Case File 13 #3 (11 page)

“I wasn't googly-eyed,” he muttered. “I was just wondering what her deal was.”

“Her deal is that she needs to be the center of attention everywhere she goes,” Tiffany said.

“We were asking you what the plan is,” Dana said. “How should we go about finding
the homunculus?”

Nick wasn't sure how he'd been elected captain of the Carter Junior search team. “Well, first we should probably go to Carter's house and see if he's come back. If not, he likes candy and Mountain Dew. I guess we should spread out and try to lure him in with those.”

“We'll go get our bikes and meet you there,” Angie said.

“You really don't think they had anything to do with his disappearance?” Nick asked as he pulled his bike out of the rack.

“Why would they offer to help us if they did?” Angelo asked.

“To make us think they're innocent,” Carter said. “I saw something just like it on TV once. The kidnappers join in the search so they can find out how much the authorities really know. What we have to do is blow their cover by asking trick questions. Things they wouldn't know unless they actually had him. Then,
pow!
We slam the net on them.”

“There are no authorities,” Angelo said, stopping to wait for the light to turn green so they could cross the street. “And think about it. If Angie and her friends have the homunculus, the last thing they'd want to do is hang around with us. Remember how hard it was to keep people from discovering him?”

“Hopefully he'll be at your house when we get back,” Nick said.

Carter nodded. “I'm crossing my fingers and toes. If I thought I could ride home with my eyes crossed, I'd do that too.”

Unfortunately, nothing had changed when they reached his house. The window was still open, the candy was still on the sill, and his room was still empty.

As soon as Angie, Dana, and Tiffany showed up, the six of them scoured the neighborhood. Using a city map Dana had printed out and a check sheet Angelo had made, they covered every house, yard, and vacant lot for two blocks in all directions. But there was no sign of the homunculus anywhere. No cookie trail. No tiny footprints. No familiar voices. Nothing.

By then it was nearly dark and they had to admit it was time to give up for the day. Everyone was dirty and exhausted. Carter looked like he was fighting not to cry.

“Let's ride down to Caspers and I'll treat you all to a hot dog,” Angie said. When Nick gave her a questioning look, she gave a half smile and said, “I've been doing a lot of babysitting lately. I'm nearly as rich as Kimber's family.”

Caspers was the best hot dog place in the world. According to Nick's dad it was more than fifty years old, and he had eaten there when he was a boy. All of them
ordered regular hot dogs and sodas, except for Carter, who ordered a chili cheese dog with extra chili, cheese, and onions—which earned him a “That-a-boy” from the grandmotherly woman who served them.

“It's like he floated into thin air,” Nick said, taking a bite of his hot dog.

Angie rattled the ice of her Coke. “Maybe he
can
fly and we just don't know it.”

Angelo rubbed his sweaty face, smearing mustard across his cheek. “Not unless it has wings we haven't seen.”

“Have you ever considered that the homunculus might be able to change into things other than humans?” Dana asked. “For all we know it turned into a bird and that's why it didn't leave any tracks.” She pointed to Angelo's cheek and he quickly wiped his face with a napkin.

Angelo flipped open his notebook. “If it can, it's something other than a homunculus. There's not much information out there. But one thing everyone seems to agree on is that homunculi are small, beardless humans.”

Carter crammed half his hot dog and a huge spoonful of chili into his mouth—chewing it all with a loud
smack-smack-smack.

“Disgusting,” Tiffany said, turning away.

“Hey, I eat when I'm depressed,” Carter said, wolfing down another big spoonful of chili.

Nick grinned. “And happy, tired, confused, excited, and bored. Not to mention hungry.”

Angie toyed with the dill pickle spear on her hot dog before looking at each of them. “I know this isn't what you want to hear. But I think we need to at least consider the possibility that the reason we haven't found the homunculus may be the most obvious.”

“What's that?” Nick asked.

“Because he went home. And if that's the case, we'll never know for sure.”

The six kids rode home silently, each splitting off toward their homes until only Nick and Carter were left. As they coasted to a stop in front of Nick's house, Nick punched Carter lightly on the shoulder. “Don't give up, buddy. Who knows? You might wake up tomorrow and there he'll be, sitting on your bed eating a candy bar.”

Carter kicked his bike pedal with the toe of one sneaker, making it spin. “I don't know. I think Angie might be right. I don't think we'll ever know what happened to him for sure. I just hope he didn't . . . you know . . . get eaten by a dog or a cat or something.”

“Hey, this is Carter Junior we're talking about,” Nick said. “Do you really think your namesake could be stopped by something as ordinary as a cat?”

Carter sniffed. “Probably not. I'll bet Carter Junior could handle a mountain lion. After all, he lived in the woods.”

“Right.” Nick watched his friend ride off before wheeling his bike up the driveway. As he walked into the house, Mom was standing in front of the stove. Nick sniffed the air. Despite the fact that he'd eaten less than an hour before, his stomach rumbled at the enticing aroma. “Something smells good.”

“Chicken Marsala,” Mom said. “It's your dad's favorite.”

Nick frowned. “He's still bummed out about the camping trip?”

“Yes. But don't worry. It's just a temporary funk. He'll get over it in no time.”

Upstairs a door closed and footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Don't say I told you anything,” Mom said. “Act normal.”

“Sure.” Nicked dropped into a chair and quickly opened one of his textbooks. But if his dad was still depressed about the camping trip, he didn't show it. He walked up to Nick with a big grin on his face and ruffled his hair.

“Hello, son. Pounding the books, huh?”

Nick glanced at his mom, who gave him an encouraging smile. “Um, yeah. Just catching up on my math.”

