The Pet-Sitting Peril (17 page)

“Listen, we still have to—”

Nick's attention wavered. They were
discussing something, not looking at him now, or Rudy. Again the curtains beside him billowed out in the breeze, and he knew he had to try something. Anything was better than being roasted like a marshmallow at a picnic the way he would be if Al and Greg went through with their plans.

Nick's fingers closed around the small antique clock from atop the television set. He was sure it was an heirloom or something valuable, but better a clock than his life and the lives of all the pets.

The next time the breeze lifted the curtains, giving him a clear shot, he threw the clock.

The crash was not very loud, but the men turned to look at him.

“What was that?” Al demanded.

Nick felt the pulses pounding in his ears. He wasn't nearly as good at pitching as Barney, though he did sometimes beat his brother playing darts. He'd tried to lob the clock through Melody's open window, and he thought it would have made more noise if he'd hit the side of the house with it. He sure
hoped she was in the room, not downstairs somewhere.

“Did you do something?” Greg demanded. He looked very tall, standing above Nick on the edge of the chair.

Nick shook his head, not trusting his voice for a second, and then, when he thought Greg was going to drag him to his feet, he swallowed and tried to speak. “I think . . . I think something fell, or . . . or broke, next door.”

“And we can hear it all the way over here?” Greg strode past him and pushed the curtains aside to slam down the open window. When he came back, he stepped on Rudy's foot and the Airedale lumbered to his feet with a protesting yelp.

For a moment they all stared at the dog; it was obvious that he was still under the effects of the sedation that Al had put in his food, but he was beginning to come out of it. Nick didn't feel so bad any more about having to clean up two messes. His hopes rose when Maynard yipped, too, although neither dog was behaving in a hostile manner. They had, after all, seen Greg and Al before.

In the cat box, Eloise let out a snarl that made Al draw away from the container. Nick rose slowly to his feet, feeling almost sick enough to lose his own supper, yet his head was working.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he said, and took a few steps in that direction.

“Sit down,” Greg snapped, but Al shook his head.

“What difference does it make if the kid goes to the bathroom? There's only one little window, and if he goes out that he'll fall thirty feet. Let him go.”

Greg gave in, shrugging. “Hurry up, then, get something to tie him up with. We better get out of here, and fast.”

Nick was three steps from the chair when the telephone rang.

For a moment it was like that game they'd played when he was about six years old. Where everybody had to freeze into whatever position they were in when someone yelled “Statues.”

Only this wasn't a game.

It was his father, it had to be his father. Nick made a lunge for the phone, knocking the
receiver off the hook, but Greg was faster, jerking it away from him, slamming it back on the cradle before Nick could even gather enough air to cry out.

Al started toward the door. “Now we blew it for sure! Whoever that was, he could tell the phone was knocked over and then picked up. He's going to investigate, if it was somebody checking on the kid! Let's get out of here!”

Greg was distracted from Nick by the need to stop his companion from doing anything foolish. He reached out and grabbed Al by the shirt front, holding him while Nick managed a few more steps toward the bathroom.

“Don't be an idiot! We run now and we won't get ten miles before they pick us up, after the kid gives them a description. We've got five minutes, anyway, before anybody can get here, and everything's all set. That's all we need. Tie up the kid, and let's go.”

Nick had made it to the bathroom door. He slammed it behind him. There wasn't any lock, which probably didn't matter much anyway. If the house was burning around him,
what difference would it make if he were tied up or locked in the bathroom?

He really did have to go, but he didn't think he could. Fred rubbed against his leg, which was shaking so much Nick couldn't tell if the cat purred or not.

“When I let you out,” Nick told him softly, “you're on your own, Fred.”

In the living room, Maynard barked again.

The door was jerked open. “Come on,” Al said. “Hurry up.”

Nick drew in a deep breath, stepped through the doorway, and did the only thing he could think of.

Fred had been confined long enough so that once the way was open, he shot past Nick and the startled arsonists. As he followed, Nick swooped on the cat box, flipping open the top before either of the men could stop him.

