The Sasquatch Escape (The Imaginary Veterinary) (12 page)

Pearl poked the lady’s arm. “Are you okay?”

The sound got louder. “SSSSSS.”

“I bet she’s trying to say ‘sasquatch,’ ” Ben
whispered to Pearl. “She must know where it is.”

“Mrs. Froot? What did you see?” Pearl poked her again.

“Did you see something big and hairy?” Ben asked.

“Yes. Yes,” Mrs. Froot said with trembling lips. “I saw a ssssss…a ssssss…a sloth.”

“A sloth?” Pearl and Ben said at the same time.

Mrs. Froot finally blinked. Then she took a long, wheezy breath, and her eyes went wild, spinning around like they might fly right out of her head. “A terrible, enormous, hairy sloth right here in Buttonville. It tried to eat me.”

“Are you sure it was a
sloth
?” Ben asked. He was pretty sure that sloths didn’t live in North America, and he was doubly sure that if Mrs. Froot had seen something terrible, enormous, and hairy, it was most likely the escaped sasquatch. But events had been so strange lately, he couldn’t be one hundred percent certain of anything.

“Tell us what happened,” Pearl said.

Mrs. Froot looked up at a tree branch that
loomed overhead. “I was on my way to the senior center. It’s pudding day, and I wanted to get some butterscotch before Maybell ate it all. She’s always hogging the butterscotch. But I heard a strange sound, and there it was, sitting in that tree.”

Ben walked around the tree, where he found a big footprint pressed into the matted grass. And
there, dangling from a low branch, a tuft of brown fur. He fluffed up the grass, then grabbed the fur to hide the evidence.

“The sloth jumped out of the tree and snatched my sunbonnet right off my head. Then it ran toward Fir Street.” Mrs. Froot patted her white hair. “That was my favorite sunbonnet.”

Ben didn’t point out to Mrs. Froot that sloths are famous for moving very slowly, not for jumping or running. If she wanted to believe that a sloth had taken her sunbonnet, then so be it. At least she didn’t think it was a sasquatch.

Mrs. Froot squinted at Pearl. “Pearl Petal? Is that you? Did you do this?”

“Do what?” Pearl asked.

“Did you put a sloth in my tree?” Mrs. Froot wagged a finger at Pearl. “You have a reputation for trouble, young lady. You should stop messing around in people’s trees.”

“I didn’t,” Pearl insisted. “Really, I didn’t.”

“I’d better call the police,” Mrs. Froot said. “They should know that there’s a sloth on the loose
in Buttonville!” She turned her walker and began shuffling toward her house.

“Shouldn’t we stop her?” Ben asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Pearl said as she started down the sidewalk. “The police will never believe her. Would you believe it if the oldest person in Buttonville told you that a sloth had jumped out of a tree and stolen her sunbonnet?”

“No,” Ben said as he followed. “It kinda sounds like one of my stories.”

“You write stories?” Pearl asked.

“I tell stories. I don’t write them.”

“Oh. You mean you lie?”

“I don’t lie,” Ben insisted. “I tell
stories
. There’s a difference.” But his mother and father had both warned him that if he kept telling his “stories” instead of telling the truth, people would stop believing anything he said.

“Look,” Pearl said. She collected a tuft of brown fur that clung to a fire hydrant. They found another stuck on a rosebush. “We’re on the right track.”

A horn sounded, and a blue-and-white police car pulled up to the curb. The words
BUTTONVILLE POLICE FORCE
were painted on the side. “Crud. It’s Aunt Milly. Act natural,” Pearl told Ben.

How do you act natural when you’re looking for a sasquatch
? Ben wondered.

The window rolled down, and the police officer stuck out her head. “Hiya, Pearl. Who’s your friend?”

“Hi, Aunt Milly.” Pearl shuffled in place. “This is Ben Silverstein. He’s visiting his grandpa for the summer.”

“Hi,” Ben said.

Officer Milly removed her dark glasses and smiled at Ben. She had the kind of smile that showed all her teeth, even the bottom ones. “Nice to meet you, Ben. Your grandpa’s a swell guy. He made matzo ball soup for me when I had the flu. So, what are you two doing? You’re not getting into trouble, are you?”

“No,” Pearl said, hiding the sasquatch fur behind her back. “We’re just…walking around.”

Officer Milly eyed the metal box in Ben’s hands. “You sure you’re not getting into trouble?”

“I’m sure,” Pearl said.

“No trouble,” Ben confirmed.

