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

“And no ghost too small,” the other man continued.

“For the Ghost Eliminators!” they finished together. The thunder clapped again. It didn’t even sound like real thunder. (Butterbean would know. Real thunder scared the heck out of her.)

“That’s them?” Madison took the remote from Mrs. Food and ran the commercial back. “They look like they work at a bank. And what are those graphics?”

Butterbean thought she must be talking about the squiggles of fake mist in the background. They were impressive, as far as squiggles went. But that wasn’t saying much.

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I can’t imagine they’ll be interested in Mildred’s problem,” Mrs. Food said, examining the frozen grin of one of the men onscreen.

“I hope not.” Madison didn’t like the looks of those guys. She didn’t think they were serious scientists. “And you’re sure it’s not a fiction show?”

Mrs. Food turned the Television off.“Who knows? She’ll never get hold of them anyway.”

“Good. They creep me out,” Madison said, going to get Butterbean’s leash.

“I don’t want those guys here,” Butterbean said as Madison put on her shoes and jacket. “I don’t like their squiggles.”

Madison came over and clipped the leash to Butterbean’s collar. “Come on, dog, let’s get you outside before you make a mess.” She shot a look at Mrs. Food and lowered her voice. “But first, we’ll take a little side trip upstairs. We need to figure out this ghost stuff fast, before those creepy TV guys get involved.”

Butterbean shot Oscar a panicked look.“Oscar?”

“Keep tabs on her, Bean,” Oscar warned.

Butterbean nodded solemnly and trotted after Madison.

But as soon as Madison opened the front door, she took a startled step back. Because there, in the doorway, was Mrs. Third Floor. And she had a crazed grin on her face.

“Um, hi?” Madison stood for a second, unsure of what to do. Mrs. Third Floor didn’t say anything. She just stood there grinning. Madison decided to try again. “Do you want to come in?”

“Good thing I used the box,” Butterbean grumbled.

“What’s going on, Mildred?” Mrs. Food stood up, smoothing her pants. “Have you heard from the police already?”

“Better!” Mrs. Third Floor burst out excitedly, waving a piece of paper in the air. It looked like it had been torn off of a yellow notepad. “I called the ghost men!”

“Already?” Madison yelped, shooting a look at Butterbean.

Mrs. Food’s smile looked forced. “And?”

“And they’ll do it!” Mrs. Third Floor did a little dance in the doorway.

“Oh crud,” Oscar said, looking at Walt.

“Really?” Madison exchanged a worried glance with Mrs. Food. “For real?”

“For real!” Mrs. Third Floor cheered, happily clutching her paper. “I told them all about the apartment, and they were VERY interested. They’re coming tomorrow!”

“Wow, tomorrow?” Mrs. Food looked stunned. “That fast?”

“That fast. They said time was of the essence with spirits.” She looked at her watch. “Do you think there’s time to go to the bank before it closes?”

Madison twisted the leash around her hand.“The bank? Why?”

“For their deposit, silly! But don’t worry—they don’t charge the full fee unless they find something.” Mrs. Third Floor waved the paper again. “They’ll even set up an installment plan for me!”

Mrs. Food frowned. She didn’t like the sound of this. “How big a fee?”

“WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE? MY RENTAL IS HAUNTED!” Mrs. Third Floor screeched. Then she bent down and took some deep breaths. When she stood up again, the manic smile was back on her face.

“It’s fine,” Mrs. Third Floor laughed. “I’ll just go in the morning.”

Mrs. Food took a step forward.“Mildred. You’re under a lot of stress—”

“Just have the animals ready. I want you all to come with me.” Mrs. Third Floor squeezed Madison’s arm. “Moral support. Okay?”

“Okay,” Madison said uncertainly.

Mrs. Third Floor beamed at them and hurried out of the apartment.

“Um…” Madison looked at Mrs. Food, who marched into her office without another word. Madison looked down at Butterbean and unclipped her leash. “No point going now. We’re too late,” she said, shaking her head in disgust.

“Um. Walk?” Butterbean said as Madison disappeared down the hall. Butterbean looked up at Oscar. “Oscar? This is bad.”

“I know,” Oscar said, clicking his beak. “Walt? They’re coming tomorrow.”

Walt narrowed her eyes.“No ghost means no fee, right?” She stood up. “Then we just have to make sure they don’t find anything.” She turned to Butterbean. “Cover for me. I’m going to talk to Jerome.”

— 11 —

WALT’S TALK WITH JEROME WAS not going well.

“But you can just stay with Chad! What’s the big deal? It’s for a couple of days, tops.” Walt was so frustrated, she was spitting when she talked.

“Absolutely not,” Chad said. “No.”

Jerome snorted.“Like I’d stay someplace like THAT.”

Chad glared at him.

“But don’t you understand, there are going to be ELIMINATORS coming tomorrow.” Walt tried to be calm. “They think you’re a GHOST. They’re going to charge money.”

Jerome chuckled.“I think that’s hilarious! Think of all the fun I can have with them!” He wriggled his tentacles in anticipation.

“But money!” Wallace said softly. He’d insisted on coming along, since it was his apartment (and since he wouldn’t be missed back at Mrs. Food’s place). He didn’t think Jerome was quite getting the problem.

Walt stared at Jerome for a long minute, considering. It was time for a new approach.“Think of all the terrible publicity when you get caught,” Walt said finally. “So humiliating.” She shook her head.

“You’d be in the tabloid papers,” Wallace said, taking his cue from Walt. “But in a BAD way.”

“Do you really want to get caught by those guys?” Walt added. “They’re much lower level celebrities than you are.”

Jerome drummed his tentacles on the countertop.“Hmm. True.” Then he brightened. “But that’s assuming I’ll get caught, which I obviously won’t. You saw how I handled the police!” He chuckled again. “Did you see how that one man ran away! And that woman screamed when I opened her purse!”

“That was Mrs. Third Floor!” Wallace squeaked. “Our LANDLADY.”

Walt gritted her teeth.“Okay, that? That’s exactly what you CAN’T do.” She took a deep breath. “Look, stay here all you want, okay? I don’t care what you do. But just take a break for a little while. Trust me.”

Wallace opened his mouth to object, but Walt silenced him with a glance.

Walt got up and stalked over to Jerome.“When those ghost guys are here, you have to be quiet. Because don’t you see? If you do ANYTHING to make them think there’s a ghost here, they’ll keep coming back. Again and again and again. You won’t get a minute’s peace. It’ll be worse than the paparazzi.”

Jerome shuddered. Chad rolled his eyes and examined a sardine tin on the counter near Jerome. It was empty.

“And don’t forget the money!” Wallace piped up. “It sounds like they’re going to charge Mrs. Third Floor a LOT.” He felt like that was a really important part.

Jerome waved his tentacle dismissively.“I don’t care about that,” he said. “But I do want my peace and quiet. That’s the whole point of being here!”

“Exactly!” Walt said. “So will you keep quiet? No tricks?”

“But that’s so boring!” Jerome whined.

“Please?” Wallace said. “I’ll even move out completely. The apartment will be all yours until she rents it out. Think of all the parties you and Chad can have!”

Chad snorted.

“Quiet parties,” Walt added.

Jerome changed from dark to light a few times while he considered. Then he patted Walt on the head condescendingly.“Fine. No tricks.”

“Promise?” Walt said skeptically. She didn’t trust this octopus any farther than she could throw him (and that didn’t seem like it would be far).

“Promise,” Jerome said.

“And stop freaking Mrs. Third Floor out, too!” Wallace said. “She’s been over A LOT. Think of Mrs. Food!”

Jerome made a face.“Look, I’ll do what I can. But I can only be responsible for myself.”

“What do you mean?” Walt narrowed her eyes.

“I mean this.” Jerome reached out one tentacle and thumped on the wall. After a few seconds an unearthly wail drifted through the air.

“What the heck?” Wallace squeaked. “I thought there was no ghost!”

Walt groaned.“That’s the prima donna next door, isn’t it?”

Jerome nodded smugly.“So it’s not just up to me, sweetie.”

Walt lashed her tail in frustration.“Fine. If we can make her be quiet, you’re in?”

Jerome smiled.“Of course.” Then he snickered. “If you can work magic.”

Walt stalked off without looking back.“Wallace? Time for stop number two.”

“Have you seen the cat? She’s not anywhere,” Madison said, looking around the living room for Walt. She’d already been though the apartment twice, and it wasn’t that big.

“Oh shoot. Oh shoot. Oh shoot,” Butterbean muttered as she ran in circles in the living room. She did not have a plan to handle this. Walt had said to cover for her, and distraction was Butterbean’s main covering technique. But for some reason racing around the living room was not working.

Mrs. Food waited for Butterbean to race by as she made her way to the kitchen.“Oh, you know cats. She’ll show up when she’s good and ready.” She stepped over Butterbean as the dog rounded the turn.

“I guess. It’s weird that I can’t find her, though.” Madison stood thoughtfully, stepping out of the way every time Butterbean made the circuit. “Maybe I’ll look in the office again.”

“Good plan,” Mrs. Food said.

“Thank goodness,” Butterbean said, collapsing on the floor as Madison left the room.

The rats burst out in a round of applause.“Way to go, Bean!” Polo cheered.

“Those circles were awesome!” Marco said. “I almost threw up!”

“Thanks,” Butterbean said, blushing. Maybe she’d mix things up a little more next time. Figure eights would keep them on their toes.

Oscar eyed the vent nervously. He didn’t think Madison was going to give up the search. He just hoped Walt would be back in time.

Stop number two was not going well.

“You do realize you’re interrupting my valuable rehearsal time. And can I just add how rude it is to stick your head into someone’s house uninvited?”

The white cat was sitting on a pink satin pillow in the middle of her apartment. Wallace and Walt had crept along the vents until they found the floor vent leading to her living room. And, to be fair, Wallacehad stuck his head through the grate.

“Um, sorry about that,” Wallace said, ducking his head back into the vent.

The white cat sighed.“No, it’s FINE. You’ve destroyed my focus, so you might as well come in.” She stalked over to the grate and swiped at it with her paw. The grate fell down onto the carpet with a thud. “I made a few renovations when I moved in.”

Walt nodded approvingly.“I made the same renovation in our apartment.”

Wallace wrung his hands nervously. Being in between two cats was pretty much his worst nightmare, and he just wanted it to be over. He didn’t know why they were talking about decorating. He cleared his throat. “We came about your… um… singing.”

“Yeah. Cut it out,” Walt said, smiling a tight smile. “Please.”

“Walt!” Wallace squealed. He’d been wrong about his worst nightmare. Being between two angry cats was much worse than being between just regular cats. He wished they’d go back to talking about the decorating stuff.

Walt sighed and then bowed her head a little.“Please,” she said again. “At least for the next few days. We’ve got some visitors coming by next door tomorrow, and well, let’s just say they won’t appreciate your talents.”

“They’re not music lovers, I take it?” the white cat said.

“Those guys? Hardly,” Walt smirked. “What do you think, Wallace? Are they music lovers?”

“N-no?” Wallace wished he could just go home. He didn’t know why Walt was questioning him.

“No. They’re eliminators,” Walt said. “So if you could just—”

“If you don’t mind,” the white cat said, examining one paw. “I don’t have time to listen to you talk about your social schedule. As it happens, I’m fully booked for tomorrow, so I wouldn’t serenade your guests even if they begged me.” She waved a paw at them. “You can go.”

“Um, okay.” Wallace turned abruptly and marched toward the vent. Walt put a paw on his tail and stopped him short. “Or not.”

“Look, cat, this is serious. Do you promise?” Walt looked at the white cat through narrowed eyes. “No singing?”

“As if I would give a performance for free,” the white cat scoffed. “Please leave me.”

Walt started to go, but then hesitated.“That’s a promise, right?”

The white cat looked at them for a long second.“You really don’t recognize me?”

“Aw crud, another celebrity?” Wallace groaned.

The white cat laughed.“You’re funny. Does this ring a bell?” She stood up on her haunches and then waved both front paws in the air, meowing pitifully.

