We hurried forward, keeping an eye out for police cruisers. As we drew closer I saw that the crowd of people was made up of neighbors, and they were gathered a couple of doors down from Madame’s house. They were huddled next to a big truck with a fish painted on the side that was double-parked and half blocking the street. I scanned the crowd for Madame’s tall frame and close-cropped gray hair, but she was nowhere to be found.
“It’s been here for over an hour. Locked, with lights flashing,” Henry Kales complained. Henry used to own the newsstand in town — a tiny shop with every newspaper, magazine, and candy you could think of — but had recently retired. His white hair was cut in a short buzz and his eyes were sad. He looked older than I remembered, but I hadn’t seen him in a while. I stood within earshot while Dodge and Hero sniffed the nearby foliage. “The driver’s disappeared,” Henry reported. “I think we should call the police.”
“You’re starting to sound like Madame LeFarge,” a woman in tight red curls snapped, waving her hand like she was shooing away insects. That had to be Erica Bloom, Madame LeFarge’s next-door neighbor. “Next thing you know you’ll be training your cats to poop in my yard, too,” she complained.
Henry snorted and muttered something about cats under his breath.
I wanted to move in closer so I could hear more, but the dogs’ noses were in overdrive — they didn’t want to budge from their hedge. Making a quick decision, I dropped their leashes to the ground and stepped forward.
“So what if I sound like Madame?” Henry said, speaking up. “Someone has to be the voice of reason. For all we know there’s a bomb in that truck.”
The crowd shrank back slightly — everyone except Erica, who didn’t seem concerned at all. Did she know something?
“You’re all overreacting,” she announced. “It’s a waste of public money to involve the police in every little thing.”
I nodded in agreement. The police had to deal with a lot of unnecessary stuff, and that took time and money. Mom talked about wasted resources all the time. But it wasn’t that long ago that Ms. Bloom was the one calling the station, demanding that they get Madame’s cats to stop trespassing and using her flower beds as a litter box. What were the police supposed to do, issue kitty restraining orders?
I raised my eyebrows and took another step closer. The feud between Erica Bloom and Madame LeFarge had been going on for a long time and wasn’t likely to end soon. Everyone in town knew they’d never see eye to eye.
“I’d hardly call this a little thing,” Henry objected. “Especially since Madame herself is missing.”
Missing? That was odd, actually. I would have expected to find Madame right smack dab in the middle of the action, venting her theories and claiming conspiracy. An abandoned, double-parked truck would have drawn her like a magnet. I was pondering this and scanning again for her gray head when Hero started barking like crazy at a bright red shrub. Everyone turned at the sound of the bark. It was loud. It was ferocious.
It was the kind of bark a K-9 only used when he’d cornered a criminal.
Hero was barking like a maniac, but I ignored him. I was busy tracing the paths of sneaky felines. Smelly trails ran from a gap in Madame’s back fence through Erica Bloom’s flower beds to the tall fence at the edge of Bloom’s property. I remembered Bloom’s complaints. Inappropriate use of neighbors’ property. Poop in the petunias.
I sniffed out the evidence and noticed another smell. An oceany smell. Yeah. Something fishy. Then Hero’s bark got really crazy. I had to find out what he was going on about.
I hoped it wasn’t something silly. The pup was learning, but he still had a long way to go. I headed over in case he need backup. Cassie and the street crowd were gathered next to him by a tall bush. They smelled tense. Alarmed. Well, not Cassie. But everyone else.
“Leave it, Hero,” Cassie called loudly. She picked up his leash and gave it a strong tug.
Hero’s bark lessened but he couldn’t stop. “Grrrowf.” Something was in there.
Cassie crouched so she was on my level and we both stared intently into the branches. Yup. There was definitely something in there. Something that smelled like catnip.
“Call that mutt off!” a woman’s voice screeched.
Mutt? What mutt? I stepped back a tiny bit and peered into the bush where the voice had come from.
Cassie put an arm on Hero’s shoulder and he bit back his bark. It wasn’t easy for him, though. His hackles were seriously raised. Catnip did that to a dog.
My nose was on overdrive, too, when Madame LeFarge emerged from the bush. “You’ve ruined it!” she howled. Her hair was covered in leaves and she was holding a camera.
