News For Dogs (8 page)

Mrs. Swanson seemed delighted to hear from Andi and wasn’t at all opposed to tying up the line.

“Snowflake was in another beauty contest today,” she said. “She only got honorable mention, which was a bit of a letdown, but, of course, the poor thing is getting older. Youth means so much in show business. Please, don’t mention that in your newspaper. We wouldn’t want people to think that Snowflake’s a has-been.”

“We won’t put a thing in
The Bow-Wow News
,” Andi assured her. It was the easiest promise she’d ever made.

“Snowflake is safe,” she told Bruce when she hung up the phone. “What can we do now? We’ve promised we won’t call the police, but we’ve got to find some way to stop this.”

“Mrs. Larkin said she delivered the ransom to the library at closing time,” Bruce said. “That means
the dognapper hasn’t had a chance to pick it up yet. One of us needs to be at the library as soon as it opens and keep an eye on that book. Whoever picks up that money is going to be the dognapper.”

“You and I can do that together,” Andi said eagerly.

“I wish we could,” Bruce told her, “but we’re too well-known. The missing dogs — at least, the ones we’re aware of — all were featured in
The Bow-Wow News.
It’s possible that’s why the dognappers chose them to dognap — our newspaper made them famous. You and I might be recognized if we stake out the library. Much as I hate to give this assignment to a ding-a-ling, I’m afraid it’s got to be Debbie. Nobody knows what she looks like because she wears disguises.”

Debbie didn’t return from the library until late in the morning. The others had been at the Walker house, waiting for her to turn up, ever since the library opened. Andi was on the sofa in the den, reading to Bebe and Friday. Tim and MacTavish were sprawled on the carpet, and Tim was restlessly surfing TV channels.

Bruce had spent most of the morning in the backyard, working off nervous energy by tussling with Red Rover. Now he came into the house to check the wall clock to make sure that his watch hadn’t stopped. It didn’t seem possible that time could be passing so slowly. Bruce was not accustomed to inactivity, and it was almost more than he could bear to have Debbie out solving the mystery while the rest of them just sat there.

“What do you bet she forgot to go?” Bruce said. “Maybe she’s at home, reading a magazine.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Andi said. “I’m sure she’s at the library. Maybe she’s late because she’s made a citizen’s arrest and captured the dognapper herself.”

When Debbie finally did arrive, Andi jumped to her feet so quickly that Bebe and Friday went tumbling into the hollow that she had left in the sofa cushion. Debbie was wearing the disguise she used when she went out with MacTavish — black jeans, black T-shirt, black baseball cap. Bruce thought she looked like a character in a cartoon. But MacTavish leapt up from the rug and rushed to greet her. He apparently expected to be taken to the Doggie Park.

“So what happened?” Tim asked Debbie.

“Nothing,” she said. “The dognapper didn’t come.”

“Why didn’t you stay and wait for him?” Bruce demanded. “Your assignment was to hang out there until you saw who picked up the money.”

“I stayed as long as I needed to,” Debbie said. “I was the first person there when the library opened. I went straight to the children’s book room and found
Where the Red Fern Grows
and sat down in
a chair across from it. A day-care group came in to have their story hour, and I learned all about trolls and ogres and wicked stepmothers.”

“So why did you leave?” Bruce asked her. “Did you just get bored?”

“I completed the mission,” Debbie said. “When story hour was over, I waited another ten minutes to see if anybody came for the ransom. Then I went over and pulled that book off the shelf. There was nothing in it. I looked at the other two books people told us they left ransom in. There wasn’t any money in them, either. The dognapper must have gotten it before I got there.”

“That doesn’t seem possible,” Bruce said. “He might have collected the money from those other books, but not from
Where the Red Fern Grows.
Mrs. Larkin left it just as the library was closing, and you got there this morning when it opened.”

“Maybe the dognapper is a librarian,” Tim suggested.

“No way!” Andi said firmly. “No librarian would do anything illegal. They don’t even bend down corners of books to mark their places.”

“Something odd did happen while I was there,” Debbie said. “From where I was sitting in the
children’s room, I could see out into the main library. I think I saw Mr. Bernstein come in the front door and go over to the adult section.”

“You
think
you saw him, or you really
did
see him?” Bruce asked her. “You know Mr. Bernstein. Why didn’t you go over and speak to him?”

“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Debbie said defensively. “Besides, I was in disguise, and it was right in the middle of story hour. I’d have had to get up and shove my way through all those little kids. And what if it wasn’t Mr. Bernstein? I’d have blown my cover for nothing.”

