Return to Howliday Inn by James Howe

squawking.
    â€œNew one coming tonight! New one coming tonight! Hamlet got to go! Hamlet got to go!”
    I looked around. Bob and Linda were sitting on their haunches in front of their bungalow, staring wide-eyed at the jabbering bird. Felony and Miss Demeanor had stopped in their tracks halfway between our bungalows and theirs. They too were staring. The Weasel’s head poked out from behind the bush. He turned sharply. I followed the direction of his gaze.
    He was looking at Hamlet, who was quivering with fear.
    â€œToo late!” cried Rosebud. “Too late!”



The door to the office opened. Daisy came out and walked slowly the full length of the compound. Reaching Hamlet, she burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling. “I’m so sorry.” She put her arms around his neck and hugged him for a long time. Then she took hold of his collar and led him away.
    As he reached the office door, Hamlet turned back and looked at us. He raised his head and let out a piteous whimper, one that filled the very air with sadness and left it empty as the sound died away.
    â€œThe rest is silence,” he said.
    Daisy tugged gently on his collar. They walked into the office. The door closed.
    And the rest was silence.

[ SEVEN ]

A New Arrival
    S ILENCE remained like an unwanted guest. The only thing that broke it was Chester’s muttering from the next bungalow after dinner. Numbers, letters—I knew what he was up to. He was trying to decipher the code.
    After Hamlet’s departure, although no one had said as much, it was clear we were all thinking the same thing: Something terrible was going to happen to him. Chester was convinced that the answer lay in the code, which was going to reveal the secret of Chateau Bow-Wow and somehow help us understand Hamlet’s fate.
    As it turned out, it wasn’t the code that helped us so much as a ditsy little poodle who arrived later that night.
    But I’m getting ahead of myself.
    It was just beginning to get dark when Chester cried, “Harold!”
    â€œWhat is it?!” I was so startled I bumped my nose on the wall as I swung around to face Chester’s bungalow.
    â€œI’ve got it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m coming over.”
    A moment later, he was inside my bungalow.
    â€œI’ve been substituting letters for numbers. It took me a while to get the right combination, but now I have it, I’m sure of it. Six, one, one, one, five. Six equals F. That’s easy.”
    â€œIf you say so,” I said.
    â€œOne is A, the next two ones are eleven, that equals K, and the five means E. Put them all together, they spell—”
    â€œMuh-uh-uhther!” I sang out. I’m a sucker for that song.
    â€œKnock it off, Harold,” Chester snapped. “It spells fake. Get it?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “Fake what?”
    â€œI don’t know that yet. Maybe Greenbriar’s a fake. Maybe he forges documents, makes counterfeit money in the cellar. Whatever it is, my guess is that Chateau Bow-Wow is nothing but a cover for some sleazy, shady operation. Rosebud must have found out. And then Hamlet.”
    I gulped. “And now you.”
    â€œCorrection,” he said, “now us.”
    I gulped again. This time it stuck in my throat.
    Dashing to the door, Chester said, “Excuse me, Harold, but I’ve got some bones to talk to.”
    And he was gone.
    How like a cat. They stop by long enough to tell you you’re a dead dog, then rush off to talk to an even deader one.
    Well, I wasn’t about to spend my evening sitting around worrying what terrible fate layin store. No, I would figure some things out myself.
    I sat down and began to think.
    Fake.
    What did it mean?
    After several seconds, my head started to hurt from thinking and I was getting nowhere. I decided to drop in on Howie. Maybe if he did half the thinking my head would hurt only half as