“I didn’t leave it,” I told Summer honestly through gritted teeth.
Summer’s face was like the sky on a stormy day — it kept changing. First she looked puzzled, like I didn’t make any sense. Then, for just a second, she looked sad. Finally her usual snotty Summer expression blew in, and stayed.
“I’m so glad,” she snapped. “Because the only thing dumber than this dumb book is the fact that we were ever friends.” She made a big show of dropping the scrapbook, which fell open to the page marked “Sleuthing Secrets.” I gulped while Summer snatched up Muffet and ground her foot onto the picture of us holding my first detective notebook. As if she hadn’t already made her point.
“Rowf!” Dodge let out a sharp bark as Summer stomped to her bike.
I patted his flank. “No kidding,” I told him, glad that one of us had come up with a retort. “But at least she’s leaving.” Memories and nightmares — all involving Summer — swirled in my mind. I shook my head like Dodge did when he had something in his ear, but the dreadful images didn’t go anywhere. They were stuck.
The scrapbook wasn’t going anywhere, either. It lay there, staring up at me like roadkill. I glanced down at the open page, at the picture of Summer and me with our goofy smiles and invisible-ink pens. We actually did have fun together, once upon a time. It seemed unbelievable now, even though I knew it was true. Maybe because everything changed the second Summer shared our book — and my dreams — with Celeste and Eva. They’d made fun of my sleuthing notes, laughing right in my face. But the worst part was Summer laughing with them, pretending she hated our spying, telling them it was a joke.
“She thinks she’s Sherlock Holmes!” She’d cackled behind her hand. “You wouldn’t believe the stupid crime stories she makes up!”
I bent and picked up the scrapbook, running a finger over the picture. I tried to rub off the print of Summer’s shoe, but it was permanent. Just like our history.
I was really mad when Summer let Eva and Celeste into our fort without asking, when she showed them the book. But when they laughed and said those cruel things, I was more than mad. I was hurt.
Cut.
Crushed.
It made me realize that Summer wasn’t a real friend. That she could never be a real friend. I was tempted to rip the picture out of the book — or at least Summer’s half. I wanted to erase her altogether. But that, of course, was impossible.
Dodge whimpered, and I stroked his soft fur. Unlike Summer, Dodge knew how to be a friend. He hurt when I hurt, and vice versa. That’s what friends did; they felt for each other. But that required feelings, which Summer totally lacked. “Thanks, boy,” I told him, whispering into his soft ear. “I can always count on you.”
Cassie carried the big book over to a trash can, and I followed. She smelled sad, like a wilted rose. My nose quivered as she held the book over the garbage. She wanted to throw it away. It made her eyes shiny. I’d seen it before — books that upset humans. And this was a big one.
But Cassie didn’t let go of the book. She just held it in the air, trying to make her paw drop it in the can. Standing this close to the trash, my nose went into overdrive. There was stuff in that can that I wanted to get out. Like a bit of roast beef sandwich. Maybe a big bit. Cassie didn’t smell the sandwich — her nose was practically useless. Plus she was distracted.
I watched and waited. And, okay, drooled. A little. Finally Cassie let out a big sigh and carried the book back to the bench. She didn’t drop it in the can. She didn’t get anything out of the can, either.
I think I whimpered. I didn’t like to see her so upset. And I didn’t like to waste food. Especially roast beef! I licked my chops.
“Ugh,” Cassie said, opening the book. She started at the beginning and went page by page. I rested my head on her knee and tried not to think about sandwiches. Cassie scratched behind my ears. I could smell her feelings. There were a lot of them mixed up together. Happy. Sad. Mad. It smelled like old mud. She laughed twice — a regular laugh and a strange one I didn’t understand.
Pages turned. My chin stayed put. Cassie sighed. The sad faded a little, but the mad stayed. Finally she got to her feet and shoved the book into her backpack. “Enough is enough,” she said. “Let’s go, Dodge.” She sounded a little tired, but also determined. Woof! That’s right! Head up, Cassie!
