The Disappearing Dog Dilemma (The Gabby St. Claire Diaries)

by Christy Barritt

  “Choices,” shouted an eager kid in the front.

  “Raise your hands and I’ll call on you,” Mr. C. said and continued slogging through the most boring stuff ever. “We all have to make choices, and choosing involves costs. Because of scarcity, you make choices, which means you give up the next-best alternative—the opportunity cost. Who can give me an example of an opportunity cost?”

  He turned to face the class. Hands shot up all over.

  “Food,” someone said.

  Mr. C. wrote it on the board under the word “needs.”

  Another student volunteered “video games,” and our teacher wrote it under “wants.”

  I had a pretty good idea what was going on, so I raised my hand so Mr. C. would think I had been paying attention all along. With all those hands waving, I was pretty sure the odds were in my favor to not get called on.

  “Donabell?”

  “While for most people the photo shoot would be a want, for me it is a need because I’m going to be a professional actress and maybe model,” she finished, striking what I imagined she thought of as her “brilliant student pose,” and I wanted to gag. It worked on the teacher. Mr. C. smiled and nodded, the glare from the overhead lighting glinting off his balding head.

  “Good point. Needs and wants are different for different people. How much in dollars will the photos cost?”

  “Nothing. Wanda’s paying for me. One regular and two costume poses.” The Diva struck her I-am-a-star pose, chin in the palm of her hand.

  I pulled the flyer from my pocket. The basic package cost a hundred dollars for three poses in your own outfit and a CD with one pose of the photographer’s choice. But for each additional fifty dollars, you could get three poses in one of the period costumes that would be available.

  My mouth dropped open. While I was no math whiz, I could tell this was way expensive. I worked it out. 100 + 50 + 50 = 200. Two people meant the total package was costing $400. My mom made about that much after putting in a forty-hour week at the drugstore. I was sure doctors like the Diva’s dad made much more, but I could hardly believe people would drop that much on pictures of her on a horse.

  You probably could buy a horse for $400!

  A chilling question struck me. What if the criminals were planning on kidnapping more pets? I mean, Becca implied the police knew pets were being held for ransom, and someone had targeted Paulette and her family before. What if they realized how loaded they were and decided to strike again? Or maybe they wanted to get several pets at once like they did at Oceanside. This fundraiser would be the perfect place to do it.

  I couldn’t let that happen. Nothing and no one would disappear on my watch ever again.

  As long as I could talk my parents into letting me go.

  CHAPTER 39

  Talking my mom into it had been easier than I thought. I’d promised to help her clean some houses as part of my punishment, and I’d reminded her that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It probably helped that my dad was in a lousy mood and had fussed at me for leaving my shoes on the porch, so my mom had felt sorry for me.

  While that had gone more smoothly than I ever imagined, trying to wash out the product I’d globbed into my hair, hoping to tame it, was not. The serum took out the frizz, all right, making my red tresses look like a matted, greasy mess.

  Time was running out. The Zollins would be here to pick me up any minute now, and I wasn’t wild about the shirt I’d picked out either. It was new, as in new to me, but I thought it made me look fat.

  My mom had picked it up at Thrift World to replace my best green sweater top that got ruined saving Pixie. She said the emerald green would accentuate my hair in a positive way. Which it might, but the banded bottom tended to ride up, making the lower half of the shirt poof at my waist, therefore making me look fat.

  I also wondered if she had gone to Thrift World for another reason: checking in with Goth Girl the Spy. Not that I could really blame her. I should have talked to her about Pete and the movies.

  “Gabby. They’re here,” my mom called upstairs.

  I groaned. My hair was still damp. I didn’t have time to blow-dry it or find a different shirt. I hurried downstairs, grabbed my jacket, and refused the toast my mom was holding out. No way was I going to get crumbs all over me and the Zollins’ Rolls-Royce.

  “At least drink this milk,” my mom insisted.

