by Karen King
When Mr and Mrs McFarlane returned, they joined the search too. So did Emily Williams. She adored Fluffy and always made a fuss of her. Actually she loved animals, period. I saw her stop to stroke a vicious-looking cat in the street yesterday. The cat looked like it would scratch your eyes out as much as look at you, but it came meekly to Emily and happily cuddled up to her.
We all searched until it was too dark to search any more, but there was still no sign of Fluffy. The little dog seemed to have vanished off the face of the Earth (or at least from the town of Little Cragg). Gran was distraught.
‘My precious little princess, what can have happened to her?’ she sobbed. ‘She’ll be scared and hungry. What if she’s trapped somewhere? Or injured?’
I felt terrible, I can tell you. ‘I’m sorry, Gran. I’ll find her,’ I promised. ‘First thing tomorrow, I’ll be on the case.’
‘On the case! I think you watch too many detective movies, young lady,’ Mr Winkleberry said scathingly.
I didn’t bother to tell him that I was actually a bit of a detective myself and had solved a couple of mysteries back at home. I thought I’d keep that information to myself for a while. My instincts told me that whoever was responsible for Fluffy’s disappearance was someone who knew her well, and I didn’t want that person to be on their guard. As Vince always says, the culprit is usually right under your nose!
Chapter 3
Suspects
I thought about how Vince would try to find Fluffy. Find a reason for the crime, list the suspects then eliminate them one by one is what he always told his sidekick, Mac. So, the first thing I had to work out was whether someone had let Fluffy out of the garden hoping she’d get lost, or whether she’d been taken. I remembered Gran telling me that Fluffy was favourite to win a dog show next week. Could this be why someone had stolen her?
I got out my notepad and lucky green pen, and sat in bed, making notes:
I knew that Mr and Mrs McFarlane had gone out right after breakfast, as usual, and I had seen Emily fussing over Fluffy in the hall at about eleven thirty, just as she was on her way out too. (Emily wasn’t one for getting up early.) I looked back at my notes. That meant there was a ‘window of opportunity’ of thirty minutes when Fluffy could have been taken.
First thing in the morning I checked out the crime scene. Standing outside Gran’s garden, with my back to the open gate, I looked around. Facing me was a patch of waste ground, where people often parked their cars, then gates backing onto another row of houses. High fences or walls surrounded each of the yards, so unless anyone was walking past, or looking out of their bedroom window, someone could have opened Gran’s gate and let Fluffy out, completely unnoticed.
With so many conflicting thoughts flying around my head, I had to keep a record of all the possible reasons for Fluffy’s disappearance. Opening up my notepad at a clean page, I wrote:
‘What are you doing?’
It was Max – again. I was about to tell him to shove off, when it occurred to me that he might be useful. He knew more about Gran, Fluffy, the neighbours and the neighbourhood than I did.
‘I’m going to find out who’s taken Fluffy,’ I said. ‘Do you know if any of the neighbours have a grudge against Gran or might want to get rid of Fluffy?’
‘Mrs Brewson,’ Max said immediately. ‘She and Auntie Sue are always arguing ’cos Kittikins, Mrs Brewson’s cat, digs up Auntie Sue’s plants, and Fluffy keeps chasing Kittikins and frightening her.’
Kittikins. I remembered the woman with the hairy mole clutching the tabby cat yesterday, saying Fluffy was a nuisance. ‘Where does she live?’
‘Two doors away from us,’ Max told me.
That was definitely the woman I saw.
I wrote another heading. Suspects. Underneath it I wrote – Mrs Brewson.
‘What about the other neighbours? Has Gran fallen out with any of them?’
‘Well … she doesn’t like the Arnold sisters – they live next door to us. She says their house is messy. It is too! Mum’s always moaning about it. Auntie Sue says it’s bad for trade.’ Max frowned. ‘And then there’s Mrs Crystal. She lives in Seagull Villa, a B&B over the road. One of her guests left her to stay at Beachview last year and she’s never forgiven Auntie Sue for it.’
‘Ok, we have three neighbours who could be suspects then.’ I added the Arnold Sisters and Mrs Crystal to the list.
‘Do you think one of them could have taken Fluffy?’ asked Max.
