The Curious Cat Spy Club Read online

  I pull myself up to the top of the wall and see the tarp. A rope dangles from the bottom right corner of the tarp where it’s come untied, revealing the gleam of a car bumper. There’s no mistaking a rusty brown car with a dented bumper. Unfortunately, I can’t see the license plate from here.

  Must. Get. Closer.

  I lean over the fence, my feet dangling in the air. Tiny white blossoms fly up into my face like a cloud of butterflies. When I inhale, a blossom sucks into my mouth. As I choke, my hands slip and I’m tumbling, down, down, splat on soft grass on the other side of the fence.

  “Eww!” I spit out the blossom and jump to my feet.

  Since I didn’t choke to death and no one has caught me (yet), I might as well get a closer look at the car.

  I peer under the tarp and catch a glimpse of the license plate: 3UWG382.

  Yes! I was right! And now I have proof that Officer Skeet, a sworn protector of animals, is involved in a pet-napping ring. Still, it’s hard to believe. Why would someone who entertains kids at hospitals and rescues trapped ducks steal pets? It’s all about the rewards, I think sadly. How much money does a county employee make anyway? Not enough to stop him from taking advantage of desperate pet owners.

  And it’s not just Officer Skeet—he has to have at least three accomplices. He’s the one who steals the pets. Or maybe he finds them while on the job. He’s too well-known in Sun Flower to return the pets for rewards, so his accomplices must do it. But most of the rewards are under a hundred dollars. Split it four ways and it’s probably not enough to pay for gas in a getaway car. The math of pet-napping doesn’t add up. Am I missing some important clue?

  Since I’m already in the yard, I unzip my spy pack and fit my cap-cam over my head. I pull back the tarp so I get clear shots of the Toyota. As I click photos, I wonder how the pet-napping ring works. Who does the getaway car belong to? And I don’t see any missing pets in Officer Skeet’s yard, so who hides them after they’re stolen? Spider Tattoo, the old lady, or Santa?

  And then I hear barking …

  The sound is far away like it’s from a neighbor’s house. I cup my ear, straining to hear. There it is again! A muffled bark, so faint it’s more like a vibration than a clear sound; like listening to my own heartbeat.

  I look around the backyard—past the koi fish pond to a garden shed in the corner. I don’t remember the shed in the photo. It’s long and has dark shuttered windows.

  Shivers run up my spine.

  Leave now! a voice in my head warns. But I can’t forget the barking.

  What if a stolen dog is in the shed?

  I move cautiously toward the shed. I’ll be quick, I tell myself. And I won’t do anything dumb—well, dumber than sneaking out of my house, biking to a possible criminal’s house, and snooping in his backyard.

  Keeping low and hugging shadows, I creep forward. My spy pack slips down my shoulder, jabbing my arm. The pain makes me cry out and I almost turn back. But I keep going.

  The shed is in the far right corner of the backyard. I press up against the fence so I blend in with shadows. I hope Officer Skeet doesn’t look outside. As I near the shed, I’m shocked to realize it’s almost as big as a garage. Shady oak trees hanging over the roof camouflaged it in the aerial photos.

  As I expected, it’s locked. I can’t hear any noises from inside, but there’s a suspicious dark odor that reminds me of the kennels at Wild Oaks Animal Sanctuary. When I spot a small dark blob on the cement step in front of the door, my worst suspicions are confirmed.

  A pile of dog poo.

  Evidence a dog was here.

  Of course, the dog could belong to Officer Skeet.

  I really, really should leave. But I stare at the door lock, itching to use the lock pick kit in my spy pack. I’ve never broken into a building before—it’s so Nancy Drew. But I’ve practiced picking locks on doors, windows, and suitcases for years. Those were easy-peasy—this lock is heavy steel and a real challenge.

  In other words: irresistible!

  Picking a lock is all about listening and intuition. I check the size of the lock and choose a metal pick like a toothpick from my pack. I poke it inside the lock, jiggling around and listening hard for a click. I’m a little surprised when the lock falls open after only a few attempts.