“If the ransom money for Bully and Ginger was collected, then maybe those dogs have been returned to their owners,” Bruce said. “I’m going to call the Bernsteins.”

It was Mr. Bernstein who answered.

“It’s Bruce,” Bruce told him. “I just wanted to know if Bully’s back.”

“No,” Mr. Bernstein said. “And things have gotten worse. The dognapper’s demanded more money. This morning he asked for another two hundred dollars.”

“Did he call you?” Bruce asked him eagerly. “Did you hear his voice? Could you tell anything about him?”

“He didn’t phone,” Mr. Bernstein said. “He left another note. He stuck it through the mail slot in our front door at some point during the night. It was there when my wife and I woke up this morning — not that we’d ever really slept. We lay awake most of the night. Every time we heard any kind of sound, like a branch brushing against a window, we hoped it might be the dognapper bringing Bully back. But we were too afraid to get up and check, in case we caught him in the act and he got violent. I’m not good enough with a baseball bat to protect us. In fact, I never played baseball, even as a kid. That bat belonged to our son. I sometimes pick it up and hold it, just because he used to hold it. I like to think I feel the touch of his fingers on the handle.”

“So you left more ransom,” Bruce said. He already knew the answer.

“Our Social Security checks came yesterday,” Mr. Bernstein said. “So we had enough money to do that. I took it to the library this morning and left it in a book. This time it was
The Incredible Journey
in the adult section. I know you must think we’re fools for giving in to blackmail, but this second note was worse than the first one. It threatened horrible things if we didn’t pay.”

His voice was shaking so badly that he could barely speak.

“That’s all right,” Bruce said hastily. “I’d have done the same thing.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Bernstein said. “You’re a kind young man. It’s hard for most people to understand what Bully means to us. You see, our only child — the boy who played baseball — was killed in a car wreck. We were too old to have more children, and we wouldn’t have done that anyway — you can’t replace one beloved child with another. But eventually we did get a dog and, for my wife in particular, Bully has been a source of comfort. She can pour out some of the love she has stored up inside her onto a sweet, gentle animal who loves her back. I hope you can understand and don’t think we’re too foolish.”

“I don’t think that at all,” Bruce told him. “I think you’re both very brave. I promise we’ll get Bully back. My sister and I and our friends won’t rest until we find him.”

He hung up the phone and sat there, staring at the wall. He had made an impulsive promise based solely on emotion, and how in the world could he keep it? Debbie’s efforts at spying had not
accomplished anything other than to further confuse them.

“What about fingerprints?” Tim suggested. “There must be prints on the ransom notes.”

“We don’t know how to lift fingerprints,” Bruce reminded him. “And even if we did, what would we do with them? None of the victims will let us report the dognappings.”

“Maybe we ought to call in Aunt Alice,” said Andi.

“She’d go straight to the police,” Tim said. “All adults would do that unless they owned one of the hostages.”

“Not Aunt Alice,” Andi said. “We can tell things to her in confidence. She didn’t tell our parents about Mr. Murdock. And even though she’s been retired for a long time, she’s getting back into detective work.”

“She probably would be willing to help us,” Bruce agreed. “But I don’t think she’d know how to do it. She isn’t up on new technology.”

“I’ll go back to the library and keep a watch on
The Incredible Journey
,” Debbie said. “If Mr. Bernstein left money this morning, it may still be there.”

“I’ll go with you,” Tim said. “This requires two people — one to keep an eye on the book, and the other to watch for the Tinkles. If they got a second ransom note like the Bernsteins, one of them is sure to come in with more money.”

“That’s a good plan,” Bruce said. “And while the two of you stake out the library, Andi and I will go over to the Larkins’. We need to know whether they’ve been asked for more ransom.”

“Just give me a minute to get Bebe and Friday their lunch,” Andi said. “While I’m at it, does anyone else want a tuna sandwich?”

“You’re going to make those dogs tuna sandwiches?” Bruce exclaimed. “Don’t you remember the e-mail from the veterinarian?”

“I’ll leave out the lettuce and cut the crusts off the bread,” Andi said. “And I won’t use very much mayonnaise.”

Bruce shook his head in disgust. “Okay, while you’re poisoning your dogs, I’ll go refill Red’s water bowl. Let’s meet back here at five. Then Andi and I can get back to Aunt Alice’s by dinnertime.”

He went out to the kitchen, gathered up a handful of biscuits, and let himself out the back door to get Red’s water bowl.

The back gate was standing open.

