The Pet-Sitting Peril Read online

  As he came alongside the Hillsdale Apartments, he saw Mr. Griesner standing in the yard, and that investigator from the fire department was with him. Nick’s footsteps slowed.

  The red gas can lay on its side, almost concealed in the shrubbery against the side of the house. Its contents had spilled out; he could smell the gas slightly even from out here on the sidewalk.

  Both men stopped talking and turned to look at him. Mr. Howard cleared his throat. “Hello, Nick. Is this the can you thought you saw in the closet in the front hall?”

  Even then, with his stomach suddenly cramping in apprehension, Nick resented the choice of words. Thought he saw? The can was in plain sight, so they must admit now that there had been a can, at least.

  “Yes. It looks like the same one.” Nick’s voice wavered, and he quickly brought it under control. His fingerprints were on the can, his and Sam’s, and for all he knew they might be the only fingerprints on the thing. He cleared his throat. “We found it—Sam and I, Saturday night in Mr. Haggard’s apartment. Under his sink, when we went to get out the dog food. I didn’t think that was a good place to keep it, so I . . . I brought it outside, and put it down there on the sidewalk, by the bushes. I meant to tell someone about it, but I forgot.”

  “You brought it out here?” Mr. Howard was looking at him with narrowed eyes, or so it seemed to Nick. “Did you pour gas over the shrubs, here, or on those back steps into Mr. Griesner’s apartment?”

  Nick’s apprehension curdled into outright fear. “No, sir. All I did was put it down on the sidewalk, where I figured it couldn’t hurt anything until someone could dispose of it. It wasn’t spilled anywhere; the cap was on it, tight.”

  Mr. Griesner spoke crossly, only for once it seemed that the annoyance was directed at someone other than Nick. “I told you, I heard a ruckus about three o’clock Sunday morning. I got up and looked out my back door—that side door, I mean—and didn’t see anybody, so I just made sure everything was locked the way it’s supposed to be, and I went back to bed. I figured it was some punk taking a shortcut who ran into something. I didn’t know it was the gas can sitting there. We have trouble every once in a while with guys cutting across here. Sometimes I hear one of them trying the doors, just to see if I’ve been stupid enough to leave it open. Kids, looking for something to rip off. Might have found it yesterday, but I was gone to my daughter’s most of the day.”

  “Kids,” Mr. Howard said thoughtfully. “But you didn’t see anybody?”

  “I only heard him,” Mr. Griesner repeated.

  “I—we heard something about that time, too,” Nick said. “It woke us up, and Rudy growled. And Maynard, upstairs, he barked, too.”

  He almost told them he’d been convinced the sounds were inside the house, not outside. Now he wasn’t so certain of that, and he didn’t want Mr. Howard to think he was making up things to turn suspicion away from himself.

  “Yeah, I heard the mutt upstairs,” Mr. Griesner confirmed. “I tell you, if this place belonged to me, I wouldn’t allow any pets. Nuisance, they are. Always making noise.”

  “The dogs often bark at night, then?” Mr. Howard asked.

  “No, no, not very often. Just once in a while, when somebody cuts through the yard at night and runs into a garbage can or, like Saturday night, that gas can. I just don’t like animals much. They’re dirty,” Mr. Griesner said, in a tone that allowed for no other opinion.

  “Well, if you found the gas can in Mr. Haggard’s apartment, that explains why it wasn’t still in the closet,” Mr. Howard said. For the first time he smiled a little.

  This wasn’t reassuring, however, since Nick had to reply to that with another negative. “I asked him, this afternoon at the hospital, and Mr. Haggard said he didn’t put it there. He didn’t know how it got there.”

  Mr. Howard’s smile vanished. “His apartment is kept locked, isn’t it? Of course, you have a key, don’t you, Nick.” That part wasn’t a question.

  “Sure, I have a key. And I do keep it locked, except that once Sam and I came back from walking Rudy and it was unlatched. I don’t know what happened that time, but we didn’t see any sign anybody had been in there, or taken anything.”

  “Was the gas can there then?”

  “I don’t know. I never looked. I didn’t see it before Saturday night, and then it was Sam who discovered it. He was looking for the dog food and opened the wrong door first.”