I heard several people gulp. One gasped.
“What are you doing in Bill’s bushes?” Erica Bloom demanded. She put her hands on her hips and stared down at Madame. Bloom was smaller than Madame, but she wasn’t intimidated. She was mad. I half expected her to start circling. Or bite Madame on the neck. But Madame stared right back up at her. It was like watching an Akita and a miniature pinscher in a face-off. Neither one was likely to stop yapping.
“Are you all right? Let me help you.” Henry Kales, the neighbor across the street, pushed through the crowd to assist Madame.
“Why are you worried about her?” Bloom balked. “It’s bad enough having her thirteen cats sneaking around the neighborhood. Now she’s trespassing, too!”
Kales ignored Bloom and held out a hand to Madame. She pushed it away and got to her feet herself. She growled at Bloom with her eyes.
But Bloom kept howling. “I finally get a good neighbor, and you’re going to drive him away!”
Madame stamped her foot. She had on big, squishy shoes. The kind humans wore when they had to stand a lot. “My cats are angels, and good neighbor my eye!” she snarled. “That Bill Heinz is shifty and unreliable, and I’m going to prove it.”
“Ladies, please!” Cassie stepped between them, and I pressed forward to back her up. It was risky to get between two snarling females. “There’s no point in arguing.”
“He’s a scoundrel! Up to no good!” Madame went on, waving her hand at the house behind her.
“Your cats are up to no good!” Bloom shouted. “I don’t see you trying to keep them under control.”
Cassie was in over her head. These cranky women couldn’t even agree to disagree! Madame tugged her shirt down and squared her shoulders. “I was waiting for the truck driver to return to his vehicle.” Her words were short and sharp. Like a Chihuahua’s bark. “His picture would have provided essential evidence to the police. But thanks to all of you, my stakeout has been shut down.”
Bloom turned away in disgust. I swear I saw a light go off in the basement behind her. And I smelled something. That ocean smell. I put my nose down at the base of the bush and inhaled deeply. What was that?
“Grrr … ow!” Bow wow OW!! A sharp set of claws raked across my nose. Ripped into my flesh. I was a brave dog. I’d been hurt before. Plenty of times. But those claws were like razors!
I yelped and leaped back while one of Madame’s cats streaked past. The menace who’d clawed me!
“Rowf!” I gave the little runt a warning bark. Then I was after her. “Rowf! Rowf! Rowf!” I was a trained K-9! Top of my class! I would not be mauled by a kitten!
Hero was on my tail, barking. “Wroof!” And I heard human shouts — Cassie’s, Madame’s, Bloom’s. Cassie was calling me off. My training was calling me off, too. Stop! it said. My instincts disagreed. Get her! they told me. It wasn’t really a fair fight because I was already running. Already chasing. And I was gaining on the little pest….
Then, all of a sudden, the tiny tyrant ran right up a tree. Aw, woof. I hated that cats could do that.
The tabby climbed easily to a high branch and sat down. Just like that. She gazed at us. Twitched her tail. Hissed and smiled with her whiskers.
“Rowf!” I wanted to stop that tail from twitching. Bad.
“Wroof!” H
ero did, too. But we could only bark at the injustice of built-in climbing equipment. Talk about an unfair advantage.
I heard Cassie behind me and stopped barking. But the growl in my throat wouldn’t go away. “Grrrrrr.”
I was staring up at the little beast when I felt a hand on my collar. Cassie. Her eyes were wide. She was worried. “Time to go!” she whispered frantically. “Madame is calling the police!”
I had no choice but to abandon my captive.
“Woof!” I barked at Hero to let him know. He whimpered, but turned away from the tree, too. Good dog.
Cassie was ahead of us, but not for long. The three of us hightailed it past Madame. “Yes, that’s right,” I heard her yap into the phone. “Feral dogs terrorizing the neighborhood.”
Feral dogs? What was she talking about? There weren’t any feral … then I remembered: This was Madame LeFarge. The loon without feathers.
Woof! I hoped it wasn’t The Chief on the other end of the line.