  When I open the door and peek inside, the musty animal smell is overwhelming, and I can hardly believe what I see.

  They’re here! Not one missing pet—but almost all of them!

  The front of the shed is for garden tools but the back is crammed with pet carriers holding cats, dogs, and even rabbits. In the far back corner, there’s a floor-to-ceiling wire cage big enough for a goat—like the one that went missing but was returned within hours.

  But why are the animals so quiet? It’s like walking into a tomb except for the tail wag thumps and barks from a labrador retriever inside a large carrier. I hold my breath as I check the other animals inside carriers … afraid of what I’ll find. I breathe again when I see they’re all sleeping.

  They must be drugged, I think, furious.

  Moving from carrier to carrier, I look through the front bars.

  The silky terrier with a purple collar and purple toenails has to be the missing Miracle—the noisy dog according to the husband of the owner. Yet she’s quietly curled in a ball, sleeping. I recognize more dogs and cats from the flyers, but there are several that don’t match my missing pet lists. In total, there are eleven dogs, three cats, and a rabbit.

  Okay, this is serious. I have to get out now.

  I almost make it. I’m a few feet from the door, and my hand is outstretched, ready to grab the knob … but then the knob starts turning.

  Someone is opening the door from the other side!

  - Chapter 23 -

  Guilty and Innocent

  No way out.

  I look around for a hiding place. There isn’t enough room to hide behind the carriers and the large livestock pen is enclosed in wire that’s easy to see through. There’s a closet in the back of the shed, and I race toward it.

  Inside I find shelves with wigs, hats, make-up, a long, white beard, scarves, and a wooden cane. On the other side clothes hang on a pole, including a white doctor’s coat, a pleated black skirt, leather pants, a studded jacket, and black boots.

  I squeeze in with the hanging clothes then shut the door just as a boy calls out, “Is someone in here?”

  As quiet as a shadow, I hold my breath. I wrap my arms around myself and my heart thuds like thunder.

  “Uncle Kip, are you in here?” he calls again.

  OMG—it’s Skeet! I’ve avoided being his target at school, but if he finds me here, I’m in big trouble.

  At least Becca can’t say I accused him unfairly. He is capital G-U-I-L-T-Y. But I’m too scared for triumph. If Skeet searches the room, he’ll find me …

  “Why did Uncle Kip leave the door open?” Skeet mutters.

  A dog barks—the labrador that led me here.

  “Hungry, fella?” Skeet says in a gentle tone. Paper rustles, probably a bag of dog food. “That’s a good dog. You like that, don’t you.”

  Skeet talks like someone who genuinely loves animals—which is confusing until I guess what he’s doing. He must be giving the dog a sleeping drug with the food.

  Waiting in the dark closet without even a crack of light is torture. I can’t move because I might knock something over. Why is there such an odd collection of clothes and accessories in here anyway? I think back over the descriptions of the various pet-nappers, and match them with the objects in this closet: a cane for the old woman; black boots and red pants for Santa; and a western hat for Spider Tattoo Guy.

  Only why store clothes in a shed? Doesn’t the old woman need her cane? Why don’t Santa and Spider Tattoo keep their clothes at their own homes? It doesn’t make sense … or does i
t?

  Suddenly footsteps pound my way. I jump and bump the cane. It rattles to the floor just as the closet door is yanked open.

  Skeet’s mouth drops open. “You!” he cries.

  “Um … yeah. Hi, Skeet.” I try to act like there’s nothing strange about my hiding in a closet. I even force a smile to hide my fear.

  “Why are you here, Kelly?” Burton Skeet demands, his red ponytail whipping behind him like a deadly snake.

  “It’s Kelsey,” I say uneasily.

  “How did you get in here? No one is allowed except me and my uncle.”

  “Oh, my mistake,” I say almost cheerfully. “I’ll just be leaving …”

  “Not until I figure out what’s going on.” His stocky body is a wall blocking my escape. “I have to tell my uncle.”

  “Don’t!” I shake my head. “Just let me leave and forget I was here.”

