“Seriously?” Becca arches her dark brows.
“So what do we do now?” I spread my arms in frustration. “We can’t check every apartment. There must be hundreds.”
“According to my calculations, there are seventy-five.” Leo tilts his head thoughtfully. “Allowing five minutes for each location equals 375 minutes, so it would take six hours and fifteen minutes to investigate.”
I frown up at the sprawling apartments. “That’s too long.”
“We won’t have to check every apartment.” Leo gestures to his leather pouch. “We’ll use my bird drone to identify which ones have outdoor patios where pets might be kept. That will narrow down our search.”
A few minutes later, the bird drone is poised for takeoff. I peer through my mini binoculars, Leo aims a remote at the bird drone, and Becca is on alert as our lookout.
“Ready, set”—Leo aims the remote at the bird-shaped drone—“launch!”
With a buzzing of robotic wings, the bird drone soars into the sky and toward the apartments. If anyone glances out their window, they’ll just see the gray blur of a bird, unaware they’re being spied upon.
The first time we used a bird drone, it worked for a while, then crashed. Fortunately, this is an improved model. As the drone moves from apartment to apartment, the tiny robot streams images to Leo’s tablet.
“Doghouse sighted,” Leo reports as he peers closely at his tablet.
I lean in to check out the screen, but the image is too small. Leo taps on the keyboard, enlarging the picture of a wooden, peaked dog house. The bird drone whirls on and more photos appear, showing us more evidence of pets: portable carriers, doghouses, water or food bowls, and carpeted cat trees for climbing.
“I have a confession,” Leo says, his tone suddenly serious. “I was wrong about the number of apartments: not seventy-five, but seventy-six.”
“Close enough.” I smile because it’s cute how he takes everything so seriously. “Even geniuses can make mistakes.”
“It’s a rare occurrence.” Leo taps his remote, and the bird drone comes in for a landing. “Now we know that the apartments with animals are located in the left side. There are twenty pets: cats, dogs and a chicken pen.”
“Chickens in an apartment?” I say, surprised.
“Raising chickens is popular because people love fresh eggs,” Becca says. “But chickens can be noisy and probably are not allowed in the apartments.”
“That might be the reason Mom came here.” I snap my fingers. “A neighbor probably reported the chickens. Let’s find out.” I jump up, ready to storm the chicken apartment and ask about my mother.
Leo tucks the bird drone into his leather pouch and lifts out the platelike robot. “But your mother could have come here for a different reason, so I’ll use FRODO to sniff out her scent. We’ll position him near the apartments on the left.”
“Can he climb stairs?” I ask with a glance at the steep staircase.
“No, but I’ll carry him. His sensor lights will show me the right direction within a 35-foot perimeter, so I’ll need to get closer to the apartments,” Leo says. “Wait here. It’s less conspicuous if I go alone.”
As if a guy following a plate on wheels can be inconspicuous, I think with a half-smile.
Becca and I hide behind the laundromat while Leo places the sneaker on the ground. He flips a switch, and lights flash on FRODO’s bubbly receptors. The robot rolls as slowly as a tortoise to the left…to the right…and spins completely around, rolling directly toward us.
“Why is it coming back?” I ask Leo.
“I don’t know. Turn around, FRODO!” Leo frantically clicks remote buttons.
Becca’s hands fly to her cheeks. “He’s out of control!”
“And headed for me!” I jump back.
FRODO stops in front of my shoes—a light flashing from red to green like a spotlight aiming at me.
“Weird.” I peer down. “What does the green light mean?”
“Target sighted. But you are not the target.” Leo runs his fingers through his blond hair. “I don’t understand why FRODO malfunctioned.”
“Maybe he didn’t,” I say, a thought coming to me. “He followed Mom’s scent—which led him to me. I may not be the target, but I held Mom’s shoe and shared her room. To a super sniffer, I must smell like my mother.”
Leo looks relieved as he nods. “Your mother’s smell is three days old. Your smell is more potent.”
“You think I stink?” I tease.
