Girl's Best Friend Page 10

  My gut felt queasy, filled with dread. I couldn’t believe it—I didn’t want to.

  But a moment later, the guy untied the dog and led him away.

  Just took him.

  I blinked.

  Then I blinked again.

  My heart pounded so hard, I feared it would bust out of my chest and bounce down the street.

  I gripped Preston’s leash tighter, hardly believing I’d just witnessed a dognapping.

  Yet it happened right in front of me. I hadn’t even seen the guy’s face!

  The dognapper was here. And he was getting away.

  I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out. I guess I was in shock because I couldn’t move, either. I had to follow him—I knew I did—but my legs stuck to the sidewalk like my boot soles were caked in superglue.

  I should’ve yelled. I needed to chase him.

  Tackle him.

  Get up in his face and scream, “How could you?”

  Or, “What’s wrong with you?”

  Or more to the point, “Where’s Kermit?”

  But as quickly as he’d appeared and stolen the dog, he was gone.

  He’d turned the corner swiftly and headed down Garfield. The dog followed happily—tail swishing through the air, with no idea of how wrong this was.

  I focused on moving, commanded my body to act, and managed to take one step. Then another, and another, until I got to the end of the street.

  Preston was game—up for the chase—although he’s always up for anything.

  We turned the corner. With clenched fists and an aching heart, I couldn’t figure out what to do first. Grab him? Or scream, “Thief!”

  If I screamed he might run.

  Tackling him would catch him off guard. And I was pretty sure I could bring him down.

  I knew kung fu!

  Okay, fine, I’d only been taking classes for a few months. I’m just a level one white belt. But still … I’m not the worst kid in the class.

  This guy seemed taller than me, but not by much. Way skinnier, too.

  Crazy, since all this time I’d assumed Kermit’s dognapper was some sinister adult—Jane or some big intimidating guy with a grubby goatee and long bushy sideburns. Maybe a tattoo of a pitchfork on his neck. Nancy Drew’s villains were always so, well, villainous.

  But this guy was no thug—he was just a kid. And from the looks of it, he seemed close to my age.

  He had long, dark floppy hair and was dressed in faded jeans and a navy blue sweater. As I got closer I noticed that the sweater had a big hole in one shoulder and—wait a second.

  I stopped suddenly, catching Preston by surprise. He looked up at me as if to ask, “Huh?”

  My voice came out in a whisper. “Sorry, guy.”

  He tried tugging me forward but I could not take another step.

  It was the sweater that stopped me.

  The lack of a sweater, to be more accurate. I knew that hole. Just like I knew that boy.

  The dognapper, that is.

  He was Milo.

  Chapter 17

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Milo. Yeah, that Milo.

  Somehow, someway, in some crazy universe, I had spied the dognapper in action.

  But spying on the dognapper wasn’t the worst part.

  I had fallen for a dognapper.

  I’d lain awake thinking about him.

  Lost sleep over him.

  Wasted precious time daydreaming about him.

  But how was it possible that cute and thoughtful, seemingly sweet, chess-playing and expert-leaning Milo stole dogs?

  Why would he possibly do this? It made no sense. And yet, it explained so much. Or at least why he’d acted so weird in the park last week. His odd behavior had nothing to do with me. He couldn’t take the time to tell me the name of his precious dog because it wasn’t his dog. That poor fluffy creature was just another victim. He probably hadn’t even known her name. But wait a second …

  He had to have known her name because that was a part of his dognapping scam.

  If Ivy’s experience taught me anything it was this: Milo prepared ransom notes in advance.

  Which meant that he was more devious than I’d thought.

  My mind raced to make sense of his evil scheming, and then it hit me. How he made it work.

  Milo must choose his dogs ahead of time. Prepare notes and have them at the ready. That meant he’d followed this poor grandma. Waited for her to leave her golden retriever alone so he could kidnap the poor guy and hold him for ransom.

  A premeditated crime.

  But why? For the money?

