Forensics Squad Unleashed (17 page)

More footsteps upstairs and now voices. Two guys. One is the squeegee kid. I recognize his gruff voice from when he yelled at us by the pool. The other guy must be his accomplice. And I’ll bet you anything he is wearing runners.

“How do you know they didn’t follow you, Cal?” a strange voice says.

“I got rid of them, Seb. Trust me.” The voice belongs to the guy who pushed Mason and me into the pool. Cal.

“Trust you? I can’t believe you were dealing with some kid.”

“That wasn’t just any kid. That was a smart kid.”

In the yellow light from my flashlight, I can see Muriel smile. Who can resist a compliment, even when it comes from a dognapper?

“We should get outta here just in case. I’ll get the dogs from the basement.”

The basement?

I can see my friends’ eyes glimmer in the dark. My own eyes must be glimmering too. We are all wondering the same thing: How do we get to the basement first?

Upstairs, the conversation continues. “We’ll never find another squat like this.”

“We should leave town, Cal.”

“How’re we gonna leave with six dogs?”

Six dogs?

Mason waves us over to where he is standing. Without saying a word, he points with his foot to what looks like a trapdoor on the floor. And then we hear what sounds like a small dog whining.

“Willy?” Nathaniel calls out.

“Shhh,” Muriel tells him, but it’s too late.

The voices upstairs stop for a moment, and then I hear the guy named Seb say, “There’s someone downstairs.”

I can feel my heart beating in my throat.
There’s someone downstairs.
Those must be the same words my
mother used during the break-in at our house, and fear seeps through my veins. I need to get out of here. But then I remember that Roxie might be in the basement, and I know I cannot bolt.

What surprises me is that Mason does not take off. Roxie is not his dog—and neither is Willy. And yet there is Mason on his knees, pulling up the trapdoor, even though we can hear the dognappers coming down the stairs.

What if they try to trap us in the basement, the way the squeegee kid tried to trap the others in the pool house? I think about rats and spiders, but then I hear movement in the basement. Could that be Roxie?

I am in the basement before Mason. The stench is a million times worse than the smell of spoiled food in the cafeteria. Six dogs that no one has been cleaning up after. But, oddly, there is also something lemony in the air. And then I remember what Larry told us about the stolen bark-breaker collars. Citronella smells like lemons.

I shine my flashlight in front of me. I think I recognize the standard poodle I saw on the poster. He is sprawled out on the floor, panting. It is hard to believe his coat was ever white. He is wearing a plastic collar with a small box attached to it. The citronella must be inside.

“Roxie?” I call into the darkness.

I am answered by a whimper. That can’t be Roxie.

But when I follow the sound, it leads me to her. She is whimpering because she is chained to the furnace.

I don’t know if I am more angry or sad. No—I’m definitely angry. How could anyone treat dogs this way?

Roxie knows it’s me, because she stops whimpering. I unlatch the chain from around her neck. “Let’s get out of here,” I say as she licks my face.

Nathaniel has found Willy. The Pomeranian is dancing a circle around him. Mason, Muriel and Nico are rounding up the other dogs—Rexford, the standard poodle, a Dalmatian and a sheltie.

I shine the light on the stairs as I rush back up with Roxie at my heels.

But someone is blocking my way. “What do you think you’re doing?” an angry voice asks.

I could be scared. I should be scared. The person I am looking at is bigger and older than I am. Someone I have never seen before. Not the squeegee kid. This must be Seb. My eyes drop to his feet. He is wearing runners. Though I can’t see the bottoms, I know the soles are worn.

If I am afraid, you cannot tell from my voice. “I’m taking back my dog,” I say. “The one you stole.”

“You can’t prove I stole her. I’ll say I just turned up here tonight. That I don’t know anything about the dogs. All kinds of street kids use this place as a squat.”

“We’ve got your footwear prints from the park,” I tell him. “And we’ll get your fingerprints from that can of baked beans. Plus, you dropped your emails. It shouldn’t be too hard to prove you took the dogs.”

“Why should I believe you?” Seb asks. “What are you—twelve years old?”

“Thirteen,” I tell him.

Mason is coming up the stairs with Rexford in his arms and the sheltie close behind him. Rexford squirms out of Mason’s arms and makes a beeline for the door. The sheltie follows him.

The printout of the email is sticking out from Mason’s front pocket. Why didn’t I think of telling him to leave it with Stacey?

