“Not with my bike,” Pete said. “It’s falling apart, but Dad has no time to help me fix it because he and everyone else are so busy shuttling Lana from play practice to voice class to dance.” Pete frowned.
I knew what it was like to have a parent put all their time and effort into one of your siblings. It wasn’t fun. But my situation was totally different than Pete’s.
“When I get my license, I’ll be glad to take over those duties.” Brandon smiled and arched an eyebrow.
A frown momentarily crossed Becca’s face at the mention of Lana’s name, but she quickly recovered her composure. She’d be a great actress on the Oceanside Middle School stage one day, if her parents ever allowed her to have any fun.
“You ought to meet at the vet’s. Start investigating at the scene of the crime,” she suggested.
“I don’t have a bike,” I said, “so I’ll meet you guys there.”
My parents wouldn’t know if I didn’t make it home right after school. Mom was working at McQuen’s Drugs until ten, and Dad would be either napping, drinking, or zoned out in front of the TV.
“I will too, if I can,” Becca said without much real conviction.
“We will find Fluff and save the day.” Brandon’s confidence was infectious.
Pete sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. “We’ll end up heroes.”
Pete and Brandon thumped fists before breaking into smiles. I found myself staring at Pete’s lips just a little longer than necessary. The rest of lunch, we planned out our strategy and complained about homework.
“Let’s do this, guys,” said Pete as we stood to toss our trash.
It had been a comment to everyone, but he was looking at me. His eyes lingered a fraction of a second longer than necessary on mine. Heat surged through my face, my whole body. I hoped I wasn’t coming down with the flu or anything.
Because I absolutely, positively could not be attracted to Pete.
CHAPTER 3
Brandon, Pete, and I stood inside the nearly empty lobby of the Oceanside Veterinary Clinic and Boarding. Even though only one customer holding a cat carrier was at the counter and another sat on a bench with a black Scottie dog on a red leash, the counter staff were hustling at a hectic pace, but waiting on no one. They seemed nervous, because they kept glancing around like storm troopers were about to invade.
The place smelled more of pine cleaner than the wet dog I expected after today’s shower. I heard the barking of a single dog, probably small from the tinny sound it made, coming from the back.
Pete leaned toward me. “It’s usually really busy in here,” he whispered.
His breath smelled fruity from the gum he’d been chewing.
Oceanside Ghost Town.
A teenager in a white lab coat came through a door from the back and took the Scottie from his owner. The little dog’s nails clicked across the tiled floor. The other customer glanced around the waiting room, shook her head, and left.
Brandon leaned in. “Looks like word got around about the missing mutts.”
I nodded just as one of the counter staff hung up the phone and motioned us over.
“How can I help you?” she asked in a worn-out tone. Her shoulder drooped like my mom’s did when she did a double shift or cleaned someone’s house for extra cash.
Pete held up one of the reward signs that contained a picture of Fluffnstuff and contact information. “We want to hang this here, just in case someone has seen my sister’s dog.”
“And we have a few questions,” I added, tapping into my inner detective.
“Who are you?” She frowned at me as she took the poster from Pete and pinned it on a corkboard with other flyers advertising grooming services and lost pets.
“I’m part of the search and rescue squad. I was wondering if we could take a look at where the dogs were kept.” She was already starting to say “no,” so I quickly added, “Just for a second. It’s not like we’ll be in the way.”
“We’re too busy to have kids underfoot.” She turned and disappeared behind a door labeled Employees Only.
We stared at each other in disbelief.
“They’re hiding something,” I muttered as we headed out.
As the boys unlocked their bikes, I checked out the fenced area behind the clinic. White Coat was giving the Scottie a potty break. This was my chance, I decided. I sauntered over.
“Fun job?” I called over the fence.
White Coat shrugged and came toward me. Getting a closer look, I figured she might be in high school.
“Not really. I want to be a vet someday. I thought I’d get some hands-on experience working here. But the only things they let me do, my seven-year-old sister could do.” She rolled her eyes in disgust.
