“I have to go to the bathroom.” Pearl dashes back.
Renée nods happily. “Good she goes now. Trust me.”
“True.” I say as we wait. She’s learned from her mistake.
“Do you have a cell?” Mr. Van Ooute asks, tapping the toe of one shoe on the floor. A very shiny black shoe.
I nod.
He hands me his phone. “Please enter it in my contacts. I will text you when I’m back.” Mr. Van Ooute folds his arms across his chest as I key in my details.
Finally, Pearl joins us again and we troop down the stairs. The three of us head out the door while Mr. Van Ooute shuts the light and locks up. Then he gets into a sleek black SUV and it pulls away noiselessly.
“It’s electric,” Renée says in a hushed voice.
“Cool,” I answer. “Come on. Ping and Pong are waiting.” We stop off at my house first to drop off my backpack.
“Don’t forget the poop bags!” Renée says.
I kick off my shoes, head to Dad’s office, Pearl trailing behind, and pull a new roll from his supply cupboard.
Pearl pounds at Dad’s stapler, plays with the Noble bobble-head dog on his desk, and knocks it to the floor, accidentally.
“Stop touching things!” I tell her as I kneel to pick it up.
Her lip puffs out. “You picked up Daddy’s special dog. The one that opens the secret room.”
“Come on, Pearl,” I plead. “The real dogs need their walk!” I stand up and hope she follows me to the front. I don’t want to force her and make her cry.
“What’s the matter?” Renée asks Pearl.
“Stephen’s being mean to me.”
“Sorry. But Dad doesn’t like people to mess with his things.” I cross my eyes for a second to show Renée how squirrely Pearl’s making me. Then I bend down to put my shoes on, and finally, we’re off to the Bennetts’ house.
Instant mood switch — Pearl gallops because she’s decided she’s now a unicorn.
At the house, she sees the dogs at the window, neighs, and breaks into a grin. Pong silently waves with his tail while Ping bounces up and down. But as I open the door, Pearl makes another switch, whimpering and backing up.
Ping barks in excitement and jumps on her in joy.
She tries to push him away and he enjoys her call to play. His second jump knocks her down and he begins to wash her face with his tongue. “Yuck, he’s licking me!” she yells. “Go away!”
“Ping, stop!” Renée commands, but he doesn’t listen and she has to drag him off.
Pouty-faced and sniffling, Pearl wipes at her cheeks with her sleeve as she slowly gets to her feet. Pong nudges at my knee; he wants to inspect the new short human we brought, too.
“Sit!” I tell the dogs, reaching into my pocket for some liver bites. Immediately, their hindquarters drop. They hold their heads high at a tilt. Their ears rise up as though they’re hearing the rustle of a treat bag. “Shake!” I command, and the dogs each lift their front right paw. “Pearl, do you want to shake their paws?”
“No!” Instead, she sticks a thumb in her mouth.
“Down!” I tell the dogs and they slump onto their bellies. I look over at Pearl but she’s not even smiling. I turn back to the dogs. “Roll over!” Ping finds this command particularly hard. He’s a little round in the belly. Still, both dogs manage to roll 360 degrees, at exactly the same time, like a synchronized swimming team. Their eyes never leave my bunched-up hand. I bet if I posted a video of them to Instagram, they would get a thousand hearts instantly.
But they don’t capture Pearl’s.
Renée and I snap the leashes on the dogs, and Renée asks Pearl if she wants to walk Ping.
“No!”
“You know you forced us to take you on this walk with the dogs,” I say.
“I don’t like dogs. I just didn’t want to go with Mr. Van Ooute.”
“Well, guess what,” I snap. “You don’t have to like Ping and Pong. But you have to come.” A kid who doesn’t love dogs? No wonder she doesn’t let me ever finish reading Dogman. We hustle Ping and Pong out the door with Pearl dragging behind like an anchor.
I roll my eyes at Renée and she shrugs her shoulders. Then stars twinkle in her eyes. “I have an idea! Something that might really help us hunt for your pink diamond.”
“What, what?” Pearl skips to catch up.
“Something you’ll really like. But you have to hurry.”
“Tell meeeeeeee!” Pearl passes us and the dogs yank us into a jog.
