The Great Pet Heist. The Great Ghost Hoax. The Great Vandal Scandal

The last thing she remembered was hearing Marco screaming as she flew through the air. She’d thought it would be the last thing she ever heard. But instead she’d woken up in Madison’s pocket, so in a way she’d been pretty lucky.

Polo sighed. If her bad choices had gotten her into this mess, she was just going to have to make some good choices to get out of it. She stuck her nose out of the pocket and looked around. It was dark, and Madison seemed to be sitting on the bathroom floor. Interesting choice. Maybe Madison should evaluate her life choices too. Polo shook her head. That wasn’t fair. Madison wouldn’t even be in this situation if it wasn’t for Polo and her button.

“You okay, little guy?” Madison said in a low voice. “You awake?”

Polo craned her neck to look up at Madison. Her face was streaky looking, like she’d been crying. Polo twitched her whiskers at her.

“I thought I’d better get you out of the way before he kicked you again.” Madison gave her a weak smile. “Now you’re stuck with me, but it’s better than being stomped.”

Polo couldn’t argue with that.

“You know, you look like another rat I know. Down on the fourth floor. I’m supposed to be taking care of her right now.” She sniffled. “Two rats, actually, and a bunch of other animals.”

“It’s me. And don’t worry—Marco will find us,” Polo squeaked softly. She wasn’t sure it was true, though. Marco hadn’t been screaming like he was planning a rescue. He’d been screaming like he was running away and never coming back.

“They’re not going to let us out, little guy,” Madison said softly, tentatively touching Polo’s ear. “They think I stole from them. But I didn’t do it, I swear.”

“I know,” Polo squeaked. She crawled out of Madison’s jacket pocket and climbed onto her knee. She tried to look understanding, but it wasn’t easy. She mostly felt guilty. And she really wished she’d learned to speak Human. Speaking another language was always useful.

Madison sniffled again and wiped her nose.“And the worst part is, except for those animals, nobody’s even going to miss me. Not for a long time. Can I tell you a secret?”

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“Sure,” Polo squeaked.

“My aunt that I live with? I don’t exactly live with her anymore.” Madison watched Polo’s reaction carefully. “Are you shocked?” Madison whispered.

Well, no. But Polo tried to look shocked. She actually wished she had someone to high-five. She KNEW there was nobody else in that apartment. She and Butterbean had been right. She just hoped that she would be able to see Butterbean again to tell her.

“I did, but she’s in the army. And she got deployed. So she set it up so I would stay with my friend Christie’s family while she was gone. It was all planned out. Then right when she left, their grandma got sick, and so they couldn’t take me. So I just… didn’t tell anybody. I didn’t say anything to my aunt, and I told Christie’s parents that my aunt had found someone else to take me. And then I just stayed at my aunt’s place. So there’s not even anyone to miss me.”

Polo’s heart sank. As glad as she was to be right, it made everything worse. Because that meant it was all up to her. There were no parents coming to help Madison. No aunt. No one. She couldn’t even depend on Marco and the others to come help her.

She and Madison were totally alone.

“I don’t know why you can’t just fly,” Marco grumbled. Oscar was taking forever. His bird feet were not made for walking in slippery metal vents.

“I’ve told you, Marco, it’s too low for me to fly. I’ll hit my head. Or rather, hit my head AGAIN.” Oscar had already given in to Marco’s pestering once, and it had gone pretty much how he’d expected—with Oscar smacking his head against the top of the vent. The resulting clang had been so loud that some people in an apartment nearby heard it and peeked through the grate. They hadn’t expected to see a mynah bird. (They didn’t think they had, either. They’d decided Oscar was either a pigeon or a mutant cockroach. Luckily, Oscar had been out of earshot by the time they’d come to that conclusion.)

Once he’d gotten over his initial panic, Oscar had to admit the vents were a lot cleaner than he had expected, and a lot less claustrophobic. Even so, he was going to need a good bath when everything was said and done. And there was no guarantee Madison would be there to change the water in his dish. Maybe Walt knew how to work the faucets.

“It’s just ahead, through that up vent,” Wallace said, ignoring the squabbling. “I’m going to leave you here. Marco will be able to show you the apartment grates.”

“Thank you, Wallace,” Walt said as she squeezed past him to slip into the up vent. “We’ll be sure to bring you extra seeds when this is all over.”

“Uh, thanks.” Wallace flattened himself against the wall as Walt squeezed by. He was not used to the idea of a cat in the vents, no matter how polite Walt was. It made his stomach squirm just thinking about it.

Oscar hopped up to the next floor and shuffled over to the grate as quickly as he could, with Walt right behind him. Marco was waiting, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

He pointed out through the grate.“See? That’s the living room,” he whispered. “The Coin Man and the other guy are still there.”

Oscar put an eye to the grate and peered around the room. The men were angry and arguing, but Oscar didn’t pay any attention to them. Right now he was worried about one thing and one thing only. Polo.

“Madison’s not there,” Walt said, peering through the grate next to him.

Two things. Oscar was worried about two things. Polo and Madison.

“I’m betting she’s behind that door.” Walt nodded toward a door on the other side of the living room. It had a chair wedged under the handle. Oscar shivered. That did not look good.

“You know what else I don’t see?” Walt continued, her voice low. “I don’t see a dead rat. Or any rat, wounded or otherwise. I don’t see Polo.”

Oscar cleared his throat and looked over at Marco. He wasn’t paying attention to them—he seemed intent on listening to the men arguing. Oscar edged closer to Walt. “They could have… disposed of her,” he said quietly. The last thing he wanted was for Marco to overhear him.

Walt shook her head.“I don’t think those guys would’ve bothered. And look down there.” She nodded toward the floor right below the grate. Oscar had to crane his neck to see what she was pointing at. It was a mousetrap.

“They wouldn’t have put that there if they thought they got her.”

Walt sounded confident, but Oscar wasn’t so sure. He just hoped she was right.

He scuttled over to Marco, cringing with every step. Skidding on the metal floor was so undignified.“Marco. Is there another grate?”

“SHH!” Marco hissed, putting his hands over Oscar’s beak. “Listen—I think this is important!”

“No excuses.” The Coin Man’s voice was sharp, and he was pointing aggressively at the second man. The Coin Man didn’t touch him, but Number Two flinched with every jab as if he had. “One. How did she get in? Two. How did she get the coins? Three. Where are they now? And most importantly, why did you not notice? These are questions that I want answered, now.”

The Coin Man crossed the living room and pulled the chair away from the door.“If you can’t answer, she will.”

“Quick, to the other grate!” Marco said, hurtling himself down the vent. “We need to see!”

Marco and Walt scurried away, with Oscar awkwardly slipping along behind. He arrived just in time to see the Coin Man crouching down next to Madison. She didn’t look like she’d been harmed, but she was obviously not okay. Oscar scanned the room. There was no sign of Polo.

“Little girl, you have made a very big mistake.”

Madison tried not to react, but she couldn’t help but flinch a little at the Coin Man’s words.

“It was a funny game to you, stealing from me? It is not a game now, believe me.” The man’s voice was very low, and the animals had to strain to hear him. He wasn’t shouting. He didn’t even raise his voice. But something in the way he spoke made Oscar shiver.

“I will be back in one hour. When I return, you will tell me where the coins are. Understand? That is your only option. If you want to survive.”

He stared at Madison until she nodded hesitantly.

“Good. And to be clear, I know all about you, Miss Madison Park. I know you are alone. No one will miss you. No one knows you are here. Remember that. No one is coming to save you. So you will do what I say.”

Madison nodded again, biting her lip to steel herself. She refused to look away from him.

The Coin Man stood up and opened the door.“One hour,” he said again, closing the door and locking it behind him.

Madison waited until she was sure he was gone and then broke out in a strangled sob.“I don’t have the coins!” she whispered. “What am I going to do?”

Polo poked a head out of Madison’s pocket and scrambled back up onto her knee. “We’ll think of a plan,” Polo said quietly. She had no idea what, but they had to try something. Anything. And they only had an hour.

“POLO!” a voice shrieked from the vent grate. “IT’S POLO! YOU’RE ALIVE!”

Polo’s head jerked up, and she leaned back to look up at the grate. “Marco?” She stood on her hind legs and waved excitedly. “MARCO!” she screamed. “I’m okay! It’s me!”

“What are you doing?” Madison said, staring at Polo like she’d sprouted an extra head. It was one thing to have a rat quietly comforting you. It was something entirely different when that rat started to scream and wave at someone you couldn’t see.

Madison peered up at the grate.

If she squinted, she thought she could just make out eyes staring back at her from the darkness. Three pairs of eyes.

She blinked. The eyes were still there. And was that a tiny arm waving through the grate? That didn’t seem possible.

Madison scrambled to her feet and climbed up onto the sink to get a closer look, carefully putting Polo on the counter first.

“No way,” Madison breathed. “No way.”

Those were definitely eyes. And they were looking right back at her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say they looked just like the cat and bird and rat that she’d been taking care of. But that was ridiculous.

“Do you have a plan?” Polo squeaked from her new perch on the soap dish. “We have an hour.”

“Um. Maybe?” Marco didn’t sound like he had a plan.

“Don’t worry—we’ve got a rescue all planned out,” Walt said. Her voice was much more reassuring. “Just wait there. We’ll be back soon.”

Polo cheered and did a little dance on the soap dish. Carefully, so she didn’t slip. But this was the best news she’d had all day, and a small celebration was in order.

Madison watched Polo’s dance number and then sat down on the cabinet with a thump. That had definitely sounded like a cat. And now the rat was dancing. She was losing it.

“We’ll be back! Just hold on,” Marco squeaked. “Bye!”

As Polo and Madison watched, the three faces disappeared from the grate.

Madison stared at the empty grate until a small pattering on her hand caught her attention. It was the rat, and it looked like it was patting her on the hand to console her.

“It’ll be okay, Madison!” Polo squeaked.

Madison gave a small smile. Even if she was crazy, the rat looked so optimistic. She hoped it knew something she didn’t.

“Okay, Walt, what’s up?” Oscar said after they’d slipped back down to the eighth-floor vents. “That all sounded good, but do you really have a plan?” He tried his best not to sound disapproving, but he couldn’t see how Walt could possibly have a plan. “I don’t want to give Polo false hope.”

Walt sat down with a sigh.“I do have a plan, and I think it could work. But you’re not going to like it. You’re not going to like it one bit.”

Oscar puffed his feathers out indignantly. If the plan saved Polo, how could he not like it?“Well, what is it?”

“I can only think of one thing that will work.” Walt’s face was grim. “We need to pull off another heist. An anti-heist. We need to give the coins back.”

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16

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“YOU WANT TO DO WHAT?” Butterbean sat up abruptly, gold coins sliding off her tummy. “Give it back?Back back? Are you crazy?”

They’d found Butterbean in the office, rolling in the bag of gold coins. She was obviously taking her guard duty very seriously. She hadn’t let them out of her sight. Butterbean stood up, slipping on the pile as she trotted out of the office and over to Oscar. “But we can’t give it back, can we, Oscar? We’re independently wealthy now. We need them.” She blinked with her best puppy dog eyes.

Oscar cleared his throat and looked away.“I think we have to,” he said reluctantly. He couldn’t believe he was saying it. The whole heist had been such a success. It was his greatest achievement. And now it was all going down the drain, just because of one little slip up.

Oscar had seen heist shows on the Television before, so he thought he’d known all the possible pitfalls. But he’d never once seen an organized crime gang have to pull an anti-heist and return the money.

But they were going to do it. It was already in the works.

Walt had run the plan by Chad, who had agreed to help out, as long as there were no more comments about his butt. Oscar wasn’t sure what that was about, but he was happy to agree. He’d never even noticed Chad’s butt. (Although now he felt like he needed to take a look.) Once they’d all solemnly sworn not to say a single word about his backside, Chad was in.

Now all they had to do was get Butterbean on board.

Luckily, Marco knew just what to say. He stepped forward and took Butterbean by the paw.“Butterbean, we have to do this. For Polo. And for Madison. We can’t let those men win. Don’t think of it as giving the coins back. This is a rescue mission.”

Butterbean’s ears perked up. She’d always wanted to go on a rescue mission. It was practically her dog destiny.

Butterbean licked Marco’s paw in excitement (along with half of his middle section. Marco pretended not to notice).

“Why didn’t you say so? Rescue mission? Sign me up!” Maybe she’d get one of those little barrels to wear around her neck—she’d seen Television dogs wearing those on lots of rescue missions. Of course it would have to be a small one, but Butterbean didn’t mind.

Walt patted Butterbean on the back.“Good. Oscar, you’ll need to get these coins back in the bag.”

Oscar nodded and hurried back into the office.

Walt sat down.“Now, Butterbean, what we’re planning is a three-pronged attack. Part one, Operation Distract. Part two, Operation Divide and Conquer. And part three, Operation Outside Authorities. Got it?”

“Got it.” Butterbean hoped she would be part of Operation Distract. Distracting was her specialty. She wasn’t so great at division.

“You’re Operation Distract, with me,” Walt said. Butterbean gave a small cheer. Walt ignored it. “Oscar, are the coins ready?”

“Done,” Oscar called back from the office, one foot on the coin bag.

“Good. Chad’s in place, so if you could just fly them up, we’ll be set. Wallace, Marco, ready for vent duty?”

“Ready!” Marco fist-bumped Wallace (who wasn’t quite ready) and raced into the vents. He was feeling much more optimistic now that he knew that Polo was alive.

“Wait, what? Me?” Wallace looked around nervously. He hadn’t realized he was part of the plan. He was thinking of himself as more of an interested bystander.

“Wallace, COME ON!” Marco yelled impatiently, his voice echoing in the vent.

“Oop. Okay. I mean… okay.” Wallace scurried toward the vent after Marco.

“Um, Walt?” Oscar’s voice came from overhead. “Potential problem here.”

Oscar had the bag in his claws and was hovering in the air. He wasn’t going anywhere, just hovering. “I’m having some trouble getting airborne,” he said. “I can’t seem to gain altitude.”

Walt’s eyes widened. Oscar was approximately three feet off the floor, which was not going to cut it. Not when they needed to go to an apartment on the ninth floor. “Well, you’re going to need to gain five stories of altitude. Fast. Or the plan won’t work.”

“Yes, I do realize that,” Oscar said, flapping his wings energetically. He still didn’t move.

“Um, about that,” he said finally. “I don’t see myself gaining five stories of altitude.”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_37]

“But you did it before!” Walt couldn’t believe Oscar was being so difficult. What was five stories to a bird? Five stories was nothing!

Oscar gave a sad smile.“Yes, that’s true. But before I was going down. Down isn’t a problem. Up is.” He flapped even more enthusiastically and rose another six inches off the floor.

“I volunteer!” Butterbean barked suddenly. “I’ll do it! Oh, please let me. I just have to take it upstairs, right? It’ll be fine! I can do it!”

Walt and Oscar both looked at Butterbean doubtfully.

“There’s no rule that it has to go in the window, right? We just need to get the bag up there?”

“Oscar?” Walt said.

“I think that would be best,” Oscar said, sinking to the floor. “I’ll stay here and watch the surveillance cameras. You’ll need to know if the Coin Man comes back.”

“That’s actually a better idea,” Walt said grudgingly. “We do need to know that. Okay, ready, Bean?”

“YAY!” Butterbean cheered, jumping up and dragging the bag away from Oscar.

“Keep cool, Bean,” Walt said, going to the door and pushing the handle down. “Let us know the minute he comes back,” she called to Oscar over her shoulder.

“Will do,” he said, walking slowly to the remote. He really did have a bad back.

Butterbean was already halfway down the hallway when Walt slipped out of the door. Butterbean jumped up and hit the elevator button.

“Hope it’s empty!” She hopped nervously from one foot to another while she waited. “Man, I hope the Coin Man isn’t in it when it opens. That would be the worst!”

“Don’t be silly,” Walt said, but she felt just as anxious. So many things could go wrong. She hadn’t had time to think though all the possible problems. Anything could happen.

The elevator binged, and Walt held her breath. The doors opened.

It wasn’t empty. Mrs. Power Walker was there, marching in place.

Butterbean didn’t hesitate. She dragged the bag into the elevator and sat down next to Mrs. Power Walker, wagging her tail and lolling her tongue out of the side of her mouth. Walt slipped in behind her.

Mrs. Power Walker looked down at Butterbean and smiled.“Oh, hello again. Eighth floor, right?” she said, pushing the button for Butterbean.

Butterbean wagged her tail harder. Eighth floor was not right, but she wasn’t going to say anything. She didn’t want to attract attention.

“Sixth floor,” the elevator voice said.

The doors opened. Bob the maintenance guy was standing in the hallway. He looked from Mrs. Power Walker to Butterbean to the bag. Then he looked at Walt. Walt shrugged.

“I’ll, uh, take the next one,” Bob said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

“Bye!” Mrs. Power Walker said cheerily, pushing the close door button.

“Bye.” Bob frowned at Butterbean and Walt. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said, narrowing his eyes as the doors closed.

“Oops!” Mrs. Power Walker said to Butterbean conspiratorially. She giggled. Butterbean thumped her tail on the floor.

“Seventh floor,” the elevator voice said.

“Bye, you two,” Mrs. Power Walker said as she power walked out of the elevator.

Butterbean waited until the doors had closed before she jumped up and hit the button for the ninth floor. Walt rolled her eyes.

“What? I didn’t want to be rude!” Butterbean said, sitting back down.

Marco and Wallace peered through the grate into the Coin Man’s apartment.

Wallace looked like he might throw up.“I shouldn’t even be here. I can’t believe you talked me into this. I ONLY GO TO THE EIGHTH FLOOR! I TOLD YOU THAT.”

“Yeah, but it’s fine, see?” Marco said, patting Wallace on the shoulder. “Nothing’s happening yet! It’s just that guy. Number Two.”

Through the grate they could see the second man perched nervously on the couch, cradling a drink in his hands. He also looked like he might throw up.

“Oh and look, it’s Chad! Hi, Chad!” Marco screamed, sticking his arm through the grate and waving.

Chad pulled himself up into the sink. He put two of his tentacles to his eyes and then pointed at the grate in a classic“I’m watching you” motion.

Marco waved a little less enthusiastically.“Looking good, Chad. Thanks for doing this!”

Wallace clutched Marco’s arm. “Should you be yelling and waving like that? With THAT PERSON sitting there?”

Marco didn’t get a chance to answer.

The elevator dinged outside. Marco looked at Wallace.“Here we go.” He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

Butterbean dragged the coin bag into a shadowy nook near the elevator.“Same plan as before?” She didn’t really love the idea of another mouthful of dirty sock, but for Polo? Number Two’s dirty socks were no problem.

Walt grinned.“I thought we’d try something different this time.” She bent down and whispered in Butterbean’s ear.

Butterbean wagged her tail. She liked the new plan.

When they heard Marco’s whistle, she stood on her hind legs and rang the bell.

The Number Two Man was so startled by the doorbell that his hand jerked, sloshing part of his drink down his front. Muttering to himself, he put the drink onto the coffee table and hurried to the door, wiping his hands on his pants as he went.

He opened the door cautiously and looked out into the hallway.

Marco and Wallace pressed their faces to the grate to get a clear look.

There, in the hallway, sat Walt and Butterbean. They sat perfectly still in front of the door, staring silently at the man.

He went pale.“Oh no. No,” he said, backing away. Then he slammed the door in their faces.

Marco and Wallace looked at each other.“I wonder if that’s what was supposed to happen?” Marco said.

“Well, shoot. That’s not what was supposed to happen,” Walt muttered, twitching her tail. She’d been sure that if they sat quietly, he would come out to see what was going on. But no. “How are we supposed to get him out here? Ring the bell again, Butterbean.”

Butterbean stood up and rang the bell again.

No one answered.

“We should’ve just gone for the ankles,” Butterbean said. “Or we could’ve knocked him down, and I could’ve done the nostril probe.”

“Hey! Hey, Walt! It’s Marco! Up here!”

Walt and Butterbean peered up at the ceiling, following the voice to the corner, where they could see Marco peeking out from a small grate.

“Boy, you freaked him out,” Marco said. “Was it supposed to happen like that?”

“Obviously not,” Walt said grouchily. “I didn’t think he’d have such bad manners.”

“Okay, well, don’t worry. Chad said he has a plan,” Marco explained. “When I whistle, try the doorbell thing again. Chad said he’s had it with this guy, and he’s not wasting any more time. He’s going to take him out.”

“Oookay,” Walt said. That didn’t sound terrific. In fact, “take him out” sounded really, really bad.

“So Chad… um. He’s okay, right?” Marco interrupted her thoughts. “ ’Cause he sounded super grumpy. I mean SUPER grumpy. And maybe a little scary.” More than a little, actually.

Walt hesitated.“Yeah, he’s a good guy. Octopus. Good octopus,” she corrected herself. But now that she thought about it, how well did she know Chad? Not that well, to be honest. And a grumpy octopus was capable of doing, well, anything.

“I guess we’ll just wait for the signal, then,” Walt said, trying to sound confident. The whole thing had gone completely off the rails.

She just had to hope for the best. It was up to Chad now.

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17

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CHAD INCHED HIS WAY THROUGH the pipe. He couldn’t believe he had gotten mixed up in this whole mess. And for a few measly sardines! It absolutely was not worth it. Still, it would be a good story later on, as long as the others didn’t get themselves killed. Actually, it would be a good story either way. But he might as well try to keep themalive. Make himself the hero. Happy endings always went over better in octopus circles.

