But he couldn’t make himself do it. Bruce was an honorable boy, and when he made a promise he kept it.
This can’t go on, he told himself. I’ve got to finish paying for Red.
He got up and dressed and, although it was too early, slung his camera strap around his neck and walked the three blocks to the street where the Murdocks lived. In the hush of early morning, the sky turned pink and orange and gold, and he had a mystical sense that he was still dreaming. Except in the dream, Red Rover had been there with him. It seemed strange to be out at this hour alone.
Of course, he didn’t have to be alone. Tim had offered to go with him. In fact, they all had wanted to go. But Bruce had insisted that he had to do this by himself if he was going to get a picture. There weren’t many people on the sidewalks at that time of morning, and the ones who were there stood out. One boy, half-hidden behind a clump of bushes, might get by unnoticed, but a group of four children, staring and giggling (he knew that the girls would giggle, even though they swore that they wouldn’t), couldn’t help but attract Mr. Murdock’s attention. And it might be disconcerting to Barkley, who was used to having the sidewalk to himself at that hour.
It was a long wait, but 8 A.M. finally arrived. It arrived and passed without any indication of life from within the Murdock house. Nobody even bothered to come out and get the newspaper.
The minute hand of Bruce’s watch crept to 8:05, then to 8:10, then to 8:15. By 8:22, he was ready to give up and go home, when the door to the Murdock house suddenly flew open and a man and a dog stood framed in the doorway. Mr. Murdock was wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase. He plucked the paper from the lawn and tossed it, along with the briefcase, through the open window of the shiny black Lexus in the driveway. Barkley was small and white, with one brown ear and a stub of a tail that wasn’t wagging. He didn’t look like a dog who was out to have fun. He looked like a dog on a mission.
Bruce had positioned himself across the street from the house in the shadow of an oak tree. The tipster hadn’t told Andi which direction Mr. Murdock would take, so Bruce held back and waited until he saw the man turn right. Then he turned in that direction also and kept pace with him as he strode along the sidewalk. Mr. Murdock had a stern face, bristly gray hair, and a gray mustache that was perched above a mouth that didn’t look like it smiled much. He clearly was not enjoying this time with his dog. He wanted to get this over with so he could go to work and read his newspaper.
Bruce made a mental note of the fact that he was not carrying a pooper-scooper.
When Mr. Murdock reached the corner, he turned right again, so Bruce was forced to cross the street and fall into step behind him. They continued on to the next corner, where Mr. Murdock again turned right and Bruce did likewise. They were already halfway around the block and Barkley hadn’t even lifted his leg. He just kept marching along like a little white robot. Bruce found himself wondering if this was, in fact, a real dog, or if it might be one of those realistic battery-operated dogs that people sold in shopping malls. But no, Barkley had to be real. Mr. Murdock was not a playful enough man to take a toy dog for a walk. He kept glancing impatiently at his watch and mumbling things to Barkley that Bruce wasn’t close enough to hear. In fact, Bruce was starting to worry that he wasn’t close enough to get a picture if something newsworthy did occur.
He quickened his pace to close the distance between them just as Mr. Murdock took another right turn at the corner — and then it happened! Barkley went into squat position. The angle could not have been better. Bruce had not yet started to turn the corner himself, so he was not exactly behind Barkley, but kitty-cornered to him, and could aim his camera across a flower bed. He clicked the shutter over and over and then zoomed back to include Mr. Murdock in the picture as he urged the dog to hurry and then yanked the leash to jerk him away from the evidence.
Bruce continued clicking frame after frame, too exhilarated to think about stopping. All caution about his own safety had been thrown to the winds and he had no thought for anything except his assignment. This must be what it is like, he thought, to be a war correspondent, standing on the edge of a battlefield, immune to the dangers all around you, intent only on getting your story.
He took a step forward to frame a shot with a spray of hydrangea. The dainty blue blossoms made an interesting contrast to the brown-and-white dog and the gray-and-white man.