  Mr. Howard smiled again, but there was a frostiness about him, as if he never quite believed anything that anybody said. “I see. Well, the streetlights have been repaired after somebody shot them out, probably with a BB gun, the trash has been moved from the alley, and there’s no longer a can of gasoline on the premises. It should be safe around here now, anyway, even if we don’t pin down what happened the other night.”

  That should have been reassuring. Nick wasn’t at all certain that he felt reassured, though, as he went on into the house. He took care of Eloise first, to get that over with. It took him half an hour. And he wasn’t sure how much of the stuff he got into her. Then he went down to Mr. Haggard’s place, and Rudy heard him coming and yelped a welcome as he manipulated the keys in the lock.

  The workmen were there again, with a ladder leaning against the wall; they came from the back of the house as Nick and Rudy headed out for a walk.

  “Hey, kid, the manager don’t answer his door,” the one called Al said. “Tell him we found the short in the wiring, but we can’t fix it until tomorrow, okay? So the lights here in the hall and on the porch won’t work until then. I think it probably puts the lights out in that apartment there, too. Try the switch and see, will you?”

  Nick obediently paused to try Mr. Haggard’s lights. Nothing.

  Al nodded. “I thought so. Wiring’s old in this place. Really ought to be rewired completely, but I don’t reckon Mr. Hale will spring for a big job like that. We’ll take care of this on Saturday, when we can be here all day.” He paused to look more intently at Nick. “Nobody living in that apartment right now anyway, is there? Old man’s in the hospital or something?”

  “Yes,” Nick agreed, and knew he wasn’t going to stay there without lights, either.

  Al kicked at the ladder leaning beside the door. “You think it’s okay if I leave this here overnight? We’ll have to use it tomorrow again.”

  “Yeah,” Greg assured him. “It’s off to the side, nobody’s going to trip on it. We’ll have to work in the attic next time we come. I hope the people right under us won’t get perturbed because of the hammering and everything. Nobody home there right now, is there?”

  “Mrs. Monihan’s visiting in Chicago,” Nick said. “I don’t know about Clyde and Roy. They usually play loud music when they’re home.”

  “Okay. I guess we won’t bother them too much. See you, kid.”

  Nick couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for walking Rudy that evening, and several times the Airedale caught him off balance, pulling him to one side as Rudy investigated something interesting. Once it was a glob of some unsavory-looking garbage that the dog gulped down before Nick could stop him; another time they plunged into a tangle of berry vines after a half-glimpsed cat.

  “Come on, Rudy, cut it out,” Nick said, but he couldn’t put conviction into that, even.

  All he could think about was spending the night in the Hillsdale Apartments, alone. Without Sam. Without anybody.

  He didn’t have to, he reminded himself. He could still go home.

  Sure, he could. And have Barney and Chuck wanting to know why, and laughing at him. And then telling every kid in town that Nick was chicken, a coward.

  By the time they returned to the house, Nick had made up his mind to call his father. He’d have to wait until nine thirty, or maybe ten, before his father would be home from bowling. He’d tell him the whole thing, and then, Nick thought, already beginning to know relief, his father would take over and do what was sensible. It was too much of a decision for a kid not quite twelve years old.<
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  The workmen had left not only the ladder but a tool box and some other junk in the entryway. Boy, if anybody tried moving through here with the lights out, they’d break their necks. Or at least a toe. Nick paused long enough to shift the tool box closer to the wall.

  Rudy raced to his dishes, plunging his nose into the water, slurping noisily, then letting his beard drip on the floor afterward, as he always did. He stood looking at Nick, then.

  “I’ll get it,” Nick said, and stopped. For there was food in the food dish, the little pellets that were supposed to look like dried meat.

  Nick scowled. He didn’t remember putting anything in the dish except this morning, and the dog usually ate everything immediately. After the evening walk the only thing Rudy got was his dog biscuit.

  Rudy was watching him, tongue hanging out as he panted, though since they’d hardly run at all this time there was no reason for him to be tired out.

  He was waiting for his “cookie.” With a sigh, wondering if old-age forgetfulness was catching, Nick got out the box and fed Rudy his treat. Then Rudy bent down and finished the food in the dish. Without vitamins? Nick wondered. Then decided the pellets must be left over from breakfast.