Walt and Wallace exchanged a confused glance.“Nooo?” Walt said slowly.

The white cat sighed.“Beautiful Buffet Cat Food?” She sighed again. “I’ve acted in almost all of their commercials. I’m retired now, though. You’re one of the lucky few to see me perform off screen.”

“Thanks?” Wallace said.

The white cat bowed her head at him slightly and then turned, tail high in the air.“Put the grate back on your way out,” she called over her shoulder as she stalked out of the room.

Walt and Wallace looked at each other.“So I guess we’re all set?” Wallace asked. “Since they promised?’

Walt had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.“I just hope you’re right.”

“And I had to run around the living room SEVEN THOUSAND TIMES!” Butterbean said when Walt and Wallace got back. “AT LEAST!”

“She was a great distraction!” Polo said as Wallace climbed back into the cage.

Marco nodded.“I couldn’t watch anything else.”

“You should’ve seen when she switched to figure eights,” Polo added. “She almost knocked Mrs. Food into the kitchen!”

Walt gave Butterbean a warning look.“Bean! You know she’s fragile.”

“I did NOT,” Butterbean said, shooting an icy look at Polo. “I was very careful.”

“Heads up, Walt,” Oscar squawked, watching the hallway. “Madison’s coming. She’s been looking for you.”

Walt nodded and hurried to her bed. She had just curled into a ball when Madison came back into the room.

“I still can’t find her anywhe— There you are!” Madison said, walking over to Walt’s bed. She stared at her for a moment with a puzzled expression on her face. “Have you been there the whole time?” She frowned. “I swear I looked there!”

Walt meowed at her sleepily.

“Weird.” Madison patted Walt on the head and then stood up again. “Weird,” she repeated. Then, shaking her head, she went into the kitchen.

“Is it all set?” Oscar asked quietly after Madison had gone.

“All set,” Walt said. “When those ghost men get here, we’ll be ready for them. Trust me, there will be no ghost.”

She just hoped what she said was true.

— 12 —

BUTTERBEAN HAD A BAD FEELING about the ghost men from the minute they set foot in the apartment, mostly because they almost stepped on her. And the worst part was, they didn’t even really seem to notice.

“Watch the dog, please!” Mrs. Food said, scooping Butterbean up in her arms and examining her paw. Butterbean whimpered, mostly for effect. She was always up for a little sympathy.

“Oh yeah, oops. I was just overwhelmed by the spiritual presence in this apartment. I’m not surprised you’ve had trouble,” the first ghost man said, brushing past her as he walked into the room. He had hair that was slicked back, and the smell tickled Butterbean’s nose.

“Really,” Mrs. Food said. Her voice was frosty.

“Yeah, it’s super strong,” the second man said in a bored voice, rubbing his bald head and then smoothing his mustache. He looked around the apartment like he was appraising the furniture. Polo considered hiding her button under a pile of cedar chips. She didn’t trust these guys.

Oscar’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the Bald Guy’s head. “The common household appliance,” he muttered under his breath. He would never forgive himself for missing that News segment.

“It must be quite a presence if you can feel it down here.” Mrs. Food put Butterbean back down on the floor. “I’m Mrs. Fudeker. The apartment we told you about is upstairs. This is my apartment.”

“Sure, I sensed that.” Mr. Slick Hair nodded, shooting a look at the Bald Guy.

“No doubt,” the Bald Guy said. “The whole building is probably a portal.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Mrs. Third Floor said. She held out her hand. “I’m Mrs.—”

“Mrs. Third Floor!” Butterbean barked helpfully. “Her name’s Mrs. Third Floor!” Mr. Slick Hair shot her a nasty look.

“Oh, you don’t need to introduce yourself to me,” Mr. Slick Hair said, taking Mrs. Third Floor by the shoulders and gazing into her eyes. “The pain on your beautiful face tells me just who you are. It’s your apartment that we’re here to see.”

“Oh brother,” Madison said under her breath.

Mrs. Third Floor flushed and giggled.“Oh, well! Yes. It’s my rental unit.”

“Of course it is,” the man said, patting her on the shoulder as he let her go. “Let me introduce myself. My name is—”

“You’re Johnny Sims!” Mrs. Third Floor burbled. “I watch your show every week.” She turned to the Bald Guy. “And you’re—”

“Gordon Bailey. Right, now, let’s get a move on. Wouldn’t want anyone to get possessed, now would we?” He shot a nasty look at Walt, like Walt was plotting to possess somebody. Walt peeked back over her shoulder to check, but no, he was definitely looking at her. Her fur bristled.

Mrs. Third Floor’s eyes widened. “Can that happen?”

The Bald Guy shrugged.“Happens all the time. We’ve seen it, what? Ten, twenty times?”

“At least. But we’re here now. You have nothing to fear.” Mr. Slick Hair smiled at Mrs. Third Floor.

“Good.” Mrs. Third Floor leaned over and grabbed Walt around the middle. “I’m ready.”

“URK!” Walt gagged as she was hauled up into Mrs. Third Floor’s arms. She was never prepared for a scoop lift.

Mr. Slick Hair frowned.“You’re bringing the cat?”

“Oh yes, she protects me. Madison, get Butterbean’s leash. Let’s go.” Mrs. Third Floor looked like she was bracing for a fight.

The Bald Guy shook his head.“Whatever, lady. Let’s get going.”

“So you actually saw an apparition?” Mr. Slick Hair asked Mrs. Third Floor while they waited for the elevator.

“Yes, I did!” Mrs. Third Floor said, beaming up at him. Mrs. Food caught her eye and gave a slight shake of the head.

“Well, not exactly SAW,” Mrs. Third Floor said slowly. “But there was the video—the pizza floated!”

“Yes, very intriguing,” Mr. Slick Hair said. He patted his bag. “We brought some equipment to get some initial readings. That should tell us where we stand.”

The elevator bell dinged, and the doors opened. It wasn’t empty.

Mrs. Power Walker was standing in the elevator.

“Oh, hello there!” she said, looking down at Butterbean. “Brought more friends along this time, I see.”

Butterbean wagged her tail in response.

Mrs. Third Floor looked confused.“Um, yes? There are a lot of us. Pardon me.” There was a small stampede as everyone tried to squeeze into the elevator.

“Five?” Mrs. Power Walker’s finger hovered over the button.

Butterbean and Walt exchanged a panicked glance. The last thing they needed was for Mrs. Power Walker to blow their cover. If she did, their days of exploring the apartment building were over.

“What? Yes, five. But how…” Mrs. Third Floor looked even more confused.

Mrs. Power Walker caught Butterbean’s eye and shrugged as she pushed the button for the fifth floor. Butterbean lolled her tongue in response.

“Urk,” Walt meowed pleadingly.

Mrs. Power Walker patted her on the head.“Nice kitty.”

Then she winked.

“Oh yeah, the spiritual vibes are super strong here,” Mr. Slick Hair said when they got off the elevator. “They’re just rolling off that apartment right… there?” He pointed at the white cat’s apartment.

“There,” Madison said, pointing at 5B. “It’s that one. With the spooky ducky doormat.”

Butterbean examined the doormat. She’d never considered the duck wearing a bonnet to be spooky before, but now that Madison mentioned it, there was something unnatural about it. As far as Butterbean knew, real ducks didn’t wear bonnets.

“Of course,” Mr. Slick Hair said, barely even looking at the duck. “I can sense a real presence here.”

“Right,” Mrs. Food said, unlocking the door. Then she stood back. “Voil?.”

Mr. Slick Hair strolled inside, looking around thoughtfully. Butterbean peered in after him. It was quiet. If she didn’t know better, she would never have guessed an octopus had been living there for the past few days.

“I’m feeling a really dangerous presence here,” Mr. Slick Hair said, pressing his hand to his temple. “Super-strong vibes.”

“You said that,” Madison said, adjusting the leash in her hand. “Vibes of who? A ghost? Someone in particular?”

“I work best with silence, kid,” Mr. Slick Hair said without looking at her. “Don’t poison the atmosphere.”

“Hush, Madison,” Mrs. Food said softly. “Let them work.”

Madison rolled her eyes.

The Bald Guy unzipped the equipment bag and took out a video camera and an elaborate-looking machine with lots of dials.

“So, do you need me to show you around? Or would that disturb the atmosphere?” Mrs. Third Floor hovered anxiously near Mr. Slick Hair.

He held out a hand at her.“Please. Let me take it all in.”

“Um, I… okay.” Mrs. Third Floor glanced nervously at Mrs. Food and pursed her mouth shut tightly, like she was afraid she’d keep talking otherwise.

“Walt!” Butterbean attempted to whisper (with limited success). “Do you see Jerome anywhere?”

“Blerg,” Walt said as she dangled from Mrs. Third Floor’s arms.

Butterbean took that for a no. Unless Walt could see something Butterbean couldn’t, it seemed like Jerome was actually going to keep his word for once.

“Someone looking for me?” A voice drifted down from the light fixture overhead.

“Oh no.” Butterbean was just in time to see a long tentacle drop down from the glass bowl covering the light. It dangled right over Mr. Slick Hair’s head.

Walt made a sputtering sound. Butterbean held her breath, but luckily, no one seemed to notice the tentacle hanging from overhead. They were all focused on the Bald Guy setting up the equipment.

“JEROME! CUT IT OUT!” Walt hissed in a strangled voice. “NOT CUTE.” Mrs. Third Floor glanced down with a puzzled expression and loosened her grip a little.

“What’s not cute? This?” Another tentacle dropped down on the side of Mr. Slick Hair’s head and then moved around in the classic “I’m not touching you” style.

“HEY!” Butterbean barked. All of the humans turned to look at her. Mr. Slick Hair came within a whisker of touching the dangling tentacle but still didn’t see it.

“JEROME!” Butterbean barked again so hard that her feet lifted off the floor. “You PROMISED!”

“You guys are no fun,” Jerome sighed from overhead. “You’re right. I promised. I’ll be good.” The tentacles shot back up into the light fixture.

Mr. Slick Hair shivered.“Did you guys feel that? It’s like a spirit just went past. I could feel its essence next to my skin.”

“YEARRRGHH,” Walt growled, scowling fiercely at the light fixture.

“See? Even the animals sense it,” Mr. Slick Hair said, glancing down at Walt. Walt hissed at him and then turned her bones to jelly and slithered onto the floor.

“No! Cat—” Mrs. Third Floor started, but it was too late. Walt had disappeared under the sofa.

“What kind of readings are you getting, Gord?” Mr. Slick Hair said. The Bald Guy fiddled with the machine and turned one of the dials. A sharp alarm sounded throughout the apartment.

“Sounds like we’ve got a ghost, Johnny,” the Bald Guy said in a flat tone. Then he turned the dial back down. Butterbean sniffed his foot. (Just dirt.)

“Oh! That’s a ghost alarm?” Mrs. Third Floor clutched her hands together.

“It sure is. You’ve got a very haunted apartment here. Verified ghost in here,” Mr. Slick Hair said, patting the machine. “These machines never lie.”

“Oh no!” Mrs. Third Floor clasped her hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Can you get rid of it?”

Mr. Slick Hair nodded solemnly.“We can. But I’m afraid it won’t be cheap, right, Gord?”

Gord shook his head and stuck his hands in his pockets.“These things never are, unfortunately.”

“Wait, really?” Madison cocked her head. “I mean, really? A ghost alarm?”

Mr. Slick Hair turned and looked at her coolly.“So. You’re a skeptic, is that it?”

“Don’t believe in the other side?” The Bald Guy crossed his arms.

“It’s not that. I mean—” Madison hesitated. Butterbean leaned hard against her leg and looked up at her with her best “something is up” face on. Madison frowned and then gave a slight nod.

“I mean, I guess I am skeptical?” Madison finally said. “It doesn’t seem very haunted to me, that’s all. And I don’t see how that machine can tell if it is.”

“That’s it. Out.” Mr. Slick Hair pointed at the door. “You’re disrupting our readings.”