  “You’re not going anywhere until I figure out what’s going on.” He grabs my arm and drags me out of the closet.

  “I won’t go with you.” I struggle to break free but he’s all muscle. “And you can’t force me to stay—that would be kidnapping.”

  “You’re the one who illegally broke into my uncle’s shed. So I have to tell him, even though you’re Becca’s friend.” His forehead furrows into a deep frown. “I don’t want Becca to get mad.”

  “She’ll get really, really, really mad at you if you don’t let me leave.”

  “I know and that sucks,” he says, rubbing his forehead like he’s getting a headache. “Why were you in the closet? Are you a thief?”

  “Me? A thief?” I roll my eyes. “You and your uncle stole these animals.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Skeet glares at me. “My uncle fosters animals for the Humane Society. Everyone respects him and the mayor even gave him an award for heroism. He helps animals a lot.”

  “Helps himself to rewards,” I accuse. “And you’re helping him.”

  “Yeah, I’m helping him care for the animals when I have free time.” Skeet nods proudly. “I exercise and feed them.”

  “And drug them,” I say with an angry look at the lab who is now sleeping like the other animals. “You make me sick. I don’t get why Becca or any girl could like someone as cruel as you.”

  “I’m not cruel!” he argues, balling his fists. “I’m saving their lives by keeping them quiet. Or the neighbors would complain and they’d be put to sleep permanently because there’s no more room at the shelter. They don’t stay here long anyway because my uncle is good at finding homes for them. He works hard to help animals—just like Becca’s mom. When there’s room at the shelter, the animals will go there to be adopted.”

  “Liar!” It’s weird how anger makes me forget to be scared. “Your uncle only takes homeless pets to the shelters. He keeps the ones with rewards until his accomplices can collect the reward money.”

  “That’s bull.” Skeet lifts his arm like he’s going to hit me then lowers his hand. “I promised Becca I’d watch my temper, and I’m trying hard. But you’re wrong about my uncle. He’s the kindest, greatest man I know and you better not say mean things about him.”

  “You’re telling me not to be mean?” Now I do laugh but it’s shaky and probably sounds a little crazy. “You help him steal pets.”

  “He rescues abandoned and lost animals.”

  “Stolen animals,” I accuse.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I do—and I can prove it.” I point to the silky terrier sleeping in a small crate. “His name is Miracle and his owner has been looking for him for over a week. She left flyers at the shelter—but Miracle never made it there.”

  “My uncle would never do that.”

  I point to a Scottie. “That black dog is named Togo. He’s been missing for almost two weeks.”

  “No way.” Skeet’s grip on my arm slips, and I jerk away, but he catches me quick like a lizard snapping up a fly.

  “You’re as guilty as your uncle,” I rush on. “When he’s arrested, you’ll be in trouble too.”

  “Arrested?” He looks around the room like it’s a cage and he’s as trapped as the animals.

  “He didn’t just steal pets,” I go on, hoping to scare him into letting me go. “He tried to kill innocent kittens by tossing them in the trash. They would have died if we hadn’t rescued them.”

  “You mean the kittens are still alive?” Skeet chokes out.

  “No thanks to you!” I practically spit at him. “Becca wouldn’t believe me when I told her you were guilty. But I was right. We saw you near the alley after they were dumped. You left them to die in the dumpster, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did,” he answers with no shame.

  I stare at him, shocked that he’d admit to something so horrible.

  “They had to die,” he adds in a calm voice that chills me. “It’s not like I wanted to kill them. I had to do it to protect the other animals. The mother cat died of rabies, and they were infected too.”

  “Who told you that?” I demand.

  “My uncle. He told me to drown them but the dumpster was closer and easier. I felt bad for the kittens but rabid animals have to be destroyed.”

  I try to wrap my brain around his words. Does he really believe the kittens were rabid? Or is he just lying so I won’t tell Becca. But if he’s telling the truth, he’s both guilty and innocent. That’s an oxymoron I bet even Leo can’t explain.