From then on, Mrs. Monihan's living room practically exploded.

Eloise erupted out of the box like that Mount St. Helens in Washington State; she was a boiling fury of white fur. Then, when she saw the room full of strangers and not one, but two dogs and an unfamiliar cat, she went really wild.

Rudy and Maynard were still sluggish, but their instincts surfaced at once. Here was fair game, a cat, and they both rushed for the unfortunate creature. The deep bark and the
shrill one intermingled in such a racket that though Greg yelled something, nobody understood what it was.

Fred, also startled by the presence of the big Airedale, retreated to the top of a bookcase with such haste that he knocked over a vase that fell with a resounding crash.

Eloise, terrified beyond measure by the apparent attack of all these monsters, undoubtedly feared for her life; she made a leap for the highest point within her reach (Fred was already on the bookcase, and perhaps he represented as big a threat to her as the dogs), which happened to be Al.

He had turned, half crouching, when the vase broke behind him, so that he had his back to Eloise when she jumped. She landed on his shoulders and the back of his neck, digging in her claws to hold on, while the man yelled and tried to throw her off.

Nick didn't wait to see any more. For a few seconds he had a clear path to the back door, and he took it. He heard Greg shouting behind him; his fingers were already twisting at the safety lock, then tugging at the bolt, and a
moment later he jerked the door open just as Greg made a lunge for him.

Afterward they could only speculate that Greg had intended to throw himself against the door, to keep Nick from escaping. If he hadn't tripped over Maynard at the last moment, he might have been able to stop when Nick threw open the door.

As it was, however, Greg went right past Nick out through the opening. Nick heard him falling, first down the steps, then rolling over the edge of the roof, and finally there was a clatter of garbage cans in the alley. When that din died away, Nick distinctly heard a moan from the darkness below.

He didn't have either the time or the desire to investigate. Behind him, dogs and cats yapped and screeched and something else went over with a horrendous noise.

Al had apparently figured out that he was not being attacked by a mob of policemen, only by the pets Nick had been tending; he bounded toward the kitchen, and for a minute Nick thought the man was still going to try to carry out the original plan, to tie Nick up and light
the inflammable materials already in place, but he didn't.

He didn't even look at Nick. He went down the back stairs, making it all the way to the ground without falling, and Nick heard him cry out. “Greg? You there?”

“I think my ankle's broken! Move the truck over here and help me in it,” Greg groaned.

In the distance, Nick heard sirens. The police or the fire department? He didn't care which, but he sure hoped they were coming here.

His eyes now getting used to the darkness, Nick made out the shape of the old pickup, parked behind the house for a quick getaway. Al didn't start it, however; there was a blur of his white T-shirt as he headed, instead, down the alley.

Though Greg called after him, Al had disappeared; Nick could still hear his feet, pounding on the gravel.

Lights had come on in the house next door, and others in the houses across the alley. There were also footsteps, heavy, rapid ones, on the stairs within the house.

Not more accomplices, Nick hoped, and braced himself to run down the back stairs, also, even at the risk of encountering Greg with a broken ankle.

He didn't need to do that, though. It was his father and Barney, and a moment later a fire truck with flashing red lights, followed by the police car, arrived on the scene below.

For a moment Nick watched as Greg, hopping on one foot toward the old pickup, made a try to escape. A sharp voice called out, “Stop right where you are!” and Greg, outlined in a spotlight from the police car, slowly turned to face the pair of police officers.

“Nick, are you okay?” Mr. Reed demanded. He gazed around in bewilderment. Feathers from pillows still floated in the air; curtains had been torn to shreds when Eloise climbed them to the safety of a curtain rod overhead; and Rudy was barking as he tried to get Fred to come out from under a chair. Maynard barked, as far as Nick could tell, just to keep Rudy company. “Good grief, what's been going on?”

Nick tried to tell them. He'd only gotten
part of the story out when a police officer and two firemen appeared, and he had to start over from the beginning. And then he had to tell it all for a third time when Melody and her parents showed up.

