The Pet Show Mystery Page 7

  “As I said, I’ve been assigned to the Paul Gale case for the past six months. We have reasons for believing that the World Anti-Hunger Foundation is not entirely on the level. We have no proof—a dilemma you girls apparently understand. My job is to find some.”

  “Do you mean that Paul Gale keeps the money for himself, instead of feeding the poor with it?” Honey asked, sounding shocked.

  “In fact, what we suspect is worse than that,” David Llewelyn said. “He does take the money to poor countries. Apparently he even buys some food with it, so that his operation looks legitimate. But we think he spends most of the money on gems—rubies, diamonds, emeralds—which he smuggles back into this country and sells for a fortune.”

  Trixie realized that her mouth had fallen open as she listened. She closed it and swallowed hard to moisten her dry throat.

  “You can see why I was reluctant to tell you all this. I would be in serious trouble if you told anyone else. Worse, the entire investigation could be in jeopardy if word got out that Paul Gale is under suspicion. But I think it’s important for you to know what kind of man we think Paul Gale is.”

  “But if he’s capable of taking money away from the poor, why are you so sure he wouldn’t sabotage our pet show?” Honey asked.

  “For that very reason,” David Llewelyn said. “The stakes that Paul Gale is playing with are huge. Literally millions of dollars by now, I’d say. He wouldn’t risk that for a smalltime pet show. No offense,” he added quickly.

  “Would he risk attacking the show publicly?” Trixie asked.

  David Llewelyn waved a dismissing hand.

  “There’s no risk in that. Paul Gale has built the foundation on his image as an angry young man. That’s what attracts people to him. Oddly enough, it’s what makes people trust him. They like his zeal, and his willingness to speak up for what he believes—no matter what people might think of him for it. He’s convinced his followers that he cares nothing for himself, but only for the poor.

  “Attacking your pet show publicly—with words—would strengthen that image. It might be just the kind of thing he’d need to get himself established here in Sleepyside.”

  “But attacking the pet show with acts of sabotage could get him in trouble,” Trixie concluded.

  “Exactly. At the least, it might discourage his followers if he were caught harassing a group of teenagers. At most, it might bring him to the attention of the law. And I don’t think he can afford that. Anyone who comes between Paul Gale and his millions will not have a pleasant fate awaiting him. I guarantee it.”

  There was such heaviness in David Llewelyn’s usually pleasant voice that Trixie felt a shiver run up her spine. “It sounds as though we’d better stay away from Paul Gale,” she said softly.

  “I’m glad I made my point,” David Llewelyn said, relieved. “It was well worth the cost of two cups of hot chocolate.” He picked up the check the waitress had left on the table. “Now I’d best get back to work, and you’d best get back home.”

  Trixie nodded and slid out of the booth. “The thing is, we still don’t know who’s sabotaging our pet show.”

  The investigator hesitated on his way to the cashier. “That’s right, you don’t. Well, if there are any more problems, just call me at the Sleepyside Inn. We can get together and talk about the case.”

  “Really? Do you really mean it?” Trixie asked. Remembering all the times that Sergeant Molinson of the Sleepyside police department had shooed her away, the idea that a real investigator would discuss a case with her seemed almost too good to be true.

  “Really,” David Llewelyn promised. “After all, I took away your best suspect. The least I can do is help you find another one. But I sincerely hope that you won’t encounter any more problems with your show.”

  10 * A Last-Minute Entry

  THERE WAS another pet show problem the very next day, however.

  It was late Saturday afternoon, and Trixie had come home after the sign-up at the mall. She was in her room, studying world history. There was a soft knock at her door, followed by a loud thump. The combination of sounds was one Trixie had heard many times before. She sat up on her bed and groaned. “You can come in, Bobby,” she said loudly. “Reddy has to wait outside.”

  “Okay,” Bobby Belden shouted. Then, in a softer voice, he added, “You wait here, Reddy. No, wait here. Wait! Reddy!” His young voice was becoming more and more impatient as he spoke. Soon it was drowned out by a series of thumps, yelps, and barks.

  Trixie groaned again. “Oh, all right. Reddy can come in, too.”