Mr. Murdock gave the dog’s leash another hard yank, and then he raised his eyes and looked straight at Bruce. For a moment he stared at him blankly. Then his eyes began to bulge and his mouth flew open.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.
Bruce started running. He wished Red Rover were with him, because Red would have loved this. He had never run so fast before in his life.
Later, at Tim’s house, the four of them gathered around Tim’s computer as Bruce displayed one image after another.
“You sure took a lot of pictures,” Tim said. “I can’t believe you hung around that long.”
“Time stood still,” Bruce told him. “I was so caught up in it — tracking my subjects, looking for just the right angle. I know now for sure what I’m going to do for a living. I’m going to be a photojournalist.”
“The close-ups are great,” Debbie said. “You zoomed right in.”
“But just on the dog,” Andi said. “They’re all great pictures, but Mr. Murdock isn’t in them.”
Bruce continued to click through the pictures until they gasped in unison, “That’s the one!”
It was the final picture he had taken, framed with lacy blue flowers. Barkley had finished his business, and Mr. Murdock was jerking him forward. Bruce had snapped it at the exact moment Mr. Murdock spotted him. The man’s face was contorted with fury. His left hand held Barkley’s leash, and his right hand was aimed at Bruce as if he held a pistol. Neither hand held a pooper-scooper.
“That one’s perfect!” Andi said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The fourth issue of The Bow-Wow News sold out so quickly that Tim had to run a second printing. Everybody in town was discussing the story about Barkley. Then, to Andi’s astonishment, she began to be contacted by people wanting to buy advertising space. The first was the pet store, which wanted to advertise a line of pooper-scoopers that worked like battery-operated vacuum cleaners. Then an organization called Concerned Citizens for Clean Neighborhoods contacted her about placing a campaign ad for a member of their group who was running for the town council.
But the third call was far less pleasant. It was from Mr. Murdock, who was threatening a lawsuit for invasion of privacy. Andi, who was alone in the house at the time, picked up the receiver and then wished that she had checked caller ID.
“That was libel!” Mr. Murdock exploded. “That lump on the sidewalk was a stone!”
“Our photographer assured us he saw Barkley do it,” Andi said defensively.
“Your photographer is a liar!” Mr. Murdock bellowed and let loose a stream of swear words that caused Andi to cringe. She had never heard anybody use such language before.
It took tremendous effort to keep her voice steady.
“We’ll consult with our legal advisor and get back to you,” she said.
Then she hung up the phone and burst into tears.
Andi was truly scared. What legal advisor could she consult? It certainly couldn’t be her parents. If they thought their children were in trouble, they wouldn’t leave the country, and now that Andi had adjusted to the idea, she wanted them to go. They were wonderful parents and deserved a special celebration. She didn’t know of many families where the parents had been married for fifteen years to the same people they started out with.
She had even adjusted to the thought of three weeks with Aunt Alice — as long as she could make frequent visits to Bebe and Friday.
Now, as she thought of Aunt Alice, it suddenly occurred to her that she might be a possible resource. As a former private investigator, she must
know about the law. Maybe she could serve as a legal advisor.
Andi wiped her eyes and dialed her great-aunt’s phone number. As always, it took her some time to get to the phone.
“Hello,” she said, puffing a little as if she had raced in from the yard. Andi could picture her plopping down in the chair next to the telephone table with her garden shears still clutched in one pudgy hand.
“It’s Andi, Aunt Alice,” Andi told her. “I’ve got a question for you. A professional question, just between the two of us. Would that be all right?”
“Of course, dear,” Aunt Alice said readily. “Off the record it will be.” And then she surprised Andi by saying the last thing she expected to hear. “I imagine Mr. Murdock is threatening to sue The Bow-Wow News. Am I correct?”
Andi gasped. “How did you know?”
“I was sure he would when I saw his expression in the picture,” Aunt Alice said. “Also, I’ve met that man at various social functions, and he doesn’t have an easygoing nature. So, your question is, does he have grounds for a lawsuit?”
“Yes,” Andi said faintly.
“Not if the photo was taken on public property and won’t be used for commercial purposes,” Aunt Alice said. “In other words, you are free to print it in your paper, but you can’t sell it to people to use in advertisements. Does that help?”
“It helps a lot,” Andi said. “As a matter of fact, a pet store wants to advertise pooper-scoopers. Their ad is scheduled for our next issue. Should we tell them we can’t print it?”
“You can print it,” said Aunt Alice. “Advertisements are how publications make money. Just don’t link the ad to the picture of Mr. Murdock. Especially if you start selling your paper off the Internet, which I imagine is what you’ll do next.”
“We hadn’t thought about that,” Andi said. “But thank you.”
“Anytime, dear,” Aunt Alice said placidly.
By the time Andi hung up the phone, she was feeling much better.
“I can’t believe you actually called Aunt Alice!” Bruce exclaimed when Andi described what had happened. “Do you think she’ll blab to Mom and Dad?”
“I’m certain she won’t,” Andi told him. “Our consultation was off the record. She was wonderful, Bruce! It was like she was a whole different person! This must have been what she was like when she was a detective and was working on kidnappings and murders.”
“Have you called Mr. Murdock back yet?” Bruce asked her.
“No,” Andi said. “I just can’t. Will you please call him? If he yells more rude things at me, I’m afraid I’ll cry, and that’s so unprofessional.”
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Bruce agreed reluctantly. He had no more desire to talk to Mr. Murdock than Andi did, but he was, after all, the person who had taken the picture.
He dialed the Murdocks’ number and, to his relief, got the answering machine.
“Murdock residence!” Mr. Murdock’s voice roared at him. In the background he could hear Barkley yapping nervously and a woman’s voice calling, “Please, dear, try to sound a little more welcoming!”
“Leave your message at the sound of the beep,” Mr. Murdock snarled, ignoring his dog and wife as if neither existed.
The beep was so long in coming that it was obvious that the Murdocks had a lot of messages on their machine. Bruce wondered if they had stopped answering the phone because of an overload of calls from members of Concerned Citizens for Clean Neighborhoods.
When the beep did finally come, he said, “I’m Bruce Walker, the photographer who took the picture of you and Barkley. If you ever call us again, please ask to speak to me, not to my little sister. We’ve discussed the situation with our legal advisor, and she says there’s nothing you can sue us for.” He paused, uncertain about how to end the one-sided conversation. He didn’t like to be rude and just hang up, but he didn’t want to make idle chitchat either. He compromised by saying, “Have a nice day.”
Despite the barrage of sales for the issue about Barkley, sales for the following issue were disappointing. Even regular customers weren’t eager to purchase the newspaper, because they had now subscribed to Dogs’ Home Journal, a new publication on Connor and Jerry’s subscription list.
“Half of their money goes to charity,” people told the children, although when asked which charity it was, they didn’t seem certain.
“What a horrid thing for those boys to do!” Andi cried angrily. “We were here first! Jerry and Connor are copycats!”
“That’s how business works,” Tim said. “They saw we were on to something good and jumped on the bandwagon. There’s nothing illegal about that, though it is sort of crummy. And it sure is messing up our sales.”
“I’m sure Jerry’s the one behind it,” Bruce said. “I bet Connor doesn’t even know about it. He’s probably gotten so busy with all his volunteer work that he’s let Jerry take over the business. That must be what Mr. Gordon meant when he told me Connor’s no longer selling magazines.”
He phoned Aunt Alice to ask what she knew about Dogs’ Home Journal.
“Nothing specific,” she said. “Just that it sounded like a nice magazine when Jerry described it. He came by a few days ago with a new subscription list. I told him I have all the reading matter I can keep up with, or I will have as soon I start getting Happy Housekeeping. It’s certainly taking a long time for that subscription to be activated.”
