The Dog Squad

off his hat, and he says: “Here I am, kill me if you wish!”
But then the huge army of French soldiers all shout, “Long live the emperor!” and then they ALL march back to Paris with Napoleon in charge—doom-der-dum, doom-der-dummmm.
I AM LOVING THIS! I am wanting to march out of my room, and I am wanting to hold down my brother, so I can pull out his four disgusting hairs.
(But I don’t! Give me credit! I don’t!)
And then, fifty-four minutes after leaving my room, the Cat comes back. And this is how I know I am a detective . . .
I am listening as she comes in the front door, and just by the sound of her I SUSPECT something BAD has happened. She comes slowly up the stairs.
Then I just see her pale face coming around the door, and immediately I KNOW something TERRIBLE has happened.
“Have you got Wilkins?” she says.
Oh God, this is what I feared. Right away it’s like my heart’s dropped down a deep, deep well.
I say, “No!”
“I hoped maybe someone had brought him back to you!” she says.
I say, “No!” I feel so weak and dizzy, it’s as if the whole world’s gone white.
“I just left him outside the store for ten seconds with Michael and Rupert Beard,” she says, “while I bought a lollipop. And when I came out he was gone.”
Then for a moment I’m thinking: Wilkins has been stolen. I could cry, but I do not want to cry.
Then I am hit by a volcano blast of hot fury.
“How do you KNOW,” I growl, “that Rupert Beard didn’t take him?”
“He came into the store to buy Frazzles.”
“Then maybe Michael Beard got him!” I say.
“I don’t think that’s likely!” she replies.
“You know nothing about the Beards!” I say. “They are evil and greedy and Wilkins is valuable! They could be about to sell him. We need to stop them FAST!”
“Look,” she says, “we don’t know anything about the Beards. We don’t know ANYTHING about any of the suspects who might have taken Wilkins.”
“Oh, but we do!” I say.
“What do you mean?” she says.
“Because while some people have been outside, making friends and losing dogs,” I say, “others have been getting EVIDENCE.”
And I just slam down the five-house diagram.
I can tell she’s impressed.
I can tell she is also curious. She’s been trying to keep away from detectiving because of my mom. But now I see she wants to help me crack the case.
“Mr. Detective,” she says. “Good work!”
And so now I am still very worried and angry because Wilkins is lost. But I can’t help but feel a little happy, because . . .
. . . the Great Crime-fighting Duo are BACK TOGETHER!

CHAPTER SEVEN The Cat’s on the Case
“Well,” she says, “you can cross off a couple of the suspects right away.”
“Who?” I say.
“Mrs. Crompton,” she says.
“Agreed,” I say.
“And also the Dog Lady,” she says. “I saw her earlier. She’d just lost her two Yorkshire terriers!”
“Nicki Minaj and Ed Sheeran?!”
“Exactly!” says Cat. “She was crying.”
“I am 99 percent sure that it’s Brendan. I saw him out there with a cage. I say we call the police.”
And suddenly Cat wheels around. “I’m telling you, Rory,” she says. “DON’T be talking to the police!”
“WHY?”
“We are detectives. We don’t need them. They’ll just ask loads of questions and not DO anything, and we need to hurry. I’ll sort it out myself.”
Is this true?
“What will you do?” I say.
She ignores me. She just steps right out of my bedroom window.
Ten seconds later, she is standing on the little porch roof below my window, checking out the suspects’ houses.
“I’ll check on the Beards first,” she says. “I’ll check on Mrs. Crompton and the empty apartments too. Then I’ll go to Brendan’s van. I can see his window’s open. And I can check Dale and Shaza’s too.”
“They went out an hour ago!” I tell her.
“Did they?” she says.
She looks outside. “And they left their bathroom window open,” she says, smiling.
“What will you do?” I say, horrified.
“Well, it was me who lost Wilkins,” she says. “I could just go in, so quick, and check to see if he’s there!”
I am thinking: I definitely DON’T think you should be climbing in through people’s windows. But then I think: Wilkins could be waiting at one, hoping someone will come.
I say nothing.
I just watch, astonished, as the Cat heads out to investigate.
She does not hang about.
She stretches down to the wall.
She leaps to the ground.
She springs into the tree.
On the trampoline. Boing.
Eight seconds later I cannot believe it—she is just walking along the wall.
I watch as she moves swiftly to the Beards’ back garden. She drops silently down. She flits like a shadow into their alleyway.
Ten seconds later . . .
I can see her inside the Beards’ house.
I can see the Beards.
They look terrifying. Suddenly I feel SURE they COULD be the actual criminals! They’re definitely evil!
I’ve only been around there once, when I was in kindergarten. Michael Beard locked me in his cellar, and said I was his prisoner.
I see it . . . That’s where the dogs will be right now!
I’m thinking: That’s where the Cat will be!
I’m thinking: They’ll be tying her up now, beside four crates of dogs that they’re holding, ready to sell, so they can get cash for bikes and stupid jockey gear . . .
But then I see the Cat is not at the Beards at all.
I see her appearing in the alleyway by Dale and Shaza’s house.
She knocks on their door.
Normally when someone knocks Bizmo barks so loudly the whole street can hear. Now their house is silent. I can tell they’re out.
Even so, I watch—horrified—as Cat leaps up, sticks her head through the window, then slides herself through.
She disappears.
After that it’s a bit