The cops were scowling—at me, not Whitney. One of them warned, “You’re interfering with an investigation, young man.”
I kept looking at Whitney. “The DVD of last night’s performance,” I said. “There was something about it that bothered me. At first I thought it was Cubby. Then I watched it again and realized it was you.
“You were clumsy on the beam. Perfect you. Something had to be making you nervous.”
“Everyone was nervous,” Whitney protested. “After my mom screamed, we were all off.”
I nodded. “Sure we were—those of us who were on after your mom screamed. But you came on before.”
The cops swung their gazes to Whitney.
I said, “You were jittery because you were about to steal the necklace. You weren’t sure you’d get away with it. You had the thief’s version of stage fright.”
Whitney’s grip tightened on the cloth bag. Pooch, who’d been sniffing at the bag some more, sat back and looked at her curiously.
“That still doesn’t prove anything,” she said and turned to the officers with a hard little smile. “Does it?”
Their expressions were unreadable. I guessed they were trained not to show reactions.
“You searched my trailer,” Whitney reminded them. Her voice was gaining confidence now. “You found nothing. I can go.”
She hoisted her suitcase.
The cops glanced at each other. They exchanged the faintest of shrugs.
They stood back, allowing Whitney to pass.
“Just a minute,” I said.
Before she could stop me, I grabbed the cloth bag from her hand.
“While searching Whitney’s trailer, you checked this out?” I asked the cops.
“Yeah,” one shrugged. “Bunch of dog-food tins.”
“Value-added dog-food tins,” I said.
Chapter Thirteen
I turned the cloth bag upside down and dumped the tins on the ground.
Whitney’s dark eyes were blazing. She was scared and angry.
“Four tins,” I said. “That’s what I gave you earlier today. Four unopened tins of dog food.”
I bent down and picked up an opened tin with plastic wrap around the top.
Whitney dropped her suitcase and started to run. One of the cops side-stepped, blocking her. “Not so fast, miss,” he said pleasantly. “Let’s see what our junior detective has to show us.”
I stuck my hand into the cold, wet goop of dog food in the opened tin. I drew it out again.
Even with globs of dog food covering it, the diamond necklace winked and glistened in the afternoon sun.
One of the cops finally reacted. His jaw dropped. “Well, I’ll be durned. This young fella really is a junior detective.”
“Not me.” With my other hand I pointed to Pooch. “He was the one who gave Whitney’s hiding place away. He kept sniffing at the bag. It was a tip-off to me that not all the cans were sealed.”
“Right up to the end, I thought Cubby was the thief,” I told Sorelli. “I was so sure. He was bitter over losing the wire job. He was hostile to me. Then there was that stupid pink collar with the hollow medallion—the perfect hiding place…”
The ringmaster and I were sitting in his office. The police were questioning Whitney at the station. Nobody thought Mrs. Boothroyd would press charges, so Whitney probably wouldn’t have to face a judge.
On the other hand, we had all got a taste of Betty Boothroyd’s explosive temper when the necklace was stolen. Whitney would have to face that, which was maybe a worse punishment for her.
I sighed. “I didn’t like Cubby. I couldn’t accept that Cubby might have been trying to help Pooch. But, in his goofy way, he liked my dog. Even if, most of the time, Pooch didn’t like him.”
Sorelli nodded. “Cubby told me he’d borrowed the leash and collar from the storage trailer. Once he saw you weren’t interested, he was going to return it. That’s why he was carrying it around.”
The ringmaster arched a thick black eyebrow at me. “Erm, Zachary…did I hear you say, my dog?”
I glanced at Pooch, who was asleep on the floor beside my chair. I shook my head. “Slip of the tongue, sir. I’ve had a text message from Aunt Ellie. She has a friend who wants a dog. Pooch would be the perfect companion for her. So”—I shrugged—“it’s all taken care of.”
