I check the side and the back, just in case. I call out his name softly so as not to wake the neighbours. Nothing. I groan. “Where are you, Pong?”
Ping whimpers.
Renée shrugs. “Maybe he’s at your house.”
Exhausted and discouraged, we trudge the final block and see no greyhound at my house, either. Just for my own peace of mind, I peek into the Lebels’ yard and pool. No dog swimming or running. We go inside and tiptoe upstairs. Renée heads for the guest room. Ping follows me onto my bed. I’m certain I won’t get any rest that way, so I close my eyes and sigh. But I’m wrong.
Mistake number three of the day — thinking I’ll stay up all night worrying — is easily the best one. Next time I open my eyes, it’s time to get up, and the half-chime of my cell sounds. I have a message from M.Y.O.B.
You were looking for trouble so I took the dog.
Fingers of ice walk up my spine. Nooooo! I thumb-key back quickly: We just walked Ping and Pong. They had the runs. I wait for a few moments. Don’t hurt Pong, don’t hurt Pong.
The half-chime rings again. If you want to see your dog again, you will deliver $500 in unmarked bills. Don’t tell anyone!
It’s like a bad dream, combined with every kidnap movie I’ve ever seen. What are unmarked bills, anyway? I’ve always wondered. Do I need to make sure I get money that’s really clean looking?
I need proof he’s alive, I type. It’s what all the detectives and agents ask for in these kidnap stories.
At the next chime, Renée shows up at my bedroom door in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. “What’s up?”
“M.Y.O.B. is texting me. He’s sent me a picture this time. Come and look at this.”
Renée leans on my shoulder so she can see. The photo of Pong shows him looking all right. Underneath him is a tented piece of paper with this message on it: $500 by 5:00 today.
“What! Stall! Ask for more time,” Renée suggests. “Tell him you can’t possibly raise the money that fast.”
“I have the money in my account. The Bennetts come back tomorrow night. We don’t have more time.”
Where? I type back instead.
Ding! The bus stop on Brant and Cavendish.
“Great!” Renée says. “Then the police will come and arrest him.”
“You actually think the dognapper will bring Pong?”
The half-chime rings. Once I get the money, I tell you where the greyhound is.
“Wow, it’s like he can hear what we’re saying to each other.”
I quickly look out the window but don’t see anyone around. I scrunch up my face because all I want to do is yell for Mom. Not like she could help. She’d just tell me one of her crazy stories. Still, I need one of those now.
“It’s okay, Stephen.” Renée pats my shoulder. “This is okay, really. Pong didn’t get run over. You can get the money by five o’clock. And we have till then to figure out who did it and find Pong ourselves.”
day three, mistake four
“Kids! Wake up!” Dad’s voice booms from downstairs. “Breakfast is ready!”
“Just getting dressed. We’ll be down in a sec,” I call back and then meet Renée in the hall. Nothing sparkles in her hair. She’s wearing a T-shirt with a dog on it, jeans, and sneakers. It’s the sneakers that sparkle today, and of course, her glasses.
“What will we tell him?” she asks. “He’s going to want to know where Pong is.”
I think for a moment. “We’ll say the dogs were fighting in the middle of the night, so we separated them. Took Pong back to the Bennetts’.”
“That’s good. Stick as close to the truth as possible.”
I nod. “They always fight. And we were walking them past midnight.”
Renée and I take turns in the bathroom, then head downstairs, Ping following at my heels.
“Good morning, Renée, Stephen,” Dad says, twisting his head back from the open fridge. He seems to be moving the entire contents of the vegetable bin to the counter. Several bags and a large stockpot sit next to the piles of carrots and celery. Pancakes are stacked on the kitchen table. “Got my secret ingredients ready. Making lots of liver bites today!”
The phone rings.
“That will be your mom.” He picks up and chats while Renée and I eat. “Stephen is doing a great job walking Ping and Pong,” he tells her.
A twinge of guilt hits me. I lost Pong. How much worse a job could I do? Lose Ping, too?
“I have a new client,” Dad continues and chats about the Yorkies. “Yes, and imagine, Mr. Mason ordered more dog treats!”
At the last word, Ping’s ears flick up for a second. They sink down in a moment and he gives a little moan. Feeling sorry for him, I sneak him his own pancake, but without Pong to compete with over it, he doesn’t seem interested.
“Stephen had a sleepover with a new friend. Yes, it is wonderful. Here. I’ll let you speak to him.” He hands me the receiver.
“Hi, Mom. Where are you?” I look down as Ping sniffs dejectedly at his treat.
“London. I’ll be home tomorrow but a little late. Nice you made a new friend. Dad let you have a sleepover in the middle of the week?”
“Yeah, there were some problems at her house. She needed to get away.”
“Your father didn’t say it was a girl.”
“Why would he? What difference does it make?” I pat Ping, and he slumps down beside his pancake, finally giving it a little lick.
“You’re right. Sounds like you were just helping a friend. That’s good. Hope you got enough sleep, though.”
Me too, I think. Ping flips over, legs in the air.
“Got another animal story for you. Which is why I’m going to be late, by the way. It happened on our own plane!”
“Does it have a happy ending?”
“Oh, sure.” She chuckles and continues. “A lady came on with her cat in a bag. She stowed it under the seat ahead of her, just the way she was supposed to.”
“Did you get all stuffed up?” In which case, maybe she won’t notice the dog dander when she gets home. I pat Ping’s tummy now.
“My eyes are burning and I’m sniffly, thanks for asking. But get this: Ripples escaped from her bag before we could even take off.”
“Ripples?”
“The
