— 16 —

EVERYTHING WAS NOT BACK TO normal. It was worse.

They’d expected to get good news about Madison first thing in the morning, but as the day stretched on, the animals started to get concerned. So when the knock on the door finally came, Butterbean leaped to her feet in excitement. “Finally! Madison’s been cleared!”

“Shh, Butterbean, be calm,” Mrs. Food said, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she walked to the door.

“Sheesh, it took long enough,” Marco grumbled, hopping onto the water bottle for a better view.

“Too bad Madison’s at school,” Polo said. “She’s going to miss the whole thing!”

“It’s probably Bob coming to apologize,” Oscar said smugly. “This will be good.”

The animals watched in anticipation as Mrs. Food opened the door. They were half-right—it was Bob. But he wasn’t coming to apologize. In fact, he’d barely opened his mouth to speak when he was pushed aside by Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six.

“Well, I was right,” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six gloated. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Fudeker.” Bob made an apologetic face over Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six’s head. “But there’s been a new development.”

“I have PROOF,” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six said, waving a handful of papers in Mrs. Food’s face. “PROOF right here. I knew it was that girl—I just knew it!”

Mrs. Food frowned and pushed the papers aside. “What proof could you possibly have? Madison didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That little vandal did it AGAIN, and I can PROVE IT.” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six had a nasty gleam in her eye.

Walt and Oscar exchanged a concerned look. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“The storage area was vandalized again last night, Mrs. Fudeker, and it was worse than before,” Bob said. “And it looks like…” He glanced at Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six. “Well, it was strange. There were some things that are hard to explain.”

“Look here, see? PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE.” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six pushed the papers at Mrs. Food again. “Bob took these this morning. See right here?” She jabbed her finger at one of the pictures.

Mrs. Food took the pictures and examined them closely. Then she looked up with a confused expression on her face. “What am I looking at here? Madison isn’t in this picture,” Mrs. Food said. “I’m sorry about the damage—it does look bad. But I don’t see how this involves us at all.”

“Oh you don’t, do you?” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six pointed harder at the picture. “See that? That’s my stolen property. All lined up in a row. And look at THAT.” She pointed again.

Mrs. Food looked at the picture again, more closely this time. Then she turned pale. “Well.” She looked up at Bob, who made another apologetic face. “Well, that is odd. I admit that. But I can’t explain it. Madison and I were both here all last night. We didn’t even go down to the storage area.”

“I haven’t figured out how she did it, but trust me, you’re going to be prosecuted for this,” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six smirked. “I’ll see to it.”

Mrs. Food tried to give the pictures back, but Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six pushed her hands away. “Oh, you keep those, Beulah. You’ll need them for your lawyers. And believe me, I had extra copies made. So many copies.”

“Okay, you’ve had your say.” Bob gently pulled Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six back from the door. “Now I’ll handle this from here, okay?”

Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six opened her mouth to protest, but Bob held up his hand. “It all needs to be official, understand?” he said. “I can’t have Mrs. Fudeker here making a harassment complaint against you.”

Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six snapped her mouth shut, whirled around, and huffed away.

Bob waited until she’d gone before he turned back to Mrs. Food.

“That harassment complaint, that’s something you have legitimate grounds for, you know.” He ran his hand over his head. “Now, you’ll swear that you and Madison weren’t anywhere near that storage unit?”

“We didn’t leave the apartment,” Mrs. Food said.

“And Madison will swear to that too?”

Mrs. Food nodded.

“Okay, okay,” Bob said thoughtfully. “Because those pictures, they don’t look good. I don’t know how to explain those.”

“I know.”

Bob sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll try and sort this out. But I’ll probably need you to come down and make an official statement for the board,” he said.

“Thank you, Bob,” Mrs. Food said calmly. But she was clutching the photos a little too tightly.

She closed the door quietly, and in one quick motion, she threw the photos onto the table. Then she stormed off down the hall.

“She’s mad,” Butterbean said softly as she watched Mrs. Food disappear into her office.

“The photos, Walt,” Oscar said. “Quick. What’s in the photos?”

Walt jumped up onto the table and pawed through them, examining them carefully. Then she looked up, her face stormy. “Those raccoons have messed up everything.”

---

There was no getting around it—they had to talk to Reginald.

It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the day. They had to risk it. Operation Cleanup was too important. (That was what they’d decided to call it. Butterbean voted for Operation Get the Raccoons to Explain What the Heck Went Wrong So They Could Help Restore Madison’s Reputation, but everyone agreed that spy missions needed to have slightly shorter names.)

Dunkin knew where the tube-top raccoon usually slept, and the white cat was sent on her first secret spy mission. Luckily it was a success. With the help of a few caviar treats, she was able to convince the tube-top raccoon to take her to Reginald, who she persuaded to come for a secret spy meeting in Mrs. Food’s apartment. (He was less than happy about the whole situation. Apparently some of the vents had been a pretty tight squeeze.)

He didn’t get any happier once they confronted him with the photos.

“I’m sorry, but we did what we said. I don’t see how any of this is our fault!” Reginald said, his hands on his hips. “And I’m not too pleased to have your flunkies SUMMONING ME.”

“Excuse me?” the white cat scowled. “Mysterious Spy on a Mission of Mercy, IF YOU PLEASE.”

