The Pet-Sitting Peril Read online

  “Hey, come on. You’re supposed to take this stuff so you’ll get over whatever’s wrong with you. Come on, Eloise. It’s important.” He didn’t feel self-conscious about talking to animals. His grandma Reed, who lived on a farm, talked to animals all the time. If she could do it, so could he.

  Only Eloise wasn’t particularly receptive to his small talk. He stalked her through the unnaturally neat apartment, speaking gently all the time, until he cornered her in the bathroom. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.

  All he had to do was hold her still, get the dropper full of the medicine, and squirt it into her mouth. Only he had a devil of a time catching her, and she scratched him. Luckily he’d had sense enough to close the door, and the bathroom was too small for her to get far away from him. This time he got a towel and wrapped her in it; she didn’t like it, but she was a lot smaller than Rudy and he managed to subdue her inside the wrappings. Then he had to pry her mouth open with his fingers while holding her tight against him with that same arm, and used the other hand to administer the medicine with the eyedropper.

  “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He loosened his grip on the towel and the indignant cat shot away from him, snarling her fury. Nick wondered uneasily how much harder it would be to administer the stuff the next time. Maybe he’d see if Sam would come over and help him.

  “I sure hope you get well soon,” Nick told the cat as he opened the bathroom door and saw her streak past him to hide under a chair in the living room. “If I’d known how hard this was going to be, I’d have asked for twice as much money to do it.”

  Eloise glowered at him. He decided to ignore her. He washed off the scratch and put an antiseptic on it from the medicine chest. It wasn’t bleeding enough so that he felt the need of a Band-Aid over it.

  “See you next time, I guess,” he said to the cat as he headed for the door. And that was where he made his mistake.

  He turned his back on Eloise and opened the door into the hallway, and the next thing he knew a big white puff of fur ran between his legs, nearly knocking him down, and Eloise disappeared.

  He was so busy trying to keep from braining himself by falling against the doorjamb that he didn’t even see which way she went.

  Breathing through his mouth, Nick stood in the dim hallway, listening. He didn’t hear a thing. He’d told Mrs. Sylvan that he liked cats, but he was beginning to think that in Eloise’s case he might make an exception.

  Which way had she gone? Not outside, she had to be trapped in the house because the front door was closed, but it was a big house.

  Nick walked toward the rear of the place until he came to the manager’s apartment. Behind the door he could hear the television—a ball game. There was no way Nick could see that the cat could have gotten in there, nor found a way directly outside, so he retraced his steps.

  In Mr. Haggard’s apartment, Rudy whined again, recognizing him. “Be back in a while, boy,” Nick called, and looked up the stairs. Eloise could be up there, or she could have hidden in one of the dark corners down here. The light was on again, but the illumination didn’t extend to the area beneath the stairs. What was that, a closet under there?

  The door was closed, a door painted the same dull brown as the paneling that ran around the bottom four feet of the walls below the faded wallpaper, so it didn’t seem likely the cat could have gotten into the closet. Still, the door didn’t fit well at the bottom. Nick tried the door to see, and it came open easily.

  No sign of Eloise, though the crowded little cubbyhole was full of plenty of other stuff. Old paint cans, boxes labeled CHRISTMAS ORNAMENTS and INCOME TAX RECORDS, 1969 TO 1975. There was a faint smell that made Nick frown and reach for the small red can in one corner.

  Gasoline? Would anybody be crazy enough to store a can of gas in a closet with a bunch of flammable stuff?

  He hesitated. It wasn’t his house, after all, but it seemed stupid to ask for trouble. He’d mention it to Mr. Haggard, and he could bring it up with Mr. Griesner.

  And he still hadn’t found Eloise.

  He started up the stairs, slowly, braced to make a grab if the cat tried to go past him. What was he going to tell Mrs. Sylvan if he couldn’t get her cat back into the apartment?

  The upper hall was dim, too, though it wasn’t even starting to get dark outside yet. And quiet, very quiet. Clyde and Roy must not be home. Mrs. Monihan should still be here, she wasn’t leaving until tomorrow. Did he dare ask her assistance in finding Eloise?

