The next day, I didn’t talk at school. Not one word.
At first I didn’t feel like it, but by lunch, it had become a challenge. It amazed me how many questions could be answered with simple gestures: nodding, shrugging, pointing. I had been wasting too much of my life talking, I decided.
March understood and probably didn’t feel much like talking either. At recess, we sat on the swings and dragged our feet through the sand. CindeeRae found us and leaned against the swing set.
“Can we tell her?” March asked. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
I let out a heavy breath and nodded. Who cared about our rules anymore? The operation was over. March explained everything to CindeeRae, her eyes widening with each new revelation.
“You know who the dognapper is?” she asked me when March had finished talking. Her voice always sounded like a television turned on full blast.
“Shhhhhhh.” March looked around to make sure no one overheard. “Yes. We’re pretty sure.”
“What are we going to do?” For the first time since Lobster had disappeared, CindeeRae stood tall, like her spine had been fully inflated or something. “We should organize a search party, talk to reporters, go to the city council, contact the lead investigator on the case. Twenty dogs are missing, and one of them is Lobster. Something must be done!” I could almost see CindeeRae standing on stage, monologuing before a bright spotlight; she really was a natural.
March eyeballed her. “The police don’t care.” He paused as if waiting for her to jump in again. “The cop told us they have serious crimes to solve and can’t be bothered by kids making trouble.”
CindeeRae took the empty swing next to mine. “My aunt’s a brand-new cop, and when Lobster disappeared they sent her over to take our report. I call her every day after school, and every day she says they’re following lots of leads but haven’t found the dognapper yet.” She inhaled dramatically. “But you know who it is.”
March shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Because of us, they think Mr. Crowley’s clean.”
“No way!” CindeeRae stood again, fist-hands at her side. “They have his information, and they won’t forget. Plus, if he’s the guy, all the clues will lead back to him. You need to follow up with that police officer.”
“Officer Rhodes.” March made a face when he said his name. “After he left, Dad said he looked like a bitter middle-aged Ron Weasley who abandoned wizardry for law enforcement.”
I almost interrupted to remind him that Ron Weasley didn’t have blond hair, but the idea of March’s dad getting all spit angry about Officer Rhodes made me smile. I had worried that March’s parents would believe the guy’s story about Barkley’s dog collar. But we weren’t making it up; I knew Barkley, and probably Lobster, too, must have been at his house sometime. What else was he doing with all that dog food?
As if reading my mind, March said, “But they didn’t find anything in his house.”
“Not even one doggie treat?” CindeeRae asked. “Or a pile of dog poo?”
“I don’t think they did any forensic testing,” March said. “But no.”
I nodded, kicking my feet together. Kids swarmed around the playground, weaving in and out of the jungle gym in front of the swings. A handful of third graders played tag on the monkey bars while two kids stared us down from atop the geodome.
CindeeRae took to her swing again, her voice dropping to a less theatrical volume. “The newspaper calls it a dognapping ring—that means lots of people, right? That means your paper-route guy’s not the only one involved.”
March nodded his head like CindeeRae was onto something. “You’re right.”
I dug my shoes into the sand and stopped the swing. Maybe Barkley, Lobster, and the other dogs Geezer took that day weren’t even there by the time I found the receipt. Geezer’s house was clean, and Officer Rhodes said there was no way any dogs had been kept there. Someone else had to be involved.
My voice croaked when I finally spoke. “Maybe it’s Geezer’s job to take them, but it’s someone else’s job to hold them.”
They both stared at me, shocked that I had finally spoken.
March and I had thought Geezer was the boss of the Denver Dognapping Ring. But there had to be more people helping him out. And what if those people kept the dogs after Geezer swiped them, at least until they placed them with the illegal breeders and dogfighters? Because if they didn’t hold on to the dogs for at least a little bit, they wouldn’t need fifteen bags of dog food to feed them.
CindeeRae jumped out of her swing and scrambled to the space between March and me. She stood like a slingshot, pulled tight and ready to launch. “We’ve got to find out where they go!” Her cheeks reddened, matching her hair. She was practically beaming.
As CindeeRae bounced on her heels, March watched me, trying to read my expression. All our clues had been worthless so far, and the case was much more complicated than we had thought. How would we find out where they held the dogs?
“We need a new operation.” I spoke my second and third full sentences of the day. “Locate Doggie-Holding Headquarters.”
The three of us had decided to search Lakeview Park after school for more clues. March and I would ride the bus to his house, where I would borrow Mason’s bike, and CindeeRae would meet us at the park on hers.
But Geezer was waiting when we got off the bus.
At first I thought he was an afternoon kindergartner’s grandpa and turned toward March’s house without a thought. But March froze at the base of the bus steps as kids flooded past him. After everyone had exited the bus, the driver pulled the lever for the door, and it closed with the sound of a monster’s sigh. The bus drove away, and within seconds the three of us were standing together in the middle of March’s block.
Mr. Crowley gestured to himself. “I’m James Crowley. March and I already know each other.” He clapped a firm hand on March’s shoulder. I had never seen Mr. Crowley in person before, and I didn’t expect him to be so tall and fit. He didn’t look much like a Geezer as he did an old model who owned a chain of fitness clubs and drank power shakes.
Then he extended his hand toward me for a shake. “Kazuko, I assume?” Without thinking, I shook his hand, and he squeezed back, hard.
“Look,” he said. “I don’t want there to be any hard feelings, okay?”
March and I nodded, and my hand throbbed for a bit even after he let it go. I looked to March’s house, ready to grab his hand and sprint for the front door, but Mr. Crowley caught my gaze and took two steps forward to block our path.
“I understand that you kids are scared and would like to figure out who’s taking all these dogs.” He put his hands on his hips, making his shoulders look broader. His longish white hair was held back in a thin ponytail. “But I hope you realize now that I’m not your guy, right?”
Again we nodded, stiffly. My heart roared in my ears; I was sure March could hear it, too.
“The polite thing to do is answer when someone asks you a question,” Mr. Crowley said. He bent at the waist to look in our eyes. His were gray like wet stones.
“You’re not our guy,” March whispered.
Mr. Crowley looked at me. “Kazuko?” he asked, his voice chirpy.
“We’re sorry.” My voice cracked. “We know it’s not you,” I lied.
“Well, good,” he said, standing tall. “Now we can get to the business of being friends.”
March smiled, but it was the twitchy look of a wild animal. I tugged on his arm and backed toward his house.
“Have a good night,” Mr. Crowley said.
We ran away, the gravel kicking up around our feet as we went. “Be careful!” he called after us. “With all those dogs disappearing, you wouldn’t want yours to be next.”
I thought of Genki circling Jimmy Mason to protect me. But then I remembered all the times his social anxiety disorder left him cowering under the dining room table. Loud noises, strangers, the ruffling of aluminum foil all upset him. It took a while to coax him away from the table and up to my room, where I’d make a blanket nest and snuggle him to sleep. Imagining Genki in the back of Mr. Crowley’s dirty dognapping van made my chest expand as if my lungs were on fire.
Crowley had stolen twenty dogs like Genki who were afraid and missing home. And twenty families wondered if they would ever see their dogs again. I wished the weight of all that sadness could trap Crowley like an avalanche.
“Listen, friend!” I had turned around and stood with my legs apart. “Your dognapping days are over.”
Mr. Crowley turned around slowly, a half smile making his face look lopsided. And scary. Then he sauntered back toward his house, and I ran to catch up with March, my legs ready to buckle.