“You mean the readings that just said there was a ghost?” Madison asked, her eyes narrowing. “So they’re not accurate?”

“I can’t work with her here. She needs to leave.” Mr. Slick Hair turned to Mrs. Third Floor. “She needs to take that dog and go. They’re disturbing the spirits.”

“You should go, dear,” Mrs. Third Floor said apologetically. “The spirits are getting disturbed.”

“But…” Madison started, but Mrs. Third Floor was already pushing her toward the door.

“No arguments. We’ll tell you what happens,” Mrs. Third Floor said firmly.

Butterbean tried to dig her feet into the carpet, but it didn’t stop her from being dragged across the room. Not even when she flopped on her side and went limp. “NOOOOOOOOO!” Butterbean wailed as she and Madison were pushed out into the hallway. “It’s up to you, Walt!” she cried as the door closed behind them.

Walt ducked down farther under the couch. The only thing visible was her eyes.

The Bald Guy cracked his knuckles.“Actually, the spirits don’t like having this many people around,” he said. “They should all go.”

“Right.” Mr. Slick Hair made a sad face at Mrs. Third Floor. “I’m so sorry. You’ll need to leave too. Both of you,” he added, looking at Mrs. Food. “It’s not me—it’s the spirits. You understand.”

“Mildred, I don’t think…” Mrs. Food started to object, but it was no use.

Mr. Slick Hair put a hand on each of their shoulders and shepherded them toward the door, talking as he went.“We’ll get better readings that way. And we don’t want to anger the spirits. You just wait downstairs, and we’ll let you know what we find out.”

“Uh. Okay,” Mrs. Third Floor said, bending down and looking under the furniture. “I don’t know where that cat went.”

“Forget the cat,” Mr. Slick Hair said, gently pushing her out the door. “She’ll be fine.”

“If you say so. I’ll just—”

Mr. Slick Hair shut the door in her face.

He waited, listening until he heard the elevator bell ding in the hallway.

Then he laughed.

“Think she’s got anything good in the kitchen?” He sauntered into the kitchen, opening cabinets at random.

The Bald Guy snorted and flopped down onto the couch.“That type has everything. Take whatever you think the ‘ghost’ would want.” He made air quotes.

Walt felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. This was really bad. Instinct was telling her to go for the eyes. She just wasn’t sure which set of eyes to go for first.

“Are you going to go for the eyes?” The whisper came from behind her.

“AAAAAHH!” Walt jumped, slamming her head on the bottom of the couch. She whirled around. Wallace stood there with an apologetic grin on his face.

“Sorry about that. But I had to see what was happening! It’s my apartment!” He inched closer to the edge of the couch to peek out into the room. The Bald Guy had taken out a pack of cigarettes and was tapping it against his hand.

“Oh no you don’t, mister. Not in my apartment.” Wallace clenched his fists. “You’re going to stick it to those guys, right?”

Walt nodded.“I’m planning my attack.”

“Well, don’t take all day,” a voice behind them said.

“AAAHHH!” Walt and Wallace both jumped this time (but Walt was the only one who hit her head. Wallace was too short).

Walt whirled around. It was the white cat from next door.“YOU!”

“What? Did you really think I’d miss the excitement? You never explained who your mystery guests were. Scam artists, am I right?”

“They’re eliminators from Television,” Walt said.

“OOOooo, do I know them?” The white cat peered out from under the couch. “Hmm. Not familiar. What program?”

“Ghost men,” Wallace said.

“Ghost Eliminators,” Walt corrected. “They hunt ghosts.”

“Oh, LOCAL. Got it,” the white cat scoffed. “I was in national ads. I don’t know those guys.” She licked a paw as she examined the Bald Guy’s shoes. “Good quality, though,” she purred. Then her eyes grew wide. “Now HIM I know! Is that Mr. WIGGLES?” Her voice went an octave higher.

Walt looked out into the room. Jerome had lowered himself down from the light fixture and was doing what looked like an interpretive dance in the middle of the floor. Neither of the men noticed.

“Jerome!” Wallace squeaked urgently. “NO!”

Jerome gave one last wiggle and then changed his color so he faded into the carpet.

“Is HE your special visitor? I didn’t know you knew any celebrities!” the white cat said. “Besides me, of course.”

“HE is not a visitor. HE is my roommate,” Wallace said.

“SHH!” Walt hissed. “They’re doing something.” She poked her head out from under the couch and swiveled around to get a better view.

Mr. Slick Hair had finished off Mrs. Third Floor’s unlicked cupcakes and was brushing his hands off on his pants. Then he tossed the remote to the Bald Guy, who turned on the Television. He turned the volume down low, though, so you could hardly hear it.

“You got the camera ready?” Mr. Slick Hair said.

“All set.” The Bald Guy turned the camera on. It was pointed at the corner of the room where the aquarium was set up.

“What are they filming?” the white cat asked. “If they need a model…”

“SHH!” Walt hissed. Mr. Slick Hair had moved into the shot.

“The spirits are gathering here, you can feel it,” he said in a spooky voice. “Drawn for some inexplicable reason to this ordinary and shabby apartment.”

“Oohh, she’s not going to like that,” Wallace whispered.

“If you listen, you can almost hear them calling. Their voices are coming from so far away, on the other side of the veil. Listen!” He tilted his head like he was listening. In the background, voices could be heard murmuring.

“That’s the TV!” Wallace said, outraged. “Those voices are from the TV!”

Mr. Slick Hair shook his head.“The spirits are not strong enough to communicate with us yet. But their strength is growing.” He jumped in surprise. “Look! In the corner! I can almost see an apparition starting to form.” He pointed off toward the aquarium and then moved out of camera range.

“There’s nothing there,” Walt said slowly. “There aren’t even any fish. What is he doing?”

“Thank goodness Jerome is playing nice,” Wallace said. The last thing this show needed was a surprise appearance by Mr. Wiggles.

“They can’t show a ghost if there’s nothing there, right?” Wallace looked at the white cat, who shrugged.

“Beats me,” the white cat said. “The sets I worked on were much more professional.”

“HEY!” Wallace stood up indignantly. “Is he SMOKING?”

The Bald Guy had lit a cigarette, which he handed to Mr. Slick Hair.

“He’s going to RUIN the upholstery. My couch will never be the same!” Wallace’s whiskers were trembling. “MY APARTMENT ALWAYS SMELLS LEMONY FRESH!”

“Shh.” Walt held out a paw to keep Wallace from rushing into the room.

Mr. Slick Hair took the cigarette and held it just under the camera lens. Wisps of smoke drifted in front of it.“There, see? You can almost see the spirit attempting to materialize,” Mr. Slick Hair said. “Those wisps of ectoplasm are signs that the spirit is present and wants to communicate.”

“But…” Wallace frowned. “That’s smoke.”

“Trick photography,” the white cat said. “Combined with those voices from the TV? It’ll look great on film.”

“Which they’re going to show Mrs. Third Floor and Mrs. Food,” Walt growled.

“That’s IT!” Wallace punched his fist into his palm. “LET ME AT ’EM!” He raced out into the living room, heading straight for the Bald Guy. But halfway there, he seemed to reconsider. Instead he swerved around the Bald Guy’s feet and jumped up onto the couch, hopping onto one of the remote buttons. The volume immediately shot up, so that the ghostly background voices were obviously from the TV. (It was a toilet paper commercial.)

“Walt!” Wallace screamed. He suddenly felt very exposed on the couch. “Distraction!”

“I’M GOING FOR THE EYES!” Walt launched herself out from under the couch and leaped up at Mr. Slick Hair’s face.

But she wasn’t fast enough. He saw her coming.

In one swift motion, he reached up and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, so she dangled in midair.

“Get rid of that thing,” the Bald Guy said. “That cat messed up the take. Now we’ve got to do it all over again.”

“It’s fine, we’ll just double our fee.” Mr. Slick Hair shook Walt. “How do you like that, cat? Double the fee sound fair to you?”

Walt tried not to react. She had to give Wallace time to hide. And if she twisted around just right, she thought she had a good shot of biting the man’s hand off. (Or at least leaving a nasty mark.)

The man walked across the apartment, holding Walt out in front of him.

Wallace took cover under the couch.

“I’ll go tell the others, Walt! It’ll be okay, Walt!” Wallace’s voice floated across the apartment.

Walt twisted in the air, slashing with her claws, but it was no use. She couldn’t escape. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was a kitten again. It was so humiliating to be carried that way.

Mr. Slick Hair pushed open the bathroom door and, without a word, flung Walt inside. She spun around midair and landed on her feet as he slammed the door.

There was a round of applause from the sink. Two octopuses were sitting there watching her.

“She really stuck the landing, didn’t she, Chad?” Jerome said, still clapping softly.

“Eight tentacles up,” Chad said.

Walt shook herself off and glared at the door.“That man,” she sputtered. “Those men—”

“Those men,” Chad interrupted, “are even worse than you said.”

“True. And I, for one, am offended by their stagecraft,” Jerome said. “Well, you’ve convinced me. They’ve got to be stopped.”

Walt slumped. She was locked in a bathroom, after all.“But what are we going to do?”

Jerome stretched his tentacles out in front of him and cracked them like he was cracking his knuckles.“What are we going to do? It’s simple.”

He looked at the door and smiled.“We’re going to teach them a lesson.”

— 13 —

“DO YOU THINK…” MRS. THIRD Floor hesitated. They’d been waiting for a long time, and she’d started that sentence at least three times. “Do you think… the ghost did something to them?” She fiddled with the hem of her sweater. “Do you think it could have… I don’t know… eaten them?”

There was a silence. Madison bit her lip.

Mrs. Food cleared her throat.“I don’t think that, no.”

Mrs. Third Floor nodded and slumped in relief.

Butterbean sat bolt upright. She hadn’t even considered that possibility. “OSCAR! Do you think JEROME could’ve eaten them?”

Oscar picked through his food dish absentmindedly.“Oh please. Do you really think Mr. Wiggles would do something like that?”

“Maybe not, but JEROME…”

“Jerome is still Mr. Wiggles deep down. He wouldn’t eat them.” He flicked a piece of browning fruit onto the bottom of his cage. “Besides, would you eat those guys?”

Butterbean shuddered at the thought of it, and she ate garbage.“Good point.” She lay back down and put her head on her paws. “I’ll be glad when Walt gets back.”

“Me too.” Oscar clicked his beak. He didn’t want to say anything to Butterbean, but it made him nervous that Walt was still in the apartment. He just hoped she had something to report when she got back. And that it was soon.

“Why is it taking so long, then?” Mrs. Third Floor asked after a few minutes.

“They need to be thorough?” Mrs. Food said. “And maybe…” She patted Mrs. Third Floor on the hand. “They may be having a hard time finding a ghost.”

“It probably really is an intruder,” Madison said, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the carpet. “I mean, why would a ghost just show up now? It doesn’t make sense.”

“But the pizza…” Mrs. Third Floor started.

Mrs. Food held up her hand.“I know. But I still think there’s some other explanation. We’ll see what they say.”

“Seriously, this is a condo building,” Madison said. “Do you think a ghost would live in a condo? Like Bob would let that happen.”

Bob was the maintenance man in the building, and he had some pretty strong ideas of how things should be run.

“I think Bob would take issue with a ghost living here,” Mrs. Food said, smiling.

“You’re right, he would,” Mrs. Third Floor said, relaxing a little for the first time. “I’m probably being silly. Of course they’re not going to find a ghost!”

“Of course not.” Mrs. Food patted her on the arm again and got up to go to the kitchen.

Just as she did, the front door burst open, and the two ghost men rushed inside. (Without even knocking. Butterbean was shocked.)

“We got it!” Mr. Slick Hair patted his video camera. “Right here, we’ve got the evidence.” He pointed at Mrs. Third Floor. “Take a look. You’ve got a ghost, lady!”

“Are you planning to stay in here all day, or do you want me to let you out?” The white cat pressed her face to the vent grate and peered down at Walt and the two octopuses. “Those two weirdos with the camera left ages ago.”

