Who Stole Halloween? (16 page)

In the cafeteria the other day, Yasmeen had promised Kyle that she wouldn't bring his cat, Halloween, back to him. So when we went to Kyle's front door later that night, I held Halloween and
Yasmeen stood innocently beside us. Sophie and Jeremiah had already gone home. Mom was in her police car waiting for us at the curb.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Yasmeen asked. “I mean, Kyle seems like kind of a delicate kid. Seeing his cat in this condition could give him a heart attack.”

Halloween meowed her rusty-hinge meow. Ugly as she was, she did seem to be a good cat. I wondered if she knew how she looked and if she cared.

“I don't know about Kyle,” I said, “but after what she's been through, this poor kitty shouldn't have to go to the pound overnight. She deserves to be home.”

The door opened and a lady—Kyle's mom, I guess—was on the other side. “It's awfully late for trick-or-treating,” she said. Then she spotted Halloween and shuddered.
“Oh, dear,”
she said. “A pet rat wearing a
sweater
!”

Kyle came up behind her then, and right behind him—what a surprise—was Cammie. Kyle looked at Halloween, looked at me, looked
at Halloween, and then eagerly reached for her. “What happened to you, pal?” he said as he pulled the cat close.

Yasmeen couldn't believe it. “How did you even recognize her?” she asked.

“A man knows his own cat,” Kyle said.

“Oh, my gracious, don't tell me that poor, hideous creature is—” his mom said.

“Halloween!” Cammie hollered. “Cool! Can we take the sweater off? I always wanted to know what cats look like naked!”

Mom didn't ask us a lot of questions Halloween night. She was concentrating on Miss Deirdre and the bald kitties. But when she and I were sitting at the breakfast table the next morning, it all came out—how we had borrowed the baby monitor and Sophie had turned it into a wire for Luau, how we had used Luau as catnapper bait.

Like I predicted, Mom was not totally thrilled with our methods.

“The baby monitor didn't belong to you in the first place,” she said.

“I know that, Mom.”

“And what right had you to put your cat at risk?” Mom nodded at Luau. He had been snoozing on his cushion under the counter, but when he heard
cat
, he looked up. “A poor, dumb animal,” Mom went on, “who can't speak for himself.”

“A poor, dumb animal?” I said. “Mom, he volunteered!”

Mom sipped her coffee. “Right,” she said.

Luau interrupted with a meow. He had padded over to sit by Mom's chair. Now he leaped lightly into her lap and started circling.

“He's telling you it was his idea,” I said.

“Oh, is he?” Mom said. “I thought he was telling me there's a new box of cat treats in the cupboard.”

“I don't see how he can say it any more clearly. He
liked
being the undercover kitty. He was proud to serve his fellow felines.”

Mom stroked Luau. “Have it your way,” she said. “But about that baby monitor, how much have you got saved?”

Oh, this was just great. Here Yasmeen and
I had solved the crime, caught the catnapper, returned Kyle's cat—and instead of getting a reward, it was going to cost me cold, hard cash.

I sighed. “If I use my birthday money,” I said, “I've probably got enough to pay Mrs. Lee back.”

“Good.”

It seemed like a smart idea to change the subject. So I asked Mom what she had found out from Miss Deirdre. “Was I right?” I said. “Was she making those pills for Mr. Blanco?”

Mom nodded. “She's an animal lover big-time, and she got interested in these alternative kinds of cures after she read some book about homespun remedies. Her idea was that she could do well by doing good.”

“What does that mean?”

“She thought she could rescue neglected cats and make money at the same time,” Mom said.

“Wasn't she scared when she was stealing the cats?” I asked. “She almost got caught a couple of times.”

Mom smiled. “That was her big inspiration.
You know, I think maybe Miss Deirdre was such a successful teacher because she's a kid at heart. For example, she loved to play dress-up.”

“You mean she had a costume for catnapping?”

“More like a disguise,” Mom said. “She knew how the Harvey ghost was supposed to steal cats at Halloween. So she decided to confuse matters by transforming
herself
into a ghost. And I don't mean she wore some cheesy old sheet either. She had gray face makeup and a veil, and her dress was more like a gauzy gray gown.”

“Doesn't sound good for fast getaways,” I said.

“She made it short so she wouldn't trip,” Mom said. “She wore gray tights and running shoes with it. I guess she was pretty proud of the costume. Even though she was sitting in a police station, she wanted to tell me all about it.”

I said I thought it was too bad Miss Deirdre had turned out to be a bad guy. “She's good at a lot of things. How did she make the pills, anyway?”

“Apparently, she collected the fur, bleached it white, ground it into a powder, and put the powder into the gel capsules.”

“Did she really think they would work?” I asked. “I mean—
ick
—swallowing cat fur? Poor Dad!”

Mom laughed. “Well, she added herbs, so it was tasty cat fur, at least, and clean, too. But your dad told me early this morning he's pretty embarrassed. In fact, he's at the eye doctor now.”

“Is Mr. Blanco going to get in trouble?” I asked. “It seems like maybe there would be a law against selling pills made out of cat fur.”

“The district attorney says it's not the kind of consumer fraud case he's used to,” Mom said, “so he's still looking into it. There was no real harm done, so my bet is Mr. Blanco will get off with a slap on the wrist.”

“The D.A. is going to slap Mr. Blanco's wrist?”

