Renée leans on my shoulder so she can see. The photo of Pong shows him looking all right. Underneath him is a tented piece of paper with this message on it: $500 by 5:00 today.
“What! Stall! Ask for more time,” Renée suggests. “Tell him you can’t possibly raise the money that fast.”
“I have the money in my account. The Bennetts come back tomorrow night. We don’t have more time.”
Where? I type back instead.
Ding! The bus stop on Brant and Cavendish.
“Great!” Renée says. “Then the police will come and arrest him.”
“You actually think the dognapper will bring Pong?”
The half-chime rings. Once I get the money, I tell you where the greyhound is.
“Wow, it’s like he can hear what we’re saying to each other.”
I quickly look out the window but don’t see anyone around. I scrunch up my face because all I want to do is yell for Mom. Not like she could help. She’d just tell me one of her crazy stories. Still, I need one of those now.
“It’s okay, Stephen.” Renée pats my shoulder. “This is okay, really. Pong didn’t get run over. You can get the money by five o’clock. And we have till then to figure out who did it and find Pong ourselves.”
day three, mistake four
“Kids! Wake up!” Dad’s voice booms from downstairs. “Breakfast is ready!”
“Just getting dressed. We’ll be down in a sec,” I call back and then meet Renée in the hall. Nothing sparkles in her hair. She’s wearing a T-shirt with a dog on it, jeans, and sneakers. It’s the sneakers that sparkle today, and of course, her glasses.
“What will we tell him?” she asks. “He’s going to want to know where Pong is.”
I think for a moment. “We’ll say the dogs were fighting in the middle of the night, so we separated them. Took Pong back to the Bennetts’.”
“That’s good. Stick as close to the truth as possible.”
I nod. “They always fight. And we were walking them past midnight.”
Renée and I take turns in the bathroom, then head downstairs, Ping following at my heels.
“Good morning, Renée, Stephen,” Dad says, twisting his head back from the open fridge. He seems to be moving the entire contents of the vegetable bin to the counter. Several bags and a large stockpot sit next to the piles of carrots and celery. Pancakes are stacked on the kitchen table. “Got my secret ingredients ready. Making lots of liver bites today!”
The phone rings.
“That will be your mom.” He picks up and chats while Renée and I eat. “Stephen is doing a great job walking Ping and Pong,” he tells her.
A twinge of guilt hits me. I lost Pong. How much worse a job could I do? Lose Ping, too?
“I have a new client,” Dad continues and chats about the Yorkies. “Yes, and imagine, Mr. Mason ordered more dog treats!”
At the last word, Ping’s ears flick up for a second. They sink down in a moment and he gives a little moan. Feeling sorry for him, I sneak him his own pancake, but without Pong to compete with over it, he doesn’t seem interested.
“Stephen had a sleepover with a new friend. Yes, it is wonderful. Here. I’ll let you speak to him.” He hands me the receiver.
“Hi, Mom. Where are you?” I look down as Ping sniffs dejectedly at his treat.
“London. I’ll be home tomorrow but a little late. Nice you made a new friend. Dad let you have a sleepover in the middle of the week?”
“Yeah, there were some problems at her house. She needed to get away.”
“Your father didn’t say it was a girl.”
“Why would he? What difference does it make?” I pat Ping, and he slumps down beside his pancake, finally giving it a little lick.
“You’re right. Sounds like you were just helping a friend. That’s good. Hope you got enough sleep, though.”
Me too, I think. Ping flips over, legs in the air.
“Got another animal story for you. Which is why I’m going to be late, by the way. It happened on our own plane!”
“Does it have a happy ending?”
“Oh, sure.” She chuckles and continues. “A lady came on with her cat in a bag. She stowed it under the seat ahead of her, just the way she was supposed to.”
“Did you get all stuffed up?” In which case, maybe she won’t notice the dog dander when she gets home. I pat Ping’s tummy now.
“My eyes are burning and I’m sniffly, thanks for asking. But get this: Ripples escaped from her bag before we could even take off.”
“Ripples?”
“The name of the cat. His owner called after him as he dodged from seat to seat. We called and chased, too, but he dove into the cockpit.”
“The cat didn’t die, did he?”
“Happy ending, remember? So no, he didn’t die. But he got in behind the instrument panel, and we couldn’t get him out on our own. We tried everything, offering him a salmon tray …”
“Nobody likes airline food.”
“Not Ripples, anyway.” Mom and I chuckle together. “Then we had to clear the plane, and the maintenance workers removed some panels to finally get him.”
“But he’s okay?”
“He’s a bit shook up but he wasn’t injured. The mechanics are checking over the wires before we take off.”
“So animals really can’t travel safely at all.”
Mom’s voice drops. “It is better for them to stay home.” Then it lifts again. “But then owners can hire people like your father to walk their dogs. Just think what a valuable service you guys are providing.” Mom sounds pretty cheery about this. “Oh, they’re calling me. Wires must have all checked out.”
“Really? That was awful quick. Hope they did a good job.”
“Ciao!”
“See you, Mom.” We both hang up at the same time.
Dad smiles at me. “She’ll be home soon.” He grabs some bags from the counter and hands one each to Renée and me. “Your lunches. You didn’t bring home your backpacks, so they’re in grocery bags. Hope you like egg salad, Renée.”
“Love it.”
“I’m going to see the Yorkies. Lock the door behind you. I can walk Ping and Pong at noon if you like …”
“No, Dad. We’ll do it, no worries.” He doesn’t seem to notice Pong is missing.
Once Dad’s gone, we head out toward school, taking the long way so we can leave Ping at the Bennetts’. He stays close to my heels the whole way. That training session paid off big-time. Mind you, he also seems very interested in my lunch. When he nips at the bag, I have to push him down and scold him. “Bad dog, that’s egg salad. Not for you.” But otherwise, he really behaves.
“So after school we’ll go to the bank to get the money,” I tell Renée.
“You have enough?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what the withdrawal limit is. I’ve never taken that much out before.”
“I’ll bring the coins from my piggy bank, just in case.”
“Thanks.”