Who Stole Halloween? (5 page)

There is something strange when you look into a mystery: It sort of takes over your brain and even your sleep. That night I dreamed we found a whole bunch of clues, but most of them turned into fish and swam away. The only one that didn't was a little slip of white paper with writing on it.

The dream woke me at six, and I couldn't fall back to sleep. Luau was awake, too, lying on my feet, blinking at me and purring, which meant,
I love you, Alex, I love you so—especially when you give me catnip
.

Down the hall I could hear my mom in the
shower. It was Monday. She worked an early shift. This would be my best chance to talk to her.

I went down to the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of Pirate Berry Crunch. Mom came down a couple of minutes later. When she saw me, she jumped.

“What on earth are you doing up?” she asked.

“Sorry,” I said. “I couldn't sleep.”

The coffeemaker was burbling. Dad measures out the grounds and water the night before, then sets a timer so it's ready when Mom gets up. I used to think this was nice of him, but Mom says he only does it so he can sleep in without feeling guilty. Now she poured herself a mug and sat down across from me at the table.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Just the missing cats,” I said. “I can't stop thinking about them—Kyle's especially.” Then I told her about my dream and about finding the catnip under the car. I told her what Bub said about a ghost story, too.

Mom nodded. “We've been lucky the last few years. No cats stolen at all. But before that, I remember several incidents. People with a sick
sense of humor stole them and blamed the ghost. Once there was a ransom note. Another time somebody deposited two in the cellar at the Harvey house. It was vacant then. Luckily, the cats made plenty of noise, and a neighbor heard them. The cats were pretty hungry by the time we found them.”

“Kyle said the thief might have been a ghost,” I told her.

Mom laughed and shook her head. “Right, honey. And the tooth fairy robs banks in her off-hours.”

I laughed, too. Then I told her Mr. Stone was supposed to be the expert on the old ghost story.

Mom said that didn't surprise her, then she looked at her watch and stood up. “I've got a seven o'clock meeting. We're planning our patrols for Halloween night.”

“But you haven't eaten breakfast,” I protested.

“There'll be doughnuts at the meeting.”

“You won't let
me
eat doughnuts for breakfast,” I pointed out. “You say they're bad for me.”

“I'm right, too,” she said, “as usual.” She put her mug in the dishwasher, then ducked into the
downstairs bathroom. When she came out, her police uniform was buttoned up and her lips were pink.

“Go get 'em, Mom,” I said.

“I will, honey.” She started down the hallway to the garage, then paused. “What's Kyle-over-on-Groundhog's last name?” she asked.

“Richmond,” I told her.

Mom nodded. “I'll talk to Fred Krichels today, take a look at his report. It seems likely the catnapping incidents are related, don't you think? And maybe you and Yasmeen could get Mr. Stone to tell you that ghost story. Who knows? It might help us solve the case.”

I was surprised, and kind of flattered, that Mom had asked for our help. “Sure,” I said. “So you don't mind if Yasmeen and I try to find Kyle's cat?”

Mom smiled. “I don't mind,” she said. “But this time, Alex,
please
be more careful. No death-defying midnight runs through the neighborhood. Deal?”

“Cross my heart,” I said.

Dad came down about fifteen minutes later. I was clean and dressed and full of cereal. I was reading the sports section. Dad was as surprised as Mom, but he didn't jump. Instead, he asked about my spelling test.

“Oh,
no
!” I said. “I was going to study last night, but then I went to the Popps. . . . Do we have time to go over the words?”

“Hand me the list,” Dad said.

I pulled it out of my backpack. Dad held it close to his face, then he stretched out his arms and held it far away. He opened his eyes wide. He squinted.

“Can't you read it?” I asked.

“Of course I can read it,” he said. “First word:
glamorous
.”

“Glamorous?”
I shook my head. “That's not one of our words.”

“Sure it is,” said Dad. “I mean”—he moved the paper away again—“I think it is.”

I took the list back. “Dad, the word is
generous
.”

Dad shrugged. “
Glamorous, generous
—the rule is the same:
O
before
U
except after moo.”

“Ha-ha, Dad.” I slid the list into my backpack. Yasmeen could quiz me on the way to school.

Dad frowned and rubbed his eyes. “Maybe I should make that phone call after all,” he said.

“To the eye doctor you mean?”

“Oh, no.” Dad shook his head. “I don't care what your mom says, it's not serious enough for an M.D. But Eric Blanco's got that new store downtown, I think I told you? It's one of those health-organic-type stores. Five-dollar zucchinis, tea bags from Tibet, vitamin Q. . . .”

“In the Harvey house,” I said. “Mom and I were just talking about that place. But I don't
understand. What do five-dollar zucchinis have to do with your eyes?”

“Oh, it's probably a lot of hooey,” Dad said. “But Eric claims he's got some miracle pills—vitamin A it must be. He says if I take them, my eyesight will be as good as Luau's.”

I couldn't believe my dad. Miracle pills? Why didn't he just get glasses like all the other old people?

“You know Eric sells pumpkins, too,” Dad said. “Organic, homegrown, all that stuff. What do you say we go over there before dinner? I've got that PTA meeting, but after that we could go get the raw materials for our jack-o'-lantern.”

“Can Yasmeen come?” I asked.

“Sure,” Dad said, “and speaking of Yasmeen . . .”

