Who Stole Halloween? (6 page)

That was a pretty smart guess, I thought. Lots
of people keep their cats inside to protect them. I could imagine a kid inventing a story to stay out of trouble and then getting scared someone would find out.

But I would never tell Yasmeen I thought she was smart. She already thinks she is plenty smart. So I just said, “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, now we'll never know for sure.”

“What do you mean?” Yasmeen asked.

“You told Kyle we would quit detecting,” I said.

Yasmeen shook her head and grinned. “No, I didn't.”

I thought back to what she had said in the cafeteria. “You told him you wouldn't bring Halloween back,” I said.

Yasmeen nodded. “But I never said
you
wouldn't.”

Yasmeen and I had just turned the corner onto Chickadee Court when we spotted a police car parked in front of Bub's house.

That sounds scary.

But it wasn't.

There's a police car there a lot. Officer Krichels is Bub's friend. He likes to stop off for soup.

I looked at Yasmeen. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

She nodded. “We need to talk to Officer Krichels. But what time are we going to get the pumpkins?”

“Dad said the PTA meeting will go till five,” I said.

Yasmeen smiled. “I can be a little late getting home, too. My dad won't be back with Jeremiah till four.”

A minute later, Bub opened the door for us and bowed. “
Bienvenue
, Madame, Mess-yer. Zee potage of zee day eez vee-shee-swaz.” He was speaking in a French accent that even I knew was a bad French accent. It cracked us up. “Zat just means zee zoup de po-tay-toe. Eet's zupposed to be cold, but who likes zee cold zoup? I serve my vee-shee-swaz fresh from zee stove.”

“Sounds great,” I said, “Mess-yer.”

Bub brought Yasmeen and me bowls of white soup sprinkled with flakes of green stuff. Officer Krichels was just getting ready to leave.

“Can we ask you something?” I asked him.

“Your mom told me you were interested in the missing cats,” he said. “It's a bad time of year for it, you know. Better keep a close eye on Luau.”

Yasmeen said, “Did you notice anything odd about Kyle, the kid you talked to on Groundhog Drive?”

Officer Krichels scratched his chin. “Can't say I did. Kind of a Gloomy Gus, but his cat was gone, so who could blame him? Now, that pip-squeak sister o' his,
she
was somethin'.”

“Did she say anything?” Yasmeen asked.

“The pip-squeak?” said Officer Krichels. “You couldn't shut her up! I didn't pay much attention on account of how she wasn't a credible witness. That means someone you can believe.”

Officer Krichels is nice, but he treats all kids like they're two years old. Sometimes, like now, Yasmeen gets impatient.

“I
know
what a credible witness is,” she said. “Do you remember
anything
the little sister told you?”

Officer Krichels had his hand on Bub's door-knob. “Bunch o' nonsense. Something about how her rotten big brother tortured the cat. . . .” Officer Krichels shrugged. “You know siblings—they're always out to get each other.”

Officer Krichels saluted Bub. “Great soup today, like always.”

Bub was sitting at the table with us, his hands clasped over his belly. He nodded at his friend, “See ya tomorrow. I'm thinkin' black bean.”

The instant the door closed, Yasmeen burst.
“I cannot believe him!”

“Yasmeen,”
I said, warning her.

But Bub just laughed. “One of the sweetest guys I know,” he said, “but genius is not one of his attributes.”

“I suppose now we should talk to Kyle's little sister,” I said, “to Cammie.”

Yasmeen picked up her soup bowl and gulped the last bit. “I don't see how we can do that,” she said, “without Kyle finding out we're still detecting.”

It was getting close to four. Yasmeen went to call her dad and ask if she could go with Dad and me to the Harvey house to get pumpkins. I told Bub the whole story, and to my surprise he picked up right away on something my mom had mentioned.

“Ransom note,” he repeated. “I bet you dollars to doughnuts Kyle got a ransom note.
It happens all the time in books. The detectives are working their tails off, and suddenly whoever it was hired 'em calls and tells 'em to quit. In this case, the catnapper told Kyle not to try to find his cat, just pay the money. That's why Kyle talked to you today. That's why he looked so scared.”

Mr. and Mrs. Blanco must have worked really hard to fix up the Harvey house because it hardly even looked haunted anymore. The paint was fresh, and the twisted rungs of the black metal fence by the sidewalk had been straightened out. All the little frame-doodads around the porch and windows had been repaired and nailed back into place. From the sidewalk I could see for the first time that this pretty much used to be a mansion compared with the other houses on Main Street. I guess it was built by somebody rich.

Yasmeen, my dad, and I opened the gate—which
didn't even squeak—and walked through the front yard toward the porch. There were pumpkins on either side of the walk. The house was brightly lit, and there was a new purple sign:

H
ARVEY
H
OUSE
H
EALTH
B
OUTIQUE
N
ATURAL
F
OODS AND
F
IBERS
, V
ITAMINS
,
AND
H
OMESPUN
R
EMEDIES
E
VERYTHING FOR
Y
OUR
G
OOD
H
EALTH

“What's a homespun remedy?” I asked.