Even running at full tilt I couldn’t keep up with Hero and Dodge — four legs were way faster than two. When I felt like my lungs would burst, I gave up and slowed to a walk, letting them race ahead, away from the mess on Prospect. They’d be okay. Dodge knew the way home and Hero would follow him anywhere.
My face was still sweaty and my heart still thudding when I looked up and saw her coming right toward me, walking her Maltese, Muffet.
Summer Hill.
Her name was like a bad joke because the girl was the exact opposite of actual summer. There was absolutely nothing warm or sunny or fun about her. Except maybe Muffet. Summer dressed her little pup in ridiculous outfits, but under the silly clothes Muffet was a rockin’ pocket dog. Muffet also had a big crush on Dodge (proof of her excellent taste). I felt sorry for the Maltese, though. In addition to the fashion torture she inflicted, Summer was utterly dreadful.
I quickened my pace, hoping to turn onto Salisbury Drive before Summer spotted me and made some snotty remark (Summer was full of snotty remarks). But Summer must have sped up, too, because I ended up a lot closer to her than I thought I would. I could actually see her squinty blue eyes and wrinkled-up nose. Her lips were pursed and she looked like she was about to say something, so I did the only thing I could: braced for impact.
Then the weirdest thing happened. Summer opened her mouth and all that came out was, “Hey, Cassie.” And then she sort of stared at me in a strange, distracted way.
Hey, Cassie? That was it?
I tried not to gawk. Summer hadn’t said hello to me like a normal person in a gazillion years. “Oh, uh, hey, Summer,” I replied as I turned onto my street. I could feel my forehead crinkling and I started to walk a little faster, half expecting a zinger to hit me between the shoulder blades. Only I heard … nothing.
Like I said, weird.
Up ahead, I could see the dogs romping on our lawn. I hurried up the sidewalk and dropped onto the grass. “Thanks for waiting, guys,” I teased. Dodge licked my face in apology.
“Is that for chasing the cat or leaving me in the dust?” I asked.
“Whuff!” Dodge said, which I took to mean both.
“Apology accepted,” I told him. “But that was close.” We’d made it out of there before Madame could get the authorities to Prospect Street and bust me for breaking Bellport’s leash laws. But I still felt guilty. How many times had Mom told me not to go near Madame’s? A dozen? A hundred? A lot! I could totally hear her voice in my head. “The last thing that woman needs is an excuse to call the police!”
I reminded myself that we’d escaped getting caught and led the dogs into the house. It was my older brother Owen’s turn to make dinner and my turn to set the table.
Dinner was required at 332 Salisbury Drive, and it was best to take care of your chores before The Chief had to remind you. Mom wasn’t home yet, which was good. It meant I had a little time.
Inside, my little sister, Samantha, was on the couch poring over some teen magazine — the kind with quizzes to tell you how cool you are and pictures of celebs in matching outfits with verdicts about who wore it best. Her cat, Furball, purred on her lap. Samantha was ten but acted like a teenager: a little lazy and a lot self-absorbed. I hoped it was a phase but wasn’t entirely convinced.
Doing my best to ignore her, I headed into the kitchen with the dogs. Miraculously, Hero didn’t go straight for Furball. He stuck with us. Maturity points for that, no question.
Owen was just coming up from his basement room, bobbing his head to the music in his headphones.
“Whoa, visiting canine,” he remarked a little too loudly, tilting his chin toward Hero. He peeked into the oven, where enchiladas were baking, and started to pull stuff for salad out of the fridge. I handed him the wooden bowl.
“Thanks,” he said as the dogs lapped up water. I nodded and grabbed a stack of plates just as Mom pushed through the front door. She barely nodded as she took off her coat and headed straight to her office.
“Hi, guys. Let me know when dinner’s ready,” she called to us.
Not a good sign.
I set the table and started my homework while the dogs settled on the kitchen floor: crumb patrol. Lucky for them, Owen was a messy chef. Unlucky for them, all he dropped was lettuce. Then Dad got home and it was time for dinner.
The interrogation started the minute our napkins were on our laps. “Were you three on Prospect Street this afternoon?” Mom asked, looking at me.
I gulped. “Um … yes,” I admitted.
