Dangerous Deception (6 page)

I
left for school half an hour early on Monday morning and walked to Lauren's house in order to help carry the bags of groceries to the school bus.

When school got out, Lauren and I removed the groceries from the supply closet, where Mrs. Reed had let us put them, and started down the street to the city bus stop. We waited nearly fifteen minutes before the number six bus rolled up and we climbed on board. We didn't talk much. I watched out the window, to be sure we got off at the right stop. I think Lauren was worried about that, too. We followed our progress on the map we'd printed off the transit company's website, and we disembarked at the right place.

Ten minutes later, we boarded the number fourteen bus, headed for Sophie's neighborhood.

By the time we walked up the uneven sidewalk to Sophie's door, we were both tired. We climbed the stairs to apartment 3 and knocked on the door. Nobody answered.

“Sophie?” I called. “It's Emmy.”

Silence.

We knocked again.

The door to apartment 4 opened and a scruffy young man with three earrings in each ear said, “Nobody's home there. I think they moved.”

“Moved!” I said. “Are you sure?”

“Nobody's been here since last week when the ambulance came. The mom got carried out on a stretcher, and the kids trailed along after it.”

“They haven't moved out,” I said. “They're only staying somewhere else while the mom is hospitalized.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Meow.” The scrawny black cat crept out from behind an old broom that leaned against the wall in the corner of the hall. “Meow.”

“Midnight!” I said. “What are you doing out here?”

“Meow!”

I squatted down, holding my hand out toward Midnight. He hesitated, then approached and sniffed my fingers.

“Dang cat's driving me nuts,” the man said. “It cries and scratches on their door all night long.”

“Have you fed him?” I asked.

“It ain't my cat,” the man said. “Why would I feed him?”

“The poor thing is hungry,” I said.

I dug in one of the grocery bags, lifted out a bag of dry cat food, ripped off a corner of the bag, and shook some food onto the floor. Midnight began eating.

“We brought some food for the little girls who live here,” I said. “We'll leave it here, and if they don't come back in a few days, you can have it.”

“Okay,” he said. “Leave as much as you want.”

I held out the bag of cat food. “Would you feed Midnight and give him a bowl of water?”

“Not me,” he said. “I don't like cats, especially black ones. Black cats bring bad luck.”

“That isn't true,” Lauren said. “That's a silly superstition.”

“Whatever.”

Lauren and I glanced at each other. I wanted to give this guy a lecture about kindness and common sense. Either that or a good hard kick in the shin.

Instead, I asked him, “By any chance, do you have a Post-it note that I could have?”

“A what?”

I held up my fingers to indicate the size and said, “Those little papers that have stickum on the back.”

He shook his head. I don't think he knew what I meant.

I ripped a three-inch square piece off the top of one of the paper grocery bags, then rooted in my backpack for a pencil.
Dear Sophie: Call me!
I put down my phone number, and signed the note
Emmy (Your Secret Friend)
.

“I don't suppose you can give us a piece of tape,” Lauren said to the man.

“Nope. No tape,” he said.

I wedged the note into the crack of Sophie's door as hard as I could, hoping she'd find it. I did not believe she had moved because she would never move and leave Midnight behind. Probably her mother remained in the hospital, and Sophie was staying elsewhere and had no way to get home to take care of her cat.

The man abruptly closed the door to apartment 4, leaving Lauren and me—and Midnight—in the hall.

“Thanks for nothing,” I muttered.

“I think his name is No Help,” Lauren said.

“If we leave the bags of food here,” I said, “No Help will grab them the second we're out the front door.”

“You're probably right,” Lauren agreed, “but I don't want to carry them home on the bus.”

“Neither do I.”

Lauren and I left all the groceries except the cat food in front of apartment 3. As we walked down the stairs, Midnight followed.

“Midnight would be better off outside,” I said. “He can drink from the puddles.” I opened the door and let Midnight go out.

I headed around the side of the building. “I'll leave the open bag of cat food behind the Dumpster,” I said. “He was hanging around the Dumpster when Sophie found him, so he'll probably go there to scrounge for food.”

“He's following us,” Lauren said.

Midnight rubbed against my legs as I tore a larger hole in the side of the cat food bag and put it in back of the Dumpster. I was afraid if I set it in front where it was easily seen, someone would pick it up and throw it away.

As soon as I put the bag down, Midnight started crunching on the food.

“That bag should last him until Sophie's family comes back,” I said.