Dad scratched his head. “Eric Blanco explained the theory to me on the phone,” he said, “but to tell the truth, I don't get all of it. The gist seems to be that sometimes weaknesses can be repaired through the ‘introduction of offsetting substances.' ”

Yasmeen and I looked at each other.
Huh?

Dad laughed. “Let's say you want to build muscles. The homespun idea would be that you swallow a tonic made from something strong—like an ox.”

“You mean drink ox blood?” I shuddered. “I think I'd rather do push-ups.”

“I'm not much for push-ups,” Dad said. “And who knows? Maybe it works.”

Mr. Blanco met us at the front door of the store. “Welcome, neighbors!” he said, then he looked at Dad. “You here for my eyesight pills?”

Dad smiled. “Frankly, I'm still skeptical. But we know for sure we're in the market for pumpkins.”

“We've got plenty of pumpkins,” Mr. Blanco said, “and all of them certified organic. You kids want to pick out a couple of good ones while the old fogies talk?”

Yasmeen and I went back out into the yard to look at the selection. I am not a big shopper. Right away I noticed a pumpkin that was more or less round and pretty big. It didn't have any rough brown places or dots, either.

“This one's good,” I said.

Yasmeen examined it. “It has a big green spot,” she said.

“Only on one side,” I said. “We can cut it out for the nose or something.”

Yasmeen said she was going to keep looking,
which meant picking up every single pumpkin, turning it over and over, then shaking her head and setting it back down.

“Do you think Bub's right?” I asked her, “about the ransom note?”

“But what about what Officer Krichels told us?” Yasmeen said. “Maybe Kyle was afraid we would find out that he tortured his cat, and that's why he called us off.”

“I think the ransom note is more likely. To me it seems like Kyle really liked that cat.”

Yasmeen had picked up a small pumpkin and now held it under her arm. “What about this? The catnapper was misinformed. He thought Kyle loved his cat enough to pay ransom, but he didn't really.”

My head was spinning, which is precisely what I don't like about detecting—too much brain work. I nodded at the pumpkin Yasmeen was holding. “Is that the one you want?” I asked.

“It's perfect,” she said.

I thought it was way too small, but I didn't want to encourage more shopping. “You're absolutely right,” I said.

A thump on the porch startled me, but it was only Dad. He held up a bag for me to see. “You'll never believe it,” he said. “Organic marshmallows!”

“Are regular marshmallows
in
organic?” Yasmeen asked.

“Got me,” said Dad. “I'm just telling you what it says on the bag. Why don't you take these over to Mr. Stone? He's the one who loves marshmallows, right?”

“Served with hot chocolate,” I said, “and a ghost story.”

The sky had been clear a minute ago, but now I felt a gust of cold wind and heard a rumble like thunder.

Dad checked the sky, too. “Weather looks iffy all of a sudden,” he said. “Let's take your pumpkins in and pay up.”

Yasmeen followed me into the Harvey house. It was bright and cheery inside, with hand-painted signs, bins of vegetables and grains, shelves of vitamin-type bottles, a rack of spices and herbs in little plastic bags, books, and a cold case with yogurt and juices. The cash register was behind a counter near the door. On the
counter was a basket of white things that reminded me of Luau's catnip sachet. I was about to inspect one when Mr. Blanco said, “That will be forty-two dollars and ninety-seven cents, Dan.”

I said, “For pumpkins and marshmallows?”

“
And
eyesight pills,” Mr. Blanco said.

Dad handed over his credit card. “For that price, they'd better work,” he said.

Mr. Blanco smiled. “As I explained, this is just enough for a few days, Dan. I'll call when I get a fresh batch.”

Yasmeen said how nice the store was, and Mr. Blanco thanked her. Then I asked about the ghost. Did he know the house was supposed to be haunted?

Before Mr. Blanco could answer, I heard a throaty howl that seemed to come from every direction at once. I gave Yasmeen a What-the-heck? look, and the next thing a flash of light turned her face all eerie blue, sick, and scared. The gust of wind, the howl, the flash—and suddenly a
crack
like thunder splitting a tree trunk an inch from my ear . . . then a sizzle of electricity, and everything went black.

I held tight to my pumpkin, like it might turn out to be some kind of protection from supernatural forces. My dad put his hand on my shoulder. “Alex? Yazzie?” Even with him there, I could feel my heart pounding and hear Yasmeen breathing fast, like she was scared.

The next sound in the dark was Mr. Blanco. He was
laughing
and at the same time rustling around behind the counter. “
There
,” he said, and a lantern came on. “Sorry about that, Dan . . . , kids,” he said. “It happens now and again. I think it's that same ghost you were asking about, Alex.”