Chad slipped up the pipe and out through the sink drain overhead. Just as he’d thought, he was in the bathroom. And judging from the terrible decor, he was still in the Coin Man’s apartment.

A girl gasped. Madison, he guessed. Nice to see that she was alive, but he didn’t have time to chat.

“Holy cow, what is that?” Madison squealed, staring at him. Rude. Chad ignored her and slithered up to the medicine cabinet. He didn’t have a lot of time to waste. He rummaged around on the shelves, examining medicine bottles and tossing them aside.

“Oh, that’s just Chad!” A voice from the floor piped up. “Hey, Chad! It’s me, Polo!” Chad looked over his shoulder and saw Polo hopping up and down and waving. He gave a polite wave with one of his unoccupied tentacles while he uncapped a medicine bottle with the others. Just what he was looking for. He broke a pill in half.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_39]

“What are you doing in here?” Polo crawled up onto the cabinet next to him. “Are you rescuing us? Can I do anything to help?”

Chad frowned and tossed the rest of the pills aside.“No, I’ve got what I need. Sleeping pills. I’m going to drug his drink.”

Polo looked at the broken pill.“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Chad snorted.“I’m not even giving him a whole pill. Just enough to knock him out while we set up the room. Sheesh.” Rats could be so jittery.

“Oh, good,” Polo said, trying to look relieved. “So we just wait here, then?”

Chad slid back into the sink.“Right. Stay alert. You may need to move fast.”

He disappeared down the drain, and then one eye popped back up.“Polo.”

“Yeah?” Polo peered down at him.

“Glad you’re not dead.”

Polo smiled.“Yeah, me too.”

When Chad crawled back up into the kitchen sink, the man was on the couch, looking from the front door to the bathroom door, like he was watching a tennis match. He seemed nervous, to say the least.

“I don’t get it,” Wallace said, watching the man. “What’s he so freaked out about? Walt and Butterbean aren’t scary. Well, maybe Walt, but Butterbean? Her name’s BUTTERBEAN, for goodness sake.”

Marco shrugged.“Humans are weird.”

Chad had already made his way over to the edge of the couch and was waving a tentacle at Marco in an irritated way, like he’d been doing it a long time. He was also making gestures with his other tentacles that Marco was pretty sure were bad words.

“Sorry, Chad!” Marco yelled.

He put his hands in his mouth and whistled.

The doorbell rang.

The man’s hand clenched the sofa so hard his knuckles turned white. He stared at the front door like it was going to explode.

The bell rang again. And again. And again. It sounded to Marco like Butterbean was just bouncing between the floor and the doorbell over and over. She could be very enthusiastic.

Finally, the Number Two Man had had enough. He got up, braced himself for a second, and then walked slowly toward the door.

Marco whistled again.

The man cautiously put his hand on the door handle, and then, taking a deep breath, he pulled it open. The cat and the dog sat in the doorway, just as they had before. And just as they had before, they silently stared back at him.

No one moved. No one except Chad.

In a flash, he slithered up to the coffee table and dropped the broken sleeping pill into the man’s drink. Then he speed-inched his way back to the sink. Once he was safely inside, Marco whistled again.

Without a sound, and without even looking at each other, Walt and Butterbean turned in unison and walked away down the hallway.

The man stood slack-jawed, watching them go. Then he slammed the door, raking his hands through his hair. He lurched back across the room, threw himself onto the couch, grabbed his drink, and gulped it down in one swift movement.

Marco and Wallace watched from the grate.

Chad watched from the sink.

Number Two’s eyelids drooped. In just a few minutes they had shut, and his head flopped back onto the sofa.

Marco whistled again as Chad scooted across the living room floor.

“Stupid carpets,” he muttered as he went. “Do you realize I have rug burns on THREE of my tentacles because of this? THREE. And I hardly even KNOW you guys.”

He reached up and opened the door. Walt and Butterbean rushed in, dragging the bag behind them.

“These rug burns are going to cost you EXTRA SARDINES,” Chad grumbled.

“Operation Distract is complete!” Butterbean trotted to the couch and dropped the bag with a thump. “In this end table here, Chad?”

“Right.” Chad unzipped the bag and then crawled onto the man’s lap. He reached a tentacle down toward the bag. “Actually, scooch it over a bit first.”

Butterbean nudged the bag closer to the man’s foot. Chad grabbed a bunch of coins with his tentacles and stuffed them into the man’s pockets. The man didn’t even move.

“He’s not dead, right?” Butterbean said, jumping up and examining him.

“With half a pill? Hardly. We’ll be lucky if we make it out of here before he wakes up,” Chad scoffed, passing coins from tentacle to tentacle. It was like he had his own relay system set up. It was very effective.

“Hey, Chad?” Walt said, peering inside the end table. “Was this stuff in here when you took the bag originally?”

“What stuff?” Chad flung the last few coins onto the man’s lap like he was throwing confetti and inched his way over to the end table. He peered inside. “Oh, that stuff? Yeah, I guess. Why, did you want that, too?”

Walt shook her head.“No, we’re not touching this.” She turned to Butterbean. “This is bad news. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Butterbean cocked her head.“Why, what is it?”

“Trouble,” Walt said. “Big trouble.”

Oscar sat on the floor in front of the Television watching the surveillance feed.

“This is fine,” he said to himself. “This is fine.” He didn’t feel fine, though.

He knew that watching the feed was important. And he knew that criminal masterminds usually left the grunt work to their minions. But he didn’t like the idea that the others were up there alone.

A figure on the Television caught his eye.

Oscar jumped up with a squawk. He’d only seen him through the grate, but he would recognize him forever.

The Coin Man was back.

Butterbean pawed at the inside of the end table. She could see what looked like winter hats, and something metallic underneath. She frowned.“Why are hats trouble?”

She pawed at the hats again. A black ski mask fell onto the floor.“Should I try it on? I’ll look like a robber!” Butterbean joked, and then caught herself. “Oh. I’ll look like a robber.”

“Exactly.” Walt didn’t sound like she was joking.

Butterbean nosed the metallic things.“And these must be?”

“Guns,” Walt said. “Those are guns of some sort.”

“Then that means—”

“That means we need to go. Now.”

“Okey dokey, then,” Butterbean said, trotting over to the door.

Walt looked around for Chad, who was examining the contents of the kitchen cabinets.“Chad? Time to—”

“OUT! OUT NOW!” Oscar flew in through the window, collapsing on the couch in a dramatic crash landing that made everyone duck for cover. “The Coin Man is on his way.”

“What?” Walt and Butterbean stared at Oscar in panic.

The elevator bell dinged in the hallway.

Oscar’s eyes widened. “The Coin Man is here.”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

18

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

[Êàðòèíêà: img_40]

WALT LEAPED TO HER FEET.“Oscar, GO! Start Operation Outside Authorities!” she screeched. “It’s all up to you now!”

“Operation Outside Authorities, check,” Oscar echoed, launching himself out of the window.

Chad scooted into the kitchen sink in record time.“I’m out of here. Good luck,” he called, sliding into the drain. “You’ll need it.”

Butterbean turned to Walt.“What about us?”

Walt looked around the apartment in desperation. She had some options—high places were always a good bet for a cat. But Butterbean had limited choices. The apartment didn’t seem to have any hiding places that would fit a small dog.

“He’s coming!” Marco yelled from the vent. “Do something! Get out!”

Walt turned to Butterbean.“Okay, we need to do a little distracting again. Operation Mini Distract. I need your nostril-licking skills.”

Butterbean wagged her tail.“Sure thing!” She was always up for a good nasal probe. “This guy?” She nudged the sleeping man on the couch.

“Go for it,” Walt said. If they woke the man up, there was a good chance he and the Coin Man would fight. And if they were fighting, they might not notice a smallish dog and cat slipping into the hallway.

It was a chance, anyway.

Butterbean leaned over and, with surgical precision, licked up the sleeping man’s nose. He wiped at his face with his hand.

She licked again, doing the power move she liked to think of as the“brain lick.”

The man swatted sleepily at his face, and his eyelids fluttered. Butterbean looked deep into his eyes and licked again. The man shrieked and staggered to his feet, scattering coins everywhere.

Butterbean nodded.“Three licks usually does it.”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_41]

The key turned in the lock.

“BEAN, RUN!” Walt raced toward the front door.

Butterbean leaped off the couch and skidded down the hallway, coming to a stop behind Walt just as the door started to open.

Walt and Butterbean pressed themselves against the wall behind the door. The space was so small that the door was almost touching Butterbean’s nose. She turned her head to the side and squished herself flatter.

“What is this?” The Coin Man’s voice was cold.

Butterbean cringed. They’d been caught. She didn’t think she’d be able to cute her way out of this one.

But nothing happened. She slowly opened one eye.

The Coin Man was standing in front of the couch with a gold coin in his hand. He flipped it up into the air and caught it. Then he did it again. And he never once stopped staring at the Number Two Man, who was cringing back onto the sofa cushions and looking confused.

“I… don’t know where this all came from. I just… it was just there.” Number Two winced as he said it. No one would ever believe that, especially not the Coin Man.

He didn’t.

“This all just appeared after you decided to ‘nap’?” He flipped the coin into the air again and caught it.

“I must’ve been drugged?” Number Two watched the coin and swallowed hard. No one would believe that, either. Because it was ridiculous.

“Yes, of course,” the Coin Man said, taking a step forward. “Drugged. By whom?”

“I don’t know,” Number Two said softly.

Walt nudged Butterbean hard.“Bean! Now! While we have a chance.”

They stepped out carefully from behind the door. The Coin Man didn’t look around. Neither did the second man.

Walt and Butterbean turned and ran down the hallway as fast as they could. When they reached the elevator, they stopped and looked back.

There was no one following them. They’d made it. They were free.

Oscar kicked the phone in frustration. He’d called the police three times. He’d double-checked the number. He’d seen it on the Television, so he knew he was doing it right. But for some reason it wasn’t working the way it did on his shows.

He dialed again.

“District Eighteen Police Department, how can I help you?” The woman’s voice came through the phone lying on the table.

Oscar cleared his throat.“I’d like to report a kidnapping please. The address is—”

“I’m sorry, what? I can’t understand you. Speak up, please.”

Oscar’s feathers puffed in frustration. He spoke as clearly as he could. “I. Would. Like. To. Report. A. Kidnapping.”

“This number is for police matters, not for funny voices and jokes, young man. Don’t call again unless you have serious criminal activity to report.” The line went dead.

Oscar stared at the phone in despair. The others were in danger, and there was nothing he could do. Operation Outside Authorities was going to fail. He couldn’t get anyone to understand him, let alone believe him. And he’d been so proud of his Human language skills.

The door to the apartment opened, and Walt and Butterbean raced inside.

“We did it!” Butterbean said.

“Operation Divide and Conquer seems to be working well,” Walt said, hopping up onto the desk next to Oscar. “How’s Operation Outside Authorities?”

Oscar gave Walt a pained look.“A failure. They won’t talk to me. They either think I’m prank calling, or they don’t understand me at all.”

Walt nodded sympathetically.“Humans are terrible on the phone. Let’s try the software. They like talking to computers.”

Walt went to the computer keyboard and typed carefully. She was a two-paw typist, but Oscar was surprised at how quick she was. She gestured toward the phone.“Could you dial for me? Call the emergency number.”

Oscar nodded.“Good plan.” Maybe they’d be more helpful than the police.

They slid the phone closer to the computer speaker and waited while it rang.“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”

Walt hit a key on the computer.

“I’d like to report a kidnapping,” a woman’s computer voice said.

“IT’S THE ELEVATOR LADY!” Butterbean gasped.

Walt frowned at her.“It’s not the elevator lady.”

“What is your address, please?” the 911 operator said.

Walt hit the computer button.“The Strathmore Building. The kidnappers are on the ninth floor of the Strathmore. Apartment 9B,” the computer voice said.

“But, Walt!” Butterbean said, standing up to get a closer look at the computer.

“It’s not her,” Walt said.

Butterbean nosed at the speaker.“But… is it her sister?”

Walt and Oscar exchanged glances.

“Yes. It’s her sister,” Oscar said. He was going to need Walt to explain all of this when it was over. He didn’t even know if the elevator lady had a sister.

Walt hit the button again.“The kidnappers have kidnapped a girl. She’s in danger. They are also coin thieves. They have stolen coins. Please hurry.”

“May I have your name, ma’am?” the 911 operator asked.

“Hang up, Oscar,” Walt whispered.

“Ma’am?”

Oscar disconnected the phone.

Walt sat back on her haunches.“Operation Outside Authorities complete.” She twitched an ear. “Let’s just hope it works.”

Marco had promised to keep watch over what happened in the apartment. And he would keep his promise. But nobody said he couldn’t cover his eyes and peek through his fingers.

At least he hadn’t left his post at the grate. Wallace had retreated farther back into the vent and was sitting by the down vent, dangling his feet. It was all too intense for him.

Nothing bad had even happened yet. But that almost made it worse. Marco was sure the Coin Man was going to snap at any second, and he definitely didn’t want to see what would happen to the Number Two Man then.

“Has he killed the other man yet?” Wallace yelled to Marco. He didn’t want to see anything that was going on, but he didn’t want to miss any of it either.

“Not yet,” Marco squeaked. It was only a matter of time, though. That was obvious. That Number Two Guy was super dead.

“This is why I don’t come up here, Marco!” Wallace called over his shoulder. “THIS!” He stared down the vent tube. “I don’t enjoy carnage, Marco!”

“Shh,” Marco said. He had to focus.

“You think you can double-cross me?” The Coin Man loomed over the other man. He was speaking so quietly that Marco had to strain to hear him. Marco shivered. Yelling would have been easier to take, somehow. “You have made a mistake, my friend. You realize that? A very big mistake.”

“I understand,” Number Two said. His eyes were on the floor.

“When I left an hour ago, I had one problem and no coins. Now my coins are back, and I have two problems. So you know what that means?” The Coin Man carefully put the coin he’d been flipping on the coffee table and started to roll up his sleeves.

“What?” Number Two whispered.

“Soon I will have no problems. Because I’m going to make those problems go away.”

“No, please…” the second man whispered again. “Please.”

Marco stood up. He was already going to have nightmares for a month, and he didn’t see how watching this was going to help Polo. He wasn’t even sure how she was going to get out. It didn’t look like Walt’s plan was going to work after all.

“Can you watch the living room for a minute?” Marco asked. “I want to check on Polo.” Even if he couldn’t help her, he could be there for moral support.

“I can’t watch! You KNOW that!” Wallace said. “I never should’ve agreed to this.” Wallace didn’t know why he’d gotten mixed up with those weird apartment rats. He didn’t need new friends. He had plenty of friends on the loading docks. Sure, they didn’t have sunflower seeds, but who cared about that? He’d been meaning to give up sunflower seeds anyway.

Marco glared at the back of Wallace’s head. He felt like punching something. “Come on, Wallace, I just need—”

With a loud crash, the door to the apartment burst open. Marco gasped.

“What? What is it?” Wallace called, twisting around to look.

“WHOOHOOO!” Marco climbed up onto the grate to get a better view. “Wallace, LOOK! It worked!”

“What worked?” Wallace hopped to his feet and took a few steps toward the grate before stopping. He didn’t want to go back. But he really didn’t want to miss out. “What is it?”

“It’s the police!” Marco stuck his face through one of the holes in the grate and cheered. Not that anyone inside noticed him, but he thought it was appropriate anyway.

Wallace rushed to stand beside him. The apartment was crawling with police officers. The Coin Man and the Number Two Man were both handcuffed. Number Two was sobbing, with what Marco secretly suspected was relief. (Because if those police hadn’t shown up, he would’ve been totally dead.)

Wallace pointed toward the bathroom door.“Marco, look!”

A police officer moved the chair away from the door and pushed it open. A very dazed-looking Madison stepped tentatively into the room. Two more officers rushed forward and helped her to the couch.

“Do you see her?” Marco said, craning his neck to get a better view. She had to be okay. “Can you see Polo?”

“There!” Wallace pointed again. “Look at the pocket!”

Polo’s head had popped up out of Madison’s pocket. She was grinning from ear to ear, and when she saw Marco and Wallace in the grate, she gave them a thumbs-up.

Marco gave her a thumbs-up too, then leaned down to put his head between his knees. He needed to take some deep, cleansing breaths.

“I’d get you a paper bag to breathe into,” Wallace said. “But it would be too big.”

“I’ll be okay,” Marco said. “I just need a minute.”

Wallace patted him on the back.“I understand. Hey, what’s Polo doing?”

Marco stood up and looked into the room again. Polo was hanging out of the jacket pocket and clutching the material of Madison’s sweater.

Madison didn’t notice, and neither did the police officer taking her statement.

In just a few seconds, Polo withdrew back into the pocket. Looking up at the vent grate, she held up her hand triumphantly.

She had a new button.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

19

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

[Êàðòèíêà: img_42]

“WE DID IT! IT WORKED!” Marco raced out from the vent behind the couch. “The police arrested them and everything.”

“Is Polo okay?” Butterbean asked, rushing up to sniff him. He smelled pretty much like he usually did, but she liked to check, just in case.

Marco raised his arms to give Butterbean full sniff access.“She looked fine. Wallace said he’d keep watching. She’ll probably be back soon.” Marco pumped his fist. “WHOOHOO!”

“Whew! Finally some good news.” Walt hopped off the window ledge, where she’d been sitting with Oscar. “We’ve been watching the police cars drive up. I’m glad they got there in time.”

“Wow, two successful heists in one day!” Butterbean said, sitting down and scratching her ear. “We’re awesome!”

“We’re the best heisters ever!” Marco cheered.

“And now we’re poor!” Butterbean cheered.

“Yes, about that—” Oscar started, hopping down from the ledge.

“About that,” Walt said, cutting him off. “I’m not going to a shelter. I’m a black cat, and black cats don’t do well at shelters. The whole ‘unlucky’ thing.” She attempted to make air quotes, without much success. “So when Bob comes to get us, I’m planning to slip out. I can take care of myself. I’d appreciate it if you don’t draw attention to it.”

Butterbean looked horrified.“No! Walt, we’ll figure something out!” Butterbean raced over to Oscar. “We need to stay together! Right, Oscar? We’ll make a new plan!”

“Wallace invited me and Polo to live in the vents. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if the rest of you came. It’s an option,” Marco said. Then he caught sight of Butterbean’s stricken face. “Well, not for Butterbean. Sorry about that.” Marco wrung his hands apologetically. “But you’re cute—you’re sure to get adopted quickly.”

“Or maybe the power walker woman can take you!” Walt said encouragingly. “She seems nice.”

“No! You can’t live in the vents without me!” Butterbean whimpered.

“Listen, about that—” Oscar started again.

“Are you going to come live in the vents, Oscar?” Marco said.

“Um, no.” Oscar shuddered. “If it came down to it, I’d head to the park. I hear there are some lovely trees there. But listen—”

“No! No trees, no vents, no slipping out! We’ve got to stick together!” Butterbean turned to Oscar, her eyes moist. “We just need a new plan, right, Oscar? Can’t you think of something? You’ve got all the best plans.”

Walt bumped her head up against Butterbean’s side. “Butterbean, think about it,” she said. “Giving the money back was the right thing to do, but now that we aren’t independently wealthy, we can’t live on our own. And besides, we don’t even have anyone to take care of us.”

“We’ve got Madison,” Butterbean said stubbornly.

“We don’t have Madison. Not anymore,” Marco said. “She’s living alone, remember, no adult? Those cops have to know that by now. Do you think they’re going to let her keep doing that?”

Butterbean tried to be positive.“Maybe?”

“No chance,” Walt said, frowning. “She’ll be sent to what, an orphanage?”

“I don’t think they do orphanages that much anymore,” Oscar said. He wasn’t sure, though. There were lots of orphanages on the Television, but Oscar was starting to doubt how accurate his shows really were.

Marco rolled his eyes.“Well, wherever she goes, it won’t be here. She won’t be feeding us,” he said.

“Marco is right, Butterbean,” Walt said sympathetically. “I wish we had options. But we now have zero people to take care of us. Bob is coming. Face it, our time is up.”

Butterbean opened her mouth to protest, but just then a key turned in the lock.

“Bob!” Marco gasped, racing for his aquarium. “No, it’s too soon!” Polo wasn’t even back yet. Marco gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going anywhere without Polo. Not without a fight.

The door opened, and Butterbean screamed in delight.

It was Mrs. Food.

She was sitting in a chair wheeled by Bob, who positioned Mrs. Food next to the couch.

“MRS. FOOD!” Butterbean shrieked, racing to the chair and jumping up in an attempt to climb into Mrs. Food’s lap and lick her nostrils all at the same time.

Bob did not look amused.“Yeah, back in the apartment, huh? I’m onto you, dog,” he muttered, pushing Butterbean away from Mrs. Food. He turned and glared at Walt. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, too, cat.”

Mrs. Food laughed weakly and reached down to scratch Butterbean behind the ears.“Calm down, Bean,” she said.

Butterbean sat down, wagging her tail so hard that she looked like she was going to levitate. Bob shifted uncomfortably.“Now, do you need me to get your stuff together, or…”

Mrs. Food half turned to look at him.“I think I can manage. I can get out of the chair myself. You don’t have to stay.”

Bob looked relieved.“Well, good. That lady, your what, Elder Care lady? She’ll be here soon, so she can help with anything you can’t do. Sorry to see you go, ma’am.”