“Good thing.” Dad grinned. “You're going to need it when you hear the news. I've decided it's time to increase your allowance. I think doubling it seems about right. How does that sound to you?”

“Sounds great!” Nick said. If this was a funk, his dad could be in one all the time.

“Double?” Mom asked. “Are you sure that isn't a little much?”

“Nothing is too much for my family,” Dad said, a huge grin plastered across his face.

Nick didn't think he'd ever seen his father this happy. It was a little creepy.

“Speaking of family,” Dad said, walking to Mom. “What are you doing slaving over a
hot stove on a wonderful night like tonight?”

Mom gave Dad the kind of uncertain smile you might give a recently released mental patient. “I'm . . . cooking.”

“Nonsense!” Dad pulled her away from the stove and spun her around. “Didn't I tell you I'm taking us all out for dinner? I'm thinking that new Italian place that opened up last week.”

Mom's mouth dropped open, but she didn't say a word. Nick didn't think he'd ever seen her look so flabbergasted.

“Wait right here,” Dad said. “I just need to grab my keys and put on some cologne.” Before Mom could respond, he turned and raced up the stairs.

Nick looked at his mother. “Okay, that is just about the weirdest thing I've ever seen.”

Mom raised a hand as if she was going to say something, then lowered it and shook her head. Slowly she turned off the stove. “Grab your coat. I guess we're going out.”

Nick got up from the table, walked to his room, and put on his coat. He was glad his dad was feeling better. And an increase in his allowance would be great. But there was something so strange about the way his dad had been acting.

Mom was just putting the chicken in the refrigerator when Dad came back into the kitchen. “You know,” she said with a smile, “it's probably a good idea to go out to dinner. It's been a while since we went to a nice restaurant.”

As Mom shut the refrigerator door, Dad walked into the kitchen and looked at Nick, who was zipping up his coat. “Where are you going?”

“Out to dinner?” Nick said. His father's former good cheer was gone, replaced by a slightly perturbed expression.

“Oh,” Dad said. “Going with friends?”

Nick had no idea how to respond to that. But his dad didn't seem to notice. He rubbed his forehead.

“Are you feeling all right?” Mom asked. “You look a little pale.”

“I'm fine.” Dad looked at the stove. “What's for dinner? Didn't I smell something cooking?”

Mom tilted her head. “I thought we were going out.”

Dad threw his hands in the air. “Why am I the last one to hear these things?” He sighed and turned to go back up the stairs. “Let me get my keys. I sure hope we're not going anywhere fancy. The last thing I want to do is dress up and put on cologne.”

Nick looked at his mom. “Is he losing it?”

She pressed her lips together. “He's been under a lot of stress.”

Nick guessed that was true. But he also had a feeling he might not be getting his allowance increase.

The next morning, things seemed to be more or less back to normal. Nick's dad wasn't manically happy or inexplicably depressed. Carter Junior still hadn't turned up, but Nick was starting to think that might be for the best.

“It would have been tough smuggling him up to the mountains on a bus without our parents finding out. He's probably somewhere in the woods right now,” Nick said as the boys rode their bikes to school, “hanging out with his homunculus buddies, drinking Mountain Dew they stole from people camping nearby, and doing amazing celebrity impressions.”

Carter smiled sadly. “I guess. I just miss him reading comic books with me and eating my candy.”

Angelo skidded his bike to a halt, and Nick had to make a sharp left turn to keep from running into him. “Is that Old Man Dashner?”

“Huh?” Nick turned to see a gray-haired man jogging down the street. Runners weren't unusual in Pleasant Hill. Every morning the boys passed five or six joggers on their way to school. But as far as he could remember, Old Man Dashner had never been one of them. In fact, the only time Nick ever saw Mr. Dashner leave his house was when he got the mail or chased off kids crossing his lawn. But the jogging wasn't even the weirdest part.

Carter burst into surprised laughter. “What's he wearing?”

For as long as Nick had known him, Old Man Dashner's clothing had consisted of khaki pants pulled up halfway to his chest, faded plaid shirts buttoned to the neck, and floppy brown slippers. His idea of a fashion statement was putting on a corduroy jacket when it got cold.

But now he was running down the middle of the street in what looked like a pink one-piece women's swimsuit, plaid golf pants rolled up at the ankles, and a Viking helmet, complete with horns.

“Hello, boys!” Dashner shouted as he trotted past. “Nothing like a morning run to get the old ticker in
tick-tock
shape.”

“Did he just make a joke?” Carter asked.

“Did he actually talk to us without using the words
trespassing
,
police
, or
nuisance
?” Nick said.

Angelo reached for his monster notebook, then seemed to change his mind. “It has
to be some kind of episode. Maybe we should call the police to get him some help.”

“Not me,” Carter said, pedaling his bike away. “Dashner already hates me enough for that time I accidentally knocked out his mailbox with my electric scooter.”

Nick scratched his head. “Maybe it's some kind of really, really late midlife crisis. If I was stuck in that house all by myself, I'd probably go Froot Loops too.” He shook his head and watched the old man jog away. “It doesn't get any weirder than that.”

After the excitement of the last few days, it was a relief when the boys got to school and discovered Ms. Schoepf was out sick, leaving them with a substitute teacher.

“Maybe she's one of those subs who'll let us watch movies all day,” Carter said.

Angelo pulled his books out of his backpack. “What would be the point of that? We can watch movies at home. School is for learning.”

Carter patted him sadly on the shoulder. “Sometimes I wonder why we are even friends. I can only assume it's so I can keep you from withering away into nothing but a giant brain.”

Nick didn't care one way or the other, as long as they didn't spend another day solving for x, y, and z and trying to change upside-down fractions into integers.