will hurt the dogs.”
“But it will prove my brother isn’t the criminal. He doesn’t even know your number.”
“I may have given him my business card.”
Renée nods her head. “Of course you did. Is there anyone in all of Brant Hills who doesn’t have the Noble Dog Walking business card with your cell number on it?”
I frown. Dad and I handed out flyers with the card stapled to it. Everyone in the neighbourhood should have one by now. “Pass me back my phone.” I grab it, hit reply, and thumb type: I don’t know anything.
A few moments later, there’s a half-chime. Another message from M.Y.O.B. Fine, better keep it that way!
“Are you going to the police with me?” Renée asks.
“They’re only questioning your brother. They’ll find out about all the others who drove the car, without me having to risk the dogs.”
“The others were adults. They’re going to pin it on a kid first.” She frowns. “Are you sure you didn’t see something? M.Y.O.B. seems to think you did.”
“I wish I could remember. But something bothers me about what Mrs. Klein told me.”
“What?” Renée asks.
“She said the halls were full of fumes because the car ran all night. Once the driver jumped out, wouldn’t the car just shut down?”
“You didn’t hear about the brick on the accelerator?”
“No. You know more about this than I do. Why isn’t M.Y.O.B. threatening you?”
“When you were standing at your window, did you have your lights on?”
I think for a moment. “Sort of. Three night lights, anyway.”
“Whoever drove that car must have seen you and thinks you saw him.”
“You could be right. We need to test that.” I think for a moment. “What makes you think it’s a him. It could have been Mrs. Watier.”
“Seriously, why would she do that to her own school?”
“Maybe ’cause she wants to add a new gym.” I repeat Mr. Ron’s idea. “With that area wrecked anyway, the school board might let her.”
“And the bomb threat? Did she send that to her own office? She’s trying to get ready for her wedding this Saturday.” Renée pats Ping’s back absent-mindedly, without noticing what he’s doing, which is licking his personal parts.
“Does your brother like dogs?” I ask.
She glances down at Ping, and he jumps up to lick her face. She pulls away in the nick of time. “No, Attila got bitten once. Badly. But he’s still at the police station, remember?”
Beethoven’s Fifth suddenly plays from her pocket and she pulls out her phone. She squints at the screen. “Check that. Attila is at home now. Mom’s there, too. Gotta go.” She stands and Ping and Pong both spring up.
“See, he’s been released.” I smile. “And we’ve kept the dogs out of danger.” Ping and Pong cool the air with their wagging tails.
“Don’t you ever watch crime shows? It’s always a mistake to give in to the criminals.”
I frown. Renée’s almost always right. Mistake number four could very well be doing what M.Y.O.B. tells me.
day two, mistake five
I feel bad about not helping Renée’s brother, so the dogs and I walk her home. On the way we pass Mr. Ron at the bus stop. I barely recognize him without his yellow and orange vest and crossing guard cap. Plus, he has a Blue Jays cap pulled backwards on his head.
“Hi, kids.”
I blink a couple of times. He seems happy, and way less sweaty, but his hands look large and empty. “Going to the mall to get a birthday present for my maw.” He holds those big hands open to me. No stop sign in them. “Great to have the free day. Yup, yup. Won’t be so crowded to shop.”
Imagine a guy that age having a “maw” to birthday shop for. What else don’t I know about him?
“Whatcha getting her?” Renée asks.
Nosy, although I kind of wanted to know, too.
“I already bought her an ashtray. Sick of cleaning up her butts in the backyard. Had the perfect one, too. But I lost it. Smoking is bad. I shouldn’t encourage her.”
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Ron.”
“Yup, yup.” He waves and smiles.
“Geez, how old would his mother be?” Renée whispers to me. “Does it matter if she smokes?”
“’Course it matters. You can’t taste your food as well. Your hair and clothes smell. You get yellow fingers and teeth. Blech!” For such a smarty-pants, she could be pretty dumb sometimes.
“But she’s probably a hundred and fifty. Don’t all old ladies have yellow toenails and smell gross?”
“Not my grandma.” I give Renée a hard stare. “She paints her nails and wears lemon perfume.”
As we near Renée’s corner, we see Mason Man standing back with a grin on his face, admiring the brick wall he put up along the driveway. I have to tug to keep Pong from saluting it.
“Hi, Mr. Mason, looking good.” I’m hoping my flattery will help him forget about the dog-peeing incident.
“Yeah, you got that right. The whole house will fall down before this baby will budge.”
Renée struggles to keep Ping on the other side of the walk. Mr. Mason’s work should be safe. “But they’re used bricks, aren’t they?” she asks.
I turn and raise my eyebrows at her. “They’re antiques!” The whole house will fall down … that remark reminds me about the car driving into the school. “Mr. Mason, did anyone steal one of your reclaimed bricks?”
“No, I keep track of every one of these Standards. People like them for bookshelves and candy dishes, so I lock ’em up at night.”
“Candy dishes? Really?” Renée says, and I elbow her.
Mr. Mason doesn’t seem to notice. “Say, it looks like I’m going to get some work at your school. I’m going to take you up on that free dog walk you offered.”
“Great, great!” I lie politely. I’ve got Ping and Pong for another two days. When will I find the time? “Just give me a call and we’ll arrange something.”
“I’ll call your father. Bailey knows him. Tell him I’m going to need another bag of those liver bites, too. That dog will do anything for those treats.”
“Sure will, Mr. Mason.”
We
