News For Dogs (6 page)

Now that Mr. and Mrs. Walker’s trip was no longer a secret, it was suddenly all they could talk about. Bruce and Andi couldn’t have imagined that a trip abroad took so much preparation. Their parents had to get passports, purchase new luggage, and buy voltage converters so they could take their hair dryer and electric razor. And there were endless discussions about what clothes they should pack, since parts of Europe were cold and others were hot.

“I just wish they’d leave and get it over with,” Andi said irritably after what seemed like hours trapped at the family dinner table where their father had spread out maps and explained their travel routes and their mother had read aloud from an assortment of brochures.

Andi was so worn out by the demands of editing two newspapers that she had little energy to focus on
anything else. Although the print edition of
The Bow-Wow News
was a weekly, they had decided to publish the Internet edition once every two weeks. To Andi’s surprise, that required more work than the weekly. The second page of the online edition had to be sent individually to people who mailed them quarters, and typing all those e-mail addresses took forever.

There was also the challenge of having to select which lead article to feature on the Web site and exactly where to break it off so readers would be willing to pay to read the rest of it.

“Our second edition has to be about Barkley,” Tim insisted. “Next to the issue about Bully, that one’s our most popular.”

“That picture doesn’t look as clear as it did in the paper,” Andi said, studying the image on the computer screen. “If Mr. Murdock says that’s a stone, people might believe him.”

“It is not a stone!” Bruce was outraged by the suggestion. “I know what it is! I was there when it happened!”

“But you weren’t close enough,” Andi said, continuing her critical examination of the photograph. “It actually
could
be a stone. Or maybe a dead bird.”

“You can’t have it both ways,” Tim told her. “If
we use a picture that was taken from a far enough distance away so it shows both the dog and Mr. Murdock, the lump on the sidewalk won’t show up in any detail. If we zero in on that, Bruce will have to crop out Mr. Murdock.”

“I think I can fix that,” Bruce said thoughtfully. “I can enlarge just that one little section of the picture. It won’t be any harder than enlarging Bully’s meat loaf.”

“That would solve the problem,” Andi said. “And I’ll write a poem about it. I’ve already got the first verse:

“You can’t say that!” Bruce told her. “Mr. Murdock didn’t hit Barkley in the eye!”

“On the thigh!”
Andi hastily revised the verse. “That would rhyme. I’ll change it. ‘
And hit him on the thigh!
’”

“He didn’t hit him anywhere,” Bruce said in exasperation. “All he did was yank his leash.”

“That’s almost as bad,” Andi said. “He could have broken his neck. And ‘leash’ is hard to find a rhyme for. Debbie, how are you coming with the gossip column?”

“It’s Bebe’s turn to go to the Doggie Park,” Debbie said, patting her mother’s hair extensions into place. “And, instead of taking a notebook, I’m going to take a tape recorder. I don’t want to miss a word when Fifi’s owner tells Foxy’s owner about her date with Dr. Bryant.”

That week’s gossip column was a long one. Not only did Dr. Bryant buy Fifi’s owner dinner, he kissed her good night and gave her a handout about tick removal. In addition, Curly Roskin had eaten a pinecone, Frisky Mason had bitten the mail carrier, and Trixie Larkin had barked in the night and saved the family from a mouse that had gotten into the clothes hamper.

“I wouldn’t feel safe if we didn’t have Trixie,” said Mrs. Larkin.

For the online edition, Andi decided to break off the article about Barkley at the point where it said, “Then the poor little dog lifted his trembling head and pleadingly gazed at his master as if to ask — FOR THE REST OF THIS HORRIFYING
STORY, SEND FIFTY CENTS AND YOUR E-MAIL ADDRESS TO
THE BOW-WOW NEWS.”

“What’s ‘the rest of the story’?” Bruce demanded. “Nothing more happened except Mr. Murdock yelled at me and I ran. When people send us money, what are you going to say Barkley was asking?”

“‘Dear Master, why don’t you help Concerned Citizens for Clean Neighborhoods keep the sidewalks clean?’
” Andi said. “I know that’s not worth fifty cents, but I’ll send them my poem to make it longer. I did find a rhyme for ‘leash.’ It’s ‘quiche’ — that awful cheese pie with broccoli that Aunt Alice makes.

