Dangerous Deception (8 page)

L
auren called early the next morning. “I'm sick,” she said. “I'm staying in bed today, so I can't go with you to Sophie's school this afternoon.”

“What's wrong with you?”

“Sore throat, and I'm running a fever. Mom thinks I might have strep.”

“Drink a lot of water,” I said. “I hope you're better soon.”

That afternoon as I boarded the city bus, headed for Sophie's school, I wondered why I felt responsible for helping Sophie. Except for Lauren, the other kids in my group had felt good about doing a community service project and had then shrugged, said it was not their problem, and let it go. They weren't spending their afternoons riding buses and leaning into Dumpsters and walking hospital corridors, looking into the rooms of strangers. They weren't talking to No Help and worrying that they might get rabies. They had put Sophie's troubles out of their minds and gone on to concentrate on trying out for the school play or learning to do wheelies on a skateboard. Why couldn't I be like that? Why did I have to care so much?

I did not have to transfer to a second bus to get to Sophie's school, but I did have to walk ten blocks from the bus stop. I reached the building and went inside. School was out for the day, so the halls were empty.

A woman in a purple blouse looked up from her keyboard when I entered the office. A bouquet of fake red roses sat on her desk along with a framed photograph of a white poodle wearing a yellow raincoat.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

“A girl I know goes to this school,” I said. “She lost her cat and I found it, but I don't know her last name so I can't look up her phone number. Her first name is Sophie, and I hope you can tell me her last name.”

“I can't give out student information,” she said. “District rule.”

“I know it's a rule,” I said, “but I also know she's worried sick about her cat.” I wanted to add that there are far too many rules that make it hard to help people, but I didn't. Instead I said, “Sophie's mom is sick and her dad is gone and she's having a really hard time right now. Midnight, her cat, means the world to her.”

The woman nodded. “There's more than one Sophie in this school,” she said.

“The one I want lives on East Sycamore Street.”

“If you know where she lives, why don't you take the cat to her? Or go there and talk to her?”

“I did go there, but nobody's home. The last time I talked to Sophie, her mom was in the hospital and Sophie was staying with someone else.”

The woman typed something and I saw new information come up on her computer screen, but she didn't say anything. She seemed to be thinking over my request.

I said, “How would you feel if your dog was lost and somebody found it, but they didn't know how to get hold of you to let you know he was okay?”

The woman glanced briefly at the poodle picture on her desk.

“What grade is your friend in?” she asked.

“Fifth.”

She clicked a few keys.

“I heard there might be a Sophie Sodaberg in the fifth grade,” she said, “but I can't confirm that.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I had been afraid Sophie's last name might be Smith or Johnson or some other common name. How many Sodabergs could there be in Cedar Hill?

The walk back to the bus stop seemed shorter than the walk to the school.

As soon as I got home, I called the hospital.

“I'm calling about Mrs. Sodaberg,” I said. “She's a patient there and I'd like to know her room number so I can send her some flowers.”

“One moment, please.”

I held my breath. If I got the room number for Sophie's mom, I could go there and find Sophie. Or if Sophie wasn't visiting when I got there, I could tell her mom about Midnight, or even leave a note for Sophie at the nurses' station.

“Hello?” the voice came back on the line. “Mrs. Sodaberg is no longer a patient here. She was discharged last night.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay. Thank you.”

Discharged! Instead of going to Sophie's school, I should have gone back to her apartment. She was probably there, calling and hunting for Midnight.

Mom would be home soon; it was too late to go to Sophie's apartment.

• • •

The next day was the last day of school before spring break. Mrs. Reed gave one of her “let's make the world a better place” talks and had each of us say one thing we could do every day that would make us better people. We were supposed to put our resolutions into practice during our vacation from school.

Hunter said, “I'm going to make my bed every day so I don't get docked on my allowance.”

Shoeless said, “I'm going to learn how to make deep-fried Oreos.”

“Resolutions are supposed to make you a better person,” Mrs. Reed said.

“I'll be lots better if I can have deep-fried Oreos whenever I want them,” Shoeless said.

Crystal said, “I'm going to volunteer with a group that catches aliens and puts tracking devices on them so the FBI knows where they are.”

