Girl's Best Friend Read online

  “What are you wearing?” she asked as soon as she noticed me.

  “It’s my disguise,” I told her, which should’ve been obvious.

  “You’re dressed as a dork?” she asked with a laugh. “Not much of a disguise.”

  “For someone asking for so many favors, you sure are rude.”

  Ivy shrugged. “I’m only being honest.”

  “I’m dressed as a bird-watcher,” I said, holding up the binoculars. “And I wore sneakers in case there’s a chase. Something you maybe should’ve thought of.” I stared pointedly at her platform boots.

  I knew I had her, but she still shrugged and said, “Dork, bird-watcher. Same thing.” All dismissive.

  “Do you want my help or not?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Ivy. “They said to come alone.”

  “Right. We’ve been over this and we agreed it would be a bad idea to—”

  “You agreed and that was last night. I’ve been thinking, the park’s a public place, and it’s always packed on weekends. I mean, what could happen in broad daylight?”

  “That’s how Kermit got stolen in the first place,” I reminded her. “Plus, last year someone snatched my mom’s purse in the middle of the afternoon, and they never even caught the guy.”

  Ivy sighed heavily. “Fine. It’s your money, so I guess you call the shots.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said. “I just think we need to figure out who’s behind the dognapping. Because what if they do this again?”

  “I’d never leave Kermit alone twice. If I get him back, I won’t let him out of my sight.”

  “I mean, what if they do this to other dogs?” I said.

  “Oh.” Ivy thought for a moment, her narrow eyebrows scrunched together. “Okay, that makes sense. Did you bring the cash?”

  I pulled a small white envelope from my back pocket and handed it to Ivy. “Here.”

  She stood, dusted off the back of her jeans, and inspected it. The envelope was unmarked, as specified, and bulky with my hundred dollars, cash. (Mostly old bills—I’d saved Cassie’s for myself.)

  “It’s all there,” I said. “Count it if you want.”

  “I trust you.”

  We walked to the park in silence—six long blocks. Ivy’s boots clicked against the sidewalk, fast and annoyed.

  One thing about Ivy: she wasn’t going to pretend to like me just because I was doing her this favor—waking up extra early on a Sunday and lending her most of my dog-walking money—when she wasn’t even my friend anymore.

  If anything, she acted like she resented me more than ever. Which annoyed me and made me wonder why I’d agreed to help in the first place.

  But I tried to look for the positives: like, maybe I should be refreshed by her honesty?

  It wasn’t easy.

  “So you know what you’re supposed to do?” I asked once we were across the street from the park.

  “Tape the cash to the park bench and walk away,” said Ivy. “Meanwhile, you’ll be watching from your hiding place. And when you yell ‘Kermit,’ I turn around and we corner the dognapper and scream for help.”

  I nodded. “Yup. That’s it.”

  “But what if it doesn’t work?”

  “How can it not work?”

  Ivy frowned. “It’s just so simple.”

  “Simple plans are the best,” I assured her.

  She narrowed her eyes at me, suspicious. “Says who?”

  “Says me. Don’t worry so much.” I checked my watch. “It’s almost time. We shouldn’t be talking. They might be watching now.”

  Ivy looked around. “You think?” She sounded a little panicked, which made me feel better. At least she was taking this seriously.

  “I don’t know. I hope not. You go in first and I’ll hang back.”

  “Okay.” Ivy waited for the light to change and crossed the street, walking stiffly between the panther statues.

  I followed a couple of minutes later.

  Once I got to the park, I stopped and pretended to admire some birdlife, but unfortunately all I could see at the moment were some pigeons picking at a stale-looking hot-dog bun.

  Still, I squinted at them through my binoculars, pulled out my notepad, and pretended to write down my observations.

  Then I moved on, heading toward the designated park bench, but not directly.

  Once I got within fifty feet or so, I ducked behind a tree, crouched down, and stared at the bench through my binoculars.