I shook my head. ‘No, they live too close and wouldn’t be able to hide her. But they could have let her out on purpose, hoping she’d get lost. We can’t eliminate anyone just yet.’
Time for some more deductions. If Fluffy was stolen rather than set free, how did the culprit do it, and more importantly, why? I put another header into my notepad:
‘Do you know the names of any of Gran’s competitors?’ I asked Max. ‘You know, people who enter their dogs in shows too.’
Max considered this. ‘There’s Mr Mudlark. He was mad ’cos Fluffy won ‘Best of Breed’ at the last show. His Bichon, Maisy-May, is entering the Rivington show next week.’
‘Amy! Can you come here a moment please,’ Gran called from the back door. ‘PC Lambard wants to question you.’
Gran had telephoned the police last night and they’d promised to send the local officer around this morning to investigate Fluffy’s disappearance. ‘Better go,’ I told Max.
‘Doesn’t he want to talk to me too?’ he asked. ‘I was the last one to see Fluffy in the garden.’
He had a point. Max told me he’d seen Fluffy a few minutes before she went missing. ‘What time did you see her?’
Max didn’t hesitate. ‘Ten past two.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Amy!’
‘Coming!’ I looked at Max. ‘You come too.’
PC Lambard took a statement from me and Max, then asked Gran for a photo of Fluffy. ‘Dogs disappear all the time,’ he said. ‘Sometimes they turn up again a few days later, sometimes we never find them.’ He looked sternly at me. ‘You should have taken better care of …’ he glanced at his notepad, ‘Fluffy, young lady. There are a lot of holidaymakers down at this time of year. If someone saw a valuable dog like that wandering the streets, they could have taken her home with them.’
‘Oh no, poor Fluffy! I might never see her again!’ Gran wailed.
Mr Winkleberry put his arm around her shoulder and glared at me.
‘Don’t you think someone local might be behind her disappearance?’ I asked.
PC Lambard gave me another stern look. ‘This isn’t New York. We don’t have such crimes in Little Cragg. Besides, Fluffy is too well known. No one could hide her for long. Nope, I reckon she’s either wandered off or been taken well out of the area by now I’m afraid. I presume you have her micro-chipped, Mrs Carter?’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ Gran sniffed.
‘Sooner or later a dog will need to go to thevet, and that’s when we’ll find her. Until then, there’s nothing we can do but wait and hope she turns up.’
‘I’m not going to sit around hoping Fluffy will turn up,’ I told Max as I went into the kitchen to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. ‘I’m going to find her. This crime will be a cinch for a super-sleuth like me to solve.’
‘Super-sleuth?’ he raised an eyebrow cheekily. ‘You?’
‘Yes, me. I have solved quite a few mysteries back home in the US,’ I told him.
‘Really?’ He didn’t sound too convinced.
The music on Gran’s kitchen radio suddenly faded, and a newsflash came on. ‘We’re interrupting this programme to bring you some breaking news. Threats have been made against entrants of the Rivington dog show, due to be held next week,’ the newscaster’s voice boomed.
The Rivington Show? That was the show that Fluffy was supposed to enter.
‘Shhh!’ I told Max, turning up the radio so I could hear the bulletin …
PODCAST 1
>
Go to www.amycartermysteries.com/dognapped-1
Max looked at me wide-eyed. ‘Do you think it has anything to do with Fluffy’s disappearance?’
‘I really hope not,’ I replied. ‘Because if it has, we might never see Fluffy again, and Gran could be in great danger.’
Chapter 4
A Lead
‘What? You mean those animal rights people could have kidnapped Fluffy?’ Max’s eyes were like saucers. ‘And they might be after Auntie Sue too?’
I thought about it for a minute and had to admit that it was a bit far-fetched. Max saw Fluffy in the yard at 2.10 pm. Was it likely that someone from this animal rights group would be in the area just at the very time Fluffy was left in the yard alone? That they were parked on the patch of waste ground, lying in wait, heard her barking, saw her in the yard, sneaked in, grabbed her, carried her out to the car and drove off with her, all in the twenty minutes between Max seeing her and me discovering that she was missing? And, knowing Fluffy, she would have barked like mad if someone tried to drag her off, yet I’d heard nothing. ‘Well, we have to consider all possibilities, but I still reckon it’s someone closer to home. The first thing to do is find out what everyone was doing at the time when Fluffy went missing.’
