“Word gets around,” Connor said. “I’d like to subscribe. How much is it?”
“Three dollars for the summer,” Bruce told him. “Do you own a dog?”
“No, but I wish I did,” Connor said, pulling out his wallet and counting the money. “Jerry tells me he used to have a setter, but it ended up with you. I’m sure there’s a story behind that.”
“There is,” Bruce said, but he didn’t offer to elaborate. “I guess you’re aware that I’m not exactly Jerry’s favorite person.”
“That’s what I gathered,” Connor said with a sympathetic chuckle. “My cousin’s basically a good kid, but he can sometimes be a pill. That’s the reason Uncle Gerald invited me to visit. He thought I’d be a good influence.”
“Lots of luck!” Bruce said. “Here, take a copy of this current issue. The paper’s a weekly, so I’ll deliver the next one next Wednesday.”
“Sounds good,” Connor said. “I’m looking forward to reading them. You and your sister must have good heads for business; you’ve zeroed in on a hot market.” He gave Bruce a friendly clap on the shoulder. “Good to meet you, bud. I’ll see you around.”
“So long,” Bruce said. “And thanks for subscribing to the paper.”
Connor loped back across the driveway and disappeared into the Gordons’ house, and Bruce continued on to Aunt Alice’s, disconcerted by the friendly exchange. Connor could have been Jerry’s clone as far as looks went, but his personality was so different that it had been like talking to Jerry, yet not talking to Jerry, or like talking to Jerry when he was pretending to be somebody else.
“I just met Connor Gordon,” Bruce told Aunt Alice when she opened the door to him. “I didn’t realize Jerry’s cousin was old enough to drive.”
“Apparently so,” Aunt Alice said. “He’s very mature, and he doesn’t let any grass grow under his feet. He’s been here only a week, and it’s amazing the way he’s made himself a part of the community. Every morning and evening he’s off doing volunteer work, and when he’s not working, he and Jerry go door-to-door selling their magazine subscriptions. Busy, busy, busy!”
She eagerly reached for the paper, but her face drooped in disappointment when she saw the front-page photo.
“That’s definitely not Bully Bernstein.”
“No,” Bruce said. “That’s Snowflake Swanson. She’s a very important dog. She’s been winning beauty contests for over eight years. The Swansons have her insured for fifty thousand dollars.”
“That must be why she’s wearing a crown,” Aunt Alice commented. “Does she always stick her nose in the air like that?”
“She’s vain about her looks,” Bruce acknowledged. “She goes to the beauty parlor every week to get her nails done. But there’s a lot of other stuff in this issue if Snowflake doesn’t interest you. There’s an article about how to pull ticks off dogs without popping them. That can be very tricky. And there’s a new poem by Andi called ‘Virginia’s Tragedy.’”
“Well, that should keep me occupied,” Aunt Alice said. “But I’d love to read more about Bully.”
The second fifty-dollar sale to the Tinkles that Andi had anticipated did not materialize. Mrs. Tinkle seemed irritated by the suggestion. “I’m not concerned about ‘Virginia’s Tragedy,’” she told Andi. “None of our friends will recognize Ginger by that name.”
However, Snowflake Swanson’s owners bought six copies because they loved Snowflake’s picture, and Dr. Bryant, the veterinarian who owned the Bryant Pet Clinic, was so impressed by the article about tick removal that he bought fifty copies to use as handouts for his patients.
“Summer is tick season,” he told Bruce. “Every pet owner should have this important information.”
But the newspaper’s strongest selling point was turning out to be the gossip column. Every pet owner whose dog was mentioned in that column bought multiple copies, and several took out subscriptions.
“I’ve got to find a way to get more gossip,” Debbie said at their weekly editorial meeting. “I’ve used up all of my sources. Tiffany Tinkle won’t talk to me since we printed that poem about Ginger, and my other friends won’t tell me anything about their dogs except how sweet they are. A gossip columnist’s life is not as easy as you’d think.”
“You need a new territory,” Tim told her. “What about the Doggie Park?”
Debbie regarded him blankly.
