The First Adventure (3 page)

She was adamant. “We've broken the law before when we knew we were doing the right thing. This is the right thing. Nothing's ever been this right!”

“It's more like we
bent
the law,” Griffin amended. “But you can't bend giving Swindle the dog. You either do it or you don't.”

“Maybe it won't be so bad,” Ben offered unhappily. “We're all going off to camp next week, so you won't be here for the actual — you know — thing. And by the time you get back, it'll all be done.”

Her glance scorched Ben and caused Ferret Face to take cover inside his shirt. “You're out of your mind if you think I could go to camp with this hanging over Luthor's head! I'd sooner take him and run away from home!”

A thoughtful expression spread across Griffin's face. Savannah was too emotionally upset to notice it, but Ben knew exactly what it signified. It was a plan being born.

“Maybe,” Griffin said in an odd voice, “you can do both.”

Savannah looked impatient. “What are you talking about? Do both what?”

“Go to camp
and
keep Luthor out of Swindle's clutches.”

Ben was beginning to clue in. “Are you thinking what I think you're thinking? No way would that ever work!”

“Any plan can work,” Griffin lectured, “if you take the time to plot out the details and prepare for every possibility.”

“Would you guys mind telling me what you're talking about?” Savannah interrupted in agitation.

The Man With The Plan smiled. “Welcome to Operation Hideout.”

* * *

Mrs. Drysdale stuffed a pair of flip-flops into the zipper pocket of Savannah's duffel. “Okay — that's five shorts, three bathing suits, and fourteen T-shirts. I've sewn your name into everything until my fingers are nothing but stumps!”

“Thanks, Mom.” Savannah placed a hoodie on top of the pile. “It might get cooler at night.”

Mrs. Drysdale smiled. “I can't tell you how proud I am about the way you're handling all this. I know how much Luthor means to you.”

Savannah offered a melancholy shrug. “Maybe we'll win the appeal,” she said without much conviction. “I just wish Luthor didn't have to go with that awful jerk until it gets decided.”

Her mother sighed. “Well, I'm just glad you're not going to let it ruin camp for you. Dad and I were afraid you'd refuse to go.”

“What would I do here, besides sit around and be miserable? All my friends will be at some camp or other. Besides, it isn't going to help poor Luthor if I drive myself crazy worrying about how Swindle's treating him.”

“Very sensible attitude,” Mrs. Drysdale approved. “By the way, where
is
Luthor? I haven't seen him all morning.”

“Oh, you know — around.”

Her mother paused, frowning. “A hundred-and-fifty-pound Doberman is not something you overlook. Aside from all that barking, he's a physical presence, knocking things over, and bumping into furniture.”

They searched the house. Luthor was nowhere to be found.

“Oh, no!” Savannah cried. “Swindle's kidnapped him!”

“Why would he do that?” Mrs. Drysdale demanded. “He has a court order on his side. He'll get the dog in a few days anyway.”

“Then Luthor must have run away,” Savannah decided. “Who can blame him? Would you want to go live with a mean, sleazy con man instead of the people who love you?”

Her mother regarded her intently. “Luthor's bright, but no dog could understand how court orders and appeals work.”

“Luthor may not understand the legal system,” said Savannah stubbornly, “but he's a beautiful, sensitive creature with amazing intuition. He feels how upset we are, and he can read the nasty, self-satisfied smirk on Swindle. He knows he's in trouble, and that money-grubbing animal abuser is at the heart of it. That must be why he ran away.”

Her mother stared at her long and hard. “Well, in that case, we'd better find him. If the ninth comes along and we don't have a dog to turn over, the judge is going to want to know why.”

“It isn't
our
fault Luthor ran away,” Savannah reasoned weakly.

“Let's hope not.” Her mother peered at her suspiciously. “By the way, when was the last time you talked to Griffin Bing?”

L
uthor peered into the basement through the open casement window. It didn't look like a place where he wanted to go. He wheeled his big head around and growled at Griffin and Ben.

“I don't like the sound of that,” said Ben nervously. “Now that he's out of the dog show, he's turning back into the old Luthor, and that's bad news.”

“We need you inside,” Griffin explained to the Doberman. “It's only temporary. You're going somewhere different after that.”

Luthor didn't budge.

Griffin was becoming annoyed. “You always seem to understand when
Savannah
's doing the talking.”

“You're not a trained dog whisperer,” his best friend noted.

Logan, Pitch, and Melissa appeared below them in the basement.

“All I could find was a piece of salami,” Logan told them, holding the snack up. “Will that work?”

With a bark that was more like a roar, Luthor went for the meat, falling through the window into the darkened basement. Griffin and Ben quickly climbed in after him, lowering themselves to the floor.

“Why does it have to be
my
basement?” Logan complained. “It's not
my
dog.”

“We'll all be on the firing line if Swindle gets his way,” Griffin reminded him.

Logan was not sold. “It's
your
plan, Griffin. Why can't we use your place?”

Griffin shook his head. “No good. If the Drysdales get suspicious, my house will be the first place they look. Besides, you've had so much water damage that your mom refuses to come down here because the place is full of spiders. It's safe.”

“What if one of the ‘spiders' starts to bark?” Logan persisted.

Griffin put a hand on his friend's shoulder. “Look at it as an acting job. You're playing a character who
doesn't
have a Doberman in his basement.”

