“You were right,” Daisy agreed.
I was feeling really good about myself—really good—when I heard it.
A car engine.
Getting closer.
“RUN!” I yelled, but it was too late. The van came screeching up. Mr. Bratford had spotted us.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” he yelled. I glanced back and saw him get out of his van and come sprinting full speed after us.
“Keep going!” I said to Daisy and Abby both. “We’re almost there!” I tried to sound brave, but I knew that I’d made a big mistake by suggesting we take the dirt road. I’d gotten overconfident and careless.
Hank Barlow or Jonah Forrester would never have let that happen.
We scrambled up one hill, down another, and then there it was—the Boathouse, looking as empty and deserted as ever.
“Go around to the other side,” I gasped, out of breath. “We’ll go in the back way.”
Abby had been there before, so she knew exactly where to go. We used an old rusted-out canoe to climb up onto the porch.
“The stairs are over there,” I yelled. Abby and I ran ahead and Daisy followed. We turned the corner and suddenly heard a voice coming from the roof-deck.
“Uh-oh,” Daisy whispered. “He must have gotten here first.”
We crept closer until we could make out the words.
“HELLO OUT THERE! IT’S ME, KING OF THE WORLD!”
Wait a second, I said to myself. I know that voice.
“Irwin!?!?” I called. “Is that you?”
I heard a scuffling above me, and sure enough, Irwin peered down from the roof. “Jimmy?”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“This is my hiding place too,” he answered, sounding a little annoyed. “What are you doing here? And why are you so out of breath?”
“It’s a long story,” I said.
“Is Daisy with you?” Irwin asked, of course.
“I’m here!” she called.
That’s all it took. “I’ll be down in a sec!” he said.
“No!” I said. “We’re coming up there! We need to hide!”
But Irwin was already scrambling down. “Hide?” he said, jumping off the last step. “From who?”
“From me, I believe,” said a voice behind us. We all turned around and there he was: Barnaby Bratford, stepping onto the porch, drumming his pimply fingers together. Mrs. Cragg was next to him, bald as a cue ball, looking like she’d have rather been anywhere else.
“Nice place you got here,” Mr. Bratford went on. “A fixer-upper, I see.”
“Who are you?” Irwin said.
“Oh, I’m the dog warden,” answered Mr. Bratford. “I’ve come for this adorable girl here. Want to hand her over?”
I picked Abby up. She was heavy, but I pretended not to notice. I saw her fangs peeking out. I petted her fur slowly, trying to keep her calm. It was like she was waiting for the right time to pounce. I was praying there would be one.
“Abby is awesome, and I’m taking her home,” I told Mr. Bratford, as if I were talking to a normal person. “My parents are going to wonder where I am, so we should probably go.”
Mr. Bratford’s big sweaty hand patted the top of my head. “Well, here’s the problem with that,” he said. “I’m not so sure that’s true. From what Agnes tells me, your parents aren’t all that worried about what you’re up to. Your mom works all the time, and your dad’s running around looking for a job. Who has time for unimportant things like children?” He stuck his face right down in front of mine, close enough so I could smell the pickles he had for lunch. “That’s where my fine babysitting service comes in!”
I heard a small, soft growl from Abby.
“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” I whispered to her, even though I was starting to worry that maybe it wasn’t. “You’re not taking her anywhere,” I told Mr. Bratford.
Mr. Bratford nodded, smiling. “Oooh, feisty.” He pinched my cheek so hard that tears came to my eyes, then put one of his pimply hands on Abby and started petting her fur.
“Get your hands off her,” I said evenly.
FACT: Sometimes bravery isn’t exactly bravery. Sometimes it’s more like stupidity.
The next thing I knew, Mr. Bratford had picked me up by the shirt and was carrying me over to Mrs. Cragg.
“Please keep an eye on him,” he told her.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Mrs. Cragg whispered to me. “Abby was supposed to stay home! I’m really sorry.”
“A little too late for that,” I told her. But she looked really upset, so I added, “It’s not all your fault.”