  The envelope was there and Ivy had just walked away, looking about as awkward as I felt.

  Ivy was right. It did seem dorky coming to the park with gigantic binoculars.

  I hoped I didn’t run into anyone I knew. And right as I was having that thought—as if I’d conjured up my biggest fear—I heard a familiar voice speaking from behind me.

  “You again?”

  I spun around and found myself face-to-face with the dark-haired dog walker. This time she had only one client with her—a chubby basset hound with droopy, bloodshot eyes.

  “Spying on the competition?” she asked.

  So much for being inconspicuous. Then I realized something: if it looked like I was in conversation with the crazy dog-walker lady, Kermit’s dognapper wouldn’t know I was watching him or her.

  “Hi, I’m Maggie.” I held out my hand and tried to be as friendly as possible. “I never did catch your name.”

  “It’s Jane,” she said with a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, not that it’s any of your business,” I said as I held up my binoculars, “but I happen to be an avid bird-watcher.”

  “You have time for hobbies? It must be nice. I’m too busy working and worrying about my business. I lost another client yesterday.”

  “Lost?” I gulped, thinking about the chocolate Lab’s close brush with death.

  “Yeah, it seems that Daphne’s parents found a cheaper dog walker.”

  “Daphne?” I glanced back at the envelope, wanting to keep the conversation short but knowing I couldn’t let Jane see what I was up to.

  I edged away and sat down on the nearest bench. Unfortunately, she joined me. “Are you sure you don’t know her?”

  “I don’t. Seriously—I don’t have any new dogs. I’m not even looking for any new dogs. I’m busy enough. What with my bird-watching hobby.” I held up my binoculars to remind her. “Did you know that over thirty-six types of warblers have been spotted in this park?”

  Jane huffed, thoroughly unimpressed with my bird factoid.

  “I’ve only seen two myself, but this is new for me.” I spoke as earnestly as possible, feeling more like someone pretending to be a dork than an actual dork. A subtle but necessary distinction.

  “So you’re still going with the ‘innocent kid’ act?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s no act. I’m barely twelve, and I’ve never stolen anything in my life. Never broken and entered. Never shoplifted—not even a piece of candy. I’ve never trespassed, as far as I know. I’m a Girl Scout. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I used to be a Girl Scout for real, but that was a long time ago and I always hated the uniform. The cookies were good. Especially the Thin—”

  “Do you have a point?” Jane snapped.

  “Absolutely. I’m not only innocent, I’m the definition of innocence. Look up innocent on Wikipedia; you’ll see my smiling face.” Okay, maybe I got carried away, but I really wanted to be clear with her.

  “I have to work weekends now, just to stay competitive,” Jane said, like she didn’t even hear me.

  She really had a one-track mind. In this woman’s imagination, we were in some major competition and I didn’t know how to convince her otherwise.

  “Look, I’m glad you stopped by to say hello. But I’m kind of busy right now.” I smiled, turned around, and raised my binoculars to my face.

  Meanwhile, Jane still sat next to me, fuming. “Know what, Maggie? You’re treating this like a joke, but there’s nothing funny about
this situation and you’d better watch your back.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But right now I’d like to get back to watching birds.” I spotted the right bench and adjusted the binoculars.

  “Do whatever you want to do,” said Jane. “But don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  “Warned?” I tore my gaze from the bench, alarmed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jane didn’t answer. She couldn’t because she’d already stormed off, pulling that poor basset hound along behind her.

  By the time I turned back to the dog beach, I couldn’t find the right bench. I thought it was the third from the end, but when I focused on it, I couldn’t see an envelope. And it wasn’t on the next one, either.

  “Where were you?” I heard someone ask.

  I spun around, figuring from the angry tone that Jane had returned. But it was only Ivy. An extremely irate Ivy.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Who was it? Where are they?”

  Oh no. I felt a slow, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “You mean it already happened?” I asked. “They took the envelope?”

  “Of course they took it!” Ivy yelled.