“It’s over on Oak Street,” Tim said. “That big grassy area with the fence around it. It’s a park where people can let their dogs off their leashes. I took my dog, MacTavish, there once, and the dogs were having a great time playing together. Mac would have loved to go back, but I couldn’t stand it. It was filled with a bunch of overweight women sitting on benches and yammering to each other while their dogs got all the exercise.”
“That sounds perfect!” Debbie exclaimed. “Would they let me in without a dog? I don’t own one, because Mom is so devoted to her cat.”
“You can borrow Bebe,” Andi offered. “Friday’s too shy to enjoy that, but Bebe’s very sociable.”
“No, take MacTavish!” Tim pleaded. “He’s dying to go back.”
“I’ll take turns,” Debbie said. “First Bebe, then MacTavish. I can wear disguises and, with two different dogs, nobody will suspect I’m the same person.”
So, the following day, Debbie came by to pick up Bebe to go to the Doggie Park. It cost a dollar to get in — “There are always business expenses,” Tim reminded them — but she returned with a notebook filled with such interesting information that it was more than worth the entrance fee. Andi’s eyes widened as she read Debbie’s notes:
Trixie Larkin’s master brings Trixie to the
Doggie Park on his motorcycle. Trixie is
learning how to make turn signals with
her paw.
Fifi Anderson’s mistress has a crush on Dr.
Bryant. Sometimes she takes Fifi to his clinic,
pretending Fifi has a stomachache even
though she really doesn’t.
Foxy Roper tried to bite a turtle and broke
two front teeth. He’s had five hundred dollars’
worth of dental work.
Curly Roskin’s owner smokes cigarettes,
and Curly reeks of secondhand smoke. Curly
has emotional problems because other dogs
don’t want to be around him.
Frisky Mason’s owner is thinking about
getting a second dog. She’s told her friends,
but she hasn’t told Frisky, because she thinks
Frisky will be jealous. But this reporter
spotted Frisky hiding under a bench,
eavesdropping. Frisky’s no dummy. FRISKY
KNOWS!!!
The father of Bebe and Friday Walker’s owner
is taking his wife to Europe.
Andi was stunned by that final item.
“My parents aren’t going to Europe!”
“Yes, they are,” Debbie said. “Foxy’s owner works for a travel agency. She was telling Fifi’s owner about how your dad came in and booked reservations for a three-week tour. They’re going to France and Italy and Switzerland and London.”
“Just them — not Bruce and me?”
“Just the two of them, to celebrate their fifteenth anniversary. It’s a surprise for your mom. Your dad said she’s always dreamed of going to Europe. They wanted to do it on their honeymoon, but they couldn’t afford it. Now they can.”
“I think that’s terrific!” Bruce said. “Mom deserves a treat. It wasn’t easy for her to pull up roots and move when Dad got his job transfer. But she never complained about leaving her own job and all of her friends. She just smiled all the time like it was a great adventure.”
“But what about us?” Andi cried. “We’ll be stuck with Aunt Alice!”
“We can stand it for three weeks,” Bruce said.
“But the dogs —”
“They’ll be right down the street.
We’ll be over there all the time except when we’re sleeping. We couldn’t go off and leave our new business anyway.” He regarded his sister apprehensively. “Don’t you dare tell Mom or blab to Dad that we know. And, Debbie, you can’t put that information in your gossip column. This is Dad’s surprise for Mom, and he’s got to be the one to break the news. We don’t want to ruin it for him.”
Andi nodded unhappily. “I won’t say anything, but I don’t want to stay with Aunt Alice. I want to sleep with my dogs, and I don’t want to live next door to Jerry for three weeks. Every time we step out the door he’ll run us over with his skateboard.”
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Bruce told her. “I mean, of course you can’t sleep with Bebe and Friday, but we won’t be attacked by Jerry. His cousin, Connor, isn’t going to let that happen.”
“Have you met Connor?” Tim asked him. “I haven’t had a chance to yet, but I’ve seen him driving around in his silver bullet. That sure is a cool car!”
“Connor’s cool, too,” Bruce said. “He looks like Jerry, but he isn’t nasty at all. In fact, the whole reason he’s here is to straighten Jerry out.”