Walt had been trying the door handle for half an hour. It wasn’t opening. All she’d managed to do was provide Chad and Jerome with free entertainment. They hadn’t even offered to help. They’d been laughing nonstop.

“What do you think?” Walt hissed as she slid down the door for the fiftieth time. “LET ME OUT!” She was having a hard time controlling her temper.

“No, you can’t go!” Jerome said, giggling hysterically. “You almost had it that time.”

“Try that spin maneuver again,” Chad said, struggling to keep a straight face.

“OUT!” Walt screeched at the white cat.

Jerome rolled his eyes.“Oh fine, you’re no fun.” He waved a tentacle at the white cat. “Let the grumpy cat out. It doesn’t matter to me. Stop laughing, Chad.”

Chad spit water at him.

Jerome turned on the faucet in the tub.“If those men are gone, I’m taking a bath.”

Walt’s eyes widened. “PLEASE, CAT! NOW!”

The white cat smirked down at her.“Just a sec.” Her face disappeared from the grate.

Jerome tested the water with one tentacle and looked around.“I probably shouldn’t use bubble bath, should I? Bad for my skin, I’d guess.”

“Probably not?” Walt said. She couldn’t imagine that bubble bath would be good for an octopus.

“Good thing the tub makes its own bubbles,” Jerome said, turning on the Jacuzzi jets.

There was a thump on the other side of the door, and then it swung open.

“Oh thank goodness.” Walt raced for the door. “Jerome, we’ll have a discussion later. Make plans.” She didn’t want to stick around for a conversation. She just had to get out of there.

“Sure, sure…” Jerome said. Then he snapped his tentacles at Chad. “Chad! Get me some tub snacks, pronto.”

Chad clenched his tentacles.

Walt didn’t bother to see what happened next. She streaked past the white cat and into the vent behind the couch. She had to find out what was happening downstairs.

“See there? That’s your ghost.” Mr. Slick Hair pointed at the video on his tablet. “Right there.”

“That’s a ghost?” Mrs. Third Floor squinted at the screen. “It looks… well…”

“It looks like smoke. Is that smoke?” Madison asked, peering over her shoulder.

Butterbean stood up on the chair to get a better look. It wasn’t easy to see, though. Mrs. Third Floor’s head was in the way.

“It’s a GHOST, kid. You’ve got a GHOST PROBLEM.” Mr. Slick Hair leaned back and glared at her.

“It’s always a shock the first time people see one, Johnny,” the Bald Guy said, jiggling his foot as he sat at the table. He glanced at his watch like he had somewhere better to be.

“Right, of course.” Mr. Slick Hair slicked his hair back and then wiped his hand on his pants. “Look, I don’t want to be a jerk, but you don’t have a lot of time to figure out what you want to do.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Third Floor looked startled.

“We can get rid of the ghost, no problem. But we have to move fast,” the Bald Guy said. “A nasty ghost like this, once it gets established?” He whistled. “You might never get rid of it. Didn’t they have to demolish that one house, Johnny?”

Mr. Slick Hair nodded sadly.“Total loss. But unfortunately, the work we do? It’s not cheap, especially with a rush job,” Mr. Slick Hair said. “We’ll give you a fair price, though. In exchange, we’ll just need you to do some publicity for the show.”

“PUBLICITY?” Mrs. Third Floor shot up like she’d been launched from a rocket. She scared Butterbean so much that Butterbean jumped back into Oscar’s cage stand, almost knocking it over. “I don’t want any publicity! I want this kept quiet!”

“It’s not much, just a couple of interviews, a photo spread, maybe a commercial or two. Do you think that doorman out front will talk to us? Maybe some of the neighbors?”

Mrs. Third Floor grabbed the back of the chair.“No, absolutely not! Publicity would ruin me. Can’t we do it a different way?”

Mr. Slick Hair shrugged.“I don’t know. We do a TV show.”

“We could make an exception, couldn’t we, Johnny?” the Bald Guy said. “Since she’s such a nice lady?”

“Oh yes, could you?” Mrs. Third Floor held her breath.

“Well… I guess so,” Mr. Slick Hair said, after thinking about it. “Maybe we could blur out the identifying information?”

“We could…” the Bald Guy said slowly. “But you know the problem.”

“That kind of technology costs a lot,” Mr. Slick Hair said sadly. “And that’s on top of our ghost elimination fee.” He stood up. “I’m sorry. It’s probably too much. We should just let you find someone else.”

“NO!” Mrs. Third Floor grabbed his arm. “Please, I need you! It doesn’t matter how much it costs—I can pay you. PLEASE!”

Mr. Slick Hair shot a look at the Bald Guy, who shrugged. Then he wrote something down on a notepad.“This is the lowest we can go with no publicity.” He handed it to Mrs. Third Floor. She looked at it and swallowed hard.

“She looks like she’s going to throw up,” Butterbean said, watching Mrs. Third Floor carefully. She knew that look. “I hope she aims for the tile.”

“If she does, she needs to clean it up,” Polo said sternly. They’d had problems with barf on the floor in the past.

Mrs. Third Floor looked up at Mr. Slick Hair, her face grim.“I can pay this. How soon can you eliminate the ghost?”

Mr. Slick Hair shot a smug look at the Bald Guy, so quickly that Oscar almost missed it. But he didn’t miss it. He frowned. He wished Walt was there to go for the eyes.

The Bald Guy stroked his mustache as he thought.“Like I said, you need to work fast with this kind of ghost, or it can be dangerous. We could do it maybe… tomorrow?”

“Oh yes, that’s perfect!” Mrs. Third Floor clutched her hands together. “I’ll be ready tomorrow!”

“But, Mildred,” Mrs. Food said urgently.

Mrs. Third Floor waved her off.“No, Beulah, I have to do this. Tomorrow sounds fine.”

“Great,” Mr. Slick Hair said. “We’ll take half up front, and half when the ghost is gone.”

Mrs. Third Floor looked even greener than she had.

“She’s definitely going to blow,” Marco said, moving back behind the water bottle. It never hurt to be out of range.

“I—I don’t have my checkbook with me at the moment,” Mrs. Third Floor stammered.

“We might be able to make an exception this time,” the Bald Guy said, heaving his bag over his shoulder. “You can pay us tomorrow. We trust you.” He patted her on the arm as he headed for the door.

Mrs. Third Floor smiled stiffly as they left the apartment. Then she sank down onto the chair.

Mrs. Food locked the door and then turned, her face serious.“Mildred, I don’t think…”

Mrs. Third Floor stared at the floor.“I don’t have a choice.” Her voice was flat. “No one will rent a haunted apartment, and I can’t afford to have it empty. And if there’s publicity? It’ll be empty forever.”

Mrs. Food took the notepad and looked at the number written there. Her eyes got wide.“But how can you afford that?”

“I can’t!” Mrs. Third Floor’s voice sounded strangled. “But I have to. I’ll figure something out.” She sat up and grabbed Mrs. Food’s hand. “You’ll support me, whatever I do, won’t you? You don’t think I’m being silly?”

“Of course I’ll support you,” Mrs. Food said. “You’re my best friend.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Third Floor slumped back in her chair.

Butterbean jostled Oscar’s cage again. “Should we do something?” she asked in a low voice. “We can’t let those guys do this, right? There’s no ghost!”

Oscar peeked out through the bars.“I didn’t think so. But did you see that video? That wasn’t Jerome.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Walt said, sticking her head out of the vent opening behind the couch. Her fur was matted and sticking out all the wrong ways. “It wasn’t Jerome. But it wasn’t a ghost.” She crawled out into the room and shook off. “It was a fake. And we’ve got to stop them.”

— 14 —

“WAIT, THEY PICKED YOU UP by the SCRUFF OF YOUR NECK?” Butterbean gasped. After Mrs. Third Floor had gone home, Mrs. Food had gone to her room with a headache, and Madison headed off to read in her room. It was nice not to have the humans underfoot for a change. Plus, it gave Walt a chance to fill them in on all the gory details.

“Like I was a kitten,” Walt said, trying to keep her cool. She’d already told Butterbean the story four times, but for some reason, Butterbean kept coming back to that one detail.

“BUT THE SCRUFF?” Butterbean was shocked.

“That’s so undignified,” Oscar said, clicking his beak in disgust.

“Tell me about it,” Walt said dryly.

“Wait, though.” Butterbean was still trying to process everything. “You mean the SCRUFF OF YOUR—”

“YES, BEAN!” Walt snapped. It wasn’t an experience she liked reliving over and over. She took a deep breath. “Look, it sounds worse than it was.”

“Oh sure,” a voice came from the vent. “Looked pretty bad to me. But what do I know? I’m just the one who rescued her.” The white cat stepped out into the living room and looked around appraisingly. “So this is where you guys live, huh? More personal touches than the other place, I’llgive you that. Kind of shabby chic. Emphasis on the shabby.” She sniffed Mrs. Food’s end table and curled her lip.

“Walt,” Oscar whispered. “What’s she doing here?”

Walt held up a paw at him.“Rescued is a pretty strong word, cat,” Walt said, lashing her tail indignantly. “And didn’t someone once say it was rude to stick your head inside someone’s apartment uninvited?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” the white cat said. “Besides, what’s the big deal? I don’t see any humans around.”

“That’s not the point,” Walt said, the fur on her neck bristling.

“I think what Walt’s trying to say is WHY ARE YOU HERE?” Oscar said, hopping closer and eyeing the white cat carefully. “Surely we’re not disturbing your vocal exercises all the way down here?”

“Pish,” the white cat said, licking her paw.

“Oh no, did Jerome do something?” Polo asked from the safety of her cage. Not that she thought she was in danger, but there was a strange cat in the apartment. It didn’t hurt to be careful.

“I bet he did. Is that it?” Marco made a fist and waved it menacingly. “I’ll fix him!”

“Really.” The white cat looked at them like they were hors d’oeuvres. “Well, since you asked, I came for the show!”

“What?” Walt said flatly. “What show?”

The white cat smirked.“I want to know the plan! Obviously, you’re going to try to stop those men from scamming your human. And obviously, you’re going to fail miserably. And I’m not going to miss a minute of it!” She settled down onto Walt’s cushion.

Walt gritted her teeth.

The white cat stretched.“So tell me everything. What have you come up with? Some sort of physical attack?” She watched them expectantly.

“Don’t be silly,” Walt said, shifting uncomfortably. She decided not to say anything about going for the eyes.

“What, then? Trickery? Some sort of sabotage?”

Walt stared at her in cool silence. Butterbean did not.

“We haven’t come up with ANYTHING yet,” Butterbean said chattily. “We still need to come up with a plan. We’ve got NOTHING.”

Walt shot Butterbean a dirty look.“Look, cat, what makes you think we’d—”

A squelching sound from the kitchen distracted them. It was a pretty repulsive sound, but one that Walt and the others had become all too familiar with.

“Who needs to be stopped? Jerome? Total agreement.” Chad’s voice came from the kitchen, his tentacles making a slippery sound as he slid down the counter. “He needs to go NOW.”

“EXCUSE ME, but we’re having a conversation here,” the white cat sniffed. She turned to Oscar. “Mr. Wiggles needs to teach his help not to interrupt.”

“HELP?” Chad’s tentacles curled.

“But Jerome is your friend!” Polo said, climbing on top of the water bottle. “Isn’t he? Don’t you like hanging out?”

“FRIEND?” Chad scooted across the carpet toward them. “Do FRIENDS eat all of your sardines? Do FRIENDS snap their tentacles at you and make you adjust the thermostat ten times a day? DO THEY?”

“Um…” Polo squirmed nervously. She’d never seen Chad quite so worked up, and that was saying something. Chad was grumpy ninety percent of the time.

He wasn’t finished, either. “Do FRIENDS demand that you spritz them with a mister when their tentacles start to feel crispy? Do FRIENDS erase your shows so they can tape MR. WIGGLES UPDATES? WOULD A FRIEND DO THAT?”

“Um, maybe?” Marco stammered. He shot a sideways look at Polo.