So, Red’s gone running
, Bruce thought.
He’s given up on me and decided to stretch his legs on his own.

But how could the gate have swung open all by itself? He could see no way that it could have come unlatched, since he and Andi had entered the house through the front door and he had gone out to the backyard through the kitchen. Neither of them had touched the gate.

“Red!” he called with desperation in his voice. “Red,
come
!”

But he already knew that shouting for Red would be futile — that no big dog would come streaking in through that gate — because by now he had seen the sheet of paper posted on Red’s doghouse.

His instinct was to snatch it off, but he managed to control himself and carefully peel the note off the roof with his fingernails, touching only the edges in order to preserve fingerprints.

The message was printed in block letters:

He heard the kitchen door open and then slam shut as Andi came out of the house.

“Bebe and Friday are enjoying their lunch,” she said. “Are you ready to go to the Larkins’?” When Bruce didn’t answer, she crossed the yard to stand beside him. “Bruce, what is it?” she cried when she saw her brother’s face. “You look like you’re going to be sick!”

“Red’s been dognapped,” Bruce told her. “It’s just like the others, except that this time it’s
Red!
It happened while we were only feet away in the den! We were sitting there, talking about dognappings and feeling so sorry for the Bernsteins and Larkins, and I wasn’t giving a single thought to my
own
dog!”

“Let’s call the police,” Andi said. “We can do that without breaking promises if all we report is Red.”

“Are you crazy?” Bruce exclaimed. “I’m not going to risk Red Rover. What we need is a private investigator.
We need Aunt Alice
.”

“Calm down, Bruce,” Aunt Alice said. “I understand how upset you are, but it’s not going to help Red Rover to have his master fall to pieces. We must keep our wits about us and sort through the information.”

“I already gave you all the information,” Bruce said.

Actually, he had given her half of it and had then become so emotional that he couldn’t go on. When he first realized Red was missing, Bruce had gone into a state of shock. An unnatural calm had descended upon him, as if he were cushioned in cotton, and all his natural reflexes had closed down. But here, in Aunt Alice’s living room, as he relived that terrible moment when he noticed the gate standing open and then spotted the note on the
doghouse, his knees had gotten weak and his voice had cracked so badly that he couldn’t continue.

So Andi had taken up the story and filled in the pieces about Bully and Ginger and Trixie and all the other dogs from the Doggie Park who had been mentioned in Debbie’s gossip column and now were missing.

“I’d like to see the ransom note,” said Aunt Alice.

“I’ve got it here,” Bruce told her. “I haven’t touched it except by the edges.”

“Good thinking,” Aunt Alice said approvingly. “Andi, go get a Ziploc bag. We have to protect this note. The time may come when we’ll need to have it dusted for fingerprints.”

“You promised you wouldn’t go to the police!” Bruce protested.

“I won’t,” Aunt Alice assured him. “Not without your permission, because you’re my client. But I need you to be calm and objective. There are clues — there are
always
clues — and you’re going to have to help me find them. Here comes Andi; let’s get that note into the freezer bag and then try to analyze it.”

Once the note was securely encased, Aunt Alice read it carefully.

“Is there anything here that strikes you as odd?” she asked Bruce.

“It’s the same as the other notes,” he said. “The families told us what was in those. They were to leave the ransom money in books at the library, and all those books were about dogs.”

“The amount the dognapper is asking for seems unusual,” Aunt Alice said. “Two hundred and seventy-six dollars. Is that the same amount he demanded for the other dogs?”

“No,” Andi said. “He asked two hundred dollars for the others. Then, when the Bernsteins paid it, he asked for two hundred more.”

“So, why would he demand this particular amount from you?” Aunt Alice asked. “Is there any significance in that?”

“It’s the amount I told Dad that we had in our account,” Bruce said, beginning to follow her thinking.

“Who else was aware of that amount?” asked Aunt Alice.

“Mr. Murdock may know,” Andi said. “He’s vice president of the bank.”

“Mr. Murdock,” Aunt Alice repeated thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting suggestion. Do you happen to know if Barkley is among the hostages?”

“He’s not,” Bruce said. “I phoned the Murdocks and heard him barking.”

“Snowflake wasn’t dognapped either,” Andi said. “But I’m sure Mrs. Swanson is innocent. All she’s interested in is having Snowflake win contests.”

“Mr. Murdock doesn’t fit the profile either,” said Aunt Alice. “It’s very unlikely a banker would be a dognapper. He wouldn’t want dog hair on his suit. I want both of you to concentrate. Try to recall if you’ve ever mentioned to anyone other than your parents the exact amount you had in the bank.”