“Me too, Bob.” Mrs. Food looked sad.

She sat absentmindedly patting Butterbean’s head until she heard Bob leave. Then she turned back to the animals. “Now, all of you, stay calm. I have some bad news.”

Walt hopped up onto the arm of the wheelchair. Oscar flew over to the coffee table. Marco perched on top of his water bottle. Then they waited. This was it. It was finally happening.

Mrs. Food folded her hands in her lap.“I know this has all been very scary for you. And I wish I had better news. I’m well now, but the doctors said I’m not well enough to live on my own. And I can’t take you with me to the care facility I’m going to. So you’re all going to have to go to new homes.”

“Shelter,” Walt said softly.

Butterbean gave a low wail.

Mrs. Food sighed.“I’ll do my best to find places for you. I’ve already started asking around. I’m so sorry.” She rubbed Butterbean’s ear. Butterbean’s leg started to thump. “The nurse is going to be up in just a minute to help me get my things, but I wanted to let you know myself.”

Butterbean launched herself up at Mrs. Food’s face again. She looked so sad. Butterbean couldn’t stand it.

Loud footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Mrs. Food sighed.“Bob again,” she said, reaching out and stroking Walt’s neck. “I wish we had more time.”

The door burst open so violently that it banged against the opposite wall. A small figure raced in, slamming the door again behind her. It was a very un-Bob-like way to open a door. That was probably because it wasn’t Bob. It was Madison.

She was clutching Polo in a sweaty grip and stopped short when she saw Mrs. Food.“Oh. Mrs. Fudeker. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you were… I just… Is this your rat?”

Mrs. Food reached out for Polo.“Why yes, Polo! How nice of you to return her.” Polo crawled into Mrs. Food’s hand and hugged one of her fingers.

Madison glanced back toward the door.“Yeah, they said I wasn’t supposed to, but I had to, right? I mean, she’s your rat.” She reached down and patted Butterbean on the head. “I’ve been taking care of these guys while you’ve been gone, but I can’t anymore. They’re taking me—” She broke off in a strangled sob. “Anyway, I wanted to say thank you? To these guys, and to you, I guess.” She looked around the room at the animals. “I don’t know how you did it. But I know it was you. So thank you.” She looked at Mrs. Food again. “They’ll understand.”

Mrs. Food nodded.“I’m sure they will.” She hesitated. “You’re Ruby Park’s niece?”

More footsteps could be heard in the hallway. Madison winced at the sound.“Yeah. Anyway, sorry about barging in. I just—”

The door flew open, and a tall red-faced woman in a blazer stood in the doorway.“Madison! I told you we were going straight to the car.” She turned to Mrs. Food. “I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I’m Mrs. Taylor, and this little girl is on her way to her new foster home. I’m sure you heard about the incident on the top floor? We’ll just be leaving now.” She gripped Madison by the upper arm and pulled her toward the door.

Butterbean wuffled softly and turned her most soulful gaze toward Mrs. Food. Walt bumped her head against Mrs. Food’s arm, purr volume turned up to high. Even Polo blinked in her cutest way (although she was severely hampered by her sweaty, matted fur).

Mrs. Food gave the slightest nod and put on a puzzled expression.“But why?”

Mrs. Taylor hesitated.“Why what, ma’am?”

“Why are you taking her to a foster home? She already has a home. She lives here, with me,” Mrs. Food said, frowning.

“What? What do you mean?” Mrs. Taylor glanced from Mrs. Food to Madison and back again.

“I mean she lives here. Why? What were you told?” Mrs. Food’s voice was chilly.

“Wait, you mean… I’m sorry. She lives here?” Mrs. Taylor looked at Madison accusingly. “She didn’t say she lives here. No one told me she had a guardian.”

Mrs. Food sniffed.“Well, I can’t help that. It was all arranged with her aunt, Ruby Park. Madison is staying here with me while her aunt is deployed in… Where is it again, dear?”

“Afghanistan,” Madison said, hardly daring to breathe.

“Afghanistan, yes,” Mrs. Food said. “You can check with her if you like, but we have it all arranged. It’s very convenient, you see, because we live in the same building.”

“That’s what I meant when I said I lived downstairs,” Madison said, shooting a hopeful look at Mrs. Food. “I didn’t mean my aunt’s apartment on the eighth floor—I meant here. I tried to tell you.”

Mrs. Taylor glared at them both suspiciously. Mrs. Food and Madison stared back without even blinking, they were trying so hard to look innocent.

Mrs. Taylor reluctantly let go of Madison’s arm. “Oh. Well. I will be checking on this, I can tell you that,” she huffed. “But if your aunt set it up…”

“She did. It’s in my Family Care Plan,” Madison said. “That’s why it was so important for me to come here. So Mrs. Fudeker could explain.”

“Well. I see. Well,” Mrs. Taylor fumed. “Thank you for your help then, Mrs. Fudeker. We’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Food said calmly. Mrs. Taylor turned stiffly and marched out.

Madison whipped around to face Mrs. Food.“This isn’t going to work, is it? They’ll never fall for it! We’ll get in trouble. They’ll check and see it’s not true!”

Mrs. Food smiled.“It won’t matter if they check if we fix things first. Listen, Madison, would you like to live here with me while your aunt is away? We can call Mrs. Taylor back if you don’t want to.”

“I definitely want to!”

“Good. I’d love to have you here. And I’m not supposed to live alone right now either, so it’s good for both of us. Now, what do we have to do to get in touch with your aunt—can you call her?” Mrs. Food stood up carefully. “There’s a phone in the office.”

“I can e-mail her,” Madison said quickly. “She’s always liked you, so she’ll definitely say yes. I think she just needs to change the plan she filed for me.”

“Then e-mail, quickly. The computer’s in the office too. And then go get your things—we’ll get you set up in the guest bedroom.”

Madison grinned.“Got it.”

Mrs. Food smiled tightly.“Now the only problem is my nurse. She should be here any—”

“Mrs. Fudeker?” A small woman slipped in the front door and almost bumped into Madison. The woman jumped back in surprise. “Oh! I’m sorry, but…” She looked at Madison in confusion. “Who is this? Mrs. Fudeker? I understood you lived alone?”

Mrs. Food raised her eyebrows significantly at Madison.“Sheila, this is—”

Madison leaped forward, hand extended.“I’m Madison Park. I live here. With Mrs. Fudeker.” She shook Sheila’s hand enthusiastically.

“You live here! But…” The woman frowned and looked at her clipboard.

“It’s all set up in my Family Care Plan,” Madison said, a huge smile plastered on her face. “I’m living here while my aunt is deployed.”

“That’s true,” Mrs. Food confirmed.

The small woman nodded and flipped through the papers.“But Mrs. Fudeker, all your paperwork says you live alone.”

“Nope! Not alone. With me,” Madison said brightly. “It’s all set up.”

Mrs. Food made a face.“I’ve been telling people all along I didn’t need placement in assisted living. Not with Madison as my caregiver.”

“I’m very helpful,” Madison said, standing up straighter.

Sheila smiled.“I’m sure you are, hon.” She flipped one last page, then threw up her hands and smiled at Madison. “Well, it’s obvious someone got something very wrong. I apologize. I’ll go back to the hospital and get this cleared up.” She rolled her eyes. “Clerical errors.”

“That’s fine.” Mrs. Food smiled. “And thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Madison said, waving goodbye until the woman was gone. “She bought it!”

Mrs. Food let out a sigh of relief.“E-mail, NOW!” she said, pointing to the office.

“Right!” Madison turned and raced inside.

A few minutes later she stuck her head out.“Mrs. Fudeker, did you call in a tip to the crime line? There’s a message saying something about a reward.”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_43]

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

20

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

[Êàðòèíêà: img_44]

DON’T GET ME WRONG—I’LL gladly accept the reward if they give it to me,” Mrs. Food said as she put a sandwich and pretzels into Madison’s lunch bag. “But what I don’t understand is HOW? I wasn’t even home when that call was made.”

“Beats me, but don’t tell them that!” Madison said, stashing her lunch in her book bag. “It’s really weird, though.”

“Belly rub,” Butterbean said, rolling over onto her back at Madison’s feet.

“Weird and lucky.” Madison reached down to scratch Butterbean’s tummy. “Maybe you’ve got a guardian angel.”

Butterbean caught Walt’s eye and winked. Walt winked back. Mrs. Food and Madison didn’t suspect a thing.

Madison frowned. She stopped scratching and looked from Butterbean to Walt thoughtfully. Butterbean lolled her tongue out of her mouth and drooled a little. It never hurt to look a tiny bit stupid.

“Maybe more than one,” Madison said, winking at Butterbean. Butterbean almost choked on her spit. Smirking, Walt jumped off the chair and stalked into the living room. Well, at least Mrs. Food didn’t suspect anything.

“Now, don’t forget your call with your aunt after school today,” Mrs. Food said.

“Got it.” Madison patted Butterbean goodbye. “See you later!” She threw her bag over her shoulder and hurried out.

Madison’s aunt had agreed to the new living arrangement right away and was horrified that Madison had been living on her own for so long. Mrs. Food was officially Madison’s guardian for as long as her aunt was deployed. Walt and Oscar had hoped to be named guardians too and were more than a little offended that no one had even asked them.

Mrs. Food wiped her hands on a dish towel and made her way down the hallway to her office, carefully checking for any obstacles placed in her path. The last thing she wanted was a return trip to the hospital. But she didn’t need to worry. Butterbean had a new policy—from now on, whenever she barfed, she would immediately clean it up herself. So far it seemed to be working well.

“I still don’t see why SHE gets the reward,” Butterbean grumbled, grabbing her squeaky carrot and tossing it into the air after Mrs. Food had closed the office door. “I mean, it was Walt and Oscar who called. And the elevator lady’s sister. THEY should get the reward.”

“It’ll be easier for her to spend it,” Walt said wearily. They’d had this conversation at least five times. “And think of it this way—we got two caretakers out of the deal. Now if something goes wrong with Mrs. Food again, we have a backup.”

“But we had a treasure! And now we’re poor!” There was just something about those gold coins. Butterbean really would’ve liked to roll in them one last time.

“Polo got a new button,” Marco pointed out. Mrs. Food had left the rats’ aquarium out in the living room—the other animals had objected when she tried to move it back to the office. And Marco and Polo were enjoying their new view.

“That’s right. That’s kind of like a treasure,” Polo said, admiring the button around her neck. Marco had tied the string in a double knot this time.

“I guess so,” Butterbean said, sitting up.

A cabinet door slammed.“What the heck?” Oscar craned his neck to look into the kitchen. “That’s not Chad again, is it?”

“Hey, Chad,” Butterbean said. It was Chad. Again.

Chad was sitting in the sink with a package of sardines he’d gotten from the cabinet. He grabbed the pull tab with one of his tentacles and sucked the sardines down without a word. So far Mrs. Food hadn’t noticed how quickly they’d been disappearing.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_45]

“You know, one day Mrs. Food is going to catch you doing that and it’ll all be over,” Walt said, licking a paw. “She’s cool, but I don’t know if she’s strange-octopus-in-the-sink cool.”

“Hey, guys!” Wallace emerged from behind the sofa. His cheeks were filled with sunflower seeds, and he was leaving a trail of shells as he walked.

“Is she strange-rat-in-the-living-room cool?” Butterbean asked.

“She’s going to have to be. After all, they’re members of our gang. Go, Strathmore Six!” Marco cheered.

“Marco!” Polo hissed. “Rude! Wallace isn’t a member. It’s the Strathmore SIX, get it? He’d make it seven.”

Wallace stopped chewing and looked at them, hurt. A shell dropped out of his mouth.“You guys have a gang?”

“More of an International Crime Syndicate,” Oscar said. He hopped onto the Television and snapped his beak. “All in favor of including Wallace and making it the Strathmore Seven?”

“WHOOOHOO!” Marco cheered, high-fiving Wallace, who choked on a seed.

“Sounds good to me,” Walt said.

“Me too!” Butterbean yelped. “Strathmore Seven!”

“Any more sardines?” Chad asked.

“I’ve never been in a club. Thanks, you guys.” Wallace blushed. “But I wanted to tell you—the Patchouli Family was watching the news. The heist is on TV. Channel Seven.”

“Ooh, we’re famous!” Oscar crowed, hopping on the remote and turning the Television to Channel Seven.

“…Prosecutors say that an anonymous tip led police to the apartment, where they were able to arrest the thieves and recover most of the coins that had been stolen.”

“Wait a minute.” Walt stepped on the pause button. “MOST of the coins?”

Oscar shifted from foot to foot.“Hmm. Wow. That’s, um. Interesting.”

Walt cocked her head.“Oscar?”

Oscar sighed.“FINE.” He hopped over to the sofa and dragged Mrs. Food’s embroidered bag out from underneath. With obvious effort, he tossed it into the middle of the living room.

The flap burst open, and gold coins spilled out.

Five jaws dropped simultaneously.

Oscar folded his wings.“Well, you didn’t expect me to return ALL of them, did you?” he grumbled. “What if it happens again? We might NEED them!”

Walt flopped back onto her haunches.“Well, that’s it. We’re officially criminals.”

“But criminals who can do this!” Butterbean yelped, bouncing in excitement. “Oscar, can I?”

Oscar swept his wing in the direction of the coins.“Feel free.” He looked at Marco and Polo and Wallace. “You too.” He winked at Marco. “Now’s the appropriate time.”

“WHOOHOO!” Marco shrieked, pumping his fists.

With cheers of happiness, Butterbean, Marco, Polo, and Wallace all threw themselves into the small pile of coins, rolling around and flinging coins in the air.

Walt and Oscar exchanged glances.

“Oh, heck,” Walt said, jumping in after them. Oscar was only a second behind her.

And across the room, Chad began inching toward the celebration. He was an expert coin flinger.

2. THE GREAT GHOST HOAX

— 1 —

“NOTHING EXCITING EVER HAPPENS TO US!” Butterbean wailed, flopping over onto her back in the living room. She’d hoped that saying that would make something exciting magically happen, but it didn’t work.

She’d done her best to make the day fun. She’d finished chewing her rawhide chew. She’d disemboweled her squeaky lamb toy and carefully scattered its stuffing around the living room. She’d attempted to tunnel through the living room carpet (unsuccessfully). There was nothing left to do. She’d done it all.

“Nothing! Nothing exciting ever happens!” Butterbean wailed again, in a different key this time. She liked to mix things up.

Walt rolled her eyes and inspected her paw.“Hello, remember heisting?”

“I wouldn’t call an International Crime Syndicate nothing,” Oscar sniffed, puffing out his feathers indignantly. He wasn’t about to let Butterbean diminish his status as an International Crime Boss. Not to mention the fact that he was the only crime boss who was also a mynah bird. It was nosmall feat.

Butterbean rolled over onto her stomach.“That was a million years ago. Nothing happens NOW. Just look! Everything’s BORING. And even Madison is gone!” Madison was the medium-sized girl who had moved in with them temporarily while her aunt was deployed overseas.

“Madison is at school,” Oscar said, absentmindedly flipping through one of Mrs. Food’s magazines. “She goes to school every day, Butterbean. It’s a thing humans do.”

“Not the other day,” Butterbean whined. “It wasn’t school the other day.”

Walt sighed.“We’ve gone over this, Bean. That was a field trip, and she came back! She always comes back!” Walt shook her head. “You need to get a grip.”

“A FIELD TRIP.” Butterbean pouted. “WITHOUT US.”

“Let it go, Butterbean,” Oscar said, hopping on the remote to unmute the Television. “The News is back on. They’re about to identify the common household appliance that can make us go bald.”

Ever since their heist, Oscar had been obsessed with the News. Butterbean wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like the News was even talking about their heist anymore. They were old news. On the other hand, she didn’t want to go bald.

Butterbean blew on a piece of squeaky-lamb fluff and groaned.

“I get it, Butterbean,” Marco said, climbing out of his cage and plunking down next to her. “Us former criminal types have a hard time adjusting to regular life. It’s rough. But at least you see Madison. I barely ever see Wallace anymore.”

“SEE? Wallace is GONE,” Butterbean said triumphantly, sitting up.

“Shhhh,” Oscar hissed, turning the volume up on the Television. “Bald, Butterbean.”

Walt finished licking her paw.“Moving into a new apartment isn’t gone. Wallace just got his own place.”

“It’s not like he lived with us anyway,” Polo said, following Marco’s lead and climbing out of their cage. “Wallace is still a wild rat, you know.”

Wallace was a former pet rat who lived in the Strathmore Building’s seventh-floor vents. But a few weeks ago he’d discovered an empty apartment on the fifth floor. And since nobody seemed to be using it, he’d moved his stuff in and sent out change-of-address notices. (Polo thought that was a little formal, but Wallace seemed very proud.)

“Nothing wrong with a little peace and quiet,” Walt said, examining her other paw.

“Personally, I like retirement. It’s relaxing! We’ve got Mrs. Food, and how many rats have an extra bonus person to take care of them? We’ve got it made!” Marco patted Butterbean on the paw.

“And it’s not like nothing exciting will ever happen again,” Polo said, patting the other paw. “Something exciting could happen AT ANY TIME!”

“Right! Something could happen right now!” Marco chimed in.

Polo nodded.“Or now!”

Marco tilted his head and waited a second.“Or now!”

Polo grinned.“Right. Or now!”

“Cut it out, you guys,” Walt said.

“Or not,” Polo said. “Maybe not RIGHT now.”

Walt sighed.“Bean, we can’t expect something exciting to happen just because we’re bored.”

“AHA! So you’re bored too!” Butterbean jumped to her feet. “I knew it!” she barked happily. “You—” But she never finished the sentence. Because that’s when the pounding started.

Five heads swiveled to look at the front door. The pounding was so loud that they could almost see it—it felt like the door was bouncing inward with each blow. And with each blow the animals cringed and retreated farther into the room.

“Places, everyone!” Oscar screeched, and the animals scrambled so they wouldn’t be caught out of their cages. Oscar had barely gotten his cage door closed before Mrs. Food appeared in the hallway, carefully making her way toward the front door. (She was always extra careful now, ever since she’d slipped in a patch of Butterbean’s barf and had to go to the hospital. Nobody wanted that to happen again, especially Butterbean. She still felt guilty.)

“Don’t open it!” Butterbean yelped. She could feel the hairs on her back prickling. She didn’t want to know what was outside in that hallway. Trying to get in.

But Mrs. Food didn’t listen.

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Food threw the door open. In one swift motion, the thing in the hallway lunged at Mrs. Food, clutching her and sobbing into her shoulder.

“AAAAHHH!” Polo shrieked, diving underneath the cedar bedding in the corner of the cage.

“URGH!” Mrs. Food braced herself against the doorframe as the thing squeezed her. It was shaking and making weird squeaky hiccuppy noises.

Walt crouched down, flexing her claws.“I’ll go for the eyes!” Going for the eyes was Walt’s go-to attack method.

“Wait, is that…” Butterbean sniffed. The monster attacking Mrs. Food smelled very familiar. And it kind of looked more like a hug-attack than an attack-attack. And what kind of monster made squeaky sobs?

“Wait, who…” Oscar craned his neck to get a better look.

Butterbean took one last sniff.“It’s Mrs. Third Floor!” she gasped.

“Stand down, Walt.” Oscar snapped his beak shut. Mrs. Third Floor was not an enemy.

Walt shot him a look in response, but she stayed in attack position. You could never be too sure.

Mrs. Third Floor was a lady from the building, and up until that moment, Butterbean would’ve said she knew everything about her. After all, she’d seen her around the building since she was a puppy. (Butterbean, not Mrs. Third Floor.)

Mrs. Third Floor lived on the third floor. She wore sturdy leather shoes. She smelled like furniture polish, arthritis cream, and peppermint. She had a scary folding wheely cart that she sometimes took outside. She always spoke to Mrs. Food and patted Butterbean on the head when she saw her. That was pretty much everything there was to know, as far as Butterbean was concerned. But Mrs. Third Floor wasn’t a door pounder. And Butterbean had never ever heard her make squeaky noises like that before. She never would’ve guessed it was possible. Something was very wrong.

Mrs. Food looked as shocked as Butterbean felt.“What is it? What’s happened?” Mrs. Food gasped. (Mrs. Third Floor was squeezing her a little too tightly.)

“It’s—” Mrs. Third Floor said in a strangled voice. The entire room waited while she choked back a sob. “It’s…” she said again. “I’ve had a shock,” she finished apologetically.

Mrs. Food nodded.“Here. Sit.” She led Mrs. Third Floor toward the sofa and helped her sit down, brushing bits of lamb fluff off the seat.

Butterbean watched with satisfaction. She’d done a very good job distributing the fluff.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mrs. Food picked up the remote. “I’m sorry about this noise. I don’t know how it got turned up so loud.”

“No, keep it on—oh darn, we missed that segment on appliances,” Mrs. Third Floor sniffled.

Oscar snapped his beak in irritation. He was going to go bald now, he just knew it.

“Mildred.” Mrs. Food looked serious. “I don’t want to talk about appliances.”

“And I don’t think I like that anchorwoman’s dress. It’s not a flattering color.” Mrs. Third Floor kept her eyes locked on the Television.

“Mildred…”

“Oh and look! Breaking news!” Mrs. Third Floor turned to Mrs. Food with a tight smile on her face. “It’s about that octopus at the zoo. Oh no, Mr. Wiggles is missing. That’s terrible!”