  “Then where’s Kermit?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” said Ivy.

  “But I only looked away for a second … ”

  “And that’s all it took!”

  We both glanced toward the bench, and I suddenly spotted another small blue note card. We ran over. I got there first and pulled it loose. Then Ivy snatched it from me before I had time to read it.

  “ ‘I said to come alone,’ ” Ivy read. She angrily waved the card in my face. “I can’t believe I was so stupid!”

  “This isn’t your fault,” I said.

  “I know that!” screamed Ivy. “I mean I shouldn’t have trusted you. That was my big mistake.”

  “I’m so sorry.” It was all I could manage to say, what with the gigantic lump invading my throat.

  “You said you knew what you were doing!” Ivy yelled.

  My whole body felt heavy with dread. Like I’d had rocks for breakfast instead of that slightly stale English muffin. “Okay, I never said that exactly.”

  “You said you’d help, but actually you made things a thousand times worse! Which is so typical.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” Ivy pouted.

  “It’s not over. We can still find him.”

  “How?” asked Ivy. “It’s impossible. And you wonder why I don’t hang out with you anymore!”

  “But—” I didn’t finish my sentence. For one thing, I didn’t know how to. But more importantly, Ivy had run away.

  I chased her. Which wasn’t easy because my binoculars bounced up and down against my chest and my backpack shifted with each step. I tried holding the binoculars with one hand, but that made running harder.

  And it turned out I was wrong about the boots. They didn’t slow Ivy down at all. I moved as fast as I could, but she was faster, darting away from the dog beach, zipping past the baseball fields, and tearing across the Long Meadow.

  People flew kites, picnicked in the last of the sunny weather, tossed Frisbees. No one looked twice as Ivy tore by—determined, a girl on a mission. But where was she going?

  I soon found out.

  Suddenly she ran into the middle of one of the soccer games on the Great Lawn. A bunch of guys, half in red shirts and half in blue shirts, were playing. They looked about our age, maybe a bit older, but I didn’t recognize any of them, which meant they probably went to one of the private schools nearby.

  I figured it was an accident, busting up their game, but what Ivy did next was completely deliberate.

  Deliberate and shocking.

  Ivy stole the game ball. Kicked it away, then picked it up and held it over her head.

  The guys who were chasing the ball stopped short. They looked at her and then at one another and then back at her.

  A short guy with blond hair and braces said, “Huh?”

  Another player asked, “What’s going on?”

  Soon their confusion melted into anger.

  Obviously they thought this girl was disturbed, and I couldn’t say I blamed them. I was starting to wonder the same thing.

  “Um, can you give that back?” asked another guy.

  Ivy shook her head so hard her ponytail came loose. “Forget it,” she yelled, hugging the ball tight against her chest in an iron death grip. “I’m not letting go until you tell me where Kermit is.”

  Chapter 13

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  All the soccer players shifted back to their original state—bewilderment. And they weren’t the only ones.

  “She’s asking for Kermit?” one asked.

  “He’s my dog.” Ivy sniffed. “But you know that.”

  “I thought Kermit was a frog,” another guy said. (The only one in shorts rather than sweatpants.)

  “Dude, she’s not talking about the Muppet,” said a tall, spiky-haired one.

  “Obviously,” Ivy grumbled.

  The players looked at each other. Some concerned, some annoyed. All completely lost.

  “Um, Ivy?” I asked, taking a step toward her.

  She whipped around and shot me a look of death. “Don’t even try and speak to me now, Maggie.”

  I froze, scared to move closer.

  A few of the guys huddled together and whispered for a minute or so. Then the one with braces headed toward Ivy.

  “You’re the girl from last Saturday? With the big dog?” He held out his hands, a pantomime of Kermit’s girth.

  “Yes,” snapped Ivy. “Obviously I’m that girl. So stop acting all innocent and tell me where Kermit is.”

  “You think we took him?” The guy seemed thoroughly—and legitimately—confused.