“It was urgent,” Walt explained. “We had no choice!”

“I tried to tell him,” the white cat said, sitting down. “And I’m hardly a FLUNKIE.”

Oscar cleared his throat and dropped the most incriminating photo down on the floor. “Reginald, I apologize for bringing you here. But take a look again. I’m sure you’ll see this called for drastic measures.”

Reginald picked up the photo and looked at it briefly. “What? We trashed the place, just like we said we would.”

“Not exactly like you said,” Polo piped up.

“EXACTLY like we said.” Reginald glared at the rats.

“Except?” Oscar prodded.

“Except?” Reginald looked confused. “Except what? Oh! Except for yours. We figured you wouldn’t want us trashing your stuff, right, guys?” Reginald called over his shoulder at the couch. “Wasn’t that nice of us?”

The tube-top raccoon peeked her head out from behind the couch. She was quickly joined by more raccoons, each peeking their heads out until the whole side of the couch was nothing but raccoon faces.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Walt said, shooting a look at the apartment door. Mrs. Food had gone downstairs to meet with Bob, but they had no idea how long that meeting was going to take.

“Who are these guys?” Butterbean gasped. “Tulip, is that you?”

“You KNOW her?” Marco said, staring at Butterbean. He had a feeling he’d missed a lot while he was asleep.

The tube-top raccoon waved shyly. “Hi, Butterbean.” She nudged one of the other raccoons. “She knows my NAME!” she whispered excitedly.

“You brought an ENTOURAGE?” Walt asked, turning on Reginald.

“Look, where I go, they go. It’s how we operate.” Reginald looked at the photo again. “So what’s your problem, exactly?”

“Look at that photo. Can’t you see how suspicious it all looks?” Walt said, lashing her tail in frustration. “The whole room is trashed except for ONE UNIT. And that’s the unit belonging to Mrs. Food and Madison.”

“Yeah, but who’s going to notice that,” Reginald scoffed. “We did you a favor.”

“MRS. HATES DOGS ON SIX NOTICED!” Butterbean barked. “She came over and was MEAN.”

“Oh, that lady,” Reginald rolled her eyes. “You know, she should’ve just been happy to get her stuff back. We made sure we put it out in a safe place. Right where it was easy to see.”

“Yes, about that,” Oscar said, controlling his voice carefully. “You put it out IN MRS. FOOD AND MADISON’S STORAGE UNIT.”

“WHICH WAS LOCKED,” Walt added.

“Well, yeah. Since that one wasn’t trashed, it would be easy to spot.” Reginald said. “Duh.” The other raccoons murmured in agreement. One of them plucked a few notes on what sounded like a ukulele.

Oscar shut his eyes. “You trashed the entire room. Except for the unit that belongs to Madison. You put the stolen merchandise in Madison’s unit. Which was locked. And one of the only people to have a key was Madison. And this is supposed to clear Madison’s name?”

It was like a light bulb went off over Reginald’s head. He made a face. “Oh. Yeah, that. Hmm. Yeah, that does seem kind of bad,” he admitted. “Okay, I see it now. So, what, should we trash your unit too? Because we can do that.”

The raccoons nodded and looked hopeful.

“Oh, Bob will LOVE that,” the white cat said sarcastically.

Oscar shook his head. “I don’t think that will work. Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six will just think Madison managed to sneak in somehow. That’s what she already thinks.”

“And Madison can’t even fit in the vents!” Butterbean said.

“We’ve got to come up with something else. Something big,” Walt said. A harmonica started playing somewhere in the corner of the room. “If we all work together, we can figure this out. I know we can.” The harmonica accompaniment continued as she spoke, this time punctuated by random notes from a musical triangle. It sounded like she was doing a dramatic speech from a movie.

“Madison is depending on us. We can’t let her down. We can’t just— Excuse me, do you mind?” Walt whipped her head around to look at the tall raccoon in the corner. He lowered the harmonica and blushed.

“Sorry about that,” the raccoon said, tucking the harmonica behind his back. He bowed his head in apology.

Ding! The stocky raccoon with the triangle accented the move.

Walt whipped her head around again. “You too, buddy.”

The raccoon clutched the vibrating triangle to his chest.

“Where’d you get that, anyway?” Butterbean asked, going over and examining the triangle. “Was that in the storage area?” She hadn’t realized raccoons were so musical. She sniffed at the triangle. It smelled like it belonged to Old Mothball Lady on two. Butterbean shrank back. She hated mothballs.

The stocky raccoon clung to the triangle protectively. “Reginald said we didn’t have to put things back, so it’s okay that I took it. Right?” He looked to Reginald for confirmation.

“Right.” Reginald nodded.

“So how many of you raccoons have instruments, anyway?” The white cat stood up and stalked around the room. “Is it just you two?”

The raccoons exchanged awkward looks, shrinking back as the white cat approached.

“Come on, don’t be shy. We’ve got a triangle and a harmonica. Anyone else?” The white cat stopped short in front of two fluffy raccoons hiding something behind their backs.

“Come on. Give. What is it?” The white cat loomed over them, somehow making herself look huge and fierce.

The raccoons held out a ukulele almost as big as they were.

The white cat nodded and then stalked back to Oscar. She sat down with a smirk on her face.

“Problem solved,” she said. “I know what we’re going to do.”