Kristy shook her head. She looked as if she wanted to laugh, but she kept a straight face. “Claire,” she called. “Come on, don’t be mad. You’re still a Krusher, and we need you to help out with our all-star game.”
Claire stopped yelling. “What do you need me to help with?” she asked suspiciously.
“I want you to be my Junior Assistant Equipment Manager,” said Kristy, making the title sound as impressive as possible.
“Okay!” said Claire, grinning and throwing down her sign. “Can Patsy and Suzi be the Assistant Assistant Junior Equipment Managers?”
Kristy shrugged and nodded. Claire and her friends sat down by the pile of bases and mitts that Jackie had abandoned. The team introductions went on, and then the practice finally began.
“Any word from the police after I left this morning?” asked Mary Anne.
I shook my head. “I was sure they’d call by now,” I said. “There’ll probably be a message waiting for me when I get home.”
* * *
But you know what? I was wrong. Kristy called later that evening to find out if the police had called, and I had to say no. I think she was as disappointed as I was. “Now that the first Krashers practice is out of the way, I’m not so nervous anymore,” she said. “I’ll be able to concentrate on helping you crack this case. We have to find Shannon.”
“And Cheryl,” I added. “We have to find them both.” I was glad to have Kristy’s mind back on the mystery of the missing dogs.
That night at dinner, my mom mentioned that she and Richard had seen Kristy’s mom at the hardware store that day.
“You went downtown?” I said. “But I thought — you were supposed to be home all day!”
“I was home most of the day,” Mom said. “Nobody told me I wasn’t allowed to go out at all.” She laughed. “Sorry, Warden,” she joked.
“Mom!” I said. “I was expecting a really, really important phone call. And now I might have missed it.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said. “But being your answering service is not my main ambition and function in life.” She was still acting very silly.
I pushed away my plate of vegetarian chili and crossed my arms. I just knew the police had been trying to call me, and now I’d missed their call. I wasn’t about to call them, either, not after that one officer had treated me like such a pest. Now I’d just have to wait some more, and hope they called again. Mary Anne gave me a sympathetic look from across the table.
“Really, honey,” said Mom. “I’m sorry.” She sounded serious now. “I didn’t know. Anyway, whoever it is, I’m sure he’ll call back.”
She must have thought I was waiting to hear from a boy or something. I didn’t want to explain what I was really up to, since Mom and Richard might think tracking down criminals was too dangerous for me. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s okay. I should have told you I was waiting to hear from someone.” I picked up my plate. “May I be excused?” I asked.
Mary Anne followed me upstairs and we spent some time talking over the situation, but without any new information from the police, there wasn’t much to say. We ended up playing with Tigger, teasing him with a feather and watching him leap up and try to catch it.
The next day I did not leave the house once, not even to go out to the front porch and pick up the Sunday papers. (Mary Anne did that.) I also tried to make sure everybody stayed off the phone, since I didn’t want the police to get a busy signal when they called. I even cut short a conversation with my own little brother. Jeff calls once in awhile from California, and usually I’m thrilled to hear from him. But that day I told him I couldn’t talk.
I was positive that the police would call me, but guess what? They didn’t. I was pretty disappointed by the end of the day, but I’d also made a decision. After school on Monday, I would go to the police station and ask them what they’d found out. If they treated me like a pest, I would just have to live with it. Mary Anne agreed to go with me, for moral support, and so did Kristy.
* * *
We rode our bikes downtown the next day, and walked into the police station at a little after three o’clock. It was pretty quiet in there; I guess not much crime takes place on Monday afternoons. The officer at the desk, who was paging through a magazine, was the same one I’d talked to on Friday. But he didn’t seem to remember me until I reminded him of who I was.
“Oh, right,” he said. “The girl who takes down license plate numbers.” He turned another page in his magazine.
“Did you check on that one I gave you?” I asked, trying to ignore his attitude.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” he said. “And I hate to tell you this, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.” He paused, as if checking to see whether we’d gotten his little joke.