  I chugged it down, hoping I wouldn’t burp in the car. I already perspired a little, nervous about being in unfamiliar territory and way out of my comfort zone. As I hustled to the gleaming navy vehicle, I reminded myself today wasn’t about me. It was about keeping Paulette and her pets safe.

  A man I didn’t recognize was driving. I wondered if he was a relative or a chauffeur. As I scooted in the back beside Paulette, I checked out her outfit. Black, almost knee-high boots covered the lower half of her beige, close-fitting riding pants. Her black show jacket looked expertly cut and tailored, with three gold buttons and two front pockets. Peeking out at the neck was a brilliantly white high-collared shirt. Her riding helmet was on the seat beside her, and her ruby tennis bracelet sparkled on her wrist.

  I probably looked like a scullery maid.

  “I took your advice and left Puddles at home. It would be fun to have pictures of her and me on Mr. Jangles, but it is more important she’s safe.” Paulette smiled at me with a simple, childlike expression as I buckled up.

  The scent of her floral cologne tickled my nose, and I wondered if she only wore it on weekends or if the fragrance got lost in a sea of adolescent hormones at school.

  “Daddy signed you up too. I figured you wouldn’t be afraid to get on a horse. I could see you riding western, doing barrels or poles. I’d be afraid of banging my knees into the poles, but you aren’t afraid of anything.”

  I conjured up an image of someone doing limbo on horseback. “I’m cool with horses. Thanks. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

  “I wanted to, and the money goes to a good cause. I’m just glad you’re not afraid of big animals or anything.”

  No, I wasn’t afraid of horses or doing poles, whatever that was. I was afraid of different things, much different things. One of which was messing up. Either from not knowing social protocol at such a ritzy place or by failing as a bodyguard.

  Gabby, chillax! No Puddles means no dognapping. The worst thing that can happen is stepping in manure.

  I forced myself to settle into the soft leather upholstery and enjoy the thirty-minute ride. But I couldn’t shake the feeling something was going to go terribly wrong.

  CHAPTER 40

  I imagined Beach Barn and Riding Academy as a red barn surrounded by acres of grass and a white fence. I got the fence part right but was totally unprepared for three ginormous barns, a lighted outdoor ring, and a jumping area. Signs pointed to trailheads that disappeared into the wooded area surrounding one side of the complex. The other side and back were pastureland with horses grazing in the morning sunshine.

  A girl could get used to coming to a place like this.

  The barns or stables were heated and as clean as our house. They smelled of leather and freshly cut lawns. I spun in a circle as I followed Paulette, drinking in the sights, sounds, and smells.

  Sawdust muffled our footsteps inside the larger stable, but the sounds of horses snorting, tack jingling, and mounted riders surrounded us. We headed over to the area next to the women’s locker room, where a photographer and his white umbrella thingies were set up. He was snapping away at the most beautiful horse and rider I had ever seen.

  “Wow,” Paulette whispered. “She looks like she stepped out of Camelot or someplace.”

  “Unlike some people.”

  I turned my head in the direction of the Diva’s all-too-familiar voice.

  “This event is for charity, not charity cases.”

  She gave my outfit a cold once-over, and I self-consciously tugged the poufy shirt down. Wanda, standing next to her, had the goo
d manners to at least look embarrassed.

  A tall, thin man with gold-rimmed glasses and a clipboard approached. “Miss Zollin. So glad you could make it.”

  At that precise moment, the sorrel lifted his tail and relieved himself. Immediately, a stable hand wearing a black T with “Beach Barns—the next best thing this side of heaven” emblazoned on it stopped brushing the Shetland pony, grabbed a shovel and whisk broom, and scooped the poop. He handed it off to a blond-haired kid, also in jeans and black T, who headed away from us.

  Whoa! That kid looks familiar. Very familiar.

  Pete!

  What was Pete doing here?

  I tried to duck around the Diva to catch a better look at his retreating figure, but she chose that exact moment to put her hands on her hips and step into my path. I twisted awkwardly to avoid bumping her. By the time I looked again, the guy had vanished.