As Lauren and I walked to the bus stop, she said, “We need to find out what's going on with Sophie. I'm pretty sure she'll never see one ounce of the food we just left, even if she comes home today.”

I agreed. “My grandpa says people who are kind to animals can be trusted,” I said, “but be wary of those who aren't.”

“I think your grandpa's right,” Sophie said. “No Help wouldn't even feed a hungry cat when he knew the cat's family was away.”

“I wish I'd asked Sophie what her last name is,” I said. “If we knew that, we could call the hospital and find out her mom's room number, and go there.”

“Maybe we can find her address online, and see who lives there,” Lauren suggested. “Then we'd have the last name.”

“Good idea.”

“I'll do that tonight,” she said, “and let you know if I learn anything.”

We boarded the bus and found seats together. I felt lucky to have a friend like Lauren, who felt the same way I did about important things such as helping Sophie and feeding a hungry cat.

By the time we had transferred to the second bus, I was already worrying about Midnight. “Midnight was used to being indoors,” I said. “I'm surprised that Sophie left him out in the hall. I would have thought she'd leave him shut inside with lots of food and water and his pan of dirt.”

“Maybe he escaped when she wasn't watching,” Lauren said. “My cat did that once, and we didn't even know he was gone until one of our neighbors called to tell us that Gus was on top of their car sleeping in the sun.”

I envisioned Sophie calling 911 because her mother was so sick. An ambulance came, and Midnight got scared with all the commotion. While the emergency medical workers rolled a gurney out the door, he bolted. I wondered if No Help had let Sophie use his phone to call the medics. Probably not.

All I wanted to do when I got home was veg out in my room, but Mom had volunteered to bake cookies to serve after the school's band concert, and she wanted me to help. Usually, I'd be happy to roll out cookie dough, cut it into fancy shapes, and snitch as much raw dough as I could when Mom wasn't looking. That night, I was too worried about Sophie and her mom and Midnight to get into the spirit of baking cookies.

Also, now that I skipped the treats at recess and after school, I found I didn't miss them. As my craving for sugary snacks diminished, healthier food tasted better. I didn't intend to diet, but I wasn't going to gobble goodies any more, either.

Mom noticed that I didn't eat any of the warm cookies.

“Do you feel okay, Emmy?”

“I'm tired.”

She reached over and put her hand on my forehead. “You don't seem to have a fever. We can wait until tomorrow to frost these.”

As soon as the last pan of cookies came out of the oven, I got ready for bed. Mom was narrowing down the contest entries to her top ten when I said good night. I realized that Sophie's thank-you letter had never come. One more worry to stir into my pot of problems.

Although I was tired, it took me a long time to fall asleep. I kept wondering what had happened in Sophie's family that made her refuse to meet Mrs. Reed and reluctant to go to the food bank. When Waggy curled up beside me, I wondered where Midnight was spending the night.

Rain tap-danced on the roof over my bed. I hoped Midnight had found a place to stay dry. He was such a small cat, in such a harsh neighborhood.

As soon as I got on the school bus the next morning, Lauren said, “I looked at the county real estate records and found out who owns the building where Sophie lives. It's a business called Winkowski Associates. The president is John Winkowski. I called his office. He wasn't available, so I told his secretary that I needed to contact my friend from school who lives in apartment 3 of the building on East Sycamore.”

“Good thinking.” While I'd been home fretting uselessly, she had taken action to try to solve our problem.

“I said I couldn't remember Sophie's last name and asked if she could tell me what it is, but she refused. She said Winkowski Associates does not disclose any personal information about their tenants.”

“No surprise.”

“I told her Sophie's mom was in the hospital and I was trying to help them,” Lauren continued, “but I don't think I should have said that.”

“Why not?”

“Because she jumped on that news and started asking me a bunch of questions. Which hospital? What was wrong with her? Was anyone still staying in the apartment?”

“Uh-oh,” I said. “I'll bet someone went right over there. Maybe Sophie's mom owes back rent.”

“That's what I think, too,” Lauren said. “Instead of Sophie finding our note, someone from Winkowski Associates probably found it and threw it away.”

“We need to go back there,” I said. “If the note is gone, we'll leave another note.”

“Take tape this time,” Lauren said.

“Can you go today?” I asked.

Lauren shook her head. “I have an orthodontist appointment after school. Let's go tomorrow.”