  What would she think about leaving her own pets, though, in the hands of someone who’d lost a cat the first time he had anything to do with it?

  Behind him, there was a scratching sound as a key turned in the lock, and one of the double doors opened inward.

  At the same moment, as Nick looked down to see an unfamiliar figure enter the hallway, Eloise practically flew past him and out the front door before the man could close it.

  Nick swallowed in despair. What did he do now?

  Chapter Three

  The man was middle-aged and wearing a business suit open to show his paunch with a gold chain across it. Nick thought if he had a belly that stuck out that way, he wouldn’t call attention to it with a fancy gold chain. The man looked at him with surprised pale eyes. “What the devil was that?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Sylvan’s cat. Eloise.” Nick ran down the steps and peered out the door. “Did you see which way she went?”

  “I didn’t even see enough to know it was a cat. Who’re you?”

  It sounded rude because of the brusque tone. Nick told him, however, very politely. “I’m walking the dog for Mr. Haggard, and taking care of Mrs. Sylvan’s and Mrs. Monihan’s pets for a few weeks. Excuse me, I have to try to find Eloise.”

  The man didn’t introduce himself, but he had a key, so Nick assumed he had a right to be there. Nick went out and down the steps, trying not to panic. What if Eloise got run over, or treed by a dog, or just ran away and never came back?

  He stood on the front sidewalk, looking in every direction. That big white ball of fur ought to stand out against green lawns and rhododendron bushes, but he didn’t see her.

  The U-Haul truck was still being unloaded next door. Melody emerged from it with a stack of velvet pillows, and Nick strode toward her, having a perfectly good excuse to talk to her now.

  “Have you seen a cat? A big white Persian?”

  The girl paused, hugging the cushions to her chest. “Came out of that house a few minutes ago? I thought someone was chasing her, she ran so fast.”

  “I was, or trying to. Which way did she go?”

  Melody gestured between the houses. “Back toward the alley.” Was there interest in her face? “I’m Melody Jamison. Do you live next door?”

  He explained about his jobs, and then about Eloise. “I have to catch her before Mrs. Sylvan comes home, or I’ll probably be fired.”

  “Wait a minute, and I’ll help you,” she offered, and ran off to put the pillows on the porch. She led the way through the space between the two houses, apologizing for the mess. “We have to take the truck back first thing in the morning, so we’re trying to get everything out tonight. There isn’t time to unpack and put everything in place, though, so a lot of it’s going into the garage. There! Isn’t that her, up there?”

  They’d reached the alley, and Melody pointed upward toward the back of 1230. The house was only one story high at the very rear of the building, where an old garage too small to house anything but the smallest of cars jutted to the very edge of the lot. Mr. Griesner had his apartment back here, with a door opening into the yard, and there was an outdoor stairway that climbed the side of the building, crossed the roof of the garage, and then climbed even more steeply to another door that must open into Mrs. Monihan’s kitchen. At the very top, on the railing, Eloise sat washing her face.

  “Confounded cat. I’ve got to catch her,” Nick said. “I’m not sure how, though. She didn’t like me before I gave her
the medicine, and now she hates me.” He didn’t add that the feeling was mutual.

  “Maybe I can do it. I’m usually good with cats,” Melody said. Up close he saw that her eyes were hazel, and she had a few freckles like his own. “Let me try, okay?”

  “Be careful. She scratches,” Nick warned.

  Melody began, very slowly, to climb the stairs up the side of the house. There was no way Nick could block off every avenue of escape, since if Eloise leaped onto the garage roof she could jump off that in any direction in perfect safety. Nick couldn’t cover all the possibilities.

  When Melody reached the landing, over the flat part of the garage roof, Eloise ceased licking her paw and watched suspiciously. She hunched down as if preparing to spring, and Melody stopped and began to speak in a soft, coaxing tone. “Pretty kitty. Nice girl. Nice kitty.”

  Eloise’s head swiveled, the unwinking eyes fixing on Nick where he watched below.

  Melody spoke without turning around. “Maybe if you got out of her sight, she wouldn’t be so tense and she’d let me walk up the rest of the steps.”

