The Missing Dog Is Spotted (13 page)

Rain smashed against the stained glass. The only things missing were a mighty flash of lightning, a full-on power failure and sinister violin music.

“What was
that
about?” Merrilee demanded. She shoved the yellowed papers away and reached over to grab one of the books from the pile that Loyola had moved to the next table.

“You're not going to study?” I asked.

Although I was not the best student at school, I did study, especially when I knew there'd be a quiz. And I still kind of liked it when my mom posted my better efforts on the fridge door. I think she had even saved the portrait of my grandfather. She said it was a keeper.

Merrilee gave me a withering look.

But that didn't bother me nearly as much as the table pounding that was sure to come if I failed the quiz, so I got to work. Pascal studied the sheets, too. Then we took turns writing out eroded dates and seeing if the other could guess the correct numbers.

Eventually, Loyola returned to our table to chat. She noisily scraped a chair across the marble floor and sat down.

“So, what do you think of the donation?” she asked Merrilee.

“Looks pretty good,” Merrilee said, leafing through a book. “I'd like to sign it out.”

I stopped quizzing Pascal. “What donation?” I asked.

“Several copies of the book Merrilee has arrived by mail this morning. There's no return address, no way to find out who the donor is.”

I leaned over to read the cover of Merrilee's book.
The Purloined Parrot
.

“What does
purloined
mean?” I asked.

“Stolen,” Merrilee said.

I shrugged. The book still sounded pretty girly.

“How's it going here?” Loyola asked brightly, despite the surrounding gloom.

“Okay,” I said, tidying up Creelman's papers of eroded numbers. “But what's with all the table pounding and whatnot?”

“Mr. Creelman's dead serious about the cemetery,” Loyola said, grinning at her choice of words. “He's a founding member of the Twillingate Cemetery Brigade.”

“Are they ever coming back?” Pascal asked, leaning into the central aisle for a better view of the front door.

“Oh, sure,” Loyola replied. “Mr. Preeble and Mr. Wooster are probably finishing up at the cafe down the street by now, and Mr. Creelman is likely pacing the shop's back alley, trying not to smoke.”

“He smokes?” I repeated.

“Poor guy,” Loyola said. “He told me that he wants to quit for good just once before he dies.”

There was a commotion at the door, and we craned our necks to watch the arrival of the Brigade. They made a beeline for our table while Loyola returned to the front desk, pushing a squeaky trolley of books along the way.

“Ready for your quiz?” Creelman demanded, his two cronies on standby.

“You're dripping,” Merrilee said kindly. “Let me get you some paper towels.”

She got up from the table with the slightest grin.

She didn't fool me. I knew exactly what she was doing. She was getting out of the quiz, that's what she was doing, and she was going to take her sweet time finding those paper towels.

From his pocket, Creelman dug out a stack of cue cards wrapped in a thick elastic band, each with an eroded date on it. And that's how it went — him holding up a card and us calling out the year. Merrilee took forever to return, and sure enough, by then, we were done.

Creelman scooped up his yellowed papers from the table.

“See you next Wednesday. Thirteen hundred hours sharp.”

“Thirteen hundred hours? I thought we were only volunteering on Wednesdays for the next three months,” Pascal said. “Just until we graduate.”

Creelman shot him a sober look before leading the Brigade away without a word.

I lingered until they were gone, and then I explained military time to Pascal. We packed up our knapsacks to go.

Outside, it poured. I stood on the steps to zip my coat while Pascal took off in the direction of his home. Merrilee remained behind to sign out her book. I looked across the street at the cemetery, glad to have avoided my duties in there, at least for now.

Lightning flashed.

Thunder clapped.

Darkness descended.

I half expected to hear an evil laugh coming from the other side of the looming iron gate.

“Well,” I half joked to myself out loud. “This certainly has all the makings of a horror movie.”

About the Author

JESSICA SCOTT KERRIN
is the author of the popular Lobster Chronicles series and the bestselling Martin Bridge series. Her novel
The Spotted Dog Last Seen
was a finalist for the Canadian Library Association Book of the Year for Children Award and the John Spray Mystery Award. It was also selected as a New York Public Library Book for Reading and Sharing.

Born and raised in Alberta, Jessica now lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and once owned a nutty English springer spaniel who inspired this book.

About the Publisher

Groundwood Books, established in 1978, is dedicated to the production of children's books for all ages, including fiction, picture books and non-fiction. We publish in Canada, the United States and Latin America. Our books aim to be of the highest possible quality in both language and illustration. Our primary focus has been on works by Canadians, though we sometimes also buy outstanding books from other countries.

Many of our books tell the stories of people whose voices are not always heard in this age of global publishing by media conglomerates. Books by the First Peoples of this hemisphere have always been a special interest, as have those of others who through circumstance have been marginalized and whose contribution to our society is not always visible. Since 1998 we have been publishing works by people of Latin American origin living in the Americas both in English and in Spanish under our Libros Tigrillo imprint.

We believe that by reflecting intensely individual experiences, our books are of universal interest. The fact that our authors are published around the world attests to this and to their quality. Even more important, our books are read and loved by children all over the globe.