Spy in the Alley (6 page)

“No, I gotta stick around for a few more days,” Buzz contradicted her, distorting his boxy features into something I assumed was meant to be a smile. “Rod Wellman's orders. Ya know, to keep an eye out for trouble. For the peeping toms that a pretty gal like you just naturally attracts.”

“
Really
,” Madge said furiously. Gripping the handles of the window, she brought it down with a crash that shook the pane. Buzz barely withdrew his navy-jacketed forearms in time.

“Wow,” Pantelli said admiringly. He and I laughed at the sight of Buzz backing away, puzzled and offended. Buzz must've heard our deliberately loud laughs because he gritted his teeth.

Then I didn't feel like laughing. So Buckteeth was a GASP volunteer! Jack was just getting to know the local GASPers — maybe he could track this particular bucktoothed one down for us.

Too bad Buckteeth had to be a member of the same organization as Jack. That'd make Jack look even worse in Madge's eyes.

For now, Madge's lupine-blue eyes were fiery about Buzz. “Imagine him talking to you like that,” Madge fumed. “
Imagine
!”

I could only look at her in renewed amazement. So Madge minded if somebody was rotten to me; that sure violated all older sister-younger sister rules from the beginning of time.
Imagine!

Chapter Seven

The dim-witted thief again

Screams pierced my sleep.

I'd been dreaming about Buckteeth sticking his buckteeth through bluebells and foxgloves at me. I sat bolt upright, rudely awakened, ready to let off a few screams of my own.

Red lights flickered on the bedroom ceiling. Police car lights. I blinked my eyes. Those piercing noises hadn't been screams.

“ALARM!” I yelled.

Somebody's security alarm was sure going with a vengeance. Checking the glowing green numbers on my cat's-face clock, 2:13 a.m., I scrambled out of bed, stuffed myself into jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed my pen and notebook and shot down the two flights of stairs from my attic bedroom to the main floor.

“Do you have to take your Junior Block Watch activities so seriously?” came an exasperated, bedclothes-muffled mutter from Madge's bedroom.

From Mother's bedroom, the usual command: “Do not, repeat, do NOT, step off the deck.”

Depending on where the alarm was, I used either the back deck or front porch as my command post for observing police cars and fleeing burglars. Well, okay, I'd never actually
seen
any fleeing burglars, but you never knew. The alarm was blaring from behind our house. Turning off our own alarm system, I stepped onto the deck to see just where.

The Rinaldis'! “Jack!” I exclaimed. “It's JACK!” I called up to Madge's and Mom's windows. All of our bedrooms faced this direction, north, to views of Burrard Inlet, the mountains and occasional crimes-in-progress.

Other neighbors were venturing out onto decks and balconies to squint blearily at the commotion. A police car was parked behind the tomato patch. In the flashing light, I could make out Jack talking to a couple of police officers.

Pantelli's dad, who was Block Watch captain over our block as well as his, hurried by in the alley. Pantelli was with him. If Pantelli was getting to go along, no way I was going to miss out. “Mom,” I called up. “I'm joining Mr. Audia to investigate. I promise I'll stick close to him.”

In response, the light in Mother's room came on. Haste was in order. I took off through our back gate. This was still lockless, Buzz having explained to us that it was easier for him to patrol if he had access to our property. Huh! Some patroller he was, with burglaries being committed a Frisbee's throw from our place.

Pantelli also had a pen and notebook. Twisting his mouth, he spoke out of it sideways, the way gangsters do in old movies. We were both deadly serious about our Junior Block Watch duties. “Maybe more tomato pictures got swiped,” he suggested. “Wonder what's so special about tomatoes? Could be old man Rinaldi's hidden something in 'em. Diamonds. Or heroin.”

Arriving at the Rinaldis', we scrutinized the tomato stalks suspiciously.

“Now here's a pair of tough-nosed detectives,” came Jack's voice. We looked up to see him and two police officers. The officers gave us nice smiles, but ignored us after that, whereas Jack included us in everything he said, by glancing at us, or remarking, “How 'bout that, guys?” For an older person, he wasn't at all bad.

“I was sleeping, and the alarm went,” he explained. “When I got downstairs, the kitchen door had been jimmied open. I didn't see anyone, but a bottle of cranberry juice was spilled all over the table. I guess the thief was thirsty,” he shrugged.