“That’s great, Zachary. Because you’ve got big things ahead of you. Like I always say, the circus has to be everything.”
Then he scowled. The guy’s moods were like a mixed sky: part sun, part storm clouds. “No more of this detecting stuff. No more crushes on girls—yes, I noticed you had a thing for Whitney. And no more pet dogs.”
Wearily, I explained for the millionth time that Pooch hadn’t been my idea. Sorelli held up a hand. Mood change again—now he was beaming.
“Gonna be a big night tonight, Zachary. The capture of the thief has been all over the news. We’ve been rushed off our feet with calls for tickets. We’re already setting up the cattle guard.”
Cattle guard meant temporary low seats set up in front of the regular seats to accommodate an overflow audience. “That’s great,” I said.
“And, I got word that a talent scout from Ringling will be here. He’s heard about you.”
“That’s great,” I said again.
Sorelli looked at me. “You gonna be okay tonight? I know you took this Whitney thing pretty hard.”
I thought of Whitney’s so-dark eyes looking up at me. Trusting and warm, then cold and blank. I had no chance to tell her that I still cared, no matter what.
Yeah, I’d taken it hard.
But what else could I have done? If I hadn’t revealed what I’d figured out, Whitney would have got away with the theft. Worse, suspicion might have fallen on Cubby.
I slumped back in my chair. No wonder I liked the wire so much. Up there, you escaped these kinds of complications.
“If only life were as simple as the thin black line,” I muttered.
“What’s that?” Sorelli leaned forward. “Speak up, son! You gonna be able to walk the line tonight?”
I looked at him in surprise. “Yeah, I can walk it, sir.”
He sat back, satisfied. “That’s my boy. That’s my Zen Freedman talking.”
I was on next. I waited by the black curtain. When the unicyclists finished, I’d go into the ring.
Cubby stood behind me, waiting with the other two clowns. He whispered, “So now you’re a thief catcher as well as a wire star.”
The guy was still needling me.
I whipped around.
But, in the midst of his painted-on face, his eyes were friendly. He asked, almost shyly, “How’s Whitney?”
I relaxed. “I dunno. I’ve tried calling, but she doesn’t want to speak to me. Surprise, surprise.”
Cubby nodded. “Sorry, Zack. I know you liked her.”
From the other side of the black curtain, the packed audience burst into applause. It was just about my cue.
There was something I wanted to tell Cubby first. “Hey, Cub. Earlier today I was thinking about how Pooch sees you.”
He looked down at his oversized clown shoes. “Not very favorably. Guess he just doesn’t like me.”
“No. Listen. Pooch doesn’t like you when you’re wearing that clown guck. But when you’re cleaned up, he plays with you. He jumps for that pink collar.”
The unicyclists pushed through the curtain. I needed to go on.
But Cubby was watching me, his eyes half dubious, half hopeful. “I don’t get it.”
“I finally figured it out,” I told him. “Pooch has coulrophobia. Fear of clowns. People get it. Why shouldn’t dogs?”
Chapter Fourteen
The cheering started when I climbed the ladder. I heard my name called over and over. That Sun story was building a rep for me.
I grinned. I basked in it. I got why people sweated out the hours of practice, the close quarters and having no life of their own. There was nothing like
audience adoration.
I stood on the ledge. I took deep breaths.
I thought of Philippe Petit and his walk between the Twin Towers. The Towers weren’t there anymore, but Petit’s walk lived on in documentaries, books and paintings.
The police had warned Petit that the wire walk would be illegal. That didn’t stop him. In fact, when he saw the police waiting for him at the other side, he jumped and danced on the wire to taunt them.
The guy was a rebel. He wrote a book about himself called The Square Peg. In other words, someone who doesn’t fit in. Who does the unexpected.
Maybe that was what I most admired about Petit.
The audience was quieting down. They were waiting for me.
Somewhere down there was a talent scout. I wanted to show off to him, to cross that thin black line like I was one with the air.
