Kelsey the Spy Page 8

  I can’t help Becca, but I can try to help lost pets.

  So as I pedal home, I detour through side streets, on the lookout.

  When I hear a bark, I glance around until I spot a rottweiler in a fenced front yard. I love seeing a happy dog safe in his yard. So many pets get lost like runaway Bobbsey. With so much else going on, I forgot to tell Becca and Leo about spotting the dog in Galena Park.

  Pets—like criminals in mysteries—often return to the scene of the crime. I head to the park where I last saw Bobbsey. I’ve started carrying around dog treats and a leash in my backpack, so if I can get close to him, he won’t get away this time.

  But I ride through the park three times and there’s no sign of the blue-eyed healer. Discouraged, I ride slowly home, then lock my bike in the apartment rack and trudge up the stairs.

  I’m surprised when the door opens before I can turn the knob.

  “Kelsey, about time you got home,” Mom says but she’s smiling. And she looks so professional in her animal control officer uniform.

  “Am I late for dinner?”

  “No, but I’ve been waiting for you.” She puts her arm around my shoulders and ushers me into the living room where we sit on the couch. She reaches for a stack of papers on the coffee table and hands them to me. “For you and your friends. Since you’ve recovered some lost pets, I thought you’d like these.”

  Missing pet flyers—hot off the press!

  “Wow, thanks, Mom!” I give her a hug, then eagerly flip through six flyers.

  Right on the top is an updated flyer for Bobbsey. His reward is now fifty dollars. The remaining flyers are for an elderly Siamese cat named Hugo, a pug named Pugsley, and a dachshund named Ditzy that I recognize because he was lost once before until Becca and I returned him. The flyer says that he escaped from a locked yard. A repeat offender, I think with a wry smile.

  Becca and Leo will be pleased when I tell them we won’t have to go online for lost pet news—I have an informant at home.

  During dinner, Mom is the center of the Case family universe. She tells us about meeting the other employees, touring the buildings, and reuniting owners with missing pets. I know there are unpleasant duties too, but it’s her first day so I don’t ask.

  Becca calls as I’m getting ready for bed. I take the phone into my room, shutting the door firmly.

  “Hey, Becca.” I keep my voice low because the walls are thin and my sisters are in the next room. “Is your mom still mad about Albert?”

  “Mom doesn’t blame me, but she’s stressed to the max. She’s says Albert could get sick if he stays with the birds very long. He needs to have his own water pond, but there aren’t funds to build him a safe enclosure.”

  “It can’t be that expensive,” I say. “We could help with our CCSC money. This would be a good cause to donate to.”

  “It would take hundreds of dollars—we don’t have enough.” Becca sounds so discouraged that I imagine her twisting her ponytail. “I thought a tortoise would be easy to care for—until I read Reggie’s list. It doesn’t just list all the foods Albert can and can’t eat. He also has to have an insulated building to sleep in that’s temperature controlled.”

  “Really?” I ask, surprised.

  “Aldabra tortoises are cold-blood reptiles and can’t heat themselves. Also, Albert doesn’t drink from a water bowl so he needs his own watering hole. Similar to what we have for the alligator—but it’s not like they can share the same enclosure.”

  “Tortoise soup,” I joke.

  “Not funny.” Becca groans. “Reggie’s instructions say Albert needs to be near a mulberry tree so he can stretch his neck to eat leaves. He needs interesting things in his pen so he gets exercise because he could get depressed if he’s bored. And the list goes on for three pages!”

  Becca is shouting now, so I pull the phone away from my ear.

  She takes a deep breath, then adds that she talked with Tyla and is going to her house tomorrow after school.

  “Did Tyla say anything about my notebook?”

  “Yeah. It was really awkward.” Becca pauses so long that I wonder if she hung up until she sighs.

  “What happened?”

  “Tyla said I betrayed our friendship and hurt her feelings when I accused her of being a thief. I felt awful. I was going to apologize until I remembered how horrible she was to you. So I told her it was her fault for taking your notebook at lunch.”

