March nodded longer than necessary. I kept my head very still until Officer Rhodes turned around and walked back to his police car. Then I went back to the coffee table, grabbed the dog food receipt, and slipped it back into the pages of the Sleuth Chronicle.
CHAPTER TWENTY
March and his parents stayed until nine. That’s when the grown-ups decided that perhaps Mr. Crowley wasn’t even home for Officer Rhodes to question that night; we might not hear back for a while. The Winterses left, their arms limp at their sides, and my parents locked the house behind them. They latched the dead bolt and closed all the blinds while I watched from the window seat.
Dad called me into the kitchen, and I sat at the breakfast bar while Mom busied herself making tea.
“Kazu,” he said, “we know you’re worried about Barkley and the other missing dogs.” Dad had bent over to rest his elbows on the countertop, making his eyes level with mine.
My parents were opposite in every way. Dad was tall, Mom was short. Dad athletic, Mom delicate. Dad jovial, Mom stern. Dad calm, Mom passionate. That’s probably why Dad was usually assigned to talk to me when Mom felt too emotional. Emotional was code for spit angry, meaning she would yell with such force that spit would spray from her mouth like a mist. I could tell by the way Mom stood by the stove, waiting for the teapot to whistle, that she was pretty much there. Her shoulders were pushed back and her head held high as if holding it up prevented all the rage from boiling over.
“Even though you’re worried, Bug,” Dad said, reaching out to grab my hand, “you cannot try to solve these things.” This time it was Dad who was stern, squeezing my hand a bit too tightly. Stern, but just like he always promised, cool as a cucumber.
“I wasn’t trying to at first,” I said. “But when I found the receipt in the recycled bags, I couldn’t ignore it.”
Mom spoke with the force of an arrow hitting a target. “You should’ve told us about the receipt.” She folded her arms across her chest—a little high, like she was body-blocking her daughter’s stupidity.
I knew I should keep quiet and not say another word, but I couldn’t help myself. “You never would have listened to me,” I said, my voice getting louder the more I spoke. “You treat me like a baby who doesn’t know anything. It’s like nothing I say or think matters.”
Her face froze, a sheet of ice ready to crack. Dad stepped between us and flattened me with his eyes. “You and March cannot do that sort of thing again.” Cool as a cucumber. “Do you understand me?”
I nodded. I had managed to get into trouble without an official grounding, and somehow that felt worse.
Mom set a cup of warm milk and honey in front of me, although she placed it with such force, some of the milk sloshed from the cup onto the counter. Sometimes, when I struggled to go to sleep, she would make it for me. “Drink this and go to bed,” she ordered.
Mom ripped a paper towel from the dispenser and rubbed it between her hands. She dropped it into the trash can and left the room, not looking at me as she walked away.
I was almost asleep when I heard the doorbell ring. Mumbling voices echoed up from the entryway, and I tiptoed to my open door, where I could hear them more clearly. Officer Rhodes was telling my parents about Mr. Crowley’s willingness to help them; apparently he had welcomed the police into his home, inviting them to perform a thorough search of his entire house.
“There was nothing there,” Officer Rhodes said. “It would be impossible for him to hold any animals in that home. The basement is practically empty, and our team couldn’t find a single trace of Barkley, or any dog, for that matter.”
There was a long pause that neither of my parents tried to fill. Then Officer Rhodes continued. “Kazuko said she was the last to see Barkley, right?”
“That’s correct.” Dad used his work voice.
“Is it possible that Kazuko kept Barkley’s collar after the dog disappeared?” A rush of heat rose to my face, and I felt dizzy like I had stood up too quickly. Officer Rhodes thought I was lying about finding Barkley’s collar in Geezer’s garbage can.
“Kazuko wouldn’t do that,” Dad said. “She may be nosy, but she’s not hurtful or calculating—”
“No, no,” Officer Rhodes interrupted him. “I wouldn’t think that. But some kids around here are worked up over the dognappings. Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part. If Mr. Crowley was the bad guy and he got in trouble, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so bad about losing Barkley.”