I gave him a tiny smile. I didn’t think he was being funny at all. “Who owns the car?” I asked.
“Karl Tate,” said the officer, a smug smile on his face.
Kristy and Mary Anne gasped, but the name didn’t mean anything to me. “Who’s Karl Tate?” I asked.
“Just one of the wealthiest men in Stoneybrook,” said the officer.
“He owns property all over town,” added Kristy. “I’ve heard Watson talk about him. He’s an important businessman.”
“That’s right,” said the officer. “Now, do you think someone like Mr. Tate would waste his time driving around stealing dogs?”
“I guess not,” I said, feeling defeated.
“Don’t get me wrong,” said the officer. “This case is a priority with us. But we’ve got our own investigation going. A professional investigation. You girls would be better off spending your time on your homework, don’t you think?” He picked up his magazine.
We left the police station. Outside on the sidewalk, Kristy and Mary Anne tried to cheer me up.
“I guess it was just a false lead,” said Kristy.
“Yeah,” I said. “A red herring.” I’d picked up that term from one of Claudia’s Nancy Drew books.
“Too bad,” said Mary Anne. “But the officer is right. Mr. Tate would never steal dogs. He loves animals. I’ve seen him down at that new pet store.” She smiled at me, hoping I would smile back. “Hey, I know,” she said. “Speaking of the new pet store, how about if we stop by there now? As long as we’re downtown, I mean.”
“Fine with me,” said Kristy. “I’ll buy a new toy for Shannon. That will show David Michael that I really believe she’s coming back.”
“Great,” said Mary Anne. “I still want to get that toy for Tigger. I just hope they’re open this time.”
I couldn’t have been less interested in a trip to the pet store, but I followed along anyway. Since the policeman had pretty much “dismissed me from the case,” I had nothing else to do anyway.
It was just a short ride to the store, which was open, so we parked our bikes and headed inside. Kristy stopped short near the front door. “Aww,” she said. “Would you look at that?” She pointed into a cage. Two black puppies and one white one were sleeping in a pile.
“Oh, aren’t they darling?” said Mary Anne. She poked her finger through the cage to touch the white puppy.
“Mary Anne!” I hissed. “Be careful. He might bite you!”
Mary Anne just kept poking. “Oh, snoogums would never bite anyone,” she said. “Would you, little bunky-boo?” The puppy yawned, and his pink mouth opened up wide. I saw a row of tiny, sharp white teeth.
“Watch out!” I said, just as the teeth clamped shut on Mary Anne’s finger.
She laughed. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said. “He’s just a puppy. They all like to bite and chew.”
“Shannon used to do that,” said Kristy in a sad voice. “She’d nip us all over, and then lick us as if she wanted to make us feel better.” She had stuck her fingers in the cage now, too.
“You guys,” I said, trying to be patient, “I thought we came here for a reason.” I wasn’t interested in hanging around talking baby talk to puppies all day.
&nb
sp; “We did,” said Mary Anne. “But I like to look at the animals when I come here. That’s half the fun.”
“Wow,” said Kristy, pointing at a tank. “Isn’t that the coolest fish you ever saw?” It was a big black-and-blue striped fish, swimming back and forth with a mean expression on its face.
“Neat,” agreed Mary Anne. “And I love the way that tank is set up, with that pretend shipwreck and everything.”
“I’d like to have a big tropical fish tank someday,” said Kristy. “Like the one the Mancusis have. I love to watch all the fish swim around.”
Personally, I thought fish were pretty boring. “How about those kittens?” I said, hoping to distract Kristy and Mary Anne and keep them moving along. They got stuck in front of every cage they passed.
“Hey!” said Mary Anne. “Those are Maine coon cats.”
“Coon cats?” I asked. “What do you mean? Are they crossed with raccoons or something?” I giggled, but Mary Anne looked serious.
“That’s what some people say,” she said. “See how big they are, even for young kittens? And they have those stripes on their tails. I always wanted one of those.”
“They’re beautiful,” said Kristy. “Maine coon cats, huh? I’ll have to remember that.”