Mrs. Food turned the Television off. Mrs. Third Floor sagged.

Oscar fluffed his feathers grouchily. First the bald thing, and now this. He was a big fan of Mr. Wiggles. He liked to keep up with all the Wiggles-related news. He just hoped Mrs. Third Floor had a good excuse for the way she was acting.

Mrs. Food patted Mrs. Third Floor on the shoulder.“Mildred, tell me. It’s okay. Whatever it is.”

Mrs. Third Floor twisted her hands in her lap.“You’ll think I’m being silly.”

“I won’t think you’re being silly,” Mrs. Food promised.

“Okay.” Mrs. Third Floor took a deep breath. “It’s that apartment. It’s haunted.” She burst out in a new round of sobs.

Walt shrugged.“I think she’s being silly.”

“Huh.” Butterbean sat back on her haunches. That hadn’t been what she’d expected. “Haunted?”

“I was going to guess a natural disaster,” Oscar said. “Although they probably would’ve covered that on the News. IF WE’D SEEN IT.”

“It’s just your basic nervous breakdown,” Walt said, getting up and stretching. “Nothing to see here.”

Mrs. Food had a strange expression on her face. It didn’t look like a haunted apartment was what she’d expected either. “Haunted? You meanhaunted haunted? As in, um… ghosts?”

“WAIT, WHAT?” Butterbean yelped. “GHOSTS?”

“She’s losing it, Bean,” Walt sighed. “There aren’t ghosts.”

“Yes, GHOSTS,” Mrs. Third Floor wailed. “There are GHOSTS in my beautiful rental unit. What am I going to do?”

Mrs. Food scanned the room, like she was going to find the answer lying around somewhere. Like in a book calledGhosts: How to Handle Them orWhat to Do If Your Friend Flips Out.“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” she said finally.

“THERE IS NO REASONABLE EXPLANATION,” Mrs. Third Floor screeched. Her voice was starting to hurt Butterbean’s ears, it was that shrill.

“Okay, so explain,” Mrs. Food said. “How do you know you have ghosts?”

Mrs. Third Floor took a deep breath.“You know I’ve been getting that furnished apartment on five ready for renters? Well, for the past few days, there have been SIGNS. OF SUPERNATURAL ACTIVITY.” She sat back against the cushions, crossing her arms as if there was no need for further discussion.

Mrs. Food frowned.“Signs?”

“PARANORMAL SIGNS,” Mrs. Third Floor snapped. Her jaw was set.

Walt snorted.“Please. As if.”

Mrs. Food nodded slowly.“Right. Supernatural activity. Paranormal signs. Of course. Let me get you some tea.” She stood up abruptly and hurried over to the kitchen.

Oscar’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, five? Did she say the apartment on five?”

Butterbean knew this one.“She did. She said there are GHOSTS. ON FIVE.”

Walt shot Oscar a look.“Oh no,” she groaned.

“Yep.” Oscar sighed.

“What?” Butterbean looked from Walt to Oscar in confusion. She hated it when they had secrets.

“Oh, I know!” Marco piped up from the rat aquarium. “Isn’t that where Wallace lives now?”

Walt made a face.“Exactly.”

“WHAT?” Butterbean gasped. “WALLACE IS A GHOST?”

“No, Bean. Wallace isn’t a ghost. But it’s got to be him. Whatever he’s been doing is freaking Mrs. Third Floor out. That’s the obvious explanation,” Oscar said, shaking his head sadly.

“Right. Okay.” Butterbean didn’t know why Wallace would do something like that, but Oscar usually was right about things. Especially obvious things.

“I don’t know,” Polo said, fiddling with the button she wore on a string around her neck. “That doesn’t sound like Wallace. He’s usually pretty careful.”

“I know, Polo, but this time—” Walt started, but she never finished the sentence. Because that’s when they heard the screaming.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?” Butterbean barked in alarm. She’d wanted things to get more exciting, but she hadn’t counted on there being so much noise.

The screaming was echoing through the vents, and it was so loud that they were sure that even Mrs. Food must hear it.

Five heads swiveled toward the secret vent opening behind the sofa. A few seconds later a small rat came streaking out into the room.

Wallace’s eyes were huge. As soon as he saw Walt, he shot over and grabbed her by the leg. “Help! Oh Walt, guys, help!” Wallace gasped.

Butterbean frowned. Polo was right. Wallace was usually a very careful rat. And right now he was being anything but careful.

Walt patted Wallace on the head as she turned her body slightly to hide him from view. Whatever was wrong, it had to be bad if he’d turned to a cat for help. And if he wasn’t worried about being seen by the humans, it had to be even worse. “What is it, Wallace?” she said softly.

Wallace looked up at her and took a deep shuddering breath.“It’s my apartment! On five! Guys, that apartment is HAUNTED.”

— 2 —

“I KNEW IT! WE’VE GOT ghosts!” Butterbean yelped.

“Okay, so maybe it wasn’t Wallace,” Walt said, frowning.

“Hmm,” Oscar said, eyeing Wallace carefully. He’d never seen him so upset. “I have to admit, this is a bit concerning.”

“Wallace is definitely more credible than HER,” Walt said, jerking her head in the direction of the couch. “But still—ghosts?”

Mrs. Third Floor had taken a tissue out of her pocket and was absentmindedly shredding it. Butterbean watched in approval. She did good work.

“Wallace, we’ll need a report.” Oscar looked around carefully. Mrs. Third Floor wouldn’t be a problem. She wasn’t paying attention to anything—she was just staring straight ahead, shredding. But Mrs. Food seemed to be taking a very long time with the tea. She could come back any minute.“Bean, do a Mrs. Food check, please?”

“Gotcha.” Butterbean hopped to her feet and did a jaunty walk into the kitchen. A second later she jaunty-walked back into the living room. Mrs. Third Floor didn’t even seem to notice. “Mrs. Food is staring at the counter, stirring a cup. She looks like she’s in a trance.”

Oscar nodded thoughtfully.“Probably trying to buy time.” Oscar had a feeling Mrs. Food didn’t know how to handle a ghost situation either. “I think we’ve got a few minutes. Quick, everyone, huddle near the rat cage. Rats, you’ll have to stay inside, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay,” Marco said. “We can hear you. WE’RE HERE FOR YOU, WALLACE!” he shrieked.

“WE’LL TAKE CARE OF THOSE GHOSTS, WALLACE!” Polo smacked her fist into her other hand in a way that would make ghosts tremble.

Walt pushed Wallace into the center of the huddle.“Right. So whatdid you see, exactly?” she asked, keeping an eye on the kitchen as she talked. “Mrs. Third Floor said supernatural activity.”

“Oh yes, definitely supernatural. It was terrible. It was just… noises, at first. Weird, eerie noises. I thought it was only apartment sounds, but they were everywhere. I could even hear it in the vents. But then I started noticing things… moving.”

“Moving?” Butterbean shuddered. That didn’t sound good. Although, to be fair, she did move quite a bit herself. “You could see them move?”

“No, but things would be different. I left a bunch of sunflower seeds on the table, right? And then when I came back, they’d MOVED. They were scattered all over the floor. And another time, I made a little nest for myself in the fruit bowl, and when I came back from getting dinner, IT WAS GONE.NO FRUIT.”

Oscar snapped his beak.“But maybe someone—”

“NO.” Wallace shook his head. “There was NO ONE THERE.”

Walt frowned.“Could it have been Mrs. Third Floor?”

Wallace shook his head again.“I checked the trash. No fruit peelings or apple cores or anything. The fruit was just gone. ALL OF IT.”

“Well, that’s strange, but…”

Wallace’s whiskers trembled. “That’s not all. There’s so much more. Like just yesterday, I was in the kitchen, and a salt shaker fell off of the counter and landed right next to me! For no reason. I could’ve been killed! And I keep thinking—next time, it could be a knife! Or a salt shaker withbetter aim! Or a piano! I’ve seen that happen in cartoons a LOT.”

“Well, maybe it was a…” Oscar trailed off. He couldn’t think of what it could’ve been. Salt shakers didn’t usually just jump off of counters. And Wallace was right about pianos. He’d seen it on the Television himself.

“And then today, I was—”

“SHH!” Walt cut him off. “Mrs. Food’s coming.” Walt threw herself onto the floor in a lounging position to block Wallace, while Oscar flew back into his cage. Butterbean tried a variety of poses, but none of them felt right, so she ended up flopped on her tummy with her tongue lolling outof her mouth.

Their poses didn’t matter in the end, though. Mrs. Food didn’t even look at them as she walked back into the room carrying a tea tray.

She set the tray down on the coffee table and handed a mug of tea to Mrs. Third Floor.“Mildred,” she said slowly. “I don’t know what you saw, but we’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise.”

“But I told you—”

Mrs. Food held up her hand.“I know you think it’s ghosts, but it could be something else. We’ll do some investigating.”

“OOOOH! Investigating! Can we be investigators?” Butterbean hopped to her feet and looked at Walt with her best puppy dog eyes. “If we can’t do crimes anymore, we can be ghost investigators. Please?”

“GHOST HUNTERS! YEAH!” Marco cheered.

“YEAH!” Polo echoed.

Walt and Oscar exchanged a glance.“I don’t know how much we could do,” Walt said. “If Mrs. Food gets involved, it’ll be hard. It’s not like she’ll take us along with her.”

Butterbean narrowed her eyes.“Or will she?”

Oscar cocked his head.“Probably not, Bean.”

Butterbean slumped.“Yeah, I know. But maybe. OR WE CAN BE SECRET INVESTIGATORS! BEHIND THE SCENES.”

“I really appreciate this, guys,” Wallace sniffled. “I really liked having an apartment. I was going to invite you over for a sleepover and everything.” His chin started to quiver.

Walt patted Wallace on the head, her whiskers trembling. She’d never been on a sleepover.

Mrs. Food cleared her throat.“Now, first things first. As soon as Madison gets back, we’ll take a look at this haunted apartment, and then we’ll figure this all out.” She patted Mrs. Third Floor briskly on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Beulah.” Mrs. Third Floor gave Mrs. Food a watery smile. Mrs. Food smiled back brightly. But when she turned away, Mrs. Food’s smile disappeared completely.

“Got that, guys?” Walt looked up at the clock. “Madison will be back any minute. When they leave, we can check in with Chad. He might have heard something about ghosts.”

Chad was the last member of their heisting gang, known by his nickname“the Octopus.” (A nickname he’d gotten because he was, in fact, an octopus.)

“Good plan,” Oscar agreed. “And while you do that, I can hold down the fort here.” He eyed the clock. If Madison got home soon, he might be able to catch the second half of the News.

The waiting was agony.

Walt watched the door. Marco and Polo shot encouraging looks and thumbs-ups to Wallace. Mrs. Food and Mrs. Third Floor sipped tea and nibbled awkwardly on cookies. Butterbean focused on looking cute and watching for stray cookie crumbs. (She kind of forgot about the whole ghost thing once the cookies came out.) And Oscar watched the clock. He was going to miss the rest of the News. He just knew it.

They were so focused on waiting that it came as a shock when Madison finally burst into the room.

“Mrs. Fudeker! Did you hear about Mr. Wiggles? He’s disappeared!” She dumped her book bag on the floor next to the front door and then checked the kitchen quickly before rushing into the living room. “I saw him during my field trip the other day. I bet I was one of the last people to see him before he—”

She stopped short when she saw Mrs. Third Floor on the couch, sniffling.

“Oh. Um. Hi, Mrs.…”

“Third Floor,” Butterbean barked. “Mrs. Third Floor.”

“Mildred, you know Madison. She’s Ruby Park’s niece. She’s living here temporarily, and I thought she might like to go up with us to check out the… um… activity in your apartment.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Mrs. Third Floor said bleakly. She sounded like she’d given up all hope.

Madison shifted from one foot to the other.“Sure. So, what kind of activity?”

“Paranormal,” Mrs. Third Floor sniffled.

“Mildred thinks she has a ghost,” Mrs. Food said matter-of-factly. She didn’t meet Madison’s eyes.

“Oh, wow.” Madison’s eyebrows shot up. “Um, okay. I can help,” she said, nodding slowly. “Ghosts stink.”

“We’ll just take a look, real quick.” Mrs. Food nodded. “Just to see what there is to see.”

“Um. Okay,” Madison said. “I’m up for it, I guess.” Ghosts sounded weird, but she’d been in some pretty weird situations before. She glanced over at the rat aquarium. There were some things she didn’t even try to understand.

Butterbean dragged her eyes away from the cookies and hurried over to Madison.“I’ve got to try,” she muttered to Oscar as she went. “We could be an International Investigator Syndicate! Famous detectives!”

Butterbean leaned hard against Madison’s leg and looked up significantly. She really wished Madison had learned to speak Dog.

When Madison looked down, Butterbean shot another significant look at the door and then looked back up at Madison expectantly. It was the best she could do.

“Sorry, Butterbean, I’ll take you out afterward,” Madison said, patting Butterbean on the head. Butterbean wuffled in frustration.

“NO!” Mrs. Third Floor snapped. She jumped up and pointed at Butterbean like she’d seen a snake. Butterbean was a little offended, to be honest. “Take her, too!”

“What?” Madison jerked up in surprise.

“Take the dog. And the cat. All the animals. The bird? Maybe not the bird. But maybe?” She leaned over to Mrs. Food. “I’ve heard that animals are very sensitive to THE OTHER SIDE.”

Mrs. Food took a deep breath.“Sure. Take the animals. Why not?” She had not expected her day to go quite this way, but she might as well go all in.

Then she hesitated.“But you’re right, maybe not the bird. Just the dog and cat.” She shot Oscar an apologetic look. He tried not to feel offended. Taking his cage along would’ve been impractical, he could see that. They didn’t realize that he was perfectly capable of flying himself.

“Madison, get Butterbean’s leash. And, I don’t know, carry Walt, I guess. We’re going up to five to check things out.”

“Ookay.” Madison squinted at Mrs. Food like she was hoping an explanation would be on Mrs. Food’s face. But there was nothing—the only sign that something was up was a slight twitch near Mrs. Food’s left eye. Madison turned and went to get Butterbean’s leash.

Butterbean did a happy little dance.“It worked!”

“So, new plan,” Walt said dryly. “Got it.”

Butterbean danced over to the edge of the sofa where Wallace was hiding.“Wallace, climb on,” she said under her breath as she danced past.

“Really?” Wallace said uncertainly. “I don’t know.…”

“You need to show us what you saw, right? I got us in on Mrs. Food’s investigation! Hurry!” Butterbean could only dance for so long.

Wallace clenched his fists.“Right. You’re right.” As Butterbean did another dance-by, he grabbed hold of the fur under her tummy and pulled himself up.

“Okay, this plan works too, I guess,” Walt said in a strangled voice as Madison scooped her up by the middle.

“No fair!” Marco squealed.

“I can’t believe we have to stay behind!” Polo grumbled as she watched them gather by the door.

“Yes, so unfair,” Oscar said, eyeing the remote.

“Hold on tight, Wallace! Butterbean has slippery hair!” Polo yelled as they left.

“Go get ’em, guys! Good luck, Walt!” Marco shouted.

Walt could only nod as she was carried out. No matter what they found upstairs, she knew one thing. There were some things worse than ghosts.

— 3 —

THE DOOR TO APARTMENT 5B looked like any other door in the Strathmore Building, except that it had been recently painted.

“It doesn’t look haunted,” Butterbean said, examining it. She sniffed it tentatively, but the paint fumes were too strong for her to get a sense of what was inside. Besides, she didn’t know what ghosts smelled like.

“Anything, Bean?” Walt asked, dangling from Madison’s arms. She would’ve preferred to ride on her shoulders, but apparently it wasn’t her decision.

“Nothing. Just paint. And I don’t hear any scary noises, either.”

“Interesting.” From what Wallace had said, Walt had been expecting rattling chains and horrible wails.

Mrs. Food turned to Mrs. Third Floor, who was still hanging back by the elevator.“Mildred?”

Mrs. Third Floor nodded and walked slowly over to the door, like she was afraid it was going to jump out and bite her. Then she carefully leaned down and unlocked it.

“There! Done.” She clenched her hands tightly in front of her. “And I know what you’re thinking—I changed the locks after the last tenant moved out. All the keys are accounted for.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Butterbean whispered to Wallace.

“That was going to be my first question,” Mrs. Food said. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Mrs. Third Floor said.

“Ready,” Madison said.

“Ready,” Wallace said, clinging tightly to Butterbean’s tummy hair.

Mrs. Food opened the door.

The door to Apartment 5B creaked ominously as it swung open.

Mrs. Third Floor winced.“I’ll have to get maintenance to fix that,” she said nervously. With a quick glance at Mrs. Food, she stepped into the apartment. She’d barely set foot inside before she gasped and jumped back into Madison.

“Whoa!” Madison stumbled back to get out of her way. “You okay?”

Mrs. Third Floor pointed a quivering finger in the direction of the living room.

“There!” she wailed. “Don’t you see? The ghost!”

Butterbean scrambled to get inside. Walt turned her bones to jelly and slid down onto the floor, escaping Madison’s grip. Then she peered around Mrs. Third Floor’s legs to get a better look. But unless the ghost was covered with floral upholstery, he wasn’t making himself obvious.

The apartment was a lot like Mrs. Food’s apartment, but with much newer and fancier furniture. It looked like something out of a catalog, or a furniture commercial on the Television. It didn’t look like someplace a ghost would hang out. It totally looked like someplace Wallace would hang out, though.

Mrs. Food cleared her throat as she looked around.“Um, where is the ghost, exactly?”

Mrs. Third Floor made a strangled sound.“Not the ghost HIMSELF, but you can see he’s been here. Look! The remote is sitting in the middle of the couch. IT’S ON THE COUCH! I WOULD NEVER LEAVE IT LIKE THAT.”

“I know, I know.” Mrs. Food patted Mrs. Third Floor on the shoulder.

“Oh shoot. Yeah, that’s me,” Wallace said from underneath Butterbean’s stomach. “I did that one.”

Walt rolled her eyes.

“What can I say, I like my shows.” Wallace attempted to shrug, but he only managed to slide down closer to Butterbean’s legs.

“Watch it, Wallace,” Butterbean grumbled.

“SEE? Even the dog can sense the presence!” Mrs. Third Floor said. She went over to the haunted remote and poked it with one finger. “Do you think it’s cursed?”

Mrs. Food walked over carefully and picked up the remote. Mrs. Third Floor gasped.“Don’t touch it!”

“It seems fine to me, Mildred.” She pointed it at the Television and clicked it on.

It was a home shopping channel. The salespeople onscreen were very excited about a new line of cookware. Butterbean sniffed. She wasn’t interested in cookware.

“YOU SEE?” Mrs. Third Floor screeched. “I WOULD NEVER WATCH THAT.”

“Home shopping?” Walt said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh that… um. Not me, that’s for sure,” Wallace stammered. “That… um… Wow, that’s some ghost. Spooky.”

Walt shook her head.

“A rat can dream, okay?” Wallace blurted out. “Sheesh.”

Mrs. Third Floor grabbed the remote and changed the channel.“See! THAT’s where it should be!”

It was the Hallmark Channel. It seemed to be showing some kind of Christmas movie, even though it wasn’t anywhere near Christmas.

“Wow, it IS haunted,” Butterbean said, examining the twinkling Christmas tree lights on the screen. “The Television doesn’t even know what time of year it is!”

“Butterbean,” Walt started, but she was cut off by a shriek from Mrs. Third Floor.

“AND THERE!” Mrs. Third Floor pointed a trembling finger at the kitchen island, where an elaborate tiered cupcake display was set up. They were all beautifully frosted, except for the bottom row of cupcakes, which had the frosting almost completely licked off. “THE GHOST RUINED MY CUPCAKES!”

Wallace shifted uncomfortably.“Um, yeah. That would be me again.”

Walt let her breath out in a huff.“Wallace, are we sure you’re not the ghost?”

“It’s not me, I swear! I SAW THINGS.”

Mrs. Food inspected one of the licked cupcakes.“It does look strange, but I don’t know if it looks paranormal.…”

Madison took the cupcake and examined it. Then she shot a suspicious look at Butterbean.

Butterbean gasped.“WHY IS SHE LOOKING AT ME?”

“You do seem like a likely suspect,” Walt said smugly. “Even if you are innocent.”

“But that’s not all.” Mrs. Third Floor grabbed Mrs. Food’s arm and dragged her away from the cupcakes. “That’s just what’s new. I haven’t even shown you the worst of it. How do you explain THAT?”

She pointed at a large fish tank partly obscured by leafy ferns in the corner of the room. It had obviously been just as fancy as the rest of the apartment at one time, with lots of brightly colored rocks and plants. It even had a little diver and treasure chest in the middle. But the lid to the tank had been shoved to the side and was half submerged in what was left of the water. The rest had been sloshed onto the floor and spread like a stain on the carpet. But that wasn’t the worst part. There were no fish.

“Um.” Mrs. Food frowned.

“Not me,” Wallace squeaked. “I swear, not me at all.”

“My beautiful tropical fish display! WHERE ARE THEY?” Mrs. Third Floor demanded. “They’re all GONE.”

“That’s… um…” Madison said, examining the tank. Walt sniffed at it too. Her stomach started to growl.

“And look!” Mrs. Third Floor dragged Mrs. Food down the hallway and pushed her into the bathroom. Butterbean and Walt had to scramble to keep up with them.