  “I want the golden horse.” The Diva enunciated each word. “Do whatever you have to do to make it happen.”

  The Diva snapped her fingers in the poor man’s face before turning on her heel and marching off to the women’s locker room.

  I rolled my eyes. The Diva was a legend in her own mind. Wanda looked bewildered, like she couldn’t decide if she should follow the Diva or flee. After a moment’s hesitation, she followed.

  “You two go ahead and change while I round up your Mr. Jangles,” a relieved Mr. Clipboard said. Reluctantly, I headed after the Diva, but before ducking inside, I scanned the area once more, trying to catch a glimpse of Pete or his body double.

  Why would Pete be here? How did he get here?

  I checked out the rack of clothes and chose a blue calico dress that reminded me of my costume for Oklahoma. Paulette couldn’t decide between cowgirl and Plains Indian outfits.

  While I waited, I tried to decide if I’d really seen Pete. The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous I realized the idea was. Neither he nor Lana rode horses, so he had no reason to be here. He couldn’t drive, and it wasn’t likely he’d cycled out here, starting at sunrise or before, because he was grounded.

  I sighed. It was wishful thinking.

  Wanda appeared, probably tired of the Diva by now. She nodded at my selection, then checked out Paulette’s choices.

  “This one,” she said, pointing to the cowgirl option. “But your tennis bracelet isn’t period. It will ruin a great look. I can hold it for you.” She held out her hand.

  I bristled. Wanda seemed a bit too eager. Besides, if anyone was going to hold a gazillion-dollar piece of jewelry, it would be me, the bodyguard.

  “I got this,” I said, all but yanking the bracelet out of Paulette’s hand before Wanda could touch it. I stuffed it deep into my back jeans pocket.

  Wanda smiled at me, and I felt ashamed.

  I, Gabby St. Claire, jump to conclusions way too easily.

  “Forget the hat,” Wanda counseled when Paulette picked one up. “You don’t want to cover such beautiful hair.”

  “What about my hair?” snapped the Diva, obviously displeased to see Wanda talking to us. She shot flaming arrows from her narrowed eyes. Wanda cringed, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of the Diva’s lips.

  I glared back, wishing my eyes shot laser beams that could erase that smug look off her face. I hoped Wanda was having second thoughts about trying so hard to fit with the Cool Kids.

  “Come on, Paulette,” I said, heading toward a stall. “Let’s change.”

  CHAPTER 41

  I managed to mount Mr. Jangles without falling off or ending up facing backward. I tugged the waistband of the shirt down and smoothed the poufy part out. Giving the photographer my best Kate Moss smile, I sat up straight in the saddle.

  Click.

  “Look a bit towards your right,” he instructed.

  As I turned, I caught a glimpse of someone with blond hair just like Pete’s ducking down behind a stall. My mouth dropped open.

  Click.

  “Try to keep your mouth closed,” the photographer instructed.

  I complied, deciding that as soon as my shoot was done, I’d have to find that kid and determine once and for all if it was Pete.

  “Stop scowling.”

  Click.

  Gabby! Focus. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Mr. C. mouthing “opportunity cost” flooded my mind as I realized I had to choose between good pictures or getting to the bottom of a mystery. It was not a choice I wanted to make.

  “Hold that look!”

  Click.

  “Nice. Very studious.”

  Click.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wanda, hat pulled down over her face like a disguise, moving away from the cluster of watchers. She seemed to be scanning the people around her, almost slinking into the locker room.

  Maybe she’s going to ditch the Diva.

  Click.

  I wondered whose parents had driven them here. I knew the Diva’s parents’ cars all too well from the time my mom and I had cleaned out their garage. I didn’t think I saw either of those, and I didn’t know what Wanda’s folks drove.

  But I did. I remembered back to that rainy day when she’d come to school with orange hair. They had a gray car. A gray car just like the one I’d seen near the pawnshop.

  Click.

  She’d dyed her hair blonde after the Diva had made fun of the orange. Blonde like what was under the ski mask when Puddles was dognapped.

