Forensics Squad Unleashed (15 page)

I check the time on my cell phone. Seven fifty-five. I can feel my heart speeding up even though nothing has happened yet.

I text Mason.
Any news?

No
, he texts me back.
Just some squeegee kid walking through the park. He said “Hi pooch” when he passed Roxie.

That is when I place the song. It’s “Who Let the Dogs Out?”

TWENTY-TWO

In a big city like Montreal, I am used to seeing squeegee kids. Some have long, unwashed dreadlocks, and others’ heads are shaven. Their arms are tattooed, their lips and eyebrows are pierced, and their faces are sunburned and craggy from living on the streets. They hang out at busy intersections, often at entrances or exits to the highway, and when the traffic light turns red, they rush the cars, using their squeegees to clean the windshields—even when they are perfectly clean. I have seen drivers try to wave squeegee kids away, but most drivers lower their windows just enough to hand over a buck or two.

“It’s extortion,” my dad says.

Mom is more sympathetic. The company she works for raises funds to help street kids, so Mom has visited some of the local homeless shelters. “I just hope those poor kids have some place to sleep tonight,” my mom will say. “And what about their parents? Imagine having a child who lives
on the street.” Then she’ll lower her window and give them some money and the address of the closest shelter.

Something else I have noticed about squeegee kids is that many of them have dogs. Dad says it is one more ploy to shake people down for money (“
You feel sorry for the poor mutt who ended up with that kid.
”). Mom disagrees. I’ve heard her say the dogs are probably the squeegee kids’ only real friends.

“Who Let the Dogs Out?”

Maybe it was pure coincidence that the squeegee kid was whistling that song. But maybe it wasn’t. Could the squeegee kid be our contact person? All he would need is Internet access, which he could get at any library or coffee shop.

I text Mason.
Maybe the squeegee kid is our man.

This time, Mason does not text back right away. All I can do is wait. I am terrible at waiting. If only I could see the bike rack from here. I imagine Roxie sitting, one ear pricked—watching and listening.

Mason texts me back.
You might be right. He’s talking to Muriel and Nico now. Over and out.

Then nothing. No more texts from Mason. My legs are getting crampy.

Except for some crickets singing and the sound of my own breathing, the park is perfectly still. I cannot stand not knowing what is going on.

So?
I write to Mason.

Still no answer.

Is Roxie ok?

No answer.

A black bird—or is it a bat?—startles me when it swoops overhead. Even though the air is warm, I cannot help shivering.

And then I hear something. Words echoing in the darkness.

First a stranger’s voice. Rough and angry. “You’re just a kid. You should’ve told me. And that you were bringing a friend. I don’t do business with kids.”

Now Muriel’s voice. Higher-pitched than usual. “So what if I’m a kid? I’ve got the money.”

I know she does not have the money.

“Where’s the dog?” That’s Nico. Serious for once. Afraid. I can hear it in his voice.

“Like I said, I don’t do business with kids.”

And then, in the distance, a short, sharp bark. But definitely a bark—and not Roxie’s, which is lower and longer. Roxie must hear the barking too, but she doesn’t respond.

“Show us the Chihuahua before we give you the money.” Nico’s voice again. Why do they keep mentioning the money?

“Show me the money first.”

The conversation stops. Now I hear the sound of a scuffle and people running. More barking. Roxie is barking now too. Someone—I can’t tell who—is shouting, “Oh, crap!”

What is going on? I don’t know where to look.

I jump—nearly bumping my head on the bottom of the slide—when my cell phone vibrates in my hand.

It’s a message from Mason:
2

Make a run for it.

My legs are shaking. Before I do anything else, I need to get Roxie. When I reach the bike rack, Mason is waiting for me. But where is Roxie?

I want to scream. But we agreed that no matter what, we would not draw any attention to ourselves. Besides, when I open my mouth, no sound comes out.

TWENTY-THREE

“Where is Roxie?” I hiss when my voice comes back.

“Tabitha, I don’t know how to tell you—” Mason sounds like he’s about to hyperventilate.

“Where is she, Mason?”

“I’m really sorry. What I’m trying to tell you is…Roxie’s gone. And it’s my fault.”