I trotted next to her the whole way down the hill, enjoying the wind in my ears. Thinking about dinner. It wouldn’t be roast beef, but it would be food. Yeah. Food. I loved food. Food was my favorite.
The closer we got to the house, the harder Cassie pedaled. By the time we turned onto Salisbury Drive I didn’t smell any happy or sad anymore. The mad had taken over.
My girl’s face was tight. Her mouth was a straight line. She was snarling angry, and it didn’t take a trained K-9 to know why. The Sister had dug up something she shouldn’t have. Something Cassie’d buried a long time ago. Something that was supposed to stay buried. Forever.
Cassie rolled up the driveway and skidded to a halt. She hopped off her bike, dropped it in the yard, and pounded up the walk. She threw open the door and yelled, loud. “Samantha Sullivan, where are you?”
The Sister looked up from the living room couch only a few feet away. Cassie yanked the scrapbook out of her backpack and stuck it under The Sister’s nose. “This is mine!” she growled. “Mine!”
The Sister didn’t say anything. She just stared. Wide-eyed but not innocent.
“You stole it from my room! You gave it to Summer and let her think it was from me!”
The Sister sat frozen. The only parts of her that moved were her eyelids, which blinked fast. If she were a dog, she’d have been on the ground. Belly up, begging for mercy. “I — I —” she stammered.
“You what?” Cassie was madder than I’d ever seen her. I took a step back. I ignored my urges to retreat into a corner, or join her in the fight.
The Sister had a hard time getting the words out. “I … I just thought that maybe you two —”
Cassie leaned over The Sister. “Summer and I are none of your business!” she howled. “None!”
I heard footsteps behind me and turned. The Brother was there. He’d heard the fight and come out of his den to see what was going on. He glanced from one flushed face to the other. He paused. He knew it was dangerous to get between tangling sisters.
Finally he opened his mouth. “You went into Cassie’s room without asking?” he asked in his rumbly voice. “And gave her stuff to someone else?”
The Sister shrank into the couch a little. She looked like a cornered chipmunk. Like she wanted to dig a hole and hide in it.
Cassie’s lip was still curled but The Brother’s backup smoothed her fur. I saw her paws uncurl a little, too. She took a breath and her phone chimed.
She pulled it out of her pocket and stared at the screen for a long time. The room was silent. Finally she looked back at The Sister. “Stay out of my room, and out of my personal life,” she growled. “Or else.”
The Brother nodded.
Pack justice.
My blood was still pounding as Dodge and I headed into the kitchen. Lighting into my sister made me feel better, as did Owen’s unexpected weigh-in. But it would take a little while for me to fully calm down. I squinted at my cell phone, trying to breathe and reread the message on my screen.
TopCop: Hey Sweetie. Working late tonight to catch up on filing. I’ll be home to say good night.
Mom almost never missed dinner, so this was unusual. But her message had given me an idea. The first part of which was getting dinner — make-your-own burritos — made.
“Meowf!” Bananas called from her perch on top of the fridge, and I felt a little bad. If I hadn’t been screaming my head off at Samantha, she’d be down already.
“Sorry, Nanners,” I told her sheepishly. She didn’t seem too upset as she hopped onto my head, then to the floor to wrestle with Dodge. They really were an unlikely but irresistible pair. I watched their routine
and felt my anger and sadness melt away, leaving me exhausted.
I pulled a can of pinto beans out of the cupboard and chopped some onion and garlic. The kitchen was just starting to smell good when Owen walked in.
“Want any help?” he asked.
I blinked in surprise. Owen was not exactly the type to volunteer for stuff. Especially lately.
“I’m good,” I replied. “It’s burritos — easy.”
“Mom’s on a Mexican food kick, huh?” he remarked. He pulled out a bag of rice and measured water into a pot. It wasn’t his night to be on prep, but it was nice to be in the kitchen together.
“Thanks for chiming in out there,” I said, gesturing toward the living room with my chin.
He shook his head. “No problem. She crossed a line for sure.”
My plan for the evening flashed in my head, and I wondered if I was crossing a line. But I couldn’t falter. I had a case to solve.