“Not literally, Alex,” Mom said. “It just means the punishment won't be too severe. At the very least, Mr. Blanco will have to return
Daddy's money and promise to be more careful about what he sells in the future.” She took another sip of coffee and stretched. Luau had to hold tight to keep from falling out of her lap. “You know,” she said, “I'm going downtown to question Miss Deirdre again later, and there are still a few things I don't understand.”

“No prob, Mom. After talking to Kyle last night, I've got it all figured out.”

“In that case,” she said, “why did Kyle call you and Yasmeen off the case? Was Bub right? Was there a ransom note?”

I shook my head no. “It was the ghost,” I said.

“You mean Miss Deirdre dressed up,” Mom said.

“No,” I said, “I mean the
real
ghost. Kyle was at the Harvey house on Sunday buying catnip. He hoped maybe he could use it to lure Halloween home. Anyway, when he was there, the ghost of Gilmore Harvey started making noise—”

“The ghost of Gilmore Harvey started making noise?” Mom repeated.

“The ghost makes noise, Mom. Trust me. Anyway, Kyle became convinced it was the ghost who stole Halloween.”

Mom said that was no wonder. “He's a morbid kid, anyway, and he saw Miss Deirdre in full regalia when she stole his cat.”

I nodded. “Anyway, when that happened, he was afraid it was a warning that he should stop looking. He didn't want anything bad to happen to Yasmeen and me, so he called us off, too.”

“He's a Gloomy Gus, all right,” Mom said. “And I guess that also explains why he put the LOST flyer in the cemetery in the first place.”

“You got it,” I said. “He was hoping the ghost would see it and return the cat. Hey—but can I ask
you
something? How did
you
figure out about Miss Deirdre—that she was the catnapper? It was sure lucky you and Officer Krichels arrived when you did.”

“Luck nothing.” Mom smiled. “It was superior police work and my brilliant powers of deduction.”

“That's what I meant to say. So how did you do it?”

“The grocery receipt,” she said. “Mrs. Timmons isn't the only one who makes salt dough. I reread my notes from questioning Kyle. Cammie told me she had just made a unicorn out of play dough at school. Play dough, salt dough . . . It seemed like it was worth asking Miss Deirdre a few questions at least.”

“And the next thing you knew, you were organizing a bald-cat rescue mission.”

“Righty-o,” Mom said, “and this morning I've got a date with a catnapper and her lawyer. Your dad, on the other hand, will be spending a pleasant day cleaning the basement. Care to join him?”

I had kind of thought since Yasmeen and I solved the crime and all, maybe we could celebrate. I mean, weren't we sort of heroes? But apparently, Mom didn't see it that way. She probably wondered why I sounded sarcastic when I answered her. “You know I'd love to, Mom, but I have some errands to run.”

“What errands?” she asked.

I told her Yasmeen and I were going over to
Mr. Blanco's store to return the ledger book and the old newspapers, but on the way we were stopping at Bub's. We wanted to fill him in on who stole Halloween and see if he had any ideas about the other mystery: What had really happened on that Halloween more than a century ago? Was it true Gilmore Harvey was murdered by his very own cat?

“I thought you and Yasmeen were done with mysteries for a while,” Mom said.

“We were till last night,” I said, “but solving one kind of gives you energy for another.”

“I know what you mean. And anyway, Dad will be happy to save you one of the grungier jobs. We wouldn't want you to feel left out.”

Instead of answering, I retrieved my coat from the front hall. Mom started upstairs to get dressed, but she stopped halfway. “Speaking of breakfast,” she said, “did you get any coconut candy last night?”

“Sorry, Mom,” I said. “We weren't out long enough. But you're a grown-up. You can buy all the coconut candy you want.”

“That would be cheating,” Mom said. “Oh—and one more thing.”

I pushed open the front door. “Yeah?”

“You and Yasmeen did okay, Alex. For kids, I mean.”

Bub was in the kitchen chopping celery for soup when Yasmeen and I arrived a little later. “I hear you two caught a catnapper last night,” he said. “Not too high and mighty this morning to help a fella do dishes I hope?”

I was thinking “congratulations” might be nice, or simply, “I bet that kid was happy to get his cat back.” But praise is not Bub's style, just like it's not my mom's. So I took a dishrag and turned on the water while Yasmeen pulled a drying towel out of the drawer. While we worked, we told Bub the latest about Miss Deirdre and the pills. Then we told him we had brought over
the evidence from the other mystery—the case of the Harvey house ghost. When the last pan was clean, Bub put the lid on the soup pot and lowered the heat. Then we went into the front room and sat down at the dining room table, with the old ledger book, the billet doux, and the newspapers laid out in front of us.

Bub said he didn't know how it worked in real life, that I'd have to ask my mom about that, but in books and movies when the detectives were stuck, they usually reviewed the story one more time.

“It's worth a try,” I said.

Bub nodded. “Okay, then. It's 1879 and the richest guy in town, one Gilmore Harvey, finds out his beautiful young wife has a sweetheart, Floyd. So—in the proverbial jealous rage—he kills her.”

“Right before Halloween,” Yasmeen added.

Bub nodded. “Then on Halloween night itself, someone—or some
thing
—kills Mr. Harvey.”

“Right,” I said. “And when the police find his body, they find Mrs. Harvey's cat at the same time—”

“Licking something red and sticky from his paws.” Yasmeen made a face.