Dognapped! (9 page)

‘I reckon Mr Winkleberry’s gone to see Scarface,’ I told Max. ‘Let’s follow him.’

Max looked at me as if I was insane. ‘Hello, he’s got a car and we’ve got bikes,’ he said very slowly, as if explaining something to an idiot. ‘How are we going to follow him? He’ll be there and gone before we’re halfway there!’

‘No he won’t, he’s giving Emily a lift back, remember. If we hurry, we’ll get to Scarface’s house before he does.’

We cycled as quickly as we could, but Mr Winkleberry’s car was already parked outside when we reached Scarface’s house. ‘Stay here!’ I told Max as I crept over to the garden. I could hear raised voices, it sounded like they were arguing outside. I found a chink in the fence and squinted through it. Mr Winkleberry was standing by the back door, facing Scarface, who actually looked like he’d had a wash and changed his clothes. They were both really angry.

‘I told you it wasn’t me. Just get off my case, will you!’ Scarface shouted.

I didn’t dare hang around to see what they were arguing about, so I reached in my pocket, switched on my recorder, got down on my knees and slid it under the gate, slipping it to the side, behind a brick. I just might hear something useful. Then I went back to Max. ‘Let’s move away from here, things might turn nasty if they spot us hanging around again.’

We cycled over the road where we could keep an eye on Mr W’s car without being spotted. About five minutes later, he came storming over to the car, got in and drove off. Telling Max to stay with the bikes, I quickly ran back to Scarface’s garden to pick up my recorder.

‘Got it,’ I told Max when I returned. ‘Now let’s get home. I’m going to set a trap for the thief.’

As soon as we were in my room, I played the recording of the conversation between Mr Winkleberry and Scarface …

PODCAST 4

Go to
www.amycartermysteries.com/dognapped-4

‘So, Mr Winkleberry does know him!’ Max gasped. ‘What do you think he meant by saying they’d both be in trouble with the police? Did Scarface take Fluffy?’

‘We’ll soon know.’ I booted my laptop and keyed in the password Mrs Todd had given me the other day. Now I could go online through their router. I logged onto a free podcast programme I often used, and set to work.

‘What are you doing?’ Max asked, peering over my shoulder.

‘Making a podcast, pretending that Fluffy’s been found.’ I told him. ‘I’m going to play it through my mp3 speakers and hope it fools whoever took Fluffy into thinking it’s a real radio broadcast.’

‘Why?’ Max frowned.

‘Because once they hear that Fluffy’s been found, the dognapper should panic and make a phone call to check how she escaped. Then we’ll have them. I’m going to record now,’ I warned him. ‘So don’t talk until I’ve finished, or you’ll ruin it.’

Max, for once, kept quiet. In fact, he was watching me with a sort of awe-struck look on his face. It made me feel good, I can tell you. One of the bonuses of hanging around with someone younger than myself, I guess. Back at home, making a podcast was no big deal. We do it all the time.

I played back the podcast, but even though I’d tried to disguise my voice, it was too clear and very obviously me! It took me several attempts to disguise it enough to fool anyone.

‘What do you think?’ I asked Max, playing the finished podcast.

‘It’s perfect,’ he replied honestly. ‘It really doesn’t sound anything like you!’

Luck was with us, because all of the guests were indoors for once, talking in the guest lounge. Or rather, Mr McFarlane was doing the talking – something about some dolphins they’d seen that morning – and the others were listening. Even Emily was there.

‘You go into the lounge and keep an eye on them while I set up the recording,’ I told Max.

I went into the kitchen. Gran’s radio was on, as usual. I selected the podcast on my mp3, plugged in the speakers, turned up the volume and pressed play. I’d programmed it to play a bit of music first in an attempt to – hopefully – make it sound more like a radio. I just hoped it was good enough to fool everyone. Then I turned off Gran’s radio and walked calmly into the lounge.

‘I like this song,’ Emily said as the latest song from Blaze boomed out from my mp3.