We agreed to return the next day, but the more I thought about the situation, the more uneasy I felt. By the time school let out, I had decided to return to Sophie's apartment by myself. I left a voice-mail message for Mom, telling her I was finishing up my community service project and would be home in time for dinner. Then I caught the city bus on the first leg of the ride to Sophie's apartment.

The bags of groceries were gone. So was the note I'd wedged in the door. If Sophie had found it, I knew she would have found a way to call me by now.

No sound came from either apartment 3 or apartment 4. I knocked on Sophie's door and wasn't surprised when nobody answered. I'd brought a note with me, identical to the one I'd written the day before, and a roll of Scotch tape. I took them out of my jacket pocket and taped the note securely to the door.

Then I went downstairs and walked behind the building to see if the cat food had been eaten, but I never made it around to the back of the Dumpster because as I approached, I heard a soft meowing sound.

“Midnight?” I said. “Is that you?”

The meow came again, louder this time. I looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

“Midnight,” I said. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

The meow escalated into a mournful yowl.

I froze. The yowl came from inside the Dumpster!

T
he sides of the Dumpster were too high for me to see in. I needed something to stand on, and I needed a way to lift the cat out.

“I'll be right back,” I told Midnight. I raced back inside, up the apartment stairs, and pounded on the door of apartment 4. No one responded. No Help had probably thrown Midnight in the Dumpster, like a piece of garbage. He had admitted he didn't like cats, and he'd made it clear that he didn't care if Midnight starved to death.

I clattered down the stairs and knocked on the door of apartment 2. I heard nothing. My fury boiled over like an erupting volcano. I banged my fist on Apartment 1. Wham! Wham! Wham! My hand stung, but I didn't care.

“Hold your horses,” said a voice from inside. “I'm coming as fast as I can.”

An elderly woman wearing a flowered pink dress and a blue cardigan sweater opened the door. Both her hands rested on a metal walker. A cloud of white hair frizzed around her wrinkled face, and wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” I said. “I'm a friend of Sophie's, from apartment three. She isn't here because her mother's in the hospital, and somebody threw her cat in the Dumpster behind the building. Do you have a chair I can borrow?”

“Slow down,” the woman said. “I don't hear as well as I used to. Now, what's this about a cat?”

“Sophie's pet cat, Midnight, is in the Dumpster,” I said, speaking slowly and enunciating carefully. “I can hear him meowing, and I need to get him out, but I can't reach him. I need a ladder, or even a chair to stand on. Oh, and a container of some sort to lift him out, and maybe some rope.”

“Who are you?” the woman asked.

“I'm Emmy. I'm Sophie's friend.”

“I'm Mrs. Spangler. Rose Spangler.”

“How do you do?” I said. “Do you have something I can use to get me high enough to see inside the Dumpster?”

Mrs. Spangler backed up, pulling the walker after her, then turned around and headed toward her kitchen. I followed. “Would that work?” she asked, pointing to a step stool, the kind that folds flat but has two steps when it's opened.

“That's perfect!” I said. “Is it okay if I borrow it?”

“You're not going to jump down inside the Dumpster, are you?” Mrs. Spangler asked. “It isn't sanitary in there.”

I wrinkled my nose and shook my head.

“Good, because you might not get back out.”

“That's why I need something that I can lower down for Midnight to sit in while I pull him out. An empty box, maybe, or a basket.” I looked around Mrs. Spangler's tidy apartment. Lace doilies covered the arms of an overstuffed chair, and framed photos flanked a small TV set.

“My laundry basket might work,” Mrs. Spangler said. “It's in the bedroom.”

She led the way and I followed, wishing she could move more quickly. She opened her closet door and showed me a wicker laundry basket with a few clothes inside. “Dump the dirty clothes on the floor,” she instructed, “and take the basket.”

“Thank you!” I said. “Now all I need is rope or twine. I can tie it on the basket's handle, and lower the basket down, and then, when Midnight gets in it, I'll pull him out.”

“I don't have rope,” Mrs. Spangler said, “but I have yarn. I used to knit, before the arthritis bent my fingers too much. I still have a bag of yarn.” She showed me the yarn, and I selected a thick skein the color of cotton candy. By using several strands, it would be sturdy enough to hold the weight of the basket with Midnight in it.

While I cut six lengths of the pink yarn and threaded them through the opening in the basket's handle, Mrs. Spangler returned to the kitchen. I heard the sounds of a cupboard door closing, and then an electric can opener. As I tied off the yarn, she called, “I have bait, so kitty will get in the basket.”

She held out an open can of tuna.

