Just then the ice cream truck drove around the corner, bell ringing, and parked along the curb. Mr. Brad the ice cream man jumped out, tipped his cap to the Larkins, and opened up the side window. “Who would like a tasty treat?” he called.
“Me. Me!” Mikey pulled away from Maryellen, and Beverly and Tom came speed-skating back.
Maryellen’s mouth watered. She was as tired and thirsty as the others, and an ice cream bar sounded heavenly. Mom had a “no treats before dinner” rule, but she said, “You four have worked hard looking for Scooter, so just this one time…”
As the truck’s bell rang, more children ran up. Maryellen showed everyone Scooter’s photograph, but no one had seen him. Her mom gave her a nickel, and she told Mr. Brad her order: “A fudge bar, please.” As she handed him the coin, she remembered that the vendor must know Scooter because he and his truck had parked in the Larkins’ driveway and sold treats for Maryellen’s birthday.
“Mr. Brad, you drive around the neighborhood. Have you seen our dog?”
He looked at the photo she held out. “Sure. Sometimes I see him when I park near your house.” Mr. Brad reached into the truck to find her ice cream bar, and Maryellen stifled a gasp. There were reddish-brown dog hairs just like Scooter’s on his white uniform.
“Mr. Brad, do you have a dog?” she asked quickly.
“I do. A Westie. That’s a West Highland Terrier.” He handed her the bar. “But I love all dogs.”
“What does your Westie look like?”
“He’s little, with wiry white fur.”
“You have brown hairs on your sleeve,” Maryellen pointed out. “Do you have another dog?”
Mr. Brad’s cheeks flushed red as he brushed the hairs off his sleeve. “Um. Uh. Well, like I said, I love all dogs.”
Enough to steal one? As she unwrapped her ice cream, Maryellen realized that what she was thinking seemed too silly to say out loud. Or was it? Mr. Brad traveled around The Palms development, so he probably knew every dog. He admitted he knew Scooter, the best dog in the world, and if he wanted to take the dachshund or another dog, he could easily sneak it into his truck. His Westie had white hair, which didn’t explain the many reddish-brown hairs on his uniform.
Could there be a dog stashed in the ice cream truck right now? Could Scooter be hidden there?
Maryellen’s pulse began to race. Taking a bite from the corner of her ice cream bar, she sidled to the front of the truck. There was no door, just a metal step leading straight up to the cab. Keeping one eye on Mr. Brad, who was busy handing out ice cream, she peeked inside. There was no place a dog could be hidden in the small cab, but there was a box of Chow-Chow treats on the floor.
To lure dogs into his truck? Is that what happened to Spots, Misty, and Scooter? Or were they simply treats for his own dog? Frustrated, Maryellen bit hard into her chocolate bar, immediately getting a cold headache. Gosh, she couldn’t just blurt out, Are you stealing dogs from the neighborhood? Did you take Scooter?
She needed to do a lot more sleuthing to find some answers.
“Mom, can Beverly and I ride bikes before dinner?” Maryellen asked her mother when they started home. “We want to look one more time for Scooter. I promise I’ll do the dishes afterward.”
“Sure,” Mrs. Larkin said, sounding distracted. Mikey had dripped raspberry sherbet on his shirt, his pants—well, just about everywhere—and she was dabbing it with a napkin. “Just stay close by.”
“Thanks. Come on, Beverly.” Maryellen started jogging toward their house. “The Happy Hollisters have a job to do.” Beverly, who was skating next to her, looked puzzled. But since her sister was always happy to tag along, Maryellen knew she’d be up for detective work.
When they reached the carport, Maryellen threw away her ice cream stick and wiped her sticky hands on her pants leg. Beverly sat on the concrete floor and took off her skates. “What are we going to do?” she asked.
“We’re going to follow the ice cream truck.” Maryellen told her sister about the brown hairs and the dog treats.
“Do you really think that Mr. Brad the ice cream man stole Scooter?” Beverly asked.
Maryellen wrinkled her nose. It did sound sort of crazy. “I don’t know what to think. Maybe he just decided he wanted a second dog and Scooter was wandering around outside. It’s up to us to follow the clues, and right now those clues point to Mr. Brad.” Maryellen pushed her bike from the carport.
“Then let’s go.” Beverly mounted her own hand-me-down bike, which had training wheels and was even older and slower than Maryellen’s. Sleek bikes like Davy’s or a Schwinn Starlet sure would have made sleuthing easier. At least the ice cream truck wouldn’t be hard to follow. All they had to do was listen for the bell and watch for a swarm of kids.
They found the truck parked on the next block. Maryellen stopped her bike a short distance away and watched as Mr. Brad handed out treats to a dozen kids.
Finally, the kids wandered off, eating their sherbets and cones. As Mr. Brad closed the side window, a brownish-red dog Maryellen didn’t recognize trotted over, wagging its tail. “Hey, Buster!” Maryellen could hear him greet the dog. “Are you ready for your treat?” Buster jumped up on Mr. Brad’s leg, and the ice cream man gave the dog a friendly pat.
Maryellen’s eyes widened as Mr. Brad stepped back and Buster hopped into the open passenger side of the truck.
“Did you see that, Beverly?” she exclaimed. “Now we have proof that Mr. Brad is stealing dogs—which means he must have Scooter!”
chapter 4
Vanishing Tracks
MARYELLEN GRITTED HER teeth in anger. Should she confront the dog thief? Or wait and tell her parents?
Before she could make a decision, Tom came skating down the sidewalk hollering, “Mom says to come home!”
Maryellen whipped her head around and motioned frantically for him to shush so that Mr. Brad wouldn’t notice they had followed him. By the time she looked back, the ice cream truck was pulling away.
With Buster in the truck? Maryellen scanned the yards and sidewalks but saw no sign of the big reddish-brown dog. Jumping on her bike, she pedaled after the ice cream truck, but it had already turned the corner and disappeared.
“Mom says now,” Tom hollered after her.
With a deep sigh, Maryellen braked and rode her bike back up the sidewalk. Tom was already skating back toward home, but Beverly remained almost where Maryellen had left her, hunched over her bike. “You saw that, Beverly, right?” Maryellen asked her sister.
“Saw what?” Beverly straightened.
“Saw that big brown dog hop into Mr. Brad’s truck.”
“Umm…” Beverly’s cheeks reddened. “I didn’t. My pants leg got caught in my bike chain and I was trying
