The Great Mistake Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Sylvia McNicoll
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Sawyer’s brow furrows and he frowns. It’s clear he doesn’t remember me. The dogs start barking — there’s something white fluttering from behind him. He gives the Ping Pong team a glare. Not a dog lover. When he finally turns away, I see a long piece of single-ply tissue sticking to the back of his jacket. If he is M.Y.O.B., he might now think I’m investigating him.
day two, mistake seven
“Toilet papering Mrs. Watier’s house — that’s a joke, not vandalism,” I tell Ping and Pong as they strain to go back. “People tie signs and cans to wedding cars all the time.” Mr. Sawyer may have driven that orange Beetle in the afternoon, but the toilet-papering joke doesn’t mean he drove it into the school.
Do you joke with someone who had you transferred? Someone who might have broken up with you? She is marrying someone else, after all. But now that he works at Champlain High School with Mrs. Watier’s fiancé, maybe the two of them like to play tricks on each other.
As a quick double-check, I pull out my cell and press “return call” on M.Y.O.B.’s text. Then I stop the call immediately. What am I thinking? What if M.Y.O.B. really is Mr. Sawyer? He’ll imagine I’m trailing him, and it will be me and the dogs, alone against the Mad Mopper.
I stash the phone in my pocket and walk a few steps. Pong jostles into me from the back. That funny bleep, bleep sound comes from my pocket. My classic mistake, number seven of the day, has to be butt-dialing M.Y.O.B.
Luckily, nothing rings, buzzes, or sings on Mr. Sawyer. I grab my phone, press “end,” and lock the keyboard this time. Meanwhile, Mr. Sawyer disappears into the pizza place.
That probably puts him in the clear, although he could have left his phone in the car.
The dogs don’t give me a lot of time to stew about it. Across the street, a rabbit hops through one of the yards, and they drag me toward it. From there I lead the team to our house rather than the Bennetts’.
“Da-ad!” I call as we step inside. “I’m home! School got cancelled today!”
“I heard. Lucky!” he answers from the kitchen.
As usual, he’s acting all positive so I don’t get anxious. But this time, it’s about a real crash, not just a threat.
I unleash the dogs and they rush to Dad. I follow behind in time to see Pong jump on him and Ping just jump, up and down, like a Jack-Russell-in-the-box.
“Down!” Dad rustles a bag of his liver bite treats, and Ping immediately stops. He shakes Pong off his legs with his knee. “You know, you could work on training these guys while their owners are away.”
“I’m trying to get them to walk nicer. Remember you suggested they were too hard to even take out together.”
“That’s true. You’re doing well.”
My mouth opens for a moment to say something else. But if I talk to Dad about the threatening text, won’t he just tell me I shouldn’t worry, that it’s just some kid fooling around?
Or worse, he could decide we have to go to the police, which would put the dogs in danger. I decide not to share with him. Instead, I know I need to tell him about the free walk he has to give, but I stall with some good news first. “Mr. Mason wants another bag of treats for Bailey.”
“That’s great. He told me they were way overpriced. He can be a real tightwad sometimes.”
I cringe as I get ready to deliver the not-so-good news.
“I’ll take the liver out of the freezer right now so I don’t forget.” He opens the door and removes a small bag. “I’ll buy some more, too. It’s on special this week.”
I clear my throat. “I may have offered Mr. Mason a free walk for Bailey.”
Dad drops the bag on the counter and stares at me. “We already have his business. Why would you do that?”
“Well, I am working on getting Ping and Pong to walk only on city property but sometimes they get confused …” I explain to Dad about the peeing incident.
“Oh, that big cheapskate. He was just trying to get something for nothing. Dogs always mark their territory on whatever’s left around: construction material, workers’ tools, even lunch pails if they’re within reach. He knows that. He has a dog.”
“Dad, I’m sorry. I offered to walk Bailey to make up for it. But he insists it has to be you.”
“You have these guys to look after. And they’re not well behaved enough to just add a third dog.”
“Yes. So you can keep the money from one of the extra walks I’ve given them.”
Dad reacts immediately. He’s a bit of cheapskate himself. “That’s a great solution. You’re a very smart kid!”
day two, mistake eight
If I’m such a smart kid, why can’t I figure out who smashed the Beetle into the school? After all, it’s someone who thinks I know. “Dad, is it okay if I use the computer for a while? I want to do some research.”
“Go ahead. I need to walk five Yorkies. New client of mine.”
“Five, Dad? All with one owner?”
He nods. “And they have little-dog syndrome. They’re yappy and snappy …” He holds up a bag of his special treats. “But I have my secret weapon.”
Immediately, Ping and Pong sit dutifully at his feet, watching that bag. Dad flips them each a liver bite.
“Have a good walk,” I tell him and head for the computer.
The dogs follow me to the den and slump down at the chair in front of the screen. Feeling their warm breath on my ankles, I Google “reverse phone number lookup.”
I select Canada 411.ca and copy M.Y.O.B.’s number into the search bar. After a moment a message reads: No listings were found. Please try again.
Of course. It’s a cellphone. You can’t look up names and addresses for those. Or can you? I immediately Google that question and read an article about how the police have to get court orders before phone companies will release information on unlisted numbers.
Ping barks a warning as my phone rings.
Not M.Y.O.B. I sigh with relief. R. Kobai, the caller name reads. Kobai is Renée’s last name. Still, I answer in official Noble Dog Walkers’ form.
Renée doesn’t even say hello. “The police are charging my brother now.”
“Really? When so many other people drove that Beetle?”
“Yes, well, they traced the bomb threat email to an IP address at Champlain High.”
“Don’t tell me. It’s the computer that your brother usually works on in IT class.”
“Yes, but you know everybody uses each other’s computers sometimes.”
“Sure.”
“You need to bring your cellphone to the police now and show them the threat.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell her.
“Why not? The police will find the guy immediately and the dogs will be safe.”
“That’s what you think. Have you never seen the spy shows where they give an agent a phone to use and then throw it away?”
“Yes, but secret agents have tons of money for all kinds of gadgets. Our criminal probably doesn’t.”
“Maybe, but I think they may be watching me. If they see me going to the police, they’re going to pitch their phone, which will be registered to a phony name, anyway. Then they’re going to come for Pong and Ping.”
Renée sighs at the other end.
“We