“No!” His cheeks redden. “What I meant was—”
“Yikes!” Becca points beyond us. “Look!”
I see the blue and red lights of a familiar official truck. “Uh-oh!” I groan. “The sheriff!”
“It’s bad enough he’s always hanging around my mother.” Becca scowls as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Is he following me around?”
Sheriff Fischer strides over. “What are you kids doing here? I received a report of suspicious teens and find you three looking very suspicious.”
“We were out for a ride,” Becca tells him. This is the truth, just not all of it.
“Are you visiting someone who lives here?” He sweeps his hand toward the apartment building.
“Um…not exactly,” I say, which sounds suspicious even to me.
Spy strategy 12: Always be prepared with a cover story when on surveillance.
“Kelsey, we’ve known each other for a while, and I hope you consider me a friend.” Sheriff Fischer’s tone softens. “Be honest with me. Is this about your mother?”
“Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“When I got the report from this address, I noticed that your mother responded to a call at this same address a few days ago.” Sunlight flashes off his badge as he narrows his gaze at me. “It seems more than a coincidence to find you here.”
I try to look innocent. “Mom was here?”
“I suspect you already know that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But since you said Mom was here, I’m curious why.” I widen my eyes. “What was the report about?”
He studies me with a thoughtful expression. “I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you. A resident panicked when he thought he saw a giant snake lurking in the bushes. But it turned out to be a garden hose. It was just a routine call and not at all dangerous. Don’t get any ideas about playing Nancy Drew.”
“Why would I do that when you’ve assured me my mother is fine?”
“Exactly.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “So what are you kids doing here?”
“Um…we…” I falter.
“We’re implementing a robotic experiment.” Leo comes to my rescue like a knight in a shiny black vest. “It’s a trial run for my futuristic robotic odor detection operative.”
Sheriff Fischer knits his bushy brows. “A what?”
“My robot, sir.” Leo gestures to the bubble-covered bot. “FRODO detects odors through olfactory receptors.”
The sheriff leans in for a closer look. “I know a bit about robots since I was in a robotics club in college. But I’ve never heard of a robot that can smell.”
“FRODO’s olfactory system is programmed to recognize chemical signatures like blood and sweat,” Leo explains proudly.
“Impressive.” Sheriff Fischer lifts the brim of his cap to look closely at Leo. “You built this by yourself?”
“Of course he did.” Becca rolls her eyes at the sheriff. “Leo’s brilliant.”
“He certainly is.” Sheriff Fischer gives an appreciative whistle as he bends over to look at FRODO. “What’s the energy source?”
“Solar strips,” Leo says. “They’re efficient and built into the casing.”
“I built my robots from a kit. But yours is much more sophisticated. It’s amazing what you’ve achieved here. How long have you been building robots?”
“Since I was four.” Leo’s voice warms with pride. “Well, three if you count the Lego bots.�
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“I wish I could let you stay, but the apartment manager wants you to leave.” Sheriff Fischer frowns. “Sorry, but you’ll have to find another place for your trial run.”
Leo picks up FRODO. “We’re done here anyway.”
I nod because there’s nothing suspicious about a garden hose “snake.” We might as well go on to the next address.
Sheriff Fischer pats Leo on the shoulder. “Next time you want to test a robot, there’s an empty stretch of pavement behind the sheriff’s office parking lot. Call me, and I’ll clear it with my office.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir.” Leo grins when the sheriff offers him a business card.
“See you kids later.” Sheriff Fischer’s keys jingle in his hands as he turns to Becca. “Actually, I’ll see you tonight for dinner. I’m taking you and your mother out for Chinese food. How does that sound?”
Becca glances down at her purple glitter sneakers. “Great,” she says with zero enthusiasm.
The sheriff opens his mouth like he wants to say something to her but then sighs and strides off to his truck.
“Becca, why were you rude to the sheriff?” Leo demands as he carefully tucks FRODO into his leather pouch. “It’s not his fault the manager reported us. The sheriff was nice enough to tell us why Kelsey’s mother came here.”
