The Snake Mistake Mystery Page 9

  Mrs. Klein smiles again but her lips seem all tucked in. “Thanks for this.” She waves the flyer as she continues to the lime-green car. “See you tomorrow night.”

  We grab another couple of papers to deliver and continue on.

  Finished with his side of the street, Reuven now doubles back, delivering on our side. When we finally meet up, I high-five him. “We’re done!”

  “’Bout time. Boy, you guys are slow.” Reuven wipes his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Thanks, though. Why don’t I buy you both a hot dog?”

  Who can say no to a steamed wiener on a warm October day? We head for the convenience store at the end of the street. I wait outside the door with the dogs as Renée and Reuven go inside.

  Renée comes out first carrying a large bowl of water for the dogs. The sound of them lapping it up makes me think of gurgling streams. So calming. I can close my eyes and almost forget that I have lost the Bennetts’ key somewhere. That flicker of a memory gets my heart beating double-time.

  When Reuven returns holding three foil-wrapped hot dogs close to his chest, I suggest we head for the creek where Attila’s latest artwork is sprayed across the inside of that cement pipe. The water will bubble there, and maybe I’ll write another message on those rocks. Keys come back! Criminal, show yourself! I pat my pocket — drat. Empty, of course. Sometimes I carry a Sharpie.

  “Sure. We can stop at the park.” Reuven smiles as he hands us our lunch. “Uh-oh, forgot drinks.”

  A small mistake, I think. I won’t even count that.

  Renée brings the dog bowl back to the store owner and carries out some sky-blue Slurpees for us. We cross the street again and walk toward that creek.

  As we stroll, I sip the frosty liquid in between bites of hot dog. When we reach the potato grater stairs, I’m done my wiener and slide down the slope again with Pong. Renée makes it down faster with Ping.

  Reuven stops at the top of the hill and takes off his canvas newspaper bag. “Hey, do you think anyone would steal my wagon?”

  Renée squints up at it. “No, it’s not garbage day. You’re good.”

  Reuven tosses his bag into the wagon and runs down the stairs.

  Renée’s eyes narrow when he reaches us. “How did you get white paint on it?”

  “Probably from Mr. Kowalski’s van. He’s borrowed it a few times to move art.”

  We all sit down on the same flat rock as last time. The water bubbles. I could relax if only the dogs would settle. Instead, Pong pulls toward the cement pipe.

  I sigh and stand up. “I’m just going to let him lead me. See what’s bugging him.”

  But of course Ping yanks Renée’s arm to join Pong, so she stands up, too. Ping drags her in a zigzag over the rocks, even more twitchy than usual. After all that walking, I can’t believe how much the two of them want to sniff around. It’s like they’re on a squirrel hunt. If the area were fenced, we might drop the leashes and relax, but instead the wagon team pulls us everywhere.

  Ping’s sniffing leads him to another flat rock that angles over a gap in the ground. The gap makes an overhang, and underneath it is a tiny cave. Ping’s sniffing turns into barking, a strange, high-pitched, something-important-is-happening barking. He circles, nose to the ground, more and more frantically. Then he digs near the little cave. Dirt flies onto Pong and he yanks the leash on my arm. Mistake seven of the day turns out to be carrying my Slurpee along on the hunt. The frozen blue slush goes flying.

  DAY TWO, MISTAKE EIGHT

  “Stephen!” Renée shrieks.

  “What? If I wash it right away, the blue won’t stain.”

  “No, look.” She points, her eyes and mouth as wide open as the small cave beneath the rock.

  I bend down and squint. In that cave lies a coil of hose with black and gold markings. But then a little nozzle head peaks out and a red ribbon tongue flickers, like it’s tasting the air.

  I yank my head back. “Ahhhhhhh! Snake!”

  Reuven comes running. “Pick it up! It’s going for the dog!”

  “I … I … I …” I become one with the frozen slush on my shirt. “Renée, pick it up!”

  “No, you.”

  “This is King. Our chance to make a new customer happy. Grab him! We don’t want him getting away.”

  Pong dashes in but backs out when the tongue flicks his way. The hose uncoils. The nozzle head swivels toward Ping. Ping moves closer, peeling back his lips and snarling.

