20

DON’T GET ME WRONG—I’LL gladly accept the reward if they give it to me,” Mrs. Food said as she put a sandwich and pretzels into Madison’s lunch bag. “But what I don’t understand is HOW? I wasn’t even home when that call was made.”

“Beats me, but don’t tell them that!” Madison said, stashing her lunch in her book bag. “It’s really weird, though.”

“Belly rub,” Butterbean said, rolling over onto her back at Madison’s feet.

“Weird and lucky.” Madison reached down to scratch Butterbean’s tummy. “Maybe you’ve got a guardian angel.”

Butterbean caught Walt’s eye and winked. Walt winked back. Mrs. Food and Madison didn’t suspect a thing.

Madison frowned. She stopped scratching and looked from Butterbean to Walt thoughtfully. Butterbean lolled her tongue out of her mouth and drooled a little. It never hurt to look a tiny bit stupid.

“Maybe more than one,” Madison said, winking at Butterbean. Butterbean almost choked on her spit. Smirking, Walt jumped off the chair and stalked into the living room. Well, at least Mrs. Food didn’t suspect anything.

“Now, don’t forget your call with your aunt after school today,” Mrs. Food said.

“Got it.” Madison patted Butterbean goodbye. “See you later!” She threw her bag over her shoulder and hurried out.

Madison’s aunt had agreed to the new living arrangement right away and was horrified that Madison had been living on her own for so long. Mrs. Food was officially Madison’s guardian for as long as her aunt was deployed. Walt and Oscar had hoped to be named guardians too and were more than a little offended that no one had even asked them.

Mrs. Food wiped her hands on a dish towel and made her way down the hallway to her office, carefully checking for any obstacles placed in her path. The last thing she wanted was a return trip to the hospital. But she didn’t need to worry. Butterbean had a new policy—from now on, whenever she barfed, she would immediately clean it up herself. So far it seemed to be working well.

“I still don’t see why SHE gets the reward,” Butterbean grumbled, grabbing her squeaky carrot and tossing it into the air after Mrs. Food had closed the office door. “I mean, it was Walt and Oscar who called. And the elevator lady’s sister. THEY should get the reward.”

“It’ll be easier for her to spend it,” Walt said wearily. They’d had this conversation at least five times. “And think of it this way—we got two caretakers out of the deal. Now if something goes wrong with Mrs. Food again, we have a backup.”

“But we had a treasure! And now we’re poor!” There was just something about those gold coins. Butterbean really would’ve liked to roll in them one last time.

“Polo got a new button,” Marco pointed out. Mrs. Food had left the rats’ aquarium out in the living room—the other animals had objected when she tried to move it back to the office. And Marco and Polo were enjoying their new view.

“That’s right. That’s kind of like a treasure,” Polo said, admiring the button around her neck. Marco had tied the string in a double knot this time.

“I guess so,” Butterbean said, sitting up.

A cabinet door slammed. “What the heck?” Oscar craned his neck to look into the kitchen. “That’s not Chad again, is it?”

“Hey, Chad,” Butterbean said. It was Chad. Again.

Chad was sitting in the sink with a package of sardines he’d gotten from the cabinet. He grabbed the pull tab with one of his tentacles and sucked the sardines down without a word. So far Mrs. Food hadn’t noticed how quickly they’d been disappearing.

“You know, one day Mrs. Food is going to catch you doing that and it’ll all be over,” Walt said, licking a paw. “She’s cool, but I don’t know if she’s strange-octopus-in-the-sink cool.”

“Hey, guys!” Wallace emerged from behind the sofa. His cheeks were filled with sunflower seeds, and he was leaving a trail of shells as he walked.

“Is she strange-rat-in-the-living-room cool?” Butterbean asked.

“She’s going to have to be. After all, they’re members of our gang. Go, Strathmore Six!” Marco cheered.

“Marco!” Polo hissed. “Rude! Wallace isn’t a member. It’s the Strathmore SIX, get it? He’d make it seven.”

Wallace stopped chewing and looked at them, hurt. A shell dropped out of his mouth. “You guys have a gang?”

“More of an International Crime Syndicate,” Oscar said. He hopped onto the Television and snapped his beak. “All in favor of including Wallace and making it the Strathmore Seven?”

“WHOOOHOO!” Marco cheered, high-fiving Wallace, who choked on a seed.

“Sounds good to me,” Walt said.

“Me too!” Butterbean yelped. “Strathmore Seven!”

“Any more sardines?” Chad asked.

“I’ve never been in a club. Thanks, you guys.” Wallace blushed. “But I wanted to tell you—the Patchouli Family was watching the news. The heist is on TV. Channel Seven.”

“Ooh, we’re famous!” Oscar crowed, hopping on the remote and turning the Television to Channel Seven.

“…Prosecutors say that an anonymous tip led police to the apartment, where they were able to arrest the thieves and recover most of the coins that had been stolen.”

“Wait a minute.” Walt stepped on the pause button. “MOST of the coins?”

Oscar shifted from foot to foot. “Hmm. Wow. That’s, um. Interesting.”

Walt cocked her head. “Oscar?”

Oscar sighed. “FINE.” He hopped over to the sofa and dragged Mrs. Food’s embroidered bag out from underneath. With obvious effort, he tossed it into the middle of the living room.

The flap burst open, and gold coins spilled out.

Five jaws dropped simultaneously.

Oscar folded his wings. “Well, you didn’t expect me to return ALL of them, did you?” he grumbled. “What if it happens again? We might NEED them!”

Walt flopped back onto her haunches. “Well, that’s it. We’re officially criminals.”

“But criminals who can do this!” Butterbean yelped, bouncing in excitement. “Oscar, can I?”

Oscar swept his wing in the direction of the coins. “Feel free.” He looked at Marco and Polo and Wallace. “You too.” He winked at Marco. “Now’s the appropriate time.”

“WHOOHOO!” Marco shrieked, pumping his fists.

With cheers of happiness, Butterbean, Marco, Polo, and Wallace all threw themselves into the small pile of coins, rolling around and flinging coins in the air.

Walt and Oscar exchanged glances.

“Oh, heck,” Walt said, jumping in after them. Oscar was only a second behind her.

And across the room, Chad began inching toward the celebration. He was an expert coin flinger.