by Lois Duncan
“And shelving books and arranging chairs for story hour after the library closed for the night?” Andi asked.
“Very probably, yes. He’s undoubtedly there after closing hour.”
“Let’s get him!” Tim cried. “We’ve got all we need to go to the police. Connor’s prints must be in their database, and they can match them to the prints on Red’s ransom note.”
“No way!” Bruce said firmly. “What if Connor wore gloves? If Connor’s prints aren’t on the note, the cops will let him go, and we’ll never see the dogs again. Connor and Jerry will leave them wherever they’ve put them, in a cellar or a garage —”
“Or a toolshed,” Andi inserted. “In the book I’m writing, it’s a toolshed.”
“We’ll get the dogs back, but first we’ll have to find them,” said Aunt Alice. “We need a spy to infiltrate the ranks of the enemy.”
“I’m a spy!” Debbie cried. “I’ll volunteer!”
“I’m afraid you’re not quite right for the part,” Aunt Alice told her. “This afternoon, while I was doing research, I found a Web site that described some intriguing gadgets. One is a recovery system for stolen vehicles. It sends out a silent signal that you can pick up on a computer through an online tracking service. It even tells you the speed a vehicle is traveling. I thought that sounded fascinating and ordered one. They’re shipping it overnight, so I should have it in the morning.”
“You’re thinking of attaching a tracker to Connor’s car?” Bruce asked.
“No,” Aunt Alice said. “That thought did occur to me, but how do we know that Connor uses his car to visit the dogs? Maybe he has them hidden somewhere in the neighborhood and Jerry goes over on his skateboard to feed and water them.”
“Or maybe they don’t feed and water them at all,” Andi said, cringing at the thought.
“There’s only one way to find those dogs,” Aunt Alice said. “There has to be another dognapping, but this time there will be a tracking device on the dog’s collar.”
“But how can we know what dog they’ll take next?” Tim asked her.
“By criminal profiling,” said Aunt Alice. “We need to figure out how the dognappers select their victims. Apparently most, if not all, of the dogs who were taken were featured in The Bow-Wow News. However, we know of at least two dogs who were prominently featured but weren’t dognapped.”
“Barkley and Snowflake,” Andi said.
“So, the question is, why were those particular dogs passed over? What do they have in common that sets them apart?”
Everybody was silent for a moment, thinking.
Then Andi said, “Their owners may not love them enough to pay the ransom.”
“That may be true of Barkley,” Bruce said. “Mr. Murdock would probably be glad not to have to walk him. But Snowflake’s a celebrity. The Swansons have her insured for fifty thousand dollars.”
“Snowflake has competed in dog shows for eight years,” Aunt Alice said. “One year in the life of a dog equals seven in the life of a human, so Snowflake is fifty-seven years old in people-time. She’s well into middle age and no longer winning prizes. If the Swansons aren’t emotionally attached to Snowflake, they probably wouldn’t pay the ransom. They’d rather collect the insurance.”
“Connor and Jerry are slick,” Bruce said bitterly. “They only take dogs whose owners love them. So, to get them interested in staging another dognapping, we’ll need to provide them with a victim whose owner is sure to pay the ransom. What kind of dog would that be?”
“Well,” Aunt Alice said slowly, “the most precious dog I can imagine would belong to an elderly widow. A lady who lives alone and is in need of companionship. A dog like that might command quite a lot of ransom, especially if that particular lady was known throughout the neighborhood for raking in money at bingo.”
“You’re talking about you?” Andi exclaimed. “But you’re allergic to dogs!”
“I’m allergic to their hair,” Aunt Alice told her. “If I had an opportunity to own a sweet hairless dog, I might enjoy that. Such dogs do exist. They’re called Chinese cresteds. They don’t shed at all and are perfect for allergy sufferers.”
“Are you thinking about getting one?” Bruce asked her.
“I’m afraid it would take too long to order one from China,” Aunt Alice said. “If we want to close this case quickly — and we’re all agreed that we do — then we’ll have to manufacture a Chinese crested ourselves.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Absolutely not!” Andi shrieked. “There’s no way that I’m going to shave Friday!”