  “You did?” If I wasn’t holding the phone, I would applaud. Becca is finally standing up to Tyla!

  “It wasn’t easy but it felt good. Tyla said she was teasing and swore she didn’t have your notebook.”

  “She never admits being wrong.” I squeeze a pillow behind my back. “Do you believe her?”

  “I don’t know … but if she has it, she’ll return it soon. I’ll bet that your notebook will be in your locker when you get to school tomorrow.”

  “I hope so,” I say softly, then hang up and click off my bed lamp. I fall asleep imagining myself walking down the school hall, opening my locker, and there’s my notebook.

  When I wake up the next morning, I can’t wait to get to school to check my locker. Riding through the school gates, I quickly lock up my bike in the rack, then hurry to my locker.

  My hand trembles as I reach for the combination lock. I spin the dial so fast I mess up the numbers and have to start over. I hold my breath as the lock clicks open.

  I open my door and stare inside.

  There is something!

  And I gasp.

  - Chapter 13 -

  Donut Danger

  I reach into my locker and pull out a folded sheet of pale-yellow paper. I open it up and read:

  It looks like something a little kid would make in art class: jumbled words and pictures glued across scraps of paper like a collage. Some are in bold print, and others are in color or in tiny newspaper print.

  OMG!

  My first ransom note ever!

  I’m desperate to get my notebook back but I’m thrilled too, because I love puzzles. I stare down at the paper, wrinkling my nose at a chemical smell, like hair spray mixed with mouthwash. The first part of the note is easy. The notebook thief wants to meet at Donut D-Lite at 3:15, and I have to come alone. The donut picture confuses me at first until I realize it’s a pun. Donut = Do Not. Do not. So I’m not supposed to tell anyone. The paper eye watching me is creepy. Is it warning that if I don’t come alone or tell someone I’ll never see my notebook again?

  But why isn’t there a ransom demand?

  Usually a ransomer (is that even a word?) asks for money or for something in exchange. At least that’s how it works in books and on TV. But all the notebook thief asks is for me to go to a donut shop after school, which sounds kind of yummy.

  Why would Tyla leave a cryptic message instead of the notebook? And why work so hard cutting and pasting a do-it-yourself ransom note instead of printing one from her computer?

  Studying the paper, I’m troubled by the “do not tell anyone” line. Assuming it’s from Tyla, why does she want me to keep it a secret? Is it because she doesn’t want Becca to find out?

  When Becca arrives a few minutes later, I’m so tempted to show her the note. But I imagine the eyeball in the note spying on me. And I don’t want to lose my chance to get back my notebook. So I slip the ransom note into my backpack.

  “Sooo?” Becca gestures to my locker, then looks at me hopefully. “Was it there?”

  I hang my head. “No notebook.”

  “Kelsey, I’m so sorry.” Becca gives my hand a squeeze. “If Tyla had the notebook, your secrets would already be blasted across the World Wide Web. But I checked her social sites and nada.”

  “She’s keeping quiet to torture me—and it’s working.”

  “We’ll find it,” Becca assures me. “I’ll go home with Tyla after school and check under her bed—that’s where she usually puts important stuff. But I really don’t think it will be there.”

 
A startling thought hits me: I may be wrong about Tyla. She will be with Becca after school—at the same time I’m meeting the ransomer. Unless she can be in two places at once, she didn’t steal my notebook.

  “I won’t be back in time for a CCSC meeting,” Becca adds with a sigh. “But you can still come over to my house to see your kitten.”

  “I’d love to cuddle Honey, but I have other things to do.”

  “Leo has plans too,” Becca says.

  “When doesn’t he?” I give a frustration gesture. “Let me guess. He’s helping Frankie again?”

  Becca nods. “Leo finished the giraffe and is now assembling a warthog. But he stayed up late last night digging for information and texted what he found out about Reggie.”

  “What?” I lower my voice in case we’re being watched.

  “Reggie’s sister lives in Alaska—way too cold for a tortoise.” Becca shivers. “Leo tried calling her to find out Reggie’s phone number, but she didn’t answer. He left a message and is hoping to hear back soon. I sure hope we can talk to Reggie ASAP because time is running out for Albert.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, alarmed.