Bruce was disappointed that the Miata was not in the driveway when he stopped by the following Wednesday to deliver Connor’s paper. He’d been looking forward to having another chance to talk with him and possibly even to beg a ride in his car.
But apparently Connor and Jerry were off somewhere together, because it was Mr. Gordon who came to the door.
“Please give this to Connor,” Bruce said, handing him the paper. “And this is for you, sir — an installment payment on Red Rover.”
“Fifty dollars!” Mr. Gordon exclaimed. “That’s a sizable amount, Bruce, especially in comparison to your usual five-dollar payments. Jerry told me he thought you might be planning to default and return Red Rover, but obviously he was wrong.”
“He was,” Bruce said. “I am definitely buying Red Rover.”
“If you have any thoughts to the contrary, don’t feel committed,” Mr. Gordon told him. “At the time I agreed to sell you the dog, Jerry was not at his best. But that’s how teenagers are, and I’ve now come to realize that he’s basically a good kid who got off on the wrong track. I think he was probably running with the wrong companions. Bad influences are a danger to vulnerable young people, and sometimes it takes a family effort to get them back on track. Jerry will be busy doing things with his cousin this summer. You’ve obviously met my nephew?”
“Yes,” Bruce said. “He seems like a very nice guy.”
“He’s a charmer,” Mr. Gordon agreed. “Connor’s home is in Chicago, but his parents wanted him to spend the summer here in Elmwood. They thought that a small-town atmosphere would be a nice change for him.”
“I’m sure it will,” Bruce said politely, both startled and impressed by how smoothly Mr. Gordon was concealing Connor’s true reason for being there. “Aunt Alice says Connor’s doing a lot of volunteer work as well as selling magazine subscriptions.”
“I’m very much in favor of his volunteer work,” said Mr. Gordon. “It’s a marvelous thing for young people to give of themselves to the community. However, you’re mistaken about the magazine subscriptions. Connor sold magazines in Chicago, but he doesn’t do that now.”
“He doesn’t?” Bruce exclaimed in surprise. “But Aunt Alice told me — a lot of people told me —”
“They’re mistaken,” Mr. Gordon said firmly. “Connor is not selling magazine subscriptions here in Elmwood. So, what about you, Bruce? What’s the source of this large payment? A summer job mowing lawns?”
“Better than that,” Bruce told him. If Mr. Gordon could stretch the truth a bit, he could, too. “I’m working as a photographer for the hottest new publication in town.”
CHAPTER SIX
HERO DOG SAVES FAMILY
Trixie Larkin is a hero. When she smelled something funny in the night, Trixie barked.
“She didn’t have to do that,” Mrs. Larkin said. “She could have run out her doggie door. But Trixie barked and woke us up, and we called the fire department.”
The fire department came. The thing that smelled funny was in the garbage disposal. It was not a fire.
“But it could have been a fire,” Mrs. Larkin said. “If it had been a fire, we would have burned up if Trixie hadn’t barked. I will never again feel safe if Trixie isn’t with us.”
Newspaper sales took a downhill slide when the story about Trixie was the lead article. It seemed that people weren’t interested in a smoke-detecting dog who didn’t detect smoke.
“That’s cheating,” complained one dissatisfied customer, who had bought the issue because of the photograph of Trixie wearing a firefighter’s hat with a medal that said “World’s Best Dog.” Bruce was proud of that picture. He had purchased the child-size fire helmet at a toy store and created the medal with aluminum foil and a felt marker. But he had to admit that, in a way, it was cheating, because the thing in the garbage disposal hadn’t been worth barking about. It had been a piece of fish. He offered to give the customer her money back, but she decided to keep the issue because of Andi’s article about how to make your own flea powder.
“We’ve got to find more interesting subjects,” Tim said. “What we need is another Bully Bernstein.”
“Bully Bernsteins don’t grow on trees,” Bruce retorted. “We’re going to wait a long time before we find another Bully.”
“How did you find him?” Tim asked.
“Debbie learned about him from Tiffany,” Bruce said. “The Tinkles were mad at the Bernsteins, and Tiffany was ranting to Debbie about how immature Bully was and let it drop about the high chair. If it hadn’t been for that, we wouldn’t have known about him.”