“HEY!” Polo squeaked. As if she would do any of those things.

“Maybe not that part about the shows, though,” Marco added. “Or the… um… tentacles.”

“I have TRIED to be a good host. I found him an apartment. I cleaned up his cocktail sauce. I ordered him a PIZZA! I AM NOT AN UNPAID ASSISTANT.” Chad’s tentacles were going wild.

“Wow, Chad. What are you going to do?” Butterbean sat down next to him, eyeing him carefully. He was changing colors so quickly it made her eyes feel funny.

Chad whirled around, almost smacking Butterbean with a flailing tentacle.

“What am I going to do? What are WE going to do?” Chad said. “YOU OWE ME.” He pointed at Oscar with an accusatory tentacle.

Oscar ruffled his wings.“Er, I suppose…”

Walt shrugged.“He’s right.” There was no point in arguing.

Oscar nodded.“True. We owe you.” Chad had helped them out more than a few times, and all he’d ever asked for was sardines. Well, sardines and unlimited access to Mrs. Food’s kitchen.

“Okay, fine,” Walt sighed. “We need two plans now. Plan Number One, get rid of the ghost men. Plan Number Two, get rid of Jerome. Anyone have any ideas?”

Oscar stared at the floor. Marco and Polo stared at the ceiling. Butterbean stared at her treat jar in the kitchen. No one met anyone else’s eyes.

Walt sighed again.“Well, we have to move fast. We’ve got a deadline.”

She looked at the white cat, who had folded her paws and was watching them all with amusement.“Are you just here to gloat or are you planning to help?”

The white cat made a surprised face.“Oh, I can’t imagine you need me. I’m sure you’ll do very well on your own.” She smiled smugly.

Walt clenched her teeth.“Fine. But you need to answer one question. Did you or Wallace see what the men did after I was… um…”

“Tossed in the bathroom like a rag doll?” the cat smirked. “I saw a little. But who’s Wallace?”

Butterbean’s eyes got wide. “Wait a minute. WHERE’S Wallace?” she asked, standing up and looking around like she might have accidentally squished him.

“He’s not back?” Walt frowned. “I just assumed…”

She looked suspiciously at the rat-sized pile of cedar chips in the aquarium, which was apparently just a pile of cedar chips.“He said he was coming back here. He ran for the vent when I was… um…”

“Tossed in the bathroom. We know,” Polo said helpfully. “Like a rag doll.”

“He didn’t come back here,” Marco said. His eyes widened. “Do you think something happened to him?”

Oscar hopped up onto the bars of his cage.“Don’t be silly. Wallace is fine. He must still be in the vents. He does live there, after all.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Polo objected. “He lives in 5B now. He moved all his stuff.”

Marco nodded.“I carried his collection of lost keys myself.”

Walt felt cold in the pit of her stomach.“He said he was coming to tell you what happened. He was coming straight here.”

“Well, he probably changed his mind,” Oscar said. But as much as he hated to admit it, that didn’t sound like Wallace. Wallace might be a wild rat, but he was practically a member of the family. Besides, he was part of their International Crime Syndicate. And as far as Oscar could tell from his Television programs, that meant they had an unshakable bond.

“That’s it,” Polo said, hauling herself out of the cage. “I’m going to find him.” She hopped onto the floor.

“I’m coming too,” Marco said, hopping down next to Polo. “He’s sure to be somewhere.”

“UNLESS JEROME ATE HIM!” Butterbean gasped.

“Jerome didn’t eat anyone,” Oscar said. He wished no one had ever mentioned that possibility.

“Oh, that’s true,” Chad said. “He wouldn’t catch a rat himself. He’d expect ME to hand him one on a SILVER PLATTER.” He folded his tentacles in disgust.

“Um. Sure,” Oscar said. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all, but he didn’t think this was a good time to contradict Chad. He’d seen those tentacles in action.

Polo marched toward the vent, making a wide circle around the white cat.

“I’m going to walk past you, visitor cat,” she said. “So no funny business.”

“Yeah, don’t try anything,” Marco said in his best tough-guy voice.

The white cat swished her tail as the rats scurried past.“As if I’d eat a RAT.”

Polo made a strangled sound and started to turn back, but Marco grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her moving.

“Never mind her,” he said quietly as they hurried into the vent. “I’m sure we taste terrific.”

Saying they’d find Wallace was one thing, but actually doing it was something else altogether. They had no idea where to look. And there were so many vents. They could be looking all night.

“Where do you want to start?” Marco asked, hurrying toward the nearest up vent. “Up? Or should we try down?”

“Up,” Polo said. “He was coming from five. We’ll retrace his steps.” She tried not to think about the fact that Walt had already retraced them when she came home. It seemed like a bad sign.

“Good plan,” Marco agreed, slicking back his fur.

They crawled up the vent and out onto the fifth floor, looking around carefully. The vents were silent and echoey, with the only noises drifting in from the various apartments. None of them sounded like Wallace sounds.

“Are the vents usually this creepy?” Marco said after a minute. He took a step closer to Polo. “I mean, they’re always kind of creepy. But this seems extra creepy.”

“They’re just vents, Marco,” Polo said, her whiskers trembling. The vents were definitely a thousand times creepier than they’d been before, but there was no way she’d admit it. “It’s probably just because we’ve been talking about ghosts so much. That’s all,” she added.

Polo shivered. She wished she’d never mentioned ghosts. Because suddenly the idea that the vents could be haunted seemed like a very real possibility.

Marco nodded.

“Right,” Polo said. “Let’s get moving. He’s sure to be in one of these.”

“Sure,” Marco said.

They didn’t move.

“Okay, let’s go,” Polo said.

“Sure,” Marco agreed.

They didn’t move.

“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH.” A voice floated through the vent.

“Was that you?” Polo squeaked. But she knew it wasn’t. Marco’s mouth hadn’t moved. And besides, he was a lousy ventriloquist.

“It was probably just a—” Marco started.

“OOOOOOOOHHHH,” the voice said, louder now.

“A what?” Polo’s voice was two octaves higher than usual.

“A—” Marco swallowed hard. “Just a—” He couldn’t think of anything.

“OOOOOOOOHH WOW! OH MAN!” The voice was really loud now. And familiar.

Polo’s whiskers stopped trembling. “Did it just say ‘Oh man’?”

“It did,” Marco said. “Also ‘wow.’ ”

Polo put her hands on her hips.“That’s no ghost. That’s got to be—”

“WALLACE!” Marco yelled, running down the vent toward the sound, his feet completely unfrozen. “Is that you? What happened to you!”

Wallace rushed toward them, his eyes wide. He pointed back into the vent behind them.“Guys! Guys, you won’t believe this. You’ve got to see. Check it out.”

He dragged them down the vent to a nearby apartment grate.“LOOK!”

Marco and Polo peered inside. Then, after a few minutes, they turned to him, their mouths hanging open.

“No way,” Marco said softly.

“Oh my gosh, Wallace!” Polo gasped. “Come on!”

Grabbing the other rats by the arms, she raced down the vent and dove into the down vent.

They had to tell Oscar.

And Chad.

— 15 —

THE THREE RATS RAN BACK to the apartment as fast as they could. Polo even vaulted over the white cat in her rush to be the first to break the news. But by the time they got there, they were too out of breath to talk—they just collapsed in a heap in front of Oscar’s cage. They’d spent the last five minutes doubled over, taking deep cleansing breaths.

“Isssttteeeeeee,” Polo wheezed.

Walt patted her on the back absentmindedly.“Any time.”

“Take deep breaths, and try again,” Oscar said patiently.

Polo nodded and did her best not to pass out.

Finally, the white cat stood up and stretched.“As fascinating as this is, I’ll get the recap later. I have better things to do than watch a bunch of rodents breathe.” She sniffed in the direction of the panting rats. “But believe me, rats, I will be back.” She smirked at them and stalked off through the vent.

“Was that…” Marco huffed as he stood up. “Was that a threat?”

Walt rolled her eyes.“Of course not. You could take that cat down with one paw tied behind your back.”

“Now, Wallace,” Oscar said. “Why don’t you start?”

“You should’ve gotten here way before I did,” Walt said, her ears pricked forward anxiously.

“Because Walt was locked in the bathroom forever!” Butterbean said. “That fancy cat had to rescue her.”

“What?” Wallace squeaked.

“That’s not important,” Walt said, shooting a look at Butterbean. “Just tell us what happened.”

“Okay,” Wallace said, puffing his breath out. He stood up straight and did a couple of stretches. Walt rolled her eyes. It was a little much, to be honest. He’d had plenty of time to catch his breath.

“When the ghost men went for Walt, I ran back to tell you all, right?” Wallace started. “But I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I took a wrong turn somehow. I think I was panicking,” he said sheepishly.

“We found him over by High Heel Woman’s apartment,” Polo said. “The one with the hair spray smells.”

“And no sane rat would want to go THERE,” Marco said solemnly.

“Because of the hair spray,” Polo added.

Butterbean wrinkled her nose. She knew that hair spray.

Wallace nodded.“When I figured out where I was, I turned around to go back. But when I did, I heard them say his name. So I thought I needed to listen.”

“Them who?” Butterbean had a lot of questions.

Oscar frowned.“Whose name?”

Butterbean nodded approvingly. That was one of them.

Wallace rolled his eyes, like it was totally obvious.“MR. WIGGLES.”

Oscar cocked his head at Wallace.“Mr.—”

“It was on TV,” Polo interrupted, bouncing up and clasping her hands. “They were talking about him on the TV.”

“It was on the News,” Marco added.

“Oh no, the News!” Oscar whipped his head around to look at the clock. “I missed it again!” He snapped his beak shut in irritation. This ghost situation had completely ruined his viewing schedule.

“What were they saying about Mr. Wiggles?” Walt asked. She didn’t understand this obsession with the News. Oscar needed to find a new hobby.

“It was the man at the zoo,” Wallace said. “He was saying… Well, it was crazy, so I didn’t want to tell you all without being sure. So I decided to wait for the next broadcast. High Heel Woman always watches the News on both channels.”

“THERE IS MORE THAN ONE NEWS BROADCAST?” Oscar reeled back in shock. Why had no one mentioned this before? How could he not have known? “Which channel?”

Walt shot him a look.“Just tell us, Wallace. What did they say?”

“The man at the zoo said they hadn’t found Mr. Wiggles yet,” Wallace said.

“Duh,” Butterbean said under her breath.

“But he said if they don’t find him in the next few days, it’ll be okay, because…”

“THEY’RE REPLACING MR. WIGGLES!” Polo shrieked. Then she blushed. “Sorry. I just couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“WHAT?” Oscar reeled back again. This was too much. He hoped his heart could take it. “How can they replace Mr. Wiggles? He’s one of a kind.”

“Well, not according to the zoo guy,” Marco said. “We watched the second News with Wallace, and the man said that—”

“YOU WATCHED THE SECOND NEWS WITH WALLACE?” Oscar’s voice came out as a strangled squawk.

“Um, yeah?” Marco said. He hadn’t thought that would be the part of the story that would get a big reaction.

“We found him right as the segment was starting,” Polo explained.

“I needed witnesses!” Wallace said apologetically.

“Easy, buddy,” Walt said, patting Oscar on the back. “Focus.” She turned back to the rats. “He said that…”

Wallace nodded.“He said that they’d looked everywhere, and that it didn’t look like they’d find Mr. Wiggles. So they talked to another zoo. One in Europe. And that zoo has an octopus they’ll give them as a replacement. Monsieur Octavio. They call him the Annihilator.”

“He’s super famous in Europe,” Polo said. “Everyone goes crazy for him there.”

“He’s like European royalty, according to the TV guy,” Marco said.

Walt frowned.“So why are they willing to give him up, then?”

Polo shrugged.“They didn’t say.”

“Just being nice, I guess,” Marco said.

A squelching, squeaking noise came from the couch. They all looked over just in time to see Chad erupt in laughter.“MONSIEUR OCTAVIO?” he sputtered. “THE ANNIHILATOR?”