  Becca twists her pink-streaked black ponytail. “Mom contacted a tortoise club, and they’re looking for a home for him.”

  “But Reggie left him to us,” I argue. “She can’t give him away.”

  “She can and she will,” Becca says with a heavy sigh. “Reggie needs to come back soon.”

  My gaze falls to my backpack. “What else did Leo find out? Anything about my notebook?”

  “He doesn’t know who took it, but he narrowed the suspect list to three names.”

  “Who?” I ask, having a good idea who tops the list.

  “Erik Taylor, Sophia, and Tyla.” Becca frowns. “All I know about Erik is that he plays hoops and he’s a photographer for the yearbook committee. What do you know about him?”

  He posts a scandalous blog under the name the Corning Comic, I think as I shut my locker with a bang. “I can’t tell you his secret, but if his buddies find out about it, they’ll hate him.”

  “It’s that bad?” Becca leans so close her ponytail brushes my arm.

  I nod. Erik’s online comic strip mocks kids at our school. He posts under “the Corning Comic” so no one knows it’s him. We were partners once on an English project, and when I borrowed his notes, I found drawings for his website. No one would ever suspect he’s the Corning Comic—unless they read my notebook.

  “What about Sophia’s secret?” Becca asks in a hushed voice. “Is it bad too?”

  “Worse than Erik’s” is all I’ll say.

  I really like Sophia so I was disappointed when I overheard her telling Tyla she had bribed Perrin Jefferson, the assistant for the drama teacher, with hard-to-get theater tickets she’d gotten as a gift so he’d help her land the role of Nala in The Lion King. And the bribe worked because she got the part.

  “At least the thief hasn’t posted the secrets online,” Becca says.

  “Not yet.” As long as I follow the ransom instructions.

  I glance at my watch and wonder what I’ll find when I go to the donut shop. If Donut D-Lite wasn’t a popular business, I’d never go alone. My dad criticizes the donuts as “fast food” (his version of the F-word), but my mother loves D-Lite donuts and shares with us kids. The donut shop is near our old house, so I know exactly how to get there.

  I think about the ransom note all through my classes. Who sent it? Why leave a ransom note instead of the notebook? Will I find my notebook at D-Lite Donuts, or am I walking into a trap?

  I should tell Becca and Leo where I’m going. But they’d insist on coming. I have to follow the instructions, or I may never see my notebook again.

  Besides, what could be dangerous about going to a donut shop?

  As soon as the final bell rings, I race to my bike and pedal away.

  I’m off to meet a notebook-napper, I think with a thrill of excitement.

  I ride through my old neighborhood, passing the playground I enjoyed when I was little. I had so much fun running across the tire bridge and slipping down the swan-shaped slide with Ann Marie and Tori. Ann Marie still lives next to my old house. But a new family lives in our wonderful two-story home with its big yard and tree swing. I ride past my former street without even looking.

  The big, flashing pink donut in the sky beckons. When I’ve come here before—usually early in the morning—the parking lot has been packed with a line snaking out the door. But now the giant donut on the roof isn’t flashing. The parking lot is empty.

  Propping my bike up on the kickstand, I go over to the glassed front door. I peer through the window into darkness. I rattle the handle but the door is locked.

  Where is everyone?

  And I notice the Closed sign.

  I read the posted hours: 5 a.m.–2 p.m.

  It never occurred to me that such a popular business would close early. I’d expected lots of people and felt it was safe to come alone. I ignored the advice in Spy Now, Die Later: When meeting a suspect, always have backup.

  Instead, no one knows where I am—except the thief.

  The smart thing to do would be to ride away, but what about my notebook? Does the thief plan to return it, or is this a cruel prank?

  I turn around in place, slowly, on the alert for anything suspicious.

  A good spy assesses the situation before deciding on a course of action. Assuming the thief is one of our suspects, it’s unlikely he or she is inside a closed business. But there are no cars or even a bike in the parking lot, only a trash can and a garden shed.