Dad thanked Officer Rhodes but stated that it had been a long day for everyone. The officer wouldn’t need to talk to me again; Dad assured him they would put an end to this business.
“But what we talked about tonight,” Dad said, right before he said good-bye. “About Mr. Crowley and those things the kids found? That’s on the record, right?”
“I’ll make a report, and it will go in the file.”
“That’s good to know,” Dad said, and the door creaked shut.
I listened as my parents locked up the main floor again. And even though my cheeks still burned from what Officer Rhodes had said about Barkley’s dog collar, I could tell from Dad’s voice that he believed me.
As I surrendered to the warmth of the sweet milk, I realized that Mom had said nothing the entire visit. And that was the loudest response of all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The next day, I didn’t talk at school. Not one word.
At first I didn’t feel like it, but by lunch, it had become a challenge. It amazed me how many questions could be answered with simple gestures: nodding, shrugging, pointing. I had been wasting too much of my life talking, I decided.
March understood and probably didn’t feel much like talking either. At recess, we sat on the swings and dragged our feet through the sand. CindeeRae found us and leaned against the swing set.
“Can we tell her?” March asked. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
I let out a heavy breath and nodded. Who cared about our rules anymore? The operation was over. March explained everything to CindeeRae, her eyes widening with each new revelation.
“You know who the dognapper is?” she asked me when March had finished talking. Her voice always sounded like a television turned on full blast.
“Shhhhhhh.” March looked around to make sure no one overheard. “Yes. We’re pretty sure.”
“What are we going to do?” For the first time since Lobster had disappeared, CindeeRae stood tall, like her spine had been fully inflated or something. “We should organize a search party, talk to reporters, go to the city council, contact the lead investigator on the case. Twenty dogs are missing, and one of them is Lobster. Something must be done!” I could almost see CindeeRae standing on stage, monologuing before a bright spotlight; she really was a natural.
March eyeballed her. “The police don’t care.” He paused as if waiting for her to jump in again. “The cop told us they have serious crimes to solve and can’t be bothered by kids making trouble.”
CindeeRae took the empty swing next to mine. “My aunt’s a brand-new cop, and when Lobster disappeared they sent her over to take our report. I call her every day after school, and every day she says they’re following lots of leads but haven’t found the dognapper yet.” She inhaled dramatically. “But you know who it is.”
March shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Because of us, they think Mr. Crowley’s clean.”
“No way!” CindeeRae stood again, fist-hands at her side. “They have his information, and they won’t forget. Plus, if he’s the guy, all the clues will lead back to him. You need to follow up with that police officer.”
“Officer Rhodes.” March made a face when he said his name. “After he left, Dad said he looked like a bitter middle-aged Ron Weasley who abandoned wizardry for law enforcement.”
I almost interrupted to remind him that Ron Weasley didn’t have blond hair, but the idea of March’s dad getting all spit angry about Officer Rhodes made me smile. I had worried that March’s pare
nts would believe the guy’s story about Barkley’s dog collar. But we weren’t making it up; I knew Barkley, and probably Lobster, too, must have been at his house sometime. What else was he doing with all that dog food?
As if reading my mind, March said, “But they didn’t find anything in his house.”
“Not even one doggie treat?” CindeeRae asked. “Or a pile of dog poo?”
“I don’t think they did any forensic testing,” March said. “But no.”
I nodded, kicking my feet together. Kids swarmed around the playground, weaving in and out of the jungle gym in front of the swings. A handful of third graders played tag on the monkey bars while two kids stared us down from atop the geodome.
CindeeRae took to her swing again, her voice dropping to a less theatrical volume. “The newspaper calls it a dognapping ring—that means lots of people, right? That means your paper-route guy’s not the only one involved.”
March nodded his head like CindeeRae was onto something. “You’re right.”