“We need to find more dog owners who are mad at other dog owners,” Tim said. “There must be a lot of them out there. But how do we get them stirred up enough to squeal on each other?”
“We could run an ad,” Debbie suggested. She was wearing one of her disguises, because as soon as the meeting was over she was headed for the Doggie Park. This particular disguise involved hair extensions that belonged to her mother and a pair of false eyelashes. Bruce thought she looked ridiculous.
“Maybe we could offer a free subscription for tips about interesting stories,” she continued as she practiced fluttering the lashes.
It was not a bad idea, even coming from Debbie, and they were mulling it over when the phone rang. A moment later, Mrs. Walker appeared in the doorway.
“It’s for you, Andi,” she said. “I didn’t recognize the voice. I assume it’s one of your subscribers.” Mr. and Mrs. Walker both thought their paper was adorable, although they didn’t take it seriously as a source of income.
Andi picked up the receiver.
“The Bow-Wow News,” she said in a businesslike voice. “This is the editor speaking.” She sat for a moment in silence and then asked, “Is there a particular time of day when this happens?” Listening intently, she reached for her notebook and began taking notes. “We’ll get right on this, and thank you so much for informing us.”
When she hung up the phone, she was beaming.
“We’ve got a scoop! Bruce, this will be your first major photo assignment!”
“What do you mean, my first assignment?” Bruce demanded. “I photographed Bully, Ginger, Snowflake, and Trixie. Don’t they count?”
“I said major assignment. An investigative news story! That tipster owns one of the Bulldales. She’s informing on another dog owner. She said Mr. Murdock, who lives two houses down from her, has a fox terrier named Barkley. Three times a day the Murdocks walk Barkley around the neighborhood, and Mr. Murdock doesn’t carry a pooper-scooper!”
“My dad knows Mr. Murdock from the Rotary Club,” Tim said. “He’s vice president of the bank. Nobody messes with Mr. Murdock. If we publish something like that, he’ll sue us for libel.”
“Libel means ‘lies,’” Andi said. “It isn’t libel if
it’s true. We’ll have to furnish proof, but that won’t be a problem. Not if Bruce gets a picture.”
“A picture of a man walking a dog without a pooper-scooper?” Tim protested. “He’ll slide out of that one easily. He’ll say Barkley didn’t need to go, and there was nothing to scoop.”
“But a picture is worth a thousand words,” Andi said. “If one of those words begins with p —”
“Okay, I get it,” Bruce said. “When does he do this?”
“Mr. Murdock walks Barkley at eight in the morning,” Andi said, referring to her notes. “Mrs. Murdock walks him in the afternoon, but she carries a scooper. Mr. Murdock walks him for a final time after dinner. When do you think would be the best time to get a picture?”
“Not after dinner,” Bruce said. “The light won’t be good. Not the afternoon walk, because Mrs. Murdock obeys the law. So it will have to be in the morning. That’s the best time anyway. Barkley will have been inside all night.”
“I’ll write a draft of the story,” Andi said. “When you get back with the picture, we’ll fill in the details, like exactly where and when it happened.”
Bruce had a hard time sleeping that night, and between spells of wakefulness he dreamed. Each time he dozed off, the same dream started over, like a defective DVD that wouldn’t stay in place when you hit the PAUSE button.
He dreamed about taking Red for a predawn run. At the start, they ran in darkness, but soon that lessened, and trees and houses began to take shape around them. The sky in the east turned pink and then orange and then gold, and the sun came bursting over the edge of the horizon. Red Rover was a wild thing, first dashing ahead, then rushing back to Bruce, practically dancing with joy as he stretched out his long, lean muscles and raced like a flaming arrow straight into the path of the rising sun.
In the dream, as in real life, Bruce had a plastic bag in his pocket and carried a pooper-scooper.
The final time he awakened, the sky outside his window had grown light enough so he could make out the branches of the elm tree. He lay there, listening to the chirping of the birds and feeling an almost irresistible urge to take Red running and sneak him back in the yard before his parents woke up.