“You don’t have a choice,” Bruce told her. “She’s our only candidate. Jerry would recognize MacTavish from back when he was a stray and used to hang out behind the school cafeteria. And he’d recognize Bebe, because Debbie’s been walking her past his house to take her to the Doggie Park. The only dog that Jerry doesn’t know about is Friday.”
“She’ll be so ashamed!” cried Andi. “She’s so shy already, think how she’ll feel if she doesn’t have any hair! How would you feel if somebody cut your hair off?”
“I wouldn’t like it,” Bruce admitted. “But I’d put up with it if it would save lives. Red and Friday are like brother and sister. They share the same home. Would Friday risk Red’s life just so she could stay furry?”
“You won’t need to shave her whole body,” Aunt Alice said. “Chinese cresteds are hairless except for their heads, feet, and tails. You can leave tufts of hair on Friday’s tail and around her ankles and a patch on top of her head. I printed a picture from the Internet, so you’ll have that to go by. Personally, I’d prefer to have a totally bald dog, but I’ll have to make do with what’s available. I will take an allergy pill and put Friday on a very long leash when I walk her.”
“Debbie?” Andi turned desperately to her friend for support. “You don’t agree with them, do you? You don’t want your best friend’s dog to become a social misfit?”
“Sorry, Andi,” Debbie said sympathetically, “but I really do think you have to do this. Besides, Friday’s already a social misfit. This isn’t going to make her any more of one.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” Tim said. “She’s not going to stay bald forever. Just think, when her hair grows back she’s going to be a heroine. We can give her Trixie’s medal that says ‘World’s Best Dog.’”
“I hate this,” Andi muttered miserably. “I hate it, hate it, hate it.”
Unable to face the prospect of performing the act herself, she sat on the closed lid of the toilet in the Walkers’ bathroom with a towel spread over her lap and Friday on the towel. She closed her eyes and listened to the ominous buzz as Bruce ran an electric razor over Friday’s back and down her legs. Mr. Walker’s razor had gone to Europe with him, so Tim had borrowed his father’s, which he hoped he’d be able to return before it was missed.
Andi would never have imagined how much hair Friday had until she saw it piled on the towel. And, having always thought of Friday as just as chubby as Bebe, she never would have guessed how wretched and pink and pitiful Friday’s scrawny little body was underneath the fluffy covering of fur.
“She looks a little bit like a plucked chicken,” Bruce commented, and was immediately sorry. “A cute plucked chicken,” he amended. “And that crest on her head looks sort of like a peacock’s.”
“The poor little thing!” Andi sobbed. “I just can’t stand this!”
Bebe, who had been watching in horror from the doorway, bolted from the room, obviously fearful that she would be next.
Andi snatched up a second bath towel and wrapped it around Friday, cuddling her close.
“At least it’s summer and she won’t catch cold,” Bruce said.
“She’s shivering anyway,” Andi told him. “She’s trembling from shock and embarrassment. When this is over, she’s going to need a dog psychologist.”
When they took Friday over to Aunt Alice’s, they took the long way around, circling the block and e
ntering the house through the kitchen to avoid passing the Gordons’ house, in case Jerry or Connor might be out in the front yard. They had noticed Connor’s car in the driveway on their way to their own house, so they knew he was somewhere about and that Jerry was probably with him.
“So, here is our dear little spy!” Aunt Alice said when Andi carried Friday in to her. “Let’s unveil her and see what we have to work with.”
Reluctantly, Andi removed the towel, revealing Friday in her entirety, while Aunt Alice regarded the dog in stunned fascination.
“My gracious!” she said. “Let’s hope the sacrifice is worth it. She does resemble the Chinese crested on the Internet. I didn’t realize Friday’s ‘crest’ would be quite so pronounced, though. My eyes are starting to water and I haven’t even touched her.”
“What’s that box over there on the table?” Bruce asked her.
“I was just getting ready to point that out to you,” said Aunt Alice. “It’s the box for the tracking device. I couldn’t understand the instructions, so I asked Tim to take it up to my office and figure out how it works. Once he gets it linked to my computer, we should be able to track the location of the portable unit by watching the blips on the monitor.”
