Operation Gracie Saves the Day
- Rocco must sneak down to the basement and knock something over.
- Miss Josie will naturally rush to figure out what happened. I’ll follow on her heels.
- Gracie can begin her extremely high pitched and annoying “intruder alert” bark.
- Miss Josie will have to come upstairs to investigate.
- Rocco can climb into the cubbyhole beneath the stairs and push the ledger to the opening.
- I’ll stick my nose into the opening and pull it out.
It didn’t take long for Rocco to put the plan into action. As Gracie and I waited anxiously upstairs, he went to work. A loud crash came from the basement, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Miss Josie hopped up so fast, she bumped her head on a bookshelf.
“Ow,” she said, rubbing her head as she ran to the basement door. “What’s going on? Is someone downstairs?”
Another crash echoed from the basement, then another. Rocco, never known for his subtlety, took his role on this caper seriously, but, even for him, it seemed like overkill.
I followed Miss Josie as she charged down the steps in a fluttery green dress, green tights, and navy-blue suede pumps. Not the best footwear for a jog down a rickety staircase, and she twisted her ankle on the final step. I bumped into her, and nearly knocked her over, but she grabbed the rail and steadied herself.
“Holy—” Whatever she’d meant to say got cut off when she looked around the basement. Several shattered wine bottles lay on the concrete floor, the glass gleaming in the dim light of a single overhead bulb. Miss Josie let out what I can only describe as a howl of pure fury.
Note to self: Never mess with a girl’s wine.
Rocco raised his paw, as if to strike down another bottle, just as Gracie started barking. It sounded like someone was murdering her.
Miss Josie let out a curse and ran back up the stairs, limping because of her twisted ankle. I made a move to follow her, but Rocco stopped me.
“Hey, stupid. It’s an act. Gracie isn’t hurt. Get over here and help me.”
Wow. Gracie was a good actress. I’d almost fallen for it.
Rocco squeezed into a space behind the stairs. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I heard him grunting and pushing something.
It was the ledger. It had to be.
I let out a soft yelp of triumph when I saw the edge of it appear in the narrow crack between steps but didn’t want to alert Miss Josie. We were so close, and Gracie continued to do an excellent job of barking her head off.
“Almost there,” I said, wagging my tail.
“Can you get a grip and pull it out the rest of the way?”
“I’ll try.”
I saw the edge of the ledger but couldn’t grab it. “Can you push it further?”
Rocco grunted. “That’s as far as I can get it.”
I tried again but to no avail. Then I noticed one part of the step seemed warped and wobbly. By pushing at it, I managed to create a space large enough for my snout. I’d be going in blind, and I’d have to rely on Rocco to guide me, but it might work.
As I stuck my nose into the hole, I heard the sound of the door to the shop opening, and Mr. Nate talking. We didn’t have much time.
“A little more, Capone. You’re close.”
I could smell the ledger, only a hair’s breadth away from my nose. I smelled Rocco, too. I squeezed in even more, wriggling my bottom as I pushed. And then it grew silent upstairs.
“Uh-oh,” said Rocco, his voice strained. “They must have given Gracie a treat. We’re out of time. It’s all or nothing.”
I gave a final push, getting my entire snout and most of my head into the opening, and grabbed the ledger with my teeth.
“Way to go, Capone. You have it,” said Rocco.
We froze when we heard Mr. Nate ask Miss Josie the one question which might ruin our plans. “Where’s Capone?’
Miss Josie squawked, probably realizing she’d left me alone in the basement, surrounded by broken glass and toxic household chemicals. We heard footsteps above us as Mr. Nate and Miss Josie rushed to the basement door.
I tried to pull my head out with the ledger still clutched in my teeth, but I had a problem. Getting my head into the hole was one thing. Getting it out was a different matter entirely.
“What are you doing?” asked Rocco, panic in his voice.
“I’m stuck,” I said. Rocco pushed against my head, but to no avail. Miss Josie caught one glimpse of me and screamed.
“He’s trapped,” she said and pulled on my bottom. “Help.”
Curse my big fat head.
Miss Josie, in the middle of a total meltdown, sobbed as she tried to free me. Mr. Nate, thankfully, intervened.
“Stop it, Josie. You’re going to hurt him. Let me take a look.” Mr. Nate felt around my head and reached an obvious conclusion. “Yep. He’s stuck. Do you have any tools I could use? I’m going to pry the step apart and get him out.”
Mr. Nate found a crowbar somewhere in the basement. Within minutes, he’d taken the step apart and freed me.
Poor Miss Josie wept even harder, pulling me into her arms. Then she noticed the ledger, still clenched in my teeth. I wagged my tail and held it up to her. She took it from me and leafed through it.
“It’s Mr. Bartleby’s ledger,” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “The one I’ve been searching for. Capone, you’re a hero.”
Rocco, who’d slipped out from behind the steps, stared at them aghast. “You’ve got to be kidding. I do all the work, and yet you get all the glory? This is an outrage.”
Miss Josie heard him growl and picked him up into her arms as well. “Don’t be jealous, Rocco. I still think you’re sweet, even if you did destroy three bottles of my favorite wine for no apparent reason at all.”