Butterbean cocked her head. Bubbles were coming out of Chad as he laughed. She just wasn’t sure what part of Chad they were coming from. “Is that his… nose?”

“I don’t think octopuses have noses,” Walt whispered, watching in horror. She took a few steps back. Chad was waving his tentacles in the air as he laughed. No one was safe.

“Chad is laughing!” Oscar said, nudging Walt in the side. “Have you ever seen Chad laugh before?”

Walt shot him a dirty look. She shuddered.“Yes. Yes I have.” Although there weren’t bubbles the last time.

“Monsieur Octavio,” Chad sputtered. “As in LARRY? LOUSY LARRY? This is rich. Oh, Jerome is going to ink himself when he hears this.” He sat straight upright and clasped his tentacles in front of him. “You have to let me tell him. Please let me tell him.”

Oscar and Walt exchanged glances.

“Why?” Walt asked. “Is this going to make that big a difference to him?”

“He said he was happy in Mrs. Third Floor’s apartment,” Oscar added.

“He’s sick of the limelight,” Walt added. “Wouldn’t leave if we begged him to.”

“And we did,” Butterbean added. “Lots of times.”

“You want him to go?” Chad burbled. “You really want him to leave? Just tell him he’s going to be REPLACED. BY LARRY.” Then he laughed so hard he fell off the couch.

Oscar raised his eyebrows.“I think it’s time we pay a call on Jerome.”

When they snuck back to Mrs. Third Floor’s apartment late that night, they found Jerome eating whipped cream straight from the can. Butterbean shook her head sadly. She could never get away with something like that. Foamy mouths weren’t a good look for dogs.

“No, don’t even try!” Jerome said, sending little flecks of whipped cream flying as he talked. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve made up my mind. Ghost or no ghost, this is my apartment, and I’m staying put.”

“My apartment,” Wallace muttered, but nobody paid any attention.

“I’m gonna tell him,” Chad said, a malicious grin on his face. He rubbed two of his tentacles in front of him.

Jerome frowned and lowered the can.“Tell me what.”

He didn’t like the look in Chad’s eyes.

Oscar shot Chad a nervous look. He didn’t like it either. “There was a News report. The rats saw it.”

“So?” Jerome looked uneasy.

“So they’re going to REPLACE YOU!” Chad chortled. “WITH LARRY!”

The whipped cream can clattered to the floor. Jerome’s voice was like ice. “What?”

“Well, it’s not one hundred percent decided,” Wallace said. “They’re just talking about it.”

“WHAT?” Jerome’s voice was glacial.

“They don’t think they’re going to find you, see?” Polo said. “So they talked to a zoo in Europe, and they’re going to get that octopus instead.”

“Monsieur Octavio,” Marco chimed in.

“The Annihilator,” Polo added.

“LARRY?” Jerome roared. “LARRY THE ANNIHILATOR?”

“Monsieur Octavio the Annihilator,” Polo corrected.

“He’s very famous,” Marco said.

“That’s right, LOUSY LARRY.” Chad laughed uncontrollably. “FROM OUR EGG DAYS.” He nudged Oscar, Walt, and Butterbean simultaneously. “Larry is the worst.”

“So I gathered,” Oscar said.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

Finally, Jerome slumped.“Oh,” he said finally. “Larry.”

“Um, yeah,” Wallace said.

“So. What’s Larry up to these days?” Jerome twiddled his tentacles anxiously.

“Just taking your JOB,” Chad giggled.

“Keep in mind, it’s not official yet,” Oscar said, eyeing Jerome carefully. He didn’t like the way Jerome was just sitting there, like he could snap at any minute. Oscar didn’t want to be in range of those tentacles when he did. Standing next to Chad was bad enough.

“They’re still looking for you,” Walt said quietly. “They’re still hoping they’ll find you.”

“They don’t know you have your own apartment,” Butterbean said.

“My apartment,” Wallace said under his breath.

“Yes, well, they can keep looking.” Jerome swept a tentacle to indicate the apartment. “THIS is what’s important now. Not the fans, the adulation, the fame. None of that.” His voice sounded flat. “Now it’s just me in my apartment. Alone. With canned whipped cream.” He gave a weird hiccuppy sound.

Butterbean didn’t think that sounded all that bad, but then she wasn’t famous. She nudged one of Jerome’s tentacles with her nose. “You could go back if you want. We wouldn’t be offended.”

“Yeah!” Wallace squeaked. “And if you wanted to stay here sometimes, you could do that. We could share.”

Jerome stared at Wallace for a minute, like he was sizing him up. Then he sighed.“No, that won’t be possible.”

“Why not?” Wallace thought he was being more than fair.

“Yes, why not?” Oscar clicked his beak. “JEROME! Be realistic! You can’t live here—you know that.”

Jerome waved a tentacle at them.“I see the problems, I really do. And I wish I could help.”

Walt stood up.“The ghost men are coming tomorrow. We have to get rid of them, and trust me, we will. But the longer you stay here, the longer Mrs. Third Floor is going to think she has a ghost.”

“Why can’t you help?” Butterbean asked, tilting her head the other way. “It’ll be fun! You can help us get rid of them and then go back to the zoo!”

“For that mayor thing,” Polo said. “And the sports. They need you.”

Jerome gave her a pitying look.“Yes, that all sounds nice, doesn’t it? But it’s just not possible.”

“But WHY?” Wallace squeaked.

“Because,” Jerome sighed. “I can’t go back. I don’t know the way. I’m stuck.”

— 16 —

“SO, WE KNOW WHAT WE need to do,” Walt said while Mrs. Food and Madison were distracted by breakfast the next morning. “Plan Number One. Get rid of the ghost men. Plan Number Two, get Jerome back to the zoo,” Walt said. “Any questions?”

Butterbean raised a paw. (It was a new thing she’d been learning with Madison. She was very good at it.) “I have a question about Plan Number One. What is it exactly?”

“I have that same question, except about Plan Number Two,” Marco said.

Walt sagged a little.“I’m still working out the details.”

Oscar sat on the bottom of his cage. It’s what he did when he was feeling depressed. “We’re doomed.”

“We’re not doomed,” Walt said. “We’ll think of something. We always do.”

“Nice cheerleading, Walt, but it’s too late. Look at the clock!” Oscar said, snapping his beak like the clock had personally offended him. “The ghost men will be here any minute. And what are we going to do? Even Mrs. Food can’t talk Mrs. Third Floor out of hiring them.”

Walt sagged even more. Oscar was right.“I’d just hate for those guys to win,” Walt muttered.

“Me too,” Oscar said softly.

Butterbean gave a mournful sniffle.“Mrs. Third Floor is going to lose her money, and Mrs. Food is going to be sad, and those guys are going to win.”

“And Jerome is going to be in my apartment forever,” Wallace added, sitting down next to her. He was going to miss having his own place.

“And Chad is going to totally lose it,” Butterbean said. “I think he’s got some issues with Jerome.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. As if Chad’s issues weren’t totally obvious. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

The animals sank into a gloomy silence.

Madison took her plate into the kitchen and then tiptoed across the room to Butterbean.

“Bean. Psst,” she whispered, shooting a look back into the kitchen to make sure Mrs. Food wasn’t watching. Butterbean wagged her tail.

Madison squatted down and rubbed Butterbean’s ears. “Look, here’s the plan. When we go up to the apartment, I need you to keep your eyes open for anything weird. I have a theory.” She shot another look into the kitchen. “I think this whole thing is a scam, and I think those TV guys are behind it.”

“Well, close,” Walt sniffed.

Butterbean leaned into Madison.“Don’t worry. We’ve got our own plan. Plan Number One.”

“Shhh, keep quiet, okay?” Madison said, eyes on the kitchen. “Just watch for anything sketchy. I don’t know how they’re doing it, but it’s up to us to stop them. Okay?” She stared into Butterbean’s face significantly.

Butterbean wagged her tail.“We’re going to. I told you. It’s Plan Number One. It will have details and everything.” It was a secret, but Madison could probably be trusted. Especially since there wasn’t anything specific to tell.

“Good,” Madison said, giving Butterbean one last pat on the head. Then she hurried into the living room, doing her best to look casual. (She wasn’t very convincing.)

“She’s going to give the whole thing away,” Walt muttered, shaking her head as Madison clicked on the Television. It was the morning News.

“Hey, Oscar, check it out,” Butterbean said. “News.”

“Really?” Oscar peered through the bars of his cage. Then he stood up at attention. “Wait a minute!” He hopped up onto the perch to get a better look. “Wait a minute! Do you see that?”

An animated octopus was tap-dancing across the screen. It was wearing a beret.“Monsieur Octavio is known across the continent for his antics,” the Television reporter’s voice said. “And according to our sources, the two zoos are close to an agreement.”

“Is that the replacement octopus?” Butterbean walked up to the Television and pressed her nose to the screen. “Wow, no wonder he’s a celebrity!” She’d never seen Jerome do anything like that. He didn’t even wear hats.

“Butterbean, no!” Madison said, waving at her. “Back away from the TV. It’s bad for your eyes!”

“Guys.” Butterbean took a few steps back, just to appease Madison. (She wasn’t worried about her eyes.) “Is that Larry?”

Walt hopped up onto the back of a chair and leaned forward, watching intently. The octopus on the screen whipped off his beret and replaced it with a top hat. Then, in a dizzying display, he started shuffling a deck of cards using at least six of his tentacles.

“WOW!” Butterbean said, inching closer. “Card tricks, you guys! Do you SEE that?” She looked back over her shoulder to make sure Oscar and the others were watching. “That guy is GREAT.”

“That guy is trouble,” Oscar muttered.

Walt frowned.“Butterbean, that guy is a cartoon.”

“WHAT?” Butterbean whipped her head around so fast she almost fell over. “LARRY IS A CARTOON?”

Oscar closed his eyes.“No.” Sometimes Butterbean was a bit much.

Walt sighed.“Larry’s not a cartoon, Butterbean.”

“But if that’s Larry…” Butterbean said, frowning.

“That’s just an animated version of Larry,” Oscar said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “I’m sure the real Larry doesn’t do tricks like that.” At least Oscar hoped he didn’t. If the real Larry was anything like the cartoon version, Mr. Wiggles had some serious competition.

He watched gloomily as the cartoon octopus balanced on one tentacle while holding sparklers that spelled out OCTAVIO. Then he gave an elaborate bow, and the picture cut back to the reporter.

“That was amazing!” the anchorman said, clapping. Oscar frowned. The anchorman seemed to have a lot in common with Butterbean.

“As you know, the zoo in Paris doesn’t allow videotaping of their star attraction, so live footage of Monsieur Octavio is extremely hard to come by. But we were lucky enough to get a short video of the mysterious octopus. Here, for the first time ever, is our Channel Seven exclusive. Will this be the zoo’s newest attraction?”

The video that started was grainy and dim, and looked like it might’ve been taken with an old cell phone. An octopus sat in the corner of a glass tank, curled up doing nothing. He looked more like a wad of used Silly Putty than the dancing cartoon octopus from before.

“Is he sick?” Butterbean inched closer. The octopus on screen didn’t move.

An unsuspecting visitor strolled by the tank, leaned forward, and tapped loudly on the glass.

Without warning, the octopus erupted, launching himself toward the visitor in a violent display.

“WHOA!” Madison yelped, flopping back against the couch cushions.

“Holy cow!” Butterbean barked at the screen.

The visitor onscreen screamed and lurched back, stumbling and falling down out of sight. Larry curled back up into a ball.

“Wow. That sure was something,” the anchorman said. Then he frowned. “Was he wearing the hat? I didn’t see the hat.”

“Good question, Herb,” the reporter said. “And how is he at picking winning teams? We hope to have answers to those questions and more, coming up,” she said as Madison started flipping channels randomly.

Butterbean turned around wide-eyed.“Boy, Jerome and Chad weren’t kidding!” she said. “The real life Larry really IS a jerk!”

Walt nodded. She didn’t like the looks of that octopus. She was no fan of Mr. Wiggles (and even less a fan of Jerome), but that octopus onscreen was bad news. She could feel it.