‘Me too,’ I told her. ‘They play it on the radio a lot at the moment.’

The song finished, there was a crackle, then a voice that, thankfully, even to my ears, sounded nothing like mine:

‘And now for the latest news. A show dog kidnapped last week has been found safe and well. Princess Fluffball, a Bichon Frisé owned by Mrs Sue Carter of Little Cragg, was found wandering the streets about one hour ago.’

Gran was so startled that she almost fell out of her chair. ‘Did you hear that?’ she exclaimed. ‘Fluffy’s been found!’

‘That’s marvellous,’ Mr Winkleberry said, but he looked a bit pale.

‘Wonderful,’ agreed Mrs McFarlane. She and Mr McFarlane exchanged worried looks.

‘See, I told you she’d be all right,’ Emily said.

Then they all dashed out and went straight to their rooms. I crossed my fingers that I’d figured out the right culprit.

Gran frowned. ‘I don’t understand it, why haven’t the police told me, instead of announcing it on the radio like that?’ She stood up. ‘I’m going to phone PC Lambard.’

Oh no! It hadn’t occurred to me that she might do that. ‘Er, not just yet, Gran.’ I told her.

‘Why ever not?’ Gran asked. Suddenly, she frowned as the recording stopped. ‘Who turned the radio off?’ A look of suspicion crossed her face. ‘Amy? Are you up to something?’

I heard footsteps pounding down the stairs. It was Emily, closely followed by Mr Winkleberry and then Mr and Mrs McFarlane.

‘Don’t let any of them go out!’ I whispered to Max. He grinned and held up the door keys. That boy could be smart sometimes!

I took the stairs, two at a time, dashed into Emily’s room and slid my recorder out from under her bed. Quickly selecting play, I listened to the first few seconds, then grinned. Result!

‘Amy!’ Gran’s voice was like thunder. ‘Come down here. Now!’

‘What’s up?’ I peered over the banister and saw Gran holding my mp3 player and speakers.

‘Er, I can explain …’ I said.

‘It had better be very good,’ Gran warned me.

‘I think I’ll go out and leave you to it,’ Emily said, hopefully.

‘No!’ I shouted, racing down the stairs. ‘No you can’t go out!’

Everyone stared at me.

I quickly switched on my recorder, full volume. Emily’s voice boomed out:

Hello. Rika, it’s Emily. I’ve just been listening to the news. What happened? How did Fluffy escape?

Another voice, inaudible. Then Emily’s voice once again:

Are you sure she’s still there? Go and check.

Pause for a few minutes. The inaudible voice again. Then Emily:

There must have been a mix-up. It definitely said on the news that Fluffy has been found. Yes, okay. But keep an eye on her. Someone might be on to us.

Everyone turned around and stared at Emily.

‘You!’ Gran said, astonished. ‘But, why?’

Emily tossed back her hair, eyes defiant. ‘Because Fluffy’s got no life with you, that’s why!’ she said. ‘You never let her run around free. You keep her caged up like an exotic bird, always grooming her and trying to get her to do clever tricks. She’s a dog. She should be running across fields, having fun, getting muddy …’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Now listen to me, young lady.’ Mr Winkleberry was so angry that his eye wouldn’t stop twitching. It made me feel quite giddy. ‘Sue dotes on Fluffy and looks after her very well. You can’t steal dogs from people, just because they don’t treat them how you think they should. Fluffy has a fine life here.’

‘Where is she?’ Gran asked, her voice trembling. ‘What have you done to my little princess?’

‘I gave her to someone from the Animals Have Rights Society. She’s living on a farm now, running around free, like animals should,’ Emily told her, looking a bit guilty. ‘Don’t worry, she’s happy, I saw her just the other day.’

That was probably the day she stopped out all night, I thought to myself.

‘A farm?’ Gran’s voice squeaked in panic. ‘Oh no, she could have picked up all sorts of nasty diseases. Give me the address. I must get her back.’

