The Pet-Sitting Peril (7 page)

Sam opened the front door, then turned his head. “What are you doing? What's under there?”

For Nick, struck by the memory of that red gas can in the closet under the stairs, had turned back. What if it had been there, and there had been a fire! For a moment he thought the door was locked, for it resisted his effort to open it. And then it gave under his hand, and in the light of the newly installed hall bulb Nick stared into the closet.

The red can was gone. Then Mr. Haggard had done something about it. The old man had been in so much pain lately, it had seemed unlikely to Nick that he would. But the idea of it must have worried him, too.

Nobody noticed that Nick was unusually late getting home. He had been spending time with Sam after his evening walk with Rudy, and now everyone just assumed that's where he had been. He wondered if he should tell about the fire. But even if he had really wanted to, everyone was so busy talking that no one would have listened.

Mr. and Mrs. Reed were still spending a lot of time at the hospital. Grandma was better, but she was still uncomfortable. Molly was full of stories about the outrageous things the Franklin kids tried. And Barney, as usual, was eating up a storm.

Nick remembered guiltily that he had never mentioned his chance to make extra money by staying a few nights a week with
Fred and Maynard. Mrs. Monihan had been gone now since Tuesday, and he would have to do something about that soon. Fred and Maynard were always glad to see him when he came, but he had never had the sense that they were suffering at being left alone. Still, the extra money did look good. On the other hand, if someone had tried to burn the place down, he'd rather be sleeping at home, in case they tried again. But that would leave Fred and Maynard alone in a burning building, and he didn't like to think of that either.

If it hadn't been for that gas can stored in the front closet—the can that was now gone—and the lightbulbs that burned out so readily, it would be easy to believe that the fire in the alley had been started by kids, stupidly fooling around with matches. As it was, Nick felt distinctly uneasy about the entire matter, and he decided he'd really like to talk to his father about it. Only his father looked awfully tired, and went upstairs before there was a chance to say anything.

So Nick tried telling his brother. Barney's half of the room was meticulously neat,
compared to Nick's, and he stood in his pajamas, writing in a new page of lawn-mowing dates on the sheet Scotch taped to the closet door.

“And when I looked in the closet again,” Nick concluded, after speaking to Barney's back for several minutes, “the gas can was gone.”

Barney, finished with his chart, turned and came to sit on the bed opposite Nick's. “Well, you told that old Mr. Haggard about the can being in the closet, didn't you?”

“Yes. It seemed dangerous there.”

“So he probably told Mr. Griesner, and
he
took it out and put it in a better place.”

Nick hadn't thought of that. Of course, that was logical.

“You didn't smell any gasoline at the scene of the fire, did you?”

Nick tried to remember. “No. I'm sure I'd have noticed if there'd been a smell like gasoline.”

“Well, then, it's not very likely anybody poured gas on the boxes to get them going. You wouldn't need to, anyway, because cardboard and packing stuff burns like crazy without any
help at all. Besides, the fire department men are trained to look for things like that. If it's arson, they can just about always tell. Why would anybody want to burn down that old dump, anyway?”

“It's not a dump,” Nick protested. “It's old, and old-fashioned, and it needs paint and some fixing up, but Dad says most of those old houses were built better than the places they build today, or they wouldn't still be here after a hundred years. But Rudy did bark, and chase after something, off down the alley.”

“Probably a cat,” Barney said. He slid into bed and twiddled his radio dial, bringing in some of that music Nick hated instead of what had been playing when Nick entered the room. “You said he's wild to chase cats.”

“It wasn't a cat that locked him inside that fence.”

“He could have chased a cat in there. If he was running and took a jump, he could clear a pretty high fence, couldn't he? And then the cat climbed a tree, or went in the house, or something, and Rudy was stuck in the yard, too dumb to jump back out the way he came in.
Come on, Nick, turn out the light. I have to be up early.”

“Turn off the radio, then, so I can go to sleep, too.”

“I've got it down low,” Barney said, and closed his eyes, hands folded on his chest.

