“That was nice of him,” Mom said, reading over my shoulder.
I folded the note in half and shoved it in my pocket.
“What’s he talking about—‘electronic notifications’?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.” All the warmth drained from my cheeks, and my chest tightened.
Mom got out of the car and went back into the house through the garage. Genki waited as I stayed behind to sort another collection of recycled newspaper bags, the note hot in my pajama pocket.
As if he knew something was wrong, Genki sat at my feet, whimpering like he did around big groups of people. I patted his head, trying to calm him, but my own fears distracted me, and I soon found myself missing his head completely and pawing at the air, which only made Genki whine louder.
Was Geezer really grateful for the work I did, or was he mad that I had made up the story about the electronic notifications in order to get his e-mail address? And did he realize that it was all a trick to hack his computer?
While I wanted to believe the note was innocent and only pointed out a simple misunderstanding, I couldn’t help but worry that he was onto us. I paced the garage, taking deep breaths while I counted slowly. Genki followed, trying to lick my fingers on the move.
The only person I could tell about the note—March—would be so freaked-out that he would cancel our mission. No amount of Janken would convince him otherwise, and I couldn’t complete this mission on my own. We’d lose our only chance at gathering evidence that could prove James Crowley was the Denver Dognapper. I was not going to let that happen.
After school, Mrs. White had me weed her flower patch and spray down her driveway for five dollars. She sat on the porch and chatted while I worked, the afternoon warmer than usual for October. Her husband was always the main topic of conversation.
“Did I ever tell you Nile was an entrepreneur? Always inventing gadgets that could make life easier.”
I nodded as I added to the weed pile at my side.
“If I had the money, I’d produce all those gadgets and open a store where people like me could come and find contraptions that would improve their lives. In fact, just between you and me, I’m working on opening up a little shop in his remembrance, named after my Nile.”
She took a long swig from her iced tea and then shook the glass; the ice clinked inside.
“I’m impressed with your work ethic, Kazuko,” she said. “Is that a Japanese thing? Because I don’t see many kids your age who work as hard as you do.”
The question needled my chest. It sounded like a compliment but didn’t feel like one. “My friend March is doing homework right now, and it’s Friday. And his teacher doesn’t even give homework on Fridays.” I grabbed a pile of weeds and dropped them into the plastic bin. I had already finished spraying down her driveway. “He works hard, too, doing different things. I’m saving for an iPad.”
“And you deliver papers every morning.” She sucked air through her teeth while shaking her head. Even though she said lots of weird stuff about me being Japanese, Mrs. White was one of my favorite customers because the first of every month she always left a ten-dollar tip in her newspaper box. “That’s discipline.”
“I guess.”
“Did you know they used to make newspaper carriers collect payments? It was part of their job. Every month, our paperboy Sean would show up at our door, sheepish as ever, asking for six dollars and twenty-eight cents. He looked like Oliver Twist with his hands held out. Please, sir, I want some more.” She held her own hands out, cupped like a beggar’s, and spoke the last part in a British accent. I looked up at her from the flower patch. Mrs. White and Mrs. Hewitt would make great friends.
“Anyway,” she continued, “can you imagine not getting paid until you collected all the money the newspaper charged every person on your route?”
“No,” I said, going after a dandelion cluster with the weed puller. “Mom hates school fund-raisers where we have to collect money door-to-door. I wouldn’t be doing my paper route if we had to do that.” I sat back on my haunches, imagining the Denver Chronicle reinstating that policy. We would quit, and I could sleep in, poor but well rested.
“Anyway,” Mrs. White said. “They stopped that after the girl disappeared.”
I dropped the weed puller. “What?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t have heard—it was way before you were even born. Nineteen ninety-three, I think.”
“A papergirl disappeared?”
“Her name was Loralee Sanders. She was collecting money in Clinton, suburb up the road? And they think this crazy bat—faithful Chronicle subscriber—kidnapped her.”
I stood, my hands hanging limp at the end of my arms. “What? That really happened?”
“It sure did. And you know how they found him? She had a dog that followed her everywhere, and when she disappeared, that puppy never left the man’s yard. His neighbors became suspicious of the guy who had to fend off an angry dog every time he set foot outside his house. Think it was a Doberman mix.” She stood and studied her porch light, covered in spiderwebs. “Maybe you can swing by tomorrow and clean these up.” Mrs. White waved her cane at the webbing spotted with dead gnats and mosquitoes.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “The missing papergirl? That’s a scary story you tell other papergirls around Halloween, right?”
“Oh no, dear.” She turned around and faced me, her hands clasped in front of her. “That happened. And afterward, there was a real outcry—the whole community came down hard on the Chronicle. I mean, who expects children to act as bill collectors? Ludicrous.”
I turned back to the flower patch and collected all the weeds I had pulled, dropping them into the trash bin. “I gotta go.” I felt dizzy, and my entire body shivered.
“Kazuko, sweetheart?” Mrs. White called after me as I crossed the street. “Please come back. I didn’t mean to frighten you. That’s long since over, dear, and you don’t have a thing to worry about.”
The thought of interrupting my paper route to rummage through Geezer’s garbage didn’t seem quite as harmless anymore. And clearly having a guard-dog extraordinaire wouldn’t guarantee my safety.
“I’m okay,” I yelled at her, not looking back.
But I was not okay. Not at all.