“When will they be back?” Becca asks.
“Saturday.” She sighs wistfully. “Seven days at sea without the demands of phone calls or the Internet. I envy them.”
“My timing sucks.” Becca’s pink-streaked black ponytail hangs as her shoulders slump. “I’ve been away and haven’t talked to Zee Zee in forever. I don’t even know if she’s going out with Gavin or RJ.”
“I’ve never heard of RJ, but Gavin is a sweetheart. Such a hard-working boy. He helps out when I need someone to walk Bradley.” She stops jogging to pet her dog. “Bradley absolutely loves Gavin.”
“Most animals do,” Becca says as if she actually knows Gavin. “I thought he and Zee Zee were perfect together.”
“They were until…well she’ll tell you all about it.”
“Did something happen to Gavin?” Becca’s hands fly to her face. “Is he ill or was there an accident?”
“He’s fine. But his mother…” Sadness pales the woman’s face. “I didn’t know her well but she always waved when I jogged past her house. I had no idea…but then no one did until the police showed up.”
“What happened?” Becca asks in a gasp.
“Gavin’s mother was arrested.”
- Chapter 12 -
Doggy Dilemma
When the woman tilts up her sunglasses, her eyes are filled with sadness. “Poor Gavin took it so hard. I saw him the next day and asked if there was anything I could do to help. He wouldn’t even talk to me.”
“Maybe his mother is innocent,” I speak up, scenarios spinning in my head. Had she been framed by a jealous coworker? Did she confess to a crime to protect a loved one? Or did she have a doppelgänger that looked so much like her even her family was fooled? These things happen often in the books I read.
But the jogger is frowning. “She confessed to embezzling money from her employer. She’d been stealing for years and her family had no idea. Gavin was so ashamed, he broke up with Zee Zee, and a few weeks later the house was empty.” She points to a rust-brown house farther down the street with a For Rent sign on the lawn. “I’m sure Zee Zee will tell you all about it when she comes back from her cruise. I have to run.”
Before we can ask where Gavin moved to, the sunglasses fall back in place. Sneakers and paws pound on the sidewalk as the woman and her Doberman disappear around the corner.
Becca, Leo, and I are quiet as we walk back to the bikes and gyro-board. I climb on my bike and wonder how I’d feel if my mother was sent to prison. It’s hard to imagine because Mom is so law-abiding that when she was pulled over for speeding she said, “You’re right, officer. I’m guilty and deserve a ticket.” I glance at my friends riding ahead of me. Are they thinking about their mothers too? Sometimes Becca complains that her mother is too bossy; Leo resents when his mother treats him like a little kid; and my mother gets so busy she doesn’t have much time for me. But at least we have mothers around to complain about…unlike Gavin.
Why did Gavin’s mother risk her family and freedom for money? I wonder.
When we near the Bragg Estate, Leo rolls beside me and says he’s going home. “I planned to skip my usual Sunday with Dad, but I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to see him.”
“And Mom could use my help with the baby monkey,” Becca adds.
So I ride on alone to the electronic security gate at the entrance to the Bragg Estate. I tap in the code then coast my bike down the driveway. As I reach our cottage I glimpse Mom through a window.
After parking my bike in the garage, I hurry into the house and surprise my mother by wrapping my arms around her for a big hug.
After lunch, Mom reminds me I haven’t visited Gran Nola in a while, so I hop on my bike and head for her house. As I pedal through country roads then glide down Wild Street into Sun Flower, I’m on the lookout for lost animals. Before I left home, I flipped through the stack of Lost and Found flyers Mom recently gave me. While Becca, Leo, and I keep the CCSC a secret, our families know we help reunite missing pets with their owners.
I see plenty of dogs on leashes and a few cats sunning on their porches, but no missing pets. As I slow in front of my grandmother’s house, a German shepherd streaks past my bike. I squeeze my brake hard and my bike skids forward—narrowly missing the dog. I’m jerked forward, almost tumbling over my handlebars, then whipped back.
I regain my balance then stare down the street at the retreating dog. I see a glint of silver tags around its neck, so it’s not a stray. Does he live nearby? Did he escape from his yard? I’m debating whether or not to go after the dog when my grandmother rushes out of her house.