I had been starting to appreciate things about Mason I had not noticed before, warming up to him—but not anymore. I have no sympathy for him now. “You promised, you…you…stupid jerk…” Insulting Mason does not make me feel any better. So I punch him in the stomach. But he is too pudgy to feel it. And now my knuckles hurt.

“I said I’m sorry,” Mason is saying. “I messed up. I was watching the squeegee kid and Nico and Muriel. And then I had to pee—really bad. And I didn’t want anyone to see me—or hear me. So I went behind that tree over there. I know I shouldn’t have done it. And I swear I was only gone
for a couple of minutes. Roxie was tied up, and she didn’t bark or anything, so I didn’t even realize until I got back.”

We had a plan for what to do if things went wrong. But right now my mind can’t focus on a plan. Mason follows me to the bike rack. I take my flashlight out of my pocket. In the dim light, I can see Roxie’s paw prints on the dusty ground. And shoe prints too. Why would Roxie have gone with someone else anyway? Could the person have had something Roxie wanted—like a toy or a bone? I kneel down to get a closer look at the prints. It looks like whoever took her was wearing runners—old ones.

It feels like my heart is beating inside my throat. I close my eyes. Maybe that will help me think.

It is Mason who notices something glimmering on the ground: a foil candy wrapper. Could the dognapper have dropped it? Mason is about to pick up the wrapper when I stop him. “Don’t tamper with the evidence,” I tell him.

Then I remember I am still wearing the pink plaid shorts I wore to camp today. When I took off my rubber gloves earlier, Stacey was standing near me, and because I did not want to get a lecture about not reusing them, I stuffed them into my front pocket. I pull the gloves out now and show them to Mason. Then I slip them on, grab the candy wrapper and turn the gloves inside out so the evidence is safely stashed inside.

I am shoving the wrapper and the gloves back into my pocket when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Lay off!” I yell.

“It’s only me.”

I recognize the T-shirt—the skull and bones glow yellow in the dark—before the voice. “Nathaniel? What are you doing here?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Someone took Roxie.”

“Crap!” he says.

Mason shakes his head. “It’s my fault. I should’ve been watching her.”

Stacey runs over from the other side of the park. “Nathaniel? I thought you were grounded,” she says.

“We heard you were locked in your room,” Mason says.

Nathaniel does not bother to explain what he is doing here or how he got out of his house. “Did you see which way Nico and Muriel went?” he asks Stacey.

“Did you see Roxie?” I ask her at the same time.

“Nico and Muriel followed the squeegee kid. That way.” She points north on Lansdowne Avenue to the steep part where the fancy houses are. Then Stacey looks at me. “Where’s Roxie?”

“Roxie’s gone. The squeegee kid must have taken her when Mason went to pee.”

Stacey groans. “You went to
pee
?”

I am trying not to cry. “Roxie’s been dognapped,” I manage to say.

“I can’t believe it,” Stacey says. “But the weird thing is, I didn’t see her. The squeegee kid had the Chihuahua in his backpack. But he didn’t have Roxie.”

“Roxie! Roxie!” I call out. I am half expecting her to bark or to come loping out of the bushes, wanting to nuzzle me, but she doesn’t. The only answer I get is the rustle of the wind.

“C’mon,” Mason urges us, “let’s go. We need to stick together. If we catch the dognapper, he’ll take us to Roxie.”

“How do you know?” I ask him.

“I just know.”

I decide to believe Mason, mostly because I don’t have a choice. I take one last look around before I follow the others. No sign of movement except for some rustling in the treetops. Where in the world is Roxie? My whole body hurts from worry.

We do not wait for the light on de Maisonneuve Boulevard to turn green. We are getting to the steep section of Lansdowne when Mason whispers, “Shoot.”

“What’s wrong?” Nathaniel asks him.

Mason’s shoulders droop. “My cell phone. I left it at the park. I put it down on the bench while I went to pee.”

“Do you ever
not
forget something?” I ask him.

“We’ll wait here, Mason,” Nathaniel says, “but you better hurry.”

“The words
Mason
and
hurry
should not be used in the same sentence,” I mutter, but he gets back faster than I expect, although he’s out of breath. How is he going to make it up the hill?

“I found it,” he says. “And this too.”

He shows us a folded-up piece of paper. When he unfolds it and holds it up to the light, we see it is a copy of the email correspondence between Muriel and the person who was trying to sell her the Chihuahua.

