Dognapped! (4 page)

The next day, the local newspaper published an article about Fluffy’s disappearance. It was on the fourth page, under the headline: ‘Prize-winning show dog disappears’. There was a picture of Fluffy and brief details of how she’d gone missing from the back garden, with an appeal to phone the local police station with any news of her whereabouts. It also mentioned a reward of one hundred pounds for her safe return.

Apparently, the ‘someone’ Gran and Mr Winkleberry had been talking to when I brought back the shopping yesterday, was a reporter. I was a bit annoyed at missing out on the chance of speaking to a reporter, just to get chased by an angry pit bull and nearly break my neck climbing drainpipes. Gran was upset that the story hadn’t made the first page, and Mr Winkleberry was angry that they hadn’t mentioned his name, simply referring to him as a guest.

‘We’re having some flyers printed too,’ Gran told me. ‘David … Mr Winkleberry suggested it. Fluffy’s insured so the insurance company will pay for advertisements and contribute towards the reward.’

‘That’s a good idea, the more publicity we get, the more chance we’ve got of finding Fluffy,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll help you give out the flyers, Gran. I’m sure we’ll find Fluffy before the show next Sunday.’

‘I hope so, Amy. The flyers will be ready to pick up after two, so could you collect them and distribute them for me? See if any of the local shops will put one in their window.’

Just then the telephone rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ I said. I pressed the button. ‘Hello, Beachview,’ I answered politely. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’d like to speak to Mrs Carter, please. My name is Mr Mudlark.’

Mr Mudlark. Gran’s competitor.

‘Who is it, Amy?’

‘Er … sorry … it’s Mr Mudlark.’ I passed Gran the phone and busied myself with my cellphone, pretending that I wasn’t listening, but from what I could gather from Gran’s end of the conversation, Mr Mudlark was offering his sympathy and saying he hoped Fluffy was found in time for the show.

‘How kind of Mr Mudlark to phone me,’ Gran said when she’d finished the call. ‘He’s a bit worried that some organised gang has taken Fluffy and that his dogs might be a target too. I’ve promised to let him know as soon as we hear anything.’

‘I thought you two were rivals,’ I said.

‘We are I suppose, which just makes his phone call even kinder.’

Even more suspicious, I thought. It could be just a cover up, to see if anyone was on to him yet. ‘Does he live near here?’

‘About half an hour away, in Frimplea.’ Gran stared at me. ‘Why all the questions, Amy?’

Half an hour. Near enough to drive over here and let Fluffy loose to scupper her chances in the show next week. Or even to kidnap her. I didn’t say this to Gran, though; a good detective like me keeps things to herself. ‘No reason,’ I shrugged. But I decided that, as soon as I could, I’d take a trip over and stake out Mr Mudlark’s place.

After lunch I slipped my micro-recorder into my jacket pocket and set off for the printers. I was hoping to bump into some of the neighbours so I could question them about Fluffy. People tend to get cagey when I whip out a notepad and pen as I talk to them. By taping the conversations instead, I could play back what people had said, listen to their tone of voice and pick up clues.

Gran lent me Grandad’s old bike. It looked like it had come out of the ark, but got me around quicker than walking, and there was a basket on the back where I could put the flyers. I was just glad that none of my friends from back home could see me riding it. Especially Rory. He’d be doubled up.

‘Where are you going?’ Max yelled, leaning out of his bedroom window.

For once I was pleased to see him. I could do with some help posting flyers. ‘To the printer to pick up some flyers about Fluffy. Then I’ve got to hand them out to stores and stuff. Want to come?’

‘You bet! Hang on while I get my bike.’

He appeared at the back gate a couple of minutes later, with a blue bike that was a lot cooler than my sad effort. He glanced sympathetically at my bike.

‘It was Grandad’s,’ I told him. ‘You should see the bike I’ve got at home, a silver lowrider with chrome and alloy wheel trims, the lot.’

Max didn’t seem impressed by this information. ‘You can borrow my sister’s bike if you like, she hardly uses it,’ he offered.

‘No thanks, this’ll be fine.’

On the way, we saw a woman across the road, weeding her front garden. Max told me it was Mrs Crystal, Gran’s rival B&B owner.

‘I’m going to ask her some leading questions and tape her answers, so leave the talking to me,’ I told Max. I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket to switch on the micro-recorder, then started talking to Mrs Crystal about Fluffy. She was friendly, but said she hadn’t seen or heard anything suspicious. Not that she had the chance to say much, with Max’s constant chattering. I felt like gagging him.

‘I said to button it and leave the talking to me,’ I snapped as we rode off. ‘I don’t want the tape full of you talking nonsense.’

‘But you don’t know everyone, so why would they want to talk to you?’ Max argued. ‘Besides, I might have some important questions to ask too.’

He had a point. I guess it was best if he approached people first, as he knew them. ‘Ok, well you can start off talking to them, then leave it to me unless you think of something really, really important. Right?’

The printer was quite chatty, and told me that he thought Fluffy had been kidnapped by an organised gang. ‘They find out who’s got valuable dogs and target them,’ he said. I pointed out that the gang wouldn’t know Fluffy was in the garden by herself, but he said they’d lie in wait and watch for days. ‘There’s big money to be made selling pedigree dogs on the black market,’ he said.