“No wonder they made that cartoon of him,” Butterbean said, trotting back to Oscar’s cage. “He was so boring before he freaked out. They have to make people think he’s interesting so they’ll come to see him.”

“People believe what they want to believe,” Oscar said sadly. He had a feeling Jerome was going to be living with them for a long time. It was hard to outdo a tap-dancing cartoon.

“He’s got very good PR,” the white cat said, sticking her head out from behind the couch. “He doesn’t even HAVE to be interesting with publicity like that.”

“Wha—” Oscar fell off his perch.

“SHEESH, CAT!” Marco squeaked, waving his arms in the direction of the couch. “Madison is RIGHT THERE!”

“SHE’LL SEE YOU!” Polo said, looking desperately between Madison and the white cat. Madison might not notice an extra rat, but an extra cat was hard to miss. Especially one draping itself dramatically against the side of the couch.

“It is customary to announce oneself,” Oscar said, climbing back up onto his perch and smoothing his feathers. “To do otherwise is just rude.”

“You can’t just show up like that.” Walt stalked over to the white cat. “You may not care if you get caught, but…” She trailed off and stared at the white cat thoughtfully. “If you get caught…”

“Go on?” the white cat looked at her with a bored expression. “Please enlighten me.”

Walt turned around, a grin spreading slowly across her face.

Oscar stared at her, his feathers forgotten.“Walt?”

Walt lashed her tail.“We have a lot of work to do. Plan Number One is about to start.”

Plan Number One was a lot easier to put into place once they actually knew what it was. They just had to move fast.

“So you know what you’re supposed to do?” Oscar asked the white cat, who was not following instructions and moving fast. (She was doing some casual smoothing of her whiskers instead.)

“Sure, sure. I’m a pro, remember?” She gave her whiskers one final pat. “But just so you know, you’re going to owe me. Big time.” She stood up and turned with a dramatic flourish.

“Yes, I know,” Oscar said, his heart sinking as she stalked into the vent opening behind the couch. He had a feeling she wasn’t going to be satisfied with a few cans of sardines.

Walt jumped down from the arm of the couch and landed right in front of him. Oscar gave an undignified squawk. He couldn’t take any more surprises. He puffed his feathers in irritation. “So? Did you do it?”

Walt smiled smugly.“I handled it.”

“You made the phone call? It’s all set?” Oscar just wanted to be sure. They couldn’t afford any slip ups.

Walt shot him an icy look.“I made the call. It’s done. We’re all set.” Oscar had to admit, Walt was very good on the phone. She had a computer program that she could use to simulate a human voice. Oscar could speak Human too, but in sticky situations, the computer voice was more effective. (It was good enough to fool Butterbean.)

“I just hope this all works,” Oscar said, smoothing his feathers back down. They’d hardly had a chance to think through all the details of the plot, much less troubleshoot them.

“It will,” Walt said. She patted him carefully on the back.

“How do you know?” Oscar asked.

“Because it has to.”

Oscar nodded. That made a certain kind of sense. He turned back to the vent just in time to see Wallace come streaking out.

“I did it!” Wallace shouted as he ran up.

“Mission complete?” he asked.

“Yes, complete!” Wallace squeaked, leaning on the side of Oscar’s cage to catch his breath. “I mean, not complete YET, since we haven’t done it. But I told him. I mean, them. I mean, I told Jerome and Chad what they need to do.”

Oscar nodded.“And they agreed?”

“Oh yeah,” Wallace said. “Especially once I told Jerome about that cartoon octopus on the News. Boy, was he mad.”

“Good,” Oscar said thoughtfully. A mad Jerome would be a motivated Jerome. And that’s what they needed right now.

The doorbell rang. Oscar felt a rush of adrenaline. This was it.

“Okay, everybody. Places!” he said, hopping up into his cage and holding the door closed with his foot. Mrs. Food didn’t need to know he could come and go as he pleased.

Mrs. Food hurried into the living room and opened the door. But it wasn’t the ghost men. It was Mrs. Third Floor.

“False alarm,” Oscar said, letting his door swing open a little.

“Shoot!” Butterbean barked. “Let’s get this show on the road!” Butterbean’s role in the plan was “stare at a fixed point in space and whine” and “backup as needed” and she was ready to get started. She was great at backing up.

Mrs. Third Floor’s eyes were red, and her face was blotchy. “Well, let’s get this show on the road,” she said weakly.

Butterbean’s eyes widened. “That’s what I said!”

“Come inside, Mildred. I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” Mrs. Food said. “But are you sure you want to go through with this? You can still call it off, and honestly, I think you should.”

Mrs. Third Floor didn’t say anything. She just shook her head.

Mrs. Food patted her tentatively on the shoulder.“If you’re still convinced it’s a ghost, we can get some of that stuff that you burn. What is that stuff…”

“Sage,” Madison said, coming into the living room. “It’s sage that you burn. I saw it on TV.”

“Madison!” Mrs. Third Floor smiled weakly in surprise. “You’re skipping school for me? What a thoughtful gesture.”

“Um.” Madison shot a look at Mrs. Food. “Teacher workday, actually. But I totally would’ve skipped.”

Mrs. Third Floor nodded distractedly and patted Madison on the arm.“That’s nice.”

“We can get that sage stuff to purify the apartment,” Madison went on. “And we can call a priest if you want. We don’t need those guys to get rid of a ghost.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Mrs. Food nodded encouragingly. “A priest! Doesn’t that sound good?”

“I could go for sage,” Wallace said thoughtfully. “It can’t smell that terrible, right?”

Butterbean shrugged. She didn’t know which smell was sage.

“And it’ll be cheaper,” Madison said.

Mrs. Third Floor shook her head again.“You know that won’t work.” Her voice was flat. “You heard the ghost men. They’re the only ones who can get rid of the ghost. I don’t have a choice.”

“But, Mildred, how are you going to pay for this?” Mrs. Food said gently. “It’s too expensive.”

“I thought about that. I’m going to…” Mrs. Third Floor swallowed hard. “I’m going to have to put my apartment on the market. I’ll have to sell. It’s the only way.”

“But you said no one will buy a haunted apartment,” Madison said.

Mrs. Third Floor shot her a tight smile.“I know that. They won’t. That’s why I’m going to sell my apartment on three.”

Mrs. Food gasped.“But that’s where you live!”

“I talked to my sister in St. Louis, and I can move in with her.” Mrs. Third Floor gave a chokey sob. “I’ll miss you both. But I don’t have a choice. I’ll use the money from my apartment on three to pay the ghost men, and once the ghost is gone, I’ll sell the haunted one too.”

“But, Mildred!” Mrs. Food looked shocked.

“But then she won’t be Mrs. Third Floor!” Butterbean yelped.

“Mrs. St. Louis doesn’t sound right at all!” Polo said from under a pile of cedar chips.

Marco poked his nose out too.“Mrs. St. Louis sounds bad,” he agreed. “She can’t move out!”

“Maybe you could just move to five? To the haunted rental?” Madison said, looking between Mrs. Third Floor and Mrs. Food and then back again. Mrs. Food had gone very pale. “Since it won’t be haunted then, right?”

“I’m okay with that,” Wallace said sadly. He hated to lose his apartment, but it would be even worse for Mrs. Food to lose her friend. He could probably find a different apartment. Plus, it hadn’t been the same since Jerome moved in.

“Mrs. Fifth Floor doesn’t sound nearly as bad as Mrs. St. Louis,” Butterbean said thoughtfully. “It could work.”

“Oh no, that won’t work,” Mrs. Third Floor said, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t stand to see someone else living in my beautiful third-floor apartment!”

Mrs. Food pressed her mouth into a thin line.“That’s it. No,” she said grimly. “I can’t let you throw your money away like this. It’s not right.”

Mrs. Third Floor glared at her.“It’s not your choice, Beulah.”

There was a knock at the door.“Anyway, it’s too late. Here they are,” Mrs. Third Floor sniffed, turning her back on Mrs. Food.

She threw the door open in one swift motion and then jerked back in surprise. It wasn’t the ghost men. It was Officer Marlowe.

“Nice work, Walt,” Oscar said under his breath.

Plan Number One had started.

— 17 —

“AM I TOO LATE?” OFFICER Marlowe said, peering around Mrs. Third Floor into the apartment. She was wearing a faded madras shirt and jeans instead of her uniform, and it took Mrs. Third Floor a second to recognize her.

“L-late?” Mrs. Third Floor stammered. “Late for what?”

“For the exorcism, or whatever. Did I miss it?” She stepped into the apartment, edging past Mrs. Third Floor, who seemed rooted to the spot. “I’d hate to miss a chance to see the Ghost Eliminators.”

“Oh, of course!” Mrs. Third Floor looked at Mrs. Food with a panicked expression. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”

Mrs. Food looked at Madison with a raised eyebrow.“Madison?”

“What? I didn’t…” Madison turned bright red.

“Let’s just say a little birdie told me,” Officer Marlowe said, winking.

All of the animals turned to look at Oscar.

“Well, that’s not true,” Oscar said, shifting uncomfortably under the attention. “We all know it was Walt.”

Walt shrugged.

“I’m just glad they did,” Officer Marlowe said. “I’m excited to see the Ghost Eliminators at work. Since they’re local ‘celebrities.’ ” She made air quotes. “I’ve heard a lot about those guys.”

Oscar looked at Walt with a quizzical expression.

“I may have added a line about them being celebrities,” Walt admitted. It hadn’t been in the script she and Oscar had gone over. “I wanted her to come!”

Oscar clicked his beak approvingly.“Very effective.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join us,” Mrs. Third Floor said awkwardly. “The more the merrier.”

“The more the merrier, huh?” Mr. Slick Hair stood in the doorway with a forced grin on his face. The Bald Guy stood behind him. “Who are we talking about here?”

“Oh, you surprised me!” Mrs. Third Floor looked guilty, like she’d been caught stealing french fries from the table. “We were just talking to Off—”

“Carmen. Carmen Marlowe,” Officer Marlowe said, stepping forward and offering her hand. “I’m just a friend. Couldn’t pass up a chance to meet the famous ghost inspectors!” She shot a warning glance at Mrs. Third Floor and Mrs. Food.

“Right! This is our friend, Carmen,” Mrs. Food said. She nudged Madison in the side.

“Right, Carmen’s the best,” Madison said cheerily. “We totally invited her.”

“That’s not a problem, is it?” Mrs. Food blinked innocently at Mr. Slick Hair.

Mr. Slick Hair frowned at the Bald Guy.“Well…”

The Bald Guy gave Officer Marlowe an appraising look. He didn’t seem to like what he saw. “What Johnny is trying to say is that it’s great to meet you. We’d be happy to autograph whatever. But unfortunately we’re going to have to disappoint you here. Sorry.” He hoisted the bag over his shoulder and turned to leave.

“What do you mean?” Officer Marlowe didn’t seem to like what she saw either. Butterbean looked from one to the other. It might be time to take cover under the sofa. (That was her go-to spot. Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite able to fit underneath.)

Mr. Slick Hair managed an oily smile.“What he means is, this case is very difficult, and we think it might be too dangerous for observers.”

“We’re going to be handling this one alone, so you ladies can sit tight down here while we take care of business,” the Bald Guy said brusquely. “We’ll let you know when we’ve finished up.”

Officer Marlowe smiled at him.“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m familiar with your show. Homeowners are there a lot. It doesn’t seem particularly dangerous. Is there something you don’t want us to see?”

The ghost men exchanged a quick glance.“No! Not at all. This is a pretty standard haunting,” Mr. Slick Hair said.

“Severe, but nothing that unusual,” the Bald Guy said.

“But nothing sensitive ladies like yourselves need to see,” Mr. Slick Hair finished.

Officer Marlowe snorted.“Then there shouldn’t be a problem having us observe,” she said. “We can take it. Come on, ‘ladies.’ ” She started toward the door.

