Constable Wilson says, smiling. “That’s great.”
Troy’s muzzle opens into a happy pant. It looks as though he’s grinning at us.
“Did either of you see anybody suspicious around the school this morning when you were walking the dogs?” Constable Jurgensen asks, one eyebrow at attention.
“Hmm, no, we arrived at school a little later than usual,” Renée says.
“That’s right, we headed toward Bruce T. Lindley first,” I add.
Troy wags as though he likes our answers.
“So you didn’t see anyone enter the school armed with a gun?” Constable Jurgensen continues.
I gasp. Oh, no, Mr. Rupert! I shake my head.
“No, sir,” Renée answers.
“What about last night?” Constable Wilson asks. If they’re playing good cop, bad cop, I think she’s the nice one. I notice she’s the one who holds Troy’s leash. “Or early this morning?”
I shake my head.
“Did you notice anybody different hanging around? Any unusual activity?” Constable Jurgensen barks. Troy woofs, too.
Constable Wilson loosens her hold on Troy.
“Nothing,” I say.
Constable Jurgensen’s nose and eyes seem to sharpen. “You sure? You live close by, don’t you?”
“I do.” I point to Renée. “She doesn’t.”
Troy steps forward, sniffing my pant leg.
I shuffle uncomfortably.
“You don’t look so good.” Constable Jurgensen’s voice turns hard. “You feeling guilty over stealing the Stream of Dreams display from the fence?”
“No!” I squeak. I can almost hear the fish in my pocket clack together as I jump.
Troy woofs again.
“We didn’t steal the display,” Renée says. “Why would we?”
Constable Wilson clears her throat. “The crossing guard, Mrs. Filipowicz, says she saw you with wooden fish in your wagon.”
Troy sniffs a little higher on my pant leg.
“Those weren’t fish from the school’s kindergarten fence. They belonged to my brother, Attila.”
“Attila!” Constable Jurgensen exclaims. Then he turns to Constable Wilson and explains, “He’s the juvenile who spray-painted the high school.”
“Yes, but he’s paid his debt to society,” Renée says. “He made the fish blanks for the Stream of Dreams project for both schools.”
I jump in. “Madame X, um, Mrs. Filipowicz, saw us taking the blanks to Bruce T. Lindley.”
Constable Wilson squints at us. “Attila didn’t come into this building, did he?”
“No! He goes to Champlain High not Brant Hills.”
Will Renée tell them that Attila borrowed a shop car to deliver the blanks to Bruce T.? Did he have permission from the shop teacher? Or would using the Saturn be considered theft, too?
For once, Renée stays quiet. I think she does the right thing.
“So you don’t know anything about the disappearance of the fish from the fence?” Constable Jurgensen asks.
I should tell the police about those wooden fish in my pocket right now. But they’ll think we’re involved, for sure, when we don’t know a thing. I stick my hand on top of them. The bass and swordfish feel as if they have come alive and want to leap out of my pocket.
Troy seems to sense this and jumps up.
“What do you have in your pocket?” Constable Wilson asks.
“Liver bites,” I answer, pulling a zip-lock bag from the other side. “My dad makes them. Can I give Troy one?”
“Absolutely not,” Constable Jurgensen says.
Troy keeps his paws on my legs and wags his tail.
“Sorry, boy,” I say, and scratch behind his ears.
“Do you mind showing us what you have in your other pocket?” Constable Wilson asks.
My face heats up like tomato soup. Now what?
I knew I should have pulled out the swordfish and bass the moment Constable Jurgensen mentioned the Stream of Dreams project. Before even. The moment we walked into the office, I should have asked why the fish had disappeared from the fence and shown the police the two that the dogs picked up somewhere along our walk.
Instead, slowly, reluctantly, I remove the painted bass and swordfish from my pocket now.
Renée jumps in quickly. “Ping and Pong had those in their mouths when we took them home. We have no idea where they came from.” She talks so fast, even I think she’s guilty. Troy whines and slumps down.
“Really?” Constable Jurgensen says. “You sure they didn’t pick them up from Attila’s room?”
“What?” I squawk. “We weren’t even in Renée’s house. Well, we were, but just for a moment in the front hall.”
“So did the dogs pick them up in the front hall?” Constable Wilson asks.
“No!”
“You said you had no idea where the dogs found the painted fish. Now, you’re sure they didn’t get them from Attila.”
“Because that’s where we found the blanks that we delivered to Bruce T. Lindley,” Renée explains. “The dogs stole blank fish from the bag in the hall.”
“I think they picked the painted ones from some recycling bin on Duncaster,” I tell them. “They may have even fallen off the truck.”
“Do you know if your brother owns a gun?” Constable Jurgensen asks Renée.
“No. Of course not.”
“So you don’t know?” he snaps.
“No. I mean of course he doesn’t own a gun.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I know my brother. He isn’t violent.”
“But he paints tanks.”
“Because he’s making a comment on war!”
Constable Wilson murmurs something into Jurgensen’s ear and he nods back.
“Fine.