“Where do you find aliens?” asked Abby.

“Oh, I can't tell you that,” Crystal said. “They are not aware that we know where they're hiding, so it has to be kept a secret.”

“Yeah, right,” said Shoeless.

“Next, please,” said Mrs. Reed.

Most of the resolutions were typical: be nice to my little brother, do my homework on time, get up when the alarm rings. I resolved to keep my room clean without being nagged.

That afternoon we had an assembly where the school band played some of the songs they'd be playing in the concert.

Usually by that point on the last day before spring break I was giddy with anticipation and full of plans for all my free time.

This year, I shivered as I waited for the city bus to take me to Sophie's apartment. Lauren was still home sick, so I was alone. I didn't really want to make this trip again, but Sophie needed to know that Midnight was safe. If she was living in the apartment again, I could return Midnight to her. Not on the bus, though.

I climbed the familiar stairs to apartment 3 and knocked. No answer. I knocked harder. Silence.

As I debated what to do next, I heard the outside door open and close. Hoping it was Sophie, I looked down the stairs.

No Help approached, carrying a can of beer.

“Oh, it's you again,” he said.

“I'm looking for Sophie,” I said.

“She isn't there. They've all left.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they've moved out. Evacuated the premises.”

“That's what you said before, but it wasn't true. Sophie's mom was in the hospital.”

“They all came home yesterday, and last night they left again carrying suitcases. This time they're gone for good. I know because your friend knocked on my door and said they were moving, and asked if I had seen her cat.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I said no.”

I glared at him. “You didn't tell her you had thrown the cat in the Dumpster?”

“How did you . . .” He clamped his mouth shut.

“I should report you for animal cruelty,” I said.

“Your word against mine,” he said. “You have no proof.”

He unlocked the door to his apartment, went inside, and shut the door.

I tried to think what I would do if I were Sophie and had to leave my cat behind when I moved. I decided I would leave an address or phone number with my neighbors, in case anyone saw Midnight.

I knocked on No Help's door. No response. I banged louder.

“Go away!”

“I need to talk to you.”

The door opened slightly.

“Make it fast; I'm busy.”

“Did Sophie give you a phone number, in case you saw her cat?”

“Forget the cat. It's gone.”

“Did she give you a phone number or not?”

“Yeah, yeah. She gave me a number.”

“Could I please have it?”

“Nope.”

“Why not? What difference does it make to you?”

“I don't have it.”

“You said she gave it to you!”

“She told it to me, and I pretended to write it down.”

“Pretended.”

“I knew nobody would see that cat hanging around so why bother?”

I stared at him. I realized he thought nobody would see Midnight because he believed Midnight was dead in the Dumpster. He made me so mad that I wanted to get even somehow.

“When you threw Midnight in the Dumpster,” I said, “you might as well have tossed in a handful of hundred-dollar bills.”

“What are you talking about?”

He opened the door a little farther.

I looked past him into his apartment and saw a whole row of flat-screen TVs.

“Don't get nosy!” No Help said. “If you come here again, you'll wish you hadn't.”

This time when he slammed the door, I heard the lock click into place.

Why would No Help have so many television sets? Why didn't he want me to see them?

I
banged on No Help's door and shouted, “There's a one-thousand-dollar reward for the return of that cat!”

The door opened. No Help looked out. “What?” he said.

“Haven't you seen the posters?” I said. “There's a picture of Sophie's cat, and it says there's a one-thousand-dollar reward.”

“No way! That family couldn't even pay their bills. Their car got repossessed one day when they weren't home, and someone from the landlord's company had to let them in yesterday because the rent was overdue and he'd already changed the locks. Where would they get a thousand dollars?”

“The reward is from an organization that helps low-income people take care of their pets.”

“You're kidding.” His eyes opened wider.

“Nope,” I said. “One thousand dollars. Cash.” I couldn't believe how easily the lies came out of my mouth. I hadn't thought this story up in advance; the words tumbled out spontaneously, and when I saw the effect they had on No Help, I embellished the story. “All you have to do is call the number on the poster and they'll come and get the cat and give you the money.”