‘Oh we’ll get her back, all right. I’m going to phone the police and get this young lady arrested,’ Mr Winkleberry declared. ‘They’ll soon get Fluffy back for you.’

A look of panic crossed Emily’s face. ‘Arrested? Oh no. Please don’t tell the police.’

But it was too late, Mr Winkleberry was already dialling the number.

Fluffy was returned to Gran a few hours later. She looked a bit dirty and scruffy, but happy and healthy nonetheless. Gran was delighted to see her, and so was I. I think Fluffy was pleased to see me too, she even let me stroke her without snapping or growling. That was a first! Gran called the vet who examined her and gave her a clean bill of health.

‘Thank you so much, Amy. It’s your detective work that found Fluffy for me,’ Gran said that evening, sitting happily with Fluffy on her lap.

‘I can’t believe Emily was responsible,’ Mr Winkleberry said.

‘Do you think she was the one who sent the ransom note?’ Gran asked.

Mr Winkleberry flushed. ‘No, I’m afraid that it was the son of an old friend of mine,’ he admitted. ‘Not that I knew it at the time. Jed’s been living rough since he left home. Tony, his dad, died a few years ago, then his mum married again, but Jed didn’t get on with his stepdad. Anyway, he got in with the wrong crowd and owed a lot of money to some rather unsavoury characters. When he heard that Fluffy was missing, he thought he’d try and get the money to pay off his debts.’ He coughed awkwardly. ‘I know I shouldn’t have covered for him, but he’s a decent lad at heart, and these ruffians were threatening him. He sent the ransom note because he was desperate.’

‘So, Mr Winkleberry gave him the money to pay off all his debts instead,’ I added. ‘And now he’s going straight.’

Mr Winkleberry stared at me in astonishment. ‘How do you know that.’

I touched my nose with my finger ‘A good detective finds out these things,’ I told him.

Gran, being so soft-hearted, agreed not to press charges against Scarface, now that she had heard the full story, and especially as Mr Winkleberry could get in trouble for not reporting him. She also asked for Emily to be let off with a caution, saying her love for animals had clouded her judgement, and the Animals Have Rights Society had obviously brainwashed her. She’s a nice woman, my Gran.

‘What I don’t get is how you knew it was Emily?’ Max asked when he came around later that evening with a very welcome bar of fruit and nut chocolate and two milkshakes. He passed the strawberry shake to me. ‘You must have been pretty sure it was her to put the recorder under her bed, instead of one of the other guests.’

I grinned. ‘Give me half of that chocolate and I’ll tell you how I worked it all out.’

‘Deal.’ Max broke the bar in half and handed half to me …

PODCAST 5

Go to
www.amycartermysteries.com/dognapped-5

‘You’re very clever … working out all of those clues,’ Max said when I’d finished.

‘I know,’ I said smugly. ‘Amy Carter, crime-buster–that’s me.’

I broke off two squares of the chocolate and popped them into my mouth. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so boring in Little Cragg after all.

THE END

Karen King began her writing career with the teenage magazine Jackie, and spent many years writing for various children’s magazines, including Winnie the Pooh, Rosie and Jim and Nursery Education, before concentrating solely on writing books. With over one hundred children’s books published, Karen writes both fiction and non-fiction titles for children from pre-school to teens. Karen’s published work includes Foul Play, Cosmic Whizz Kid, Space Chase on Planet Zog and The Gold Badge. Her picture book I Don't Eat Toothpaste Anymore won the Gold Award for Best Product, and her book entitled The Birthday Surprise, won the Practical Parenting Award.

If you enjoyed Dognapped, read the next Amy Carter mystery, Sabotage!

Disaster after disaster befalls Old Joe's cottage following his refusal to sell it to a property developer. Luckily, Amy Carter is on the case and, with side-kick Max, she sets out to expose the saboteur. Podcast clues take you to the heart of the action.

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