"Nothing," Sister Mary Grace said, keeping the lunch bags to throw away herself.
"How odd," Dr. Schieber said, not sounding as though she really found it odd at all. What was she up to? She asked, "Where else could that pesky egg be?"
"Maybe she didn't want to keep it," Kaitlyn said. "Maybe she just didn't want me to have it."
"She could have thrown it away," Dr. Schieber said. She gave a long look at the armload of lunch bags Sister Mary Grace was holding. "Well, you know, she doesn't really strike me as one who likes to throw away much, but I suppose it's worth a look." She headed back to the cafeteria. "Come, F-32," she called, because Sherlock was hanging back.
He'd probably just realized that now would be a good time to make a break for it, Amy thought. She leaned down to give him a hug. "I'll be fine," she whispered. But now Dr. Schieber was watching. Amy told him, "Next time she turns her back, run."
Sherlock barked, though it'd take a lot more than not talking to convince Dr. Schieber that he wasn't who she knew he was.
Amy and Sherlock and the crowd followed Dr. Schieber back into the cafeteria. There were several big garbage cans, and Dr. Schieber peered into the one closest to the door.
"See!" Kaitlyn said. "All sorts of broken eggs in here."
"That's because everybody was throwing their mistakes away," Minneh's father said, interrupting the blowing of his nose to say it. "There's one of mine in there that I dropped when I sneezed, and one of Minneh's she didn't like."
Mom's grateful look said, Amy was sure, that she forgave him all his sneezing and snuffling and scratching, since he'd defended her daughter.
"This could be it." Kaitlyn pointed. "See how it's all smushed—not just cracked, but even the inside part is all broken up like she tried to pulverize it so nobody would recognize it."
Amy looked. "That's Raymond's egg," she said.
"Where
is
Raymond?" Sister Mary Grace asked.
"He went home," said Adam, who got along with everyone and was one of Raymond's few friends. "He didn't stay for lunch."
"That's convenient," Kaitlyn said. "Amy probably saw him leave. She likes him, you know," she added in a belittling singsong, "so she would have been watching. So she knew she could say this one was his and he wouldn't be here to say yes or no."
Amy, who felt sorry for Raymond but had never counted him as a friend, much less a boyfriend, said nothing.
"Anyway," Kaitlyn said, "even if that one turns out to be Raymond's, Amy might just have buried mine in deeper under all the garbage. Or she may have put it in another garbage can. Or she might have thrown it outside. Or she might have fed it to her dog." Kaitlyn suddenly caught up to things. "Excuse me, I mean the dog she lied and said was hers that really belongs to this lady."
Sherlock barked at her.
"If he bites," Kaitlyn's mother warned, "believe me, we'll sue."
"He doesn't bite," Dr. Schieber said.
Sherlock stood on his hind legs and leaned against the garbage can, sniffing at the contents.
"Does he knock over garbage cans?" Kaitlyn asked.
At which point a uniformed policeman walked into the room. "Someone call 911 to report a robbery?" he asked.
Kaitlyn pointed at Amy. She told the policeman, "I'm sorry to say that this girl, a known liar, has stolen valuable property, including this lady's dog and my Ukrainian Easter egg."
"This girl," Dr. Schieber countered before the policeman could say anything, "took good care of my dog after he strayed, and I'm very grateful to her."
Kaitlyn said, "Everybody heard her say it was her dog."
"And he was," Dr. Schieber said, "since she was the one taking care of him for those days."
"That wasn't what she said," Kaitlyn muttered.
Dr. Schieber smiled brightly. "I certainly didn't call 911"—she glanced at the policeman's name tag—"Officer Munshi."
The policeman looked at Kaitlyn. "And what's this about a ... an
egg,
did you say?"
"A Ukrainian Easter egg," Kaitlyn explained. She tried to show him the photo album, but he wasn't interested.
"You called 911 for a missing egg?"
"These eggs can be quite valuable," Mrs. Pudlyk said in defense of her granddaughter and of the tradition of Ukrainian Easter eggs. "Some have sold at the auctions for two or three thousand dollars."
Officer Munshi took out a pad of paper and poised a pen over it. "This egg was worth between two and three thousand dollars?"
"Well"—Mrs. Pudlyk glanced away—"not this particular egg."
Officer Munshi clicked his pen twice: point in, point out. "How much," he asked, sounding just the slightest bit impatient, "do you estimate this particular egg was worth?"