Seb has spotted the paper too. “It looks like you’ve got something of mine,” he says, reaching forward to pull the sheet from Mason’s pocket.

“It’s all yours,” Mason says. His voice is calmer than I expect.

Seb scans the sheet, then tears it up and lets the pieces fall to the floor.

“That won’t help,” Mason tells him. “We already took photos with our cell phones—close-up shots so we could get the fingerprints. From that sheet of paper you just tore up and from the can of beans.” Mason is bluffing, of course, but Seb doesn’t know that.

Muriel is coming up the stairs with the poodle. “Cellphone photos are—”

I shoot her a look, and she stops in midsentence.

Mason reaches into his back pocket for his cell phone and makes as if he is about to hand it to Seb. “You can have my phone, if you want it. I already emailed the photos to one of our associates. For safekeeping.”

Seb sneers. “Associates? What are you?” he says. “Some kind of middle-school forensics squad?”

“We’re from forensics camp,” Muriel says. “But now that you mention it, forensics squad sounds much cooler.”

TWENTY-SIX

Leave it to Mason to start a conversation with Cal, the squeegee kid, and his accomplice, Seb. Did he forget that one of them tried to drown me thirty minutes ago?

Maybe it’s because Mason does not carry grudges. After all, I have been giving him a hard time for over thirteen years, and he has never once gotten angry at me.

“So,” he says, “if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you guys?”

I am half expecting Seb and Cal to take off or punch us out, but I think they are so surprised Mason is talking to them in a normal way that they actually answer. Maybe Mason should become a reporter instead of a pastry chef. He has a talent for getting people to tell him stuff. “We’re seventeen,” Cal says. He eyes Seb, and I know they are sending each other some kind of message, only I’m not sure what the message is.

Mason has more questions. He wants to know whether they are from Montreal—Seb is and Cal isn’t—and what their last names are (they won’t tell him).

Nico is upstairs now too. He has brought the Dalmatian, who is snapping at the sheltie. “Shhh,” Nico tells the Dalmatian, but the dog keeps snapping.

Nathaniel is still holding Willy, but I can tell from the way he is looking at Seb and Cal that he does not trust them, even if they seem to be having a calm conversation with Mason.

The poodle won’t leave Muriel’s side. Muriel rubs the dog’s filthy coat. “Dognapping is a serious crime,” she tells Seb and Cal.

“So is mistreating animals,” Nathaniel adds.

Seb extends his arm the way I’ve seen Lloyd do. “For the record—we never mistreated those dogs. We let them out and feed them twice a day. And they get plenty of fresh water.”

“Yeah, but what about the mess downstairs?” I say. “And what if they’re on special diets? A lot of dogs have allergies.” I almost tell them that Roxie only eats raw food. “And what about the bark breakers the dogs have on? You stole those too, didn’t you?”

Cal is leaning against one of the wooden pillars. He brushes the hair out of his eyes. When he speaks, he uses the kind of voice you’d use with your best bud. “Look, you caught us red-handed and you’ve got evidence to prove we took those dogs. But here’s a wild thought.” He pauses,
and when he smiles, I see that one of his front teeth is chipped. “How about you let us go? You seem like good kids. And I’m sorry about what happened at the pool.” He looks at Mason and me. “I was scared. I didn’t want to hurt you guys. Honest.”

Mason nods. I am not so convinced Cal means it.

Nathaniel is even less convinced. “How do we know these guys aren’t playing us?” he hisses.

But Cal talks over him. “Seb and I were planning to leave town once we sold the dogs. Look at it this way. You’ve got the dogs. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? If you turn us in to the police, we’ll end up in youth court, and the judge will send us to some juvie prison. I’ve already been, and let me tell you, it’s no picnic. You can help us get another chance. Turn our lives around.”

“What about the dogs you already sold?” I ask.

Cal and Seb exchange another look. “We only sold one. A wire-haired dachshund. I’ll give you all the info—where she is, where we got her from—but only if you let us go.” Cal is watching our faces. I can feel him gauging our reactions, trying to see if we will say yes.

“How do we know you won’t leave town and start dognapping someplace else?” Muriel asks.

Seb shrugs and says, “Look at it this way. If we got caught by a bunch of middle-schoolers, I’d say it’s time for us to get into a new line of work.”

“A new line?” Nico asks. “Maybe you guys should try a
straight
line.”

