— 2 —

“WELL, THAT WAS FUN,” BUTTERBEAN said, getting up. “Retirement is over. Time to investigate.”

Oscar hopped onto the side of his cage. “What? But we just agreed!” He had really hoped to be retired for more than five minutes.

Walt put a paw on Butterbean’s back. “Butterbean, calm down. We don’t even know if there’s anything to investigate at this point.” She turned to the white cat. “We need details. Why is Second Floor Biscuit getting kicked out?”

The white cat stood up, stretched, and then sat back down. “Well—”

“So wait, Second Floor Biscuit, he’s the one with the good haircut?” Polo interrupted. She had seen him once when she was out with Butterbean. He was a pretty fashionable dog.

Butterbean cringed. “Well, not anymore,” she said slowly. She leaned forward. “There was a grooming incident,” she whispered, spraying Polo with a fine mist of spit. “He’s got bangs now.” She nodded significantly. “I mean… BANGS.”

“Oooohhhhh,” Polo said, her eyes widening. “But…” She hesitated. “Bangs aren’t bad, are they?” She’d seen lots of people with bangs. Fashionable people, even.

“Not usually. But these?” Butterbean made a face. “Trust me. They’re bad.”

“Okay, wow,” Polo said. “Bad bangs.” She smoothed down her own fur in sympathy.

“SERIOUSLY?” Marco stomped over, rolling his eyes so much it was surprising he could stand upright. “You guys are talking about BANGS? Who cares about a dumb hairdo? We need to know what’s wrong with Biscuit! I’m pretty sure it’s not BANGS!” He waved his paws at the white cat. “You! Explain!”

“Barking. It’s a barking problem,” the white cat said, smirking. “Nonstop, from what I hear. Nobody knows why, and the humans are MAD.”

“Bangs,” Butterbean said knowingly.

“Doubtful,” Walt said.

“It’s probably not the bangs, Bean,” Oscar said. “Marco’s right. No one barks that much over a haircut. Hair does grow out, after all.”

“Besides, haircut emergencies are more a cry-in-the-corner kind of situation,” Walt said. Not that she’d ever had a haircut. She looked around. “Right?”

Marco and Polo shrugged. They’d never had haircuts either.

“It does seem mysterious,” Polo said. “For real this time.”

“Not like the tuna fish,” Marco added. “Sorry, Butterbean.”

Butterbean nodded. It was definitely more mysterious than the tuna fish.

Oscar cocked his head. “I have to admit, it does seem strange. But I don’t see that there’s anything we can do. Shouldn’t he just stop barking?”

“Well, duh,” the white cat said, getting up. “That’s pretty obvious. But he won’t.”

“Then I don’t know what to say,” Oscar said. “I’m sorry, Butterbean. Even if we weren’t retired from investigating, I don’t see how we could help.”

“But if I could just talk to him…” Butterbean whimpered. “I could therapy him!”

Walt sighed. “Sure. Maybe. But you can’t do anything tonight. Whatever we do will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“If he lasts that long,” the white cat snorted. “Sorry to say it, but that dog is toast.”

“WHAT?” Butterbean yelped. “OSCAR!”

“Um, how about us?” Polo interrupted, tentatively raising a paw. “We could check. If you want.”

“We can’t do therapy like Butterbean—” Marco said.

“But we can go in the vents. We could tell Biscuit to keep quiet until tomorrow,” Polo said.

“Really?” Butterbean sniffled.

“I mean, the seed sorting can probably wait a little longer,” Marco said.

“The seeds aren’t actually that important,” Polo agreed.

“Would that make you feel better, Butterbean?” Oscar asked, watching Butterbean carefully. She was twitching like she might start doing laps around the room, and nobody wanted that.

“And it’s not like we’d be INVESTIGATING,” Polo said carefully. “Since we’re retired. We’ll just be CHECKING IN.”

“Yeah, passing a message,” Marco said. His whiskers trembled as he looked at Polo. “A SECRET message.”