  It would be fine with him if he never saw the cat again, Nick thought, only he was stuck for now. He stepped closer to the building, out of the cat’s sight between a pair of garbage cans, expecting that any minute Eloise would leap over his head and take off down the alley.

  She didn’t, though. A moment later Melody called, “I’ve got her!” and then her feet sounded on the steps, coming down.

  She held Eloise in a reassuringly secure grip. “Maybe I could take her back to wherever she belongs? So you don’t upset her again?”

  “Sure, fine with me,” Nick agreed. When he spoke, Eloise spat at him. “Boy, I don’t know how I’m going to keep on giving her medicine if she’s going to act like this.”

  As long as he kept his distance, Eloise seemed content to be carried by someone else. They walked back between the houses toward the front, where there was a new Cadillac parked behind the U-Haul van. Nick vaguely remembered seeing it when he’d come out earlier; it must belong to the man who’d allowed the cat to escape.

  Sure enough, the man was coming out onto the porch now, and Mr. Griesner was with him. The stranger carried a white envelope in one hand, and Nick suddenly guessed who he was. Mr. Hale, who owned the apartment house. All the tenants paid Mr. Griesner, who then handed the checks over to the owner.

  His guess was verified when he listened to their parting conversation, standing there on the sidewalk rather than interrupting until the men got out of the way.

  “What you want me to do about that linoleum, then?” the manager asked. “Anybody trips over it and gets hurt, I wouldn’t bet they wouldn’t sue.”

  “Yeah, people sue over anything these days,” Mr. Hale said. He ran a hand over his head, smoothing down the thinning strands of gray hair. “Well, tack it down again, and I’ll see about getting some new stuff for the whole hall. See if I can find some on sale, maybe.”

  “I’ll tack it down. It’s not going to last long, though, it’s too wore out,” Mr. Griesner said. “What about the painters? You interested in talking to ’em?”

  “I want the place painted, I’ll find my own painters. You know what they’ll do to my taxes if I paint this place? Up they go, every little improvement a man makes. No, better to take care of the stuff inside first, where the assessor won’t notice it for a while. They make it hard for a man to make a living on his investments, those tax people. Sometimes I don’t think it’s worth it, the little a man makes from a rental unit. I’d sell my places like this one, if I could. Trouble is, nobody’s got the cash to buy it, and it’s practically impossible to get financing on it. Banks want so much interest, people can’t afford it. And old places like this, banks don’t want to finance, anyway. They expect everything to be up to snuff—plumbing, wiring—like a brand-new house.” He shook his head at the problems of being a landlord. “Anyway, I’m not going to put any more money into it than I have to. One of these days the recession will be over, and people will have money again. Maybe all the tenants could get together, then, and buy it themselves.”

  Mr. Griesner made a snorting sound. “Nobody lives in this place is ever going to have enough money to buy anything, even if they all went together.”

  Nick wondered if his father knew about the relationship between painting and taxes. He glanced at the Cadillac and saw Melody looking at it, too. It was out of place in this neighborhood of Fords, Chevies, and Volkswagens.

  “Well,” Mr. Hale said, “see you next month. And don’t take any excuses about late rent from those hippies, you hear? It’s not our fault they don’t work steady. They either pay on time, or out they go.”

  “I didn’t want to let ’em in in the first place,” Mr. Griesner said morosely. “Play that music loud enough to break a man’s eardrums. Can I tell Mrs. Sylvan you’re planning to replace that linoleum, then, and these repairs I make are just temporary, till you can do it?”

  Mr. Hale waved the envelope in one pudgy hand. “Yes, yes, tell her we’re taking care of it. Ah, caught the cat, did you?”

  He smiled, coming down the steps, passing between them to get into the Cadillac. Nick and Melody went up to the front door, which the manager had not yet locked, waiting for them to enter. He muttered more to himself than to the two youngsters, “Anything doesn’t get done, it’s always my fault; I’m the one they complain to.”

  He swung the door shut behind them and turned the button that locked it. “Watch the floor there, foot of the stairs. Worn place, you can catch a toe.”