I wasn’t sure I agreed with him, but I recorded the conversation anyway.

We spent the next couple of hours distributing the flyers. Some of the local stores agreed to put them in their windows, while others stuck them on the wall inside. We left a couple in the library, and posted others through mailboxes. A lot of people stopped to talk and give us their theories on Fluffy’s disappearance. I couldn’t wait to get home and play back all the conversations to see if anything struck me as suspicious. It had been hard to think clearly with Max’s endless interruptions.

As I approached Beachview, I could see Mr Winkleberry sitting in his car, engine running, and Gran about to get into the passenger seat.

‘Someone’s just phoned … they think they’ve just seen Fluffy by the harbour,’ Gran shouted to me.

‘Can I come?’ I asked. ‘I feel real bad about losing Fluffy; I want to be there when she’s found.’

‘And me,’ begged Max.

‘Get in then, quick, but not you Max, you’d best go straight home, your mother’s already been looking for you.’

Max went to protest, but his mother came out and ordered him in. I put my bike in the front garden, got into the back of the car and we set off. But when we got to the harbour, there was no sign of Fluffy, or any other dog for that matter.

‘She must have wandered off somewhere,’ Gran said. ‘Oh, if only that woman had picked her up and brought her home.’

Gran had brought Fluffy’s favourite squeaky toy with her and kept squeaking it so Fluffy would hear it and come running – but she didn’t.

We looked around for hours. Finally, we went home, tired and exhausted.

‘I’m dying to put my feet up and have a cup of tea,’ Gran said, taking out her keys. As she opened the front door, we saw a white envelope lying on the mat. The words ‘Mrs Carter’ were written on it in big black capital letters.

‘Now who’s sent me a note at this time of night,’ Gran said, picking it up. She opened it up and pulled out a sheet of paper.

‘Oh my goodness!’ she gasped, her face white. ‘It says that if I want Fluffy back safe, I’ll have to pay £2,000.’

‘We’ll call the police immediately,’ Mr Winkleberry exclaimed. ‘I’m not letting them hold you to ransom like this!’

‘I can’t. It says that if I tell the police I’ll never see Fluffy alive again. Look.’ Gran held out the letter, her hand trembling.

‘Let me see, Gran.’ I said quickly. This was the first real piece of physical evidence we’d seen so far, so I wanted to study it carefully. I certainly didn’t want Gran and Mr Winkleberry making any rash decisions about calling the police or otherwise, until I’d had a chance to work out whether this was the work of Fluffy’s captor, or just someone trying to make some money out of Gran while she is desperate and vulnerable.

I cleared my mind, took a deep breath and started reading:

‘Well, whoever it is, they don’t live very far from here. Or they’ve got an accomplice nearby,’ I said.

‘How do you know that?’

‘The letter’s been hand-delivered, Gran. Probably by the same person who sent us out on that wild goose chase down to the harbour.’

‘You mean someone just wanted to get us out of the way, so they could deliver the letter?’ Gran looked really upset. ‘How awful to think that someone local has kidnapped my precious little princess. They could be watching the house now, waiting to see what I’ll do.’

‘Well I think the letter is a fake and we should inform the police immediately,’ Mr Winkleberry said, snatching the note back from me. ‘And the less we handle it the better, they might want to check it for fingerprints.’

Gran was reluctant to get the police involved, not wanting to put Fluffy’s life in danger, but she eventually agreed to call them first thing in the morning. She put the note in the top drawer of the dresser in the private lounge, where she kept all her important papers.

I wanted another look at the note before the police took it away. Gran usually got up at 7.00 am to cook breakfast, so I set the alarm on my phone for 6.30 am the next morning, and crept downstairs. As I went through the kitchen, I was surprised to find the back door slightly open. Gran always made sure that all the doors were locked before she went to bed at night. Then, I heard someone talking quietly. I peered out of the crack in the door and saw Mrs McFarlane talking on her cellphone.

‘With Fluffy out of the picture, Maisy-May is bound to win the show, John, then all your worries will be over,’ she said.

Maisy-May. Wasn’t that Mr Mudlark’s dog? Was Mrs McFarlane speaking to Mr Mudlark? I strained my ears, but Mrs McFarlane had walked further down the garden and I couldn’t hear anymore. A few minutes later, she ended the call and started to head back towards the house. I hurried into the private lounge and closed the door, trying to digest this new information:

Mrs McFarlane knew Mr Mudlark.

She had got out of bed early so she could phone Mr Mudlark without anyone – even her husband – knowing. She had said that now Fluffy was out of the way, Maisy-May would win.

Were Mrs McFarlane and Mr Mudlark in this together, so that Maisy-May would win the show? But why would that solve all Mr Mudlark’s worries? I thought the winners just got a cup or rosette. Did they get money too?

I opened the dresser drawer, took out the note and read it again. It could be important evidence that I might need to refer to later. I took a photo of it with my cellphone, made a new folder called ‘Fluffy File’ and saved it to that, then put it back in the drawer. I was on my way upstairs when the front door opened and Emily walked in. She looked very surprised to see me.