Pete and Brandon pushed their bikes over to join me.
“Were you here over the weekend?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
Immediately her eyes darkened, and she glanced nervously back toward the building.
“No. Why are you asking?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
I decided I needed to tread carefully. I motioned to Pete. “His sister’s dog is one of the missing ones. We tried to talk to the lady inside, but she blew us off. I guess she thinks we’re just dumb kids.”
White Coat relaxed, and I knew I’d struck a chord.
“We just wanted some info so we could search more effectively.” I stared pointedly at Pete.
Our eyes locked. Electricity buzzed up my spine.
“My sister’s pretty torn up about it. I just want to find Fluff but don’t know where to start looking,” Pete said.
Without words, he’d understood my silent message.
We might have a psychic connection.
“I’m really sorry.” White Coat’s voice softened and she uncrossed her arms, setting them on the fence. She jerked her head toward the building. “You have to have gray hair and sing along with elevator music to get respect around here. When I mentioned I thought it was strange the thieves completely ignored the drugs and the merchandise, they blew me off.”
“So only three dogs were missing?” I asked. “Were they the only pets being boarded?”
“Just the three, and we were at capacity.” She lowered her voice, even though we were the only ones within half a mile. “I think someone wanted those three dogs because they were male pedigreed show dogs.”
“Won’t the thieves get caught the minute they try to show them?” I asked.
“Yes. But if they are smart, they’ll just breed them. People make a bundle on stud fees.” She leaned closer. “The office manager is blaming Jenny, the weekend tech, saying she must have forgotten to lock up. But I know Jenny. She may be in high school too, but she’s not an airhead. But since the police said there was no sign of a break-in, the others are convinced it’s her fault.”
“What kind of dogs were the others?” I asked.
“An Irish setter and a pit bull, both championship show dogs. The pit bull’s owner is threatening a lawsuit for lost stud fees. He claims he makes as much as $5,000 a year breeding him.” She glanced back at the building. “I gotta go. Good luck. I hope you find your dog.”
Five thousand dollars sounded like a motive for dognapping to me.
CHAPTER 4
Twenty-four posters later, I jogged home to keep warm, but my mind raced at the speed of light. I kept wondering what it meant that Pete and I could have a wordless exchange while at the vet, especially since we’d known each other for less than a month.
I rounded the corner and caught sight of home, the left side of a white two story with a piece of cardboard taped to the lower right corner of the bay window. I wondered when my father was ever going to get around to fixing it. It made our duplex look so ghetto. I skipped the three cement stairs to the front door, glad to be getting out of the wind.
As soon as I stepped inside the house, my mom rounded the corner from the kitchen. Lines of worry were etched around her eyes. “Gabby! Where have you b
een? Your father and I called the school. They said you didn’t stay back for an activity.”
I’d forgotten this was her day off from work. Ooops!
“I was helping a friend look for their dog. We were putting up signs and stuff,” I explained, hanging up my jacket. I tried to sound noble and needed so I wouldn’t be in a whole lot of trouble. When Mom was off we ate right at 5:00 p.m. The kitchen clock stared at me, the 6:33 an accusation: Bad Daughter.
“I wish you had let us know. I was getting concerned,” she called over the sound of the oven timer.
I caught the scent of garlic bread and a whiff of the wonderful aroma of her spicy lasagna wafting from the kitchen. Mom usually made something special on her nights off. It was part her wanting us to have dinner together as a family and part cooking lesson for yours truly. Between my inability to master much besides microwaving frozen food and Dad’s eat-and-run-back-to-the-TV, I bet Mom felt like these suppers were a dining disaster.
And now I had added to that grief by being late. I vowed to pay better attention in the future and be especially complimentary tonight.
“My favorite. Thanks, Mom.” I sneaked a peek under the aluminum-foil-covered pan. My mouth watered of its own accord, and I spontaneously gave her a big hug, hoping it would make up for my thoughtlessness.