That makes Seb and Cal laugh. Cal laughs so hard he needs to clutch his belly.

Why would anyone laugh so hard at one of Nico’s lame jokes? Which is how I know Nathaniel is right. These guys are playing us.

Are the others thinking the same thing? Not Nico. He is too busy laughing at his own joke. Muriel catches my eye and pats her back pocket where she keeps her phone. I think she is signaling me that she has been in touch with Stacey. Nathaniel’s eyes look steely.

Mason shifts his weight from one foot to the other. I think he would like to trust Cal and Seb. “I don’t know…” he whispers.

“They’re playing us,” Nathaniel says.

“Don’t you think everyone deserves a second chance?” Mason asks.

My week at forensics camp has taught me that you can be on the same team and not agree with each other. It happens all the time. But sometimes when people on the same team disagree, it creates an opening—and trouble gets in.

Like it does now.

Seb slips behind a pillar, so that for a moment we lose sight of him. Then he dashes to the other side of the room. Nathaniel is the first of us to figure out what is happening. He rushes to the door to block Seb from leaving. Rexford wags his tail and paws at the door. The Dalmatian nips the sheltie. But Seb has another plan. He is kicking the glass in
the grimy window I was looking out of before. There are jagged shards everywhere. And then Seb is gone.

“Knee—” I am trying to shout one of Roxie’s commands, but Cal’s hand is over my mouth. I bite his fingers, but he doesn’t back off.

I need to remember what Larry taught me. Roxie is trained to respond to both verbal cues and hand signals. Cal has pinned one of my hands behind my back, but only one.

I slice the air with my free hand, and when I do, Roxie takes a run at Cal, who tries stepping away. Cal’s eyes look like they are all pupil. I think he expects Roxie to jump him. Only that isn’t what Roxie does. She rams into Cal’s knees, just the way Larry said she would. “What the—” Cal calls out as he drops to the floor. Cal is breathing hard. Roxie uses her teeth to hold on to Cal’s sleeve.

“Good dog,” I tell Roxie. But it is as if she has not heard the compliment. She does not take her eyes off Cal—not even for a second. All I hear is her low growl.

Muriel grabs hold of Cal’s foot, so he cannot escape. Cal tries to shake her off, but then Mason comes over and sits on Cal’s stomach.

“Please, man, move. I’m begging you. I can’t breathe,” Cal gasps.

Mason moves—but only a little.

“I can’t believe Seb took off without me,” Cal mutters.

But Seb has not exactly managed to take off. About three minutes later he is back, propped up between Samantha and Lloyd. Behind them are Stacey and Nathaniel’s dad.

“What are you two doing here?’ Nico asks Samantha and Lloyd.

Samantha sighs. This is the first time I have ever seen her in jeans. Maybe that’s why she looks younger than usual. “Let’s just say we’ve been keeping an eye on you this evening. We got quite a workout going up Lansdowne.”

Lloyd steers Seb to a small bench. “Let me see your leg,” Lloyd says once Seb is sitting down. Seb does not argue. He grimaces when he extends his leg. His knee is badly cut in two places.

Nathaniel’s dad rushes back to his cruiser for his medical kit.

“Hey,” Seb says to Lloyd. “How do you know these kids anyhow?”

Something about the way Seb speaks to Lloyd—as if they have known each other for a long time—makes me look back and forth between them. On the surface, there is no resemblance. Seb is tall and lanky. Lloyd is smaller and wider. But they both have gray eyes and, now that I am looking closely, a bump on their noses in the exact same spot. And now I remember the conversation I overheard between Lloyd and Samantha. Lloyd said he had a brother who sometimes lived on the streets…Sebastian. Or Seb for short.

“We’re their counselors. At forensics camp,” Lloyd tells him.

Seb shakes his head. “You kidding me? If it weren’t for this friggin’ forensics camp, me and Cal would be free men.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

I yawn, which makes the twins yawn, which causes Nathaniel to yawn, which makes the counselors yawn, and then Stacey and Mason end up yawning too. I wonder if there’s a scientific reason yawns are contagious.

It’s Friday morning, and I am so tired that when I look at the table in the conference room, I cannot help imagining how nice it would feel to fall asleep on top of it. Even without a pillow.

Stacey is passing around a sheet of paper so we can all put down our contact information. That way we’ll be able to stay in touch after forensics camp.