‘You’re up early, Amy,’ she said. ‘Is there any news on Fluffy.’

‘Gran had a ransom note last night.’ I said casually. ‘It looks like someone might have kidnapped Fluffy for the money.’

Emily frowned. ‘Or maybe someone’s pretending they’ve got her so that they can get some money from your Gran.’

‘Yep, we’ve thought of that too,’ I nodded. ‘What do you think has happened to Fluffy?’ I asked. ‘Do you think she’s been dognapped?’

‘I don’t know, Amy, but Fluffy is a lovely dog and I’m sure if someone has taken her, they won’t harm her,’ Emily replied. ‘Now, I need to jump in the shower. I got talking to a friend last night and ended up sleeping on her sofa.’

‘Okay, see you later,’ I told her.

Emily was halfway up the stairs when she turned to me. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself for Fluffy disappearing, Amy. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Thanks,’ I replied. But I did blame myself – and so did everyone else, except Emily – and I was determined to do everything in my power to put things right by getting Fluffy back.

I went to my room, took out my notepad, turned to a clean page and wrote:

Ransom Note: Who could have sent it?

I turned back to my list of suspects and frowned. I hadn’t managed to rule out any of them yet. Except maybe Mrs Brewson. She was hardly likely to be keeping Fluffy a prisoner with that crazy pit bull around, was she?

What about Mr Winkleberry? He’d been quick to get Gran out of the house tonight after the phone call. Maybe he was working with an accomplice? But he liked Gran. Surely he wouldn’t try and take £2,000 from her. I shook my head. No, he wouldn’t do that. He’d made it clear that he thought the ransom note was a fake – although I noticed that he’d been quick to handle it after saying we shouldn’t touch it. I sighed. Somewhere there was a clue as to who’d taken Fluffy and I had to find it fast or we’d never get her back in time for the show.

I decided to start by investigating Mr Mudlark. That phone call between him and Mrs McFarlane sounded very suspicious and, as Gran’s main competitor, surely he had the most to gain from Fluffy’s disappearance? If I knew where he lived, I could pay him a secret visit. Gran probably knew the address, but if I asked her, she’d guess what I was planning and forbid me from going there. If only Gran had internet access, I could do a search for it – and maybe find out exactly how much prize money a show dog like Fluffy could expect to win. Was it enough to solve someone’s ‘money worries’?

The smell of bacon and sausages wafted up the two flights of stairs, making my mouth water. I was starving. I put my notepad away and went down. Mr Winkleberry and the McFarlanes were already tucking into their breakfast.

‘Yours is in the oven,’ Gran said, as I walked into the kitchen. ‘Be careful, the plate is hot.’

‘Thanks.’ I picked up the oven cloth. ‘Did you tell the police about the letter?’ I asked, taking my breakfast out of the oven.

‘Yes, they’re sending someone around later.’

‘Good.’ I paused. ‘Do you know of any internet cafés around here, Gran?’ I asked. ‘I really want to check my email.’

‘You can go on the internet at the library,’ Gran told me. ‘It’s free for children.’

‘Excellent. Where’s the library?’

‘It’s just around the corner from the printer. It’s a huge building. You won’t be able to miss it.’

So, as soon as breakfast was finished, I set off for the library. I wanted to be back before the police officer came to see Gran about the note.

‘Where are you going?’ Max pounced on me as soon as I wheeled my bike out of the back gate.

‘To the library.’ I filled him in about the ransom note and Mrs McFarlane’s early morning phone call to Mr Mudlark. ‘I want to go on the internet and find out where he lives. Gran hasn’t got internet access, so I can’t use my laptop.’

‘Well, you can use our computer, we’ve got broadband,’ Max said.

‘You have? That’s excellent. Are you sure your folks won’t mind me using it?’

‘’Course not, there’s only Mum at home, and I’ll say you need it for a project or something.’

‘Cool.’

Mrs Todd was busy loading the washer. She nodded briefly when Max told her we were going on the computer. Max logged on, then I did a search on Bichon Frisé breeders, which soon gave me Mr Mudlark’s address and telephone number. Next, I searched for information on prizes for dog shows, but I couldn’t find anything useful, so I found the number for the Kennel Club and gave them a call on my cellphone, pretending I was doing research for a school project:

PODCAST 2

Go to
www.amycartermysteries.com/dognapped-2

I relayed the conversation to Max as soon as I ended the call. ‘So that’s what Mrs McFarlane was on about this morning. She and Mr Mudlark must have planned Fluffy’s kidnap together.’

‘What about the ransom note?’ he asked.

‘That could be a red herring, to throw us off track. I’m going to pay Mr Mudlark a visit,’ I said, printing out a map of the route to his house.

‘I’m coming too,’ said Max.

‘No you’re not. Things could get dangerous if Mr Mudlark has got Fluffy and finds out I’m on to him.’

‘Yeah, well, who’s going to keep watch for you if I’m not there?’

I thought about this for a second. ‘Okay, but you do as I say. Right?’