“You can’t say Barkley ate quiche for breakfast,” Bruce told her. “Not without a statement from the Murdocks. You’re going to have to come up with a different poem.”

The evening before Mr. and Mrs. Walker were due to leave, Aunt Alice invited the family over for dinner to discuss the details of the children’s visit. Mr. Walker wanted to be sure that his aunt knew that Bruce was not to take Red Rover out of the yard, and Mrs. Walker wanted them all in agreement that the children would spend their evenings at home with Aunt Alice with no jaunts down the block to check on their dogs.

“Those dogs will do just fine on their own,” she said. “I don’t want you children out wandering around after dark.”

Andi and Bruce had spent that afternoon at Tim’s house, helping to print and assemble the next print edition of the paper. That had taken them longer than they’d expected, and when they finally arrived at Aunt Alice’s house, their parents were already there. The three adults were in the living room with such somber expressions on their faces that the children knew immediately that something was wrong. Not just wrong, but
very
wrong. Mr. Walker was glowering, and Mrs. Walker looked as if she had been crying.

“Sit down,” Mr. Walker said ominously. “We have something serious to discuss. I received a call
at work today from Mr. Murdock. He is threatening to sue your mother and me as the guardians of minor children who have posted a libelous article and photo on the Internet. What have you and your friends done?”

“It wasn’t libel,” Andi said. “The story was true. Our legal advisor told us Mr. Murdock couldn’t sue us.”

“That’s right,” Aunt Alice interjected. “Andi consulted me about it. The facts of the story were documented by a photograph.”

Mr. Walker regarded his aunt incredulously. “Are you saying you knew about this and didn’t tell us?”

“It was a matter of confidentiality,” Aunt Alice told him. “Andi asked my professional opinion, and I gave it to her. If the children had done something wrong, I would have felt obligated to say something, but they were within their rights. Mr. Murdock was the one who defied a town ordinance.”

“I left a message on his answering machine,” Bruce said. “When he didn’t return the call, we figured his attorney told him he didn’t have a case.”

“That’s not how things stand today,” Mr. Walker
said. “Mr. Murdock’s attorney believes he has grounds for a civil suit. Mr. Murdock says what you’ve posted on the Internet is completely different from what was in
The Bow-Wow News.
He says it’s a total fabrication.”

Bruce turned to Andi accusingly. “Did you post that poem about hitting Barkley in the eye?”

“No,” Andi said. “I didn’t even post about the quiche.”

“I want to see what you’ve put on that Web site,” Mr. Walker said. “Alice, I don’t suppose you have a computer?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Aunt Alice told him. “I’ve taken an interest in my old career again and I need to do online research.”

She got up from the sofa and led the way up the stairs to what had been her sewing room. That room now looked very different. The sewing machine had been replaced with a computer and printer, and they were bracketed by bookshelves. The titles of the books all pertained to forensic science, police procedures, and criminal investigations.

“Some of those materials are outdated,” Aunt
Alice said. “They’ve been stored for years in the attic, and while they’ve been gathering dust, the world has been changing all around us. I’m in the process of replacing them with books that I’ve ordered online. It’s amazing how many investigative tools are available now that my husband and I never could have dreamed of.”

She switched on the computer and the screen leapt to life. In a matter of seconds the current edition of
The Bow-Wow News
was there before them. The banner headline read “Barkley’s Master Won’t Scoop.” Beneath that there was the picture of Barkley with Mr. Murdock.

“Oh, my!” Aunt Alice said softly. “I never imagined!”

Mr. Walker drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, as if he was afraid he might strangle on it.

“There’s something wrong,” Mrs. Walker said, staring at the image. “That pile on the sidewalk is
bigger than the dog
!”

“Maybe I enlarged it a little too much,” Bruce conceded. “I wanted people to be able to tell what it was.”

“You accomplished that,” said Aunt Alice. “But, dear, there’s so
much
of it! If Barkley produced something that size, the poor animal would be dead.”

“This site must be closed down immediately!” Mr. Walker exploded. Bruce had never seen his father so angry. “Are you able to do that from here?”

“Tim can do it,” Bruce said. “He’s the one who set up the Web site. But this isn’t Tim’s fault. I took the photo and enhanced it.”

“It’s not Bruce’s fault either,” Andi said. “I gave him that assignment. If anybody goes to jail, it should be me.”