Mom said, "At eighty-nine cents a dozen on special this week at Wegmans, that would be approximately seven and a half cents."
Officer Munshi clicked his pen several times as people in the crowd snickered. Except, of course, for the Walker-Pudlyks.
"Not counting, of course," Mom admitted, "the time and expense of hard-boiling it."
"It was worth more than that!" Kaitlyn stamped her foot.
Officer Munshi put his pad away.
"I worked all morning on it," Kaitlyn cried, getting loud once again, "and Amy stole it because she was jealous. Look!" She grabbed up Amy's egg from its box. "See how ugly hers is? See why she was jealous?"
"Kaitlyn," Sister Mary Grace started, "be—" But before she could say "careful," the egg dropped from Kaitlyn's hand.
Amy saw it falling, falling, falling, and was unable to move. Then it smashed on the floor.
Sherlock barked sharply.
"Oh!" Kaitlyn said. Even Amy couldn't be 100 percent sure she had done it on purpose. In the total stillness of the crowded room, Kaitlyn said, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to drop it. I was just trying to show why she was so jealous."
Sean stooped to pick up the egg—which was good, because Amy still couldn't move at all. One side of the egg was crushed, mostly where the flowers were; but crack lines webbed out over most of the lopsided picture of Sherlock. Sean gently set the egg back down in the Easter grass. A piece of shell stuck to his finger.
"I didn't mean it," Kaitlyn repeated sulkily.
Sherlock barked again.
Officer Munshi looked from Kaitlyn to Amy to Sister Mary Grace. "Who called 911?" Amy could tell he was getting angry. He was still glaring at Sister Mary Grace despite the fact that she was shaking her head. "Don't you realize that while I'm here listening to these children bicker, something serious could be happening somewhere else in the city? First you tie up 911's phone line, then you take me off the streets to listen to this squabbling because you don't have control of your class—"
"I beg your pardon!" Sister Mary Grace objected. "Kaitlyn Walker took it upon herself to call you. I had nothing to do with it, and neither did any of the other adults."
"No control," Officer Munshi repeated.
Sherlock stood right in front of him and once more barked.
"And as for this dog," Officer Munshi said, "don't you know there's a public health ordinance against dogs inside school buildings, except for Seeing Eye dogs'?"
Sherlock barked again.
"It almost looks," Dr. Schieber said innocently, "as though he's trying to tell you something, doesn't it?"
Amy felt chilled, not knowing what Dr. Schieber planned.
Sherlock bobbed his head and barked again.
"You're lucky," Officer Munshi said, "I don't write the whole lot of you up for calling in a frivolous report, and for..." He paused, trying to think of something, and Dr. Schieber suggested, "Obstructing justice?"
By his look, he was seriously considering it, at least for her. Instead, he turned and started out of the room.
Sherlock kept moving in front of him, barking all the time.
"Lady, curb this dog of yours."
"I really think he wants to tell you something," Dr. Schieber said.
Is she trying to force Sherlock into actually speaking?
Amy wondered. Not likely, if the experiment at the college was supposed to be secret. She wouldn't want Officer Munshi and all the kids and parents here to know. But Amy could tell Sherlock was getting frustrated, not being able to communicate with the policeman in normal-dog fashion. He stood in the way, looking directly into Officer Munshi's eyes, backing up only to keep from getting stepped on.
"Sherlock," Amy said, "why don't you show me, and I'll show Officer Munshi?"
Sherlock barked once in agreement, then whirled and ran down the hall, the opposite direction Officer Munshi had been trying to go, back toward Amy's locker.
Amy glanced over her shoulder and saw that the policeman was at least giving her a minute. He lingered in the hallway as though ready to run if he even suspected he was being made fun of.
"What is it, Sherlock?" Amy said.
Sherlock barked rather than spoke because several of the children and parents were close on Amy's heels.
At Amy's locker, Sherlock stopped, then started back the way he'd just come, toward the cafeteria and—beyond that—Officer Munshi, and—beyond him—the door.
"This is ridiculous!" Officer Munshi said in exasperation, and once more faced the door.
"No, look," said Mr. Tannen, Minneh's father. "He's sniffing."
Something Mom probably figured Mr. Tannen knew all about. But he was right: Sherlock was sniffing at the lockers. And suddenly he stopped in front of one of them. He gave a sharp bark.
Nobody moved.
Sherlock sat down and gave a long, loud wolf howl.