  If Jane were guilty, at least she would’ve had a bit more motivation. Revenge is one thing. But stealing dogs for cold hard cash? Heartless!

  I was stunned. Sick to my stomach. Absolutely horrified.

  Crushed by my crush, and in the most unimaginable way possible.

  But I had to do something. If only I could think straight.

  I shook my head to focus. The sidewalks were crowded with people. Some rushed to the subway. Others meandered by with yoga mats slung across their backs. The chubby, sweating mail carrier huffed as he wheeled his mail cart up the street. A high school–age hipster slouched by in skinny jeans that showed too much boxer. Of course, any boxer is too much boxer in my opinion. Underwear is called underwear for a reason.

  But Milo? He was nowhere to be seen. He’d disappeared in the crowd. I had to find him.

  I walked down Seventh Avenue, past First Street. It seemed as if only a moment had passed when I found myself on Eleventh. I marched past kids having races on their scooters and a couple of girls taking turns bouncing on a pogo stick. Three ice-cream shops and four frozen-yogurt stores. Five places claiming to serve the best pizza. Two stoop sales and four baby boutiques. No, five. Make that six.

  Over an hour passed and I never found Milo or the poor golden retriever.

  And then I realized my other mistake. Instead of following Milo, I should’ve returned to the scene of the crime so I could tell that unlucky woman that I knew what happened to her dog.

  I hurried back to the Key Food. But of course, I was too late. The grandma was gone and so was the note.

  Another dog stolen, held for ransom. This time I’d come close to saving him, but I had failed miserably. And now there was nothing I could do about it.

  Or was there?

  I hurried to the nearest pay phone, intent on calling the police, but then I realized that Ivy had already done that and it hadn’t worked.

  So I turned around and hurried Preston home.

  I still had to tell Isabel about her poor dog’s heart condition.

  Not to mention walk Bean and Milo.

  Aargh!

  When I finally gave Isabel the bad news, I almost broke down in tears.

  “But I don’t understand,” said Isabel, dropping to her knees and hugging her dog. “He seems so healthy. This has got to be some sort of mistake.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes, it must be. Let’s not jump to any conclusions, anyway. I’ll get a second opinion and everything will be just fine.”

  “But what if he needs surgery? There could be complications.” I was thinking of Beckett, the toddler I’d run into last week. The one whose dog, Cookie, went in for surgery and ended up “on the farm.” I didn’t want the same thing to happen to Preston. I couldn’t imagine it. I almost wished I were still young enough to believe in some faraway farm as the final destination of all lost pets.

  Isabel gave me a hug. “Please don’t worry. It’s too soon to get this worked up. I promise you, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  I hoped she was right.

  As soon as I got outside, I ran down the street and let myself into Cassie’s apartment so I could collect Bean. I didn’t bother putting on her sweater because there wasn’t enough time. I just leashed her up and headed out. And it may have been my imagination, but she seemed happier without the weight of the clothes. Meanin
g, she snarled at only one other dog during our whole twenty-minute walk. When we got back to her house, I scrawled a quick note to Cassie:

  No need to get Bean’s purple dress dry-cleaned because she didn’t actually wear it.

  Then I headed upstairs. When I let myself into Parminder’s apartment, I was surprised to find her there.

  “Maggie, is that you?” she called as she headed around the corner.

  “Yeah, sorry I’m late! I had to bring another dog to the vet, and it took a lot longer than I’d thought, and, well … ” Not knowing what to say next, I stumbled over my words. It had been a strange day and I still felt weird seeing Parminder in her living room, outside of school. Calling her Parminder instead of Ms. Patel made me feel grown-up. Maybe too much so, considering everything going on.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. Milo is fine.”

  Yeah, dog-Milo is perfect, I thought. It’s boy-Milo who’s a total psycho.

  “And I’m sorry I didn’t call you back yesterday,” said Parminder. “You said you had a question about Milo’s old walker? Is everything okay?”

  “Her name is Jane, right?”

  “Yes.” Parminder nodded. “Jane from Dial-A-Walker. She walked him for about a year.”