This time it was Mrs. Food who gasped.“But everything’s wet!” She picked up a dripping bath towel and held it carefully away from herself. The bath mat squelched under their feet, and there were pools of water all around it. The tub was half-filled with leftover cloudy water. There were dribbles of water half dried on the walls.

“THOSE WERE DECORATIVE,” Mrs. Third Floor wailed, pointing at the hand towels, which lay in a wet pile on the floor. “AND JUST LOOK AT MY TINY SOAPS!”

The remains of tiny soaps that once probably looked like little shells or bows or something fancy lay in a mushy mass in the soap dishes. They were definitely not decorative anymore.

“This is terrible,” Mrs. Food said, ushering Mrs. Third Floor out of the bathroom. “But do ghosts usually do this kind of thing?”

“Poltergeists do, right?” Madison said softly. She shivered, looking around like a poltergeist was going to creep up behind her. “Aren’t poltergeists the kind of ghosts that break things?”

“Yes!” Mrs. Third Floor said triumphantly. “Poltergeists! I have a poltergeist!”

“That may be true, but I’m still not convinced,” Mrs. Food said. “Why don’t you sit while Madison and I look around.”

“Mrs. Food may be right,” Butterbean said, sniffing the soggy towel. “I’m not getting a ghost feeling.”

“Do you know what a ghost feeling is?” Wallace asked.

“No,” Butterbean admitted.

Mrs. Food helped Mrs. Third Floor over to the sofa and then went through the apartment room by room. Butterbean stood in the middle of the living room, head up to catch any stray smells. She wasn’t sure where she was supposed to look for ghosts.

“That fish tank’s what did it for me. It scared the heck out of me.” Wallace’s voice floated up from her tummy area. “Water was everywhere. I was in the kitchen when it happened. Water exploded out of the tank, and I ran.”

“How did you even get in here, Wallace?” Walt asked. “You can’t fit through the vent cover.”

Wallace blew a piece of Butterbean’s hair out of his mouth before answering. “There’s a behind-the-sofa vent here, too. I used that. I got the screws out with a piece of metal from the loading dock.”

“Smart,” Walt said. “And nobody else has used it?”

“No, definitely not. I put a whisker over the entrance to see if anyone else came in. It was always still there when I came back.”

“Hmm.” Walt looked around the room again, deep in thought.

Mrs. Food and Madison finished their inspections and came back to Mrs. Third Floor, who was staring blankly at a gingerbread house competition on the Television.

“Well, I didn’t find anything. I can’t see how this happened,” Mrs. Food said, wiping her hands on her pants.

“Poltergeist,” Mrs. Third Floor said. “Like Madison said.”

Madison folded her arms in front of her chest.“Maybe? But maybe not.” She frowned at the licked cupcakes. “This is creepy, but I’m not sure it’s ghost creepy. In any case…” She looked at Mrs. Food.

Mrs. Food put her hand on Mrs. Third Floor’s shoulder. “Whatever happened here is a crime. We need to call the police.”

— 4 —

IT DIDN’T TAKE THE POLICE long to get there. And it took even less time for them to realize that their biggest problem was Mrs. Third Floor herself.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” she grumbled as she let the two police officers in. “I don’t see what the police can do about a ghost.”

“Poltergeist,” Madison corrected helpfully.

“RIGHT. Poltergeist,” Mrs. Third Floor agreed, crossing her arms. “But since you’re here, go ahead, take a look. The apartment has been DESTROYED. By SUPERNATURAL FORCES.”

“Or by an intruder,” Mrs. Food said apologetically. “We’re thinking it’s probably just an intruder, Officer…”

“Marlowe.” The first police officer introduced herself, giving Mrs. Third Floor an appraising look. “And this is Officer Travis.” Officer Travis nodded. He looked almost as grumpy as Mrs. Third Floor.

Officer Marlowe took out a notebook.“Why don’t you show me what we’ve got here?”

“Well—” Mrs. Food started.

“EVIL SPIRITS,” Mrs. Third Floor interrupted, waving her arms to indicate invisible spirits, “ATE MY CUPCAKES.”

“Just the frosting,” Wallace muttered under his breath.

Mrs. Food took a step forward, smiling tightly.“As I said, there was an intruder. They destroyed a fish tank, vandalized the bathroom, and ate food in the kitchen. We just don’t know how they got in.”

“This may be an unearthly portal.” Mrs. Third Floor’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Maybe in the bathroom?” she added thoughtfully. “I don’t even know how you list an unearthly portal,” she said to herself.

“So… intruder. Got it.” Officer Marlowe wrote it down in her notebook. “And this is your apartment?” she asked Mrs. Third Floor.

“Oh, heavens no. I mean, yes, of course. I mean, not really,” Mrs. Third Floor said. Officer Travis sighed and folded his arms in front of his chest.

Mrs. Third Floor cleared her throat. Her ears were turning red.“It’s a rental unit. I’m the landlady. I’m getting it ready to rent. My old tenant moved to Tulsa.”

“Man Who Smells Like Onions,” Butterbean whispered knowingly to Walt and Wallace. “I did NOT like sharing an elevator with him, let me tell you.”

“I see.” Officer Marlowe gave the apartment an appraising look. “And this is what, one, two bedrooms?”

“Two bedrooms. But I have it set up as a bedroom and an office.”

“Interesting.” Officer Marlowe flipped a page in her pad and made a note. “One thousand square feet, I’m guessing?”

“Eleven hundred,” Mrs. Third Floor answered.

“Aha.” Officer Marlowe made another note. Officer Travis shot her a look. “So not a lot of room to hide, is what I’m saying,” she said, glaring back at Officer Travis. Then she smiled at Mrs. Food. “Now, you said someone ate the food in the kitchen?”

“Yes, see!” Mrs. Third Floor pointed to the cupcakes. “See? The frosting there is all gone. Some… THING… pierced the thin veil separating the living from the dead and… well…”

“Licked the cupcakes?” Officer Travis said, picking one up and examining it.

“Well. Yes.” Mrs. Third Floor shifted. “As you can see.”

“Or,” Mrs. Food jumped in, “another theory is that a person did it. That’s why we called you.”

“Or,” Walt said quietly, “a rat did it.”

“Ooh, I’ll go with that one,” Butterbean said.

“You guys,” Wallace groaned. “Stop it. There really is a ghost.”

“And you, little girl. You don’t know anything about these?” Officer Travis said, waving the licked cupcake in Madison’s direction. “Pretty tempting, aren’t they?”

“I guess?” Madison looked confused. “They were licked when I got here, though, so not really?” She didn’t know anyone who thought licked cupcakes were tempting. Except maybe Officer Travis.

“Right.” Officer Travis narrowed his eyes at her and put the cupcake down.

Officer Marlowe ran her finger along the countertop and examined it.“And this countertop. Is this… granite?”

“What? Yes,” Mrs. Third Floor. “Do you think that has something to do with it?”

“It’s possible,” Officer Marlowe said.

“But probably not,” Officer Travis said, frowning at Officer Marlowe. “What we need to do is evaluate the scene. Now, the bedroom is through that door?”

Mrs. Third Floor nodded.“Right. And the bathroom was totally destroyed—it’s right through there. There’s water everywhere.”

Officer Marlowe made a note.“I’ll take a look.” Then she hesitated. “Is that the only bathroom?”

“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Third Floor said.

Officer Marlowe frowned.“I see.” She turned and headed down the hall.

Officer Travis clapped his hands together loudly. They all jumped. Wallace almost lost his grip on Butterbean completely.“Ladies,” he said in a booming voice. “Please take the kids and livestock and remain in the living room area for the duration of our search.” He glared down at Mrs. Food. “We don’t want them destroying evidence, got it?”

“Got it,” Mrs. Food said. She turned to Madison. “Okay, KIDS. You heard him.”

“How many people does he think I am?” Madison whispered, sitting down on the couch. “Sheesh!”

“LIVESTOCK?” Butterbean huffed. “I’ve never been so offended.”

“That makes two of us. If he wasn’t wearing a uniform, I’d go for the jugular.” Walt jumped up onto the couch and settled in a pounce stance.

“That makes three of us,” Wallace said. “And I don’t even think he knows about me.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re one of the kids,” Butterbean said.

“Hush, dog,” Madison said, rubbing Butterbean’s ear. “This is important. Do you sense any ghosts?”

Butterbean thumped her tail. She figured Madison could interpret that anyway she wanted to.

“I didn’t think so,” Madison said, her eyes narrowed.

Butterbean made a mental note that thumping meant no.

“If I’m right, the animals are protecting us from the forces of evil,” Mrs. Third Floor said, wringing her hands nervously.

“Sure,” Madison said, shooting a look at Mrs. Food.

Mrs. Food clamped her lips together tightly and stared at the ceiling.

Butterbean stood a little taller. She’d never protected anyone from the forces of evil before.

“Oh brother,” Walt sighed.

“I get why Mrs. Food called the police,” Butterbean said after a few minutes of waiting. “But how are we supposed to do any investigating if we’re sitting on the couch?”

“We’re not,” Walt said, stalking along the back of the sofa. “We need a new plan.”

“What are we going to do?” Wallace shifted.

“Leave it to me,” Walt said. “But for now, we watch. And wait.”

“So, what, we’re just supposed to WAIT until they get back?” Marco wailed from the top of the water bottle.

“Shhh! I can’t hear!” Oscar had turned the Television back on and was watching the News. He had the volume turned down low, so he’d be able to hear Mrs. Food’s key and get back to his cage in time. That was the theory, anyway.

“But anything could’ve happened! They could’ve all been eaten by GHOSTS,” Marco said.

“It’s true! We’d never know!” Polo chimed in. “We need to do something.”

“We need to stay here,” Oscar said, keeping one eye on the Television. They were just about to give tips on decorating your small space. And Oscar didn’t know anyone who had a smaller space than him. (Well, maybe the rats, but they didn’t do much in the way of decorating.) His cage could really use a few pops of color.

“Harrumph.” Marco threw himself into a pile of cedar chips.

“You said it,” Polo said. “Harrumph.”

As she spoke, a cabinet door slammed in the kitchen. The rats froze. Oscar cranked the volume on the Television another notch higher.

“Ghosts?” Marco whispered to Polo, still not daring to move.

“Maybe?” Polo whispered back. “Or maybe it’s just—”

The electric can opener started whirring.

“CHAD,” Polo finished, flopping over backward in relief.

“HI, CHAD!” Marco waved. He nudged Polo in the side. “Maybe we can do some investigating of our own!”

He scrambled out of the cage and scurried to the kitchen.“HEY, CHAD! We’ve got a very important question for you!”

“YES!” Polo hurried after him. “Very important!”

Chad the octopus was sitting in the sink eating a can of salmon. He hardly looked up when they came in.

Marco skidded to a stop and watched Chad eat. It really was something to see.“Um, Chad. So we have something really important to ask you.” Marco hesitated.

Chad kept eating.“So you said. Three times.”

“Right. So…” Marco tried to figure out what to say. Now that he was standing there, asking about ghosts felt a little… well, dumb.

“It’s, um…” Polo hesitated too. She and Marco exchanged glances.

“Ghosts,” Marco blurted out. It sounded even sillier now that he’d actually said it. “Have you seen any ghosts?”

Chad stopped eating. A little bit of salmon fell out of his mouth.“What?”

“Ghosts,” Polo said. “You know. Spirits? Apparitions? Like oooOOOOOOOoooooooOOOOO…” Polo made scary ghost noises and waved her arms in a ghostly way.

“Um. Yeah. Like that.” Marco cringed, grabbing Polo’s arm and dragging it down to her side. “Ghosts. We heard there were ghosts on the fifth floor.”

“Have you heard that?” Polo asked, smoothing her fur down self-consciously.

“Ghosts?” Chad stared at them. “On the fifth floor?”

“Yeah,” Polo said, cringing inwardly.

Chad made a snorty sound.“In a word, no. No ghosts, not on five, or anywhere else. That’s ridiculous.” He turned back to his salmon. “Was that all?”

Marco blushed.“Um, well…” He couldn’t think of any way to turn the conversation around to make it less awkward. He shot a desperate look at Polo.

“I like what you’re doing with your… uh… tentacles,” Polo blurted out. “It’s a good look.” She really wished she hadn’t made the ghost noises.

Chad’s eyes narrowed. “What about my tentacles?” He finished his salmon and flipped the can in the air so that it landed in the trash can across the room. He was a very good shot.

“Nothing,” Marco said, grabbing Polo’s arm. “It’s not important. That’s all, Chad. See you later.”

He dragged Polo back into the living room.“It’s a good look?” he whispered.

Polo made a face.“I know! I couldn’t think what to say. But you know what we’ve got?”

Marco frowned.“What?”

“We’ve got exclusive information. Walt is going to be so surprised!” Polo said smugly, holding up her hand. “HIGH FIVE!”

Marco smacked her hand. The ghost hunters were on the case.

“I don’t think they’re even looking for a ghost,” Butterbean said, watching Officer Travis sniff a lemon that had been set out in a decorative tray. “He touched that with his nose.”

“I’m not eating that one,” Wallace said, shuddering slightly. “The ghost can have it.”

“I don’t think we’re going to get any answers this way,” Walt said, watching Officer Travis put the lemon back and then scratch his armpit.

“Me either,” Butterbean said. “Unless… DO YOU THINK THAT LEMON IS HAUNTED?”

“Get real, Butterbean. It’s a lemon,” Wallace grumbled. “What he needs to be looking at is that salt shaker. It tried to kill me!”

Walt attempted to pat Wallace on the back, but it wasn’t easy with Wallace hanging under Butterbean’s stomach. She just ended up whacking Butterbean in the leg. Madison gave her a strange look.

Officer Marlowe came out of the bathroom and headed over to Mrs. Third Floor.

“I think we’ve got all we need here. I made a note of the water in your bathroom. That was quite a mess.”

Mrs. Third Floor gave her a teary smile.“Thank you.”

Officer Marlowe nodded.“I just have one last question. Now, that water, is that included in the rent?”

“Well, yes.” Mrs. Third Floor blinked. “Water, gas, electric—I include all utilities.”

Officer Marlowe raised her eyebrows.“Really. That’s VERY interesting.” She made another note on her notepad before putting it back in her pocket. “We’ll be in touch. In the meantime, you might want to get some sort of surveillance camera for the front door.” She turned to leave, and then hesitated. “And, as a precaution, I don’t think you should rent the unit until we’ve gotten to the bottom of this.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Third Floor nodded. “I’ll get a camera installed first thing in the morning. But you know that ghosts don’t appear on camera.”

Officer Marlowe kept her face blank.“Right. We’ll see ourselves out.”

The two officers exchanged a glance as they headed for the door.

Mrs. Third Floor gave a small hiccuppy sob.

Mrs. Food hurried over and rubbed her arm.“It’ll be okay, Mildred. We’ll get this sorted out.” She turned back to Madison. “Ready?”

Madison stood up.“Let’s go, guys.”

Walt leaned over.“Wallace, do you want to stay here? You could just go back to your vent.”

Wallace shook his head, making it look like Butterbean was trying to do the hula.“I’d rather stay close to Butterbean here. It makes me feel safer.”

“That’s fine,” Walt said. “And it doesn’t matter. We’ll be back soon enough.”

“We will?” Butterbean said.

“If we’re going to investigate, we have to move fast, before those cameras are in place. It’ll have to be tonight.”

“Wait, you mean…” Wallace said softly.

“Yes.” Walt stood up and unsheathed the claws on her left paw. “That means one thing. We’re having a sleepover.”

— 5 —

OSCAR HAD TO ADMIT, HE was looking forward to doing some serious investigating. He just wished Walt had called it what it was—a stakeout. Because the word “sleepover” was having an unfortunate effect on the other animals.

“WHY DON’T I HAVE PAJAMAS!” Marco wailed. “How am I supposed to have a sleepover without pajamas!”

“SHHH!” Walt hissed at him. She glanced nervously at the dining room, where Madison and Mrs. Food were having dinner. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to have noticed the ruckus. To be fair, it had been a pretty exhausting day. Mrs. Third Floor hadn’t left for ages. “Keep it down!” Walt hissed. “Stop attracting attention. Do you want them to find Wallace?”

Wallace had decided to hide out in Marco and Polo’s aquarium until it was time for the sleepover. So far Mrs. Food hadn’t noticed the extra rat in their cage. (They’d been very carefully flopping into a heap whenever she walked by. It wasn’t easy to tell how many rats there were when they were in a heap. Unless you counted tails, which luckily, Mrs. Food didn’t usually do.)

“FINE. I’LL GO NAKED. I just feel so unprepared,” Marco sighed. “No pajamas, no fuzzy slippers, no popcorn, nothing. Do we even have movies to watch?”

“WE DON’T EVEN HAVE SLEEPING BAGS!” Polo wailed.

“There might be popcorn, actually!” Wallace said, sticking his head out from under a pile of cedar chips. “I think Mrs. Third Floor had some in the cabinet. She said something about making the apartment smell homey. I bet she wouldn’t mind if we ate it.”

“Well, at least we’ll have something,” Marco said. He could always go for a good piece of popcorn.

“And there are probably movies on TV!” Wallace said. “And if there aren’t, there’s always the home shopping channel. I think tonight’s the Cubic Zirconia Extravaganza!”

“OOH, SPARKLY,” Polo sighed. She had her sparkly button, sure, but she always had room for more sparkly things in her life.

“Remember, this is supposed to be a stakeout, not a party,” Oscar said. “We’re staking out the ghost.”

Butterbean wrinkled her nose.“Yeah, but Walt didn’t say stakeout. She said sleepover. And I don’t have pajamas either.”

“Well, you don’t need pajamas for a stakeout,” Oscar huffed, puffing out his feathers. He just hoped that if they really did find the ghost, they’d be able to handle it. Ghosts were serious business.

Walt sat down next to the rat cage.“Look, I can’t do pajamas, but I think I can get you guys sleeping bags. Okay?”

“Oh, Walt, that would be awesome!” Polo cheered. This was shaping up to be the best sleepover ever. As long as she didn’t think about the ghost part, that is.

“Okay, so here’s the plan. We wait until everyone’s gone to bed. Butterbean obviously can’t go through the vents, so I thought I’d go with her in the hallway. Oscar, you and the rats open the door for us when we get there.”

“Wait, how are we getting there?” Polo asked, tilting her head to the side.

Walt shrugged.“The vents. Obviously.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry, but no. I’ll go on Butterbean’s tummy, thank you. I don’t want to be in those vents alone.” Wallace crossed his arms defiantly.

“HEY!” Polo said indignantly. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!” Wallace glared at her. “IT’S NOT SAFE.”

“But you love the vents!” Oscar said. “They’re your home!”

Wallace shook his head.“Nope. Not until that ghost is gone, they aren’t. I’ll stick with Walt and Butterbean.” He shot Polo a look. “WALT’S BIG.”

Walt sighed.“Fine. Oscar, you and Marco and Polo can handle the door.”

“Um. I think I’d rather go with Wallace, okay?” Polo toed the floor of the cage nervously.

“Yeah. Me too,” Marco said. “Safety in numbers, right?”

Walt groaned.“The more of us there are in the hallway, the more risky it is!” She couldn’t believe the others were being so silly. “Fine, Oscar, we’ll meet you there.”

Oscar shot a sideways glance at Walt and cleared his throat.“Um.”

“NOT YOU TOO!” Walt burst out. “We are supposed to be INVESTIGATORS. How are we supposed to investigate if we’re a bunch of chickens!”

“Sorry,” Marco said.

“Bawk bawk,” Polo said softly.

“Walt, you haven’t seen the classic horror movies on the Television. You don’t know what happens when the Television people split up.” Oscar shuddered. “It’s not pretty.”

Walt groaned.“So all of us are just going to traipse through the hallways and hope nobody sees us? Is that really our plan?”

Butterbean patted Walt on the shoulder.“Trust me. It’ll be fine.”

It took forever for Madison and Mrs. Food to get ready for bed. Butterbean had a feeling they were spooked by all the ghost talk too. They’d never left the bathroom light on all night before.

Finally, Oscar opened the door to his cage and hopped out.“Bean! Help me check!”

Oscar flew down the hallway and hovered outside Mrs. Food’s door. “Nothing.”

Butterbean nosed at the bottom of the door and cocked her head.“Snoring. We’re good.”

Oscar flew to Madison’s door and did the same check. “Sounds good. Bean?”

Butterbean nodded.“Asleep.”

Oscar flew back into the living room.“All clear. Everybody ready? Let’s go.”

Walt didn’t move. She just sat in the living room and twitched her tail back and forth. “And how exactly are we going to get inside?” She was still irritated about the whole vent thing.

Oscar held out a claw with a flourish. In it was a shiny silver key.“Voil?!”

Walt’s eyes got wide. “Where did you get that?”

“Mrs. Food’s pocket. Mrs. Third Floor gave it to her before she left,” Oscar said smugly. “I thought we could, you know, borrow it. Just for a little while.”

“Well done,” Walt said grudgingly. “But I still think this is a ridiculous plan.”

“It’ll be fine!” Marco said, walking over to her. He was carrying a tissue bundle filled with sunflower seeds. He patted it lovingly. “Snacks. Now should I just climb up or…”

Walt rolled her eyes.“FINE. Just one second.” Walt disappeared behind the couch and reappeared a few minutes later with a small bag hanging around her neck. Then she lay down. “Hop up,” she said. Marco and Polo quickly scrambled onto her back.