  Nick left him there and went up the stairs. It was still light outside, though growing gloomy within, and he tried out his little pocket flashlight, which he had remembered tonight, just to be sure he didn’t get caught here in the pitch dark later on with dead batteries.

  As he entered Mrs. Monihan’s living room, Fred rose and stretched, meowing a greeting. Usually Maynard yipped a welcome, too, but this time he didn’t. The fluffy little dog stood in the doorway to the kitchen, giving only a tentative wag of his tail as Nick walked toward him.

  “What’s the matter?” Nick said. “You think I forgot to feed you?”

  The lights were all right here, he was glad to see. And then he stared down at the colored bowls along the wall. Was he losing his mind, or what? There was still food in Maynard’s dish, too, though it wasn’t full.

  And there was . . .

  He almost stepped in it before he realized what was in the middle of the kitchen floor. Maynard had upchucked his dog food; it hadn’t even begun to digest, yet, but that didn’t make it any less repulsive.

  Nick made a sound of disgust, and Maynard gave another feeble wag of his tail, waiting for Nick to scold him, perhaps.

  “What’s making you sick?” Nick demanded. “You were okay this morning.”

  The brushy tail drooped.

  “Well, I guess you can’t help being sick. And at least you didn’t throw up on the rug.” Nick looked around for something to use to clean up the mess, and told himself firmly that he would not be sick himself, doing it. Fred came and brushed against him as he knelt, purring his pleasure that their keeper had come. No doubt Mrs. Monihan was right after all, the animals did get lonesome when they were left alone for hours and hours.

  “Okay,” Nick told him. “I’ll stay up here with you until it’s time to call my dad. We’ll watch TV together or something.”

  Maynard had dropped onto his belly and regarded Nick through the dirty-looking strands of hair that hung over his eyes.

  “You feeling better now?” Nick asked. He rubbed the small head, and Maynard licked at his hand, grateful for the attention. “I don’t know if you’re sick enough so we should pass up the walk, or not. I hope you’re not going to be really sick, so you need a vet or anything.”

  Nick reached for the leash, just to see if Maynard acted interested in their usual evening excursion, and Maynard stood up at once. Yes, he’d have to go out in the alley for a few minutes, anyway. If he didn’t seem very spritely, Nick would simply bring him back after that.

  Maynard wasn’t quite up to par, but he trotted along as if with purpose, not to be deprived of his exercise; they went down the alley through the block, and then around and back down Hillsdale Street. Though Maynard was reassuringly normal-acting by the time they returned, Nick decided that was enough for tonight.

  Maynard barked as they went in the front door. Not a warning bark, only a sharp little yap, acknowledging someone he recognized, maybe.

  Though the streetlight had come on, as on Saturday night very little of the illumination penetrated the entryway. For once Rudy wasn’t whining on the other side of the door because of Nick’s arrival; there was only silence. Nick’s flashlight made a narrow yellow band across the worn linoleum at the foot of the stairs.

  “Nick, is that you?”

  He jumped, for he hadn’t heard anyone coming. The light focused on a pair of stockinged feet, then rose up the bean-pole length of Mrs. Sylvan, who was clutching Eloise against her chest.

  “What on earth is going on with the lights in this place?” she demanded, as if he were personally responsible for the lack of them. “All I have is a bathroom light. Everything is off in my living room and kitchen. Poor Eloise was alone in the dark when I got home, and now I can’t even put my feet up and read or watch a little television before I go to bed. I knocked on Mr. Griesner’s door but he didn’t answer. I suppose he’s gone over to his daughter’s for dinner; he sometimes does that on a Monday night.”

  Imagine Mr. Griesner having a daughter. Nick hadn’t thought him the sort of person who had any relatives, especially younger ones. Though come to think of it, he had mentioned being at his daughter’s yesterday.

  “Some men have been here, making repairs,” Nick explained. He felt Maynard’s slight weight settle onto his right foot, warming it. “There’s something wrong with the wiring, that’s why the hall light kept going out, and they can’t fix it until tomorrow.”