Becca sighs. “I don’t dislike the sheriff. He’s just around so much. I’m hardly ever alone with Mom anymore.”
My stomach knots. At least Becca knows where her mother is. It’s almost noon, and we’ve only gone to one of the eight addresses. We’re not even close to finding Mom. Is she in trouble, waiting to be rescued? Or is she lounging by a hotel pool with her phone shut off?
I must find out.
As I pick up Mom’s shoe, I get an idea. I whirl around to my club mates. “We’ve been going about this all wrong,” I say. “Why search with a robot when we can use an experienced tracker that can follow a scent for miles?” I reach for my bike. “Let’s go get Major.”
- Chapter 8 -
Blackberry Lane
Of course, Leo argues.
“Major already proved he doesn’t follow commands.” Leo balances with one foot on his gyro-board. “Remember how he just sat there at the junkyard?”
“We weren’t using the right words.” I kick off on my bike, and we ride out of the apartment complex.
“And he wasn’t wearing his work vest.” Becca’s ponytail ripples behind her as she pedals alongside me. “He proved his skills when he rescued Buggy.”
“After he ran away and we had to chase him.” Leo rolls between us, his chin jutting out stubbornly. “An animal isn’t as reliable as a robot.”
“Animals are cute, cuddly, and loyal.” Becca increases her speed. “Way better than robots.”
I nod. “And we won’t look suspicious if we’re walking a dog.”
“We’ll try it your way,” Leo says. “But I’m confident you’ll discover that robots are better.”
After a lunch break at my grandmother’s, we pick up Major and the key to his owner’s house. The German shepherd seems to know where we’re going. He tugs on the leash so excitedly that Leo is almost yanked off his gyro-board.
We coast into Greta’s driveway, and my pulse quickens because the last time I was here, I found the elderly woman unconscious on the floor. Thankfully, she’s much better now and plans to come home soon.
I unlock the front door.
“Gran Nola said the box is in the hall cupboard.” I lead my friends through the living room.
Becca stops to look at a collage of photos arranged on a wall. “Check this out. I think it’s Major when he was just a few years old.”
I lean in to look at the silver-framed picture of a German shepherd being hugged by a grinning police officer. Major’s mouth hangs open like he’s grinning too. The officer must be Greta’s husband, who passed away a few years after he retired.
We go down the hall and check cupboards until we find one with an oblong box slightly bigger than a shoe box. Inside are leashes, a medal hung on a bright-blue ribbon, a small notebook, and a red padded vest.
“Major has gold bling.” Becca dangles the medal from her finger. “The inscription says it’s a medal for bravery. Very cool.”
Leo lifts the vest. “It’s padded but not heavy.”
I’m only half listening as I flip open the notebook. It fits in my palm, smaller than my notebook of secrets. Whenever I find out a secret, instead of gossiping, I write it down in my notebook. I used to keep my notebook hidden in a secret drawer of a wooden chest, but my chest, like all our furniture, is in storage. Now my notebook is buried in a drawer under my socks.
This notebook shows all about Major: his American Kennel Club pedigree, date of birth, weight and height chart, training, and vaccination records. I skim through the pages until I come to a list titled Commands.
I look at my club mates in surprise. “No wonder he wouldn’t obey us. These commands are in code.”
“Let me see.” Leo holds out his hand. I give him the notebook, and he glances through the pages. “Not a code. They’re in German.”
“Well, he is a German shepherd,” I say with a smile.
“Does that mean French poodles speak French?” Becca teases.
“Absolutely.” My smile widens. “And Japanese spaniels love anime movies.”
“Who doesn’t?” Becca laughs. “Anime is coolness.”
Leo rolls his eyes like he thinks we’re silly.
“German is actually very close to English,” he explains, tapping his finger on a page of the notebook. “There are thirty commands with pronunciations. Sitz obviously is sit, steh is stay, and bringen is bring. But what does platz mean?” Leo takes his mini-tablet from his pocket and brings up a translation page. “Platz translates to down.” He mouths words to himself as he studies the page, then shuts off his tablet. “I know them now.”