“Not me,” Andi said. “I didn’t even know how much it was. Bruce, Tim, and Debbie took care of the finances.”

“How about you, Bruce?” Aunt Alice asked. “Is it possible there was a time when you divulged that information?”

“I might have told Jerry,” Bruce said. “He called our paper stupid, and I got so mad that I bragged about how successful we were. I actually may have told him the amount in the bank.”

“Jerry!” Aunt Alice said. “My, isn’t that interesting!”

“I don’t think it’s Jerry,” Bruce said. “Connor wouldn’t allow it. He watches over Jerry like a hawk.”

“Do you mean those two boys spend every second together?” asked Aunt Alice.

“Well, no,” Bruce said. “Connor does spend time on volunteer work. It’s possible Jerry’s involved in stuff Connor doesn’t know about. Do you think we should call Connor over here to help brainstorm?”

“Possibly later, but not just yet,” said Aunt Alice. “Right now, you need to take Red Rover’s ransom to the library. And while you’re there, tell Tim and Debbie that they’re to meet you here for the debriefing. I’m going to spend the afternoon on the Internet. By five, I hope I may have some useful information for you.”

“I don’t have the ransom,” Bruce said miserably.

“But I do,” Aunt Alice told him. “I was a big winner last night at bingo. I haven’t had time to take the cash to the bank yet. It’s in the top drawer of my bureau. Andi, I think you should be the one to go get it. It isn’t appropriate for a boy to paw through a lady’s undergarments.”

So Andi got the money, and the two of them went to the library and tucked the bills between the pages of
Lassie Come Home.
Debbie was in the children’s book room and Tim was in the main room, and they gave them Aunt Alice’s message about meeting at her house. Then, with nothing else to do, they went to the park across the street and sat on a bench and watched as people went in and out of the library. It was hard to identify individuals at that distance. At one point Andi said, “I think that woman in the orange pants is Mrs. Tinkle,” but there was no way to be certain.

It was a long afternoon. They all were exhausted when they finally reassembled in Aunt Alice’s office.

“Is it five already?” Aunt Alice exclaimed. “I’d forgotten how quickly time passes when you’re involved in a case. Is there news to report?”

“Nobody took money out of
The Incredible Journey
,” Tim said. “I watched it all afternoon. But Mrs. Tinkle came in and went straight to the nonfiction section and took down a book called
All Things Bright and Beautiful.
After she left, I looked in that book and found two hundred dollars. We must have been right about the Tinkles getting a
second ransom note. After that, I watched that book as well as the other one, but nobody came near either of them.”

“I watched
Lassie Come Home
in the children’s room,” Debbie said. “Nobody came for that either. But Foxy’s owner came in and left two hundred dollars in a book called
Good Dog, Carl.
“

“So we know that Foxy’s been dognapped, too!” Andi exclaimed. “That makes five that we’re sure of, including Red. The dognapper’s getting rich!”

“Well, I have some interesting information,” said Aunt Alice. “I’ve run a background check on Jerry’s cousin, Connor.”

“On
Connor!”
Bruce exclaimed. “But Connor’s a good guy!”

“He does have a charming personality,” Aunt Alice agreed. “However, he’s also a con artist. Since Connor’s a juvenile, I couldn’t get access to his police record, but a lot of his classmates wrote about him on their personal Web sites. Back in Chicago, he and some friends were arrested for selling bogus magazine subscriptions. His older companions went to jail, but because of his age, Connor was sentenced to six months of community service. The judge agreed that he could do that in Elmwood, to
get him away from the influence of evil companions. Connor wasn’t brought to Elmwood to watch over Jerry. It’s Jerry who’s supposed to be supervising Connor.”

“But Mr. Gordon told me —” Bruce paused as he tried to recall the statement. “Mr. Gordon said, ‘Bad influences are a danger to vulnerable young people, and sometimes it takes a family effort to get them back on track.’ I thought he was talking about Jerry, but he must have meant Connor! When I mentioned selling magazine subscriptions he got very upset. He said Connor used to do that but not anymore. He must not have known that Connor’s selling them in Elmwood and Jerry’s helping him.”

“I looked up
Happy Housekeeping
on the Internet,” Aunt Alice said. “I couldn’t find it, and I’m wondering if it really exists.”

“Dogs’ Home Journal
wasn’t listed either,” Bruce said. “Connor must have invented both those magazines!”