“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was,” said Mr. Walker. “Parents are liable for the illegal actions of their children. And the timing couldn’t be worse! Your mother and I are due to leave for Europe tomorrow.”

“There’s no way we can go,” Mrs. Walker said in a whisper, struggling to hold back tears. “We can’t possibly leave the country when all this legal activity is crashing down on us.”

“Now, dear,” Aunt Alice said gently, “this isn’t as much of a catastrophe as you may imagine.” She
put a comforting arm around Mrs. Walker’s shoulders. “I find it hard to believe there will be a lawsuit. If Mr. Murdock sues you, Concerned Citizens for Clean Neighborhoods will make posters and hold demonstrations. He doesn’t want that sort of publicity. All he wants is for the article and the photo to go away.”

“Phone Tim right now and tell him to take down the site,” Mr. Walker told Bruce. “And if you have copies of that photo, destroy them.”

“Yes, Bruce, do call Tim,” said Aunt Alice. “My cell phone’s there on my desk. But let’s not be too hasty about destroying the photograph. You should probably destroy the enhancement, but let’s keep the original. If Mr. Murdock makes problems for us in the future, we might need that photograph for evidence.

“Now, while Bruce is busy taking care of business, why don’t the rest of us gather at the dinner table? By now, my quiche is probably all dried out.”

Their parents did leave for Europe as scheduled, but not without a lot of agonizing. Mr. Walker spent much of the next morning on the phone with Mr. Murdock, while Mrs. Walker waited nervously by the open suitcases, uncertain whether she should continue packing or hang everything back in the closet.

When Mr. Walker finally announced that Mr. Murdock had agreed not to sue them, as long as the Web site was down and the children stopped publishing the newspaper, Mrs. Walker first sighed with relief and then announced, “We can’t go.”

“What do you mean, we can’t go?” Mr. Walker said impatiently. “I told you, he’s not going to sue.”

“But what if something else happens while we’re gone?” Mrs. Walker said.

“Everything will be fine,” Aunt Alice assured her.
“I give you my word, the children won’t publish another issue of
The Bow-Wow News
.”

“But what about all the people who have taken out ads?” Andi asked. “And the people who paid three dollars for a summer subscription?”

“You will write them letters of apology and return their payments,” her father told her firmly. “This is totally out of hand. How much money do you have in that bank account, anyway?”

“After I paid for Red Rover, it was two hundred and seventy-six dollars,” Bruce said. “But now it’s more, because we’ve gotten new ads and subscriptions.”

“That’s what I mean,” wailed Mrs. Walker. “We can’t leave now! There’s so much that needs to be done to get all this straightened out!”

“I will see to that,” Aunt Alice promised. “Now, hurry and go to the airport before you miss your plane.”

So finally a taxi was summoned, and the suitcases were closed and loaded into the trunk. Then there were another ten minutes of hugs and kisses and a recitation of instructions. Andi was greatly relieved when the cab pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the street, but even that
wasn’t the end of it. Their father phoned from the airport to make sure they understood that they were not to do anything — visit their friends, play with their dogs, write a poem, use the computer, watch TV — until all their financial obligations were dealt with.

But even with the Web site down, mail kept coming.

“Your letter carrier must be exhausted,” Aunt Alice commented when Debbie arrived at her house with two plastic trash bags filled with envelopes.

“My parents won’t let me bring these into our house,” Debbie said. “Mr. Walker spooked them when he told them about Mr. Murdock’s lawyer. They’re afraid I’m going to be labeled a juvenile delinquent. They say this is ill-gotten money and we have to return it, but they don’t want my fingerprints on it and they don’t want my handwriting on the envelopes.”

“You mean I’m going to have to answer these all by myself!” Andi exclaimed.

“The four of you must do it together,” said Aunt Alice. “After all, this business was a partnership. Debbie can wear my garden gloves so she won’t leave prints, and she can print the addresses in
block letters. And there’s no way that any of you are juvenile delinquents. You just tried to do too much and made a few small mistakes.”

Although they did work together writing notes and addressing envelopes, there wasn’t much conversation. Tim was angry about having to take down the Web site, and Debbie was heartsick that her new gossip column would go unpublished. For their part, Bruce and Andi were upset that the hours of laborious paperwork were forcing them to neglect their dogs.