  “I ran into her last week. She recognized Bean, and I happened to mention Milo and—”

  “And she was upset, wasn’t she?” asked Parminder.

  “A little,” I admitted. “So what happened?” It didn’t matter anymore. I knew Jane was innocent, but I was still curious.

  “It’s quite simple,” said Parminder. “Her company raised their fees by fifteen percent and it got too expensive.”

  “So you fired her because of a fee increase?”

  “Yes,” said Parminder. “Although firing sounds so harsh. I prefer to think of it as not being able to afford her services anymore. I told her it was nothing personal.”

  “And how did she take the news?”

  Parminder cringed. “Well, she wasn’t pleased, but she wasn’t willing to compromise, either. She said it was company policy. I reminded her that she owned the company, which meant it was all up to her, but apparently that didn’t matter.”

  “Does she have employees? Other walkers, I mean?”

  “I don’t know.” Parminder shrugged. “I always assumed so, but I’ve only ever dealt with Jane.”

  This seemed weird, but I didn’t say so. I just leashed up Milo and took him for an extra long walk, since I’d kept him waiting.

  And also? I needed to think.

  I had so many questions.

  Why did Milo steal dogs? Where did he keep them? And what was he planning on doing with them all? How was I going to get Kermit back safely? And what about that grandma’s golden retriever and Lassie, the missing collie on the sign?

  Should I confront Milo? Demand that he return all the dogs at once?

  He’d just deny it.

  But I’d seen him with my very own eyes …

  I got so caught up in thought, I didn’t even pay attention to where I was until a booming clap of thunder echoed through the sky. Next came a bright flash of lightning that violently interrupted the dusk. Dog-Milo and I were already on Fifteenth Street. Far from home—both his and mine.

  I turned around and headed back as quickly as I could. The next crack of thunder made me jump. Dog-Milo whimpered and I didn’t blame him.

  One second the skies were sunny, and now suddenly all was grim. First came a steady drizzle. Then the skies just opened up. Rain poured down as if from a high-powered faucet. I was drenched before I even made it into the deli.

  “No dogs allowed!” barked the owner from behind the counter.

  “I’ll just be a second,” I said. “All I need is an umbrella.” I picked one up and put it on the counter. Reached into my backpack and pulled out my wallet. Opened it up and saw I only had two dollars. I gulped. “Um, how much is that?”

  “Six dollars,” said the owner.

  “Do you have anything cheaper?” I asked.

  “There’s one for five dollars in the back of the store, but you can’t bring the dog.”

  “Do you have any for two dollars?” I asked, holding up all the money I had.

  He shook his head and asked, “Are you kidding?”

  Even if I had been, I doubt he’d have laughed.

  I bought a newspaper instead. Tented it over my head and jogged toward Parminder’s.

  And just when I thought I couldn’t get wetter, just when I thought I was soaked to the bone, it started raining harder. The newspaper dripped, then split in two. I threw out the wetter half and tried holding the other one over my head, but it quickly turned to soggy confetti. And I still had eight blocks to go. I threw out the paper scraps and kept running.

  Moving so fast I ran right into someone.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Maggie?” asked a familiar—and very surprised—voice.

  Looking up, I found myself face-to-face with my dad.

  “Hi!” I said. “Um, got a spare umbrella?”

  He shifted his over to shelter me from the rain. “You look like a wet rat.”

  “Thanks, Dad. What are you doing in Brooklyn?”

  “I’m working here.”

  “Really? In the neighborhood?” I couldn’t believe this.

  “The piece I’m shooting is on the Brooklyn Dodgers, Maggie. Think about it.”

  In response to my blank stare he added, “That means I’m filming in Brooklyn.”

  “Oh.” I gulped. “Right.”

  I glanced at dog-Milo, then tried to step in front of him, but it was too late.

  “And who’s this?” asked Dad, gesturing toward my favorite puggle, now drenched and unhappily so.

  “This is Milo.” I cringed, hoping the inquiry would end there. “And I should really get him out of the rain. Okay? I’ll just drop him off and come right home.”