I shudder to think of what will happen when Mary Anne and Kristy grow up and can have all the pets they want. Their houses will be like the Mancusis’, only more so! “So, Mary Anne,” I said, trying once again to move her and Kristy along. “Where are the cat toys?”
“They’re way in the back,” she said. “The stores always put the cat stuff in the back. And they never have as many things for cats as they do for dogs. I guess cats just aren’t as popular. Isn’t that unfair?” She frowned.
“It’s terrible,” I agreed, “but I thought you said you’ve found some good things here.”
“I have,” she agreed. “Just wait ’til I show you.” She started to walk toward the back of the store, and Kristy and I followed behind. “Look!” said Mary Anne, when we came to the cat things. “Isn’t this a neat scratching post?” She knelt down to look at it.
Kristy and I stood there waiting while Mary Anne checked out some toys. “Hey, look,” whispered Kristy to me suddenly, pointing behind me. “There’s Mr. Tate!”
I turned around and saw a man standing in the windowed office in the back corner of the store. He was gesturing angrily as he spoke to a couple who were with him.
Mary Anne straightened up to look. “You’re right, that’s him,” she said. “And the man and the woman are the people who own the store, I think,” she went on.
We watched for a minute. The three of them seemed to be arguing about something, but we couldn’t hear what they were saying. Suddenly Mr. Tate glanced over and saw us staring at him. He yanked down the venetian blind.
I looked at Kristy and Mary Anne. “Something fishy is going on,” I said. “I mean, pardon the pun, but don’t you think so, too?”
They looked back with round eyes. I could tell they agreed with me. Somehow we just knew that Mr. Tate did have something to do with those disappearing dogs, no matter what the police said.
At our BSC meeting that afternoon, Kristy and Mary Anne and I told the others about our day.
“I think that policeman sounds rude,” said Mallory.
“So do I,” said Claud. “But I guess he’s probably just overworked or something.”
“Not only that,” said Stacey, “but who’s going to believe a bunch of kids?”
“But they should believe us,” I said. “This is so frustrating. I just know that Mr. Tate is involved in stealing those dogs. But I don’t know how to prove it. And I guess they won’t believe us until we do prove it.”
“I still can’t figure it out,” said Kristy. “I mean, I had the same feeling as Dawn about Mr. Tate. But why? Why would a rich guy like that bother stealing dogs? It would be like if Watson suddenly started shoplifting or something.”
“Maybe you’ve got something there!” said Jessi, excited. “Maybe it’s like a sickness. Maybe Mr. Tate is driven to steal dogs, for some deep psychological reason.”
I looked over at her and raised my eyebrows. “That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think? I mean, what kind of psychological reason could there be to steal dogs? Like, that he never had one as a child? But he could buy a million dogs if he wanted to. He’s rich!”
Jessi giggled. “I guess you’re right. It is a little far-fetched. But how else can we explain it?”
“We don’t have to explain it,” said Stacey suddenly. “We just have to prove it.”
“You’re right!” I said. “That’s exactly it. So how do we prove it?”
After a lot of discussion, we decided to break up into teams again, and spend Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon doing “surveillance.” (Claudia’s term. Again, from Nancy Drew.) We would stake out the pet store, check on Mr. Tate’s home, and try to follow him when he was on foot. We’d also watch for the green sedan.
“Are you sure this isn’t dangerous?” asked Mary Anne. “Or illegal?”
“Are you kidding?” asked Kristy. “First of all, we’ll be safe as long as we’re in pairs. And second, there’s nothing illegal about looking at someone. It’s not like we’re going to use force on him or anything.”
I giggled at the thought of Kristy in a scuffle with Mr. Tate. He was a tall, broad man with lots of thick blond hair. He looked strong and healthy — like one of those wrestlers on Saturday TV. There was no way any of us was about to mess with him. “We’re just looking for evidence,” I said. “Concrete evidence that the police can’t ignore. And as soon as we have that, we’ll turn the case over to them and let them take it from there.”