  He had the flash trained on her midsection, so as not to blind her, but he could see her face above the circle of light. Her thin lips were pinched together, her expression exasperated.

  “And we’re supposed to get along until tomorrow without any electricity? I can’t even make myself a cup of tea. Is the power off in the whole house?” And then, before Nick could reply, she asked, “Is there power in Mr. Haggard’s apartment?”

  “No, ma’am. It’s off there, too.” He could have volunteered that the stove was working in Mrs. Monihan’s apartment, but he didn’t really want to.

  She made a furious snorting sound. “If apartments everywhere weren’t so expensive, I’d be tempted to move out. There’s always something malfunctioning around here. Well, I’m not going to sit in a cold, dark room, with no tea, until bedtime. And then not be able to have a hot breakfast, either.”

  She shifted the fluffy white cat so that its head rested against her chin, her fingers buried deep in the soft fur. “I’m going to call my sister and invite myself over there for the night. I can’t take Eloise, though. They have a monstrous, ill-mannered dog who terrifies her. So would you mind giving her the last dose of medicine tonight?”

  Nick stared at her, his heart sinking. After his half hour struggle earlier, he had no desire to tangle with Eloise again. “It’s getting harder and harder to get it into her,” he said now. “She knows what I intend to do, and she always runs away.” He didn’t mention that Eloise had climbed furniture and curtains to escape, and that he had the feeling it was dangerous to turn his back on her for fear she’d jump on him and bite his neck. “I was hoping she’d be better pretty soon and not need the medicine any more.”

  “Has she been giving you trouble? Poor baby, I’m sure it frightens her.”

  No more than Eloise frightened him, Nick thought; the way she looked at him he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d gone for his eyes.

  “I brought home a cat carrier,” Mrs. Sylvan said. “To take her to the veterinarian tomorrow. If he says she’s better now, we can stop the medication. I didn’t have a carrier before, and it was very traumatic for Eloise; the other animals disturbed her, and it was all I could do to hold her. So this time she’ll travel in the box, which should be easier on her.”

  Not to mention easier on anyone who had to handle her. “Is it too earl
y to give her the last dose now? I mean, then you could put her in the cage ahead of time, for the night,” Nick suggested. “While I’m here to help, in case she doesn’t want to get into it.”

  Mrs. Sylvan considered, stroking her pet as she did so. “It’s too soon. I don’t want her shut up in a box all night. I’ll manage all right in the morning.”

  “I sure hope she’s better,” Nick said with feeling, “and can stop taking the medicine.” And then, because the woman gave him an odd look, he wondered if he’d sounded so fervent about it that she guessed how much he’d hated administering that medication.

  It was nine thirty by the time Nick got Maynard back upstairs. He dialed his own number and to his surprise got, not Barney, but Winnie.

  “What are you doing still up?” he demanded.

  “I was in bed,” Winnie admitted, sounding very young over the telephone. “Barney and Chuck are out in the garage, so I answered the phone when it rang. We made fudge, Nick. It got hard so fast we could hardly get it out of the pan, but it tastes good. I saved you some.”

  “That’s more than Barney would have done. Thanks,” Nick told her. “I guess Dad’s not home yet, then, or Mom, either.”

  “No. Mom called and said she was meeting Dad after bowling, and the team was going out for pizza. She’s going to bring me a piece.”

  Pizza. Nick groaned. The bowling team didn’t usually stay out past ten, at the latest, but on the nights when they won big, or when they got beaten so badly they needed something to make them feel better, they sometimes went to the Pizza Palace. Nick knew from experience that it might make it midnight before they came home.

  He hadn’t realized quite how much he was counting on his father’s counsel until he learned that it wasn’t available.

  Well, Nick thought, it wasn’t as if Dad wouldn’t be home later. It didn’t mean he’d have to spend the night here, only a few more hours. He just wished he was more certain that nothing bad would happen during that time.

  Chapter Ten

  Nick swallowed. “Listen, Winnie. Tell Dad, when he comes in, that I need to talk to him.” Nick realized at once that that wouldn’t work, because Winnie would be asleep by then. “Get a paper and pencil, and I’ll spell out a message. You can stick it up on the refrigerator so he’ll see it when he comes in, okay?”