The Curious Cat Spy Club Page 10

  Leo seems oblivious to the tension between Becca and me. He taps his keyboard then points at the screen. “There’s the fenced-in dog pen.”

  “But no dog,” Becca says, disappointed.

  “The pen clearly hasn’t been used in a long time.” Leo clicks to a new photo. “Here’s the patch of fresh dirt that Kelsey spotted.”

  “A grave,” I say in a hush, leaning closer to the screen. “There’s something poking up from the dirt. Is it a stick?”

  “Maybe a flag,” Becca adds.

  “Or a headstone,” I say ominously.

  “You were closer when you guessed a stick.” Leo clicks a few buttons and the screen in the robot’s chest focuses on the fresh dirt. “It’s a rose plant.”

  “Like flowers on a grave?” I shiver and think of the missing mother cat.

  “Wrong again,” he says with that know-it-all grin that annoys me. “That rose bush was just planted. No flowers yet, only thorny branches. Definitely not a grave. Mrs. Tupin is a gardener with blooming flowers all over her yard. But no signs of a dog or cat.”

  “A house cat?” I guess.

  Leo shakes his head. “I looked in the windows and saw no evidence of any indoor pets.”

  “Drats. I was so sure Witchy Woman dumped the kittens.” Frowning, I turn away form the computer. “We just ran out of suspects.”

  I’d been so sure the receipt was a great clue. It was in the same bag as the kittens, so it must have belonged to the cat dumper. But of the three people with koi fish, Witchy Woman is the most likely suspect. The Stanfords are on vacation so they obviously didn’t do it. And an animal control officer has no reason to dump kittens when he can easily take them to the shelter.

  What if no one on Willow Rose Lane is guilty? The cat-napper could have koi fish in a different neighborhood. Or I might have the right neighborhood but the wrong suspects. Maybe it’s not someone who lives in one of these houses but someone who visits often—like a nephew who helps out his uncle.

  Would helping include buying pet food?

  “Becca,” I say carefully, “remember when we found the kittens?”

  “Of course,” she answers in a wary voice.

  “We wouldn’t have found them if we hadn’t detoured through the alley, and we only did that because you wanted to avoid someone.”

  She presses her lips together tightly. “So?”

  “It means he was near the alley,” I say with emphasis on alley. “Did you ever wonder what he was doing there?”

  “No.” She flips back her dark hair defiantly. “And you shouldn’t either.”

  “What’s going on with you two?” Leo spins around in his computer chair. “Who are you talking about?”

  I ignore Leo, staring hard at Becca. She reminds me of a timid deer, ready to leap away if I come to close to a suspicion she doesn’t want to hear.

  “Drop it, Kelsey,” she warns, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Don’t you find it suspicious that not only was he near the alley where the kittens were dumped, but he also spends time with his uncle who lives on Willow Rose Lane and has koi fish? He probably has dogs and cats too.”

  Leo jumps out of his chair to face us. “Are you talking about Skeet?”

  “Kelsey, drop it.” Becca narrows her gaze. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “But you didn’t mind kissing him?”

  Oops. As soon as I say it, I know I’ve gone too far.

  Leo’s mouth falls open. “You—you kissed Skeet?”

  “Kelsey!” Becca’s cheeks blaze. “You promised not to tell!”

  “You kissed Skeet? Actually pressed your lips against his?” Leo holds on to the top of his chair as if his legs have gone weak.

  “It’s not how you think …” When Leo won’t look at her, she whirls back to me. “I can’t believe you told him! I thought I could trust you!”

  “Trust?” I repeat the word bitterly. “You’re the one who lied. You said you didn’t like Skeet but you’ve gone out with him and he even gave you that necklace you’re wearing.”

  “You don’t understand,” she says looking close to tears.

  “No, I don’t. How can you like a boy cruel enough to dump helpless kittens?”

  “He didn’t do it!” she argues.

