Lizzie did remember, too. But it didn’t do much good. When she called the Littleton police first thing on Sunday morning, the sergeant who answered told her that as far as he knew, nobody had called about a puppy. He said sergeant Martin handled “missing pets and stuff like that,” but he’d been out on vacation and would be back at work on Monday.
Next Lizzie called Caring Paws, the animal shelter. The director, Ms. Dobbins, said she hadn’t gotten any calls, either — although she admitted that her desk was even more of a mess than usual and that there might be a note somewhere that she hadn’t seen. She promised to look. And she told Lizzie that if the Petersons couldn’t handle a foster puppy right then, she actually had room at the shelter for once and could take Noodle. “He sounds awfully cute,” she said.
“Oh, we’re happy to have him,” Lizzie said quickly.
Noodle was awfully cute. When Lizzie finished her phone calls, she plopped right down on the kitchen floor and let Noodle climb all over her and lick her face and chew on her chin with his sharp little puppy teeth. “Ow! Ow! You little rascal!” Lizzie giggled. “Cut it out, now! You have to learn to be nice!”
I like to kiss and play and jump around. What’s wrong with that? My people love it when I chew them. Hey, what’s that over there?
Suddenly, Noodle jumped off Lizzie’s lap and galumphed over to the far corner of the kitchen. He stuck his head under a cabinet and sniffed once, twice, three times. He sat back and barked. Finally he stuck his head underneath the cabinet again and pulled with his whole body, growling little puppy growls as he dragged out an old toy of Buddy’s — a duck that had once been fluffy and yellow but was now sort of dusty and matted.
“Well, look what you found! Who’s a little smarty?” Dad had just come into the kitchen to start breakfast. “Looks like somebody deserves a blueberry pancake of his very own.” Dad knew that dogs were not really supposed to eat people food, but he always made Buddy one little pancake on Sunday mornings, as a special treat.
“He is a smarty,” Lizzie said. She felt proud of Noodle, as if he were her very own dog. Oh, if only he were!
Lizzie had not felt this way in a very long time. Usually, she understood perfectly that her family was only a foster family, and that the puppies they cared for did not belong to them and would not belong to them. But there was something about Noodle. Something really special. How could it be that his people had not even called the police?
Maybe Noodle had been abandoned. Maybe his people did not love him or did not want him — although Lizzie couldn’t imagine why not.
Maybe the way he had come into the Petersons’ lives was proof that Noodle was meant to be part of their family.
Just then, Charles and the Bean came running into the kitchen, with Buddy on their heels. “Beat you!” the Bean cried happily.
“You sure did,” Charles told his little brother. Then Charles winked at Lizzie, which meant, “only because I let him beat me.”
Buddy ran right over to greet his new friend. He and Noodle bowed to each other, front legs splayed out in front and tails waving in the air behind. Then they took off running around the kitchen table, their toenails scrabbling on the floor as they dashed in circles. Lizzie loved seeing Buddy play like that. He looked so happy! Maybe he was tired of being an “only dog.” Maybe he needed a friend.
“Lizzie?” Dad was waving his hand in front of Lizzie’s face. “Did you hear a word I just said to you?”
Oops. Lizzie shook her head.
Dad sighed. “Well, what I was saying was that we should probably find a collar for Noodle, so we can take him for walks on a leash. And then we really need to think about how we’re going to find his family. They must be worried sick.”
Charles spoke up. “Sammy said we could use one of Goldie’s old collars,” he said. “I already told him all about Noodle.”
“Sounds good!” Dad said.
“Sammy also said that to solve the mystery we should go back to the scene of the crime,” Charles said. “Like the police do. That’s how you find clues.”
“Scene of what crime?” Lizzie asked. She was confused. It wasn’t like they had stolen Noodle — although she might have been tempted!
“I think what Sammy means is that we should go back to Loon Lake Park, where we found Noodle,” Dad said. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea. Mom has a newspaper story to work on this morning, but I could take you down as soon as we finish breakfast. How about it?”
Sammy came over just in time to help polish off the last of the pancakes. On weekends, Sammy almost always had two breakfasts: one at home and one at the Petersons’. Then Charles read the funnies to Buddy and Noodle; that was his Sunday tradition. Finally, they all piled into the van and headed for Loon Lake Park.
Soon Lizzie was standing on the shore of the icy lake again, remembering how scared she’d been when she first saw Noodle swimming out in that open patch of water. “But you made it,” she said to the puppy, who was standing next to her on the other end of the leash. She held on tightly. Noodle wasn’t going anywhere without her, Lizzie thought. She already loved him too much to even think of him in danger again. Now Noodle tugged on the leash.
Come on! I know this place. I’ll show you around.
Lizzie followed the pup as he pulled her along the shoreline. Before long she had traveled much farther than she and Buddy had gone the day before.
“Lizzie! Where are you going?” Charles yelled from the dock, near where he and Sammy were playing fetch with Buddy.
“Ask Noodle!” Lizzie yelled back. “He seems to know!”
Noodle pulled Lizzie past the picnic areas, past the campground, even past the row of tall pines shading a point of land jutting into the lake. He pulled her through prickly sticker bushes, through patches of dirty snow, over hummocks of tall, rustly dried grass, and around the big gray boulders that lined the shore.
Suddenly Lizzie realized that they’d come almost all the way around the lake. They were in sight of the cabin with the moose antlers! She had never even been that far from the park area. “Noodle!” she said. “Would you mind telling me —”
But Noodle wasn’t pulling anymore. He sat back on his butt and started barking.
Look! Look! That’s mine! See why I brought you here?
“Noodle!” Lizzie said, panting a little. “What is going on?” Then she followed his gaze and saw what he was barking at. Just ahead a fallen tree lay on its side, with its roots and trunk on the shore and its bare branches hanging just over the icy lake. Tangled in one branch — the one farthest out over the ice — was a faded purple collar.
“What’s that?” Lizzie stared at the collar. Noodle danced around, barking loudly. “Are you telling me that’s your collar?” Noodle barked some more.
Lizzie looked out at the collar. It would only take a few steps to get to it, but there was no way Lizzie was going to risk walking on the frozen lake. She was not interested in falling in like Noodle had. But she had to get that collar! Lizzie tied Noodle’s leash to a nearby tree so he couldn’t run off. Then she scrambled up onto the fallen tree trunk and began to inch her way out over the ice.
The tree trunk got smaller and smaller as Lizzie moved along. Lizzie had always been good at climbing trees, but she had never climbed a sideways tree before!
Suddenly, the tree shifted beneath her weight.
“Whoa!” Lizzie grabbed on to the tree and froze in place. She looked down at the icy surface below. It looked solid, but what would happen if she tumbled onto it? She pictured the cold, black water that had nearly swallowed Noodle the day before. Suddenly, she felt too scared to move.