  “The kittens are healthy,” I insist. “Ask Becca—she’ll tell you. All three kittens were doing great the last time I saw them. Definitely not rabid.”

  “But my uncle said …” Skeet’s words trail off.

  “Do you believe everything he says? If you’re telling the truth then he’s lied to you to get you to do his dirty jobs. If they were rabid, why wouldn’t he have them brought to the shelter to be euthanized?”

  “He would never lie to me.”

  “Go ask him,” I say, eager to get rid of him and escape.

  “Yeah … I’ll ask him.” He blinks fast, his shocked eyes unfocused. “That’s what I’ll do. Right now.”

  I’m ready to run past him and out the open door. But his fingers dig into my skin and he drags me over to the goat cage. “You’re not leaving—not until I know what’s going on.”

  “Let go!” I try to break free of his steel-tight grip but he’s too strong.

  “And I’ll take this,” he adds, lifting my spy pack from my shoulders and tossing it to the floor. “So you can’t use your cell phone.”

  He shoves me into the cage before I can tell him I can’t afford my own cell phone.

  Then he slams the cage door shut.

  And locks it.

  - Chapter 24 -

  Caged

  I rattle the lock—one of those combination locks like on a school locker—but it won’t open.

  And my spy pack, with my lock picks inside, is on the other side of the door—out of reach. Think, Kelsey! I urge myself. And think fast because when Skeet comes back with his uncle I’ll really be in trouble.

  I know too much for them to let me go.

  Escape. There has to be a way out. Desperately, I look around the cage. It’s about four-by-four; big enough for a goat, pig, or snoopy girl. The floor is covered with loose hay and tufts of fur. The wire is strong like steel. I’d need wire cutters to break out—which I have in my spy pack.

  Pressing against the wire, I squeeze my arm through the biggest gap I can find but I can’t reach far enough to grab my pack. I only end up with painful scrapes. There has to be a way out of here! I drop to the floor and search through the hay. I find tiny dark pellets (goat food or goat poop?), a broken black dog collar, and a rope about two feet long that probably bound the hay bale.

  Rope! I think excitedly. I can use it to get my b
ackpack.

  But I’ll need something to tie to the end of the rope—like a hook to grab my backpack. I peer through the wire and see a really big hay hook about three feet away. So I come up with the idea to use the rope to lasso the hay hook and tie the hook to the rope and catch my spy pack.

  I tie a loop at the end of the rope, push my hand with the rope through a gap and throw the rope as far as I can.

  Not only do I miss, but I see the rope isn’t long enough.

  Hopeless, I think as I sink to the floor.

  Crying seems like a good idea and very tempting. But the Skeets will be back soon. How far will Officer Skeet go to avoid jail?

  I don’t want to stick around to find out.

  The rope lasso idea might work if I can add more length to the rope. So I dig into the hay on the floor, searching for more rope. I don’t find any but I pick up the broken dog collar. It’s about a foot long with a metal buckle on one end. I stare down at the worn collar then at the rope. Neither is long enough to reach the hay hook separately, but what if I put them together?

  Looping the rope through the hoop on the collar, I pull and tug to test the strength. Yes, this may just work!

  I reach through the gap again and throw the rope-collar at the hay hook. Close, but another fail. I need to hook the metal loop on the collar over the pointed metal tip of the hay hook. Not easy, I find out after about twenty tries. But I loop the hay hook once before it slips off, so I know it’s possible.

  I feel like I’ve been trapped here for hours but it’s probably only been ten minutes. Still, time is running out.

  The Skeets will return soon.

  Fear pushes me to try again and again and again. Sway, swing, throw, miss, then pull the rope back and start over. I’ve probably tried a million times when the collar-rope sails through the air and snags the hay hook.

  It worked! Wow! It actually worked.

  Carefully, I pull the rope toward me. It tugs at first because the hay hook is heavy. But slowly it scrapes across the floor. When the steel hook is close enough to reach, I pull it into the cage. Now all I have to do is tie the rope to the hay hook and swing it out to grab my spy pack. It seems impossible but so did getting the hay hook and now I’m holding it.