“Wash up and call your dad.” She raised both eyebrows and smiled like she knew a Christmas-sized secret. “I have some news that I think you’ll like.”
As I hurried to comply, my stomach urging me to waste no time, I wondered what her news might be. If it had been something positive in the missing persons case about my brother Timmy, she wouldn’t have waited until we gathered around the table. It had been four years since he vanished from the neighborhood playground where I was supposed to be watching him.
I quickly jerked my mind away from going down that dark, awful alley. Instead I shook my dad, who was dozing in front of the TV, and took the stairs two at a time to wash up.
After my mom prayed and we’d heaped our plates with the still-steaming lasagna, I slathered margarine onto the garlic bread. A random thought popped into my head. Garlic bread gives you bad breath. Teen Time had cautioned against ever eating it if you were on a date.
What would it be like to go on a real date? I pondered that as I bit into a forkful of delicious, gooey cheese, pasta, and sauce. I imagined sitting at a little Italian café with red-and-white checkered tablecloths and a lit candle stuffed in an empty wine bottle. Sitting across from me was . . . Pete!
How did Pete get there? Ever since the play, it had been Brandon sitting there, holding my hand and gazing into my eyes.
I mulled over the afternoon’s events. Pete had talked mostly to me, ranting about how Lana had hardly any time for her pet anymore since she was taking voice and dance lessons as well as being involved in choir and the drama club at Oceanside High. At first I thought it was kind of strange since he pretty much ignored Brandon to talk to me, but then I figured it was because Brandon wouldn’t want to hear complaining about his girlfriend.
But what if it was because he wanted to talk to me, not Brandon? Could Pete like me? And what about that mind-reading thing? Did that mean we were destined for each other?
“Gabby, have you heard a word I said?” My mom sounded frustrated.
I scrambled for a reply that would keep me out of trouble.
“Can’t think of anything but how good this tastes, Mom.”
My mom smiled, but I knew she knew I’d said it as a save.
“A charmer, just like your dad,” she answered. “The Wrangleys understandably didn’t want to leave Pocococo at Oceanside Boarding. So, what do you say?”
I still was clueless. Pocococo must be the Wrangleys’ pet, but I still didn’t know what my mom was asking me. With a flash of brilliance that surely rivaled that of Sherlock Holmes and Albert Einstein on their best days, I replied, “So exactly how does this involve me? Like in detail.”
“Help me clean up here, and I’ll take you over to show you exactly what you’ll have to do,” my mom said, gathering dirty plates.
I swiped another piece of buttery garlic bread, took a bite, and pitched in.
“Great meal, Bobbi. I’m going to catch the news,” Dad said, kissing my mom’s cheek.
Then he left us to do all the work. My mom beamed at his compliment, and some of her weariness seemed to melt away.
My dad wasn’t much help around the house, but he was still a charmer when he wanted to be.
I pushed that thought aside. Now, what could this news be that my mom was so excited about?
CHAP TER 5
It was two minutes after 8:00 p.m., the Chapmans’ deadline for Becca to get phone calls. But since my BFF had called me twice while Mom and I were at the Wrangleys’ and since technically I’d be returning her calls, I decided to risk it. Plus, I was desperate to share all my news and talk about Pete.
I dialed as I dashed up the stairs and into my bedroom chatting corner. I kicked aside some laundry and lay on the floor, plopping my sock feet on my bed, and cushioning my head with an overstuffed pillow.
A gruff male voice answered, and my heart sank. But I gave it my best shot.
“Hi, Mr. Chapman. It’s Gabby. I’m returning Becca’s call. Tell her my math book and skills are at her disposal.” I hoped my cheery greeting and math reference might make him more kindly disposed to let us talk.
“I’ll get her,” he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“But try to keep it short,” he continued. “It’s a school night, so she has to be off by 8:30.”
“Yes, sir.” I would have saluted through the phone if I could.