  Pong definitely carries the brains of the duo.

  “Hurry!” Reuven screams. “He’s going to bite Ping!”

  I can’t stand it. Dropping Pong’s leash, I dive down and snatch up the snake by the neck. Then I lift him. He’s not even that big. Way shorter than Renée. Feels like leather. I yell, “I’m holding a snake! I’m holding a snake! I’m holding a snake!”

  Ping jumps on me, snapping at it. I lift the snake higher. He’s not heavy but my arm quivers. The tail of the snake begins to curl up toward my elbow. I want to squeeze really hard till his tail stops tickling at my sleeve. Or fling him high in the sky.

  Rouf! Rouf! Rouf! Pong’s barking hard, and he never barks, so I know I’m in trouble.

  “Don’t hurt it,” Reuven calls.

  Don’t hurt it? He’s right. I can’t hurt King. No matter how I feel about snakes. We need him alive. He’s someone’s pet, and Noble Dog Walking takes care of pets, even if they slither. “Get away, Ping! Stop that.” I nudge the little dog away with my knee. “Renée, grab King’s tail.”

  She shuts her eyes and covers her ears like an explosion is coming. “I ca-ca-can’t!” She stomps her feet like she’s marching.

  “Pu-lease, Renée. He’s going to constrict my arm!” I hold his head out a full arm’s length away. At least he can’t choke my neck that way. But the tail begins to wrap around my elbow. “Renée!”

  She opens her eyes, drops her head, and yells as she grabs. “Ahhhhhhhh!” Both dogs bark along with her. Renée unwinds a loop of tail from my arm and holds it.

  We shuffle toward the stairs. “Can you help us, Reuven?”

  “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

  “Can you grab the leashes and walk the dogs for us?” I ask.

  “You’re going to carry that snake all the way to Overton?” He points to my stiff arm raised high above my head. “That high in the air?”

  It’s starting to feel sore just at the suggestion.

  “He’s got a point, Stephen,” Renée says, holding the tail almost as high. “Our arms are going to fall off by the next block.”

  “Fine. Call Animal Control!” I shout at Reuven.

  “I don’t have a cell phone.”

  “Take mine!” I reach my other hand into my pocket and hurl it at him.

  He catches it. “What’s the number?”

  “Ask Genie!”

  He speaks into the phone.

  “Hurry!”

  He sticks one finger into his other ear and talks over Ping’s yapping and growling. “Um, hello. Could you send someone to the little park on Duncaster Road. It’s an emergency. We found a ball python.”

  Renée and I stand there, side by side, frozen, connected by something we hate touching. I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to her.

  I squeeze my eyes so I don’t see the little red tongue flicking my way. “How long, Reuven?”

  “Um, they’re on another call right now. Twenty minutes.”

  “I can’t hold it that long,” Renée whimpers.

  “Come on, Renée, you just have the tail! Reuven,” I yell louder, “I can’t hold it that long!” My arm throbs.

  “Okay, okay,” Reuven says. “I’ve got an idea.”

  I hear him pound up the metal stairs and I open my eyes again. He snatches up his canvas bag from the wagon and runs back down.

  “Her
e!” He opens the bag. “Put him in.”

  I lower the hand holding King. Down, down, down. Close to the bottom of the bag. “I’m afraid to let go!”

  “Renée, put your end in,” Reuven says.

  She lowers her tail-holding hand into the bag, too.

  “Good. You’re going to let go together. On three. One … two … and three!”

  Renée and I both release the snake and then jump back. Reuven throws the flap over the top of the bag.

  I double over and hang my head and hands down in relief. Then I pick up Pong’s leash again.

  “We did it!” Renée gives me a hip check.

  Reuven is kind of left holding the bag.

  But not for long. From the corner of my eye, I see the Animal Control van cruise to a stop at the top of the hill.

  “That was fast!” Renée waves to get the driver’s attention.

  The door opens and a tall woman in uniform heads our way, a net in her hands.

  “I thought it might be you kids!” A familiar voice. Janet Lacey scrambles down the stairs. “Nothing much to do at the office, and a truck was free.” She ambles over to us. “When I heard the snake call, I thought, I’m so there.”

