Smells Like Dog (15 page)

“That was the last book,” Homer said two hours later, his voice thick with disappointment. A librarian raised her head, mumbled something about library cards, then fell back asleep.

“Let’s get out of here,” Lorelei said. “Before we fall asleep, too.”

They found Dog in the periodical section, sleeping on a half-eaten issue of
World of Water Bugs
. “Bad boy,” Homer whispered as he stuffed the remains of the magazine under the shelf. Then he noticed half-eaten issues of
Beautiful Balconies
and
Pork Monthly
. “Oh no.” He peered around the shelf. A trail of torn magazine pages covered the aisle. “Bad, bad boy.”

Every time they went to a library, something terrible happened.

Dog woke up and wagged his tail. “Urrrr.”

Lorelei picked a shred of paper off Dog’s nose. “Does he always eat magazines?”

“You’ve no idea.” Homer felt terrible about the magazines, but what could he do? He didn’t have any money to pay the library for the damages, and he didn’t have time to go to jail. One day, when he’d found his first treasure, he’d buy as many magazines as their shelves could hold. He wrote a note on one of the torn pages, “I promise to pay you back,” and slid it beneath a sleeping librarian’s arm.

“I’m hungry,” Lorelei said as they walked out of the soothing blue light and back into the hazy city air. “I know where we can get something to eat.” She led Homer and Dog to the next stop on her tour—a homeless shelter. Groups of people sat around tables, reading newspapers and playing cards. Some reached out to pet Dog. “They always have free doughnuts,” Lorelei said. Sure enough,
boxes of day-old pastries sat on a counter. “I like the ones with pink sprinkles.”

Homer and Dog ate three each. “How come these people don’t have homes?” Homer whispered.

Lorelei shrugged. “Different reasons. But mostly because they don’t have anyone to take care of them.”

Homer didn’t say anything, suddenly aware that if Lorelei didn’t have the soup warehouse, she’d be homeless, too. What would happen to her if she lost the room at the warehouse? Where would she go? He’d been thinking about asking her if she’d like to take Dog, and be his new owner, but that didn’t feel right. Even though she seemed to like Dog, he needed a lot of looking after and she already had that pet rat to take care of.

Next, she showed him how to sneak into a movie theater through the exit door. They caught the last half of an alien invasion film while Dog ate popcorn off the floor. Caught up in the excitement and a little giddy from the sugary doughnuts, Homer forgot about the coin, still safely tucked into his pocket. “I’ve seen this four times,” Lorelei said, warning him before the gory parts.

After the movie, Lorelei showed Homer how to catch a free ride on the back of a trolley, how to nab coins from a wishing fountain, and how to turn those coins into the best chili-smothered hotdog Homer had ever tasted. And as dusk covered The City in a hazy blanket,
Lorelei led Homer to City Park. “The tortoise area is over there. I thought you might want to see it.”

He swallowed the last bit of hotdog. Did he want to see the place where his uncle had died? Not really, but he’d come to The City for answers, and so far he hadn’t found any.

As his mood changed from carefree playfulness to downright dread, the terrain changed, too. Just down the gravel path, the trees took on a sickly look, their leaves crinkled like candy wrappers, their trunks black with grime. Homer wouldn’t have been surprised to hear them cough. “The park used to be pretty,” Lorelei said. “I don’t know what happened to it.”

The path wound around a murky lake. A chain-link fence separated casual strollers and bikers from the lake’s dangerous inhabitants. “They put up the fence after your uncle…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. She stood directly beneath a big sign:
DANGER. DO NOT FEED THE GIANT TORTOISES
.

“There they are,” Lorelei said.

Park lights, perched high up in the trees, shone upon the lake. Dog pressed his nose against the fence and started barking. Homer had never seen a giant tortoise. A dozen lay on big boulders at the edge of the lake. They turned their green faces toward Dog as he tried to squeeze under the fence. Homer grabbed his collar.

“I don’t see how one of those could eat an entire person,” Lorelei said, gripping a few of the links. “Their mouths don’t look so big.”