  “Yes, he did—it all makes sense,” I say, excited as the clues fall into place. “Skeet was close to the dumpster, his uncle has koi fish, and he’s mean. Move him up to Suspect number one.”

  “You think you’re so smart,” Becca snaps. “But you’re wrong.”

  “Kelsey made some excellent points,” Leo says.

  “Are you siding with her?” Becca wheels on Leo, hands in fists.

  “No … I mean …” Leo stammers.

  “I am so out of here.” Becca storms over to the door and yanks it open.

  “Don’t leave,” I say, softening my voice. “Let’s talk it over.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about—you won’t listen.”

  “I always listen!”

  “Only to what you want to hear.” Becca turns furiously toward me. “You called me a liar. I thought being in a club meant trusting each other. Guess I was wrong.”

  “Becca, I’m trying to trust you,” I tell her honestly.

  “But you don’t,” she accuses. “So we’re done. And don’t worry about the kittens. Mom told me about a new volunteer who wants to foster cats. I wasn’t going to tell Mom about our kittens but it’s not like we can keep them anyway. The kittens will be in a good home until they can be adopted. There’s no reason for either of you to come back to the Skunk Shack.”

  She slams the door, the bang loud and final.

  The CCSC is over.

  - Chapter 19 -

  Cat-Tastrophe

  I can’t believe it—one moment we’re having a great time working together, then all a sudden it’s over. No friendship. No kittens. No club.

  I blink back tears, trying hard not to cry in front of Leo. His face looks stunned like a grenade exploded in his room. That’s how I feel too. Becca’s words blasted away the CCSC.

  “I have to go,” I say miserably.

  “Of course you do.” He’s quiet as he follows me to the front door.

  “Sorry about … about everything.” I sit on the ornate bench. I bend over to slip on a sneaker, rubbing off a spot of dirt on the toe.

  “It’s not your fault. I expected something like this to happen.”

  “You knew Becca would quit on us?” I ask in astonishment as I look up at him, a shoe string dangling through my fingers.

  “No, not that.” He moves toward the door, holding it open for me.

  But I don’t leave, slowly tying the other shoe. When I stand, I place my hand on his arm. “Leo, what do you mean?”

  Light shines through the open door, partly on Leo’s face so he’s half in brightness and half in shadow. “According to my calculations, friendship never ends well … for me anyway.” He sucks in a heavy breath then blows it out. “Remember when you asked if I was afraid of anything?”

  “You said yes. But you didn’t tell me your fear.”

  “Fears are the result of imagining the worst that can happen. I am too logical for fears. This doesn’t mean I’m brave—far from it. I simply lack common fears like heights, public speaking, or snakes.” He swallows. “But since joining CCSC, I’ve been afraid it will end. And now it has.”

  “Oh, Leo.” I reach out and squeeze his hand. “I’m you’re friend, and Becca is too.”

  He gives me this thin smile, like he knows I mean well, but he also knows the club is what made us friends. I should say I’ll sit with him at lunch or go to his house after school. And that I’ll want to hang out with him … but I probably won’t.

  So I say good-bye and leave.


  I dream about kittens that night.

  I’m in a dark endless house with twisting corridors leading nowhere. I hear mews, but I can’t see any cats. I wander from room to room, calling for my kitten. Are you there, Honey? Where are you hiding? Why can’t I find you? I see the swish of an orange tail and race after it. “Wait!” I shout but the furry tail whips around a corner. When I finally get close enough to grab it, there’s a ferocious growl. I’m holding a tiger’s tail …

  It’s a relief to wake up … until I think of my kitten.

  Alone in my room, I cry.

  I’m spending Saturday with Gran Nola and Handsome. Gran makes caramel popcorn pancakes for brunch then we watch episodes of our favorite mystery shows like Bones and Veronica Mars. When Gran gets a call from one of her yoga clients, I go into the backyard and play Frisbee fetch with Handsome. It’s no accident his name is Handsome—his fur glistens like gold and his eyes shine like black gems. It’s great to be with him again, but it makes me miss my kitten even more.