Mom sighed and closed her eyes briefly before skewering me with a stern look. “I’m just getting things back under control at the station and you go and stir things up,” she said pointedly. “Honestly, Cassandra. I expect you to know better.”
I felt myself flush while Samantha snickered behind her hand. Dad was silent, eating his enchiladas. Owen, as usual, didn’t seem to notice the rest of us were even there.
“Madame LeFarge is on a tear,” Mom said. “She called the station four times today.”
Owen smirked, giving himself away, and swirled his cheese around his knife.
“According to Madame, Erica Bloom is poisoning her cats, someone follows her whenever she goes out, and the new neighbor is up to no good. And after all that she reported dogs terrorizing the neighborhood.” Mom waved her fork in the air, clearly exasperated. “That woman doesn’t need any help from you and Dodge to ignite her overactive imagination!”
The dogs wiggled under the table and I stared down at my plate, feeling sheepish. Mom had only been back at work for a couple of weeks since her suspension. She had a lot of catching up to do, and a lot to deal with in general. And I had gone and tangled with Madame LeFarge. “I’m sorry,” I muttered.
“Imagination isn’t all bad,” Dad offered.
Mom just glared. “I’m up to my eyeballs in work. The last thing I need is for my own kid to give Madame LeFarge a reason to call the station about feral dogs on the loose!”
“Oh, come on!” I objected. “Dodge and Hero are obviously not feral! Besides, what was she even doing hiding in the —” I didn’t really mean to say all that, or raise my voice. I just sort of … did. I knew I was talking myself into a corner, but I couldn’t seem to stop. “I mean, we were just out for a walk,” I finished loudly, and lamely.
Mom got super quiet and I sucked in my breath. That had come out a lot sassier than I’d intended. I watched Sam’s eyes go wide and saw a hint of purple eye shadow on her lids. Like I said, ten going on sixteen.
“Why don’t you walk the dogs and your dinner upstairs to your room,” Mom said calmly. “Now.”
My room? Harsh! But I knew I wasn’t just being punished for talking back. I was being punished for my visit to Prospect Street. And for Mom’s long day. For everything.
Dodge was already on his feet, his snout emerging from under the table. I pushed back my chair and silently carried my plate up the stairs. Hero passed me halfway up and I walked down the hall and into my room, my face burnin
g with shame. I couldn’t remember the last time one of us was sent away from the table.
I closed the door with my foot and put my quickly cooling dinner on the dresser. Dodge circled and lay down on his bed, his eyes watching me. I knew he felt bad, but I didn’t blame him. I’d wanted to go to Madame’s as much as he did.
“I guess we blew it,” I said. A call to my best human friend was definitely in order. Hayley Gault was in my grade at Harbor Middle School and always good for an ear or a pep talk.
I was about to pull my phone out of my pocket when I noticed that things in my room weren’t quite as I’d left them. Truthfully? I wasn’t exactly a neat freak. But I definitely had a system and some super-honed powers of observation. I knew where my stuff lived, and could tell when it had been moved. Like now. The stack of mysteries on my desk was shifted to the right. The bottom drawer of my desk was open half an inch. The stuff on my shelf was leaning more than it usually did.
My eyebrows scrunched together. The only person in my house who would come into my room uninvited and mess with my belongings was my nosy little sister, Miss Sparkly Violet Eyelids, Samantha Sullivan.
I opened my mouth to scream her name, then clamped it shut. I’d been sent away from the table because of my lip, and yelling my head off would just make Mom angrier. I’d have to be patient and chew out Sam another time. Ugh!
Shoving a bite of cold enchilada in my big mouth, I plonked down on the floor. I gave Hero a pat and leaned into Dodge, glad to have company. At least we were all in the doghouse together.
I lay down on my bed, and covered my nose with my paws. Not all the way — just a little. My snout still ached from the cat attack, but I didn’t want to block the smell of dinner. I loved dinner. And hated fighting. Fighting made my ears lay flat.
The Mom had been really upset at the table. I hadn’t seen her hackles raised like that since she got suspended. And to tell you the truth, I was a little embarrassed. After all, The Mom was The Chief. Top dog. Only she wasn’t on her best behavior and we had a guest over. Worse. Her employee.
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