news first. “Mr. Mason wants another bag of treats for Bailey.”
“That’s great. He told me they were way overpriced. He can be a real tightwad sometimes.”
I cringe as I get ready to deliver the not-so-good news.
“I’ll take the liver out of the freezer right now so I don’t forget.” He opens the door and removes a small bag. “I’ll buy some more, too. It’s on special this week.”
I clear my throat. “I may have offered Mr. Mason a free walk for Bailey.”
Dad drops the bag on the counter and stares at me. “We already have his business. Why would you do that?”
“Well, I am working on getting Ping and Pong to walk only on city property but sometimes they get confused …” I explain to Dad about the peeing incident.
“Oh, that big cheapskate. He was just trying to get something for nothing. Dogs always mark their territory on whatever’s left around: construction material, workers’ tools, even lunch pails if they’re within reach. He knows that. He has a dog.”
“Dad, I’m sorry. I offered to walk Bailey to make up for it. But he insists it has to be you.”
“You have these guys to look after. And they’re not well behaved enough to just add a third dog.”
“Yes. So you can keep the money from one of the extra walks I’ve given them.”
Dad reacts immediately. He’s a bit of cheapskate himself. “That’s a great solution. You’re a very smart kid!”
day two, mistake eight
If I’m such a smart kid, why can’t I figure out who smashed the Beetle into the school? After all, it’s someone who thinks I know. “Dad, is it okay if I use the computer for a while? I want to do some research.”
“Go ahead. I need to walk five Yorkies. New client of mine.”
“Five, Dad? All with one owner?”
He nods. “And they have little-dog syndrome. They’re yappy and snappy …” He holds up a bag of his special treats. “But I have my secret weapon.”
Immediately, Ping and Pong sit dutifully at his feet, watching that bag. Dad flips them each a liver bite.
“Have a good walk,” I tell him and head for the computer.
The dogs follow me to the den and slump down at the chair in front of the screen. Feeling their warm breath on my ankles, I Google “reverse phone number lookup.”
I select Canada 411.ca and copy M.Y.O.B.’s number into the search bar. After a moment a message reads: No listings were found. Please try again.
Of course. It’s a cellphone. You can’t look up names and addresses for those. Or can you? I immediately Google that question and read an article about how the police have to get court orders before phone companies will release information on unlisted numbers.
Ping barks a warning as my phone rings.
Not M.Y.O.B. I sigh with relief. R. Kobai, the caller name reads. Kobai is Renée’s last name. Still, I answer in official Noble Dog Walkers’ form.
Renée doesn’t even say hello. “The police are charging my brother now.”
“Really? When so many other people drove that Beetle?”
“Yes, well, they traced the bomb threat email to an IP address at Champlain High.”
“Don’t tell me. It’s the computer that your brother usually works on in IT class.”
“Yes, but you know everybody uses each other’s computers sometimes.”
“Sure.”
“You need to bring your cellphone to the police now and show them the threat.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell her.
“Why not? The police will find the guy immediately and the dogs will be safe.”
“That’s what you think. Have you never seen the spy shows where they give an agent a phone to use and then throw it away?”
“Yes, but secret agents have tons of money for all kinds of gadgets. Our criminal probably doesn’t.”
“Maybe, but I think they may be watching me. If they see me going to the police, they’re going to pitch their phone, which will be registered to a phony name, anyway. Then they’re going to come for Pong and Ping.”
Renée sighs at the other end.
“We are going to go to the police, eventually. I just want to have more information for them to go on.”
“That’s dangerous, too, and you know it. The criminal may notice.”
“I know. Listen, do me one favour. Dial this number from your own phone and see if a cell rings in your brother’s room.”
“He didn’t do it. I already told you.”
“We’re eliminating suspects. Humour me.” I give her the number.
“What if the real criminal picks up?”
“Just say ‘Sorry, wrong number,’ and hang up quickly. At least they won’t link the call to Noble Dog Walking.”
“Okay. Hang on.” I can hear the blip, blip, blip of her cellphone dialing, then the drum roll of a phone ringing and ringing. “How long should I give it?”
“I don’t know. Are you near his bedroom? Can you hear anything going off?”
“No. And I’ll tell you why not. It’s not Attila. If it were him and he was threatening you, he’d block his number.”
“He can do that?”
“Star sixty-seven on his phone. M.Y.O.B. has to be pretty stupid not to use it, too.”
“Um, I didn’t know that.”
“No, but you wouldn’t prank call someone. Or threaten them, either. If you did, you would find how to do it anonymously beforehand.”
“You’re right.” I sigh. “So we know our criminal has to be pretty stupid.”
“Cross Attila from your list. He’s not stupid.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Once she’s gone, I decide to look up Mr. Sawyer in the online phone directory. There are quite a few in the Halton region, but there’s an R. Sawyer who lives right on Jesse’s old street. The teachers used to call Mr. Sawyer Bob, which is short for Robert. Has to be him! Mr. Sawyer is Mrs. Watier’s neighbour, and she practically fired him! Wow. I’d be pretty annoyed with her if I were him. ’Course, he did mop her down, whether accidentally or not.
Did