  “Uh, Maggie?” asked Dad. “Whose dog is that?”

  “Parminder’s.” I said it like it was obvious. As if I’d already told him six times. “Ms. Patel, I mean. She was my third grade teacher, remember? Finn’s, too.”

  “Yes, I remember Ms. Patel.” He looked from me to Milo. “I just don’t understand why you’re walking her dog.”

  I smiled. Shrugged. Tried to keep my face from turning red. “He needed to go out?”

  “Maggie?” Dad didn’t sound happy.

  I sighed. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  Chapter 18

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “A dog walker?” Dad said, like he’d never heard of such a thing.

  “How long has this been going on?” asked Mom. Her voice sounded surprised, horrified, and angry all at the same time—a tone that hinted at a harsh punishment if I didn’t play my cards right. Not that I had any cards left. Not even ones that didn’t count, like the joker or the too-tiny printed instructions.

  By the time I’d gotten home and changed into dry clothes, my mom was back from work and my dad had filled her in.

  Now the three of us sat in the living room. Me on one side, them—arms crossed and faces crosser—on the other.

  They needed some sort of explanation, but I couldn’t figure out which parts of the truth were safe to tell.

  Meanwhile, the smells of dinner—chicken and vegetable teriyaki stir-fry—wafted in from the nearby kitchen and made my stomach growl. Torture!

  “Maybe we can talk about this over dinner?” I suggested.

  “There’ll be no eating until you explain yourself,” said Mom, who really knew how to turn on the pressure.

  “I’ve only been doing it for a few weeks.” I pulled a throw pillow onto my lap and tugged at a loose thread. “And it’s only a few dogs.”

  “I can’t believe you started a business without telling us,” said Dad.

  “It was an accident.”

  “You accidentally started a business?” asked Mom. “I don’t really see how that’s possible.”

  I shru
gged. There were so many more important things to deal with. Kermit. The golden retriever. Ivy and her stupid threats about Milo. Milo himself. Not to mention Preston and his potential surgery.

  This was the worst, most inconvenient time to get caught.

  “Can you try to explain?” asked Dad.

  “And stop pulling at that thread,” said Mom.

  I pushed the pillow aside and squirmed in my seat, not knowing where to begin.

  “Well, I only walk three dogs.”

  “And when, with all this dog walking, are you going to find the time to do your homework?” Mom asked.

  “It hasn’t been a problem yet.”

  “ ‘Yet’ is the key word,” Dad said. “School’s only just started. It’s going to get harder.”

  “And what about oil painting and kung fu?” asked Mom.

  “I don’t walk dogs other than Preston over the weekend, and this is exactly why I couldn’t tell you in the first place.”

  “So you lied?” asked Mom in full trial-attorney mode. “You’re not exactly making the most valid case here.”

  I swallowed hard and tried to explain. “I didn’t lie. It just never came up and you guys knew I walked Preston. So I figured, what’s two more dogs?”

  “It could be dangerous, going into strangers’ apartments,” Mom said.

  “I agree, and that’s why none of my clients is a stranger. Parminder I know, and Cassie is her neighbor. And it’s not like I’m looking for other clients. Three dogs is my limit. Two that I’m getting paid for and Preston. And walking him was your idea. Plus, none of it takes up very much time. Two hours tops. I’m always home by five.”

  “You mean you’re always home before us,” Dad pointed out. “So you don’t get caught.”

  “Well, that kinda backfired tonight,” I said.

  “It’s the sneaking around that concerns me,” Mom said. “The lying and—”

  “I never lied.”

  “You started a business behind our backs,” Dad said.

  “You never asked me if I was a dog walker. If you had, I’d have told you. Anyway, you let me babysit, which is even more time-consuming. And this is kind of the same thing … ”

  “Except we only let you babysit on weekends,” Mom pointed out. “Having a job every single day after school? That’s too much. You need time to focus on your studies. Seventh grade is important. You’ll be in high school soon and—”