“I’ll go help him!” Bruce said eagerly.
“Not now, dear,” Aunt Alice told him. “You have your own mission to complete before you and Tim can start experimenting with our new toy. You’re going to have to take a picture of — this dog. We need to come up with a new name for her. What would you like to call her, Andi?”
“Lola,” Andi said immediately. “If Friday looks awful in person, at least she can have a pretty name.”
“Lola’s a lovely name,” Aunt Alice said approvingly. “Bruce, run home and get your camera so you can take a picture of Lola and me together. I suppose I’m going to have to be cuddling her in the picture so the dognappers will be able to see my devotion. I definitely will need an allergy pill for the photo session.”
“Why do we need to take a picture?” Andi asked her, thinking how humiliating it would be for Friday to have her hairlessness a matter of record.
“For The Bow-Wow News, of course,” Aunt Alice said. “How else will the dognappers know that Lola exists, much less how much I adore her?”
Bruce couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But you promised Mom and Dad that you wouldn’t let us publish the paper!”
“I won’t,” Aunt Alice said. “I will publish it myself. I’ll need you to take the photograph, but I — and I alone — will put out this special edition. My name will appear on the masthead as publisher and editor — in tiny letters, of course, so nobody can read it. Not that the Gordon boys will read that anyway. All their attention will be focused on the article and picture.”
“How many copies are we going to print?” Debbie asked her.
“Not ‘we,’ dear — I,” Aunt Alice told her. “I will print a single copy. That’s all we’re going to need — just one lone copy for Bruce to deliver to Connor. Now, let’s get to work. Tim is deciphering the instructions for our tracking device. Debbie, I’m going to need you to supply material for the second page of this issue. It would seem suspicious if it was blank.
“Bruce, run home and get your camera while I take my allergy pill. There’s a term detectives use when they get an instinctive feeling about a case. They call that feeling ‘the Blue Sense.’ Right now, I’m getting a Blue Sense feeling that we need to get moving very fast.”
When Bruce reached the sidewalk and turned toward his own house, he saw Jerry and Connor approaching from that direction. Connor was striding along with his hands in his pockets, and Jerry was cruising beside him on his skateboard.
“Hi, Bruce!” Connor called with a friendly smile. “I saw a UPS truck in your aunt’s driveway. What’s that nice old lady up to these days? Is she ordering stuff from eBay?”
“Actually,” Bruce said, “she just bought herself a dog.”
“A dog!” Jerry exclaimed. “Do you really expect us to believe that? I’ve lived next door to Mrs. Scudder all my life. She’s so allergic to dogs that she won’t go near one.”
“This is a special, very valuable dog,” Bruce told him, longing to leap at Jerry and knock him off his skateboard. “It’s a Chinese crested, especially bred for people with allergies. Lola — that’s what her name is — was delivered this morning. Aunt Alice is crazy about her. She’s sent me home to get my camera so I can take a picture for The Bow-Wow News.”
“I heard a rumor that you were going out of business,” Connor said.
“Nope,” Bruce said. “We fell slightly behind in production, but the new issue will be out tomorrow. Speaking of which, Aunt Alice says she hasn’t been receiving that homemaking magazine she ordered from you. Do you know when it’s going to start coming?”
“No way to tell,” Jerry said. “Connor and I just sell subscriptions; we’re not responsible for delivery. Maybe the publisher ‘fell slightly behind in production,’ or the magazine’s been lost in the mail. How is my old buddy, Red Rover? I haven’t seen him around lately.”
“I promised my dad I won’t run him until he and Mom get back from their trip,” Bruce said. “Well, guys, I’ve got to be going. I have to get my camera and take Lola’s picture.”
Even though he knew that it wasn’t going to happen, when he entered his yard Bruce experienced one heady instant of wild expectation that a big red dog might come flying to greet him. After all, he had left the ransom exactly as requested, and Connor and Jerry had been coming from the direction of his house. There was a chance — though a slim one — that they might have returned Red Rover to his own backyard.