Oscar eyed the bag.“That’s one of Mrs. Food’s.”

“Like you said. I’m borrowing it,” Walt said, standing up. “Polo, can you be in charge of the key?”

Polo nodded solemnly as Oscar handed her the key.“I’ll guard it with my life.”

Walt looked uncomfortable.“Erm, okay?” She really didn’t think it would come to that.

Butterbean nosed Wallace.“You coming with me?”

“Sure,” Wallace said. He grabbed on to Butterbean’s hair and held on under her tummy. He didn’t think he’d be comfortable being exposed like Marco and Polo were. He’d been a wild rat too long now.

Oscar flew over to the countertop and picked up a bright orange flyer from the local pizza place. Then he flew over to the front door and pushed down on the handle with his feet. It swung open just enough for Walt and Butterbean to squeeze through.

Walt and Butterbean held the door open while Oscar flew through the crack. Then, as he slipped the flyer in between the door and the latch, they let it close.“It can’t lock if that flyer’s in there,” Oscar explained. “We can get back in this way.”

“You’ve obviously been thinking about this,” Walt said approvingly. “Nice trick.”

“Save the congratulations until we see if it works,” Oscar said, looking around the hallway nervously. “Maybe the vents would have been better.”

“Too late now,” Walt said. “Of course, somebody could see that piece of paper. It’s pretty obvious.”

Oscar cringed. He should’ve gone for something in a nice white or beige. But it was too late to worry about that now. Besides, the paper was the least of their concerns. He didn’t think anyone would be up at this time of night, but if someone did see them, their whole plan would fall apart. He didn’t know how they would explain being in the hallway. Oscar puffed up his feathers and sniffed. “Not a problem. We’ll be back before that happens.” He just hoped it was true.

Walt stalked over to the elevator.“Butterbean, would you do the honors?”

“Oh boy!” Butterbean squealed, jumping up and pressing the elevator button with her nose. She was an expert at elevator button pushing.

Oscar flew over and landed on her head, his feet clutching tightly to her ears. He’d never been in an elevator without his cage before. He didn’t know what to expect.

“Remember, we don’t go until it’s empty,” Walt said, her whiskers twitching nervously. This whole plan was wrong. They were too exposed. The last thing they needed was for Butterbean to be reckless.

Butterbean rolled her eyes.“It’s the middle of the night! Who would be in the elevator in the middle of the night?”

The elevator bell sounded. The doors opened.

It wasn’t empty.

An elderly woman wearing a housedress was standing in the elevator, holding a laundry basket. Mrs. Power Walker.

“Perfect!” Butterbean barked. “Hi, Mrs. Power Walker!”

“Butterbean, no!” Walt started, but it was too late. Butterbean didn’t hesitate. With Oscar still clinging tightly to the top of her head, Butterbean marched into the elevator, pressed the button for five, and sat down. She wagged her tail at Mrs. Power Walker.

Walt cursed slightly under her breath. Mrs. Power Walker had been pretty accepting of Walt and Butterbean in the past, but there was no way she was going to be able to overlook three rats and a bird. The last thing Walt wanted was Marco and Polo waving their arms and screaming like they were on a roller coaster.

“Not a word,” she hissed at the rats. She darted into the elevator and sat down just as the doors closed.

The rats didn’t need to be told. As soon as they’d seen Mrs. Power Walker, Marco and Polo had flattened themselves to Walt’s back in their best attempt to turn invisible. It didn’t work.

Mrs. Power Walker smiled at Butterbean sympathetically.“Couldn’t sleep?”

Butterbean thumped her tail and lolled her tongue out of her mouth.

Mrs. Power Walker winked.“I couldn’t either. Thought I’d get a little laundry done since I was up.” She nodded toward her laundry basket.

Oscar fidgeted in place and stared straight ahead. He didn’t know if he was supposed to say anything back. He wasn’t up on his elevator etiquette.

“A nice walk before bed will be just the thing for you,” Mrs. Power Walker said. Then she frowned, seeming to notice Oscar and the rats for the first time. “And your… friends.”

Oscar attempted a smile, but his beak wasn’t really made that way.

Marco and Polo blinked up at her, their eyes huge. Mrs. Power Walker blinked back.

“Fifth floor,” the elevator voice said. The doors opened.

Butterbean wagged her tail at Mrs. Power Walker and then trotted out, with Walt slinking behind her like a shadow. Mrs. Power Walker looked at them thoughtfully as the doors closed.

“Holy cow, that was CRAZY!” Marco’s eyes were huge. “Did you see? She looked RIGHT AT US! And she didn’t say a THING!”

“Mrs. Power Walker’s nice,” Butterbean said. “Not like Mrs. Hates Dogs on six.”

Oscar closed his eyes. He was never great in social situations. He’d learned his lesson. He should’ve definitely gone with the vents, haunted or not.

“Never mind Mrs. Power Walker,” he said, hopping off Butterbean’s head. “We’re here.”

They turned to look at Apartment 5B. The hallway suddenly felt colder.

Oscar shuddered.

“Maybe we could just go back?” Butterbean whispered. “We can leave the investigating to Mrs. Food.”

“It’s now or never, Bean,” Walt said, trying to keep her voice level. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up. And she didn’t even believe in ghosts.

Nobody moved. The freshly painted door looked much more ominous than it had earlier in the day.

Finally, Wallace cleared his throat.“I can’t live in your aquarium forever,” he said from his place on Butterbean’s tummy.

Oscar sighed.“Wallace is right. If there’s a ghost, we need to get rid of it,” he said. “We can’t do that if we don’t go in.”

“And there’s a pretty good chance we won’t die,” Marco said, clutching Walt’s hair so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Right?”

“Right,” Polo said, swallowing hard.

“Unless we die of fright. Or it sucks the breath out of us,” Marco went on. “Ghosts do that, right?”

“MARCO, sheesh!” Polo said, smacking him on the arm.

“I’m just saying!”

“Well, stop!” Polo glared at him and climbed up onto Walt’s head, her jaw set. She held the key in the air. “We’re going in.”

— 6 —

POLO TURNED THE KEY, THEN froze, listening.

“Whew!” she said. “I was afraid something was going to—”

A thin wail filled the hallway.

Polo squeaked and pulled the key out of the keyhole, clutching it to her chest.“What is that?” she squealed.

The wail turned into a low, eerie moan. It echoed throughout the hallway and surrounded them. Butterbean felt the urge to howl along with it.

“GHOST!” Marco buried his face in Walt’s fur.

“That’s it! That’s what I heard,” Wallace shrieked, grabbing tightly to Butterbean’s tummy hair. “It’s the ghost!” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Walt stood wide-eyed, scanning the hallway. But no matter where she looked, she couldn’t see anything suspicious. No ghostly apparition, no fog, no floating woman in a white nightgown, nothing. “Is it coming from inside the apartment?”

“It started when she turned the key,” Marco sobbed. “It’s the ghost.”

“Bean? Anything?” Walt said quietly.

Butterbean sniffed the air, but it didn’t help. She still hadn’t figured out what a ghost was supposed to smell like. “I’m not sure.”

Polo grabbed Walt’s ears like they were game controllers and tried to turn her toward the elevator. “That’s it. We’re out of here. Wallace, you can live with us. Let’s go.” When the game controller move didn’t work, she tried digging her heels into the sides of Walt’s head, like she was riding a horse. That didn’t work either.

“Wait, what?” Marco said, peeking up through Walt’s fur. “Wallace is living where?”

“Sorry, Marco, executive decision,” Polo said. “We’ve got a roommate now.”

“Polo. Stop.” Walt tried not to cringe, but Polo had sharp little heels.

“Okay, sure,” Wallace agreed. Anything was better than living in a haunted apartment or vent. “Let’s get out of here.” He let go of Butterbean’s tummy and landed on the floor with a thump. Then he raced over to Walt, vaulting up onto her back in one jump.

Walt gritted her teeth.“Guys. Not a horse.”

Oscar cocked his head.“Butterbean. Quick. Who lives on this floor?”

Butterbean looked around, her ears pressed back against her head. The wailing had turned into a shrieky cry that went straight through her skull and hurt her teeth.“Man Who Smells Like Onions, but he’s gone. Next door is the Potpourri Couple, and the other two are Mechanic Guy and High Heel Woman.”

Oscar frowned. None of them sounded likely to be making spooky ghost noises.“And do you smell anything helpful?”

Butterbean shook her head. She tried to block out the sounds and focus on the smells. But it wasn’t easy. “Nothing ghosty, I don’t think.” Butterbean leaned down and scanned the hallway. “Just hair spray smells from High Heel Woman. And potpourri, of course. And, wait—” Butterbean zigzagged across the hallway, muttering as she went. “Wait wait wait wait wait.”

“WE CAN’T WAIT, BEAN! IT’S A GHOST!” Polo wailed.

“Okay, but I think…” Butterbean zigzagged over to the Potpourri Couple’s apartment and sniffed a few times. “I think…” She glanced back over her shoulder at Oscar, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

The unearthly shrieks instantly stopped.

There was silence.

“Um. Yes?” A tiny voice came from inside the apartment.

“Ask if it’s a ghost,” Marco whispered, peeking through Walt’s fur.

Butterbean took a deep breath.“Are you a ghost?”

“Who is this?” the voice asked. It didn’t sound very ghostly. It didn’t sound anything like Polo’s impression from before.

“Butterbean,” Butterbean answered.

There was no answer.

But then, just as Butterbean was giving up, the handle jiggled a few times, and the door swung open.

In the doorway stood a small white cat.“Can I help you?”

Butterbean shifted uncomfortably.“Are you a ghost?” She hadn’t heard of ghosts answering doors, but she had to be sure.

“Do I look like a ghost?” The white cat looked irritated.

“Um…” Butterbean hesitated. The white cat sighed and then posed in a variety of prancey poses, like she was on a fashion runway.

Butterbean considered.“Kind of?”

“EXCUSE ME?” The white cat looked offended.

Walt narrowed her eyes and stalked forward.

“NOOOOO!” Marco, Polo, and Wallace shrieked simultaneously, jumping off Walt’s back and huddling around Oscar’s feet.

Walt ignored them. She walked up to the white cat and poked it in the head with her paw.

“Ow!” The white cat reeled back a few steps.

“Solid,” Walt said to Oscar. “Not a ghost.” She turned back to the cat. “Okay, cat. What’s with the noise?”

The little cat suddenly looked guilty.“Did my vocal exercises disturb you?”

“Vocal exercises?” Walt bristled. “VOCAL EXERCISES?”

The cat looked sulky.“Well, when my owners are away, I have to amuse myself, don’t I?”

“But who are you?” Butterbean yelped. “The Potpourri Couple doesn’t have a cat!”

The cat’s fur puffed out a little. “They do now. I’M NEW. And you need to keep it down too. I could hear you talking all the way in my apartment.” The cat turned, tail held high, and marched back inside, slamming the door with a kick of her foot.

“Well, there’s your ghost, Wallace,” Walt sniffed. “That explains the noises.”

Wallace peeked out between Oscar’s legs. “It doesn’t explain the salt shaker.”

Polo nodded.“Or the bathroom.”

“Or the cupcakes,” Marco added.

“THAT WAS ME, OKAY?” Wallace said. “I’M SORRY.”

Walt frowned.“That’s true. Maybe we should still check the place out?”

Oscar sighed. He could be in his cage right now, dreaming about the News. But the camera would be installed in the morning.“Yes. Our stakeout will continue.”

“Sleepover,” Polo said in a small voice.

“Stakeout, sleepover, whichever,” Marco said, shooting a nervous look back at the cat’s apartment. “Let’s just get inside.”

Butterbean stood up and pushed on the handle to Apartment 5B. The door swung open.

The animals peeked inside. Ominous shadows filled the room.“Or maybe we could just set up the sleeping bags in the hallway,” Marco said, looking around anxiously.

The overstuffed floral furniture and knickknacks that had seemed homey during the day loomed menacingly in the moonlight, with dark shadows that didn’t seem to be quite the right shapes, somehow.

Walt shuddered. Suddenly a sleepover seemed like the worst idea she’d ever had. And she’d had some bad ones.

Oscar clicked his beak.“Well, let’s get this over with.” He tried to get his bearings. He’d never loved flying at night, and that was even without ghosts to deal with. “I’ll inspect the perimeter. Once we’ve established a secure zone, we can start the stakeout.”

“Sleepover,” Polo said in a tiny voice. “And about that. One quick question. Do sleepovers have lights?”

Oscar frowned.“I don’t think so.” He hadn’t seen many sleepovers on the Television, so he wouldn’t consider himself an expert. But since sleep was involved, it would stand to reason that the lights would be out.

“Okay,” Polo said thoughtfully.

Silence descended on the room once again.

Polo cleared her throat hesitantly.“So another question. What about stakeouts? Do they have lights?”

Oscar fluffed his feathers. He’d definitely seen more stakeouts on the Television. He was back on secure ground. “I don’t know if I’d say they have lights, per se—” Oscar started.

“Can we please turn on the lights?” Marco interrupted him. “This place is freaking me out!” He could swear that a shadow in the kitchen had just moved. And he didn’t even want to know what that thing over by the sofa was.

“Yes, lights!” Polo squealed.

“Maybe lights will help us see the ghosts better,” Butterbean added helpfully. If they were going to be taking sides, she was going to be on Team Lights. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, but she’d spotted someone large and silent hovering just a few feet away. If she was right, this was going to be the shortest ghost hunt ever in the history of ghost hunts, because she’d totally found one.

Oscar sighed.“I don’t think the ghost would mind lights, do you, Walt?”

Walt shook her head.“That should be fine.” Walt tried to sound casual, but it wasn’t easy. She was just glad the rats had been the ones to ask. The last thing she wanted to do was to play into the whole “scaredy-cat” stereotype.

Oscar flew over to the table by the door and switched on the light. It wasn’t much, but it helped.

“Oh, ha-ha!” Butterbean barked in embarrassment, looking over at the looming figure nearby, which had turned out to be a not-a-ghost. “Nice coat rack. I knew it. Ha.” She nudged Walt in the side. “See that? That’s a coat rack.”

Walt nodded. She’d seen coat racks before. She patted Butterbean on the back and turned toward the living room. Then she gasped.

There was a reason the shadows had seemed wrong.

Nothing was the way they had left it.

The silver tray of fruit had been tossed on the floor.

One lemon had been partially eaten and then thrown so that it splatted against the wall.

And a trail of something red and sticky led from the kitchen to the living room, ending in a thick pool in the middle of the carpet.

Oscar flew to the edge of the coffee table and eyed it carefully, his heart racing. Ghost stories were supposed to be fun. They weren’t supposed to involve dark red trails of…

“Is it?” Walt cleared her throat. “I mean, that liquid. Is that—”

Butterbean trotted over, sniffed it carefully, and then licked it.

“EEEEWWWWW!” the rats screamed.

“Cocktail sauce,” Butterbean said, licking her lips. “It’s cocktail sauce.”

“What?” Walt followed the trail into the kitchen. The refrigerator door was gaping open, and there was a plastic tray on the floor.

“SHE LICKED IT WITH HER TONGUE!” Polo shrieked. Marco made gagging noises.

Oscar flew over and picked up a bit of plastic wrap with a label on it.“Shrimp cocktail with sauce. Tail on. Butterbean’s right.”

“Found one!” Butterbean said, nosing a shrimp tail on the floor. The rest of the shrimp was nowhere to be seen. “Look, there are tails all over!”

“I don’t think the cat did this, Oscar,” Walt said. “She’s not the ghost.”

“Hmm. It doesn’t look like it.” Oscar cocked his head and listened. “But the question is: Is whatever did this still here?”

The animals froze, afraid to look into the shadows.

“Weren’t you going to do a perimeter search?” Walt said, not meeting Oscar’s eye. She didn’t want to be the one to check out the other rooms, that was for sure.

“Yes.” Oscar clicked his beak grimly. “I’ll do the search. If it’s safe, we should set up in the living room, I guess. If we’re still doing the stakeout. Just keep away from the um…” He cringed, eyeing the red pool. “Stay on the couch.”

Walt lashed her tail nervously.“Nobody touch anything,” she said to the others. “We need to preserve the scene just as is for Mrs. Food.”

“Urk, sorry,” Butterbean said, spitting a half-chewed shrimp tail back out onto the floor.

“I’ll do my sweep now,” Oscar said, hopping from one foot to another. “I’m going. Sweep of the perimeter. Right now.” He didn’t move.

“Good plan,” Walt said. Her whiskers hadn’t stopped trembling since they’d been inside. She hoped no one had noticed. “Oscar?”

Oscar sighed.“Going now.” He took off and flew out of the kitchen.

Walt ducked her head down so the bag around her neck fell on the floor.“There you go,” she said to Marco and Polo. “Sleeping bags. If you can sleep.”

“Really?” Polo perked up. She scrambled over and grabbed the bag. “Marco, Wallace! Help me get this to the couch.”

They dragged the bag to the edge of the couch, and then Polo opened it, sticking the top half of her body inside to rummage around.“OH, WALT!” she said in a muffled voice. “THESE ARE PERFECT!”

She emerged from the bag, tugging the edge of a sock.

Butterbean’s nostrils quivered. “SOCKS?”

“Sleeping bags,” Walt corrected, blocking Butterbean’s path. Butterbean had a thing for socks. Walt didn’t blame her. “Tonight they’re rat sleeping bags.”

“Are they your compression socks?” Butterbean whispered. Walt had stashed away a pair of Mrs. Food’s compression socks a while ago. She was very attached to them.

Walt snorted.“Of course not. Those are too valuable. I got these out of the laundry.”

“Nice!” Wallace held up a white sock with a pom-pom on the end. “This one comes with a pillow!”

“Theseare perfect!” Marco said, climbing into his own pom-pom sock. “And we’ve got my snacks. This is going to be great sleepover.” He caught sight of Oscar flying back into the room. “Er. Stakeout. As long as we don’t get killed by the ghost,” he added.

“Sheesh, Marco,” Polo said, climbing into her sock. “We’ll get that ghost first. Just you wait.”

Oscar landed on the couch.“Everything looks secure. I saw no signs of paranormal activity. Also no intruders. But I have an idea. Wait here.” He took off and flew in the direction of the kitchen. A few moments later he came back, his feet clutching various types of cutlery. “Just in case, we have weapons.”

He landed on the couch with a thud. His wings felt weak with relief. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if he had found an intruder. Or a ghost, for that matter. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now. But if it comes back, we’re prepared.”

“Dibs on the spoon,” Polo said, reaching out and grabbing a teaspoon. Once everyone had grabbed a utensil, they settled back to wait.

Walt curled up with her fork on one of the couch cushions. Butterbean set her butter knife down and started turning around in circles to make a nest. Then they all lay there in silence.

Well, almost.

“Sunflower seed, anyone?” Marco whispered. “I have extra.”

No one wanted any sunflower seeds.

“Now that I’ve got my spoon,” Polo finally said, the edge of the sock pulled up to her chin. “It doesn’t feel as scary.”

“I just wish we knew…” Walt trailed off, her ears pricking up. “SHHH.” Her ears swiveled toward the sound. “Did you hear that?”

Six pairs of ears strained in the semidarkness. And then they heard it. It was an eerie dripping sound, so soft you almost couldn’t hear it. It was followed by a low humming noise that started and stopped without warning.

“I thought you said it was all clear,” Walt whispered.

Oscar’s eyes were wide. “It was. I swear it was.”

“The not-a-ghost cat next door?” asked Butterbean hopefully.

Walt shook her head.“I don’t think so.” She picked up her fork in her mouth. “Come on.”

Slinking slowly, she tracked the noise into the heart of the apartment. The others followed as quietly as they could. (The rats had trouble controlling their utensils.)

When they got to the bathroom door, they stopped.“It’s in there,” Walt said. “The ghost.”

Oscar braced himself.“Ghost hunters, this is what we came for. On the count of three, let’s get him. One… two… THREE!”

Oscar threw the door open, and the animals rushed into the bathroom and skidded to a stop. Forks and spoons clattered to the floor.

Nothing could have prepared them for what they saw.

Oscar gasped and reeled back.“MR. WIGGLES!”

— 7 —

A STRANGE OCTOPUS WAS SITTING in a tub filled with bubbling water. Two of his tentacles were stretched along the back of the tub. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, wonderful. FANS,” he groaned, sloshing water out of the tub. He flicked water at Oscar. “Be a good little birdie and leave me alone, and maybe I’ll have my assistant send you a photo.”

“That’s Mr. Wiggles,” Oscar whispered. His eyes looked slightly glazed, and his beak was hanging open.

“How’d he get here?” Walt muttered.

“Who’s his assistant?” Butterbean whispered.

“Who is HE?” Wallace asked.

Oscar collected himself and bowed slightly in the direction of the tub. Then he turned to Wallace.“Wallace, this is Mr. Wiggles, the octopus currently missing from the City Zoo.”

Mr. Wiggles was the star attraction at the City Zoo, or he had been until he disappeared. He was famous across the country for his crowd-pleasing antics—squirting water, doing clever tricks for visitors, performing daring escapes, that kind of thing. But he was most famous for his talent for picking winners in sporting events. He’d successfully predicted winners in the Super Bowl, World Cup, and Kentucky Derby for the last two years. He workedfor herring snacks.

“CELEBRITY octopus,” Mr. Wiggles corrected, stretching and flicking more water at Oscar.

