The Incredible Polly McDoodle (The Polly McDoodle Mystery Series Book 4) Read online

  Mr. Stone had walked to the window and was staring out at the beautiful fall day. A squirrel scurried down an elm tree branch. A magpie flew by. Some stray leaves floated past. The class waited for the teacher to say something.

  “All of us go through experiences of loss. How do we respond?” He paused. “My parents lost their farm in Saskatchewan, its machinery, our house, everything, when I was your age. The bank foreclosed. We had to watch as everything we owned was auctioned off. I’ll never forget that day. I’ll never forgive the men that did that to our family.” Then he took one balled fist and smacked it into the other. “Twelve years ago just outside of Regina.”

  “What happened?” Mandy asked.

  Mr. Stone shook his head, turned and walked to the board. “I want you to write a short story or an essay around the theme of this story, class.”

  “How many words does it have to be?” asked Harvey Newhouse. Mr. Stone ignored him and wrote the assignment on the board. “Six hundred words by the Tuesday after the Thanksgiving weekend.” The bell rang.

  Polly slid her sketchbook out of her desk. She started sketching Mr. Stone at the window staring at the squirrel, the tree, and the magpie. She didn’t know how to draw clenched fists and Isabel wasn’t here to help her. If only Mr. Stone would let her draw about loss instead of writing about it. The Artistic and Anxious McDoodle joined the mob of kids stampeding to the door.

  She had a lot of thinking to do.

  10. Walking the Dogs

  After school Polly and Kyle joined Mrs. Clay’s friend in the bookstore. She set them to work right away. Then she hurried off to deal with a customer.

  “I love the smell of old books.” Polly lifted a stack of old volumes from the “to be sold” pile and put them in a box labelled “Symphony Book Sale.” Thick cloth-covered books with yellowed pages and fine print and odd names like A Woman Named Smith, Middlemarch, and Sowing Seeds in Danny.

  Kyle didn’t answer. He was in his Clam mode. When they were little kids he had hardly said a word. He still went into seasons of silence. He was staring out the window.

  “Here come the Dell boys, Sydney and Darrell,” he whispered.

  The bells over the old oak door jangled as the boys came in.

  “Hi, Mrs. Hong,” said Darrell. “Any sign of a Macbeth?” Then he saw Kyle and Polly. He blushed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  What was he embarrassed about? Polly stared at his black tear-away pants and sloppy black jacket. His brother came in after locking the bikes. Sydney had to duck to get through the door. He had a big bunch of keys in his left hand and swung them around so they clanked against each other.

  “So, how’s the bike shed working out?” Sydney stroked his skimpy moustache. “Our uncle does a good job. He’s a tough boss, though.”

  “Told us to get a life,” added Darrell. He looked sheepish.

  Polly shook her head. These two boys seemed to have made some major changes in their lives.

  Mrs. Hong brought out two aging copies of Macbeth from under the counter. “Talked you into going back to school, thank goodness.” She paused. “That will be fifty cents, please. Study hard this time. I hear good things about the Cool School.” Then she added, “This is a great story. All about power and greed.”

  Sydney pulled out his wallet. Polly was watching the scene with great interest. She wanted to sketch those outfits and that batch of keys. Then she noticed Kyle’s eyes widen. He hadn’t said a word for ages. His eyes rested on Sydney’s hands.

  Sydney fumbled his fat wallet and it fell to the floor. Kyle bent to rescue it. Several twenty dollar bills fell out on the floor. He helped pick them up and then turned to the open box of books he was sorting.

  “You need to put that in the bank,” said Mrs. Hong.

  “We will. We’re saving to go see our dad in Saskatchewan.” Sydney pocketed his wallet after getting change for a five dollar bill. “He may move back here next year.”

  Kyle whispered to Polly as he passed her with a pile of detective novels. “Must be getting out on parole.”

  He and Darrell turned to leave.

  Polly and Kyle followed them to the door and watched as they unlocked their two bicycles, one with a cart and the other a jazzy mountain bike. A toolbox, a shovel, and a rake were in the bottom of the cart along with two black and silver sports bags.

  “Take care,” Polly said.

  “Good luck,” said Kyle.