She was knocking at the front door, same as she does every day. That meant it had to be precisely 7:45. Yasmeen is never late to pick me up for school.

“Want to come pumpkin shopping with us?” Dad asked her.

“At the haunted house,” I added.

Yasmeen said probably—she'd have to check with her dad. Then she adjusted the straps on my backpack, and we headed out the door.

It is a two-block walk from my house to College Springs Elementary School—one block to Bub's at the end of Chickadee Court and one along Groundhog Drive to the school. For the first block I filled Yasmeen in on what my mom had said about stolen cats and how Mom wanted us to get the ghost story from Mr. Stone. For the second Yasmeen quizzed me on spelling words. We are in different rooms this year, so we figured we'd meet at lunch to plan our next move.

But our next move came to us.

Yasmeen and I had just sat down in the cafeteria when Kyle came over to our table. We were shocked. At our school it's strange for a kid in a higher grade to talk to a kid in a lower one. It's more than strange, it's like totally uncool for a kid in a higher grade to risk this at lunch—when his friends are bound to see.
Whatever Kyle wanted, it had to be really important.

“Uh . . . I came to ask you . . . ,” he began, and if it's possible, he looked more miserable than before, “. . . uh, I mean, everything's okay now. . . . You don't need to get my cat back.”

Yasmeen dropped her sandwich she was so surprised. Me—I almost choked on my Chips Ahoy!

“What?” Yasmeen said. “She came back on her own, you mean?”

Kyle shook his head no. “I wish, but that's not it. I'm just saying—of course I
want
her back. She was like my best friend . . . but I don't want you to help get her for me.”

“Why not?” I said. “We already found out some stuff.”

“What?” Now Kyle looked scared. “What have you found out?”

“Nothing,” Yasmeen said.

I looked at her. “
Nothing
? That's not—”

Yasmeen interrupted me with a kick. While I rubbed my shin and tried to figure out what I was missing, she said, “Nothing that was any help. Don't worry about it, Kyle. If you don't want me to bring your cat back, I won't.”

Kyle was already standing up and looking around—wondering which of his friends had seen him and how much he was going to suffer for talking to us.

“Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it. I know maybe it seems weird, but . . .” He shrugged, turned, and walked away.

When he was out of earshot, I let Yasmeen have it. “What was that about? I hope you're carrying your famous Band-Aids because I need one where you
assaulted
me!”

“I didn't hurt you,” Yasmeen said, then she thought again. “Did I? Roll up the leg of your jeans and let me look.”

“Oh, right, Doctor Popp,” I said. “In the middle of the cafeteria at lunchtime, I'm going to show you my shin.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, and took a bite of
her sandwich. Meanwhile, our friend Russell came over and sat down. He had a tray full of cafeteria delights.

“What is that?” Yasmeen asked him.

Russell took a bite. “I'm not sure, but it tastes good. Hey—that was a hard spelling test, huh? I think I got 0 out of 20.”

Actually, I had thought the test was okay. But it would sound like bragging to tell Russell that now. And with him here, Yasmeen and I couldn't really talk about the missing cats either. So instead, we acted like regular, normal, everyday kids—instead of hardworking detectives—and talked about regular, normal, everyday stuff like trick-or-treating and kickball and video games.

In class after lunch we had time to work on our relief maps of Mexico. While I mixed up the dough ingredients and stirred the paint, I thought about poor Kyle and his missing cat and his strange request. I also tried to figure out how come Yasmeen had kicked me. I mean, she wanted to shut me up, but why?

Anyway, it wasn't so smart to think about the case while I worked, because the dough came
out all runny and my green paint looked blue. Mrs. Timmons asked me if I was feeling okay and even put her hand on my forehead like maybe I had a fever. Mrs. Timmons likes me because we have cats in common. She has a white one with blue eyes and an orange tiger like Luau, which is something everyone in our room knows because she is always brushing white and orange fur off her clothes.

“Don't forget to put your dough away in a Ziploc,” she reminded the class when we were done working. I smiled because it made me think of Miss Deirdre and Jeremiah's preschool. I guess when it comes to dough, you never grow up.

Yasmeen met me at the door of the classroom after school.

“There was something strange about the way Kyle was talking,” she said. “Did you notice? He was so nervous.”

I slung my backpack over my shoulders, and we started walking down the hall. “Sure, I saw he was scared,” I said. “So what, though? Why not tell him about the catnip? Why not tell him what my mom said?”

“I don't know how to explain this,” she said, “but something told me not to trust him—like an instinct.”

We walked out the front door of the school and into the daylight. It was a perfect fall afternoon—blue sky, white clouds, fiery leaves.

“Come on, Yasmeen,” I said. “You don't think he stole his own cat, do you?”

Yasmeen shook her head like she was trying to straighten out her thoughts. “That doesn't make sense, does it?” she said. “But wait. What about this? What if he made up the story about seeing the thief?”

“And he doesn't want us to do any detecting because he's afraid we'll find out,” I said.

Yasmeen nodded. “Exactly.”

“But why would he do that?” I asked.

“Maybe something else happened to Hallo - ween,” Yasmeen said. “Maybe Halloween wasn't supposed to go outside, and Kyle let her out, and she got hit by a car or something else bad, and now Kyle is afraid he'll get in trouble.”