“Uh-uh. It will be a surprise. We need to visit a friend. See if he agrees. Do you know Reuven Jirad? He’s reading buddies with August.”
Pearl nods. “He brings us the newspaper.”
“That’s right,” Renée says.
Oh no. I have a feeling I know what she’s planning, and there’s no way Reuven will go along with it unless we help deliver his newspapers.
DAY ONE, MISTAKE SIX
It’s Thursday and we find Reuven at the side of his house inserting flyers into the Burlington Post. “You can’t borrow my wagon. You know it’s the heaviest day for deliveries.” He’s crabby and I don’t blame him. We helped him once with flyer delivery. It takes forever.
“Oh, we don’t want your wagon. We want to borrow your father’s metal detector,” Renée says. “It’s to find a ring. Pearl, here, lost it.”
I’ve never seen him operate the metal detector, but Reuven told us once his dad owned one ’cause Mr. Jirad loves to find things. He likes recycling metal and glass, fixing up old furniture as well as other junk. Like the beat-up wagon Reuven now uses for deliveries.
“I’m too busy to look for stuff with you.” Reuven narrows his eyes as he glances sideways at me. “At least not till after these papers get delivered.” He snaps his fingers at Pong. “Get away!” He turns to me again. “Don’t let him pee on my papers.”
I pull Pong toward me. “Listen, we’d help you deliver, but this ring may be valuable. The wrong person might pick it up if we don’t find it first.”
Reuven stops inserting flyers into his newspapers. “What kind of ring? Where did you lose it?”
“Why? Did you find it?” Renée asks.
“No. Or I’d give it back to you.” Reuven turns back to his newspaper pile. “Dad’s not around. For me to lend you the metal detector, I would need his permission.”
I hand him a flyer. “Text him.”
“Fine.” Reuven drops the paper and thumb-types quickly into his phone. Seconds later it bleats like a goat and he reads his message. “Dad says you can buy it for fifty dollars.”
“Buy it?” I ask. Maybe Mr. Jirad’s out of the scavenging business now. I know he teaches bonsai planting at the Royal Botanical Gardens these days.
“Done!” Renée says.
I elbow her. How are we supposed to get hold of that kind of cash?
“All right,” Reuven says. “Pay me and I’ll go and get it.”
“Do you take debit?” I ask.
“No, of course not. But seeing as you’re in a hurry and I trust you, I will bring you a pen and paper, and you can write me an IOU.”
Pearl interrupts. “I’m thirsty,” she whines. “I want chocolate milk.”
“I don’t have any,” Reuven says. “Just water.”
“Okay,” she says and Reuven heads inside. When he returns, he carries a glass in one hand, and, tucked under his other arm, a long, thick metal wand with a round metal foot.
Pearl grabs the glass and chug-a-lugs.
Renée takes the metal detector. “Tell me how it works.”
“Pretty easy. You just flip the switch and then run the circle slowly over the ground. It will beep if it detects any metal.” He throws a nickel on the ground. “Here, try!”
Renée swings the round foot around the yard and then hovers it near the nickel. The detector bleeps softly. Ping barks and Pong lunges for the round foot with his teeth bared. Renée pulls it away.
“Don’t wave the foot over the
ground too quickly. Also, it doesn’t do too well near metal fences. I would list the ring on Kijiji lost and found if I were you.”
“Thanks. See you,” I say.
Pearl returns Reuven’s glass and we’re off, Renée with the long wand under her arm as well as Ping’s leash in her hand. Ping bounces on his hinds, trying to bite the metal detector.
I keep Pong away from them and grab Pearl’s hand, just to move her along a little. She doesn’t pull away or whine. Progress. “We should run the detector all the way from the school to the Lebels’ house,” I say.
“If Pearl lost it on the way, we’re sure to find it if we scan carefully,” Renée agrees. “By the way, you can take the fifty dollars from my next dog-walking payment.”
“That’s okay. I’ll pay for it.” I’m picturing all the stuff we can find with this gizmo. Should earn back the money in no time.
The dogs trot alongside as we head back to the school. Pearl yanks her hand back and starts whining, “I’m tired.” She slows down to a straggle.