Mr. Bratford pointed at Daisy and Irwin. “Have a seat, you two.” They sat down on the old couch by the rusted-out fireplace. Mr. Bratford began pacing back and forth.
“Well,” said Mr. Bratford, “I suppose that you have a right to know why I need to take your dog. It seems only fair.”
I could tell by his evil grin that fairness had nothing to do with it. He just wanted to make us squirm.
“You see,” he went on, “knowledge can be a dangerous thing. And the problem is, you and your blotchy little face and your silly little friends and your ratty little dog know too much.” Mr. Bratford patted Daisy and Irwin on their heads. “Now, of course, I would never do anything to hurt you beautiful children,” he said. “That would be extremely stupid of me. I have a business to run, after all.” Then he turned and looked at Abby. “Unfortunately, this poor little pooch here won’t be quite so lucky.” He grabbed Mrs. Cragg’s cane out of her hand and started using it as a walking stick. “Here’s the story we’re going with: there was a terrible accident. It turns out your dog chewed up your mother’s jewelry case, grabbed the necklace, and ran away. You chased her all the way to this place, and as you tried to grab her, the dog fell tragically off the roof to her death—both dog and necklace lost forever into the swamp below.”
“Please don’t hurt the dog,” Mrs. Cragg whimpered.
“Quiet!” Mr. Bratford thundered at his sister. “We had it all worked out. The dog was a gift! A perfect excuse for you to quit that job, and a perfect explanation for why the necklace went missing. Dogs destroy, lose, or bury things all the time, don’t they? It was a foolproof plan! And you had to go and ruin it by bringing that crazy dog with you today!”
“That’s actually a stupid plan,” Daisy said. “No one would have ever believed that.”
“They wouldn’t even try a plot like that on STOP! POLICE!” Irwin added, probably for my benefit.
“Oh, I used to love that show as a kid,” Mr. Bratford said. “I always wanted Hank Barlow to die though, and he never did.”
“You’re a horrible human being,” I told him.
“Perhaps,” said Barnaby Bratford, “but I’m a rich horrible human being. And if any of you children ever say one word about what really happened here today, you will follow that dog into the swamp.”
I closed my eyes and opened them, hoping it was all a nightmare. It wasn’t. “You are going to pay for this!” I yelled.
“Ah, but again, that’s where you’re wrong,” Mr. Bratford said. “I’m going to get paid for this.”
He started walking toward me. I was still holding Abby, and my arms were getting really tired. She started growling again.
“Give me that dog,” Mr. Bratford said.
“Shhhh,” I whispered to Abby. “Everything will be okay.”
Abby growled louder as Mr. Bratford got closer.
“HAND HER OVER!” he screamed.
That’s when Abby decided to make her move.
In one split second, she jumped out of my arms, bared her teeth, leaped onto Mr. Bratford, and clamped her jaws around his neck.
Mr. Bratford screamed and fell down. Abby clamped harder, and they started rolling around on the ground.
“THIS DOG’S INSANE!” screamed Mr. Bratford as he started flailing furiously at Abby.
“She’s not insane,” I said. “
She’s a crime-fighting vampire dog!”
FACT: Sometimes it’s better to just come right out and say it.
“A crime-fighting vampire dog, ha!” Mr. Bratford gasped. Then he grabbed Mrs. Cragg’s cane and whacked Abby right on the nose. Abby yelped in pain and let go of Mr. Bratford, who scrambled to his feet.
“AHA!” he screamed, panting. “Would a crime-fighting vampire dog cry and moan like that from one little poke? I don’t think so.” Mr. Bratford took out his phone and shoved it in my face. “Look!” he wheezed. There was a picture of a dog with a very fancy haircut. “My dog is better than your dog! My dog is a thoroughbred Akita bred from a long line of show champions, and your dog is nothing more than a filthy mangy mutt!”
Abby was shivering and whimpering. I think she was in shock. We both were.
I bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Are you okay, girl?” I asked.
She responded by licking me on the face.
Right on my blotch.
FACT: Ordinarily, getting your blotch licked by a dog would be gross. But not in this case. Definitely not in this case.