Nick considered throwing his fielder's glove at the radio and knocking it off the table. Maybe it would break and stop playing. Only he supposed his parents would expect him to pay for it if he broke it. He turned out the light and hoped the investigator from the fire department would decide that the blaze had simply been an accident. He'd sure feel better about it then.

  •  •  •  

On Saturday morning, though, when he reached the Hillsdale Apartments, he saw with alarm that there was an ambulance at the curb, along with the Cadillac belonging to Mr. Hale, and another car that, while unmarked, bore an official license plate.

The front door stood open, and the entry hall was full of people. Nick stood looking in, not wanting to push through between them.
Mr. Hale was talking, sounding agitated and upset.

“Well, what are you doing to find out who did it?”

A stranger in a checked sport coat and slacks replied more calmly. “We're doing everything we can, sir. At this point there's no reason to think it was an attempt to burn your house. We found a few matches, unlighted ones, scattered along the edge of the alley, behind the house next door. More than likely it was kids fooling around, and when the fire went up, they got scared and ran and threw the rest of the matches. We'll talk to the people on this block, sir, make sure the parents of all youngsters are aware of the situation.”

“You don't think the streetlights being out had anything to do with it?” Mr. Hale persisted. “Funny one on each end of the block would go out at the same time, just before the back of my house catches fire.”

“We're investigating,” the newcomer said smoothly. Then his gaze fell upon Nick. “You live here, young man?”

“Is somebody hurt?” Nick asked, because
the ambulance was there, back door open as if the attendants were here, inside the house.

“Old man is sick, I guess,” Mr. Hale said. “Apartment one. Fire was too much for him.”

“Mr. Haggard?” Nick stepped inside, now able to see that the door was open into the front apartment. “What happened? He was all right when I was here last night!”

“You were here last night? Were you here the time of the fire?” the investigator said, but Nick was already moving past him.

“Mr. Haggard! Mr. Haggard, what happened?” Nick demanded. Nobody stopped him from going inside, and the two men easing the old fellow onto the wheeled cart turned to look at him.

“You a relative?” one of them asked.

“No, no,” Mr. Haggard said, struggling to sit up as the attendant fastened straps across his torso. “I told you, I have no relatives. Only Rudy, my dog. This is Nick, the boy who takes care of Rudy for me. I was afraid you wouldn't come, boy, before they took me away.”

Nick moved to the stretcher and stood close to the old man. “What happened?”

“My leg is worse. Hurt so bad I couldn't hardly stand it, all night. Must have been getting out of here in such a hurry last night. They may have to operate on it. Listen, boy, you stay over here and take care of Rudy, all right?”

“Sure, Mr. Haggard, I'll take care of Rudy,” Nick assured him. He felt deeply sorry for the old man; pain was evident in his face.

“Be sure he gets his vitamins,” Mr. Haggard said. “Bottle just inside the cupboard. He won't eat his dog food unless you put the vitamins on it. And bring in my mail, will you? Don't get much that's important, except my pension check, but you bring it inside.”

“Sure. I'll bring it to you in the hospital, if you want,” Nick offered. It made him feel bad to see the old man suffering this way. “Don't worry about Rudy. I'll take good care of him.”

The blanket was tucked around Mr. Haggard and the straps pulled tight enough to keep him in place when he was lifted into the ambulance. The men began to roll the gurney toward the door.

Rudy whimpered, knowing something was
wrong, and Nick caught him by the collar and held him back. “Sit, boy,” he said, and Rudy sat, though he continued to make sounds of distress, deep in his throat.

Nick got the dog's leash and slipped the choke chain over his head. He wasn't allowed to take the Airedale for a walk, though, not yet.

The stranger was still there in the hall, and he blocked the outside doorway. Nick had to stop, though Rudy strained at the leash in his eagerness to get out of doors.

“Excuse me,” Nick said, but the man didn't move.

“My name's Howard. Paul Howard. I'm with the Fire Marshal's office,” the man said, and Nick began to have an odd tingling sensation that was not at all pleasant. “I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes, young fellow.”

Nick swallowed. “Yes, sir. Only Rudy hasn't been out yet this morning. Could I just take him back in the alley for a few minutes?”