“Got it.” The idea intrigued Logan, and he tested out a few possible lines of dialogue:

“Pardon me, Mom? No, I didn't hear anything. . . . Barking? That was distant thunder. Or maybe one of those new European motor scooters. Their engines are very doglike . . .
To bay or not to bay? That is the question —
”

“Don't get fancy,” Pitch advised. “If you try to be Shakespeare, you'll mess it up for sure.”

“It's only for a couple of days,” Griffin added. “Once we head into the woods for camp, Luthor disappears. This is a temporary safe house until we smuggle him onto the bus.”

That was the backbone of Operation Hideout. It was designed to keep Luthor out of Swindle's greedy clutches while the Drysdales pursued their court appeal.

Melissa's beady eyes gazed out from behind her curtain of hair. “How is Savannah going to hide him for an entire month of camp? He's kind of tough to miss.”

“It's not going to be easy,” Griffin admitted. “But I'm going to Ebony Lake, too. I'll be right across the compound in the boys' cabins. When I get a look at the camp, I'll have to do some planning on the fly.”

As Griffin and Ben walked home from the Kellerman house, Ben announced, “You know, Griffin, I was kind of bummed when I found out that I couldn't go to the same camp as you because Ebony Lake won't take Ferret Face. But I have to admit I'm not sorry to miss out on four weeks of Operation Hideout. Luthor's a suburban dog. Who knows what he's going to be like when you get him in the middle of nowhere. He could join a wolf pack or something.”

“Don't be so dramatic,” Griffin scoffed. “You're forgetting Savannah's going to be there. She can handle him.”

Ben nodded. “Except when she's swimming. Or hiking. Or asleep. A time bomb doesn't always go off when it's convenient, you know. It goes off when it goes off.”

Griffin was disgusted. “How many plans have we done together? And how many times has something gone wrong?”

“About fifty,” Ben said feelingly. “And something goes wrong every single time. Usually more than once.”

“But in the end it always works out okay,” Griffin added.

Ben's mother was on the front porch of the Slovak house. She waved urgently as the boys approached. “Benjamin, Savannah's parents were just here. They tell me Luthor's gone missing. Do you and Griffin know anything about that?”

Ben froze, but Griffin was ready with a reply. “No, Mrs. Slovak, we don't know anything about Luthor being missing.”

“That's a relief.” She sighed, and went back inside.

Ben wheeled on his friend. “Way to go, Griffin. Now when this blows up in our faces, we're going to be in twice as much trouble for lying!”

“We didn't lie,” Griffin said reasonably. “Luthor isn't missing. We know exactly where he is. Relax, Ben. Personally, I'm not worried about this plan at all.”

Ben bit his tongue and said nothing. When Griffin wasn't worried, it was usually time to start worrying.

T
he front hall was clogged with the biggest piece of luggage anyone had ever seen. It looked like a regular hockey equipment bag, only longer, and on wheels. The tag read:
Griffin Bing, Camp Ebony Lake.

When Mr. Drysdale pulled up into the Bings' driveway to pick up Griffin and deliver him to the camp bus, all he could do was stare.

“What have you got in there? Camp lasts four weeks, not four years!”

Griffin grinned. “Oh, you know — just some of my stuff.”

“I packed a lot of things, too,” Savannah put in nervously, trying to distract attention from her friend's enormous duffel.

It didn't work. “You're supposed to be leaving home, not taking it with you!” her father exclaimed in amazement.

It took both fathers and both campers to wrestle it into the back of the SUV.

Mr. Bing arched his back, groaning. “A few of the necessities of life, huh, Griffin?”

Griffin laughed uncomfortably, hugged his parents good-bye, and got into the SUV. It was only a two-minute ride, but Mr. Drysdale could not keep his eyes off the rearview mirror and the giant duffel that obscured the back window.

Finally, he stomped too hard on the brakes, and pulled over to the side. “Sorry, Griffin, but I'm going to have to see what's in that bag.”

Savannah nearly jumped out of her skin. “There's no time, Dad! We'll miss our bus!”

“It'll only take a second,” he assured her. “I'm just going to check inside.”

Griffin shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

The look Savannah shot him was nothing short of a horror mask.

Mr. Drysdale popped the rear access and unzipped the giant bag.

Savannah closed her eyes and waited for the world to end.

“Books?” her father questioned.

“Oh, Dad. You can't just let —” She stopped herself just in time. “Books?”

The inside of the duffel was stuffed with enough paperbacks to start a lending library.

“I never pegged you as such a reader,” Mr. Drysdale told Griffin. “You've got more books than clothes in here.” He shook his head. “I could have sworn — never mind. Sorry I brought it up.”

“That's okay,” said Griffin graciously.

The bus to Camp Ebony Lake was parked on Seventh Street, beside a grove of tall trees. Mr. Drysdale loaded Savannah's bag in the luggage bay, then, with great difficulty, shoved Griffin's in beside it.

“Okay, you guys, have a great time. Uh — happy reading, Griffin. Try to get out some.” He kissed his daughter, shook hands with her friend, and drove off.

As soon as he was gone, Savannah wheeled on Griffin. “What's going on?” she hissed. “Where's Luthor?”

Griffin was already hauling the enormous duffel out of the bus. “I had a panic attack last night that someone would unzip the bag, and there he'd be.” He dragged the luggage on its wheels into the stand of maples, opened it, and began tossing books in all directions. Then he let out a high-pitched whistle.