“Anything missing?” asked one of the officers, jotting all this down.

Jack made a rueful grimace. “The thief grabbed my ancient, battered old briefcase, which had my even more ancient and battered old laptop inside. Worth all of about fifty cents. Plus a box of GASP brochures, buttons and other stuff. Man! That's going to be one disappointed burglar.”

Pantelli's dad commented, “Whoever did it must've thought the place was vacant, the Rinaldis being in Europe and all.”

“But somebody broke in earlier,” I interrupted. “Some tomato pictures disappeared.”

“Tomato pictures,” repeated the other officer, and the two of them laughed. Huh! I thought. This duo would
not
go far on the force.

“You gotta leave lights on,” Mr. Audia advised. “Leave 'em blazing.”

The first officer controlled his laughter long enough to say, “I agree with Mr. — ”

“Audia,” Pantelli's dad filled in, beaming. “I'm the Block Watch captain, for two blocks, actually. Lotta Nichols was the other one, for this block, but then she had a hernia, and — ”

“I don't think we need to hear about Ms. Nichols' medical history,” the officer said crisply. Holding his notepad aloft, he snapped it shut with a faint
smack
! “We'll give you a case number, Jack. Any more problems, or if you do find something missing, phone us. The number's here,” and he handed Jack a card.

“Some tomato pictures are missing,” I insisted.

It was like trying to speak through soundproof glass. In any case, my mother then ran up to us in bathrobe and cucumber face cream, distracting everyone.

Mothers must have some sort of guild, where they get together and figure out ways to horribly embarrass their daughters. If so, my mom was the president. Her face, gleaming and scented with cucumber lotion, turned first to Jack and then to Mr. Audia. “There's no danger, is there? I get so worried when Dinah dashes off like this.”

As I fumed at Mother for making me sound like an out-of-control train, the police officers assured her that their presence would spook any burglar. Mr. Audia then embarked on his theory about keeping all lights on at all times. Jack gazed past Mother's cucumber-creamed face to Madge.

“Hi,” Jack said.

“Hi,” said Madge. “I'm sorry about somebody trying to break into your place.”

Jack grinned happily at her. “It's okay. Really.”

Then, as the police murmured something about one last check, Jack apparently remembered that there were other people on the planet besides Madge.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked Mother and Mr. Audia.

“Naw, that's kind of you, kid, but it's too late. Or too early,” Mr. Audia joked, and Mother nodded, her face glowing in the light from the Rinaldis' kitchen.

Then, in true grown-up fashion, they, Madge and Jack proceeded to stand around talking. Bo-o-r-ring. “Let's join the police in checking around,” I whispered to Pantelli.

We retreated from the chatting foursome slowly, so they wouldn't notice. The police had already disappeared into a neighbor's garden, which we didn't quite have the nerve to do. Too many shadows. But the alley was lit. We poked around there.

“Hey look,” Pantelli exclaimed from a blackberry bush beside the Urstads' garage. He pulled out a beat-up hockey stick someone had abandoned. “Hungry, Dinah?” He began to whack at the blackberries with the stick, evidently thinking this was a clever way to pick fruit.

“Come
on
,” I said. Some detective he was.

“I'll just borrow this in case we run into trouble,” said Pantelli, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes at imagined burglars. Placing one hand on his hip, the other clenching the hockey stick, he engaged in a sword fight with the night air.

Since the police were investigating the other side of the alley, I thought we might as well cover this one. We proceeded past the Urstads' to the Dubuques', the house next to mine.

The Dubuques had a tidy garden, the grass clipped practically to the roots, the flowers neat, tiny and evenly spaced, the bushes pruned to about the size of basketballs. Nothing was ever out of place. Except that long shadow gliding across the lawn.

I rested my wrist on the top of the Dubuques' fence. I didn't switch my flashlight on — not yet. But I ran my gaze from the shadow's head along to where its feet, and therefore the feet of the person casting the shadow, would be.

Click! I switched the flashlight on, catching in its beam a pair of running-shoed feet, knobby knees below cut-offs and a T-shirt decorated with stick figures. Then I raised the beam higher to the face of — Buckteeth!

Because this was so much like my dream, I screamed and dropped the flashlight. Everyone came running.