  “Makes you wonder doesn’t it?” said Polly as they went back into the shop to the waiting books. “I wonder if Mrs. Hong has seen anything suspicious?’

  “Did you want something, Polly?” Mrs. Hong came from behind the old oak counter. She was short and slight, and her black hair hung flat and glossy to just below her ears. Her skin was the colour of the fine paper in the oldest books.

  “You must see a lot of what goes on in this neighbourhood.”

  She nodded.

  “Have you noticed anything unusual lately?” Polly asked.

  Kyle stopped packing books and listened as well.

  “Unusual how? What do you mean?”

  “You must have heard about the mail robberies. Kyle and I want to help the police. Some people we like have been hurt. Like old Mrs. Dobson.”

  “Mrs. Dobson—she wears purple, right?” Mrs. Hong smiled. “She comes in every couple of weeks. “There’s a new teacher too. I don’t know his name because he always pays cash. He’s in here most weeks.”

  “That must be Mr. Stone,” said Kyle. “Does he wear old style clothes in weird colours?”

  “That’s the fellow.”

  “I bet he likes books about money,” Polly said.

  “You’re right.” Mrs. Hong looked impressed. “Anything to do with making it, investing it, gambling with it.” She bent over and whispered. “He brought in all his textbooks to sell. I told him to try the university. I don’t handle textbooks.”

  “What about Flora and Tommie Lee? I saw Flora with a Harlequin.”

  “They like romances and travel books. Especially ones about the Southern United States. I think they miss Texas.”

  “Very interesting,” said Kyle. “Anyone else?”

  “Your mother pointed out your friend Mandy. She wanders in looking for books about dance and Africa.” Polly and Kyle needed sadly. “She doesn’t look well, that girl. She’s starting to look like the very refugees her parents are helping in the desert camps.” Mrs. Hong turned back to her work. “I know what that’s like being hungry, being a refugee. She wouldn’t like it. Better to be here. Better to be able to dance.”

  Polly sighed. She had a lot of information. How much of it was useful was another question. “Makes you think, doesn’t it? What you read tells others who you are.”

  Kyle nodded wordlessly and opened another carton. The smell of old paper, dust, and closets escaped. A white moth darted out of the box and flew up into the wooden rafters of the store. Mrs. Hong’s parrot on his perch by the door squawked. “Close the door. Shut the blinds.”

  An hour later Mrs. Clay arrived to take them home. Polly was going to Kyle’s for supper seeing as her parents were working late.

  As they climbed into the van Polly could hear the parrot squawking. “Close the door. Shut the blinds. Time for bed.”

  Tommie Lee and her mom drove by in a beat-up brown Dodge station wagon with a droopy tailpipe. The motor sounded like an old truck’s. They pulled into the lane behind the drugstore and parked. Tommie Lee ran up the back steps. Polly could see her as Clays’ four-by-four sped toward 114th street.

  “Flora and Tommie Lee live above the drugstore,” she said.

  “Mr. Stone lives in an old house that backs on the lane. I saw him early this morning when I came for an extra band practice,” said Kyle. “He was carrying one of those delivery pouches like the bicycle couriers use. It was ugly lime green.”

  “His taste is in his feet,” laughed Polly. “He’s worse than you, Kyle.”

  “Thanks a lot.�
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  “No problem.”

  Clays’ green four-by-four was spotless. Not like McDougalls’ old Toyota. Polly’s dad always had stray shoeboxes, Sports Experts catalogues and flyers, and crushed fast food containers in a plastic Keep Fit trash bag attached to the gear shift on the floor.

  “Maybe we need to take our dogs for a walk down the lanes around Kirby, Kyle,” Polly whispered. She didn’t want Mrs. Clay hearing her idea.

  Kyle frowned. They were both sitting in the back while Brutus perched like royalty on the front passenger side. Kyle nodded.

  “What’s for supper, Mom?” he asked casually. “Is dad coming home?”

  “Yes. I made his favourite. Corned beef and cabbage,” his mother said. “I hope you like it, Polly.”

  The look on Polly’s face would have stopped a clock. It was a good thing Mrs. Clay couldn’t see it. She made an unseemly motion with her finger in and out of her mouth as if she was gagging. “I had a big lunch but thanks.”