Me, too, I think. I am sick and tired. And hungry. It’s 4:30 and I’d like my after-school snack. We pass by Mr. Rupert’s wishing well again, but pull the dogs away so it stays dry. We take in Mrs. Whittingham’s Halloween display. It’s pretty ghoulish with lots of tombstones and hands sticking out of the ground.
Then I notice her little boy August playing with sidewalk chalk on the driveway. Man, he draws a mean dragon. Something’s different about him since we saw him at school, though. The jacket. That’s it. Instead of wearing Batman, he now sports Wonder Woman.
“Hey, August. You wouldn’t happen to have a diamond ring in your pocket, would you?” Renée asks.
“Yeah!” he says and continues drawing.
“Give it to me. It’s mine!” Pearl says, moving closer so that she stands over him.
August cringes from Pearl as though she might kick him. She does seem like a bit of a bully. Then he pulls something from his pocket.
It’s a diamond, sure enough. Large plastic, pink crystal just like the one that Beena has.
Ping and Pong surround him, sniffing at the toy in his hand.
“Does everyone at your school own a Wonder Woman jacket?” Renée asks. “Even the boys?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Some like Superman. I like Wonder Woman.”
“Do they all come with toy pink rings?” I ask.
“No. Kids who went to Aswan’s birthday party got a ring in their loot bag,” August says.
“And I didn’t get invited!” Pearl whines.
August holds out the plastic ring toward her.
“That one’s not mine.” She shoves his hand back.
“Thanks anyway, August.” Renée points to his drawing and changes the subject. “Nice pterodactyl.”
I squint back at it. Okay, I can see where it could be a dinosaur, not a dragon. Not going to count that as a mistake ’cause either way, it’s a good drawing. “See you in reading buddies.” I wave and pull Pong along.
Ping grabs a piece of blue chalk in his teeth and struts away with it, ears and head up.
“No, you don’t!” Renée tackles Ping and hands August back the drooly chalk.
We keep going. At Duncaster Street, we turn the corner, and Renée switches the metal detector on. As we approach the crack in the sidewalk where we stopped to watch the ants swarm, the metal detector goes off. Bleep, bleep! Ping barks.
Could it be? I kneel down, stir away the leaves, and part the grass with my fingers. I feel something! Something round and small with a hole in it. “Found it!”
Rouf! Rouf!
Renée fist bumps with Pearl. “Yay!”
“Wait a minute.” The metal ring seems too small. Also, the wrong shape. It’s an oval with two finger holes. I hold up my aluminum treasure. “Sorry!” Mistake number six is getting everyone excited over the pull tab of a pop can.
DAY ONE, MISTAKE SEVEN
“It’s amazing just how much pop people drink,” I say as the metal detector bleeps for the seventh time. Ping barks a warning and Pong’s ears lift.
“Can I be the one who looks this time?” Pearl asks. She falls to the ground before we can say yes, then digs around for a long time.
Sniff. Sniff. Ping begins his own independent hole right next to hers. The dirt spits out from behind him. I’m not sure whether either of them are looking for anything anymore or whether they’re just enjoying the dig. Suddenly, Pearl leaps up. “Yay! I found treasure!” She holds up a quarter. “Neigh, neigh!” She’s back to happy unicorn mode.
“Okay, my turn now.” I sweep carefully side to side all the way back to the Lebels’ house. Along the way, we find some bottle caps, a metal button, and a bit of tinfoil wrapped around a bologna sandwich.
Actually, Pong finds that and Ping steals a big bite of the find.
“Nice that they share,” Renée says.
“So nice,” I say sarcastically as Pong’s lip curls and he turns away with what’s left.
“No car in the Lebel driveway,” Renée announces.
“Darn. No one’s home yet. Hmmm.” I frown.
“Mommy!” Pearl pouts again.
“I know what we can do,” Renée says cheerily, even though her eyes scream help, help. “Let’s take the dogs to the park for a run.”
“Park, park, park!” Pearl repeats and gallops ahead, neighing along the way.
“Slow down. I want to give this metal detector a workout. Maybe we’ll find something else!” I say.
And we do. Three dimes, six nails, and one large, blue metal button with white words across it: Brilliant Diamond Show.
“I wonder who owns this,” I say. We’re close to the Brant Hills Community Centre now.