I dug my shoes into the sand and stopped the swing. Maybe Barkley, Lobster, and the other dogs Geezer took that day weren’t even there by the time I found the receipt. Geezer’s house was clean, and Officer Rhodes said there was no way any dogs had been kept there. Someone else had to be involved.
My voice croaked when I finally spoke. “Maybe it’s Geezer’s job to take them, but it’s someone else’s job to hold them.”
They both stared at me, shocked that I had finally spoken.
March and I had thought Geezer was the boss of the Denver Dognapping Ring. But there had to be more people helping him out. And what if those people kept the dogs after Geezer swiped them, at least until they placed them with the illegal breeders and dogfighters? Because if they didn’t hold on to the dogs for at least a little bit, they wouldn’t need fifteen bags of dog food to feed them.
CindeeRae jumped out of her swing and scrambled to the space between March and me. She stood like a slingshot, pulled tight and ready to launch. “We’ve got to find out where they go!” Her cheeks reddened, matching her hair. She was practically beaming.
As CindeeRae bounced on her heels, March watched me, trying to read my expression. All our clues had been worthless so far, and the case was much more complicated than we had thought. How would we find out where they held the dogs?
“We need a new operation.” I spoke my second and third full sentences of the day. “Locate Doggie-Holding Headquarters.”
The three of us had decided to search Lakeview Park after school for more clues. March and I would ride the bus to his house, where I would borrow Mason’s bike, and CindeeRae would meet us at the park on hers.
But Geezer was waiting when we got off the bus.
At first I thought he was an afternoon kindergartner’s grandpa and turned toward March’s house without a thought. But March froze at the base of the bus steps as kids flooded past him. After everyone had exited the bus, the driver pulled the lever for the door, and it closed with the sound of a monster’s sigh. The bus drove away, and within seconds the three of us were standing together in the middle of March’s block.
Mr. Crowley gestured to himself. “I’m James Crowley. March and I already know each other.” He clapped a firm hand on March’s shoulder. I had never seen Mr. Crowley in person before, and I didn’t expect him to be so tall and fit. He didn’t look much like a Geezer as he did an old model who owned a chain of fitness clubs and drank power shakes.
Then he extended his hand toward me for a shake. “Kazuko, I assume?” Without thinking, I shook his hand, and he squeezed back, hard.
“Look,” he said. “I don’t want there to be any hard feelings, okay?”
March and I nodded, and my hand throbbed for a bit even after he let it go. I looked to March’s house, ready to grab his hand and sprint for the front door, but Mr. Crowley caught my gaze and took two steps forward to block our path.
“I understand that you kids are scared and would like to figure out who’s taking all these dogs.” He put his hands on his hips, making his shoulders look broader. His longish white hair was held back in a thin ponytail. “But I hope you realize now that I’m not your guy, right?”
Again we nodded, stiffly. My heart roared in my ears; I was sure March could hear it, too.
“The polite thing to do is answer when someone asks you a question,” Mr. Crowley said. He bent at the waist to look in our eyes. His were gray like wet stones.
“You’re not our guy,” March whispered.
Mr. Crowley looked at me. “Kazuko?” he asked, his voice chirpy.
“We’re sorry.” My voice cracked. “We know it’s not you,” I lied.
“Well, good,” he said, standing tall. “Now we can get to the business of being friends.”
March smiled, but it was the twitchy look of a wild animal. I tugged on his arm and backed toward his house.
“Have a good night,” Mr. Crowley said.
We ran away, the gravel kicking up around our feet as we went. “Be careful!” he called after us. “With all those dogs disappearing, you wouldn’t want yours to be next.”
I thought of Genki circling Jimmy Mason to protect me. But then I remembered all the times his social anxiety disorder left him cowering under the dining room table. Loud noises, strangers, the ruffling of aluminum foil all upset him. It took a while to coax him away from the table and up to my room, where I’d make a blanket nest and snuggle him to sleep. Imagining Genki in the back of Mr. Crowley’s dirty dognapping van made my chest expand as if my lungs were on fire.