  “That’s okay, we have everything under control. The snake is in Reuven’s newspaper carrying bag,” I explain. “We can take it back to its owner.”

  “I don’t think so. You called Animal Control and I’m here. I’m taking it in.”

  Reuven holds out his canvas bag.

  She drops her net to take it. “Too bad you guys had all the fun.” She takes a peek under the flap. “What a beaut! Did my snake trap actually work?”

  “No. We used our bare hands,” Renée complains.

  Ms. Lacey nods. “Always easiest. So this little guy belongs to someone, but they didn’t secure the cage properly.”

  “Yes,” I answer. “Salma Harik. We were hired to make sure her snake ate. But she’s away on business till tomorrow.”

  “Did he get fed?” Ms. Lacey asks.

  “Not by us,” Renée answers.

  “We’ll take care of that. You tell her to come over and pick up her pet.”

  “But she needs to know Noble Dog Walking looked after him properly,” I plead with her.

  “Yeah, but you’re Noble Dog Walking, not Noble Snake Walking. No way am I letting you hike back to her house with a snake in a bag. He could escape again.”

  “Are you going to fine the owner?” I ask.

  “Depends. How does she feel about cats?” Ms. Lacey asks.

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head. It’s hopeless trying to convince her to leave King with us. “Fine. Take the snake to the shelter.”

  “Exactly what I plan to do … How’s Mickey working out for you?” Her eyes twinkle like the diamond on her finger. “You’re not returning him, are you?”

  “Never!” Renée’s eyes narrow. “I’m training him.”

  “Thought not.” Ms. Lacey grins. “But you can’t teach an old mouse new tricks.”

  “Yeah, you can!” Renée insists. “He’s walking backward for me.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay, see you tomorrow.” She holds up the bag, smiling at it like a prize. “Don’t worry so much. Your client might love a cat.”

  “Anything would be better than a snake,” Renée answers.

  “Shhhh!” Ms. Lacey moves the bag away from Renée as though King might hear. “Can I keep this bag for the moment?”

  Reuven’s mouth shifts, up, down, around, and then up again. “I guess. I’m done my papers for today.”

  “Good. Swing by the shelter tomorrow afternoon for the Cat-astrophe and pick it up.” She waggles her eyebrows. “There’ll be cookies.” One-handed, she leans over and grabs her net from the ground. “Pick up a cat while you’re at it.”

  Out of my mouth pops a random question, and not the Renée kind. It’s a mistake to even ask, I know it. I can’t even own one. Because of Mom’s allergies. Mistake eight. “Are any of the other animals on sale?”

  DAY TWO, MISTAKE NINE

  “Funny you should ask that.” Ms. Lacey nods. “Minnie just came in this afternoon. Pure white coat. Gorgeous red eyes.”

  “A mouse?” Renée perks up. “Mickey would love company.” She turns to me. “Mice are social animals, you know.”

  Princess Einstein. “Okay, Renée. But will your dad even let you keep Mickey?”

  She shrugs.

  “Anyhow, I’m letting Minnie go for free, Monday night special.” Ms. Lacey winks. “To the right party, of course.” She grins. “Well, I gotta get back to the office” — she holds up the canvas bag — “and feed this here guy.”

  “Don’t use Minnie!” Renée shrieks.

  “’Course not. Not before Cat-astrophe. I’ll boil King an egg.” She heads up the stairs again.

  We wave as she drives away.

  “She is a little bit strange, isn’t she?” Reuven comments.

  “A little?” I remember my dream of her marrying the Mr. Universe medal in her office amongst all those cats, and smile.

  “Medusa,” Renée grumbles.

  “Not like anyone else is all that normal in Brant Hills. When you think about it.” I want to sit down and talk about all our strange neighbours, figure out the true suspects, maybe figure out the real thief and whether he’s our car vandalizer, too. Or she.

  But even after delivering newspapers for hours, and capturing and holding onto a ball python for minutes that felt like hours, we still don’t manage to sit down. The dogs keep pulling us to sniff around the bushes and rocks. Reuven wanders to the cement pipe, where he gets his first look at Attila’s masterpiece. The dogs follow him to see what he’s up to.