“Kelsey, are you okay?” Gran Nola pushes up the sweatband holding back her shoulder-length silver-streaked brown hair as she looks closely at me. She’s wearing her purple yoga pants with a Lycra top. “I was working out by the window and gasped when you nearly took a header on the pavement.”
“I’m fine, but I’m worried about that dog.” Biting my lip, I stare down the street. “Did you see him?”
“Yes.” She nods. “He belongs to my neighbor Greta Laszlo. Sometimes when Greta is out walking him, she stops to talk to me. It’s odd to see Major without Greta. He’s too well-behaved to run off.”
“I’ll check it out,” I say and hop on my bike and go after the dog.
I reach the end of the street and hesitate. Do I turn right or left?
Left, I realize when a pickup truck slams on its brakes. The German shepherd runs across the street and dives between two parked cars in a driveway and into a front yard.
A man washing a car next door turns to stare.
“Stop that dog!” I shout.
“Come!” the man barks in a commanding tone. “Sit!”
To my surprise, the shepherd bounds up to the man, tail wagging, and promptly sits down.
“Your dog responds well to commands,” the man says with amusement.
“Thanks, but he’s…well…thanks for stopping him,” I say, not wasting time explaining that the dog isn’t mine.
I grab a leash from a compartment on my bike (I always keep one handy) and hold it behind my back as I advance toward the dog with my hand outstretched. He sniffs my fingers then gives me a big sloppy lick.
“Good boy.” I wipe my hand on my jeans then bend down to read his tag: Major. So Gran Nola was right.
I snap the leash to Major’s collar. Easiest lost dog recovery ever! Major regards me with trusting dark eyes and follows as I walk my bike back to my grandmother’s house.
Gran has her cell phone to her ear as she greets me at the door. She takes one look at Major and gives me a troubled smile. She sets down her phone, shaking her head. “I called Greta’s house but there’s no answer so I left a message.”
“I’ll take him home,” I offer. “It can’t be far.”
“Only two blocks. But there’s no point in going there if Greta isn’t home. Her son must have taken her to church. She doesn’t drive anymore since her hip surgery, although that doesn’t stop her from walking Major.”
“He walked himself today.” I pat the dog on his head. He licks my hand then tugs on the leash like he’s eager to go home.
“Come, Major.” Gran Nola holds open her front door for him. “You can stay here until Greta calls. It’ll be nice to have a dog in the backyard again.”
Does Gran miss Handsome? I wonder, startled by the wistfulness in her voice. I’d been so happy when we moved to a house with a yard big enough for Handsome that I’d never considered my grandmother’s feelings. For half a year she cared for Handsome, and she probably misses his company.
We take Major into the backyard. I find a Frisbee Handsome left behind and throw it to Major. But he walks away, pawing at the gate and whining.
“I’ll take you home when Greta calls,” Gran Nola says to him and pats the phone in her pocket. “Come on inside, and I’ll give you a treat.”
Major doesn’t want a treat, but he laps water from Handsome’s old bowl.
“Want to do
some yoga?” Gran Nola asks me.
When I nod she places yoga mats on the floor. While I’m twisted in a crane pose, Major comes over and stretches beside us too, doing his own version of Downward Dog.
When we haven’t heard from Greta an hour later, I offer to take Major home again. But Gran says to wait until we hear from Greta. Not easy for impatient me, and I can tell by the way Major keeps going over to the door that he’s anxious to get home.
Gran knows I like puzzles, so we work on a one-thousand-piece puzzle mystery with clues in the images to a famous book title. The clues show up when the puzzle is finished. There are three picture clues: a hound dog, smoking pipe, and Baker Street sign.
“Sherlock Holmes lives on Baker Street,” Gran Nola says, pursing her lips as she studies the emerging puzzle.
“And he smokes a pipe.” I snap my fingers. “Hound plus pipe equals The Hound of the Baskervilles. I have that book on my shelf—”
The phone rings.
I suck in my breath. Is it Greta calling back?