  Waiting around is boring. Waiting for an unknown thief is risky. The smart thing to do would be to leave now. But I really, really want my notebook.

  So I straddle my bike, my sneaker toes poised to kick off at the first hint of trouble. Glancing down at my watch, I watch seconds tick by into minutes.

  By three thirty, I’m fuming inside. This whole ransom-note drama is a prank. No one is coming. I’m pretty sure the thief (Gimme a guilty T-Y-L-A) is laughing while she has fun hanging out with Becca.

  Still, what if my notebook is here?

  I can’t search inside the store, but I can check around the building. I leave my bike and walk along the paved walkway circling the donut shop. I peer into bushes, behind a flower planter, and beneath a stone bench.

  No notebook.

  I walk around the back of the building to the dumpster. The lid is pushed back, showing plastic bags piled taller than me, some ripped open with trash spilling down to the concrete.

  A few weeks ago, Becca, Leo, and I rescued kittens from a dumpster in a creepy alley. This dumpster smells and looks worse. Do I want my notebook badly enough to search through piles of trash?

  The stench of decaying food and sour milk turns my stomach. Searching through dozens of trash bags would take hours and make a huge mess. So I just search around the dumpster. I’m pushing aside a trash bag covered in donut sprinkles when I hear an odd noise.

  Whirling around, I don’t see anyone.

  I start to turn back to the trash when there’s a thud.

  And this time I can tell where it’s coming from—inside the shed at the back of the parking lot. It’s a small metal shed, probably used for tools and storage.

  I hear the thud again. And another sound, soft and plaintive … like a moan.

  OMG! Something alive is inside the shed!

  I stare ahead, holding my arms around myself so I don’t freak out.

  When I hear a whimper, I worry that someone is bleeding or dying. And it’s up to me to save them. But then I think of horror movies where zombies and monsters burst out of dark places. Should I run to the shed to help?

  Or should I run away?

  I finally decide the safest thing to do is find an adult who can help. I turn around and start for my bike … but stop when I hear the whimper again.

  The sound clicks in my head.

  I know that whimper!


  Instead of fleeing for my own safety, I race forward. When I reach the shed, I lift the metal latch, surprised but relieved it’s not locked. The door slides open with a scraping sound.

  Blue eyes gleam dangerously at me from the darkness.

  - Chapter 14 -

  Puzzling

  “Bobbsey!” I cry, then soften my tone as I repeat his name in a soothing way that won’t frighten him.

  The dog quivers in the shadows. His bobbed tail wags so I’m sure he won’t bite me. Still I don’t make any sudden moves, taking one step forward with my hand outstretched so he can smell me and know I’m a friend.

  Whining, Bobbsey cowers and backs away. I stand very still while I try to figure out how to catch him. If I grab and miss, he’ll run out the open door behind me.

  Keeping my gaze focused on Bobbsey, I reach back with one hand and feel for the door latch. I don’t want to shut the door completely—that would leave us both in the dark. I need to close it enough to block him from escaping. My fingers slide around a metal handle. I pull slowly, light dimming to only a crack in the door. I call Bobbsey soothingly by his name to hide any noise the door might make.

  With the door open a few inches, sunlight streams behind me. As my eyes adjust, shadowed shapes become clearer. This is a garden shed with a rake, a hoe, a ladder, a wheelbarrow, and coils of hose. Nothing I can use to catch a scared dog.

  “It’s okay, Bobbsey,” I murmur, bending my knees so I seem shorter than usual and less threatening.

  He whines but lifts his head, his blue eyes shining eagerly. I can tell he wants to come over to me. This is exactly why I started carrying about a leash and dog treats in my backpack. Moving slowly and keeping my gaze on the dog, I feel around in my backpack until I find the dog treats.

  When I lift the steak-flavored one, Bobbsey jumps to his paws. He barks and wiggles his stubby tail.

  “It’s all yours, boy.” I hold the treat closer so the savory smell breezes in the small shed, making me a little hungry. Not that I’d resort to eating dog treats … Well, not unless I was stranded and starving.