March and I had both decided the chaos of his house would be too distracting. I asked him to bring his parents to my house at seven.
I had finished clearing the table when the doorbell rang. Mom and Dad shot each other a glance across the sink, where they were rinsing off dishes.
“Candy? Marshall?” Mom said when she opened the door.
March’s parents smiled behind him while March looked like a reflection of me, his mouth crooked and eyebrows drawn together. His mom ruffled his hair and said, “March said he and Kazuko have something they need to tell us tonight. Sounded pretty ominous, so here we are.”
His dad shrugged, and Mom opened the screen door for them while shooting me the what-have-you-done look. I ducked back into the kitchen to grab my Sleuth Chronicle from the counter.
“Make yourselves comfortable.” Dad motioned them into the living room toward the black sectional. I caught up and followed them in. March and his parents sat on the long sofa while Mom and Dad claimed the corner—their favorite spot. I was the last one standing, and everyone looked at me like I was about to give a presentation. I clutched the Sleuth Chronicle to my chest. March nodded at me to get started—maybe I was giving a presentation.
March pulled Barkley’s dog collar from inside his coat and pushed it across the coffee table toward me. I felt as if I had swallowed an ice cube whole, and the chill spread from my throat to my chest.
“What’s going on, Kazu?” Mom asked, eyeing the dog collar.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wondering if this was such a good idea after all. But there was no backing out now—I might as well get it over with.
“A few weeks ago, while doing the paper route, I found this at the bottom of a recycled bag.” I opened the Sleuth Chronicle and pulled the receipt from where it rested in the middle, like a bookmark. I handed it to Mom. She studied it and passed the receipt to Dad. It traveled to the end of the couch, where March sat like a no-good lump. He handed it back to me.
“Soooo,” I said, wishing March would jump in and tell the rest. We had already decided not to share any information about the hack on account of March possibly getting arrested. And no doubt his parents would be more forgiving of Mission: Geezer’s Garbage Raid than they would Mission: Felony Hack. But still, a little help would have been nice.
Nope. Nothing.
“Because Geezer doesn’t have a dog—”
Dad interrupted. “We don’t call people names, Kazuko.”
“Because Mr. Crowley doesn’t have a dog, we thought the receipt was suspicious.” I took a breath. “But we knew we’d need more evidence before anyone would believe us. That’s why, today, when March and I did the paper route, we went through some of his garbage.” All the parents looked like they had sucked a lemon slice, their faces pinched and sour. I rushed on, hoping to hasten my leap from troublemaker to heroine. “That’s when we found this.” I held up Barkley’s dog collar. Mom snatched it from my hands.
The crease between her brows deepened as she studied the dog tags. “Do you know how dangerous that was?” I could barely hear her.
“I didn’t think anyone would care about the receipt unless we had more information,” I said. “But that collar proves Barkley was in his house, right? How else could Mr. Crowley have gotten it? He’s the Denver Dognapper.”
The parents looked at each other, and March gave me a thumbs-up. I glared at him for making me tell the story by myself.
“Well,” Dad said. “While this doesn’t prove he did anything, we should definitely let the police know.” He stood, walked to the kitchen, and grabbed his phone from the counter. When his call connected, he turned his back on the living room and lowered his voice to talk.
Mrs. Winters looked at her husband and said, “Do you really think James is behind all this? From what we know, he’s just a lonely old hobbit.”
March rolled his eyes. “Hermit, Mom. It’s hermit.”
When March spoke, Mom seemed to snap from a trance, and her laser-gaze drilled into me. “We need to talk about what you two did today.” Her tone was calm and sharp, the worst combination.
I realized I still stood before them like I was giving a book report, my hands clasped in front of me. The room seemed to shrink.
“You got that right.” March’s dad spoke for the first time that night, his voice rumbling like Maggie’s Satan voice.
“They’re sending an officer over,” Dad said, stepping back into the living room. “They’re going to want to talk to the kids.”
I sat down next to March and held his hand, but only so that I could dig my fingernails into his palm. He’d better help me this time.
It only took fifteen minutes for a policeman to arrive. Officer Rhodes was taller than both Dad and Mr. Winters, with straw hair and a mole on the curve of his chin. Dad led him into the living room and invited him to sit on the teal leather armchair while I retold the story, except this time I sat on the couch between my parents. Officer Rhodes took notes, and then held out his hand for the receipt and Barkley’s dog collar. I slid them both toward him across the coffee table, even though I wanted to say no.
When he finished all his questions, Officer Rhodes took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair. “I’m glad you reported this,” he said. “But right now, all I can do is go to Mr. Crowley’s house and see if he’s willing to talk to me.”
March and I nodded.
“But Mr. Crowley doesn’t have to talk to me if he doesn’t want to.” Officer Rhodes leaned forward, tapping on his notebook with a pen. “He doesn’t have to let me in his house; he doesn’t have to show me his basement; he doesn’t even have to open the door. He could yell ‘Go away’ after looking through his peephole, and I would have to go away.”
“But you have Barkley’s collar.” This was the first time March had spoken voluntarily. His voice came out high and squeaky.
“And like I said, it’s good evidence as long as it’s authentic and came from where you claim it did,” Officer Rhodes said. “But I only have your word on that. I can’t prove it came from his house. And if he doesn’t want to talk to me tonight, I’ll have to see a judge. I can only go back and order Mr. Crowley to let me search his house and ask him questions if a judge says I can.”
All the parents nodded like this wasn’t crazy talk. Any reasonable grown-up would insist they break the door down and rescue the dogs. I bit my lip to stop myself from saying anything else.
“I’ll give you an update after contacting Mr. Crowley,” he said as he walked out the door, Barkley’s collar looped over his wrist. Then he turned around, looking sternly at March and me. The porch light made the badge on his chest extra shiny and the shadows under his brow dark. “I don’t know whether or not the collar will help us find Barkley or any of the other dogs,” he said. “But it was dangerous to look through Mr. Crowley’s garbage. Do you understand? Whether or not he’s a bad guy, you should never do any investigating—that’s our job.”
March nodded longer than necessary. I kept my head very still until Officer Rhodes turned around and walked back to his police car. Then I went back to the coffee table, grabbed the dog food receipt, and slipped it back into the pages of the Sleuth Chronicle.