But he knew in his heart that they hadn’t, because how could they? The only way to transport a dog the size of Red was by car, and Connor and Jerry had been on foot. Still, his own Blue Sense told him that the boys had been coming from his house and that, moments ago, they had been here in the very yard where he was now standing.
Although his heart sank at the sight, he was not surprised to see a sheet of paper taped to the roof of Red’s doghouse. This time he didn’t immediately remove it. Instead, he went into the house to get his camera.
Bebe was huddled in the corner of the living room sofa, looking lonely and dejected.
“Hi, Bebe,” Bruce said, feeling sorry for her. “Come over here and see Uncle Bruce. Andi is going to be coming over later to play with you.”
However, instead of running to him, Bebe leapt off the sofa and went scurrying into the laundry room, where she wedged herself behind the dryer. She apparently feared he’d come back to administer another haircut.
Bruce didn’t attempt to pursue her. Instead, he went upstairs to get his camera. From his bedroom window he could look out across the backyard and over the gate to the street. If only he had been here ten minutes earlier, he would have had a clear shot of Connor and Jerry as they entered the yard and taped the note to the doghouse!
Well, too late now, he told himself, going back downstairs and out through the kitchen door, locking it carefully behind him. Then he crossed the yard to the doghouse and took a series of pictures. Finally, when he was satisfied that he had sufficient evidence to support his claim that the note was taped to the doghouse, he peeled it from the roof, once again being careful to touch only the edges. His blood ran cold as he read the message:
THE FIRST INSTALLMENT OF THE RANSOM HAS BEEN RECEIVED. THE SECOND INSTALLMENT IS NOW DUE. LEAVE AN ADDITIONAL $276 IN A COPY OF WHITE FANG AT THE ELMWOOD LIBRARY. ONCE AGAIN, BE WARNED NOT TO GO TO THE POLICE. IF YOU DO, YOU WON’T GET YOUR DOG BACK. ONLY HIS EARS.
His ears!
The vision of Red’s beautiful floppy ears, flying behind him like long red streamers when they went on runs, was enough to fill Bruce with both terror and fury. Where was he going to get another $276? He couldn’t keep borrowing from Aunt Alice, even if she had the money, and he wasn’t sure that she did. After all, she had just bought the tracking device.
It was all Bruce could do to prevent himself from going straight to the Bernsteins’ house to borrow their son’s baseball bat and go from there to the Gordons’ house and knock both boys senseless. But the aftermath of a scene like that would be disastrous. Connor and Jerry would end up in the hospital and would then appear on the witness stand, testifying pathetically through their bandages that they were victims of “an unprovoked attack by a madman.” Bruce would spend years in a juvenile detention indent, while his parents wasted away from shame and sorrow. And, worst of all, the captive dogs would be left to starve in some deserted garage or basement with nobody knowing they were there.
No, Aunt Alice’s plan was the only way to go. And, wild as it was, the plan might actually work. But only if none of them slipped up, the tracking device was efficient, and Connor and Jerry were gullible and greedy enough to believe a far-fetched newspaper story that nobody saw except them.
“Hang in there, Red!” Bruce whispered. “Help is on the way!”
He slung his camera strap around his neck and, clutching the ransom note by one corner, set off down the street to Aunt Alice’s house to do his part to put the plan into action.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHINESE DOG TO BECOME
CITIZEN OF ELMWOOD
Lola, a Chinese crested, has moved to Elmwood.
Mrs. Alice Scudder, Lola’s new owner, says Lola is extraordinary.
“I’ve always longed for a dog,” Mrs. Scudder said, “but I haven’t been able to have one because of my allergies. I’m not allergic to Lola, because she doesn’t have hair. Lola is a wonderful companion. Now that I have Lola, I can’t imagine life without her.”
Mrs. Scudder said it was expensive to import Lola from China, but she was able to afford it.
“I am very lucky at bingo,” Mrs. Scudder said modestly.
People at the Senior Citizens Indent who were interviewed for this article said Mrs. Scudder yells “Bingo!” more often than anybody else.
“Every time Alice comes to bingo she goes home rich,” one of them said. “I’m sure she will spend her life savings to keep Lola safe and happy here in the United States.”