By the third day, however, the money had been returned, and they were reunited with their pets. Although Bruce couldn’t take Red running, he did buy a book about dog training and spent many hours teaching him to respond to commands. Andi and Debbie took Bebe and Friday to the Doggie Park, where Friday huddled next to Andi’s ankles, but Bebe had a fine time. Debbie took along her tape recorder, even though she wasn’t writing her column anymore.

“It’s gotten to be a habit,” she told Andi. “Like Bruce with his photography, I’ve found my life’s calling — I was placed on this earth to be a spy. The odd thing is that there seems to be so few dogs
here. Trixie and Foxy and Fifi aren’t anywhere around.”

Mr. and Mrs. Walker phoned often from Europe and sent e-mail from Internet cafés. After the first few days, when they worried constantly about what was going on back in Elmwood, they seemed to start to relax and really have fun.

Aunt Alice continued to assure them that everything was fine, although that wasn’t exactly true. Andi was dusting the living room furniture, which was one of the chores she had to do each day, when Aunt Alice arrived home from her weekly Garden Club meeting. Normally she returned from those meetings bubbling with enthusiasm, loaded down with packets of seeds and clippings from plants. Today she should have been especially happy because she was carrying an armful of roses with bright pink indents and white petals. But she seemed more worried than delighted.

“After the meeting, I talked with Mrs. Bernstein,” she told Andi. “She’s distressed about what seems to have happened to a recipe that she gave to
The Bow-Wow News.
She says her friends who went online and ordered it are no longer talking to her.
Did you mail out something different from what was in the paper?”

“I did change a few things,” Andi admitted. “A veterinarian told us that some of the ingredients in Bully’s favorite meat loaf weren’t good for dogs, so I replaced those with things that are healthier.”

“Like dog food?” Aunt Alice speculated.

“Only the best,” Andi assured her. “The man who makes that dog food was one of our advertisers.”

“Well, that explains it,” Aunt Alice said. “All the Bernsteins’ friends who have eaten at their home have told them they’re not coming back. They must think the meat loaf she served them was made with dog food.”

“Oh, no!” Andi exclaimed. “Poor Mrs. Bernstein! I’ll call her right now and apologize.”

She rushed to the phone and dialed the Bernsteins’ number. Mr. Bernstein answered immediately.

“Yes?” he said. His voice sounded strained and unnatural. For a moment Andi wasn’t even sure who he was.

“This is Andi Walker,” she said. “Is Mrs. Bernstein there, please?”

“She can’t come to the phone,” Mr. Bernstein said. “We don’t want to tie up the line. Can I give her a message?”

“Please tell her I’m sorry about the meat loaf recipe,” Andi said. “I didn’t mean to make her friends mad at her. I’d print a retraction, except we no longer have the newspaper, but if she’d like for me to write personal letters to the people who ordered the recipe —”

“Forget it,” Mr. Bernstein said shortly. “We have far worse things to worry about. I’m going to have to hang up now. Please don’t call back. We need to keep our line open for a very important call.”

There was a sharp click as he hung up.

Andi felt a chill of apprehension. Something dreadful had happened to the Bernsteins, and it didn’t seem likely it had anything to do with Mr. Murdock.

Bruce was at their house, putting Red Rover through a training session, so Andi raced down the block and burst in through the backyard gate.

“We need to go to the Bernsteins’ right now!” she told him.

“Why? What’s happened?” Bruce asked her.

“Aunt Alice saw Mrs. Bernstein at Garden Club,” Andi said. “The friends who ordered our meat loaf
recipe think she served it to
them.
When I called to apologize, Mr. Bernstein wouldn’t let me talk to her. He said he was waiting for an important call and hung up on me. I’m afraid Mrs. Bernstein may have eaten the wrong meat loaf. Maybe the dog food made her sick, and Mr. Bernstein is waiting for a call from the doctor.”

“If Mrs. Bernstein was sick, she wouldn’t have been at Garden Club,” Bruce said reasonably. “It sounds like something’s wrong, but it can’t be that.”

“You’re right,” Andi agreed, relaxing a little. “Still, I think we ought to go over there. Maybe Mr. Bernstein is the one who’s sick, and that’s why he sounded so funny. Or maybe Mrs. Bernstein is so upset about the meat loaf that she’s locked herself in the bathroom.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bruce said. “But, yes, of course we should go over there. Whatever’s wrong, we want to do what we can to help them.”