“Could be anybody,” Renée answers and points to the large sign at the front of the building: Brilliant Diamond Show. 3–5 p.m. Auditorium. Best prices. Buy and sell. Win a door prize!
We keep walking, but then Pearl stops and stares up at the other side of the sign. “Luh, Luh, Luh …” She sounds out the first letter.
“Library,” I tell her.
Pearl reads the next word with no help at all. “Halloween.” Then struggles. “Puh, puh, puh-ar-ty.”
“That’s right. Library Halloween party,” Renée tells her. She reads the rest of the sign for her. “Refreshments. Prizes for all costumes. one thirty to three p.m.”
“I wanna go,” Pearl says.
“Will your parents be going to the diamond show?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s their show. They have to go. Will you take me to the Halloween party?”
“Sure,” Renée says.
I give her my scream-y eyes.
“What? It will be fun. Maybe we can also check in on the Brilliant Diamond Show.”
I don’t want to be mean, but I’d really rather go on our own without the kindergarten baby. At that moment Pong squats and does one of his long-drawn-out poops. I can feel someone’s eyes on me. I reach into my pocket to find my roll of bags. This one might even need two. Whoops, no bags in that pocket. I pat down another one. Then another. I feel sweat break out across my forehead when I realize Mr. Rupert is sitting on the bench in front of the community centre. His are the eyes that are drilling holes into me.
“Renée, quick, do you have a bag?”
“No. You have them. Remember you went into your dad’s office …”
“Yeah, I remember but they’re not in my pocket.”
“But I saw you with them in your hand!”
“This isn’t helping me any …”
“You must have left them on the floor when you bent down to put on your shoes.”
“Yeah. You’re right. No good to me now.” Mistake number seven, it’s a doozy. No way can I just leave Pong’s doo and come back with a bag from home later to pick it up. Not with Mr. Rupert watching me. How do I recover?
“Why don’t you check the trash can and see if there are any bags there?” Renée suggests.
Ew, gross. Plus, the g
arbage can stands right next to the bench where Mr. Rupert sits, waiting. But I have no choice.
I even know what’s going to happen. He stands as I approach, legs apart, arms folded across his chest. “Here, now,” his voice calls out like a gunshot, “you’re going to clean that crap up!”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I answer. “I just need a bag. W-would you have one?”
“No. I own a cat! Why would I carry a bag around?”
Maybe for groceries or books from the library, I think. But I’m not Renée; I keep my answer to myself. Instead I push the swing lid of the garbage and peek inside. Yes! There’s a bunch of coffee cups. I reach in carefully for one. Will it be big enough?
That’s when I spot it, half crumpled. The words Blushing Diamond catch my eye. It’s an advertisement for the Brilliant Diamond Show. I pull the paper out and uncrumple it. The ad reads: “From 3:00 to 5:00 p.m. Shop for your own engagement ring. Sell us your old gold. Win the grand door prize. At 4:30 the famous Blushing Diamond will be unveiled. Mined from the depths of Australia.” The hairs prickle at the back of my neck. I fold the ad and stuff it in my shirt pocket. Then I reach back in the trash and take out two coffee cups, all with Mr. Rupert breathing down on me.
Quickly, I return to Pong’s toilet site. Ping barks and wags hysterically. Pong throws himself at me. I have been away from their side for maybe forty-five seconds, but to them, it’s forever. Even though I’m anxious to clean up after Pong so Mr. Rupert will leave me alone, I need to pat the dogs to calm them down.
Finally, they’re quiet enough for me to scoop up the poop. I push the second cup on top to act as a lid. Then I carry the whole thing to the bin and drop it in.
Mr. Rupert’s still standing, watching. “Next time bring the proper tools for the job.”
“Yes, sir,” I agree. I walk back to Renée and the dogs and pull out the Lebels’ ad from my pocket.
“Oh no!” Renée gasps. “Pearl’s lost something really valuable!”
Pearl’s eyes grow big and wet in pre-meltdown state.
Ping jumps and barks.
“That’s okay! Don’t worry,” I say. “I know exactly where Pearl left that rare Australian diamond!” At least I hope I know.
The Diamond Mistake Mystery Page 3