LITMIR.BIZ

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favour. Dial this number from your own phone and see if a cell rings in your brother’s room.”

      “He didn’t do it. I already told you.”

      “We’re eliminating suspects. Humour me.” I give her the number.

      “What if the real criminal picks up?”

      “Just say ‘Sorry, wrong number,’ and hang up quickly. At least they won’t link the call to Noble Dog Walking.”

      “Okay. Hang on.” I can hear the blip, blip, blip of her cellphone dialing, then the drum roll of a phone ringing and ringing. “How long should I give it?”

      “I don’t know. Are you near his bedroom? Can you hear anything going off?”

      “No. And I’ll tell you why not. It’s not Attila. If it were him and he was threatening you, he’d block his number.”

      “He can do that?”

      “Star sixty-seven on his phone. M.Y.O.B. has to be pretty stupid not to use it, too.”

      “Um, I didn’t know that.”

      “No, but you wouldn’t prank call someone. Or threaten them, either. If you did, you would find how to do it anonymously beforehand.”

      “You’re right.” I sigh. “So we know our criminal has to be pretty stupid.”

      “Cross Attila from your list. He’s not stupid.”

      “Okay. Bye.”

      Once she’s gone, I decide to look up Mr. Sawyer in the online phone directory. There are quite a few in the Halton region, but there’s an R. Sawyer who lives right on Jesse’s old street. The teachers used to call Mr. Sawyer Bob, which is short for Robert. Has to be him! Mr. Sawyer is Mrs. Watier’s neighbour, and she practically fired him! Wow. I’d be pretty annoyed with her if I were him. ’Course, he did mop her down, whether accidentally or not.

      Did he not have his cellphone with him when I called M.Y.O.B.? Had he thrown it away already?

      Then a bigger question hits me. If you’ve already driven a car into the principal’s school, would you bother TP-ing her house as well? It seemed like overkill.

      I can’t think of anything else to look up, so I close the browser. The dogs follow me back upstairs to my bedroom, where I gaze at the school from my window and try to imagine that Volkswagen all over again, try to remember something that I may have seen but just didn’t register. Maybe I should have someone hypnotize me, like they do on crime shows.

      Over on the far corner of the field, just past the school, I see the bus pull up and Mr. Ron get off with a large pink bag in his hand. He’s been my crossing guard since kindergarten, and I realize I still don’t even know where he lives. I look to the left of our house: a retired couple lives there. And to the right, the Lebels, a family with two little white-haired kids, are our neighbours. Beyond those houses, we don’t really know anybody on our street, except for the Bennetts and only because they work for the same airline as my mom and use our dog-walking service. Anyone in our neighbourhood could have seen what happened last night in the park. Had the police checked with them?

      I come up with a plan and call Renée back. “Do you want to go for a walk tonight? I mean really late?”

      “Sure. What time should we meet?”

      If I were watching some mystery movie right now and the twelve-year-old kids decided to wait till their parents were asleep to sneak out in the middle of the night, I’d know it was a mistake. That something awful would happen. Mistake number eight today is not listening to that voice inside that tells me the very same thing.

      “Midnight at the front of the school.”

      day two, mistake nine

      “Walk nice!” I command Ping as I hold a liver bite close to my knee. I’m taking him around the block on his own so I can concentrate on training him properly, hoping a one-on-one session will help for our midnight walk. When he follows right at my heel the whole way, I give him one of Dad’s magic treats.

      It’s at this point my cellphone rings.

      “Noble Dog Walking, Stephen Noble speaking.”

      “I’ve got a brilliant idea.”

      “Hi, Renée. What is it?”

      “Ask your dad if I can come for a sleepover.”

      “It’s the middle of a school week and you’re a girl. He’ll never go for it.”

      “Don’t tell him I’m a girl.”

      “He already knows.”

      Renée’s voice goes up a notch. “Maybe he’ll forget. Just say you’re worried about Renée.” She sounds desperate. “With all the fighting going on at my house, it’s not a good environment for a kid to be in. Your dad’s not going to say no to that.”

      For her to plead for this sleepover, I have to think she’s not having a great time. “Um … just how bad is it over there?”

      “Terrible. My father wants to send Attila to mili­tary school. Mom believes he’s innocent. They’re all yelling at each other. And all the while, they tell me to go to my room. That this doesn’t concern me.”

      “Okay. I’ll do my best. Call you back later.”

      As I glance down to slip my phone back into my pocket, the leash pulls hard. A skateboard rattles in the distance and I look up.

      It’s that guy we knocked down in the park, the one who seemed so angry the other day. Ping lunges for him but I snap him back. “Pssht! No! Leave it!”

      Ping looks up at me and argues. Rouf, rouf, rouf!

      “No, no!” I hold one finger up with another liver bite tucked in my hand. “Sit!”

      He whines as he lowers his butt. His mouth opens and his tongue quivers as he pants.

      “Qui-et!” I warn.

      He licks his chops and shuts his mouth. His eyes laser on to that liver bite.

      “Good boy.” I finally give it to him.

      “Where’s the other dog?” The skateboarder walks back toward us, his board tucked under his arm. His brown eye studies me; his green one seems to watch Ping.

      I hesitate for a moment. Last time we met this guy, he was swearing at me.

      “You know, the greyhound — where is he?” He’s smiling and friendly today.

      Why was he in such a bad mood the other evening?

      “Oh, Pong is at home right now. I’m giving them individual attention.”

      “Good, ’cause, you know, I thought maybe something had happened to him.”

      “No. Nothing.” His suggestion makes me ner­vous. Does this skater boy know who’s threatening us? “We look after our customers well. The dogs are either on a leash or in a fenced area at all times.”

      “Glad to hear that.”

      “We have surveillance cameras on the property and we lock the gate,” I bluff. I watch the skater’s face.

      He doesn’t react.

      This is easily mistake number nine today. Skater dude can check our house. He can lift the latch on the gate; he can look for cameras.

      For now, he smiles and gives a finger wave as he steps on his skateboard again. “They should definitely be safe, all right. See you around.”

      day two, mistake ten

      I take Ping back in the house and don’t bother with Pong. He’s quieter and better behaved, anyway.

      Dad comes back from walking the Yorkies and joins us in the kitchen, where I set

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