As soon as the ingredients were ready I made a burrito for Mom, wrapped it in foil, and shoved it into a paper bag with a napkin. “Tell Dad that I’m delivering Mom’s dinner to the station. You guys should start without me.”
Owen nodded a little. “Will do.”
I walked into the hall and shoved the burrito into my backpack, ignoring Sam. Dodge and Bananas waited patiently at the door. When I opened it they raced down the walk. Fifteen minutes later we poked our heads into Mom’s office.
“Dinner delivery,” I announced with a grin.
Mom looked up, surprised. “Oh, Cassie, thank you.” She rubbed her temples. “I didn’t get lunch today, and I think my eyes might be permanently crossed.”
I shook my head as Dodge and Bananas ambled forward to greet her.
“Maybe you should take a quick walk around the block — give yourself a little breather,” I suggested as casually as I could. “I double wrapped the burrito, so it’ll stay warm. I could even do a little filing while you’re gone.”
“Woof!” Dodge agreed, pawing the industrial carpet lightly. Mom nodded and pushed her chair back all at once. “That sounds great,” she admitted. “I’ll take the dynamic duo with me.”
“Cool. They’d love it. They’ve been cooped up most of the day.”
I silently told Dodge to keep her outside as long as possible.
“We’ll be back in ten, all right?” Mom said.
I wanted to tell her to take her time, but that would’ve made her suspicious. Mom was smart like that. “Sounds good,” I said instead. Ten minutes wasn’t very long, but it would have to be enough.
As soon as Dodge’s tail disappeared out the door I plunked myself down in Mom’s chair. I was about to wake her computer when something on her desk caught my eye. A copy of a restraining order, with Henry Kales’s name on it. Wait, hadn’t Mom said that Judge Thackery threw out Madame’s request? I scanned the paper, searching for the name of the person who filed it. Luella Swan, not Laverne LeFarge. This was a second restraining order, which made Henry Kales seem creepier than ever.
My brain churned and I turned my attention to the computer. The clock was ticking! I wasn’t super familiar with the system, but had prowled around on it before. This time, though, I was searching for something specific. Something I could download and listen to. Miraculously, it was right there on the desktop — a folder labeled “Incident Report Audio.” My heart started to beat wildly. I plugged in my iPod and dragged the files onto the icon. The words “copying 2,138 files” popped up on the screen, and I gulped. That was a lot! I stared at the blue progress bar, willing the files to copy quickly. Mom’s desk clock ticked. The bar moved slowly. Too slowly!
I was sorting the papers in Mom’s file pile and trying not to sweat when I heard the station door open. Eight hundred forty-two files to go. I was going to have to abort the download! Luckily Dodge caught whatever panic vibes I was emitting and kept the distraction going. He trotted over to the dog dish by the water cooler and gave a low woof.
The progress bar kept moving….
“Empty?” Mom asked, walking over to fill it up.
“Come on!” I murmured under my breath. My heart thudded so hard I thought it was going to burst out of my chest.
The upload finished and I yanked my USB out of the port. I shoved the cord into my pocket just as Mom strolled into the office. “Nice walk?” I asked, smiling broadly. I hoped I didn’t sound out of breath.
Mom smiled. “Lovely,” she said. “And I can’t wait for that burrito.”
When we got home, Dad, Owen, and Sam were still at the table. I knew I needed to eat (and couldn’t get out of dinner anyway), but the files I’d just downloaded were a serious distraction. All I wanted to do was listen for clues. Dodge, though, went right to his bowl. I scooped him and Bananas some kibble, then took my seat in the dining room.
I took a bite of burrito and chewed listlessly while Sam eyed me from across the table. “How are things at Pet Rescue?” she asked in a teensy voice I barely recognized.
I squinted at her in confusion. Then I got it. She was trying to apologize for her major felony by acting interested in my life. I was seriously tempted to let her squirm, but she looked sort of washed out — her sparkle wasn’t sparkling. For some weird reason I didn’t feel happy about that, so I let her off the hook.