Homer agreed. While the largest tortoise was the size of a wheelbarrow, its head was only the size of a small cantaloupe. One of the tortoises looked at Homer. Homer shuddered and turned away. Reptilian eyes had been the last thing his uncle had seen.

“The killer tortoise escaped,” Lorelei said. “I read about it in the paper. The zookeeper was going to take it away but it mysteriously disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yeah. It could be out there, right now, wandering around, eating more people.”

Homer wanted to pull his jacket over his head. He suddenly missed his parents. He missed his bedroom, with its four solid walls. Darkness was settling and he imagined reptilian eyes searching hungrily for the next victim. Then he remembered Gwendolyn. He’d been having so much fun, he’d forgotten all about her. What had she done all day? All alone. He reached down and grabbed Dog’s leash. “I need to find my sister.”

“Oh, right. You’ve supposed to go to that party.” Lorelei kicked the dirt.

“You can come, too.”

“Really?” She smiled. “I’ve never been to a VIP party
before.” Then she looked at her ragged sweater and jeans. “I’m not dressed for a party.”

“So?” Homer smiled. “I’m the VIP and I’ll tell them that you’re my guest. And after we get in, we can go look at that coin collection.”

They hurried from the park. Night had fallen and The City had changed dramatically. The crowds had gone. Buses and taxis had disappeared. Rats scurried across sidewalks and roads. Dog barked at each rat until he made himself hoarse. The soles of Homer’s feet ached as he kept pace with Lorelei’s clomping steps, but he didn’t mind. He felt lucky to have made such a good friend. The day had been a blast. Surely poor Gwendolyn’s day had been long and boring.

“We’re here,” Lorelei announced.

They stood in front of a massive stone building.
MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
was carved into a stone arch. Ivy-covered pillars flanked wide stone steps. Dog tried to eat a piece of ivy but Homer pulled him away. He looked around for Gwendolyn but the place appeared to be deserted. He walked up the stone steps and peered through the windows at the ticket booth.
CLOSED
. Not even a security guard stood on duty. A clock above the ticket booth read 9:50.

“We’re not late,” he said with relief. “The party starts at ten. The VIP entrance is supposed to be on the
south side of the building.” Lorelei and Homer reached for their compasses. Then they followed a garden path to the museum’s southern wall. Floodlights perched along the museum’s roof cast the grounds in soft white light. “Here it is,” Homer said. He stopped in front of a door with a handwritten sign taped to it:
VIP ENTRANCE
.

“Gwendolyn,” Homer called. He tried to open the door but it was locked. He knocked. “Gwendolyn?”

“You sure she wanted to meet you here?”

“Yes. This is why she came to The City. She’s got to be here.” Homer nervously looked around. Then he knocked on the door again. Dog piddled on a shrub. “And she couldn’t get in without me. My name’s on the invitation.”

“What’s this?” Lorelei picked up a squirrel. “I think it’s stuffed.”

Homer’s heart skipped a beat as he took the squirrel from Lorelei. “This belongs to Gwendolyn. She’d never leave one of her animals behind.” Not only had Homer left home without permission, he had also managed to lose track of his sister. Surely his father would punish him for the rest of his life. He pounded on the door again. “What could have happened to her? Gwendolyn!”

A
nd that’s when the door opened. “Mr. Pudding?” A woman stood in the open doorway, her top half much skinnier than her bottom half. Her short black hair was cut in a perfectly straight line.

Mr. Pudding?
Homer looked over his shoulder. Was his father standing behind him?

The woman cleared her throat. “Mr. Homer W. Pudding?”

Homer scratched his ear. “Oh, you mean me.”

Holding out a gloved hand, the woman stepped
forward. “I am pleased to meet you. It’s not every day that I get to meet a… VIP. May I call you Homer?”

“Sure.” Homer shook her hand. She had a painfully firm grip.

“I am Madame la Directeur, Executive Director by Royal Decree of the Museum of Natural History. You received my invitation?” Homer nodded. His hand throbbed. “And you followed my instructions?” She raised her eyebrows. “You came
without
your parents?”

“They’re…” Homer fiddled with Dog’s leash. “They’re back in Milkydale.”

“Excellent. If you’ll follow me.”