Polo clutched at Marco’s arm. “LIKE SPIES!” Polo squealed. “WE CAN BE A SECRET SPY ORGANIZATION.” She turned to Oscar, her eyes shining.

Oscar groaned.

“OOOHHH, CAN I BE A SPY TOO?” Butterbean yelped eagerly. “I’ll be a THERAPIST SPY.”

“I don’t think therapists are supposed to be spies,” Oscar said doubtfully.

“But don’t you see? That’s why it’s perfect! NO ONE WILL SUSPECT ME!” Butterbean was practically levitating, she was bouncing up and down so fast.

Oscar had to admit, a Secret Spy Organization did sound pretty exciting. And he didn’t know any other mynah birds who were International Crime Bosses, Ghost Investigators, AND Secret Spies. He would be the first. It was an appealing idea.

Oscar nodded. “Okay, we’ll see how the secret messaging goes first. Then we can decide on the Secret Spy Organization.”

“YAY! We’re SPIES!” Polo cheered, high-fiving Marco as they climbed out of their cage.

“WHOOHOO SPIES!” Marco and Polo edged past the white cat into the opening of the vent. “Excuse me, white cat. You didn’t see a thing. Because we’re STEALTHY SPIES.”

“I don’t believe this.” The white cat shook her head as the rats streaked past her.

Their voices echoed as they disappeared into the vents. “SECRET SPY MISSION—GO!”

---

If Marco and Polo had had any doubts about the white cat’s story, they went away pretty quickly. Because the white cat was right—there was no ignoring that barking.

“It’s not so much that it’s loud,” Polo said thoughtfully as they slid down a vent. “It’s more… piercing.”

“Like if a car alarm was a dog,” Marco agreed. He didn’t personally own a car, but he’d seen car alarms on TV, and he always had to cover his ears.

“Exactly,” Polo said.

“I can see why Bob is upset,” Marco said, following the yips. Although, to be fair, it didn’t take a lot to make Bob upset. Bob was the maintenance man in the building, and just catching a glimpse of Marco and Polo in the vent opening one time had made him rip the grate cover off with his bare hands. Marco still had nightmares about that sometimes.

By the time they made it to the second-floor vents, the barking had reached hands-over-ears levels. Polo pointed to a grate at the end of the vent. “That one.”

Marco nodded and took a step toward it. Then he hesitated. “So we use our spy skills to pass Biscuit our message, and then we get out. No hair commentary, okay?” He still couldn’t believe they’d wasted so much time earlier talking about hairdos.

“Okay.” Polo nodded. It’s not like she hadn’t seen bad hair before. After all, she’d seen Butterbean in the morning. “We’ll be fast. No bangs talk.”

She and Marco fist-bumped and then peeked into the room.

The lights in Biscuit’s apartment were mostly off, but they could tell that the living room was a lot like Mrs. Food’s, with cozy-looking furniture and doilies on the tables. It was totally empty, except for one small figure silhouetted in the window. A Yorkshire terrier–shaped figure. Biscuit.

He was standing on a cushioned bench in the shadows, and he was obviously very angry. He was barking so furiously that every bark lifted him off his feet. His face was so close to the window that he’d smeared the glass with an elaborate design using only the moisture from his nose. (Polo was pretty sure that part was unintentional.)

“There he is. YOOHOO! BISCUIT!” Polo leaned forward to get a closer look.

It was only then that Biscuit stepped out of the shadows.

Polo blinked. Twice.

“Whoa!” Polo staggered back in shock. “Wow. I mean. Um. I think that’s Biscuit.” She composed herself just in time. They had a plan, and the plan didn’t involve hair commentary.

Polo took a deep breath and waved her arm. “Um, MR. BISCUIT!” she called. “UP HERE!”

She had almost caught Biscuit’s eye when she heard a gasp next to her.

“HOLY COW.” Marco grabbed Polo’s free arm. “POLO! Polo, holy cow. Look at those BANGS!”

“Focus on the assignment! Remember? No hair commentary?” Polo hissed.