“For you,” Gran says as she glances at the phone screen. “Your friend Becca tracked you down—a clever little Miss Sherlock Holmes herself.”
Puzzled, I put the phone to my ear. “What’s up, Becca? Is everything okay?”
“Better than okay! I took your advice!” Her excited voice rises.
“What advice?”
“Remember when we talked about how much I missed Zed and you suggested I visit him?” She doesn’t wait for my answer and rushes on. “When I asked Mom, she loved the idea of a road trip for spring break. She called Zed’s owner and it’s all set. We’re leaving in two days!”
“That’s great! You’ll have so much fun!”
“I can’t wait to see Zed. But what if he doesn’t remember me? His name isn’t even Zed.”
“He hasn’t been gone that long.” I chuckle. “He’ll remember you.”
“I don’t leave until Tuesday so we can still have a club meeting at the Skunk Shack tomorrow,” she adds. “I talked to Leo and he’ll be there.”
“I’m sure he will.” I remember the dizzy way Leo smiled at Becca.
“Yeah, he’s never late.” Becca laughs. “He’ll be there at 12 p.m. exactly. He’s so predictable it’s cute.”
She says this fondly, the way she would about a cute puppy. If Leo does like her, he’s going to be crushed when he realizes she doesn’t feel the same way. They’ll get awkward with each other. Maybe skip CCSC meetings. It could be the beginning of the end of our club.
“Becca, about Leo…” I start to say then falter.
“What about him?”
“It’s just…um…well, he’s younger than us.”
“Duh. He hasn’t had his birthday yet. He won’t say when it is, but I think it’s pretty soon.”
I don’t say anything because one of the secrets in my notebook of secrets is that Leo skipped a grade so he’s more than a year younger than us. Of course, he’s smarter than most adults…except when it comes to girls.
My grandmother comes over and gives me a getoff-the-phone look. “I have to go, Becca,” I say, relieved to postpone this conversation.
“Okay. Talk to you later,” Becca says then clicks off.
Sighing, I hand the phone back to my grandmother. My gut churns with a bad feeling—not just about Leo secretly liking Becca, but also about Greta.
“Gran, still no answer?” I ask after she tries calling again.
“No.” My grandmother’s gaze falls on Major who paces by the front door.
“No more waiting.” She walks to the coatrack and slips on a coat. “Let’s go on a walk.”
“Yes!” I jump up and clip the leash back onto Major’s collar.
Outside the weather has turned windy and the sky is filled with rolling gray clouds. Major barks impatiently and pulls on the leash, tugging me forward. It’s obvious he wants to run faster than the gusting wind, but he keeps a steady pace on the leash.
“Make a right turn on Melody Lane,” Gran Nola says as she hurries to catch up. But I don’t need her directions. Major knows where he’s going.
When we reach a blue house with tidy rows of flowers blooming up to the porch, Major whines and looks back at us with pleading eyes, like he’s trying to tell us something. There’s no car in the driveway, but that makes sense since Greta doesn’t drive. Major tugs us to the front door.
Gran rings the bell, and we wait.
I listen for the sound of footsteps but no one answers.
Major whines plaintively and paws at the door.
Gran calls loudly for Greta. I pound on the door, calling along with her. No one answers so I twist the knob. The door falls open. Gran and I exchange worried looks, and she steps boldly into the house.
“Greta!” she calls out. Her gaze sweeps across the living room and down the hall. “Are you here?”
My heart skips when I look at the glass-topped coffee table. “Her purse.”
“And there’s her cane,” Gran Nola adds, pointing to one propped against the wall.
Major barks frantically. He jerks forward so fast, the leash slips from my hand. He bolts around the corner, through the living room and into the kitchen—which is where we find Greta—crumpled on the floor.
- Chapter 13 -
SOS!
I’ve never been so relieved to hear the shrill squeal of an ambulance.
Uniformed paramedics rush into the house and Greta is carried out on a stretcher to the ambulance. She’s alive but just barely. A paramedic questions my grandmother but Gran Nola doesn’t know much except the first name of Greta’s son and that he’s a dentist. We find his number in Greta’s cell phone. After a terse conversation, Gran Nola and I clutch hands, watching the ambulance roar away, sirens blaring.