“Have you seen my sister, Gwendolyn? She told me to meet her here.”

“Your sister is already inside.”

“She is?” Immense relief flooded Homer like a cool glass of water. “That’s great. Um, this is my friend Lorelei. She’d like to come to the party, too.”

“Hi,” Lorelei said with a little wave.

Madame pursed her cherry-red lips. She cast a searing look at Lorelei, taking her in from head to toe. Then she ran a gloved finger along a strand of perfect white pearls that encircled her neck. “This is an
exclusive
party. Invitees only.”

“Oh,” Homer said. “But I thought…”

“Exclusive.”

“Whatever,” Lorelei told Madame. “I don’t need your stupid exclusive party.” She turned to Homer. “I’ve got to go home, anyway, before the warehouse workers show up. Come find me tomorrow, okay?”

“I’m sorry, Lorelei,” Homer said. “I didn’t think there’d be a problem.”

She shrugged. “No biggie. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll be selling soup in the same place.” Then she whispered, “The coin collection is on the third floor.” Before he could stop her, she ran off into the night.

Homer knew exactly how Lorelei felt because he had run off many times when he’d come face to face with something “exclusive.”
You can’t join our club, Homer. You can’t be on our team, Homer. No weirdos or wimps allowed, Homer.
He knew that behind Lorelei’s shrug and declaration of “whatever” lay hurt feelings. He would have run off with her but he wanted to see the museum’s coin collection. He needed to see it.

“Leave that creature outside,” Madame la Directeur said, pointing to the squirrel that Homer still held.

“But it’s my sister’s.”

“Leave it outside.” Her eyes narrowed. Homer set the squirrel on the ground. Then he stepped through the doorway. Madame’s voice turned prickly. “Dogs are not allowed in the museum. You will have to leave that creature outside, too.”

“My dog?” Homer clutched the rope. “But what if someone takes him?”

“Who would take that? That’s the droopiest dog I’ve ever seen.”

A dribble of drool dangled from Dog’s lower lip. He raised his ears and looked at Homer. “Urrrr?”

“But I’m supposed to take care of him. He can’t smell and if I don’t watch him, he might eat something poisonous. Or he might get lost.”

“There’s nothing poisonous out there. You can tie him to a tree.” She tapped her fingers on her round hips. “Do you wish to attend the party or not?”

Homer hung his head. Other than family birthdays, he’d never been to a real party. And a party for VIPs sounded very exciting. “It’s just for a little while,” he whispered, kneeling next to Dog. “You’ll be okay. Just a little while and then I’ll come back and get you.” Being left alone behind a museum at night didn’t sound okay to Homer but what was he supposed to do? Sit out there with Dog and miss the opportunity to see that coin collection? He stood and walked back out the door. The rope went taut as Dog stiffened his legs, refusing to budge.

“Come on,” Homer urged.

Dog sat. Homer tugged. Dog slid a few inches forward, then clamped his teeth around the rope and
scooted a few inches backward. Homer tugged. Dog pulled. Tug, pull, tug, pull. Madame tapped her pointy shoe. “I’m waiting.”

“Ugh,” Homer said, dropping the rope. “He’s too heavy. Can’t he just come with me? I promise he’ll be good.” He wasn’t so sure he could keep that promise but he had to give it a try. “And he won’t pee on anything.” Again, no guarantees.

Madame smoothed her skirt, then took a long breath. “Well, because it’s past closing time I will make an exception. But do not allow him to wander about.” Clearly the museum’s director was not a dog person. No chance she’d give Dog a new home.

“Thanks.” Homer picked up the rope. Then he leaned over and whispered, “You’d better be good.” Dog wagged his tail.

Madame la Directeur’s high heels clicked as she led Homer and Dog down a hallway. They passed lots of rooms with desks and filing cabinets. Then they passed a door with a sign:
GARBAGE ROOM
. The door stood half-open and something familiar caught Homer’s eye. He stopped walking and peered in. Gwendolyn’s duffel bag was crammed into a garbage can. A stuffed field mouse and stuffed raccoon peeked out. Gwendolyn would never have thrown away her work.
Never
. “Excuse me,” Homer said. “But why is—?”