“Now look at this,” Mason says, turning the sheet over. On the other side is another email.

“He can’t be such a bad guy if he cares enough about the environment to print on both sides of a sheet,” Stacey says.

The second email message is about a white standard poodle.

“I think we saw the dognapper walking through the park before,” Mason says. “He’s one of those squeegee kids.”

Nathaniel looks up the hill. We cannot see all the way to the top of Lansdowne from here. “I just hope we haven’t lost him,” he says.

“What about Muriel and Nico?” Stacey asks. “Do you see any sign of them?”

“Nope. Could be they’re so high up the hill we can’t see them from here.” The way Nathaniel says it makes me think he is trying to convince himself that there is nothing to worry about.

“I hope you realize you got your fingerprints all over that sheet,” I say to Mason as we trudge up the street. But he is not listening. Neither are the others. That is because, midway up the street, someone behind a white picket fence is waving us over. Muriel.

“Where’s Nico and the—?” Stacey starts to ask when we get to where Muriel is.

“Shhh!” Muriel presses her finger to her lips. “The squeegee kid went into the backyard here. Nico followed him. I said I’d wait for you guys. What took you so long?”

I want to blame Mason and tell her it’s also his fault that Roxie is missing, only there isn’t time. We have to find the dogs. “Let’s go,” I say.

“D’you think this is where he lives?” Mason asks.

“Squeegee kids don’t usually live in mansions,” I point out.

The lights are out and all the curtains are drawn in the house the squeegee kid has led us to. I’ll bet the owners are away for the summer holidays. A long driveway leads to a three-car garage. There is another fence, a higher one, to the right of the garage. Nathaniel tries unlatching the fence from the outside, but it is locked. “They must’ve jumped over it,” he says, stepping back so he can do the same.

Mason backs away from the fence. “Jumped over that thing? Maybe I should wait here. I could be the lookout.”

“You can do it,” Nathaniel says. “You jumped over a wall in the obstacle course. Besides, we’ll help you.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t be such a girl,” Nathaniel says.

“Excuse me,” I say, “but did you just say what I think you said?”

Muriel and Stacey are shaking their heads too.

“That was such a sexist remark,” Stacey says.

“Extremely sexist,” Muriel adds. “You should know better, Nathaniel.”

“I—I didn’t mean it that way,” Nathaniel stammers. “I just meant…look, it was a dumb thing to say.”

“Should we forgive him?” Muriel asks.

“Maybe,” Stacy and I say at the same time.

“Okay then, Mason,” Nathaniel says, “let’s do this.”

Nathaniel squats down so Mason can put one hand on his back while Stacey, Muriel and I give him a boost.

“How’s that for girl power?” Muriel asks Nathaniel when Mason lands on the other side of the fence.

“Okay, okay,” Nathaniel says. “I said I was sorry.”

Nathaniel is the next one over, and then it’s my turn. When I land on the other side, Nathaniel offers me his hand, but I refuse to take it. “You never said a word about being sorry. You just said it was a dumb thing to say.”

“Well then, I’m sorry,” he says. “Honestly.”

Once Stacey and Muriel have scaled the fence, we follow a flagstone path to the backyard. Even in the dark, the backyard is impressive. We can make out flower beds on every side and, in the middle of the yard, a giant kidney-shaped swimming pool. There is mosaic tile around the pool, and at the end where I am standing, I can see the words
DEEP END
and
NINE FEET
written out in mosaic, just like at a public pool. Behind the pool is a stone pool house, a mini version of the mansion in front.

But where is Nico? And where is the dognapper? And what about Roxie?

“Over here.” It is the first time I have ever heard Nico whisper. He is crouched in front of a giant boulder. It is also the first time I have ever seen him be perfectly still.

“He went into the pool house,” Nico whispers. “All we have to do is wait him out.”

“D’you think he knows we’re following him?” Muriel asks her brother.

“If he didn’t know it before, he’s probably figured it out now. You guys weren’t exactly stealthy climbing the fence. I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t called the cops.”

When Nico says the word
cops
, the door to the pool house opens a sliver. In the moonlight, I can just make out
what seem to be eyes, low to the ground, shining in the darkness. Why do they seem so familiar? Then I hear a short, sharp bark, and I realize those eyes belong to a Chihuahua.