“That's a great idea!” I said. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Spangler. You've been a huge help. I'll bring your things back as soon as I rescue Midnight.”

I took the step stool out first and opened it next to the Dumpster. When I climbed up, I could see Midnight standing forlornly on a pile of trash. Eggshells, coffee grounds, wadded-up paper napkins, orange rinds, and plastic bags filled with unidentifiable items were mixed together in a horrible hodgepodge of odor.

Next I carried out the laundry basket and the can of tuna. I placed the tuna in the basket, climbed back up the step stool, and tried not to inhale as I lowered the basket over the side. Midnight smelled the tuna right away and stepped toward it.

Get in the basket
, I thought as he sniffed and craned his neck forward, trying to reach the tuna without stepping into the wicker container. Luckily, he couldn't reach the tuna without getting into the basket. The second he stepped into the basket, I pulled on the yarn. Midnight turned when the basket moved, and for a second, I thought he was going to jump back onto the piles of garbage.

“Hey, kitty, kitty,” I said. “Hi, Midnight. You're a good boy. Stay where you are now. Good kitty. Good Midnight.”

My voice seemed to soothe him and, although his tail swished nervously, he stayed in the basket while I slowly hauled it up and over the top. As I lowered it to the top of the step stool, he leaped to the ground and ran.

I climbed down and put the can of tuna on the ground. “Here, Midnight,” I called. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

I thought he might be more likely to come if I moved away from the tuna, so I folded up the stool and returned it and the basket to Mrs. Spangler, who waited for me with her door open, peering anxiously out.

“I got him,” I said. “The tuna did the trick.”

“Where is he?” she asked.

“He ran off, but I'm sure he'll be back to finish his tuna. I left the can where he can find it.”

She nodded.

“Would you like to keep him until Sophie comes home?” I asked. If Midnight was shut in Mrs. Spangler's apartment, he would be safe until Sophie came looking for him.

“I wish I could,” she said. “I always had animals in the old days—dogs and cats and once even a pet rabbit named Ralph. Ralph chewed through all my electric cords, but I loved him, anyway. I can't take care of an animal anymore, though. It's all I can do to keep myself going. I can't lift an animal or bend enough to clean up a mess.”

“Thank you so much for helping me,” I said as I put the step stool in her kitchen.

“What if whoever threw him in there does it again?” she asked.

That awful possibility had occurred to me, too. If No Help had dumped Midnight once because the cat cried outside Sophie's door or attempted to get into the apartment building whenever the front door opened, he might try to get rid of Midnight a second time. I didn't want him to have another chance.

“I'm going to take the kitty home with me,” I said.

Until the words came out of my mouth, I had not considered taking Midnight with me, but once I said that, I knew it was the only way to be sure No Help didn't harm him.

“My parents will let me keep him until I can give him back to Sophie,” I said.

I was not at all sure my parents would let me keep Midnight but I spoke confidently, as if by convincing Mrs. Spangler, I was also convincing Mom and Dad.

I untied the yarn, and wiped off the basket with a soapy cloth before I returned it to Mrs. Spangler's closet. I tossed the clothes from the floor into it.

Mrs. Spangler smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “This is the most excitement I've had in a year,” she said. “I don't get many visitors and now I've had two in one week. First the girl upstairs needed to make a phone call, and now you needed help to rescue a cat. For once I'll have something interesting to tell my daughter the next time she calls.”

I promised myself that I'd return sometime to visit her, but right then I wanted to get back out to the Dumpster to catch Midnight. I hoped that getting thrown in the Dumpster had not made him so scared of people that he wouldn't come to me.

Mrs. Spangler waved as I left. “Come back any time,” she said. “Let me know how kitty gets along in his new home.”

As I rounded the back corner of the building, I saw Midnight sitting beside the empty tuna can, washing his whiskers.

“Hey, kitty, kitty,” I said. “Hey, Midnight.”

He strolled over and rubbed his head against my ankles. I let my breath out in relief. Then I scooped him up, held him against my chest, and headed for the bus stop.

A boy who appeared to be a year or two older than I am waited for the bus.

“Animals aren't allowed on the bus,” he said as I stopped beside him. “Once when my uncle and I were on the bus, some kid tried to bring his dog on board and the driver said he couldn't unless it was a service dog, like a Seeing Eye dog or a seizure alert dog.”

“This is my seeing eye cat,” I said.

“Yeah, right.”