No Help pushed past me and ran down the stairs. I followed. He rushed to the back of the building, jumped up beside the Dumpster, grabbed the rim and pulled himself up so that he could see inside. “Here, kitty!” he called. “Nice kitty, kitty!”

For an instant I fantasized about grabbing his ankles and shoving him up and over the top. Let him see how he liked sitting in the stinky garbage.

Instead I left him hollering into the Dumpster, while I ran back up the stairs. He had left the door of his apartment partway open. I pushed it open wider and peered inside. I stayed in the hallway, right at the threshold, so I couldn't be accused of trespassing, but I got a good look.

Along with all the TV sets, there were about a dozen laptop computers, and a large open cardboard box full of cell phones. Several boxes stacked on a card table said “Blu-ray” on the side. I took out my phone and snapped some pictures of the room's contents.

I pulled the door closed until it was exactly the way No Help had left it. Then I ran downstairs and knocked on Mrs. Spangler's door. Maybe Sophie had asked her to watch for Midnight, and Mrs. Spangler would have told her how I fished him out of the Dumpster and took him home. If that had happened, I could relax about the whole situation. Sophie wouldn't worry about Midnight, and she could contact me when she was settled in her new home, wherever that might be. Of course, I still had to convince Mom to let me keep Midnight until I talked to Sophie.

It took a few minutes for Mrs. Spangler to answer my knock. When she saw me her face crinkled into a smile.

“It's the cat girl,” she said. “Come in! How's the kitty doing?”

“He's fine,” I said. “He gets along great with my dog.”

“We humans could learn a lot from the creatures about how to live happily with those who are different from ourselves,” she said. “We surely could. Would you like some hot chocolate?”

“No, thanks. I can't stay. Did Sophie, the girl who lived upstairs, talk to you about her cat before she left?”

“Left? Have they moved out?”

“Yes. At least that's what the man upstairs in apartment four told me.”

“Oh, him. I wouldn't trust anything that comes out of that one's mouth.”

“Do you know what his name is?” When I told the police about all the electronics that were stashed in No Help's living room, it would be good if I knew his name.

She shook her head, no. “I don't know his name, but I know he's rude. More than once I've heard him shout at someone in his apartment. He has a foul mouth.”

“He's the one who threw Sophie's cat in the Dumpster,” I said.

“I'm not surprised,” Mrs. Spangler said. “Once I heard a commotion, and when I looked out, a man had fallen on the stairs. That neighbor stood at the top laughing, as if it was funny that someone had tripped on the stairs. He made no effort to help the man who had fallen. I wondered if he might have pushed the man. I probably should have called the police, but I didn't actually see what happened. All I know for sure is that he has a mean streak.”

“He's a jerk, but I think he's right about Sophie's family moving. I hoped you might have seen Sophie before she left, and told her that I rescued Midnight from the Dumpster and took him home.”

“I wish I'd had a chance to do that,” Mrs. Spangler said. “I surely do. I would have enjoyed telling that story to someone, but I haven't talked to anybody. No one has been here since you came before.”

Maybe she didn't hear Sophie knock, I thought. Or maybe Sophie's mother hurried her along and wouldn't wait while Sophie talked to Mrs. Spangler.

I thanked Mrs. Spangler and said I'd come back to visit her on a day when I could stay longer. When I went outside I heard No Help banging his fists on the side of the Dumpster, probably trying to scare poor Midnight into moving around so he could see him. I wondered how long he would bang and yell before he gave up.

I walked back to the bus stop, feeling like a failure. Sophie was gone. I hadn't told her I have Midnight and now I might never see her again, and she would always wonder what had happened to her little black cat. Sophie had enough problems without grieving for a cat who was safe and happy.

A tear trickled down my cheek. I had tried so hard to help, but all I did was waste a bunch of time and get a zillion scratches.

I had to wait ten minutes for the bus. Just as it pulled up, I saw No Help come out to the front of his building. He started toward me as I got on the bus. The doors closed. I quickly dropped my fare in the container and found an empty seat. I vowed I would never come back here again.