“It’s kinda sad, actually,” I answered honestly. “Two of Madame’s cats died, and a couple more are still sick. It makes it harder than usual to find homes, and we need ten of them.”
“Meowf!” Bananas said plaintively, coming into the dining room and slipping under the table with Dodge.
“Right. Make that eleven.”
Owen and Dad both set their burritos down, and Dad reached over to squeeze my arm. Sam stared at me with wide eyes.
“I wish Furball and Bananas could be friends,” Sam said sadly. “Or at least be friendly to each other.”
I eyed my limp little sister and wondered who she was really talking about — Bananas and Furball, or me and Summer? I mostly agreed that it’d be great if everyone got along, but it wasn’t very practical. Or likely. Some pairings were like baking soda and vinegar — they exploded when combined. Forcing them together only made a mess.
I thought about that while I chewed and discreetly delivered a bit of my burrito to the under-table cleanup crew. What was it that made some friendships click and others fall apart?
It was quiet except for the sound of chewing when Dad suddenly perked up. “Do they know what killed Madame’s cats?” he asked.
I shook my head. “They thought maybe it was poison, but they did a blood test and didn’t find anything toxic. Just some elevated vitamin levels.”
Dad squinted, thinking. “Some vitamins can be dangerous at high levels,” he said, taking his final bite. “Like vitamin A. And C, come to think of it.”
“Dangerous? I thought vitamins were good for you,” Sam balked.
Dad finished chewing and washed it down with the last of his milk. “Vitamins can be very beneficial in the right doses, but too much of anything can be harmful. Even too much burrito.” He pushed back from the table and patted his belly to demonstrate how close he was to burrito overdose.
“But are too many vitamins dangerous, or lethal?” I asked. There was a big difference between sick and dead.
Dad cocked his head so he could see under the table. I could feel Dodge licking his chops after his burrito dessert, but if Dad knew, he didn’t say anything. He just looked thoughtful. “Both.”
Both. The word stuck in my brain and the list of household poisons from the other day popped into my head to join it. Too much of anything … More than one way to kill a cat … Maybe Erica Bloom’s fertilizer alone hadn’t been enough to do the job.
“I think I’ll head into the office to do a little research,” Dad said as he got up from the table. Sam started to clear and I climbed the stairs to my room with Dodge, Bananas, and my iPod.
The dynamic duo curled up on my bed while I opened the laptop and popped in my head
phones. I plunked down next to them, glad it was finally time to investigate.
I let the audio files play in the background as I surfed the local news sites online. I read the headlines, the obituaries, the police blotter. Nothing. Then I searched “Henry Kales.” Nothing. Next I moved on to “fertilizer.” Not much. Just the minor warnings I’d already seen.
After that I tried “vitamins,” typing in the word “overdose” along with it. Dad was right! Excessive vitamins were totally toxic, and every year several people died from hypervitaminosis. It wasn’t hard to picture humans overdoing it on vitamins — people almost always thought more equaled better. But a cat had to be forced to swallow a pill. I’d administered meds to more than one kitty at Pet Rescue, and it was hard and dangerous — even when the tablet was covered in butter. The thought of somebody trying to make Madame’s cats overdose on vitamins seemed ridiculous. They’d be slashed from wrist to elbow!
There had to be something else to it, some piece I was missing. While my mind leapt from thought to thought in search of a connection, I scanned articles online and half listened to the recorded calls on my headphones.
It was easy to give part of my brain over to listening to other people’s emergencies. It was like having the radio on, only instead of oldies or hot hits, I’d tuned in to the “I locked my toddler in the car” and “There’s an alarm going off on Beattie Street” station.
The calls were sort of interesting, but I was really waiting for a specific one, or two. After a while I started to get sleepy. I put down the computer and lay back on my pillows, still listening. Dodge climbed off of my bed and onto his — ready to hunker down — and Bananas was right with him. My hand dropped over the edge of my mattress, onto Dodge’s fur. I rolled over. I closed my eyes, just for a second. I could finish this tomorrow, I told myself. I could set my alarm and wake up early. I felt myself drifting into sleep.
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