Spies didn’t get distracted by bad bangs (even if they really wanted to).

“But those are PEOPLE BANGS!” Marco pressed his face against the grate to get a better look. “That dog has PEOPLE BANGS.”

Polo nodded grimly. Biscuit’s hair had been lopped off just above the eyes, giving him thick, heavy bangs that made him look like he had a human bowl-cut hairdo.

Marco couldn’t help but stare. Maybe Butterbean was right about the barking. Those bangs would make him angry too.

“Don’t look at the bangs,” Polo said. “Just look at something else.”

“Right, right,” Marco said, taking a deep breath and looking away from the bangs. “We’re professionals, I know. We’re spies. We can’t get distracted. It’s just… wait, what’s with his FEET?”

The bangs were bad enough. Polo didn’t want to look at the feet. But there was no way she could resist. She looked at the feet.

Polo gave a shrill squeak and stopped waving.

Biscuit’s hair was still long and luxurious, just like it had been when she’d seen him before. But it had been cut straight across about three inches from the floor, so Biscuit’s shaved naked feet stuck out awkwardly. It looked like he was wearing a silky horse blanket. Or a caftan. Or some kind of grass skirt. It was like the whole haircut was designed to draw attention to his tiny naked feet.

“Butterbean told us it was bad,” Polo said.

“I know.” Naked dog feet weren’t something Marco thought should bother him, but for some reason they really did.

Polo snapped out of it first. She put her hands on Marco’s shoulders. “We need to pull ourselves together! Forget the feet. Forget the bangs. We’re SECRET SPIES. We need to pass on our message.”

Marco nodded. “You’re right.” He stepped forward and hissed through the grate. “BISCUIT!”

Biscuit’s ears swiveled around as he scanned the room. “SHOW YOURSELVES, INTRUDERS!” he barked angrily. “YOU’RE NO MATCH FOR ME! I’LL STOP YOU! YOU’LL NEVER TAKE THIS APARTMENT!”

Polo glanced anxiously at Marco. That wasn’t exactly the reception she’d expected. She stuck her arm out of the vent again and waved in what she hoped was a cheery spy-message kind of way.

“Um, Biscuit, hi,” Polo yelled. “Calm down! We’re friends! We’re here with a message.”

“I’LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS!” Biscuit barked. “I’LL TAKE YOU APART!”

“Right. So, um, we’ve got a message from Butterbean,” Marco called.

“She’s coming to help!” Polo added. “We’re here to help!” It was hard to keep waving enthusiastically while Biscuit was threatening them like that. “But you need to stop barking!”

“I’LL RIP YOUR EARS OFF!” Biscuit barked so hard that he fell off the bench, then growled and turned on it like the bench had personally attacked him. “I’LL USE YOUR TAILS FOR DENTAL FLOSS!”

“Goodness,” Polo said, thrown. She hadn’t expected Biscuit to be quite so descriptive.

Marco touched his tail carefully. “Can he do that?” he whispered. “The tail thing?” He was kind of attached to his tail.

Polo shook her head. “He’s bluffing,” she said. She just hoped she was right.

She took a deep breath and tried again. “We know Butterbean, your friend. She will—”

“So you’ve got Butterbean, have you?” Biscuit growled. “WELL, YOU WON’T GET PAST ME!” He let off another volley of barking, leaping on and off the bench and racing around the room.

A loud thumping sound came from the apartment next door. “QUIET!” a voice shouted.

Biscuit turned to the wall and let out a howl.

“That must be Teacher Man,” Polo said. “In 2B?”

“We should go. We’re making it worse,” Marco said, watching Biscuit race around the room. He’d never heard Teacher Man yell like that. “But we did what we said we’d do. We passed on the message. So it was kind of a successful mission?”

“I guess,” Polo said. They hadn’t been very successful at getting Biscuit to stop barking.

Marco backed away from the grate. “I don’t think we convinced him, though.”

Polo shook her head. “No. But did you see? He was looking out of that window. He’s barking at something specific.” The fur on her neck prickled. “Something outside.”