“She’ll be all right,” Gran Nola assures me, but her brow furrows in worry lines. “Her son is on his way to the hospital.”
“What about Major?” The dog stares down the street, whining. “He can’t stay here alone.”
“He won’t.” My grandmother pats the dog on his head. “I told Greta’s son I’d take care of him. He’s a great dog and I have a big, empty yard. Until Greta’s home, he can stay with me.”
Later that night, Gran Nola calls the house with good news. Although Greta has a concussion from losing her balance while getting up from a chair and will have to stay in the hospital for a few days, she’s going to be fine.
Relieved, I fall asleep rereading The Hound of the Baskervilles.
I sleep in the next morning, lingering beneath my warm covers and I cuddle my slumbering kitten. Usually on a Monday I’d jump out of bed early, get dressed, eat a quick breakfast, then bike off to school.
But it’s spring break and I enjoy a delicious feeling of possibilities. I have a secret tree house, a purring kitty beside me, and great friends who love to solve mysteries. The CCSC isn’t meeting until noon so I can be lazy in my bed all morning if I want. It’s very tempting to stay here.
When knobby branches tap against my window like tiny paws, I think of the ferret. Is Bandit in the tree house or is she with the kitty crowd at Sergei’s house? She probably belongs to Sergei, but what if she doesn’t? I have to ask Sergei…actually talk to him, which is scary.
Gnawing at my lip, I stare out the window, working up my courage. Sergei might not even be there. But if I’m lucky, I might catch him feeding the cats.
As I pull out a pair of jeans and a blue striped shirt, I spot something on my desk—the coded page from the tree house. After all the drama at the castle, following the ferret, and finding Greta, I’d forgotten the cryptic code. It must be an important message since it was in the pouch. But what does it say?
Peering at the odd symbols, I get an itchy sense of recognition. There’s something familiar about the angled lines and random dots. Where have I seen this type of code before?
I scan the bottom shelf of my bookcase for cryptogram and coding books. Memory clicks into place and I reach for Cha
llenging Cryptic Codes. I flip through the pages until I come to a chapter on cryptograms, and there it is!
“Pig Pen Code,” I murmur as I study the diagram.
Knowing the type of code is a good start. Slowly words take shape. The three-letter word is “the.” Knowing t, h, and e helps reveal the first and last words, “beware” and “thief.” The message reads:
Beware the little thief.
Does he mean Bandit? I think of her nest of twigs, clothes, and other found objects.
I’m on my way outside to find a ferret but only make it to the kitchen when the phone rings. I pause, expecting someone else to pick up. Where is everyone? I wonder when the phone keeps ringing.
“Drats,” I mutter then detour into the living room and grab the phone.
“SOS!” Dad’s voice on the other end rises with panic. “I need help!”
“What happened?” My fingers tighten around the phone. While Dad is careful in the kitchen, accidents happen. Like the Cherries Jubilee flaming eyebrow incident or the time he nearly cut off his pinkie while slicing tomatoes.
“Herb emergency!” he says in a rush.
“Huh?” I sink to the couch. “How can herbs be an emergency?”
“I’m planning a lunch of herb-encrusted chicken with creamy leak sauce but I need my own herbs and I can’t leave to get them because soup is simmering on the stove,” Dad explains. “Can you bring them?”
“Sure,” I say, always glad to help Dad, and maybe I’ll run into Sergei.
He rattles off a list of herbs and also asks for his carved redwood salt and pepper shakers. His kitchen is very organized so it doesn’t take long to gather everything into a bag, and I head over to the castle.
As I pass the tree house, I glance up, half-expecting to see Bandit peering down at me. But there’s no sign of life, not even a breeze to rustle the leaves.
I hear a noise, though, from the far side of the house and spot Mom knee deep in dirt and weeds. The patch of dirt she’s weeding doesn’t look like much now but in a few months I know it’ll bloom with garden life just like our last house. Even when we lived at the apartment without a yard Mom grew plants. When it comes to nurturing living things—plants, animals, and kids—Mom has a green thumb.
The Secret of the Shadow Bandit Page 8