“Honey! Are you all right?” Mother and Madge enveloped me in a hug that prevented me from retrieving the flashlight.

“Didja see him? Neat!” crowed Pantelli.

There was the sound of leaves getting thrashed about in the Dubuques' yard. “Buckteeth's getting away!” I yelled, squirming out of Mom and Madge's hug. I picked up the flashlight and shone it — but saw only the Dubuques' empty garden. Dang. He had gotten away.

Pantelli was starting to scale the Dubuques' fence when his father pulled him back.

“I will go after him,” growled Mr. Audia. “Who does he think he is, busting into folks' houses … scaring children … ”

I guessed I was the “children,” having screamed so moronically.

“I'll go after him,” Jack declared, and he was just scaling the fence when one of the police officers caught him by the arm.

“Just what did you see?” the officer then demanded of me.

“Buckteeth!”

Of course, then I had to explain that this was a person, not merely an orthodontic concept. Mother and Madge got into it, too, worrying that Buzz hadn't convinced our friendly neighborhood spy to scram after all. And Pantelli chimed in helpfully, “Lemme tell ya. Buzz is a total GOON.”

Suppressing a smile, Madge said to Jack, “Since the subject of goonish Buzz has come up, do you happen to know if one of your volunteers is buck-toothed? Buzz claims the guy he caught spying on us was wearing an anti-smoking T-shirt.”

“Gee,” said Jack, dismayed. “I sure hope Buckteeth isn't one of
my
people. I haven't met all the Vancouver volunteers yet, but if I find a bucktoothed one, I — ”

“Just hold on,” broke in one of the officers. They were looking puzzled and a little annoyed. “When did we get on to the topic of orthodontics? Who
cares
if somebody you know needs braces or whatever!”

Mother tried to soothe them. “It is confusing, isn't it? A thief and a spy, all in one night, and in one alley.”

Then Jack, growing impatient, did leap over the Dubuques' fence. The officer who'd grabbed him before yelled, “Hey, kid! That's
our
job!” — and leaped over after him.

A zigzag wooden fence heavily entwined with wisteria separated the Dubuques' property from ours. The rampant wisteria, which we quite liked, was a sore point with the tidy Dubuques.

Now, as the fence rattled first under Jack's weight and then the policeman's, wisteria leaves flew all over the Dubuques' garden — in time for Mr. Dubuque, who'd just thrown up his bedroom window and stuck his head and beefy shoulders out, to have a full, horrified view. He bellowed, “WHAT THE BLAZES IS GOING ON?”

“I think I saw him!” yelled Jack. “He just shot round the side!”

The second police officer scaled the Dubuques' fence and our zigzag one. “These men of action can't be bothered with gates,” I said to Madge.

Leaves rained down. Mr. Dubuque, stunned into silence, leaned out farther to watch. His wife, hair in curlers, joined him and peered timidly over his shoulder.

There was a loud sound of three pairs of feet crunching on the pebbles beside our house. “We've got him cornered!” shouted Jack. More crunching of pebbles and some scuffling noises.

“My geraniums!” yelled Mr. Dubuque. “Will ya watch it?”

Madge, Mother and I craned our necks to see. Had Jack and the police nabbed Buckteeth? Even Mr. Dubuque forgot to be cross about his messed-up garden. “Go get him!” he cheered.

An officer's voice floated dryly to us. “He got him, all right.”

Jack appeared in the light cast by our windows.

He was carrying Wilfred.

Chapter Eight

GASP — a rally!

After that, I made a strategic error and admitted that I'd dreamed about Buckteeth. This convinced everyone I'd imagined seeing him.

“Poor little Wilfred,” Madge cooed over our fluffy feline the next morning, as we sat on the deck. “
Naughty
Wilfred, going outside again! Naughty, naughty, naughty,” and for every naughty, she kissed him.

Girls
, I thought sourly. I was in a bad mood. Not only did no one believe me about Buckteeth, but after breakfast I was going to have to rake up all the wisteria leaves that had fallen into the Dubuques' garden.

Roderick appeared round the side of the house just then, making my morning just perfect.

“Hear you had some trouble last night,” he greeted us. “Your neighbor was telling me about it just now, while he oohed over the new Mazda Dad got me. Forest green with tan leather upholstery. Dad ordered it before he went away — it just arrived today.”