“I thought they were going to burn the house down with all of us in it, so I did everything I could think of to stop them,” Nick concluded, looking around at the circle of interested faces.

Melody was wearing pajamas and a bathrobe and slippers. She twisted the belt of the robe tighter and said, “I couldn't figure out what was going on over here. I heard loud voices, and I hadn't thought there was anybody here but you, so I figured it must be the television. Until that clock came sailing through my window and smashed on the foot of my bed. I looked out, then and saw a man close the window, so I ran and told my dad.”

Mr. Jamison nodded. “It looked pretty fishy to me, especially when I saw that old truck parked in the alley, so I called the fire department after I got out there and smelled gasoline. It was just too suspicious after that fire in
the alley only a few days ago. I called the police, too, just to be on the safe side. I was getting dressed to come over here when I heard what sounded like a three-ring circus.”

“And I called after I saw Nick's note,” Mr. Reed said, “and it sounded as if somebody was fighting over the phone. So I called the police, too, and jumped in the car to come over here.”

“One of them got away,” Nick said, his head turning toward the police officer. “He may have gone over the fence down at the end of the alley, the way he did the other time. Through somebody's yard and into Spring Street.”

“He didn't make it this time,” the officer said. “He jumped onto a garbage can, only in the dark he didn't see that it didn't have the cover on it. He was still there when my partner arrived.”

Mr. Reed looked around the room. “Well, I guess we'd better get this place straightened out. There's a lamp smashed, and the curtains are ruined—Nick, is there anything you can do to make those dogs stop barking like that?”

Nick knelt beside Rudy and tugged him away from the chair where he'd been putting
his nose into the opening to smell Fred. “Come on, boy. Sit,” he said, and to his surprise, Rudy did. Rudy's eyes still looked dopey; maybe that was why he obeyed.

When Rudy shut up, so did Maynard. The little mop dog seemed delighted with all the company and the attention, wagging his whole rear end with the pleasure of it.

Mr. Jamison cleared his throat. “I guess we're all grateful that it turned out as well as it did, aren't we? Congratulations, young man, you used your head. It's late now. I think we'd better go on home, Melody, and try to get some sleep.”

“Okay.” Melody suddenly smiled at Nick. “Are we still going to go look at those puppies tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Nick agreed. “Why not?”

Barney stared after the Jamisons as they left. Mr. Reed and the policeman were trying to coax Eloise down so they could put her back in her cat box. Fred had crept to the front of the chair and stared out from under it, watching Rudy very carefully. He did not look especially frightened, only cautious.

“Hey,” Barney said in a low voice. “That's a real cute girl, Nick. Who is she?”

Nick drew in a deep breath, glad nobody could tell how shaky it was. He tried to make his tone light and offhand. “Oh, she's just a girl I know,” he said.

“Maybe she'd like to pay doubles with us—you, too, of course,” Barney said quickly. “With me and this girl I met.”

“I don't know if she plays tennis. Besides,” Nick added, “we have other plans for tomorrow, anyway.”

A fireman stuck his head around the edge of the hall door. “They sure were planning a conflagration, all right. They've got all kinds of stuff stacked up, ready to torch. It'll take us a while to get rid of all of it, make this place safe to be in.” He addressed Nick. “What kind of artist lives over there, anyway? There's this big canvas covered with what look like cat footprints, in red and black paint.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I'm sure glad it didn't get burned up.”

The fireman shook his head. “No question about this one being arson. Third one this
week. With this recession, people can't sell buildings they want to get rid of, so they burn them down to collect the insurance. Would you believe that back east there was a case a few months ago where the
bank
officials hired someone to burn a building? The man buying it couldn't make the payments, so the bank had to take it back, and they didn't have another buyer. They didn't get away with it, of course. It'd be a good idea if you all got out of here now, just in case. There's still a lot of stuff to be cleaned up, and until that's done, the place is dangerous.”