“Celebrity octopus. Forgive me.” Oscar didn’t even seem to notice the droplets of water on his head. “World-renowned celebrity octopus.” He bowed again. “Mr. Wiggles, it’s an honor.”

Mr. Wiggles shrugged all of his tentacles.“Of course. But if you’re a true fan, then you know my name is actually Jerome. ‘Mr. Wiggles’ is a stage name,” he said, making air quotes. “It’s just a character I play.”

Butterbean bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh. If Jerome was anything like Chad, he probably didn’t have much of a sense of humor. She was totally going to try to get him to do more air quotes, though.

Oscar giggled. All of the other animals turned to look at him in shock. Oscar wasn’t a giggler. “I can call you Jerome? Again, an honor.”

Wallace sat down hard on the floor.“I’m very confused.”

“Me too.” Walt walked closer to the tub. “So, Jerome, what are you doing here?”

Jerome’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you? I thought you were fans. Are you press?”

“We’re not press,” Walt said.

“I KNEW IT! What network are you with?” Jerome put a tentacle up in front of his face like he was blocking a camera. “Talk to my assistant. I’m not doing interviews.”

“We’re NOT PRESS,” Walt said louder.

“We’re residents,” Butterbean said.

“And I’m a rat,” Wallace said.

“Um, yes. That’s all true. But it is a valid question,” Oscar said apologetically, hopping up onto the toilet. “What brings you to 5B?” Oscar couldn’t imagine how such a famous octopus could’ve ended up in the Strathmore Building. It just didn’t make sense, logistically or otherwise. Things like that didn’t happen.

Jerome shrugged and examined one of his tentacles.“You didn’t happen to bring any shrimp with you, did you? Sardines? Herring snacks?”

“Um, no,” Oscar said. “I apologize for the question, but have you been here long?”

“Weren’t you scared to stay here?” Butterbean asked, peering into the tub. There were so many bubbles. “Were you afraid of the ghost?”

“Ghost?” Jerome gave a bubbly laugh.

“I think heis the ghost,” Walt said in a low voice.

“HE’S A GHOST?” Butterbean yelped, scrambling back. “Are you the ghost?”

Oscar frowned.“Jerome is not a ghost. But did you cause the… untidiness in the apartment?” he asked. “We need to know.”

“I helped myself to a few snacks, made myself at home. What’s the harm?” Jerome said, waving a tentacle nonchalantly.

“What’s the harm? You trashed the place!” Wallace was shaking. “WAS THAT YOU IN THE FISH TANK?”

“Delicious.” Jerome made loud lip-smacky noises. Butterbean wasn’t sure how he did it, since as far as she could tell, he didn’t have lips. “When will that be restocked, do you think?”

Wallace clenched his fists.“You took my apartment!” Marco and Polo each put a hand on Wallace’s shoulder, partly to comfort him and partly to hold him back in case he decided to charge.

“You freaked out Mrs. Third Floor!” Butterbean said.

“And you’re kind of messing up our sleepover,” Polo muttered under her breath. She didn’t think this was how sleepovers usually went.

Jerome shrugged, making waves that threatened to overflow the tub.“I had to get away. Fans can be so demanding,” he said, shooting a look at Oscar, who blushed.

“But how did you even get here?” Walt asked again.

Jerome leaned forward and looked at Walt carefully.“Are you sure you’re not with the press?” He sighed. “My assistant helped with the accommodations. He can tell you— Oh, there he is!”

The animals turned to the door, but there was no one there.

“Ahem.” A voice came from the sink. A voice they recognized. Chad.

“Chad’s your assistant?” Butterbean yelped.

“I’m not your assistant. Stop saying that, Jerome.” Chad looked a little stressed out. His tentacles were clenched, and he was turning darker and lighter randomly.

He chucked a package of shrimp over to Jerome.“I found some shrimp.” He turned to Oscar. “Got it from some guy on three. Looks like he’s planning a party.”

“Man With Stinky Sweat Socks,” Butterbean said knowingly.

“Wait, YOU KNEW?” Polo said, pointing at Chad. “WE SPECIFICALLY ASKED YOU!”

Chad rolled his eyes.“You asked about a ghost. You didn’t ask if I knew about an octopus on the fifth floor.”

Marco considered.“He’s right, we didn’t.”

“Well, STILL,” Polo huffed. “You should’ve said something.”

“Sorry, rats,” Chad said. He didn’t sound that sorry, though. “Jerome is a buddy from back in my egg days. We keep in touch.”

“Social media,” Jerome said.

“He needed a place to stay, so I told him about this place.” Chad shot a look at Jerome. “It’s short-term.”

“My stay is open-ended,” Jerome said, shooting a look back at Chad.

“What was wrong with the zoo?” Oscar asked. “They love you there!”

“THAT’S what’s wrong,” Jerome said, absentmindedly squeaking a rubber duckie. “I’m sick of all the paparazzi. All those people, gawking at me. I can’t take it anymore.” He opened the bag of shrimp and guzzled it in one gulp. “Do you know what they make me do? I have to pick football winners! And horse races! What, do they think I’m psychic?”

“Well, you do have an impressive streak going,” Oscar said.

“Sure, but it’s OBVIOUS who’s going to win. Some of those horses have ridiculous names.”

Butterbean frowned. She didn’t see how that made it obvious.

“Yeah, not like ‘Mr. Wiggles,’ ” Marco said, snickering.

Jerome shot him a frosty look.

“So you just what, took a cab? Came through the pipes?” Walt frowned. “Is this building connected to the zoo somehow?”

Jerome rolled his eyes.“Obviously not. I told you—I keep in touch with Chad on social media. I’ve seen the pictures of that human girl he rescued singlehandedly a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry, what?” That wasn’t quite how Butterbean remembered it.

“So when I saw her next to my tank, I recognized her immediately and took my chance. I’m very good with faces.” Jerome turned to Chad. “You should really remind her not to leave her water bottle unattended that way. It only took a second for me to slip inside.”

“You stowed away in a WATER BOTTLE?” Polo gasped.

“How did you DO that?” Marco examined Jerome critically. He definitely looked bigger than a water bottle.

“Talent,” Jerome said, and shrugged again (with less tentacle action this time). “Once I got into this building, it was only a matter of finding Chad.”

“I told him this apartment was empty,” Chad said. “My apartment was not an option.”

Wallace looked around helplessly.“But… are you going to keep doing that stuff? Mrs. Third Floor is really upset. And I was living here,” he said. “At least I was a tidy tenant.”

“She’ll deal with it,” Jerome said dismissively. “Can you imagine how thrilled she’d be if she knew MR. WIGGLES was staying here? She’s lucky to have me here. She could do worse. I’m obviously a step up from her last tenant.”

“But…” Wallace frowned. “HEY!”

Jerome flicked water at Oscar again. Oscar flinched.“Now, you be a good little birdie and hand me that remote.” He waved a tentacle in the direction of the sink. A remote control was lying on the countertop.

Oscar blinked in surprise, then hopped over to the remote and handed it to him.“Remote for wha—”

Jerome clicked the remote, and a television screen appeared in the bathroom mirror.

“THERE’S A TELEVISION IN THE MIRROR?” Marco gasped. “Wallace, you didn’t say your apartment had a TV in a MIRROR.”

Wallace looked dumbstruck.“I DIDN’T KNOW!” He scrambled up onto the counter and pressed his face to the mirror.

Butterbean stood up and peered into the tub. There were way more bubbles than there should’ve been. “Is this a Jacuzzi?”

“WHAT?” Wallace said, looking wildly between the mirror TV and the tub. And he thought he’d been living it up by watching movies on the couch.

“It’s the News!” Oscar said, staring at the mirror in awe. “In the BATHROOM.”

Jerome turned up the volume.“… no ransom demands have been made. Zoo officials say that while it’s true that Mr. Wiggles has escaped before, this time there have been no signs of him. And with the mayor’s ceremony and Mr. Wiggles’s next big prediction scheduled for just days from now, time is running out. I’m Cathleen Carlson, Channel Seven News.”

Jerome clicked the remote off and tossed it into the sink with a clatter.“Let them worry.”

“What’s the mayor’s ceremony?” Butterbean asked.

Jerome floated on his back.“Some stupid thing. I’m supposed to pick the winner of something or other. Who can remember? They can manage without me.” He glared at them all. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to take a bath.”

“Of course.” Oscar bowed again at Jerome. Butterbean had never seen him bob up and down so much. “Forgive the intrusion.”

Walt cleared her throat and shot Oscar a significant look.“Except…”

Oscar blushed and looked uncomfortable.“We’ll see ourselves out.”

“Oscar?” Walt lashed her tail. “Except…”

Oscar stared at the floor.“Except one tiny thing.” He spoke slowly, like each word was painful to say. “We’re really not set up for celebrity octopuses here. This is Mrs. Third Floor’s apartment. She’s… well, she’s a tad bit upset.”

“She’s FREAKING OUT,” Wallace said.

“You need to leave,” Walt said firmly.

Jerome rolled his eyes.

“Chad lives upstairs,” Walt started. “Why don’t you—”

“He can’t stay with me,” Chad said.

“Nope, no can do,” Jerome said at almost the same time.

“You heard the News. They really miss you at the zoo. The whole city is worried sick,” Oscar said. “It might be a good idea for you to go back.” He couldn’t believe he was saying this. The one time he’d met a real life celebrity and he was telling him to go away. “Something to consider.”

Jerome shook his head.“Nope, sorry. I’m staying right here.” He patted Oscar on the foot. “But look, since it’s so important to you, I’ll be good. No more messes, okay? I promise.”

Oscar looked doubtful.“Really?”

“Sure,” Jerome said. “Why not?”

Oscar shifted and looked to Walt, who shrugged. It’s not like they could make him leave. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said to Walt. “He promised.”

Walt snorted.

“We should let him take his bath. Give him privacy,” Oscar said. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he turned and hopped out of the bathroom.

“I’ll have my assistant get you a signed photo. Love you!” Jerome called as the others followed.

“STOP CALLING ME YOUR ASSISTANT.” They could hear Chad’s voice as they trudged off down the hallway.

“I think the sleepover is over,” Walt said. “Any objections?”

No one objected.

Oscar nudged Walt.“You don’t understand. That was MR. WIGGLES.”

Walt bumped his side with her head (almost knocking him over in the process).“I get it. And it’ll be fine. He’ll probably keep a low profile from now on.”

As they opened the door to head back to Mrs. Food’s apartment, a burst of music blared from the direction of the bathroom.

“Low profile starting tomorrow,” Walt corrected herself.

Oscar just hoped she was right. He didn’t want to think of what would happen if she wasn’t.

— 8 —

GETTING BACK TO MRS. FOOD’S apartment was a lot easier than they had expected. The hard part was waking up the next morning. At least, Butterbean thought it was morning.

“Come ON, Butterbean!” Madison whispered. “Wake UP!”

Butterbean opened one eye. It was dark. She shut it again. Definitely still time for sleep.

“Come on, dog! Don’t you want to go ghost hunting?” Madison asked, shaking Butterbean again. “It’s a secret adventure!”

“WHAT?” Butterbean’s eyes snapped open.

“WHAT?” Oscar fell off his perch. He’d had a hard time getting to sleep after all the excitement and couldn’t help but listen in.

It was definitely still nighttime, but Madison was dressed and moving around quietly in the dark. A secret ghost-hunting adventure could only mean one thing.

“Oh no!” Butterbean yelped, sitting bolt upright. “JEROME!”

“Good girl!” Madison said, patting Butterbean on the head. “We’re going to check out that apartment for ourselves. Find out the truth!”

“OSCAR!” Butterbean yipped. She didn’t know what to do. Madison wasn’t supposed to be a ghost hunter too.

“Walt!” Oscar croaked, shakily climbing back up onto his perch. “Alert! Help!”

Madison felt around on Butterbean’s collar to find the place to clip the leash. “You heard what they said. Animals are good protection against evil spirits. So you need to come too, just in case.”

“WALT!” Oscar jumped onto the bars of his cage. “Butterbean needs backup!”

“SHH!” Madison hissed, freezing in place. She stared anxiously down the dark hallway toward Mrs. Food’s bedroom door. “Quiet, Oscar!”

“Calm down, I’m on it,” Walt grumbled from her bed. She hadn’t had a hard time getting to sleep. She stretched and shook her back leg. “Apartment key?”

“I put it back. Thank goodness I put it back!” Oscar felt a wave of relief wash over him. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to forgetting to put back the key.

Walt nodded and slunk over to Madison, rubbing significantly against her legs.“I’m coming too.”

Madison looked down at her, frowning.“Not now, cat…”

“Protection!” Butterbean wuffled softly. Oscar was right. She definitely needed backup.

“Hmm. Okay,” Madison said, scooping Walt up in her arms. “This is probably kind of silly, right? I mean, it’s not like it’s really a ghost, right?” She laughed a little too loudly. “Well, we’ll prove it either way,” Madison said before Butterbean could answer. She picked the key up off of the counter. “It’s all up to us.” Then she slipped silently into the hallway.

“This is going to be bad, Butterbean,” Walt said, blinking in the bright lights on the elevator ride up. “When Madison sees that cocktail sauce, she is going to FREAK OUT.”

Butterbean swallowed hard. Eating all of those shrimp tails had been a bad idea.“Forget the cocktail sauce. When she sees JEROME, she’s going to freak out.”

Walt narrowed her eyes.“He said he’d hide.”

“No, he said he’d be good.” Butterbean looked up at her. “Do you think he will?”

Walt snorted.“Nope. No chance.” She wished the rats had woken up. They could’ve tried to warn Jerome, at least. But it was too late now. Mr. Wiggles was on his own.

“Fifth floor,” the elevator lady voice said.

The doors opened. Madison took a step out of the elevator and then hung back.“You don’t think it’s really a ghost, do you?” she asked in a low voice. She stared uneasily at the door to Apartment 5B.

“No. It’s an octopus named Jerome. He’s Mr. Wiggles,” Butterbean said, wagging her tail in her most reassuring way.

Madison didn’t pay any attention. Typical.

“I mean, there’s got to be some explanation, right? Some non-ghostly explanation?” Madison said softly. She didn’t sound convinced, though.

“It’s an octopus. Mr. Wiggles,” Butterbean said again. “You saw him at the zoo. You need to keep a closer watch on your water bottle, Madison.”

Madison smiled weakly and patted Butterbean on the head.“Don’t be scared, Butterbean,” she said. “I’m sure it’s not a ghost. We’re going to prove it. We’ll go in, solve the mystery, and be heroes. Got it?”

“Okay,” Butterbean said. This was going to be a disaster.

Madison put Walt down and marched over to the door, dragging Butterbean behind her.

“I can’t look,” Butterbean moaned as the door opened. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the screams.

There was silence. Then Walt cleared her throat.“Butterbean, open your eyes.”

Butterbean opened her eyes. The apartment looked perfect. No cocktail sauce. No shrimp tails (although Butterbean thought she deserved the credit for that). No sign of Jerome or Chad.

“What the heck?” Butterbean barked as she looked around. “Were we dreaming?”

“I know, right?” Madison clicked on a lamp. “It doesn’t feel haunted to me. Not even a little.” She put her hands on her hips and scanned the room. “Huh. You guys wait here.” She walked down the hallway and disappeared into the bedroom.

“WHERE’S THE COCKTAIL SAUCE?” Butterbean said, her eyes huge.

Walt shook her head.“It was definitely here before. Maybe Jerome cleaned it up?”

“You mean maybe CHAD cleaned it up. CHAD. NOT JEROME.” A grouchy voice came from the kitchen. Chad was sitting on the countertop angrily waggling his tentacles in the air. “CHAD must’ve worked his tentacles to the BONE!”

“Do tentacles have bones?” Butterbean whispered to Walt, cocking her head to the side.

“NOT THE POINT!” Chad said, waving his tentacles wildly. “Look at this. JUST LOOK. DISHPAN HANDS!”

“But he doesn’t have hands,” Butterbean whispered under her breath.

“AGAIN, NOT THE POINT!” Chad snapped. He flung a soggy sponge at the wall, where it slid onto the countertop. “I am DONE. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home to BED!”

Walt shot a look behind them. Madison came out of the bedroom for a second before disappearing into the office.“Thank you, Chad,” Walt said softly. “We appreciate it, we really do. But where’s…”

“Where’s MR. WIGGLES? The CELEBRITY?” Chad folded his tentacles in front of him. They really did look a little red. “He’s just where you’d expect him to be. NAPPING. In the TOILET.” He snorted. “And don’t worry. I put the lid down.”

Chad gave one last huffy snort and slipped down into the sink without another word.

“I guess that’s… good?” Butterbean said, standing up at the sink to see where Chad had gone.

“Maybe we really can trust Jerome,” Walt said thoughtfully as Madison came back out into the living room.

Madison put her hands on her hips again and stared around with a puzzled expression. Then after a long moment, her face crumpled.“Well, guys, I guess this was a dumb idea?” She sighed and sat down on a footstool. “It doesn’t feel haunted at all! I didn’t see anything—no ghosts, nothing. And no intruder, either. And look!” She held her arm out for Butterbean to inspect. “Not even any goose bumps!” Butterbeanlooked. Madison was right. No goose bumps.

“So, I don’t know,” Madison said. “I guess we should just… leave?”

“Unless you want to look in the toilet,” Butterbean said, wagging her tail sleepily. It had been a long night. “The toilet’s a good bet.”

Madison ignored her. She picked up Butterbean’s leash and opened the front door.

“If there’s a ghost, you’d think it would want to scare me, right?” Madison said as she locked the door and then pushed the elevator button. “I’m a prime target. So there must not be one. I just don’t know how to prove it.”

“You’ll think of something,” Walt said reassuringly. Madison ignored her, too.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.

It wasn’t empty.

Butterbean wasn’t sure who looked more surprised, Mrs. Power Walker or Madison.

“Oh, hello again! Can you believe I forgot these?” Mrs. Power Walker laughed and held up a box of dryer sheets. “I’d lose my head if it wasn’t stapled on,” she chuckled.

“Um. Right?” Madison got into the elevator, a confused look on her face.

Mrs. Power Walker gave Butterbean a sympathetic smile.“Long night?”

Butterbean sighed.“You have no idea.”

Butterbean felt like she had just closed her eyes when it was time to get up the next morning. And staying awake was even harder—especially once Mrs. Third Floor showed up.

“And Bob came right over and installed the camera. I don’t even have to be there—I can see everything just using my phone!” Mrs. Third Floor explained for the third time. She looked at her phone like it was the most amazing thing in the world. Then, with a loving pat, she put it back into her handbag.

“Madison? You okay?” Mrs. Food leaned over and shook Madison gently. Madison was swaying a little too far to one side, and there was a little bit of drool forming at the corner of her mouth.

Madison jerked awake.“I’m fine! Wow, that’s crazy. A camera!” She blinked rapidly and forced a smile. It had been as hard for Madison to get up that morning as it had for Butterbean and Walt, but she hadn’t had the luxury of falling asleep in her breakfast bowl like Butterbean did.

“If you’re sure.” Mrs. Food frowned.

“Yes, like I said, a camera! It uses an app. It sends me alerts and everything!” Mrs. Third Floor continued happily. It didn’t look like she had any intention of going home. “I’m just feeling so much better today,” she said, clutching Madison’s arm as she talked to her. Apparently Madison wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon either. “And yesterday, everything seemed so horrible. I was even thinking of calling those ghost men I’ve seen on the TV.”

“Ghost men?” Madison said skeptically. She shot a side glance at Mrs. Food, who smiled blandly.

“Yes, the men on the TV who get rid of ghosts,” Mrs. Third Floor explained. “I was this close to calling them.” She lowered her voice. “But then, I worry about the publicity. Can you imagine if it got out? A haunted apartment would never rent!” She sat back and sipped her tea.

Madison took a cookie from the plate on the table, looking even more skeptical.“Are you talking about the movieGhostbusters?” She looked from Mrs. Food to Mrs. Third Floor again. “I’m pretty sure that’s not real.”

Mrs. Third Floor laughed.“Not the Ghostbusters, silly. The Ghost-Finder Men. They investigate paranormal activity and measure it. They’re scientists! They do research and expel ghosts!”

“The Ghostbusters,” Madison said again. “From the movie. Who you gonna call?”

“No, these ghost men are on the TV. They communicate with spirits! They may even be psychic,” she whispered, like it was a deep, dark secret.

“Oh, wait, are they on cable? They’re plumbers or something? I know who you’re talking about.” Madison nodded.

Mrs. Third Floor frowned.“Nooo, that doesn’t ring a bell.”

Mrs. Food cleared her throat.“I think Mildred is talking about some men who have a reality television show investigating ghosts. They’re local.”

“Wait, THOSE GUYS?” Madison suppressed a snicker. “The ones who wave gadgets around and talk about spiritual vibrations or whatever? With the cheesy graphics? The public-access guys?”

“Yes! The ghost men!” Mrs. Third Floor said happily. “But I don’t think I’ll need them. I haven’t had any problems today.”

A muffled ding came from Mrs. Third Floor’s large handbag.

“Oh, there, you see?” Mrs. Third Floor grabbed her handbag and started digging around inside, finally pulling out her cell phone. “That ding means that the camera recorded an interaction. It’s motion activated.”

She smiled conspiratorially at Madison and Mrs. Food.“I’ve already had alerts twice! The nice man in 5C went to work, and it recorded him waiting for the elevator. And then that woman in 5D took her trash to the chute.” She giggled. “It’s like I’m a spy!”