I think he’s teasing until I notice his serious expression. “But you only read them for like a minute.”
Leo nods. “That’s all it normally takes to imprint a memory.”
Becca and I share an amused glance. Nothing about Leo is normal, which is partly why I like him so much…maybe a lot. I can feel his gaze on me.
“Um, we should go to the second address.” I pick up Major’s vest and head outside.
Leo consults his phone. “34 Blackberry Lane.”
“Blackberry Lane sounds familiar,” I say. “Like I heard it recently.”
“You did,” Leo says as he tucks his phone back into his pocket. “The street name was on a missing-dog flyer your mother gave us last week.”
“Oh, I remember.” Becca grabs her bike handles. “A year-old dachshund named Cookie. I wonder if she was ever found. I can check the county website to find out.”
“We can check missing reports later,” I say, eager to get moving. As I hop on my bike, I turn to Leo. “What’s the Z code for this report?”
“ZDTHF.” He glances up from his tablet. “Becca, do you know what it represents?”
She shakes her head as she kicks off her bike. “Maybe D stands for dog.”
“Or dangerous,” I say with a shiver.
“We’ll find out soon.” Leo powers up his gyro-board, while holding on to Major’s leash.
Blackberry Lane is about three miles away on the west side of Sun Flower, in an upscale development where homes with a lot of land are called ranchettes. Large houses in rustic autumn shades blend into the nearby hills. Most of the ranchettes have white-fenced pastures with horses, cows, or even llamas. But there are no animals in the pasture of 34 Blackberry Lane.
Becca points to the metallic-blue Corvette in the driveway. “Check out the cool car. I expected a rancher to have a truck.”
“We already have a clue about the people who live here.” Leo points to an old-fashioned metal mailbox. On the side, black letters spell out Barton.
“The tractor guy could be Mr. Barton,” I say, gesturi
ng toward the back pasture. The ground vibrates from the rumble of the tractor’s engine, and dirt whirls behind it.
Becca shades her eyes with her hands and peers across the field. “He’s busy, but we’ll still have to be careful not to be seen. I don’t want Mr. Snoopy Sheriff showing up again.”
“There aren’t many trees or bushes for camouflage.” Leo glances around stealthily. “If we get caught, we’ll need a convincing story.”
“Or we can tell the truth…at least some of it,” I say, thinking quickly. “I’ll knock on the door, and if someone answers, I’ll say, ‘My mother is the animal control officer who came here a few days ago. She may have lost her wallet when she was here and asked me to look for it.’”
“Good ruse,” Leo nods. “We’ll find out why your mother was here, plus get permission to look around. But Becca should be the one to go.”
But this is about my mother, I want to argue. Still, I know Leo’s right. We work well together because we have different talents. For anything social, Becca is our girl. She’s so genuine that even strangers open up to her.
I watch from the sidewalk as Becca strides confidently up to the front door. She presses a doorbell. I hold my breath. No one answers, so she turns around and comes back to us.
Becca frowns. “No one’s home.”
“Except Tractor Guy.” I gesture toward the pasture.
Leo gazes off with a thoughtful expression. “He can’t see us because he just moved behind the barn.”
“Time to go spying.” I take Mom’s shoe from my spy pack and offer the scent to Major, then turn to Leo. “Do you remember the German word for track?”
“Of course.” Leo rolls his eyes like I asked him to count to ten. “Such means track, and it’s pronounced ‘tsuuk.’” Leo turns to Major. “Such!”
Unlike during the frustrating experiment at Pete’s Pick and Pull, Major snaps to attention. He jerks on his leash and whines. I unfasten him—and he’s off!
Major lopes up the driveway to the front door, his nose to the ground as if he’s caught Mom’s scent. He whirls around and runs past the garage to the back of the house and out toward the pasture.
At the fence line, he doesn’t even slow down. He squeezes beneath the wood rail and keeps running.
Dog-Gone Danger Page 5