  After Frisbee exhausts both of us, Handsome snoozes on the ground beneath me while I sway gently in the shaded hammock. Gran planted the maple trees that support the hammock when I was born, so it’s like being cradled by old friends. My mind sways like the hammock, drifting back to a hidden shack in the woods and the kittens that are no longer there.

  I don’t want to think about the kittens so I dig into my backpack for the mystery novel I started reading last week—before CCSC. I grab the edge of a paperback, but when I pull it out it’s not a book. It’s my Pet Project Folder. I start to toss it back but change my mind.

  Becca quit the club—I didn’t. We can’t take care of the kittens in the Skunk Shack anymore but I can still look for lost pets.

  I lean back in the hammock and read through the folder, memorizing descriptions of missing pets. I cross-reference the map of Sun Flower and realize that one of the lost dogs, a female cocker spaniel named Peanut, was last seen a few blocks from Gran’s house. No reward is offered and she’s been missing for almost a week. But she might have been found by now, so I ask Gran if I can use her phone.

  When I call, there’s no answer. Drats.

  Since I’m in an investigating mood, I pull out all the missing pet papers. Becca already called most of the owners but some didn’t answer. Once I know which pets are still missing, I’ll bike around looking for them.

  I carry Gran’s phone and a bag of wheat chips into the living room, and I curl up on the couch with the papers. I hear Gran’s computer clicking from her home office and know she’ll be busy for a while.

  Who should I call first? I ponder, flipping through the flyers.

  Let’s start at the beginning—A for Ali Baba, a labrador retriever missing for eight days. No reward offered. I’m starting to think it’s no coincidence that the pets with owners offering rewards are returned quickly. But those without rewards … I’m afraid for them.

  I’m more determined than ever to stop the pet-nappers.

  I call Ali Baba’s owner but after five rings I get an answering machine: Hi. This is Tina. Sorry I can’t answer. Leave your number after the beep.

  What number should I give? Last time we made calls, we left Leo’s number. But I can’t leave Gran’s number because I’ll be gone in a few hours. And if I leave my home phone, someone else in my family will probably answer. It could be complicated. So I hang up.

  Next I call about Miracle, a cute silky terrier with purple toenails and a rhinestone purple collar. A man tells me the dog is still missing.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll be on the lookout for him.”

  “Don’t look too hard.” He snorts like this is a hilarious joke. “It’s my wife’s dog and it’s been peaceful around here without it yapping all the time. She wanted to offer a reward, but I’m not paying to get that stupid dog back.”

  When he hangs up, I scowl and mutter, “Jerk,” and vow to look extra hard for Miracle.

  I flip through the flyers until a photo of a calico cat named Violet stops me.

  Her sweet multicolored face and topaz eyes remind me of Leo’s kitten. I sigh. Not his kitten anymore. By now Honey, Chris, and No-Name are with a foster family …

  I press my lips tight.

  Do. Not. Think. About. Kittens.

  I put the flyer down … then pick it up again. Why is Violet so familiar? I’ve biked all around town lately but don’t remember seeing her.

  I read the details. Violet was lost a few blocks from Helen Corning Middle School, so I may have seen her on my way to school. I check the date she went missing—almost two months ago. If she hadn’t been returned by now, it’s unlikely she ever will.

  I read through details: Female calico, two years old, crooked right ear, no collar, and when she went missing she was expecting kittens …

  OMG!

  I look closer at Violet. Her long black whiskers curl like Becca’s kitten; her coloring is like Leo’s kitten, and she has topaz eyes like my sweet Honey.

  No wonder she reminds me of our kittens.

  She’s their mother.

  - Chapter 20 -

  Follow That Pet-Napper

  I grab the phone, my heart racing as I punch in the number from the flyer.

  One ring, two, three … seven, eight.

  A recording invites me to leave a message, and this time I do. “Hi, I’m Kelsey,” I say in a rush. “I’m calling about your cat. Please call back—it’s important!” I leave Gran’s number.