“I'll walk there with you,” Mr. Howard agreed. He nodded toward Mr. Hale and Mr. Griesner. “I'll be speaking with you gentlemen again.”

It seemed almost a threat. And while Nick had no reason to feel guilty, no reason to worry about what the investigation would reveal, he couldn't help having a sense of apprehension.

“If it was kids, fooling around, I hope you put the fear of the law into them,” Mr. Hale said sharply. “If the fire had had another ten minutes start before the alarm was turned in, I'd have lost the whole building.”

“Not to mention the belongings of all of us that live here,” Mr. Griesner added sourly. “And maybe even some of us, ourselves.”

Mr. Howard allowed Nick and Rudy to go down the front steps, walking slightly behind them because that was the only safe place to be in relation to the Airedale. Otherwise, it was possible to be knocked down.

“Setting fires is a serious business,” Mr. Howard said, as if Nick didn't know that. When Nick made no response, Mr. Howard added earnestly, as they reached the sidewalk, “It's better to admit to having made a mistake than to allow an expensive investigation to go on. It costs a lot of taxpayers' money to send men out to find out how a fire began, and it
would be easier on everybody if the culprit simply told the truth. We don't put anybody in jail for accidentally starting a fire, you know.”

Fear and anger welled up in Nick, and he didn't know which was the stronger emotion. He tried to speak, stumbling as Rudy jerked him off the curb, and his voice would not work at all.

“Do you like to watch fires?” Mr. Howard asked, pausing to allow Nick time to disentangle himself from Rudy's chain and get him back on the right course. “Lots of people do, they're fascinated by fire.”

This time Nick managed to speak, though his voice squeaked. “I go watch a fire when there's one in the neighborhood, the same as anyone else,” he said. “My dad always told me to keep well back out of the way of the firefighters. And he taught me never to be careless with fire. I never have been, since I was a little kid.”

He wondered what Mr. Howard would think if he knew about that one time, when Nick was six and Barney was eight, when they
had
played with matches, and set a grass fire
that had nearly scared both of them to death. Luckily their father had been home and had come running with a hose and a shovel, and they hadn't needed the fire department to put it out; neither of the boys would ever forget the lecture they'd listened to once the danger was ended. Because Barney was older, and he was the one who'd actually gotten the matches out of the kitchen, he'd been most severely reprimanded. Yet Nick's ears felt blistered for weeks, and he'd never been tempted to experiment with fire after that. The idea of causing great damage and maybe even someone's death was enough to make him very careful from then on.

He gathered his courage now, looked directly at Mr. Howard, and said as forcefully as he could, “I didn't have anything to do with that fire last night, and neither did my friend Sam. It was just the way we told the fireman last night. Rudy heard something in the alley and barked, the way he does when he's surprised, and we looked that way and saw the little spark, and then all those boxes burst into flames. Sam ran to turn in the alarm and warn
the people in the house, and I got the hose. That's all we had to do with it.”

He was trembling a little, and he walked rapidly because Rudy was eager to go. Ordinarily Nick would have run with him, but he couldn't do that as long as Mr. Howard wanted to talk.

He hoped the man would believe him, but to his astonishment it was as if Nick had never said anything at all. As they turned into the familiar alley, still smelling of scorched wood and paper, the investigator said, “Sometimes a boy is so fascinated with fires that he sets them just to watch them burn, without considering the consequences in damage or lives. Sometimes he starts a fire to give himself a chance to be a hero. You know, to turn in the alarm and warn the people and help put the fire out.”

Nick stopped in the middle of the alley so suddenly that Rudy skidded on the gravel and looked at him wonderingly. “I never did any of those things. I don't know if the fire was arson or an accident, but
I
didn't have anything to do with it. Sam and I were together, and both
know the truth. Why don't you find out why the lights were out, the way Mr. Hale said? It sure made it dark enough back here in the alley so nobody could see what was going on, and it's peculiar the
two
streetlights would go out at the same time. Besides the lights in the house and on the porch. And the can of gas in the closet under the stairs.”