I also wanted to please Sorelli. He’d been good to me. He believed in me.
I thought what a dream job this was. The alternative was standing outside Aunt Ellie’s organic-foods store with a placard.
Pooch was back in the trailer. Tomorrow Aunt Ellie’s friend would pick him up. I imagined this friend collecting Pooch, walking him out of my life. My exciting life, with big things ahead of me, like Sorelli said.
I stepped on the wire. My weight was at my sides. I was in control. I was Zen.
The audience was silent, holding its breath. They knew the safety net was below, but they were still scared for me. They’d relax only when I was almost to the other side.
I moved forward, my steps light, my footholds secure.
Again the image of Pooch flashed into my mind. Happy, trusting Pooch, trotting alongside me. I realized it: I’d kind of gotten used to the little mutt.
Kind of? Who was I kidding? I didn’t want Aunt Ellie’s friend to take Pooch away from me. Pooch was my dog.
But I couldn’t keep him—as long as I stayed at Circus Sorelli.
Pooch, or the circus.
All at once the choice was as clear in my mind as a blue Alberta sky. I made my decision.
I moved forward. I missed my step. To the audience’s gasps and shrieks, I fell down, down, into the safety net.
Two weeks later…
I stood outside Aunt Ellie’s shop. I didn’t wear a placard advertising fresh oranges. Instead, I juggled them.
Pooch ran around me, barking. He kept hoping one of the oranges would fall, so he could catch it. I never dropped one, but he never gave up. Dumb dog.
People stopped to watch us. It was kind of a double act.
It was about time for my break. I stopped juggling and grinned down at Pooch. “Okay, sport. Now we’ll go to the park, and you can pretend you’re scaring the ducks.”
Down the sidewalk, a car door slammed.
“Zachary!”
Sorelli was stomping toward me. Instead of his red jacket and jodhpurs, he wore jeans and a T-shirt. But he was still larger than life. Heads turned as he passed.
“Hi, sir,” I said uncertainly.
When I quit Circus Sorelli, I’d apologized to him for falling. For refusing to go back up on the wire.
He had yelled so long and so loudly, I hadn’t been sure he’d heard.
I wondered if he was going to start yelling again now.
He didn’t. He sank down onto the curb. I sat with him.
“You did it on purpose,” the ringmaster accused. He glared at Pooch. “You fell so you could keep a dog.”
I knew anything I said would just annoy him. So I started juggling the oranges again.
Sorelli fumed, using colorful language, for a while longer. Then he grew hot and wiped his face with the hem of his T-shirt.
“Here, sir.” I handed him one of the oranges. “Have this. It’ll cool you off.”
Melanie Jackson is the author of numerous mysteries for youth, including The Big Dip and Fast Slide in the Orca Currents series, as well as the popular Dinah Galloway Mystery series. Melanie lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.
Titles in the Series
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Agent Angus
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Benched
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Beyond Repair
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The Big Dip
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Blob
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Branded
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Camp Wild
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Chat Room
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Cheat
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Cracked
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Crossbow
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Daredevil Club
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Disconnect
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Dog Walker
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Explore
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Farmed Out
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Fast Slide
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Finding Elmo
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Flower Power
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Fraud Squad
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High Wire
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Hold the Pickles
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Hypnotized
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In a Flash
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Junkyard Dog
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Laggan Lard Butts
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Living Rough
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Manga Touch
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Marked
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Maxed Out
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Mirror Image
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Nine Doors
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Oracle
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Out of Season
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Perfect Revenge
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Pigboy
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Power Chord
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Pyro
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Queen of the Toilet Bowl
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Rebel’s Tag K.L. Denman
Reckless
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See No Evil
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Sewer Rats
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Slick
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The Snowball Effect
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Special Edward
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Spoiled Rotten
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Stuff We All Get
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Sudden Impact
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Swiped
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Watch Me
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Windfall
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Wired
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