“Right, just let me get one thing,” Mrs. Third Floor said, making her move toward Walt. Walt’s eyes widened, and she braced herself, tensing up her stomach muscles. That lady had not learned one thing about holding animals.

“Whoa, whoa there, ladies,” Mr. Slick Hair said. “We need a little time to set up.”

“What is there to set up?” Officer Marlowe folded her arms.

“Camera, EMF equipment, sensors, that kind of thing,” the Bald Guy said. “Drink your coffee. We’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

Officer Marlowe narrowed her eyes but nodded.“We’ll give you fifteen minutes.” She set a timer on her watch.

“Got it,” the Bald Guy said, bumping into Mr. Slick Hair in their rush to get upstairs.

Officer Marlowe watched them go. Then she turned to Mrs. Third Floor.“Too bad. I’d be very interested in seeing what they’re doing up there.”

“Me too,” Walt said. She looked back at Wallace. “Rats?”

“Got it,” Wallace said, nodding toward Marco and Polo.

Without a word, the rats silently slipped out of their cage and disappeared into the vents.

“What is THAT supposed to be?” Marco and Polo peered out into the living room of Apartment 5B. Marco and Polo had gone into the upper vents while Wallace had gone to the lower vent behind the couch. They figured that was the best way not to miss anything. “Is that a GHOST?”

The Bald Guy had finished setting up the camera and had taken what looked like a gauzy pile of laundry out of his bag. He went down the hallway and ducked into one of the bedrooms just as Mr. Slick Hair hurried in with a big piece of what looked like Plexiglas.

“What is THAT supposed to be?” Marco said again. “And what is he doing in the bedroom?”

“We should check,” Polo said to Marco. “We need to figure this out.”

“Oh, don’t worry—it’s all clear now,” the white cat said. Marco and Polo jumped, bruising their noses on the vent grate.

The white cat burst out in a gale of laughter.“GET IT? It’s PLEXIGLAS, and I said it’s ALL CLEAR NOW.” She nudged Marco in the ribs and then sighed. “I kill myself. My talent is so wasted on rats like you.”

“What are you even DOING HERE?” Marco gasped. The cat freaked him out more than he liked to admit.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready?” Polo demanded. “They’ll be here ANY MINUTE.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of time.” The white cat wiped her eyes and let out one last giggle. “But if they’re pulling this trick, your Mrs. Third Floor is in for a fright. I’ve seen this one before.”

“What? You have?” Marco pressed his face onto the vent to look into the living room. He could just make out Wallace near the edge of the couch below. “WALLACE!” he shrieked. “DID YOU HEAR THAT? SHE’S SEEN THIS BEFORE!”

“WHAT?” Wallace said, cupping his ear. Marco could be a little shrill when he screamed like that.

“Ask him if they’re hanging that cloth thing up in the bedroom.” The white cat lounged dramatically next to the vent. (Well, she did the best she could. It was a tight squeeze.)

“TELL US WHAT THEY’RE DOING!” Polo yelled down at Wallace.

He nodded at her and then hurried after the two men. He made the trip in short bursts—from the couch to the chair, from the chair to the table, and then to the entrance of the hallway. He edged slowly along the hallway wall until he could peek inside the room.

He reeled back.“Holy cow!” he squeaked. He turned and raced back to the couch in one move. There was no time to do the slow route.

“WHAT WAS IT?” Marco yelled, but Wallace ignored him. He just streaked right back under the couch and disappeared.

“Well, that doesn’t seem good,” Polo said, craning her neck to get a better look. She’d expected Wallace to say something. “Where did he go?”

A few seconds later they had the answer. Wallace shot up into the vent and collapsed at their feet.“Guys! That thing in there, it’s a ghost! They were hanging a ghost up on the ceiling!”

“Exactly,” the white cat purred. “Classic. Just what I thought.” She shrugged. “Well, you have to hand it to these guys, they know their business.”

“What do you mean?” Marco was pretty sure their business was scamming old ladies.

“It’s just a little something called Pepper’s Ghost,” the white cat said. “I’ve seen it many times.” She gave Marco a bashful look. “You may not know this, but when I was a kitten, I was known to pop out of a top hat every now and then.”

Three rats blinked at her.

“What?” Marco finally said.

“It’s a famous illusion,” she sighed. “An old magician’s trick. They set up the ghost dummy, or a person hides, whatever you want. Then you fix the Plexiglas and lights just so, and voil?! Ghost appears.” She looked at them sympathetically. “I’m sorry to say, but they’re going toscare the pants off your humans.”

“Not if we scare them first,” Wallace said, clenching his fists. He pressed his face up to the vent opening and scanned the room. He could just see Mr. Slick Hair setting up the Plexiglas. “JEROME! CHAD! You guys there?”

Jerome oozed out of the sink and waved lazily.“Naturally. What did you all decide? Are we going for scares or professional ruin?”

“BOTH!” Wallace yelled. “FULL STEAM AHEAD.”

Jerome smiled.“Excellent.” He waved a tentacle in the direction of the countertop. “Chad? Camera, please.”

A spot on the counter flickered and turned into a gray octopus. With a nod, Chad slid down the cabinets onto the floor.

Polo shuddered.“Heck, we don’t even need a fake ghost. That would scare Mrs. Third Floor right there.”

Marco didn’t argue. He’d never gotten used to Chad’s cloaking abilities.

Jerome cleared his throat.“One last thing. Would you all mind if I had a little fun? So to speak? I have an idea.”

Wallace’s eyes narrowed. “Go for it.” As far as he was concerned, nothing was off the table anymore.

“GOODY!” Jerome clapped his tentacles together. “This is going to be FUN!” He disappeared back into the sink.

Chad had reached the tripod and pulled himself up to the camera. With a quick flick of the tentacle, he hit the record switch. Then he gave the octopus equivalent of a thumbs-up and slid back down the pole.

It was just in time, too. Mr. Slick Hair was coming down the hallway into the room. He barely missed stepping on one of Chad’s tentacles. Chad quickly camouflaged himself, but before he did, Polo saw a look of pure rage cross his face. Mr. Slick Hair didn’t know what he was in for.

“How much time do we have?” Mr. Slick Hair called into the bedroom. “We should’ve just gotten the money and ditched the old lady. I don’t trust this new friend of hers.”

The Bald Guy came in.“Me neither. I swear I’ve seen that chick somewhere before. But stop stressing. We’ll be fine. I could do this setup in my sleep. Plexiglas in place?”

“All set,” Mr. Slick Hair said with a smirk.

The Bald Guy nodded in approval.“Good. The dry ice is down, lights are all set… we’re good to go.” He slapped Mr. Slick Hair on the back. “Trust me, those ladies will only last a minute before they run screaming downstairs. Then we break everything down, tell her the ghost is gone, and we’re out of here. This way we get our money, and she has nothing but good things to say about us.” He held out his fist for a fist bump. “Showtime?”

“Showtime,” Mr. Slick Hair said, bumping fists.

Wallace’s eyes gleamed. “Showtime.”

— 18 —

“WHAT’S WITH THE LIGHTS IN here?” Officer Marlowe stood in the doorway looking around Apartment 5B. “Did a bulb blow out?”

Mr. Slick Hair ushered her inside.“I’m afraid the ghost is not pleased that we’re here,” he said in a low voice. “It’s hoping to drive us out with its negative energy. Three bulbs exploded while we were setting up our equipment.” He put a hand on Mrs. Third Floor’s shoulder, startling her so much she almost hit the ceiling. “I’m afraid we may be in for a bad time today. I tried to warn you.” He glared at Officer Marlowe.

“I’ll be okay,” Mrs. Third Floor said. “I have the cat with me.” She hoisted up Walt, who was dangling from her arms. “And Madison has the dog.”

Madison silently held up the leash as evidence.

Walt gurgled.

“Well, let’s get going. Quiet, please.” Mr. Slick Hair raised his hands and threw his head back. “SPIRITS! YOU MUST LEAVE THIS PLACE! I COMMAND YOU!”

There was an eerie silence. Butterbean looked around. There didn’t seem to be any evidence of spirits, either leaving or staying put. She nudged Walt’s hanging foot. “Go time?” she wuffled softly.

Mrs. Third Floor shivered and hugged Walt more tightly.

Walt looked up at the vent. A little rat arm stuck out and gave her a thumbs-up.

Walt took a deep breath.“Plan Number One, GO!”

Oscar scrambled up the vent to the fifth floor. It had been very inconvenient, having to wait until the humans left before he could go into the vents. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

He could hear Walt’s command as he crawled out into the open. (Luckily, no one was watching him. His feet slipped out from under him three times. It was very undignified.)

He hurried up beside Polo and looked out into the apartment.“What’s happening? Is it me yet?”

“They’ve set up all kinds of fake tricks. You should’ve seen them. But we’re onto them.” She grinned. “It’s going to be awesome.”

Marco pointed into the living room.“This is you, Oscar. Go time.”

Oscar shook himself to loosen up. Then he took a deep breath and started to sing.

Butterbean felt the fur on the back of her neck start to rise. She wouldn’t call Oscar a good singer, but whatever he was singing was very effective. It definitely didn’t sound quite human, but it didn’t sound like a bird, either. She raised her head and started to howl.

“Butterbean! Shhh!” Madison bent down and shushed her. “You’re supposed to be keeping your eyes open, remember?” Butterbean made a face. She couldn’t help herself. As the white cat had said, there was nothing wrong with a little improvising.

“Walt, psst!” Butterbean called. The fur on her neck was starting to prickle again. “What is that song?” She cocked her head to listen better.

“Doesn’t matter! Stick to the plan,” Walt gurgled. To be honest, Walt wasn’t sure what song it was. At first she’d thought Oscar was doing a country number, but now she was getting more of an “Itsy Bitsy Spider” kind of feeling. But whatever it was, it was perfect. Oscar was totally creeping her out.

“What is that?” Madison asked, looking around. “Do you hear that?”

Mrs. Food had a frozen expression on her face, and Mrs. Third Floor had started to whimper. Even Mr. Slick Hair looked shaken. He raised his arms a little higher.“SPIRITS! WE KNOW YOU’RE HERE.”

Butterbean raised her head to howl again, but as she opened her mouth, she caught Walt’s eye. Walt jerked her head in the direction of the living room. Butterbean nodded, apologetic.

She’d let herself get distracted by Oscar’s singing. She shook a little to get herself into character. (Her character was Dog Freaked Out by Ghost. She’d been practicing ever since she’d gotten the part a few hours ago. The white cat had given her a couple of pointers.) Taking a deep breath, she stared at a fixed point in the middle of the room and started to whine. (The fixed point she chose was a piece of fluff on the carpet. She would totally eat it later.)

“What is it, Bean?” Madison asked in a low voice. “What’s wrong with you?” Butterbean ignored her and whined again.

“I think the dog senses something,” Mrs. Third Floor said.

Mr. Slick Hair stared at Butterbean with a confused expression. She was not part of his plan.“Um. Yes, exactly.” He stared at her for a few seconds more and then shrugged. “GHOSTLY SPIRITS! EVEN THE DOG SENSES YOUR PRESENCE! MAKE YOURSELF KNOWN!” He looked around for the Bald Guy. “Gord!” he hissed.

The Bald Guy nodded.

Suddenly a low eerie noise filled the apartment. Walt swiveled her ears. It was coming from the Bald Guy’s jacket pocket. She glared at him.

“Look! Over there!” Mr. Slick Hair pointed down the hallway, his finger trembling. “THE GHOST IS APPEARING!”

Tendrils of vapor were gathering in the hallway near the bedroom. Mrs. Third Floor gasped and clutched Mrs. Food, who clutched Madison.

Officer Marlowe frowned.

There, in the hallway, a ghostly apparition appeared. It was transparent, but had a roughly human shape and hung suspended in the air, swaying slightly.

Butterbean yelped.

Mrs. Third Floor gave a shrill scream.

“WE HAVE ANGERED THE SPIRITS!” Mr. Slick Hair yelled. “IT’S COMING FOR YOU!” He pointed at Mrs. Third Floor.

Mrs. