— 17 —
“YOU CALL THOSE HIGH KICKS? Get those legs up!” The white cat clapped her paws as she circled around a line of raccoons attempting to dance the can can. She turned to Oscar. “I always wanted to direct.”
Oscar couldn’t believe they’d actually agreed to the white cat’s plan. It was definitely risky. But it was the only plan they had.
Once they’d worked out everyone’s role in Operation Dazzle (which is what the white cat had named it), there had been one big problem left—finding a place for the rehearsal. Luckily the raccoons knew the perfect spot.
“I can’t believe we’re practicing in the STORAGE AREA,” Walt said, flattening her ears down and shooting a nervous look at the basement door.
“REHEARSING.” The white cat sounded disgusted. “We’re REHEARSING in the PERFORMANCE SPACE. And it’s FINE.” She clapped in time to the raccoons’ high kicks.
Since Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six had started threatening lawsuits, Bob had cordoned off the entire room. And according to the rats, that meant that it was the only place they were guaranteed not to be interrupted. The raccoons agreed.
The white cat had wasted no time setting up the performance space, as she called it, and getting to work. (She said “storage area” sounded unprofessional.)
“Are you sure this is the way we should do this?” Oscar asked, hopping to keep up with her. “I thought we were just going to adjust the surveillance camera so they would see the raccoons.”
The white cat stopped in her tracks. “Well, sure, but why go small when we could go BIG!” She pulled Oscar slightly to the side. “Besides, based on the screen test we did, you need my talents,” she whispered.
“We did a screen test?” Oscar looked at Walt. “When did we do a screen test?”
“That’s what she’s calling ‘checking the surveillance camera,’ ” Walt said, rolling her eyes. “I thought we could just catch the raccoons onscreen. But Madam Director here didn’t think it was good enough.”
“Do you want a couple of blurry raccoon-shaped blobs on film, or do you want SPECTACLE?” the white cat said. “Trust me, with my skills, these guys are going to POP.” The white cat made explosion motions with her paws. “These raccoons may not have the most talent, but with my vision, this is going to be HUGE.”
“Do we want huge, though?” Walt said in a low voice. “I thought we just wanted to clear Madison’s name.”
“Why can’t we do both?” the white cat said distractedly as she waved at a group of raccoons awkwardly holding instruments. “Let’s try it with the music now.” She clapped again.
Wallace and Dunkin slipped into the room from one of the vents. “We’ve got the rat costumes. Where do you want them?” Dunkin had his arms filled with tiny clothes, and Wallace held out the little sailor shirt he’d been wearing before. He shot an apologetic look at Oscar. “We’re just borrowing them. It’s for a good cause. We’ll put them back, I promise.”
“Rat costumes?” Oscar said slowly. “That seems—”
The white cat put a paw up to his beak. “Look, you have your role, I have mine. Just let me do my job. I’ve been in this business for a while, don’t forget.”
Oscar and Walt exchanged a long look.
The white cat leaned in again. “And I’m thinking the rats will be background performers. FAR in the background.”
“I suppose that’s… fine?” Oscar said (although his voice was muffled by the furry paw.)
“Sure. Why not,” Walt said with a shrug. She wasn’t about to argue with that cat. As long as Madison’s reputation was restored and everything got back to normal, it probably didn’t matter how they got there.
At least she hoped so.
“So it’s all set up?” Polo asked. “We used the remote to change the channel on the Television. It was tougher than it looks!”
“It’s okay, though. I’ve been working out,” Marco said, flexing his arm muscles. (Not too much, though—they were a little sore.)
Marco and Polo had campaigned to be part of the basement stage crew, but Oscar had thought it would be better for them to stick closer to home, in case they needed to run any messages downstairs. Because there wasn’t much time. Once Madison got home, they’d activate Operation Dazzle.
Oscar couldn’t believe everything was riding on an operation with such a ridiculous name. And on the white cat.
“Good job, you two. The raccoons are rehearsing downstairs,” Oscar said. “I hope that cat knows what she’s doing.”
“If you need any distractions, just let me know,” Butterbean said from her position by the door. “I’m happy to distract.”
“Thank you, Butterbean,” Oscar said. “I think we’re set. We’ll just wait for Madison now.” The animals all turned to look at the door.
“I’ve got ideas,” Butterbean said after a few minutes of silence. She’d been working on some new techniques that she was itching to try out. She especially wanted to try out her new move of “accidentally” locking herself in the bathroom. She thought that would be particularly distracting.
“Is this the bathroom thing?” Oscar said. (Butterbean talked in her sleep sometimes.)
“Yep!” Butterbean nodded. “How did you know?”
“I think we should keep that as a last resort,” Oscar said. He had a feeling that might be too big a distraction.
Walt looked from Butterbean to Oscar and then back again.
“What’s the bathroom thing?” Walt said finally. Then she made a face. “Actually? Never mind. I don’t need to know.”
Oscar nodded. “Wise choice.” He cleared his throat. “Now, while we wait… does everyone know what to do?”
“Yep,” Butterbean said, thumping her tail. “Take Madison for a walk, and then I start the show!”
“Right.” Oscar hoped Butterbean was clear on what “starting the show” was supposed to mean, but he had to have faith. He was ready to improvise if there were any problems. “Marco? Polo?”
“Emergency runners,” Polo said. “In case of disaster.”
“You can count on us,” Marco said, doing some stretches. “Like I said, I’ve been—”
“Working out. Yes, that’s great,” Oscar said.
“We could go down now if you want, though,” Polo said. “Just saying. Or if you need more performers…” She trailed off hopefully.
“Noted.” Oscar turned to Walt. “Walt?”
Walt shot him a disgusted glance. “Do you have to ask?”
“No. Of course, you know what to do,” Oscar said. “I just wanted to make sure that—”
The door opened, and Madison hurried inside. “I’m home!” she called, dumping her book bag on the floor. “Any news?”
“SHE’S HERE!” Butterbean screamed, jumping up. (And promptly falling over again. She’d been sitting for so long her feet had fallen asleep.)
“Oh no, are you okay?” Madison bent down to rub Butterbean’s ears. (That was another reason Butterbean had positioned herself by the door. Better chance of ear rubs.)
Mrs. Food hurried in from her office. “Madison, you’re home!”
Madison looked up. “So have I been exonerated yet?”
Mrs. Food answered with a weak smile. “Not exactly. But I’m working on the situation. You’ll see.”
“I know,” Madison said gloomily. “I just hate this.”
“I know,” Mrs. Food said, patting her on the shoulder.
Oscar hopped from his perch to the side of his cage. “Walt! Mrs. Food’s out of the office! You’re up.”
Walt nodded discreetly and disappeared down the hall into the office.
Butterbean looked up at Oscar. “Operation Dazzle?”
Oscar nodded. “Starts now.”
Butterbean thought she must’ve set a record for taking the fastest walk in the history of dog walks. She practically dragged Madison inside after she’d finished doing her business. She was very proud of herself. She hadn’t stopped to smell a single bush.
Madison unclipped the leash as they came inside, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. It’s like she was running a race.”
“Good job, Bean,” Oscar said approvingly. So far the plan was going smoothly.
“Are we all set?” Butterbean asked as she trotted inside. “I’m ready for my big part.”
Walt stalked down the hallway and sat down, licking her paw. “Done.”
Oscar fluffed his feathers anxiously. “Good, good.” Walt had some impressive computer skills. “So that means things should start happening…”
“Any minute now,” Walt said. “Marco? Wheels are in motion. Let them know.”
Marco leaped onto the water bottle. “WHOOOHOOO, emergency run!”
“No need. We’re ready too.” The white cat popped her head out from behind the couch.
“What?” Marco dropped back down to the floor. “No emergency run?”
Polo gasped. “But you’re supposed to be in the storage area!”
The white cat rolled her eyes. “I will be. I’m just waiting for the fireworks. Once those start, I’ll head down and start the show.”
Oscar’s eyes widened in horror. “Fireworks? No one said anything about fireworks.” He whipped around to look at Walt. “Did you know she was getting FIREWORKS?”
The doorbell rang. The white cat rolled her eyes. “No, silly, not that kind of fireworks.” She nodded toward the door. “These fireworks.”
“I wonder who…” Mrs. Food muttered to herself.
She opened the door. It was Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six.
“Oh. I see. That kind of fireworks,” Oscar said in relief. Although from what he could tell, it was more like an ice storm than fireworks.
The white cat cackled loudly. “We’ll be ready in five.” She disappeared again behind the couch.
“Here we go,” Walt said, watching the scene at the door. “I just hope it works.”
“Harriet.” Mrs. Food’s voice was frosty. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Very funny,” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six said. “As if you don’t know.”
“Who’s at the…” Madison came into the living room. “Oh.”
Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six sniffed. “Oh, is she still here?”
“Um. Hi.” Madison turned bright red. She gave a short, awkward wave.
“Where are the fireworks?” Butterbean whispered to Walt. She hadn’t realized they were part of the plan.
“Forget the fireworks,” Walt hissed. “I’ll explain later.”
Mrs. Food gave a sharp laugh. “Of course Madison’s still here,” Mrs. Food said. “Now if you don’t mind—”
There was a ding from the hallway, and Bob jogged up behind Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six. “Oh, hi, good, you’re both here. Hope I’m not too late.”
Mrs. Food frowned. “Too late for what?”
“The meeting?” Bob frowned back. “Our little chat?” He turned to Mrs. Food. “To be honest, I was relieved when I got your call. I think getting together and clearing the air is a great idea. Hopefully we can straighten this all out.”
“My call? But…” Mrs. Food stared at him open-mouthed for a long second, before turning to look at Madison. Madison shrugged.
Walt licked her paw smugly.
“Well, I’m not meeting in the hallway,” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six said snippily.
“No, of course not. Come in.” Mrs. Food stood back. “For our meeting.” She sounded like she’d gritted her teeth on that last word.
Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six walked into the room, clasping her hands in front of her chest like she was afraid to touch anything.
“Please, have a seat,” Mrs. Food said.
Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six looked down at the couch like it was something Walt had just coughed up. She sat down gingerly, perching on the extreme edge of the cushion.
Mrs. Food sat in the chair closest to her, and Madison half sat on the arm.
“So, now, I’d like to start, if I could,” Bob said, sitting down and leaning forward on his knees like he was some kind of coach. “Now, first off, I want to say that we have no direct evidence implicating Madison in this crime.”
“Thank you,” Madison said.
“But we don’t have any evidence implicating anyone else, either. And we don’t have any evidence that it WASN’T Madison.”
“But I told you—” Madison started.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve heard enough,” Mrs. Food said, standing up. “Madison’s word is good enough for me. I think this meeting is over.”
“Mrs. Fudeker, please—”
“Butterbean! You’re on!” Oscar squawked. Things were moving faster than they’d expected.
Everything depended on Butterbean. Everything.
Taking huge strides, Butterbean raced across the floor and lunged up at the coffee table.
“Control your ANIMAL!” Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six screeched, reeling back in her seat.
Butterbean ignored her. She knew what she had to do. With one last lunge, Butterbean slammed her foot onto the Television remote.
And the Television came on.