Here’s what happened after Abby licked my blotch:
The fur on her head tickled my nose and made me sneeze.
The sneeze went right in Mr. Bratford’s face.
Mr. Bratford yelled, “That’s disgusting!” and furiously wiped his face with his hands.
Which made him drop Mrs. Cragg’s cane.
Which dropped next to my hand.
Which I picked up and used to whack Mr. Bratford’s knee.
“AAARRRRGH!!!” he yelled.
“YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN!” I yelled. Then I smacked his other knee, and sure enough, he screamed “AAARRRRGH!!!” again.
He fell to the ground, which gave us a few seconds to try and figure out our next move.
“Let’s go up to the roof,” Irwin said.
Daisy looked confused. “Huh?”
“The roof?” I said. “Why would we do that? We’ll get trapped up there.”
“Trust me!” Irwin said.
“But why?” I said.
Irwin stared at me. “Because I’m your best friend, that’s why.”
Mr. Bratford, meanwhile, was back on his feet. “I’ve had it, you little brats,” he said, wheezing. “Enough is enough.”
“I’m going to head up to the roof and call for help!” Irwin yelled. “There’s a house across the swamp, they’ll be able to see us if we’re on the roof!”
I still had no idea what he was up to. There wasn’t a house anywhere near us.
“Come up to the roof, Jimmy,” he begged.
Mr. Bratford started limping toward me.
I looked at Irwin. His eyes were flickering back and forth, from me to the stairs. I tried to figure out his plan, but I couldn’t.
“Would you please come up to the roof?” Irwin said to me, overemphasizing the word would. “WOULD you? WOULD you? WOULD you?”
I had no idea what he was talking about—
Until I did.
Would.
As in, wood.
“I got it!” I shouted. “Daisy, Abby, come on!”
“Got what?” Mr. Bratford gasped.
We didn’t answer—instead, Daisy, Irwin, Abby, and I ran to the stairs and charged up to the roof, with Mr. Bratford on our heels.
“Do you guys know what you’re doing?” Daisy asked.
We both nodded.
Five seconds later, Mr. Bratford made it up. He looked around. “Come now. Why would you kids try to trick an adult?” He looked at me. “Now give me that dog, and this will all be over.”
“I will never give you this dog,” I said, backing up.
“You’re getting awfully close to the edge,” Mr. Bratford said. “Give me that dog NOW.”
I refused to look behind me, because I was totally afraid of heights. “If Abby goes over the roof,” I managed to say, “then I’m going too.”
Mr. Bratford sighed. “Well, I must say I’m impressed, Swimmy Jimmy. Baxter always told me you were a loser. But it turns out you’ve got some fight in you! Good for you. However, there’s a point when fighting becomes useless. And I’m afraid we’ve reached that point.”
I knew that the edge of the roof was getting closer. In another five feet, I would be toast.
FACT: There are two kinds of toast. There’s the good kind, with butter and sugar and cinnamon. And then there’s the bad kind.
I stopped backing up. Meanwhile, Irwin and Abby had moved to the other side of the roof, next to the hot tub. Irwin nodded at me—it was now or never.
I put Abby down.
“Run to Irwin and Daisy!” I said.
Abby didn’t move. I think she wanted to stay and protect me.
“Go!” I urged—but still nothing.
“I’ve got you now!” Mr. Bratford said gleefully. He reached out to grab her, but she slithered out of his grasp.
Which is when Irwin yelled, “SOME THINGS ARE WORTH FIGHTING FOR … BUT JUSTICE IS WORTH BITING FOR!”
I couldn’t believe it. Irwin was quoting Jonah Forrester—and it worked! Abby started running, and then she jumped.
And when I say jumped, I mean … she JUMPED.
She soared over Mr. Bratford, and over half the roof, toward Irwin. She was in the air so long, it seemed like the black stripe of fur along her back was acting as a cape.
So she wasn’t just a crime-fighting vampire dog.
She was a superhero crime-fighting vampire dog.