Crowley had stolen twenty dogs like Genki who were afraid and missing home. And twenty families wondered if they would ever see their dogs again. I wished the weight of all that sadness could trap Crowley like an avalanche.
“Listen, friend!” I had turned around and stood with my legs apart. “Your dognapping days are over.”
Mr. Crowley turned around slowly, a half smile making his face look lopsided. And scary. Then he sauntered back toward his house, and I ran to catch up with March, my legs ready to buckle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
By late October the park cleared out except for serious joggers and dedicated dog walkers. March, CindeeRae, and I circled the loop on our bikes searching for clues and trying to come up with a new plan.
After telling her about our run-in with Crowley, no one had said much except CindeeRae, who had whispered, “This is like a real-life spy movie,” only she didn’t seem especially excited at the idea.
Crowley’s threat had done the opposite of what he’d intended; instead of making me afraid, he had made me angry. We had already given our biggest piece of evidence to the police—Barkley’s collar—and it hadn’t helped. But there had to be more clues somewhere. Since we knew Crowley had taken Barkley from Lakeview, and since his house was just around the corner, we thought the park might be his favorite swiping spot. Hopefully he had left something behind on the road or even in the garbage cans that would help us figure out where he kept the dogs after he stole them. And if he hadn’t, we’d have to figure out somewhere else we could find clues.
We couldn’t just give up and let the bad guy win.
“This is a bad idea, Kazu.” March’s voice barely carried over the wind to where I led the group. “What if he’s out prowling and sees us?”
“Unless you can uncover more evidence through your hack, we won’t find anything by hiding inside,” I called to him over my shoulder without looking back. Keeping my bike upright against the wind required all my concentration. “You really want to wait for Crowley to come after us? He’s already got Lobster. You want him to take Genki and Hopper, too?”
“Better Hopper than me,” I could have sworn I heard him mutter. But with the tree-bending wind and rush-hour traffic on Federal Boulevard, I couldn’t be sure.
CindeeRae passed March and pedaled so that her bike was even with mine. “Maybe we should spy on him? Wait until he leaves his house and follow him to the scene of the
next dognapping.”
That actually wasn’t a bad idea, but it probably wouldn’t take him long to notice three kids trailing him on bikes—that is, if he didn’t lose us in his dust first.
“Good suggestion,” I yelled. “But let’s try gathering more intel before we plan another high-stakes mission.” After March’s and my confession, followed by Officer Rhodes’s visit to our house, Mom had barely talked to me. She would kill me if she found out I was trailing Crowley, and Crowley might kill us if he found out.
“Totally.” CindeeRae stood on her pedals to push against the wind. “We can’t go into a situation blind. We need information, lots more information…” A gust blew her words away.
The cold air bit at my ankles, which peeked from under my jeans as I rode. Socks were good for more than what Mom called stink-resistance, I decided. My windbreaker flapped and my eyes watered at the chill. I swerved toward a garbage can, stopped my bike, and peered over the rim to see if there was enough trash to rummage through. It was empty. We had picked a bad day to gather intel.
I shook my head at March and CindeeRae before standing on my pedals and powering forward; our parents wouldn’t want us out riding past dinner. I ducked my head against the wind as we flew down the shady path behind Pioneer Village. We checked one more garbage can and a dumpster in the overflow parking lot. Nothing.
It was crazy to hope Crowley would leave behind evidence: a leash, a dog tag, another collar. Even an empty bag of doggie treats would be better than nothing. It was crazier to hope he’d leave behind a map to the doggie-holding headquarters. We were going to have to look somewhere else for that.
As we rounded the corner and hit the long road beside the soccer field, we came upon a boy. He sat on the ground, leaning back against his elbows, the knees of his jeans ripped and bloody, an empty dog leash in his hand. His shoulders shook, and the movement rocked his whole body.
Kazu Jones and the Denver Dognappers Page 9