  Immediately, the door burst open. Reddy bounded into the room, his head held high, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Bobby followed his dog, seeming more restrained only because he was on two legs instead of four. Eventually the dog’s excitement at being invited into Trixie’s room began to wane, and he sat down next to Bobby, who was perched on Trixie’s desk chair.

  “Now,” Trixie said, “to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  Bobby didn’t answer immediately. He stared at Reddy and patted the dog’s neck.

  “Bobby, honey, I want to help if I can. I need to study, though. So please, tell me what you want.”

  Bobby cleared his throat and looked up at his sister. “I want Reddy to be in the pet show next Saturday,” he said simply.

  Trixie sighed. “We can’t let you do that, Bobby,” she said, deciding that a direct approach was best.

  “Why not?” Bobby asked.

  “We decided that, since the Bob-Whites are sponsoring the show, none of us can enter a pet.”

  “But I’m not a Bob-White,” Bobby replied immediately. “You always say that I’m too young to be a Bob-White.”

  “You are,” Trixie said firmly.

  “Then why can’t I enter Reddy in the pet show?” Bobby asked.

  “Because Reddy’s my dog, too, and I’m a Bob-White,” Trixie said.

  “You don’t ever play with Reddy or take him for walks. You don’t even feed him unless Moms tells you to,” Bobby said accusingly.

  “Reddy is really your dog, Bobby. You know that, and I know that. But other people think he belongs to all the Beldens. They’ll see that Reddy is entered, and they’ll think it’s unfair. That’s why we can’t let you enter him in the show. Do you understand?”

  Bobby was staring at the back of his dog’s neck. His lower lip was thrust forward, and his cheeks were flushed.

  Oh, please don’t let him cry, Trixie thought.

  But Bobby didn’t start to cry. “Okay,” he said with a strange firmness. “If I can’t enter Reddy in the pet show because the Bob-Whites can’t enter the pet show, then can I be a Bob-White?”

  “That’s blackmail!” Trixie shrieked.

  “What does that mean?” Bobby asked, looking at his sister owlishly.

  “Never mind,” she said hurriedly. “Listen, this isn’t a decision that I can make all by myself. The Bob-Whites make all of our really important decisions together. At our meeting tomorrow, I’ll see what they think about the idea of your entering the pet show.”

  “Or becoming a Bob-White,” Bobby added.

  There was a predictable chorus of groans the next afternoon when Trixie opened the Bob-Whites’ meeting by explaining Bobby’s request.

  “Well, we can’t let Bobby become a Bob-White. That’s simply out of the question,” Honey said.

  Jim shrugged. “I think we should let him enter the pet show. After all, we’re only sponsoring the contest; we’re not judging it. I don’t see how we can be accused of playing favorites if Reddy wins something.”

  Trixie was convinced. “Okay, but our best protection is still that Reddy is too much of a harebrained hound to win anything.”

  “Oh, he’ll win something,” Jim said. “Remember, all the pets in the show will win awards.”

  “Speaking of winning...” Honey began. Tactfully, she didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she turned and looked at Mart.

  “I k
now,” Mart guessed. “You’re wondering about my computer program. Don’t worry. I expect to have the last few snags corrected by the end of class Monday morning.”

  “Hurray!” Honey shouted. “I have to confess, I was getting a little worried.”

  The Bob-Whites ended their meeting on that cheerful note, but the Beldens’ happy mood was shattered when they returned to Crabapple Farm. The moment they entered the house, they could hear Bobby crying at the top of his lungs.

  “What is it?” Trixie shouted. “What’s wrong?” They raced upstairs to Bobby’s room without even stopping to take off their coats.

  Bobby was lying facedown on his bed. Mrs. Belden was sitting next to him, rubbing his back in a vain attempt to quiet his sobs.

  Bobby looked up as his brothers and sister entered the room. “Reddy’s gone,” he wailed. “He’s lost, and he’s not ever going to come back.”

  “W-what?” Trixie looked at her mother, hoping that Helen Belden would have a less frightening explanation.