  “We just have to put Eloise back in the apartment,” Nick said. He was glad when the Persian had been dumped inside and the door secured behind her. “Thanks for helping,” he told Melody Jamison. “Now I don’t have to worry about her until tomorrow, and I’ll be more careful about keeping her shut in then. I wonder how much sicker she’ll get if I can’t manage to get that medicine into her when I’m supposed to.”

  Melody grinned. “She doesn’t seem very sick. Well, Daddy will be wondering where I disappeared to. I’ll see you later, Nick.”

  Nick went on upstairs after she’d gone, to get his final instructions from Mrs. Monihan about taking care of Fred and Maynard.

  “It’s nothing difficult,” the old lady assured him. She showed him their dishes—Fred’s was orange and Maynard’s was yellow—and where she kept the food. “Fred has some of the dry stuff in his dish all the time, and every evening I give him half a can of this other. If he doesn’t eat it at once, you might as well let Maynard have it, because Fred will only eat it fresh. And this, in the big bag, is Maynard’s food. It says to mix it with water, but I don’t, ever. He eats it dry, and then drinks a lot of water afterward, so you always keep his water dish filled. That’s the blue one. Would you like to walk Maynard now, just to see how the two of you get along?”

  “Sure,” Nick agreed. He wondered what Rudy would think, when his walking companion kept going in and out with every animal but himself. He was certain Rudy knew about Eloise and would know about Maynard, too.

  Maynard was about the same size as Eloise and looked sort of like a once-white mop in need of a good bleaching. His eyes were like little brown buttons peeking out through the shaggy hair, bright and inquisitive and friendly. When he wagged his tail, his whole rear end moved.

  “Come on, Maynard,” Nick said, and snapped the leash onto the red collar.

  Walking Maynard was a tame experience after Rudy. Maynard tugged and rushed, too, but since he weighed only about twelve pounds instead of eighty-five, he couldn’t go anywhere Nick didn’t want him to go. He was willing to run when Nick ran, which he did at Nick’s side instead of dragging him along behind.

  Nick took him down the alley, the way Mr. Haggard had suggested he start out each of Rudy’s excursions. “Take care of business there, so he won’t embarrass you on somebody’s lawn,” the old man had said, and it worked just as well for the smaller dog.

  When he got back, Mrs
. Monihan gave him another of the cookies, and said she’d leave the rest in the cookie jar for him while she was gone. Nick hesitated. “Is Fred an escape artist? Do I have to be careful about him getting away?”

  “Oh, my no! Fred can take care of himself. I leave that kitchen window open most nice days, and he goes in and out by himself, up and down the back stairs, you know. I don’t ever leave that door unlocked, of course, unless I sit out there and take the sunshine for a bit. I wouldn’t want anybody to get in that way. Well, I know you’re going to take good care of my family while I’m gone, so I won’t worry about them. I’ve left my sister’s address and phone number on the pad there, just in case, though. Did you ask your mother about staying overnight sometimes?”

  Nick explained about the problem at home and why he hadn’t asked. And then, almost without meaning to, he said, “I’ll do my best to talk her into it. I think maybe she’ll let me, when she knows I won’t be alone in the building.”

  Mrs. Monihan smiled and looked relieved. “I’m sure I’m leaving Fred and Maynard in good hands. And I know you’ll do the best you can.”

  They said good-bye then, and Nick left. The minute he set foot in the hall, he could have kicked himself. Why had he told Mrs. Monihan he’d try to talk his mother into letting him stay over sometimes in her apartment? That was the last thing he wanted to do, even if her cookies were good. Oh, well, if it worked out, at least it would get him away from Barney for a night or two a week. There was that bright side to it. And what could happen? The place was full of people.

  Rudy was the last one to receive attention, and Nick could tell by the way he acted that he’d known Nick was in the house and didn’t understand why he’d had to wait for his exercise.

  The big black-and-tan dog leaped on him until Nick commanded him sharply to sit, then sank back on his haunches and let his tongue hang out. He looked for all the world as if he were grinning with pleasure that Nick had finally arrived.

  Mr. Haggard was huddled in his usual chair, watching television instead of reading. He looked more shrunken up than usual.