  “Wow!” Reuven raises his hands in awe. “This is such a great likeness of King! Times three!”

  Uh-oh. This could be a mistake on his part.

  “Attila didn’t paint King.” Renée folds her arms across her chest. Ping actually sits down now at her feet. “He painted a serpent from his imagination.”

  “Oh, come on.” Reuven points to one of the serpent’s heads. “Right down to the colour of his spots?”

  Ping yaps at him.

  “He never uses live models!” Clearly in a mood now, Renée walks away, dragging Ping.

  Reuven knits his eyebrows and turns to me.

  Thinking Reuven’s attention is for him, Pong flops his tail back and forth against my leg.

  I shrug my shoulders.

  I know better than to suggest that Attila stole the snake from Salma Harik’s house. We did see him just before we entered her house for the first time. Was he carrying something?

  I close my eyes and picture Star and Attila, all in black, running across the street with their cell phones in front of their faces. Mr. Rupert’s Cadillac screeching to a stop. Yelling at them. I shake my head. So much going on. Whatever. I decide it’s best to change the subject. “Reuven, would you have a marker?”

  “Certainly. I have one right here in my pocket.” He removes a blue Sharpie and gives it to me. “What do you want to do with it?”

  “Let me show you.” Pong and I lead him from the cement pipe to the stones with the messages written on them. Renée’s standing there too, now. Reuven reads some of the messages out loud. “Harry loves Salma. Isn’t Salma your snake owner?”

  “Not a common name. So probably.”

  “Wonder what this one means. Ten fifteen, Saturday, October twentieth. Freedom!”

  “Someone had their last cigarette,” Renée grumbles.

  I bend down to a stone and write, Find the key.

  “Wasn’t ten fifteen the time the power failed yesterday?” Reuven asks.

  “Who cares!” Renée takes the marker, lifts a small rock, and holds it at different angles.

  “Oh yes, I am certain of
it now. Ten fifteen.” He shakes his pointer finger at us. “Dad found a perfectly good analogue clock last week. Just had to clean it and plug it in. The hands stopped at ten fifteen yesterday.”

  I nod. “We were walking Ping and Pong around then.” I think for a moment. What could it mean? “Someone found freedom when the power failed.”

  “Maybe someone quit their job yesterday,” Reuven says. “Or could be someone broke up with someone else.”

  “Harry and Salma! Mom said she was upset on the plane about breaking up.”

  “Shut up!” Renée snaps.

  Reuven and I both turn to her. Is she still this mad because he suggested her brother painted King on the cement pipe?

  With her hair covering her face as she bends to write on a fist-sized rock, we can’t tell. But the message she puts out to the world is Happy family.

  Not likely her family is happy if she can’t even go home tonight because her parents are fighting so much over Attila.

  Is she worried her parents are breaking up?

  Her hair falls back, and I see her eyes and mouth all scrunched up as she raises the hand with the rock in it. She pitches it against the cement pipe so hard it leaves a little white mark. The rock tumbles down unbroken. Renée stands there, hands on her hips, mouth and eyes opening back up.

  Ping jumps on her leg, barking. She drops down to him and he licks her face like mad. Renée wraps an arm around him.

  Crazy little dog.

  “I want to do one!” Reuven crouches to take his marker back. He kneels beside a larger stone, tilts his head, and screws up his mouth. Finally, he draws two eyes, two ears, a triangle nose, whiskers, and a circle around it.

  Renée looks over, sniffs, wipes at her eyes, and smiles a half-smile. “Awwww. You really want to have a kitty!”

  Reuven shrugs. “I like animals.”

  They both stand up at the same time.

  With our goals written on the rocks, I feel a little better. Like we’ve put them out there for the universe to help us. Kind of how I feel when I count mistakes, like I can separate them from me, analyze them, and benefit from them. It looks like Renée feels better, too.

  But then my cell phone buzzes, and I realize it’s a mistake to believe a stone can help me solve my problems. Mistake number nine. Especially when the text from Dad reads: