The Stranger Next Door

  Pete did not move. “I want Alex.”

  “Honestly,” Mrs. Kendrill said. “I think you just like to hear yourself meow.” She shut the door.

  Pete heard the lock click. He hurried to the front of the house; maybe Alex was looking for him there.

  * * *

  “Here, Pete. Here, Pete.” Alex turned the corner from Valley View Drive to Maple Street. He didn’t think Pete would wander this far, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe Pete had been so excited to be off the leash that he had gone too far.

  Movement on the other side of the street caught Alex’s attention. He stopped. Two people were walking in the same direction as Alex. Maybe they had seen Pete. He walked faster, trying to see who it was before he called out to them.

  One of them laughed, and Alex stopped. Duke! Who was with him? The second person was too tall to be Henry. Maybe it was Duke’s older brother, the one who had said his dog would eat Pete.

  Alex remembered Duke’s taunt: “Trouble always comes in threes.” Was Duke making sure something else bad happened in Valley View Estates?

  Maybe Duke did cut down the street signs and start the fire, Alex thought. Maybe I should have told Mom and Dad that I suspected him.

  Duke and his companion got in a parked car. The engine started; lights came on.

  Alex squatted on the sidewalk, hoping Duke wouldn’t see him.

  The car sped past. Duke’s brother—the same one who had been with Duke before—was driving.

  Alex watched the car turn the corner onto Valley View Drive. Instead of continuing down Maple Street, Alex turned and hurried home, calling Pete as he went.

  I don’t like not knowing where Pete is, Alex thought. There are too many dangers: cars, big dogs, unknown people. What would Duke and his companion have done if they had seen Pete? Maybe nothing; maybe something cruel.

  Benjie met Alex at the door. “A big helicopter flew over,” he said, “and dropped pieces of paper into our yard.” He handed Alex a crayon drawing of green-and-red-striped cows. “It’s a secret message,” Benjie said, “about cows who give peppermint-flavored milk.”

  “Has Pete come home?” Alex asked. After seeing Duke just a block away, Alex was too nervous to go along with Benjie’s game.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Kendrill said, “but he wouldn’t come in. He just sat on the back porch and yowled. I think he’s still out there.”

  Alex opened the back door and switched on the light.

  “It’s about time you came,” Pete said. Then he bolted down the steps.

  “You’d better catch him,” Mrs. Kendrill said. “He wouldn’t let me get near him.”

  “Come on, Pete,” Alex said. “Time for dinner.”

  “You can’t bribe me with food,” Pete said. “I have something important to show you.” He trotted across the backyard, pausing every few feet to make sure Alex was still in pursuit.

  Each time, he waited until Alex was almost close enough to reach him before he hurried farther away.

  Pete was nearly to Alder Court when Alex stopped.

  “I’m not chasing you all over the neighborhood,” Alex said. “You’d better come home with me or you’ll be back on your leash tomorrow.”

  Leash. Pete growled at that dreaded word. He hesitated, knowing he could allow himself to be picked up and carried home, and no one would ever suspect that he held the key to an unsolved case of arson.

  Pete decided not to give in. He was a cat of honor, and it was important for Alex to see what he had seen, even if it meant Pete lost his freedom for a few days.

  “Just a few yards farther,” Pete said. He trotted on.

  “Okay,” Alex said. “Stay out all night, if you want to. I’m going home. Just don’t come howling around after I go to bed because I’m not getting up to let you in.”

  Alex turned around and started toward home.

  This calls for drastic action, Pete thought. He remembered the one time he had fought with another cat. Several years ago an orange striped cat had come into Pete’s yard, and Pete had bravely defended his property.

  Pete had a nick in one ear where the orange cat had taken a bite out of him. When the orange cat bit his ear, Pete had screamed a bloodcurdling scream that he had never made before or since. The Kendrills, and several of their neighbors, had come running.

  As Pete watched Alex walk away from him, toward home, he sat back on his haunches, tipped his face to the sky, and let loose. “Yeeeooowwww!” he shrieked.

  Alex whirled around and ran toward him.

  Pete got set to shriek again, but before he could do it, Alex reached him, scooped him up, and held him tight.

  “I thought you’d been attacked by a dog,” Alex said, “or maybe even a cougar.”

  Alex decided that from then on, Pete would be an indoor cat unless he was on the leash.

  “I didn’t mean it when I said I’d leave you out all night,” Alex said. “I would never do that. I was only trying to persuade you to come with me.”

  “Poof!” The sound came from the end of the street.

  Alex turned to look. A faint light flickered from the center house.

  “Oh, no,” he whispered. “There’s another fire.”

  12

  Alex saw a dark figure silhouetted against the rising flames. The figure hurried to a parked car, then put something in the trunk. The arsonist!

  Alex turned to run home to call 911, then stopped. Should he call the fire department, or should he stay and try to get a license number from the car first?

  It was important to call for help as soon as possible; he had seen how quickly a fire could damage a home. Still, the burning gray house and the houses on either side of it were all vacant, so there wasn’t any chance of people being hurt. If Alex stayed and got a license-plate number, the police would probably catch the arsonist before he could start more fires.

  Still clutching Pete, Alex knelt in the weeds.

  The arsonist got in the car and drove away from the fire. As the car approached Alex and Pete, Alex tried to read the license number, but the headlights shone in his eyes. He would have to wait until the car passed him, then try to see the number on the back license plate.

  The car accelerated as it went by. Alex tried to see but he got only the first two numbers: 2–4. That wouldn’t be enough.

  He stood and ran after the car, squinting at the back plate.

  2–4–4–K–X–something. He didn’t get the last letter, but he thought he had the rest of it right: 2–4–4–K–X. He repeated it aloud, wishing he had something to write on.

  The fire burned higher, lighting up the land around it.

  Tires squealed; red brake lights glowed. Pete buried his face in the crook of Alex’s elbow. The car roared in reverse back down the street toward Alex.

  He’s seen me, Alex realized. He must have looked in the rearview mirror.

  Alex took off toward home. He was halfway to the grove of trees when a gunshot sounded behind him. Alex hit the ground. He let go of Pete, who ran to the closest tree and climbed it.

  “Hold it right there,” the man called as he ran toward Alex. “Don’t say anything. Don’t yell for help. I missed you on purpose the first time, but I won’t miss again.”

  A chill prickled Alex’s arms. He recognized that voice. Mr. Woolsey, the man who had built all the houses in Valley View Estates, was the arsonist!

  Alex stayed sprawled in the weeds as Mr. Woolsey approached.

  From the far side of the trees, Alex heard his mother’s voice calling, “Alex? Alex, where are you?” Maybe she heard the shot, he thought. If I don’t come, she’ll know something’s wrong.

  The man approached Alex. “Stand up,” he said softly. “Keep your hands over your head while you get in my car.”

  “Alex?” Mrs. Kendrill’s voice rang out. “Al-ex!”

  “Don’t answer,” Mr. Woolsey said. “Don’t say anything.”

  Alex stood, then walked to the car.

  The fire raged around the en
tire house now. When his parents came looking for him, they would see the flames and call 911, but they wouldn’t know Alex had been abducted.

  Just before he got in the car, Alex slipped his watch off his wrist and let it drop to the street. He pretended to cough, to cover up the sound that the watch made when it hit the pavement.

  Mr. Woolsey slid behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, then took off so fast the tires squealed again.

  Good, Alex thought. Make some noise. Call attention to this car.

  “Why did you set fire to that house?” Alex asked.

  “I didn’t set any fire. I just happened to drive by and saw smoke. I was on my way to call the fire department when I spotted you.”

  Alex said nothing. He knew Mr. Woolsey was lying, but it didn’t seem smart to argue with someone holding a gun.

  “You’re the one who set the fire,” Mr. Woolsey said. “That’s why I came after you.”

  “Me? That isn’t true. I had nothing to do with either of the fires.”

  “Kids these days can’t be trusted. It’s lucky I saw you there in the street, or you would probably have set more houses on fire.”

  Alex stared at Mr. Woolsey. Was he really going to try to put the blame on Alex? If so, would anyone believe him?

  Maybe they would. After all, why would Mr. Woolsey destroy homes that his company had built—houses that he owned?

  “I’m the one who called the fire department last night,” Alex said. “I wouldn’t do that if I had set the fire.”

  “You might. Some people start fires because they like the excitement of having the fire trucks come.”

  “And some people start fires so they can collect the insurance money,” Alex said. He hadn’t intended to say that. He blurted it out the minute he had the thought, because he knew it was a motive for Mr. Woolsey’s actions.

  Most of the houses in Valley View Estates had not sold yet. Maybe Mr. Woolsey was having money trouble; maybe he owed a bank for some construction loans and now, because the houses had not sold, he couldn’t make the payments.

  As soon as Alex accused Mr. Woolsey, he knew he should not have done so. Mr. Woolsey had looked nervous when they first got in the car. Now he seemed angry. One hand gripped the steering wheel while the other held the handgun. When he glanced at Alex, his eyes were cold, dark marbles.

  “Where are you taking me?” Alex asked.

  “Be quiet. I’m trying to think.”

  Alex said nothing more. He hoped his parents would waste no time calling the police. They would know something was terribly wrong when Alex didn’t return, especially if Pete went home.

  But would Pete go home? Maybe Pete would stay in the tree and howl until Dad brought a ladder out there. That might not happen until tomorrow morning.

  Too bad Pete can’t talk, Alex thought. He saw the car, just as plainly as I did, and he heard me repeat the license-plate number. Maybe he even recognized Mr. Woolsey.

  Alex wondered if Pete had purposely led him to the scene of the second arson. Had Pete been there earlier and seen Mr. Woolsey? Had Pete run away from Alex as a way to make Alex follow him and discover what was happening?

  No, Alex thought. Don’t let your imagination run wild. Even if Pete did see what Mr. Woolsey was up to, it wouldn’t mean anything to him.

  Pete’s a fine cat, but that’s all he is, just a cat. He certainly is not a detective.

  13

  Two blocks from the fire, Mr. Woolsey’s foot stomped on the brake pedal.

  Alex’s head jerked forward at the sudden stop. He gripped the edge of his seat as the car made a fast U-turn, roared back to the dead-end street, and screeched to a stop in front of the burning building.

  Mr. Woolsey got out, walked to the rear of the car, and opened the trunk.

  Alex looked hopefully in all directions but saw no one. Surely his parents would have seen the fire by now, especially if they were outside looking for him. He wondered if they were waiting at home for the fire trucks to arrive.

  The door beside Alex opened.

  “Get out.”

  Alex looked at the handgun, which was pointed directly at him. He got out of the car.

  “This way.” Mr. Woolsey motioned with his head toward the tan house to the right of the fire.

  Alex saw that Mr. Woolsey now held a length of rope in his other hand. He’s going to tie me up, Alex realized, and leave me in the second house.

  “Go faster. Run!”

  Alex jogged toward the empty building, with Mr. Woolsey directly behind him.

  The first fire roared upward, almost to the roof. A dark, dense fog of smoke surged into the night sky.

  I can’t let him do this, Alex thought. He’ll tie me and leave me there, and then—the realization made Alex’s stomach lurch—and then he’ll set fire to that house, too.

  He’s gambling that I won’t be found until it’s too late. He’ll blame the fires on me after I’m dead. I’m the only one who knows who the true arsonist is, so if he blames me and I’m not here to defend myself, he’ll get away with it.

  “Don’t yell for help, and don’t try to escape,” Mr. Woolsey said. “This gun is loaded, and I’m an excellent shot. I’ll say I caught you starting the fire and that I fired when you ran away. I’ll say I couldn’t tell who it was.”

  Would anyone believe that? Alex wondered. Did it matter? He would be dead whether anyone believed Mr. Woolsey’s story or not.

  Mr. Woolsey used a key to unlock the tan house. He pushed the door open. “Get inside.”

  Alex stepped into the dark interior. Dim light from the burning building next door gleamed through the dining-room window to his left.

  “This way,” Mr. Woolsey said, shoving Alex forward until they reached an open bathroom door.

  “Put your hands on the wall,” Mr. Woolsey said.

  Alex hesitated. Should he do as he was told and hope that help would come in time? Or should he bolt, taking a chance that Mr. Woolsey’s shot might miss him, and that he could hide or get away?

  “Now!” Mr. Woolsey said.

  Reluctantly, Alex put his palms against the wallboard. He couldn’t run for it when Mr. Woolsey was so close. Even a poor shot could hit a target that was in the same room.

  Mr. Woolsey bound Alex’s feet with the rope.

  “Put your hands behind you.”

  Mr. Woolsey tied Alex’s wrists together behind his back, pulling the rope tight. “Now hop into the bathroom.”

  With short, jerky jumps Alex crossed the threshold into the small bathroom.

  Mr. Woolsey stood with his hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry I have to do this,” he said, “but you shouldn’t have been sneaking around in the dark.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking. I was trying to catch my cat.”

  “I wish I had a choice, but I’m in it too deep to turn back now.”

  “You’ll get caught,” Alex said, “even without me. My parents know I wouldn’t commit arson, and they know I was home with them when the first fire started. They’ll pursue this. You’ll be arrested.”

  Mr. Woolsey pulled the bathroom door closed. Alex heard the doorknob jiggling and realized Mr. Woolsey was doing something to it from the other side so that the door wouldn’t open.

  Alex heard Mr. Woolsey run toward the front door. He made himself stay quiet. As soon as Mr. Woolsey was gone, Alex would yell for help. He didn’t want to call out too soon, for fear Mr. Woolsey would come back and fire the gun through the bathroom door.

  Alex knew that his parents or one of the other families in Valley View Estates would see the fire soon, if they hadn’t already, and that fire trucks would arrive.

  He hoped that the firefighters would hear his shouts. If they didn’t . . . No. Alex wouldn’t let himself think about what would happen if they didn’t hear him.

  Alex leaned against the door, straining to hear when Mr. Woolsey’s car drove off. Instead he heard the footsteps again, this time running toward the bathroom door.

  F
or an instant, hope flared. Had guilt changed Mr. Woolsey’s mind? Was he going to untie Alex and let him go?

  Wishful thinking turned to dread as the smell of gasoline seeped under the door. Footsteps ran away; the front door slammed shut.

  Because the other two fires had been started around the perimeters of the houses, Alex had assumed Mr. Woolsey would do that again, and that it would take some time for the flames to reach this bathroom. Instead Mr. Woolsey had poured gasoline inside the house, next to where Alex was confined.

  He heard a muffled curse from outside the bathroom window, followed by the sound of something hitting the wall.

  Alex sat on the edge of the bathtub, swung his legs up and over the side, then stood in the tub and peeked out the window.

  Mr. Woolsey was pounding on the wall with his gasoline container, trying to shake out a few more drops. Mr. Woolsey had not intended to start a second fire tonight; maybe he had emptied the container at the gray house, and now there wasn’t enough gasoline left to set fire to the tan house.

  He saw Mr. Woolsey strike a match, then toss it toward the base of the house. Alex couldn’t see if anything caught fire, but Mr. Woolsey gave a satisfied nod, then ran off.

  Alex stood helplessly in the bathtub, listening for the sound of sirens.

  Minutes later, fingers of flame gripped the bottom edge of the door, then crawled upward.

  Water, Alex thought. I’m in a bathroom. If I can turn on the water, I can stay wet, and keep my clothes from catching fire. He sat down in the tub, facing away from the faucet.

  He scooted backward until his hands touched the front of the tub. He groped for the faucet, found it, and turned it. Nothing happened. He yanked it as far as it would go; still nothing.

  The main water valve to the house must not be open. Probably the water didn’t get turned on until people were ready to move in.

  Thick smoke oozed under the door and rose, curling around Alex’s head. He looked at the small window over the tub. He could probably squeeze through it if he could get it open, but with his hands tied behind him, he couldn’t reach the latch, and there was nothing in the bathroom that he could stand on.