  “Reddy and Bobby went out to play right after lunch. Beddy strayed off, and Bobby didn’t notice until he was about to come back in. It didn’t concern us at the time, but that was nearly four hours ago. That’s a long time for Reddy to stay out in the cold.”

  “Oh, Bobby,” Trixie said comfortingly, “that really isn’t a very long time. Reddy will come back.”

  “Do you think so, Trixie?” Bobby asked, lifting his tear-streaked face from the pillow.

  Trixie kneeled down beside him. “Sure, Bobby. We tease about how foolish Reddy is, but he’s a smart dog, really. He’ll find his way home.”

  “But when, Trixie?” Bobby asked. “When will Reddy come home?”

  “Before morning, for sure,” Trixie said.

  By the next morning, Trixie was sorry she’d made the promise to Bobby. There was still no sign of the Irish setter when Jim and Honey came by in the station wagon to pick the older Beldens up for school. Bobby was more upset than he had been the previous afternoon.

  The Wheelers were horrified at the news of Reddy’s disappearance. “It’s not like Reddy to run away,” Honey said.

  “I don’t think he ran away at all,” Trixie said. “I think he was stolen.”

  “Oh, come on, Trix,” Brian said. “Reddy is cute, but he’s hardly a prize. Who’d want to steal him?”

  “Whoever wants to stop the pet show,” Trixie replied. “First there was that rumor, hen the phone call. Now someone’s stolen our dog as a way of telling us we should stop the show.”

  “Only a future detective would come up with an explanation like that,” Mart said.

  “Do you have a better one?” Trixie challenged.

  Brian spoke up. “For Reddy’s disappearance? Sure. A passing rabbit that needed chasing, or a neighbor who needed visiting. Old Brom might have put him up for the night, figuring it was too cold to send him home. He doesn’t have a car or a telephone. My guess is that Reddy will be home this afternoon by the time we are.”

  “What about the rumor and the phone call?” Trixie asked. “Do you think Old Brom is responsible for those, too?”

  Brian was starting to lose patience. “Of course not. I don’t know who’s responsible for those things. But it doesn’t matter, because they’re over and there was no harm done. I’m not going to waste time worrying about them. Neither should you.”

  Jim had pulled the station wagon into a space in the school parking lot as Brian spoke. Before the car had fully stopped moving, Trixie threw the door open and scrambled out of the car. Without a backward glance, she hurried toward the school.

  “Trixie, wait up!” Honey called. “Sometimes those boys make me so mad,” Trixie growled as Honey caught up to her. “Brian saw how heartbroken Bobby was yesterday afternoon. How can he be so smug?

  “He is concerned about Bobby,” Honey replied softly. “He just doesn’t believe that Reddy was stolen, that’s all.”

  “Well, I do, and that’s all,” Trixie said defiantly. She started rummaging through her purse. Eventually she held up a quarter that had been floating around at the bottom. “I’m going to call David Llewelyn.” She headed for a pay phone, with Honey right behind.

  Trixie left a message that she and Honey would be at the cafe after school that afternoon. “I’d like him to meet us there to discuss the problem we talked about before,” she said. She listened as the operator repeated the message, thanked her, and hung up.

  Trixie went through the rest of the day in a haze. She was distant and distracted during lunch. So was Mart, whose corrections during computer class that morning hadn’t resulted in a working program.

  “I got permission to take a computer home tonight,” he said. “I thought you wouldn’t mind, Jim, since we have the station wagon anyway.”

  Jim made a carefree gesture with the hand that held his sandwich. “It will be a little crowded with seven people and one computer, but that’s no problem,” he said.

  “Honey and I can minimize the crowding by taking the bus home,” Trixie said quickly.

  “You don’t have to,” Jim said.

  “No—but we don’t mind, either,” Honey said quickly.

  “See? That solves the problem,” Jim told Mart.

  It certainly does, Trixie thought with relief.

  Somehow, Trixie and Honey made it through the afternoon and finally found themselves at the cafe, waiting for David Llewelyn. The polite man didn’t keep them waiting long.

  “You say there’s another problem?” he asked, frowning with concern, as he slid into the booth.