* * *
The next day, as soon as school was over, we put our plan into action. We teamed up a little differently this time: Jessi and Mal, Kristy and Stacey, and me and Mary Anne. Claudia had a sitting job, but she promised to watch for suspicious characters in green cars.
Even though the policeman had turned up his nose at my reports, I decided to ask my friends to keep writing them up. They still might come in handy later on, I figured. So here are the reports for Tuesday’s work:
* * *
As you can see, our first day of surveillance wasn’t very productive. Mary Anne and I had been excited by our sighting of the green car, but once we calmed down we realized it didn’t mean much. Later, though, I had an idea. I went to the library that night, took out some books, and studied them carefully. Then I called Kristy and asked her to join me and Mary Anne at the pet store the next day. I had a feeling she might be helpful.
We met after school and headed downtown on our bikes. All the other BSC members were teamed up again, but Mary Anne and Kristy and I were the only ones going to the pet store. Jessi and Mal were planning to roam around on their bikes, watching for the green car, and Stacey and Claud were staking out the Tates’. (I think they were curious about that “rich and famous” life-style.)
Kristy led the way downtown, taking a long route that covered a lot of streets we don’t normally ride on. “We might as well watch for the green car,” she explained. “It could be anywhere, anytime. There are dogs in every neighborhood in Stoneybrook.”
“How’s David Michael doing?” I asked, as I huffed and puffed to keep up with her.
“Terrible,” said Kristy. “He’s not eating, he’s not sleeping very well, and he’s falling behind in school because he can’t concentrate. I’m worried about him.”
“Poor David Michael,” said Mary Anne. “I wonder … do — do you think he might want to borrow Tigger for a few days?”
Wow. Mary Anne is so sweet, and so sensitive. It would be a huge sacrifice for her to give up Tigger even for a few days. But she would do it, if it would make David Michael feel better.
“Thanks, Mary Anne,” said Kristy. “But I don’t really think it would help. Besides, Boo-Boo would probably terrorize Tigger.” Boo-Boo is Watson’s cat, and he’s old and fa
t and mean.
Mary Anne looked relieved. But even so, she said, “Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
By the time we reached the pet store, the three of us were out of breath. We leaned against our bikes for a few minutes, resting. “When we go in,” I said, “just follow my lead and let me do the talking. But listen and watch closely, okay?” Mary Anne and Kristy nodded. I led them into the store. I walked up and down the aisles, and they followed behind me.
“Oh, isn’t that a cute little beagle?” I said, pointing to a puppy in the first cage we passed. “Remember, beagle,” I whispered to them.
“Beagle,” Mary Anne and Kristy whispered obediently.
The next cage held a fluffy white dog. “That’s a Samoyed,” I said. “When it grows up, it’ll be big enough to pull a sled, like a husky does.” I turned and whispered again, “Samoyed.” They nodded.
“Shar Pei,” I said, pointing into the next cage. “That dog is Chinese.”
“How do you know the names of all these dogs?” Kristy asked. She sounded impressed.
“I did some research,” I replied, whispering. “I took these dog books out of the library. It was kind of fun.”
Mary Anne was still looking at the Shar Pei, and now she giggled. “It’s all wrinkly,” she said. “It looks so soft.”
“Just remember,” I whispered. “Shar Pei.” I meant business.
“Shar Pei,” they whispered back.
We walked down the rows, looking into every cage. I told my friends the breed of every dog, and made sure they remembered the names. Then, when we’d looked them all over, I pulled them into a huddle. “Okay,” I said. “They have a beagle, a Samoyed, a Shar Pei, a Rottweiler, an Airedale, and a Scottish terrier, right?” We nodded. “So let me think for a second,” I said. “What don’t they have?” After a second I snapped my fingers. “Got it,” I said. “This is perfect.” I walked quickly to the front of the store, with Mary Anne and Kristy behind me. (I knew they were dying of curiosity, but I had to act fast now that I was ready.) I approached a salesman. “Do you have a Saint Bernard?” I asked.
Dawn and the Disappearing Dogs Page 6