The bus started to pull away from the curb, then stopped. The front door creaked open, and No Help got on. His eyes scanned the rows of seats until he saw me. Then he dropped his fare in the coin box, walked up the aisle, and sat beside me.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“I mean why did you knock on my door?”

“I told you why. I'm looking for Sophie.”

“Where are those posters?” he asked. “I didn't see them.”

“They were on telephone poles around the area,” I said. “I don't remember exactly where.”

“Funny you saw them but I didn't.”

“I'm very observant,” I said.

“So, what did you observe in my apartment?”

“I've never been inside your apartment.”

I grew more and more uneasy. I knew that he'd noticed me looking into his apartment. Was he trying to warn me not to tell anyone what I'd seen?

“You never looked in the door, either. You saw nothing in that room. Right?”

“Right.” I gave him my most innocent look. “Was there something in there you wanted me to see?” I asked. “If there was, I missed it.”

“I don't know what game you're playing,” he said, “but you had better stop it before you get hurt.”

I didn't answer. It seemed wiser not to continue to talk to him. For the first time, I wondered if helping Sophie might be dangerous.

We rode in silence until the bus got to my stop. When I got off, No Help got off, too. Fear moved into my mind and took up residence.

I walked quickly toward home. No Help followed. The bus stop is five blocks from my house. No Help didn't say anything, and he didn't try to walk beside me, but he followed me. When I got within a block of my house, I started to run. No Help ran after me. I knew he could catch up to me if he wanted to, but he stayed about fifteen feet back.

When I got to my house he waited on the sidewalk, watching while I opened my front door and went inside. I was glad I had remembered to take my key that day so that I didn't have to get the spare one from under the fake rock where we hide it.

I locked the door behind me, then ran to the window and peered out. No Help had turned and was walking back toward the bus stop. Waggy greeted me as usual, and I knelt beside him and buried my face in his fur, trying to make my heart quit racing. Instead of walking Waggy around the block as I normally do when I get home, I kept him in our backyard. I didn't want to take any chance of seeing No Help again.

I had intended to download and print my pictures of his apartment, write the address on the back, and mail them to the police as an anonymous tip, but I realized that if the cops showed up at No Help's door to question him, he would guess who had alerted them. The tip would be anonymous and No Help didn't know my name, but he knew where I lived. I didn't want to give him any excuse to return.

I couldn't prove that anything in his apartment was stolen. Maybe he ran some kind of business where he bought inexpensive or damaged electronics and resold them for a profit. If that was the case, though, he wouldn't care if I saw the items. He would have no reason to threaten me.

Why had he followed me home? The only possible answer was that he wanted to scare me, to warn me not to tell anyone what I had seen.

I called Lauren and told her that Sophie's family was gone, but I didn't tell her about No Help. Since I wasn't going to do anything with those pictures, it would be best if nobody else knew about them, or about my being followed.

“I wish I'd never read that contest entry,” I said. “I've wasted tons of time, and I have nothing to show for my efforts.”

“That isn't true,” Lauren said. “You helped Sophie's family when they desperately needed food. You rescued Midnight. He would have died in that Dumpster if it hadn't been for you. Even though the situation isn't ending the way you had hoped it would, you still accomplished a lot.”

Her words made me feel better.

“I think you'll hear from Sophie again,” Lauren said.

“Seriously?”

“You don't know how to contact her, but she knows how to reach you.”

“No, she doesn't. If she had found the note with my phone number, she would have called. She doesn't know my address or even my last name. It would be as hard for her to contact me as it is for me to find her.”

“Maybe not. She could send another letter to Dunbar's. Once she gets settled wherever she's gone, I bet she'll figure out a way to get in touch with you to let you know she's okay. When she does, you can tell her you have Midnight and make arrangements to get him back to her.”

I hoped Lauren was right. I felt better thinking that I might eventually hear from Sophie again.

When Mom got home, she began reading contest entries. “This will be the last batch until next year,” she said. “Yesterday was the deadline, and I thought I was through, but Colleen found a pile of entries that had fallen down behind her desk.”

I went to my room and started my homework.

A few minutes later, Mom came in. She had that “You are in big trouble, young lady” look in her eye as she handed me an envelope.

I knew before I read it what it was.