffic control skills.
“Just a decoration, Ping. Give it up.” She yanks him along.
I let Pong sniff at it now. “He could have easily picked up Mr. Mason’s phone and laptop.” Pong lifts his leg but luckily, even at his greyhound height, he can’t manage to spray the witch.