  Ivy blinked and loosened her grip on the soccer ball ever so slightly. “Of course you took him.”

  “Um, no.” He shook his head.

  I didn’t know what Ivy was doing but one thing was clear: these guys didn’t, either. She seemed so convinced, but my gut told me that none of them stole her dog.

  And I have a pretty smart gut. I think that’s how I’m always able to find Isabel’s missing stuff. I just wished it could have told me who took Kermit. And where we could find him. And how to talk to Milo. And why he acted so weird in the park the other day. But I suppose that’s asking too much. After all, every gut has its limits.

  “Seriously, Ivy. These guys don’t know what you’re talking about.” I spoke firmly but gently, knowing the subject was sensitive.

  And the longer Ivy stood there, the more the truth seemed to sink in.

  “But if you didn’t, then who did?” she cried.

  I put my hand on her arm.

  When Ivy glanced at me, I saw so much pain swimming around in her eyes, my own heart felt splintered.

  Splintered but still confused.

  “Um, can you tell me what’s going on? Why you think these guys have Kermit? And how you even know them?”

  “From last Saturday,” Ivy said. “I was playing fetch with Kermit, and instead of retrieving his Frisbee, he fetched their soccer ball.”

  “And they were mad?” I asked.

  She nodded. “They said it was a high-stakes match.”

  “But Kermit’s just a dog. It’s not his fault.”

  “No, they were mad at me,” said Ivy. “For playing so close and for not being able to control my dog. It took, like, almost five minutes to get back their ball.”

  “That’s not so long.”

  “I know, but Kermit punctured it in two places. It was totally flat. And no one had a spare ball, so we ruined their whole game.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

  “I didn’t think it mattered. I figured once they got the money they’d return Kermit. The thing is, they wanted me to pay for the ball on the spot, but I refused.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I didn’t h
ave any cash on me,” Ivy said, all defensive like it should’ve been obvious. “And that blond guy with braces? He’s the one who finally caught Kermit, and when he did, he wrestled him to the ground and Kermit whimpered and the whole thing was awful. So I got mad and I yelled at him.”

  Ivy twisted up her mouth. A classic stubborn Ivy move. She didn’t have to explain further. I could figure out what had happened on my own. Ivy gave them attitude. Something she does all the time. And those guys didn’t just get mad. They got even. That’s what she thought, anyway.

  Except she was wrong. They didn’t steal Kermit. The soccer players were innocent. I was sure of it.

  But since I was dealing with Ivy, I couldn’t just come out and tell her that she was mistaken.

  “Do you really think they’d kidnap Kermit?” I asked.

  Ivy bit her bottom lip. “You should’ve seen how mad they were.”

  “Still … ”

  “And who else would take him?”

  I looked toward the group of guys. They didn’t seem like the dognapping type. In fact, I thought they were being pretty patient, given the circumstances. I tried to reason with her. “If they were holding Kermit for ransom, they’d have gotten what they wanted by now. More, even. No soccer ball costs a hundred dollars, I don’t think. So they’d have returned him, right?”

  “Then how can you explain what happened to Kermit?”

  “I can’t,” I answered honestly. “But we’ll figure it out.”

  “Really? You think? Because you already screwed up once.”

  “We’ll find Kermit. I know we will. Just give the ball back, okay?”

  After giving it a bit of thought, Ivy said, “Fine.” And she handed over the ball, mumbling, “Sorry.”

  “Let’s head back to the bench. Maybe we can find some clues.”

  Ivy scoffed. “Who are you, Nancy Drew?”

  “Not a very good one,” I said.

  “Obviously,” said Ivy, but she followed me anyway.

  “What are we looking for?” she asked once we arrived back at the bench, which luckily was still empty.

  “Don’t know. Suspicious-looking footprints, perhaps?” I looked down at the surrounding dirt, loosely packed and perfect for capturing footprints. So perfect there were traces of them everywhere.