within a thousand miles of where they lived.
Before that, there’d been burglars in the attic, a Martian in the backyard, a
Tyrannosaurus
in the woods, monsters in every possible hiding place throughout the house, goblins on the roof, and about fifty thousand other terrors—all springing from Paul’s unstoppable imagination. He seemed to find something new to shout about every time he wandered away from where he was supposed to be.
As Larry followed his little brother along Washington Avenue, he wondered what could possibly happen on this quiet street in the middle of this quiet town. There wasn’t any sign of a person in trouble—just a bunch of small stores and a couple of office buildings.
“Here . . . in the alley,” Paul said when they’d gone halfway down the block. He dashed ahead, and then glanced back.
Larry caught up with his brother and looked into the alley that ran between the Reader’s Roost Bookstore and LaGuardia’s Diner, just half a block away from the shop where Paul was supposed to have gone. The narrow alley went from the sidewalk all the way to the back of the shops.
“What are you talking about? I don’t see anyone,” Larry said. Then he noticed something near the end of the alley—something that took him by surprise.
“Nice dog,” Larry said. He stood a while, admiring the animal that was half-hidden in the shadows. The dog looked young, maybe a year or two old, about the size of a shepherd, but with a coat of short black hair. No collar or tags.
Could be part black Lab
, Larry thought. He knew every breed of dog on the planet. Besides baseball, there wasn’t anything in the world he liked as much as dogs. Sometimes he thought he might even like dogs a little more than baseball. A ball had never wagged its tail when it saw him. A bat had never kept him company when he was sad.
Then Larry remembered why he’d let himself get dragged away from his baseball game. “I don’t see anyone.”
“No, not there,” Paul pointed to the left side of the alley. “There! Look on the wall. Way in the back.”
As Larry scanned the wall, his stomach tightened. A big red stain, five feet above the ground, was splattered against the side of the bookstore.
Still pointing to the spot, Paul said, “I think somebody got killed.”
CHAPTER 2
THE MYSTERY MUTT
Larry stared for another moment, but quickly convinced himself that the spot on the wall couldn’t be blood. “Relax, Paul. That’s just paint or something. Come on. I’ll show you.”
“No,” Paul said, shaking his head. He moved behind Larry.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Larry told him. He stepped into the alley, then froze as the dog bared its teeth, hunched down, and growled.
That’s strange
, Larry thought as he slowly backed away.
Dogs like me
. “Hi, boy,” he said. “Nice dog.”
The dog kept growling. “I guess we’re not getting any closer,” Larry said. “But you can see from here—it’s just paint.” He searched the alley for evidence, an empty paint can or a brush or something. But nothing like that was in sight. The bookstore wall was blank except for the red splotch. The building didn’t even have a window. A door at the side of the diner was closed. Three garbage cans stood next to the door. Two were round. The third one was the big, blue, square kind the town had started giving people for recycling.
Paul looked up at his brother and said, “It isn’t paint. Paint would say something.”
“Say something?” Larry asked.
“You know, like a name or a picture,” Paul said.
“Oh, you mean graffiti. Okay, maybe it isn’t paint. But even if someone got hurt, there’s nobody around now who needs help. Come on, I’ll walk you home.” Larry wanted to go back to the game, but before that, he needed to check on his own dogs.
As Larry headed down the street, he kept glancing back. Even though the dog in the alley had growled, he halfway expected it to follow him. Dogs really did like
Before that, there’d been burglars in the attic, a Martian in the backyard, a
Tyrannosaurus
in the woods, monsters in every possible hiding place throughout the house, goblins on the roof, and about fifty thousand other terrors—all springing from Paul’s unstoppable imagination. He seemed to find something new to shout about every time he wandered away from where he was supposed to be.
As Larry followed his little brother along Washington Avenue, he wondered what could possibly happen on this quiet street in the middle of this quiet town. There wasn’t any sign of a person in trouble—just a bunch of small stores and a couple of office buildings.
“Here . . . in the alley,” Paul said when they’d gone halfway down the block. He dashed ahead, and then glanced back.
Larry caught up with his brother and looked into the alley that ran between the Reader’s Roost Bookstore and LaGuardia’s Diner, just half a block away from the shop where Paul was supposed to have gone. The narrow alley went from the sidewalk all the way to the back of the shops.
“What are you talking about? I don’t see anyone,” Larry said. Then he noticed something near the end of the alley—something that took him by surprise.
“Nice dog,” Larry said. He stood a while, admiring the animal that was half-hidden in the shadows. The dog looked young, maybe a year or two old, about the size of a shepherd, but with a coat of short black hair. No collar or tags.
Could be part black Lab
, Larry thought. He knew every breed of dog on the planet. Besides baseball, there wasn’t anything in the world he liked as much as dogs. Sometimes he thought he might even like dogs a little more than baseball. A ball had never wagged its tail when it saw him. A bat had never kept him company when he was sad.
Then Larry remembered why he’d let himself get dragged away from his baseball game. “I don’t see anyone.”
“No, not there,” Paul pointed to the left side of the alley. “There! Look on the wall. Way in the back.”
As Larry scanned the wall, his stomach tightened. A big red stain, five feet above the ground, was splattered against the side of the bookstore.
Still pointing to the spot, Paul said, “I think somebody got killed.”
CHAPTER 2
THE MYSTERY MUTT
Larry stared for another moment, but quickly convinced himself that the spot on the wall couldn’t be blood. “Relax, Paul. That’s just paint or something. Come on. I’ll show you.”
“No,” Paul said, shaking his head. He moved behind Larry.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Larry told him. He stepped into the alley, then froze as the dog bared its teeth, hunched down, and growled.
That’s strange
, Larry thought as he slowly backed away.
Dogs like me
. “Hi, boy,” he said. “Nice dog.”
The dog kept growling. “I guess we’re not getting any closer,” Larry said. “But you can see from here—it’s just paint.” He searched the alley for evidence, an empty paint can or a brush or something. But nothing like that was in sight. The bookstore wall was blank except for the red splotch. The building didn’t even have a window. A door at the side of the diner was closed. Three garbage cans stood next to the door. Two were round. The third one was the big, blue, square kind the town had started giving people for recycling.
Paul looked up at his brother and said, “It isn’t paint. Paint would say something.”
“Say something?” Larry asked.
“You know, like a name or a picture,” Paul said.
“Oh, you mean graffiti. Okay, maybe it isn’t paint. But even if someone got hurt, there’s nobody around now who needs help. Come on, I’ll walk you home.” Larry wanted to go back to the game, but before that, he needed to check on his own dogs.
As Larry headed down the street, he kept glancing back. Even though the dog in the alley had growled, he halfway expected it to follow him. Dogs really did like
Similar Books