“But we don’t have evidence to link them to the dognappings,” Tim said. “Just because they’re scam artists doesn’t make them dognappers.”

“There’s nothing to link them directly,” Aunt Alice agreed. “But there’s an interesting coincidence in regard to Connor’s volunteer work. He’s doing his community service at the Elmwood library.”

“At the library!” Andi gasped. “I’ve never seen him there, and I go there all the time!”

“He wouldn’t be working up front,” Aunt Alice said. “He’d be in the back room, rinsing out librarians’ coffee cups.”

“And shelving books and arranging chairs for story hour after the library closed for the night?” Andi asked.

“Very probably, yes. He’s undoubtedly there after closing hour.”

“Let’s get him!” Tim cried. “We’ve got all we need to go to the police. Connor’s prints must be in their database, and they can match them to the prints on Red’s ransom note.”

“No way!” Bruce said firmly. “What if Connor wore gloves? If Connor’s prints aren’t on the note, the cops will let him go, and we’ll never see the dogs again. Connor and Jerry will leave them wherever they’ve put them, in a cellar or a garage —”

“Or a toolshed,” Andi inserted. “In the book I’m writing, it’s a toolshed.”

“We’ll get the dogs back, but first we’ll have to find them,” said Aunt Alice. “We need a spy to infiltrate the ranks of the enemy.”

“I’m a spy!” Debbie cried. “I’ll volunteer!”

“I’m afraid you’re not quite right for the part,” Aunt Alice told her. “This afternoon, while I was doing research, I found a Web site that described some intriguing gadgets. One is a recovery system for stolen vehicles. It sends out a silent signal that you can pick up on a computer through an online tracking service. It even tells you the speed a vehicle is traveling. I thought that sounded fascinating and ordered one. They’re shipping it overnight, so I should have it in the morning.”

“You’re thinking of attaching a tracker to Connor’s car?” Bruce asked.

“No,” Aunt Alice said. “That thought did occur to me, but how do we know that Connor uses his car to visit the dogs? Maybe he has them hidden somewhere in the neighborhood and Jerry goes over on his skateboard to feed and water them.”

“Or maybe they don’t feed and water them at all,” Andi said, cringing at the thought.

“There’s only one way to find those dogs,” Aunt Alice said. “There has to be another dognapping, but this time there will be a tracking device on the dog’s collar.”

“But how can we know what dog they’ll take next?” Tim asked her.

“By criminal profiling,” said Aunt Alice. “We need to figure out how the dognappers select their victims. Apparently most, if not all, of the dogs who were taken were featured in
The Bow-Wow News.
However, we know of at least two dogs who were prominently featured but weren’t dognapped.”

“Barkley and Snowflake,” Andi said.

“So, the question is, why were those particular dogs passed over? What do they have in common that sets them apart?”

Everybody was silent for a moment, thinking.

Then Andi said, “Their owners may not love them enough to pay the ransom.”

“That may be true of Barkley,” Bruce said. “Mr. Murdock would probably be glad not to have to walk him. But Snowflake’s a celebrity. The Swansons have her insured for fifty thousand dollars.”

“Snowflake has competed in dog shows for eight years,” Aunt Alice said. “One year in the life of a
dog equals seven in the life of a human, so Snowflake is fifty-seven years old in people-time. She’s well into middle age and no longer winning prizes. If the Swansons aren’t emotionally attached to Snowflake, they probably wouldn’t pay the ransom. They’d rather collect the insurance.”

“Connor and Jerry are slick,” Bruce said bitterly. “They only take dogs whose owners love them. So, to get them interested in staging another dognapping, we’ll need to provide them with a victim whose owner is sure to pay the ransom. What kind of dog would that be?”

“Well,” Aunt Alice said slowly, “the most precious dog I can imagine would belong to an elderly widow. A lady who lives alone and is in need of companionship. A dog like that might command quite a lot of ransom, especially if that particular lady was known throughout the neighborhood for raking in money at bingo.”

“You’re talking about
you
?” Andi exclaimed. “But you’re allergic to dogs!”

“I’m allergic to their
hair,”
Aunt Alice told her. “If I had an opportunity to own a sweet hairless dog, I might enjoy that. Such dogs do exist. They’re
called Chinese cresteds. They don’t shed at all and are perfect for allergy sufferers.”

“Are you thinking about getting one?” Bruce asked her.

“I’m afraid it would take too long to order one from China,” Aunt Alice said. “If we want to close this case quickly — and we’re all agreed that we do — then we’ll have to manufacture a Chinese crested ourselves.”