When they arrived at the Bernsteins’ house, a pile of white roses was lying on the front steps as if somebody had thrown them down in a frenzy.

“Mrs. Bernstein got those at Garden Club,” Andi said. “Aunt Alice came home with some just like
them. But why did Mrs. Bernstein drop hers on the steps?”

She bent to gather up the scattered blossoms while Bruce pressed the doorbell. He waited a couple of minutes and, when nobody came to the door, pressed it again.

“Maybe they’re not home,” he said after more minutes went by without a response.

“Somebody is,” Andi said. “I saw the curtain in the dining room window move. Someone was peeking out.”

Bruce rang the bell a third time. This time the doorknob rattled and the door was pulled open several inches. Mrs. Bernstein’s voice asked fearfully, “Who is it?”

“It’s just us, Bruce and Andi,” Bruce said. “We got worried when Mr. Bernstein said you couldn’t come to the phone. We wanted to check and make sure that you’re okay.”

The door was opened a bit farther, and Mrs. Bernstein peeked through the crack.

“It
is
you!” she exclaimed. “I thought so when I looked out the window, but I had to be certain. People sometimes disguise themselves, especially criminals.” She opened the door all the way and
motioned them inside. “It’s all right, dear,” she called to her husband. “It’s the Walker children.”

Mr. Bernstein stepped out suddenly from behind the door. He was gripping a baseball bat and looked as if he was getting ready to swing at a high-flying ball. He lowered it with a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to use this thing,” he said. “I’m a peaceful man, but I would have done it if I had to. People do what they must to protect their own.”

“What’s been happening here?” Bruce asked anxiously, as Mrs. Bernstein closed and locked the front door. She still hadn’t reached to take the flowers from Andi’s hands. It was as if she didn’t even see them.

“Bully has been dognapped,” she said.

“Dognapped!” Bruce exclaimed. “You mean somebody stole him?”

“It’s my fault,” Mr. Bernstein cried in an agonized voice. “I shouldn’t have left him unguarded. I was his guardian and protector while my wife was at her meeting. I failed our Bully, and I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Tell us what happened,” Andi said softly. She had never seen a grown man so close to tears before.

“Bully was in the backyard, playing in his sandbox,” said Mr. Bernstein. “I was with him, of course,
helping him build a sand castle. Then I heard the phone ring. I left him for just a minute to run inside and answer it. It was my wife, calling on her cell phone. She was going to stop at the grocery store and wanted to know what flavor ice cream to get. I told her, ‘chocolate raspberry ripple with almonds.’ Then I rushed back outside, and the gate was open. Bully was gone.”

“Maybe the gate wasn’t tightly latched,” Bruce suggested. “Maybe it just swung open all on its own, and Bully ran out. If we form a search party and cover the neighborhood, we’ll find him.”

“That was our first thought, too,” Mrs. Bernstein said. “When I got home, Mr. Bernstein came rushing out to meet me. He told me what happened, and I dropped those flowers on the steps and raced straight through the house and out into the backyard. It was just as he told me, the gate was standing open. But there was something else — a note in the sandbox, stuck like a flag, right on top of Bully’s dear castle. It was a ransom note demanding two hundred dollars.”

“It’s my fault,” Mr. Bernstein said again, his face buried in his hands. “Why did I have to tell you ‘chocolate raspberry ripple with almonds’? If I’d
just said, ‘vanilla,’ I’d have gotten back to Bully sooner. Those extra few seconds might have made all the difference.”

“May Andi and I see the ransom note?” Bruce asked them.

“We can’t show that to anyone,” Mrs. Bernstein told him. “The dognapper said if we went to the police or showed that note to anybody, Bully would suffer. He told us to put two hundred dollars in a book called
Old Yeller
at the Elmwood library. Mr. Bernstein just got back from doing that. When you rang the doorbell we didn’t know what to think. We prayed it was somebody bringing Bully home, but we knew in our hearts that it was much too soon for that. So then we thought the dognapper might have come back to demand some other form of ransom. If he could take our Bully, that terrible person could do anything!”

“If we can’t go to the police, then what can we do?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing,” Mr. Bernstein said helplessly. “All we can do is sit by the phone and wait.”