Rocco looked like he might be choking on a fur ball. “Sweet? I’m not sweet. Ew. Yuck. Unhand me, woman.” He wriggled out of her grasp and marched up the steps with a swish of his tail. I heard him mutter “humans,” under his breath, his voice dripping with disgust, but when he glanced back at Miss Josie, I caught a glimpse of something resembling genuine affection in his eyes.
Mr. Nate hammered the step back in place, and we went upstairs. Ms. Anne arrived moments later, carrying bags of food. She listened to the story about what had happened as she handed out kolache; pastries made out of a sweet dough with savory fillings. Miss Josie gave me one loaded with bacon and cheese as a thank you for finding the ledger. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten in my entire life. The fact it came from Miss Josie, with her most profound appreciation for my help, made it even tastier.
Gracie and Rocco received kolache, too. Although Miss Josie had no idea the roles they’d played in helping find the ledger, it felt like a party, and she seemed to be in a generous mood.
We sat in a circle around a small table in the shop. Mr. Nate insisted Miss Josie put her foot on his knee so he could examine her injury thoroughly, his brown eyes intent, as he made her wiggle her toes and rotate her ankle. She paused in mid-munch of her spinach and feta filled kolache to watch him, her eyes lingering on his dark, curly head. When he looked up and caught her studying him, he gave her a crooked smile.
“I think he likes her,” I said.
“And she likes him, too,” said Gracie knowingly.
Rocco, who sat perched on a table above us, licking his paw, spoke in his dry, gravelly voice. “Love is a many splendored thing.” Gracie and I looked at him in shock, and he scowled at us. “I’m joking. I hate love. Leave me alone, dimwits.”
Note to self: Rocco might not be so evil after all.
Mr. Nate had gone back to First Impressions to pick up a bag of ice for Miss Josie’s ankle and three cups of hot tea. He insisted on taking care of her injury himself. “This should help keep the swelling down,” he said as he held the ice against her foot. “I think it’s sprained, but if it gets worse, you should get an x-ray.”
“Thanks. I will.” Miss Josie’s voice was soft.
Awkward silence ensued. Ms. Anne sipped on her tea. “So, what did Capone find in the basement?” she asked.
“The missing ledger,” said Miss Josie. “Under one of the steps. How he knew it was there, and why he went after it is a total mystery.”
“Maybe Capone is smarter than we realize,” said Ms. Anne. They all laughed. Rocco mumbled something derogatory under his breath. “What’s in the ledger, Josie? Is there anything about the missing books?”
“Well, according to what I found in the other ledgers, six books are missing. The seventh, a Jane Austen, is listed in Mr. Bartleby’s purchase records as something he bought from an estate sale in England, but he never added it to the inventory list. It’s kind of fishy. He wrote down everything, but not the location of one of the most valuable books he’d ever purchased.”
Mr. Nate frowned. “If it came from England, there would have to be a bill of lading. Can you find something in the ledger about it?” he asked.
Miss Josie shook her head. “Most of what’s in here seems to be written in code. Except for this, of course.”
She held up the book, showing Ms. Anne and Mr. Nate what appeared to be a landscaping plan of the back garden. Ms. Anne shook her head in disbelief. “Poor Mr. B. He was losing his marbles.”
Miss Josie stroked the diagram of the garden. “These are the roses he planted in memory of his wife,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “He chose special varieties, all with a literary connection. Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?”
The female creatures in the shop all sighed in unison, even Gracie. I may have sighed too because it was pretty freaking romantic. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’m in touch with my feminine side.
Miss Josie turned the page, her eyes widening in surprise. She sat up straighter in her chair, a hand over her mouth, as all the color drained from her face.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Nate.
She held up a single piece of paper. It looked like a page taken from a book, and it seemed old. “It’s a photograph by Edward Sheriff Curtis. He documented the lives of Native Americans in the early twentieth century. This page came from his series entitled The North American Indian. He called this one In a Piegan Lodge. The Curtis series was one of my first acquisitions for Mr. Bartleby, so I remember it well.”
She limped to the vault in her stocking feet and opened it, bringing out a book. As she leafed through it, her face turned even paler.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Nate, looking over her shoulder.
She put a shaking hand to her head. “The photo in the ledger came from this book. There are others missing as well.” She turned page after page, counting, then closed the book and sank into a chair. “At least fifteen pages are gone.”
“From one book?” he asked.
“Yes. Someone mutilated this book. It's a total loss.”
“Oh, Josie,” said Ms. Anne. “Why would Mr. Bartleby do something like this?”
Miss Josie looked like she might be in shock. “I don’t know, but now I have to go through each of the books in the shop and see if others are damaged. If I sold a book with missing pages to a collector, it would ruin me. This is a nightmare.”
I felt the despair and disappointment wafting off Miss Josie’s skin, and I knew I was her only hope. I had to use my super sniffer, find the seven missing books, and save the day.
Rocco summed up my thoughts perfectly. “Oh, crap,” he said. “We’re going to have to help the humans again, aren’t we?”
I didn’t answer him, and neither did Gracie. We all knew the answer, and we were in this together whether we liked it or not.