“Well, okay.” Officer Milly slid her glasses back on. “Hey, I got a call a few minutes ago that there’s an enormous dog running around without a leash. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Pearl?”

“Why would I know anything about an enormous dog running around without a leash?” Pearl asked innocently. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t do anything
this
time.” Then Officer Milly shook her head and mumbled, “My niece, the troublemaker.” And off she drove.

“How come everyone calls you a troublemaker?” Ben asked.

Pearl kicked a rock, then tucked her T-shirt into her shiny blue basketball shorts. “I don’t get in trouble on purpose. I put food coloring in Mr. Mutt’s koi pond because I thought it would look
pretty. How was I supposed to know that it would dye the fish, too? And I set that windup rat loose during the parade because I was bored. No one ever told me that ponies are afraid of rats.”

Pearl and Ben stopped at an empty intersection. Ben looked around for footprints and tufts of fur but found none. His gaze traveled up and down the street. Buttonville had to be the quietest place on Earth. No honking cars, no blaring music, no air traffic. The only sign of life was a man sweeping the sidewalk in front of the Buttonville Clothing Barn. “Hey, watch it!” the man yelled as a grocery cart rumbled past, nearly knocking him over. The rumbling grew louder as the cart rolled toward Pearl and Ben.

“That’s one of our Dollar Store carts,” Pearl said. “Someone’s taking a ride.”

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” Ben asked.

The kids jumped out of the way as the cart whizzed past. A pair of hairy arms hung over the edge. A pair of hairy kneecaps and a sunbonnet
peeked out the top. Thanks to the slight incline of the sidewalk, the cart picked up speed.

“The sasquatch,” Ben said.

But Pearl wasn’t there to hear him. She was already in pursuit.

T
he Dollar Store cart lay overturned on the steps of the Buttonville Senior Center, the sunbonnet at its side. The center’s front door stood wide open. A tuft of brown fur hung from the doorknob. “Do you have the chocolate bar?” Pearl asked.

Ben, who’d been holding the Sasquatch Catching Kit the entire time, nodded. “Should we open it now?”

“Yeah. If we open it, maybe the sasquatch will smell it.” Pearl unlocked the kit. Then she grabbed
the chocolate bar. After tearing off the top wrapper, she folded back the foil inner wrapper. A dark, shiny rectangle peeked out. Ben wanted to take a bite.

Pearl held out the bar and quietly called, “Here, sasquatchy. Here, sasquatchy.” But nothing big and hairy appeared. Only Ben’s grandfather stepped out of the senior center, and he had almost no hair at all.

“Ben!” he called with a wave. “Why are you standing out there? Come in and eat some pudding.”

Even though it was a nice summer morning, the senior center heat was turned on full blast. The warmth made Ben want to curl up and take a nap. He fought a yawn. This was no time to get sleepy. He and Pearl were on an important sasquatch-finding mission.

Three tables had been placed end to end, each covered with pudding cups. Some of the cups were stacked almost to the ceiling; others were displayed on cake stands. Vanilla, banana, chocolate, butterscotch, and swirl were squeezed onto every square
inch of the tables. Between the cups stood cans of whipped cream and tubs of sprinkles.

“Wow,” Ben said to his grandfather. “That’s a lot of pudding.”

“That’s a lot of pudding?” Grandpa Abe chuckled. “You should see how much pudding we had before Maybell got here.” He nodded toward a rather beefy woman who was seated at the back of the room. She peeled the top off her butterscotch pudding. Dozens of empty cups littered the floor around her.

Tables and chairs crowded the rest of the room. In each chair sat a very old person. Many had hearing aids in their ears; most wore thick eyeglasses. Each had a pudding cup or two. Some of the seniors looked older than Ben’s grandfather by dozens of years, their faces wrinkled like pieces of fabric.

“Do you see it?” Pearl whispered in Ben’s ear.

“No,” Ben whispered back. “But I can smell it.” The sour odor of wet dog hung in the air, mixed with the sweet scents of banana and vanilla. Where was the hairy beast?

Because the room was buzzing with conversation, Grandpa Abe had to clap his hands to get attention. “Look, everyone!” he called. “It’s my grandson, Ben.”

Plastic spoons were lowered and heads turned, causing a ripple in the sea of white and silver hair. A chorus of “Hello, Ben” filled the room, along with a chorus of “What did he say?”

“And you all know Pearl,” Grandpa Abe said.

A chorus of “Hello, Pearl” filled the room, along with a chorus of “What did he say?”