“The bus driver won't know,” I said. “I'll put Midnight under my shirt.”

The boy looked doubtful. “I wonder how much the fine is for hiding a cat on board,” he said.

I shrugged. I hoped he didn't plan to give me away.

When I saw the bus approaching, I stuffed Midnight under my T-shirt and pulled my jean jacket shut, holding the cat against me with my left hand while my right hand dropped the fare into the slot.

Until then, Midnight had been fine with me holding him. He had snuggled against me and purred while we waited for the bus. Once he was under my shirt, however, he went berserk, struggling to get out. I hurried down the aisle, hunched over so that nobody would notice my abdomen popping up and down like a jumping bean. “Ouch!” I said as Midnight's sharp little toenails dug into my skin.

The boy I'd been talking to laughed. “Shh,” he said, holding one finger to his lips.

“Oh!” I gritted my teeth as I slid into the seat by the window. As soon as I sat down, I lifted my shirt far enough to grasp Midnight's paws and make him quit raking my stomach.

Although there were plenty of empty seats, the boy plopped down beside me and watched me wrestle with Midnight.

“He's shredding me,” I whispered.

“Move him so he's between your shirt and your jacket,” the boy said.

I did as he suggested and it helped a little, but Midnight still squirmed so much that his toenails penetrated the T-shirt. “I wish I had my backpack to put him in,” I said. “I'm going to bleed to death before I get this cat home.”

“Put disinfectant on your stomach as soon as you can,” the boy said. “It's easy to get an infection from a cat scratch.”

“Oh, great,” I said.

“Cat bites are even worse than cat scratches,” he said, “so don't let him bite you.”

I nodded grimly, imagining headlines worthy of Crystal:
Girl Dies While Rescuing Dumpster Cat
. Or maybe,
Doctor Sews Up Two Thousand Bloody Cuts on Sixth-Grader's Stomach
.

“I hope he doesn't have rabies,” the boy said.

Rabies! Knowing the financial status of Sophie's family, I was sure Midnight had not been vaccinated. I began to have second thoughts about saving Sophie's cat.

It's too late now, I thought. Operation Cat Rescue has started and I can't quit partway through. What could I do—turn Midnight loose on the bus?

“The treatment for rabies is painful,” the boy said. “You have to get shots in your stomach.”

I could have done without that bit of information. Was this kid deliberately trying to scare me or was he one of those people who speak without thinking what impact his words might have?

I thought we'd never get to my stop. When I pulled the cord, the boy stood up to let me out of my seat. “Good luck,” he said.

The bus driver watched suspiciously in his mirror as I stood hunched over and clutching my jacket while I waited for the back door to open. I stepped down, and immediately pulled Midnight out from under my clothes.

“You're killing me,” I told him. “You have to calm down.”

He sniffed the air, looking innocent, and quit struggling.

It helped to have a fifteen-minute wait between buses. As soon as Midnight came out from under my clothes, he settled right down. I stuck one hand under my shirt and gingerly touched my skin. Then I looked at my fingertips, expecting them to be dripping with blood, but I saw only a trace of red.

The second I stuck Midnight under my jacket to board the second bus, he turned into Monster Cat again.

“What do you have up your shirt?” the bus driver asked as I dropped my coins in the coin catcher. He leaned toward me, squinting. If I said I didn't have anything, he'd know I was lying and might not let me board the bus, so I decided to throw myself on his mercy.

“It's a cat,” I said. “Somebody threw him in a Dumpster and I rescued him and I don't have any other way to get him home.”

“In a Dumpster, you say?”

“That's right. I heard him meow and when I climbed up to look, I saw him standing in the garbage.”

“We don't allow animals on the bus,” the driver said, “unless they're service animals.”

“It's too far for me to walk home,” I said. “I couldn't leave him where I found him or the person who threw him in the Dumpster would do it again.”

The driver looked at me for a second, mulling it over. He glanced back toward the other passengers. There were only three people and none paid any attention to us.

“He could be my service cat,” I said.

“I reckon that cat of yours is doing a big service,” the driver said, “teaching you to be a kind person. Just don't let anyone else see him.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Midnight's squirming continued until I got off at my own street. By then my midriff felt as if I'd rubbed a cheese grater against it.

I tried to come up with a good explanation for Mom of where I got Midnight and why I needed to keep him. I already had Waggy so I couldn't use the argument that every kid should have a pet. One look at my scratched hands, not to mention my abdomen, would make
He followed me home
unbelievable.