‘How are we going to do that?’ asked Max.
‘Interview them. And I’m going to start with Mr Winkleberry. He was in at the time, so he might have seen or heard something. You keep quiet. Let me do the talking,’ I warned him.
PC Lambard had gone now, and Mr Winkleberry was sitting on the couch in the guest lounge, close to Gran. Too close. He’d been all over Gran like a rash since Fluffy had disappeared. And, come to think of it, he hadn’t been that bothered when I told him Fluffy had gone. Maybe he let Fluffy out so Gran would turn to him? It was strange how he kept coming to stay at Beachview, year after year. Gran said he sometimes came a few times a year. I wouldn’t want to spend all of my holidays in the same place. Maybe he was soft on Gran. So soft, that he resented all the time and attention she gave to Fluffy?
I took out my notepad and pen and went over to him. ‘You were in the house when Fluffy went missing, Mr Winkleberry. Did you hear or see anything suspicious?’ I asked. ‘Did you happen to look in the yard, or go out there at any point? Perhaps you noticed someone hanging around?’
‘If I had, young lady, I’d have told the police officer, wouldn’t I?’ Mr Winkleberry snapped. ‘Now, why don’t you stop playing detective and go out and see if you can find the dog. After all, you’re the one responsible for this.’
‘That’s not fair, someone deliberately let Fluffy out of the garden,’ Max blurted out.
I shot him a warning glance, but before I could say anything more, Emily poked her head around the door.
‘Any news about Fluffy, Mrs Carter?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Gran said, dabbing her eyes with a crumpled tissue. ‘The poor dear has been out all night. I hope she isn’t lying injured somewhere.’
‘I’m sure she isn’t, or someone would have found her by now,’ Emily reassured her. ‘Try not to worry, she’s sure to turn up soon.’
I followed Emily out into the hall. ‘Were you in yesterday afternoon between 2.10 pm and 2.30 pm when Fluffy disappeared?’ I asked. ‘If so, I wondered if you saw or heard anything strange?’
Emily shook her head. ‘You know I wasn’t, you saw me come in later.’
I had, hadn’t I? Although it was possible she’d come in and gone back out again. But Emily adored Fluffy, she’d be the first one to say if she saw anything strange.
‘I was just checking,’ I told her. ‘I can’t believe that Fluffy has disappeared without anyone seeing or hearing anything. I mean, she’s the sort of dog you notice.’
‘She’s a lovely dog, and I’m sorry I can’t help, but I’ll keep an eye out for her,’ Emily promised.
‘Amy, can you please go to the corner shop and get me some milk,’ Gran called.
I hated going to the store, but I felt so guilty for losing Fluffy, I would do anything to help Gran at the moment. ‘Sure. No probs!’
It turned out that, as usual, Gran didn’t just want a bottle of milk, but a whole heap of stuff. I took the list from her, and set off. Max followed me. Great – it really didn’t do my street cred any good to have a little kid with me.
‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’ I asked as soon as we were outside.
‘Charming! Well if that’s how you feel, don’t expect me to come running when you want some help finding Fluffy!’ he retorted, storming off.
He had a point. I needed him right now. I guess I could let him hang around with me until we had found Fluffy.
‘Okay, you can come with me,’ I shouted.
He turned around, arms folded. ‘Well, maybe I don’t want to now,’ he scowled. ‘Not unless you ask me properly.’
If I let him have the upper hand, I’d never hear the end of it. But, could I conduct the investigation without his help? I weighed up the odds of him storming off. He’d been hanging around me since I arrived, I didn’t reckon he’d stop doing it now. So I shrugged, ‘Please yourself,’ and set off up the street to the corner store. Sure enough, a few seconds later I heard Max running after me.
Mrs Brewson was already in the store, talking to another neighbour. She glanced at us, then walked over to the counter to pay for her shopping. But not before I had a chance to check out the contents of her basket.
‘Does Mrs Brewson have a dog?’ I quietly whispered to Max.