  Trixie nodded and, without hesitation, told him about her dog’s disappearance and her brother’s unhappiness.

  “Poor little boy,” David Llewelyn said. “That’s a problem, all right. Do you really think it’s related to the other two, though?”

  “I really do,” Trixie said. “Reddy is one spoiled dog. He wouldn’t stray far from home in this weather on his own.”

  “And you think Paul Gale is behind all three incidents?” the investigator asked.

  “I don’t know,” Trixie replied. “You did a good job of convincing me he couldn’t have been, and yet—”

  “And yet,” David Llewelyn repeated. “I know. You did a fairly good job of convincing me, too.”

  “You mean you think Paul Gale is involved?” Trixie asked excitedly.

  “No, only that I’m less sure he isn’t. It may be, strange as it sounds, that Paul Gale has some aversion to this pet show. In his greed, he may be seeing it as depriving him of donations that would otherwise be his.” David Llewelyn shook his head. “This theory doesn’t sound very logical, but six months of logic haven’t helped on this case.”

  “It takes a lot more proof to convince people of something that sounds illogical,” Trixie said, speaking from bitter experience. “And there’s no way to prove that Paul Gale hates the pet show.”

  “Actually, there is,” David Llewelyn said. “Now I don’t want you to rush into this. I thought long and hard about even suggesting it to you.”

  “What?” Trixie asked. “What is it?”

  “Well, we could wire you—send you into the foundation office carrying a concealed microphone. You could strike up a conversation with Gale. If he says anything that’s remotely like a confession, I’d hear it—and I’d record it to use against him.”

  “Let’s do it!” Trixie exclaimed.

  “Now, wait—think about the risks. If he does have some sort of hatred for you and your pet show, this incident would only make it worse. If he explodes on the spot, I can come to your rescue. But if he keeps his cool, then starts stalking you later, there won’t be much I can do.”

  “S-stalking?” Trixie repeated. It was an ominous-sounding word. She cleared her throat. “I don’t care. If it gives us proof that Paul Gale is our saboteur, it’s worth it. Go ahead and wire me.”

  “Then wire me, too,” Honey said. “I’m not letting Trixie do this alone.”

  David Llewelyn smiled
gently. “You don’t need two microphones. But the moral support will be most welcome, I’m sure.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the microphone. It was tiny, no larger than the metal piece at the eraser end of a pencil. There was a clip on the back, which Llewelyn attached to the collar of Trixie’s turtleneck sweater. “Leave your coat unbuttoned, and the collar will conceal the mike,” he said.

  “That’s it? That’s all? I’m ready to go?” Trixie asked.

  David Llewelyn nodded. “Just turn and look back before you go into the foundation office. By that time, I’ll have taken a reading to make sure everything is working. If not, I’ll signal you to come back.”

  Trixie nodded and looked at Honey. “Let’s go,” she said. The two girls left the booth, with David Llewelyn trailing a safe distance behind. When they got to their destination, the girls turned around and looked back. David Llewelyn was pretending to look at some merchandise in a store window.

  “Should we wait here until he gives us a signal that everything is all right?” Honey asked.

  “That is the signal,” Trixie told her. She pushed open the door to the building and walked inside.

  There was no sign of the young blonde woman who had been in the office before. Instead, the girls were greeted by Paul Gale himself. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Welcome to the World Anti-Hunger Foundation. Would you like to know about the work we do here?”

  “Yes, we would,” Trixie said. “You see, we like to raise money for good causes, and we thought we’d do some work for the Anti-Hunger Foundation.”

  Paul Gale’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful!” he said. “We especially appreciate help from young people.”

  “Good. I’m sure we’ll enjoy helping,” Trixie said. “Except—” She paused and drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Except we can’t start quite yet. Right now, we’re working on a pet show to raise money to save the game birds that are dying this winter.”

  The light went out of Paul Gale’s eyes. “Of course, I should have recognized you from the Sleepyside Mall,” he said with a smirk. “Well, I’m glad I got you to realize that feeding the game birds is a waste of time. I don’t blame you for wanting to finish what you’ve already started, of course. But I’m glad you’ve decided to do something really worthwhile.”