Bruce typed the title Dogs’ Home Journal into an Internet search engine and didn’t come up with any matches. However, the word “dogs” took him to dozens of message boards for people who liked to chat about their pets. One of them wanted to know how to make her own flea powder. Bruce helpfully posted an excerpt from Andi’s article and added the fact that it came from The Bow-Wow News. Somebody else then asked, “Is that newspaper online?” and Bruce responded, “Not yet.” Then, before he hit the SEND button, he impulsively added, “Watch this board for further developments.”
When he described the exchange to Tim, his friend’s freckled face lit up like a Christmas tree.
“What a great idea!” he exclaimed. “We can build a Web site! My dad has one for his business, and I’m sure he’ll let us use his domain name and Internet provider.”
The girls were not so enthusiastic.
“Aunt Alice suggested we put our paper online,” Andi said. “But I don’t understand what good it will do us if everyone reads it for free.”
“I don’t either,” said Debbie. Today she was dressed in her second disguise, the one she wore on the days she went out with MacTavish. This outfit consisted of black jeans and an oversize black T-shirt. With dark glasses, and her curls tucked up under a baseball cap, it was almost impossible to tell if she was a girl or a boy. “If the paper is on the Internet, why would people buy it?”
“We won’t put the whole paper on the site,” Bruce said. “We’ll post the first half of the articles and tell people that if they want to read the rest they’ll have to send us fifty cents.”
“It would cost that much for the envelope and stamp,” Andi objected.
“The people who contact us will have computers,” Tim said. “We can send them the rest of the paper as e-mail attachments and it won’t cost us anything.”
It took Tim most of a week to construct the Web site, and his father had to help quite a lot.
“It was harder than I thought, but Dad was terrific,” Tim said. “With so many kids in our family, he and I don’t get to do much together, just the two of us, so this was great. Andi, Dad says to tell you that he loved your last poem — the one about the dog who went swimming and got hit by a torpedo.”
“He did?” Andi exclaimed with delight. That poem was one of her favorites. “Is the Web site finished? When can we start posting articles?”
“It’s ready to roll,” Tim told them. “Let’s start with our most popular story.”
“That’s Bully!” they all said together. “Either that or Barkley.”
“Let’s make i
t Bully,” Tim said. “Mr. Murdock needs time to simmer down. Bruce, can you make the picture fill the whole screen?”
“Sure,” Bruce said. “And I can do stuff with photo enhancement. For instance, I can make the meat loaf stand up higher on the plate so people can see it better. And I can make Bully’s drool reflect the flowers on the table.” His heart was beating fast with the thrill of this new challenge.
The first online edition of The Bow-Wow News received more attention than they could have imagined, especially after Bruce posted information about the Web site on all the dog-lover message boards.
The enhanced photo of Bully with his heaping plate of food and stream of rainbow saliva delighted the Bernsteins.
“But why did you leave out the recipe?” Mrs. Bernstein asked them. “Everybody I know wants my meat loaf recipe.”
“They can get it,” Andi assured her. “But they’ll have to send us fifty cents. Mrs. Bernstein, this is a business!”
Her decision to chop off the story at exactly the point where Mrs. Bernstein was preparing to reveal her recipe turned out to be a stroke of genius. Over two hundred people, including a chef at a restaurant in Atlanta, sent e-mail requests for an address where they could send their money. After a bit of discussion, Debbie agreed to have the payments sent to her house. Since both her parents worked, she could intercept the mail before they got home. As proud as they were of their success, Bruce and Andi were concerned that a sudden flood of envelopes addressed to The Bow-Wow News might be disconcerting to their parents, who still hadn’t broken the news about their upcoming trip.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that they haven’t told us yet?” Andi asked Bruce. “How long do you think they’re going to wait?”
“As long as they can,” Bruce said. “They’re probably afraid you’ll throw a fit about having to stay with Aunt Alice, so they’re putting off telling us for as long as possible.”