Max looked at me in surprise. ‘No, why?’
‘Because she’s buying a tin of dog food.’
Max spun around to stare at Mrs Brewson, I yanked him back. ‘Don’t let her know we’ve sussed her out. Just act natural.’
I raced around the store, gathering the stuff Gran wanted, hoping to finish at the same time as Mrs Brewson, but she got out of there pretty sharp and was halfway down the street by the time we left.
‘She knows we’re onto her, that’s why she made a quick getaway,’ I told Max.
‘Do you really think she’s got Fluffy?’
‘Well I don’t reckon she’s bought the dog food to make a pie, do you? You said yourself she doesn’t like Fluffy, and doesn’t get on with Gran.’
‘But if she doesn’t like Fluffy, why would she want to steal her?’ Max objected.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Duh! To teach Gran a lesson, of course. Let’s drop this shopping off at Gran’s, then stake out Mrs Brewson’s house. If Fluffy is in there, I’m going to get her back!’
I could hear Gran and Mr Winkleberry talking to someone in the guest lounge, so shouted out, ‘I’ve left the shopping in the kitchen, be back soon,’ and made a quick exit, pretending I hadn’t heard Mr Winkleberry shout for me to come back. He was only a guest, I didn’t have to take orders from him.
Max was waiting for me at Gran’s back gate. ‘What’s the plan?’ he asked.
I thought for a moment. Max lived nearer to Mrs Brewson, so it would be easier for him to keep an eye on the front of the house. ‘You watch the front, pretend you’re playing in the garden or something, and I’ll watch the back,’ I told him.
Max sneered. ‘I’m too old to play in the garden.’
I ignored him. ‘If we see or hear anything suspicious, we make a note of it. Then we compare notes later. Oh, and if Mrs Brewson goes out, let me know right away. Okay?’
‘How long do we watch the house for?’
‘As long as it takes.’
I went around the back to try and find a spy hole in Mrs Brewson’s fence, but there wasn’t one. I couldn’t see into the back yard at all, so I decided that I’d be better off watching from my bedroom window. I had a pretty good view from my attic room. But as soon as I went inside, Mr Winkleberry collared me. ‘Your gran’s having a lie down, so you can help me prepare the dinner.’
‘But I’ve got things to do,’ I protested.
‘Really? As it’s your fault that your
Gran’s so upset, I’d have thought you’d want to help her.’
Talk about blackmail. I had to peel the potatoes and prepare the cabbage while all Mr Winkleberry did was shove a few pork chops in the oven. If the doorbell hadn’t rung, I’m sure he’d have had me scrubbing the floor and vacuuming as well.
It was Max. ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be watching the back of Mrs Brewson’s house.’
‘I was, but Mr Winkleberry made me help him do the dinner,’ I explained. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’ve just seen Mrs Brewson go out,’ Max said. ‘And guess what?’ He paused dramatically.
‘What?’
‘I’ve just heard a dog bark inside her house.’
Chapter 5
Cornered
‘So, she has got Fluffy. I knew it! Well I’m going to get her back,’ I told Max.
‘How?’
‘I’ll have to find a way of getting into Mrs Brewson’s house. You stay here and keep watch. Warn me if Mrs Brewson comes home.’
‘How?’
Honestly, Max really was annoying sometimes. I searched in my pocket for the whistle I always carry, and handed it to him. ‘Just blow on this whistle three times.’
Knowing Mr Winkleberry would collar me to do another job as soon as I set foot in the kitchen, I sprinted around the corner to the back of the houses. I stood outside Mrs Brewson’s gate and peered over the top. The yard was empty apart from Kittikins curled up under a bush.
I tried the latch and was relieved to find the gate open. Cautiously, I stepped inside, closing the gate behind me before creeping up to the house. I pressed my head against the wall and listened intently. I was sure I heard a quiet whimpering – the sort of sound a dog would make if they were left alone in a strange place. I was certain now that Fluffy was in there. I had to get her out.
I tried the back door, but that – as expected – was locked. So I scanned the house for an open window. There was one half-open on the second floor. If I climbed up the drainpipe I should be able to slip my hand through and open it just wide enough to climb in.