She peered down at her phone.“Now, let’s see.…” She frowned. “That doesn’t seem right.…” Then she let out a small shriek and flung her phone onto the floor.

“What? What happened?” Mrs. Food asked.

Madison bent down to pick up the phone.“What is it?”

“DON’T TOUCH IT!” Mrs. Third Floor screamed, and then pointed at the phone. “I can’t— See for yourself!”

“Okay.” Madison gave her a worried look. “But I have to touch it to do that.” She picked up the phone gingerly, watching Mrs. Third Floor the whole time, like she was afraid she might explode. Then she stood up to examine the phone. “OOF! Cat!”

“Excuse me, kid,” Walt said, jumping onto Madison’s shoulder. “I need to see this.”

“Narration, please,” Oscar said.

Walt nodded and coiled around Madison’s neck to get a better view.

“What is it, Madison?” Mrs. Food asked, getting up to watch the video.

Madison hit play. The camera was set up to show the doorway of Apartment 5B and the hallway just outside the door.

When the video started, the elevator doors were opening, and a pizza delivery guy got out of the elevator. He stood for a few minutes, looking around and checking a piece of paper in his hand.

“Pizza guy,” Walt muttered.

“This early in the day?” Oscar looked puzzled.

“OOH, I want pizza!” Butterbean yelped.

“Shhh!” Walt hissed.

The pizza delivery guy in the video looked at the door of 5B and, after consulting his paper one last time, knocked on the door. Then he put the pizza on the floor, turned, and got back into the elevator.

“Pizza’s on the floor,” Walt said softly. “Pizza guy’s leaving.”

“That’s strange,” Oscar said.

“Pizza on the FLOOR?” Butterbean said wistfully. “It’s like a DREAM.”

“So that’s it?” Madison looked up at Mrs. Food. “The pizza guy?”

“No! Keep watching.” Mrs. Third Floor’s lip trembled.

Madison looked back down at the video and then gasped. She looked up at Mrs. Third Floor, her eyes wide. She started it again and handed the phone to Mrs. Food.

“Oh no,” Walt said, looking closely. “Oh no no no.”

The tiny phone video showed the elevator doors closing. And for a few seconds, nothing happened.

But as they watched, the door to Apartment 5B silently swung open. No one came into view. No one was there.

Then, so slowly you almost didn’t notice it, the pizza box drifted into the apartment, as if it were floating a few inches off the ground. Once it was inside, the door shut.

No one ever appeared in the video.

It was like the door had opened and shut itself.

“Was that…” Madison swallowed. “Who opened the door?”

“It was the GHOST!” Mrs. Third Floor sobbed. “The ghost opened the door. It’s still there!”

Oscar cocked his head and looked at Walt.

Walt narrowed her eyes.“MR. WIGGLES.”

— 9 —

WHILE MRS. FOOD WAS ON hold with the police, Madison attempted to console Mrs. Third Floor. (She was not successful.)

“It’s not a ghost,” Mrs. Food said, covering the phone with her hand. “I promise.” Mrs. Third Floor didn’t even look up. She just sobbed into Madison’s shoulder.

Madison patted her tentatively on the back.“She’s right. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a ghost.”

“Official Ghost Investigator meeting, now,” Oscar said, jerking his head toward the rats’ aquarium. Walt and Butterbean strolled casually over to the aquarium, trying not to look suspicious. Which was relatively easy, since no one was looking at them.

“We’ve got to warn Jerome,” Oscar said once everyone had gathered. “This is a disaster. The police are coming! They’ll arrest Jerome!”

Walt sniffed.“Jerome is on his own,” she said, keeping one eye on the humans. “We warned him what would happen. ORDERING A PIZZA?” she huffed in disgust.

“Do you think there’s any left?” Butterbean asked, trying to keep from drooling. Pizza was her weakness. “If there’s pizza, I could go warn him. I don’t mind.”

Walt huffed again, louder this time. It almost sounded like a hairball.“None of us can go warn him, Bean!” she said. “Mrs. Food is RIGHT THERE. She’d see us if we tried to leave!”

Butterbean sighed. Walt had a point. It wasn’t like she was the best at sneaking anyway.

Polo nudged Marco in the ribs.“We could go, maybe? We could use the vents, now that they’re not haunted.”

“It’s my apartment,” Wallace said. “I should protect it.”

“Yeah,” Marco said. “It’s Wallace’s apartment. He should go. We could just run up real quick.”

“Plus pizza,” Polo added. She didn’t think she’d ever had pizza before, and she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.

“Not our problem,” Walt said, lashing her tail.

“But Walt, he’s a CELEBRITY! If they catch him, he’ll be in the paper for MONTHS.” Oscar hopped from his perch to the side of the cage.

Walt glared at him.“Too bad! We already did our part!” She sat down, curling her tail around her feet. “We can’t get involved. Look, once the police get there, they’ll realize it’s not a ghost and—URK!” Walt made a retching sound as she suddenly flew upward.

Mrs. Third Floor was standing over them, clutching Walt by the middle.

Butterbean reeled back a step in shock. She’d never imagined noises like that could come out of a midsized cat.

“I need this cat!” Mrs. Third Floor wailed, hugging a dangling Walt in her arms. “This cat will keep the spirits at bay. It’s the only thing that can protect me!”

“You okay, Walt?” Marco whispered. Mrs. Third Floor had come out of nowhere.

“Blurg,” Walt gurgled, struggling to get a foothold somewhere on Mrs. Third Floor’s front. Eventually she gave up.

“Meeting adjourned,” Oscar said, keeping an eye on Walt. He puffed out his feathers. If Mrs. Third Floor did anything to hurt her, Oscar was prepared to take a page from Walt’s book and “go for the eyes,” so to speak.

“So, should we go, then?” Polo whispered to Oscar. “Warn them?” It seemed like the perfect opportunity, since Walt was otherwise occupied.

“Hurry,” Oscar said. He just hoped they were doing the right thing.

“The police?” Jerome scoffed when the rats gave him the news. He was sitting in the middle of the living room, eating pizza straight from the box. “OOOOOOH I’m SOO SCARED.” He waggled his tentacles in the air when he said it. It was kind of rude.

“Well, you should be scared!” Wallace said, grumpily kicking a stray pizza crust out of his path. Celebrity or not, Jerome had made a real mess of the place. It didn’t even feel like Wallace’s apartment anymore.

“Look, we didn’t have to warn you!” Polo squeaked angrily. “They know about the pizza, okay? They saw you! They’ll be here any minute.”

“Mrs. Third Floor is pretty upset,” Wallace said seriously.

“What else is new?” Chad said, his mouth full of pizza. He was sitting in a sink full of water in the kitchen, glowering at them in between bites.

Jerome waved a tentacle airily.“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “I made sure I was camouflaged. There’s no way they saw me.”

“That’s the problem!” Polo stomped her foot. “You looked like a ghost!”

“We saw it. It looked like the pizza floated into the apartment,” Wallace said, surreptitiously licking a bit of cheese on the side of the box.

“They have a video,” Marco said, gnawing on a piece of crust. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle—he’d just torn the closest piece off. “It was pretty scary.”

“Marco!” Polo said, pointing an accusing finger at Marco’s piece of crust. “You too?” He froze mid-chew. “Give me that,” she said, tugging at a piece of cheese and taking an angry bite. Then she turned back to the octopuses. “Now, move it, Wiggles!”

“Fine,” Jerome said, stretching his tentacles out like he was just waking up. “I was full anyway.” He started toward the kitchen, snapping his tentacle in Chad’s direction. “Chad, take care of this mess. These rodents don’t want us to have any fun at all.”

Chad flung his pizza at Jerome, hitting him in the head. Jerome stopped short, folding his tentacles in front of him.“Really, Chad? Really? Throwing things? How mature.”

Wallace looked from Chad to Jerome and then back again.“Did we come at a bad time?”

Jerome glared at Chad.“Fine, leave the box. I don’t care. They know about the pizza anyway.”

The elevator in the hallway dinged.

“Oh look, here comes the fuzz.” He laughed. “As if they’d arrest someone of my standing. The papers would never let them live it down.”

He moved across the floor, camouflaging himself as he went. He’d only gone a few feet before the rats couldn’t even tell where he was.

“I’ll never get over how creepy that is,” Polo muttered as Jerome disappeared.

They heard voices in the hallway and a key being inserted into the lock.

Wallace grabbed one last piece of cheese and took off toward the couch.

“Polo, run!” Marco pushed Polo in the direction of the vent. “Chad, Jerome, hide!” He shot a look into the kitchen in time to see Chad sliding into a canister on the countertop.

The door to the apartment swung open as the rats made it to the vent behind the couch. They were safe. Marco just hoped Chad and Jerome would be too.

“Yep, that’s pizza all right.”

Officer Marlowe poked the box with her foot, like she expected it to get up and scurry away. It didn’t.

Mrs. Third Floor and Mrs. Food stood a few feet away with Madison and Butterbean, watching carefully. They looked like they might make a break for the door at any moment.

Officer Travis glanced at the pizza in disgust.“And you say it just ‘floated into the apartment,’ ” he said, waggling his fingers in a spooky way.

“You saw the video, Officer.” Mrs. Third Floor’s voice was frosty. “I didn’t make it up.” She hiked Walt up a little higher in her arms. Walt didn’t even have the heart to meow about it.

“Of course not,” Officer Travis smirked. He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and looked around the apartment. “Floating pizza. There’s a new one every day.”

Mrs. Third Floor turned back to Officer Marlowe and then caught her breath.

“Is that… blood?” she asked tentatively, pointing a foot at a blob of red on the carpet.

Officer Marlowe squatted down and examined the blob. She touched it with one finger and then smelled it.“Pizza sauce, I think,” she said, wiping her finger off. “Not blood.”

“Boy, you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen last night!” Butterbean said. That little blob was nothing compared to the cocktail sauce she’d investigated.

Officer Marlowe stood up.“Officer Travis will take the rest of your statement. I’ll check the apartment for other signs of an intruder.” She headed back toward the bedrooms.

“Blarg,” Walt said, squirming uncomfortably. Mrs. Third Floor hadn’t loosened her grip once since she’d first picked her up. And one thing was clear. Mrs. Third Floor didn’t know the correct way to hold a cat.

“Do you need help, Walt?” Butterbean asked, straining to sniff at Mrs. Third Floor’s legs. (Madison was keeping a pretty tight grip on the leash.) “Blarg twice if you need help. I could go for the eyes!” She’d never tried it before, but it sounded exciting.

Walt glared at her.

“Here, let me take the cat so you can show Officer Travis the video again,” Mrs. Food said, reaching out as Walt meowed pitifully. Mrs. Third Floor frowned and clutched Walt closer.

“I’ve seen it already,” Officer Travis said quickly.

Mrs. Food tugged lightly at Walt.“Mildred…”

Butterbean wuffled softly. She’d seen something like this before, only it had been at Thanksgiving, and with a wishbone, not a cat.

“Okay, that’s… fine, I guess.” Mrs. Third Floor reluctantly loosened her grip and handed Walt off to Mrs. Food, who gave a visible sigh of relief.

Walt curled into Mrs. Food’s arms and quickly examined her midsection. She was surprised there wasn’t a mark.

“Here, see?” Mrs. Third Floor opened her handbag and took out her phone, snapping her handbag shut again with a loud click. She held the phone up for Officer Travis. “Look at this video!”

Officer Travis didn’t even look at it before pushing it away. “I’ve seen it. I know, unexplained pizza activity.” He rolled his eyes. “It flew.”

“Floated,” Mrs. Food corrected.

“Whatever. I got it,” Officer Travis said, examining his nails.

“But…” Mrs. Third Floor looked at her phone sadly. “There’s video.”

“Nothing suspicious in there,” Officer Marlowe said as she came back into the room. “No sign of an intruder. I did wonder about the water pressure, though, so I checked it out. It’s good.”

“Well, that’s something,” Mrs. Third Floor said, turning back toward her handbag to put her phone away. Her handbag was standing open.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Third Floor frowned and put her phone back inside. Then she snapped the handbag shut.

“Uh-oh,” Butterbean said, eyeing the handbag. She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, and there was no rat hanging there to blame it on.

“Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do at the moment,” Officer Marlowe said. “But if you’ll initial right here, we’ll file another report and let you know when we have any new information.” Officer Marlowe handed her a pad of paper.

“Right,” Officer Travis snorted.

“Yes, okay,” Mrs. Third Floor said, shooting Officer Travis a look before taking the paper. “I just need a pen.” She looked down at her handbag. It was open.

Mrs. Third Floor visibly jumped. She pointed at the handbag.“But I—I closed that!”

Officer Marlowe took a pen out of her pocket and held it out to Mrs. Third Floor.“What, the purse? Sometimes latches don’t catch.” She smiled. “Your initials?”

“Walt?” Butterbean said. Her bad feeling was getting worse.

“I know,” Walt said. They both had their eyes on the handbag.

“Right, of course.” Mrs. Third Floor closed her handbag again and took the pen.

“And I just initial…”

“Here.” Officer Marlowe pointed at the paper.

“Of course.” Mrs. Third Floor initialed the paper and then turned back to her handbag. It was standing wide open.

“AAIIIIEEEEE!” Mrs. Third Floor clutched at Officer Marlowe’s arm.

A small snickering sound came from under the coffee table.

“JEROME!” Walt yowled, struggling to get away from Mrs. Food. “I KNOW THAT’S YOU.”

“IT’S THE GHOST!” Mrs. Third Floor wailed. Officer Marlowe shot a look at Officer Travis. He was smirking.

A loud crash came from the kitchen.

Officer Travis was suddenly serious. He unhooked his flashlight and turned to Officer Marlowe.“I’ll check that out. You take care of her.”

Flashlight in hand, Officer Travis crept slowly and silently into the kitchen, followed by a slightly less silent Butterbean.

As he came through the door, he stopped short.

A small white figure hovered in the sink.

Officer Travis stood dead in his tracks and stared. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. All of the color drained from his face. Hand shaking, he pointed the flashlight beam at the sink.

The white figure raised what seemed to be a hundred arms and waggled them in the air before disappearing completely.

“URGH!” Officer Travis gurgled as he flung the flashlight at the sink, sending it clattering onto the counter. Then he raced over and looked inside. There was nothing there, just a fine powdery residue sprinkled on the countertop.

He quickly bent down, examining the cabinet under the sink.

Nothing.

“What was it?” Officer Marlowe called from the living room.

“Was it the ghost?” Mrs. Third Floor squeaked.

Officer Travis leaned against the sink for a long minute, then looked back into the living room, his eyes glazed.“Nothing. It was nothing.” He picked up the flashlight and hooked it back onto his belt.

Officer Marlowe appeared in the doorway.“But what—”

“This is a waste of time,” Officer Travis said abruptly, pushing past her into the living room. “We’ve got the report. I’m leaving. Waste of time.” He lunged for the door and slammed it hard behind him.

Walt squirmed free of Mrs. Food’s grip and streaked into the kitchen, where Butterbean was standing with her paws on the counter. Walt hopped up and examined the white powder as Officer Marlowe came in.

“I apologize for my partner. But please, ma’am, could you control your animals?” Officer Marlowe’s voice was tight.

Mrs. Third Floor peered through the doorway.“What’s that white stuff?” She gasped. “ECTOPLASM?”

Walt sniffed it.“Flour.”

“Was that Chad?” Butterbean asked softly as Madison hurried into the kitchen.

“Sorry about that.” Chad’s voice drifted up from the drain in the sink. “I picked a bad hiding place. It’s all over me.”

Madison picked the canister lid up off of the floor.“I think your flour canister exploded,” she said, turning the lid over in her hands. Then she nudged Butterbean conspiratorially.

“Look, this is all super weird, right?” Madison whispered softly. “But I’m just not getting a ghosty feeling. Are you?” She looked at Butterbean with a serious expression.

Butterbean thumped her tail. It had worked last time, and she wasn’t good at whispering.

Madison nodded.“Right.” She took a deep breath and turned back to Mrs. Third Floor. “You know, that happens with flour A LOT, from what I hear.” She shot Mrs. Food a significant look.

Mrs. Food looked puzzled for a second and then nodded like she was a bobblehead.“Oh yes, all the time,” Mrs. Food agreed. “It’s the… um… pressure. It just builds up. Right, Officer?”

Officer Marlowe sighed.“Sure. Tons of flour explosion reports. If I had a nickel,” she said stiffly, patting Mrs. Third Floor on the back. “Nothing to worry about here.” She held up the paper. “Thanks for the report. I’ll be in touch.”

Shooting a worried glance into the kitchen, she turned and hurried out of the apartment.

“It really was just a fluke,” Mrs. Food said. “Bad batch of flour.”

“Probably expired,” Madison added.

Butterbean wagged her tail. Sounded plausible to her.

Mrs. Third Floor shook her head.“I don’t care. I’ve had it. This is the last straw.” She jutted her chin out at Madison. “I’M CALLING THE GHOST MEN.”

— 10 —

MADISON COLLAPSED ONTO MRS. FOOD’S couch. “She won’t really do it, right? Call those TV guys?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Food said, sinking down onto the couch next to her. “Technically, it doesn’t qualify as a ghost sighting, so even if she did, I doubt they’d be interested. But then, I thought the police would’ve found the intruder by now, so…” She threw up her hands.

They’d spent the last few hours helping Mrs. Third Floor clean up after the police left, which meant they cleaned while Mrs. Third Floor sniffled and hugged Walt. It was a relief to be back home again.

“Sheesh,” Madison said. She was too tired to move. She never would’ve expected ghosts to be so exhausting. She looked at the clock. “Oh shoot. Butterbean needs to go out.” She didn’t move.

“She can wait a little longer,” Mrs. Food said, closing her eyes.

“It’s okay, I used Walt’s litter box,” Butterbean said, trotting in from the kitchen.

“HEY!” Walt jumped onto the armchair, her fur bristling.

“Desperate times, Walt.” Butterbean flopped onto the floor next to the rats’ aquarium. “So what are we going to do? Are those ghost guys really going to investigate the apartment?”

Wallace poked his head out from underneath the cedar chips.“I don’t want them there,” Wallace said. “Don’t I have any tenant’s rights?”

Oscar gave him a sympathetic look.“Technically, I think you’re a squatter,” he said. “So no, not really.”

“You should’ve signed a lease,” Marco said, patting Wallace on what he thought was his shoulder. It was hard to tell with all the cedar chips in the way.

Madison cleared her throat.“So you think it’s definitely an intruder?” she asked tentatively.

“Of course it’s an intruder.” Mrs. Food opened her eyes. “Nothing else makes sense. It’s not a ghost, that’s for sure. Why would a ghost order pizza?” She picked up the remote. “Let’s see if we made the news. The publicity would just kill Mildred.” She turned on the Television.

“OOOH! The News!” Oscar jumped up onto the bars of his cage to get a better view. He’d been feeling seriously News deprived. It had been almost a whole day. Anything could’ve happened.

“Look, it’s Jerome!” Polo pointed at the screen.

There, on the screen, was a candid shot of Mr. Wiggles spitting water at a crowd of squealing zoo-goers. Then the image changed to a shot of a reporter in front of an empty tank, surrounded by sniffling and depressed-looking fans.

“… and while the zoo has not found any signs of the missing octopus, officials say they have not given up the search. In addition, they are considering a wide range of options in the event that Mr. Wiggles is not found.”

“What does that mean?” Polo asked. Marco shrugged.

“Wow, I can’t believe he’s still missing! Everything seemed normal there when I saw him,” Madison said. “I wonder where he went?”

“He went with you!” Butterbean barked. “In your water bottle!”

“I’ve heard about octopuses escaping before,” Mrs. Food said thoughtfully. “They’ll probably find him hiding in another tank somewhere.”

“Or upstairs! He’s in Wallace’s apartment!” Butterbean tried again. Mrs. Food turned up the sound.

“… but without their star attraction, zoo attendance has reportedly dropped significantly. Back to you, Herb,” the reporter on the screen finished.

“That’s terrible. I hope they find him soon,” Madison said.

“UPSTAIRS! He’s in the apartment you JUST LEFT!” Butterbean made a face. She turned to Walt and shook her head. “I keep trying to tell her.”

“I know,” Walt said sympathetically.

“It’s okay, Butterbean,” Madison said, standing up. “You can stop barking now. I’ll walk you.”

“Madison, wait—look!” Mrs. Food turned up the volume on the TV. “It’s them!”

A commercial featuring low spooky music had just started. Oscar peered closely at the Television. A slick-haired man and a bald man with a mustache stood in a room filled with lots of thick mist. It would’ve been spookier if the room hadn’t looked like a condo in a sitcom. But then Oscar had discriminating tastes.

“And RIGHT HERE, in Agnes Nessman’s OWN HOME, we were able to identify and communicate with three very agitated spirits.” The two men waved their arms in ghostly ways while they talked. “And with our help, those uneasy souls have returned to their rightful place IN THE AFTERLIFE!” Thunderclapped onscreen.

Butterbean walked so close to the Television that her nose smudged the screen. The house where the ghost men were standing didn’t look like it was haunted. And she didn’t see any ghosts.

“Do the ghosts not show up for the commercials?” Butterbean asked after a second.

Oscar shrugged.“I wouldn’t know,” he said disdainfully. “This is not a show I watch.”

“Tune in for a brand-new episode tonight on Channel Fifty-Seven. And don’t forget,” one of the men onscreen said. “There’s no residence too big…”