  “Hurry! Call back!” I whisper to the phone.

  The phone ignores me.

  Maybe I should have left my home number too. I could call again to leave it … No, I’ll just wait. Even thought it’s so hard. Dad will be finished volunteering at Veteran’s Hall and here to pick me up in an hour. If she doesn’t call back before then, I’ll call later from home. I have to talk with her.

  Five minutes pass. I cross my legs then uncross them. I eat a few chips then toss the bag aside. I grab it again and reach in for another handful of chips.

  When I grow tired of staring at the phone, I pick up my mystery novel where I left off and read.

  After a few paragraphs, though, I start to wonder about Violet. Her owner must be heartbroken, not only missing a cat but wondering if she had kittens. I can assure her that the kittens are safe but I don’t know where Mama Cat is—and I’m scared to guess what happened to her.

  The phone rings.

  I grab it so fast, the chip bag spills to the carpet.

  “Hi!” I say excitedly into the phone.

  “Um … hello. Did you just call me?” The caller sounds younger than my mom, probably in her twenties.

  “Yes, I did!” I exhale a sigh of relief. “I got your number from your missing pet flyer.”

  “Oh, well, that explains it.” She laughs. “Only you’re a little late.”

  “Late?” I tighten my grip on the phone.

  “A wonderful man just called to say he found my dog!” Her voice rises with excitement. “I’m so thrilled I can hardly think straight. I’ve been in a state of terror for days but now that’s over. I can’t wait to see my sweet Ali! The man who found him is on his way right now.”

  “I’m so happy for you.” My brain backs up and replays. “Wait—did you say dog? But I thought you were missing a female cat.”

  “Wrong on both counts—Ali Baba is a male lab. But you should already know that because you called me first.”

  “Well yeah.” I check my notes and find Ali Baba’s name with a notation, No answer. But I didn’t leave my number. Of course most phones have caller ID and show missed calls. Mystery solved.

  “I was calling to see if your dog is still missing,” I say awkwardly. “I’m glad he was found.”

  “Thank you! I’m thrilled and a little giddy—it’s like I have a date with my own dog. I h
ave to find his favorite toy and fill his food bowl. Got to go!”

  She clicks off, sounding so happy that I’m smiling too—until I realize my mistake. Palm smack to my forehead. Why didn’t I ask her about the man who found Ali Baba? What if he has a spider tattoo or looks like Santa Claus?

  I may have just missed my chance to catch a pet-napper.

  Maybe it’s not too late. If I hurry, I might be able to reach her house to see who will return the dog. I skim through the flyers until I find the one with a photo of a chocolate lab named Ali Baba.

  I race into my grandmother’s office and ask to use her computer to find an address. She moves aside, offering me her chair. A few key clicks and I have the address. It’s less than two miles away.

  “Gran, I need to meet a friend—ASAP,” I say as I print out the map.

  “Go ahead. Borrow one of my bikes, if you’d like.”

  “I hoped you’d say that.” I hug her before heading to the garage.

  Most grandparents would waste time with questions, like who my friend is and why I’m in such a hurry. But Gran Nola is cool. She says if I don’t learn to make my own decisions now I never will. She also competes in competitive bicycle races so I have several bikes to choose from. I pick a metallic blue twenty-four-speed bike. It’s a little big for me, but it’s purple, my favorite color.

  Wind tosses my hair as I pedal furiously past cars and houses, stopping only for traffic lights. The map flaps like a pale bird in my hand. At Wright Street, I’ll make a left then a right and another left before I reach 1979 Marcola Street.

  What will I do when I get there? How will I know if the dog has already been returned? Should I knock on the door and explain that I’m trying to catch a pet thief?

  When I turn onto Marcola Street, the map leads me to an L-shaped blue house with a high hedge surrounding the front yard. A blue mini-van is in the driveway and a dented brown Toyota is parked on the street in front of the house. I wish I could see into the backyard but it’s blocked by a high stone wall.