  Kyle grinned. “Sounds great, Mom.”

  “Karen was saying that she and Brian have been having a hard time finding something that Mandy likes to eat. She just picks at her food.”

  “Kids, eh?” Kyle tried to distract his mother.

  “Maybe dining in Paris, Geneva, and Rome made her a fussy eater,” Polly offered.

  “Sometimes I believe kids would live on junk food if they were allowed,” said Alice Clay sadly.

  “We have two vegetarians in our class,” said Polly. “They major in beans, rice, carrots, celery, tofu and tomatoes.”

  “I’ll eat anything softer than stones,” Kyle said as they pulled into their apartment parking lot. “Except Dad’s liver and onions. Yuck!”

  Polly managed to shove most of her cabbage under a crust of bread on the side of her plate. The corned beef wasn’t too bad. Her stomach rumbled but she made all the polite noises over dinner. Kyle took pity on her and cleared their plates and rinsed them before his mother could notice how little of the meal Polly had eaten. “We’ll buy some chips at the IGA,” he whispered.

  “What are you kids doing tonight?” Mr. Clay asked. “I’m going back to the university to work for a couple of hours.”

  “I’d like to go help in the book store,” said Mrs. Clay.

  “Why don’t we come too?” said Polly. “We could walk the dogs around the neighbourhood. Give them some real exercise and a change of scenery.” She gave Kyle a meaningful look.

  He nodded at her. “Maybe go to the Cheesecake Café after for dessert and coffee.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Clay glanced at each other. Just like Polly’s mom and dad they seemed to talk with their eyebrows and facial expressions. She knew with her folks working late that Mrs. Clay would feel responsible. If the kids were near her, Alice Clay would feel she was being a good guardian.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Mrs. Clay said.

  “Yes,” Kyle and Polly said together.

  “The dogs will like the different smells over by Kirby,” Polly added to keep it light and not raise the Clays suspicions. “And I love dessert.”

  She offered to help with the dishes but Mrs. Clay was one of those people who loaded the dishwasher as she went.

  “Why don’t you go and feed George? Get a bag and his leash.” suggested Mr. Clay. “Meet us at the car in ten minutes.”

  “Check his paws that he’s not muddy, please,” said Mrs. Clay.

  “Oh, Mom,” Kyle sighed.

  Polly let herself into Isabel’s apartment. George leapt on her gleefully even though she’d already taken him to the corner as soon as she had gotten home. He looked sad though. If a dog could frown Polly thought George would. He missed Isabel. He kept sniffing around, looking for her. It must be hard being left alone in the apartment all day.

  The Responsible and Reasonable McDoodle smiled as she watered the plants in the window. She could see lights shining though the lower window of the new bike shed, lights in the workshop area. Brian Beamish must be working on something. He used the workshop more than anyone else in the co-op.

  She rifled through the pile of mail from Isabel’s mailbox. She had put it on the kitchen counter. Mostly pleas for money from all sorts of health, environment, and human rights groups. One envelope from Mexico slipped onto the floor.

  “To my favourite house sitter,” it said in block letters.

  Polly tore it open.

  It was a letter from Isabel. A photograph fell onto the table. Isabel stood at an easel under a palm tree with the blue green ocean in the background and an off-white sky. Polly shoved it in her pocket and hurried George down to meet the Clays. She had washed and dried his feet so his paws were as spotless as the car he was going to ride in.

  The two dogs woofed and pranced around each other like long lost friends, sniffing and wagging. Mr. Clay put them behind the back seat of the four-by-four. They both smelled like they needed a bath. Polly wrinkled her nose thinking about how awash with water Isabel’s bathroom was going to be. George always shook like a mop spattering the walls, the floor, and whoever was washing him. She’d be the Half-drowned, Totally-soaked McDoodle.

  That reminded her of the letter. “I just got a note and a photo from Isabel.” She pulled it out of her pocket and handed the photo around.

  “Cool,” said Kyle.

  Polly wanted to read the letter, but she wanted to read it while she was alone.

  “What did Isabel say?” Mrs. Clay asked.

  “I haven’t had time to read the letter yet. I’ll read it later.”

  The Clays nodded. Polly liked the way the Clays were as a family. Never nosy. She liked that. Clays lived a very quiet life, different from McDougalls. The McDougalls were all noisy. Since last summer Polly had gained a real appreciation of other ways of being a family. She’d been mean to a poor single dad and his son Chris last summer. Just before the big storm. She’d learned a hard lesson, one that she would never forget. Families come in different shapes, styles, and sizes. Many of them can be really happy. Don’t try to make them all over to be like yours. Polly knew that now.

  Mr. Clay was let off at the university. “Pick you up at nine,” his wife said.

  He jogged toward his office.

  Mrs. Clay parked between the IGA and the strip of stores. Lights shone in the bookstore but there was a closed sign on the door. Lights were on in the travel agency next door and a group of older people was listening to a lady in a red suit talk about cruises, according to a sandwich sign outside the door.

  The bank and the drugstore were closed. A lone cleaner polished counters in the bank. A grey bucket on wheels with a mop sticking from it stood by the reception area’s plum chairs.

  Brutus and George leapt out of the trunk and raced around the IGA parking lot, snuffling and sniffing. Polly and Kyle chased them with leashes and corralled the two dogs and tied them to a street sign. Brutus barked. A sleepy squirrel chittered back at him from above. Polly’s fingers itched to draw the scene.

  “We need a map, Kyle. We haven’t done a map yet.” She deeked into the IGA for a bag of all-dressed potato chips.

  Kyle followed. He pulled a tattered notebook from his pocket. “I’ll just write down some of the details so I can render it better at home.”

  “Render it better. Okay you render and I’ll draw, goofus.”

  “I probably won’t have time until this weekend at Small Shadow Lake. It might tax my memory.”

  “Me too. I’ll have to do mine in the hotel room in Regina. Then we can compare notes. Why don’t I give you a call on Saturday afternoon? My mom and dad are going to a hockey practice to watch their star child slide around on his skates in spectacular style.”

  “You’re jealous,” said Kyle. “Jealous of your brother.”

  “Other big brothers stay home. I feel like I’ve lost him forever.”

  “You are so melodramatic, Polly. Don’t you want a famous hockey player for a brother?” Kyle sighed as they came out of the grocery store carrying snacks.
r />   Brutus dragged him down the lane behind the shops. George raced after Brutus pulling Polly behind him. Polly wondered briefly who was in charge—she and Kyle, or the dogs.

  A post office truck pulled up beside the green drop off box. The postal worker loaded a bag of mail into the box and drove away.

  “If a person wanted to steal mail they could do it in the middle of the night, no problem. Especially in a quiet neighbourhood like this,” Kyle said.

  “They’d need a box of tools, maybe a crowbar or a chisel,” said Polly. “Or a key.”

  “And something to haul the mail away in.”

  “Like a cart on a bicycle.” She thought back to the Dell boys and their bikes.

  “Or an old station wagon.” Kyle was staring down the block at Flora’s old car. As they both glanced down the laneway Flora and Tommie Lee came out of the house with a bucket and a canvas tote bag. They climbed in their car and drove away. The muffler wasn’t working so they made a lot of racket. The dogs wanted to run so the kids took off in the direction the old car had gone.

  The car stopped two blocks north behind an old apartment house. Flora and Tommie Lee got out. Tommie Lee followed her mother around to the front lugging the canvas tote. Her mother had the bucket. Polly and Kyle raced the dogs to the end of the lane and then calmly walked down the road on the other side of the street in front of the apartment building.

  Flora was searching through a big ring of keys. Finally, by the light on the porch, she fitted a key into the lock and the two disappeared into the yellow stucco building. It was a big old house turned into apartments. Kyle handed Polly Brutus’ leash and crept close to the front step.

  “She’s getting something out of the mailbox. Now they have disappeared inside the inner door.”

  George and Brutus leaped and licked and made a regular fuss over each other. But Polly held their leashes tight. “I’m not sure I want to investigate this. I might not like what we discover.”

  Kyle and she walked back to the bookstore just in time to catch their ride to the Cheesecake Café. The glassed in counter at the front displayed at least twenty gooey, gigantic creations. Everything from Black Forest Cake to Key Lime pie with thick meringue. Polly chose a double chocolate slice with mocha whipped cream.