  She had enough money to pay for new clothes and this photo shoot.

  She’d sat with us the day Becca snapped at Paulette about the ruby collar and tennis bracelet.

  The tennis bracelet! It was in my pants! In the locker room! Where she was headed.

  Click!

  I ducked under Mr. Jangles and vaulted over the fence. I collided with a woman exiting the locker room. I landed on my butt, but before I could think to say “sorry,” I saw Wanda ducking into the stall where I’d changed. I scrambled up.

  I squeezed around the woman I’d knocked into just as Wanda, exiting my stall, saw me. Panic crossed her face, and something sparkled in her hands. She spun and headed the opposite way, toward the showers.

  I had her trapped.

  CHAPTER 42

  Only she wasn’t trapped.

  On the other side of the showers was another door, and Wanda disappeared through it. I followed, struggling to run in a long dress, and burst into a small arena.

  Wanda looked right and left. Something was clenched in her right fist. She drew that fist back like she was preparing to pitch a softball.

  She’d ditch the bracelet rather than be caught, I realized.

  I had to catch her before she tossed the bracelet. There would be no evidence. The bracelet would be lost.

  And I, Gabby St. Claire, would look like the biggest bozo in the world.

  “Stop her! She’s a thief!” I yelled before thinking it through.

  What if I was wrong? It would be the most humiliating time in my life, even worse than the time I got kicked out of the cast of Oklahoma.

  Just then, a stableboy dove out of a stall and tackled her. The two of them tumbled to the floor, disturbing horses and riders. Wanda squirmed out of his grasp, but I managed to dodge a kid and his pony to pin her legs down.

  “It’s in her right hand. Get it,” I demanded.

  The guy complied, easily wresting the jeweled bracelet out of her unclenched hand.

  I got my first good look at the guy who tackled her, my deputy.

  He wasn’t a stable hand.

  He was Pete.

  “What?” I started to say, but Wanda was crying and speaking at the same time.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do it. But he said I had to or he’d hurt my mom!” Wanda blubbered like a preschooler. “I told him about the ruby collar, and this was his idea. I tried to talk him out of it!”

  A stern-looking woman wearing a riding academy polo shirt and carrying a riding crop glared down at us. I rolled off Wanda and s
wallowed, wondering if this severe-looking woman might whack us with her crop.

  “You better have a good explanation for endangering everyone in the vicinity with your behavior,” she barked, tapping the crop against her tall black boot.

  “She stole an expensive ruby bracelet.” I nearly choked on the words. “From my friend, Paulette Zollin.”

  Those seemed to be magic words, as her eyebrows shot up.

  “She’s already confessed. Here it is.” Pete held the bracelet high.

  Wanda was huddled into a tight ball, her sobs shaking her whole body. She was blubbering something about doggies or Doug in a tiny, frightened voice.

  “Take them to my office while I call the police,” Riding Crop said to another staff member.

  Pete grabbed my free hand in his. When he squeezed, I felt like he’d transferred some sort of superhero steel into my blood. It would be all right.

  I, Gabby St. Claire, had this situation under control.

  EPILOGUE

  “So your parents had you see a shrink?” Becca asked.

  “A counselor. They thought I made the whole Pixie thing up to get out of trouble for muddying up my aunt’s car. And because they also thought I was obsessive compulsive or something about finding Fluff, they had me talk to this guy,” Pete explained over lunch the next Monday.

  “Did you have to lie down on a couch?” asked Paulette.

  “No,” Pete said with a laugh, “but I sure told him how I felt about Lana being the center of their universe. But the best part was seeing their faces when they found out what happened at the stable and that I really had saved Pixie.”

  Pete grinned ear to ear, shoulders thrown back, his chest puffed out to make Superman, or at least the Superman T he wore, proud.

  “Actually, Gabby was the one who figured everything out,” said Paulette sincerely.

  One glance at Pete’s crestfallen face and I knew that was absolutely the last thing Paulette should have said. Even if it was mostly true.