Classical music from the local public broadcasting station played in the background. I wasn’t sure which would be worse: the absence of a television or the constant presence of weird, dead-people music.
Evening was my time to discuss the things you shared only with your BFF. I loved this time of night with the moonlight floating in through the window, painting my drab-by-daylight room with a silvery, otherworldly glow, tension melting out of my muscles and into the floor.
“Gabby! Where have you been? How did it go? You are so lucky! Did Brandon mention me? Like, ‘Too bad Becca couldn’t come’ or anything? Tell me everything.” Becca was trying to keep her voice low, but in her excitement she was squeaking.
I gave her a blow by blow about the visit to Oceanside Boarding and posting the flyers. I was dying to dish about my crime-busting theories, my new job, and especially the Pete possibility, but Becca kept backtracking for details like “What was Brandon’s expression when he said that?” or “Are you sure he and Lana aren’t having any, even the tiniest, problems?”
Finally, only when her dad bellowed, “Five more minutes,” was I allowed to get a word in edgewise. But then it was too late. Even though I was dying to talk about Pete, caution locked my tongue. I didn’t want to look foolish if I was imagining the whole Pete thing.
Instead, I brought up my theories about the disappearing dogs. “So, I’m wondering if someone stole the dogs to breed them, you know, to avoid all those stud fees. What do you think?”
“Seems pretty risky. It could be a disgruntled employee.”
I frowned. “A grunting employee? What do you mean?”
“Not grunting, disgruntled. You know, unhappy. Dad says he’s more concerned this is someone trying to make a statement and this may just be the beginning.”
“Like who, and a statement about what?” I asked.
“Like a competitor, another boarding company that wants to take their business. Didn’t Mr. C. tell your class about the economic principles of competition in the marketplace?”
I could have explained that half of what our teacher said went over my head and the other half I just ignored, but we were short on time. I didn’t want to waste any on a lecture about being a better student. Plus, it seemed like a good segue into what was going on in my life.
“Yeah, I think so, but speaking of competition, I am the competition. I am a professional pet sitter. Like, I’m getting paid seven dollars every morning and every evening for walking and feeding the Wrangleys’ pets and doing some other random, easy stuff like taking the trash to the curb and bringing in the mail.”
“Wow! You lucked out twice today. I am so jealous! What kind of dog?”
“Pocococo is this adorable, skinny tan thing with huge black eyes. He loves to crawl up your arms to lick your face.”
“That’s great, Gabby. At fourteen dollars a day, you’re hauling in twice what any babysitter our age makes in two hours.”
The admiration and twinge of envy in her voice was gratifying, although I was a bit covetous of her math-whiz skills that figured out my income on the fly.
“Even if you put half the money in your college fund, after the five days you’ll have way more than you need to buy those silver spangled flip-flops you were admiring,” Becca joked.
Last summer, I had gone with the Chapmans to the oceanfront for a day of sun, sand, and swimming. Becca and I had strolled the boardwalk, stopping to window-shop at a tourist trap with the most outrageous pairs of flip-flops I’d ever seen. The straps were covered with sequins, and a gaudy golden sunflower sprouted between your big toe and the next. The twenty-five-dollar price tag had sent us into hysterics.
I considered myself a connoisseur of flip-flops since I owned seven pairs, one for each day of the week. But my most expensive pair, the ones that left a barefoot imprint behind, ran me four dollars, tops. Not even I would plunk down that kind of serious money unless the gold was twenty-four karat.
“I was planning to wait until the flip-flops went on sale. They’d have to drop them to at least $24.98 before I’d consider buying them,” I said in mock seriousness.
We both giggled.
Then I added as casually as I could, “Pete said maybe he and I could put some more flyers around tomorrow when Brandon is at dance class. What do you think of that?”
“I think I’d like to be at that dance class,” Becca joked. Then she added more seriously, "Didn’t you say you guys hung about thirty flyers already?”
The Disappearing Dog Dilemma (The Gabby St. Claire Diaries) Page 2