As she flew by Mr. Bratford, he tried to grab her, taking two steps backward.
Right onto the rotted plank of wood by the chimney.
Which broke.
“AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” Mr. Bratford screamed, as he fell through the brand-new hole in the roof to the floor below.
Then: CRAAAAAAASHHHH!
Mrs. Cragg was still down there, waiting for it to all be over. She screamed, “BARNABY!” then asked, “Are you all right?!?!”
The only answer was a long, painful moan.
“You might want to give him some kelp,” I called down to Mrs. Cragg.
Daisy and Irwin ran over to me, and we all hugged. “We did it!” I said, over and over again. “We did it!” Meanwhile, Abby was squealing with joy and giving me tons of kisses.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Daisy told me.
“You’re not as glad as I am,” Irwin told her, needing the last word, as always. But this time, instead of being irritated, I just laughed.
“You were worried about me?” I asked Irwin.
“Of course I was worried about you,” Irwin said. “You’re my best friend.”
“You’re my best friend too,” I told him.
We went down the stairs. Mr. Bratford was lying there with two hurt knees and bruises all over his body, cursing and howling. Mrs. Cragg, meanwhile, was calling 911.
I leaned down right next to the pimply-fingered crook who tried to take my mom’s necklace—not to mention Abby.
“My dog is better than your dog,” I whispered in his ear, “and don’t you ever forget it.”
Five minutes later, the place was crawling with police cars and ambulances.
It was exactly like an episode of STOP! POLICE!
Mr. Bratford was placed on a stretcher and put into an ambulance. Believe it or not, he was still insulting me up until the last second. “Might want to get that looked at,” he said, pointing at my blotch.
“And you might want to find out what kind of food they serve in jail,” I shot back.
Mrs. Cragg, who was still clutching her red wig, was put in a police car. She looked shocked, terrified, and relieved, all at the same time.
“Good luck,” I heard myself say, as her car drove away, but I don’t think she heard me.
I waved to Daisy and Irwin as they got in a different police car.
“Where are they going?” I asked an officer.
“They’re going home so their parents can take them to the police stati
on,” the police officer said—which made me suddenly feel bad that both of my parents were far away, in the city.
The officer put her hand on my shoulder. “Your folks are on their way too,” she said. “Hopefully they’ll be at the station by the time we get there.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Abby and I climbed into the back of the officer’s police car. I stared at the Boathouse as we drove away. I still couldn’t believe what had happened. It was the most exciting, intense, and scary thing that had ever happened to me.
And exhausting too, I guess—because then I fell asleep.
* * *
“Wake up, kid. We’re here.”
“Huh? Where are we? What happened?”
“Well, you’ve had quite a day, that’s what happened.”
I rubbed my eyes. Abby was next to me. Slowly, it all came back to me. Mrs. Cragg. Barnaby Bratford. The Boathouse.
Irwin and Daisy. Abby and me.
I sat up, got out of the car, and looked around. We were at the police station.
“Is Mr. Bratford going to be in a lot of trouble?”
“He sure is,” said the police officer. “We’ve had detectives working on this case for a while. There’s been a series of jewelry thefts in town, and they were just starting to tie them back to the Bratford babysitting service. The only thing missing was hard evidence, but now, thanks to you and your pals, we have it. This guy’s going to jail for a long, long time. His sister too.”
“It wasn’t all Mrs. Cragg’s fault,” I heard myself saying. “He made her do it. She tried to help us in the end.”
The police officer looked surprised. “Well, she’ll get her day in court.” She nodded at Abby. “That’s a pretty darn cute dog you got there, by the way.”
“She’s more than cute.” I looked at Abby and smiled. I’m pretty sure she smiled back.
The officer pointed and smiled too. “In the meantime, there are some people here who’d really like to see you.”
I looked and saw my parents and Misty, standing inside the police station with scared looks on their faces. I have to admit I kind of liked seeing them all worried about me, and part of me wanted to let them worry just a few seconds more. But it was only a small part of me, so I started walking toward them. Then I started running, and when they saw me, they ran too.
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