"Jeez!" Officer Munshi winced at the noise. But he came closer. "What is it?" he asked Amy. "What's he saying?" Amy started to shake her head, and he asked, "Whose locker is this?"
"I'm not sure," Amy said. "But these are all fifth graders' lockers."
Officer Munshi turned to include everyone in his question. "Whose locker is this?" he repeated. "Number 210?" When nobody answered, he said, "Surely there are records in the office."
"I'll check," Sister Mary Grace offered.
"Mine." It was Kaitlyn who stepped forward. "The stupid dog has pointed out
my
locker. Stupid dog."
"Please open it, Miss," Officer Munshi said.
"Daddy," Kaitlyn said, "doesn't he need a search warrant or something?"
Her father hesitated then said, "Open the locker, Kaits."
Scowling, Kaitlyn unfastened the lock.
Not that it meant anything, but Amy was relieved to see that it looked no neater than her own.
Officer Munshi reached to the shelf and pulled out a knitted cap. Nestled inside Was Kaitlyn's egg.
"I hate you," Kaitlyn told Amy, "and the way everybody always makes such a fuss about you and your stupid dog that isn't even your own dog."
"Me?" Amy squeaked. Wasn't it enough for Kaitlyn to be the most-liked girl in fifth grade? She had to be the
only
liked one?
Officer Munshi crooked his finger at the Walker-Pudlyks. He asked Sister Mary Grace, "Is there a room where I can speak privately with you and the family?"
"Certainly," Sister Mary Grace said solemnly. "Follow me."
People began to drift back to the cafeteria to a pick up their things and leave.
Amy tried to silently catch Sherlock's attention, making frantic hand signals for him to head out the door.
Sean sidled up to her. "You sure bring excitement into the school year," he said, which was certainly not something anyone had ever told Amy before. "Do you think they'll arrest her for making a false police report?"
Behind him, Dr. Schieber said, "Sorry to disappoint you, young man, but she'll probably just get a good long lecture."
Sean jumped, and the excited smile on his face disappeared as he looked from Amy to Dr. Schieber to Sherlock—Sherlock, who was still there despite Amy's efforts.
"I think," Dr. Schieber said, "that some of us need to have our own private talk."
Mr. Tannen, who'd stayed because Minneh had, now said, between sniffles, "Come on, Minneh."
"Actually," Dr. Schieber said, "from what I saw outside, I believe your daughter is one of the people I need to talk with."
Mr. Tannen looked suspiciously at Minneh and asked Dr. Schieber, "Is she in some sort of trouble?"
Dr. Schieber laughed, and it was—Amy was surprised—a pleasant laugh. "Not at all."
Whatever Minneh felt, at least Amy was relieved.
"Then," Mr. Tannen said, "I think I better leave. Dr. Schieber, that is one remarkable dog you've got—smart, and a good sniffer." He tapped the side of his nose. Sherlock gave a thank-you bark. "But I'm incredibly allergic to animals, as you've probably noticed, and something in this school got me going even before he came in. I'm going to go home and take some allergy medicine. Will you be OK, Minneh?"
Minneh nodded, looking worried and guilty.
Mom said, "We'll drive her home in a bit."
"Thank you," Mr. Tannen said, his voice stuffy from congestion. "You're a very kind lady."
Now Mom looked worried and guilty, no doubt for all her bad thoughts regarding him.
Mr. Tannen nodded good-bye and started for the door.
"Ahm, Dad," Minneh said.
He stopped and waited for her to go on.
"You might just want to"—she shrugged—"you know, vacuum out the front seat of the truck. And kind of ... put your sweater in the wash."
Mr. Tannen thought that over. "I may just do that," he said in his slow way. He nodded once more and left.
Sean's parents were the only ones remaining, Sean having refused to take their hints and—in fact—their little shoves to get him moving away. Mrs. Gorman looked offended by Mr. Tannen's having called Mom nice. She said, "Well, I'm glad that Amy, here, was proven innocent, since Sean tells us that she's a good friend of his, and because that Kaitlyn Walker has always struck me as an insincere little sneak. But you, Mrs. Prochenko, are one strange cookie, trying to cause trouble between me and my husband."
Mom obviously didn't know what to say.
And it wasn't up to her, anyway. Gently, Amy said, "No, she's not. I'm sorry, Mrs. Gorman, it's all my fault. Kaitlyn was right about one thing: I am a liar. I told my mother stories, and she believed me. It's not her fault at all."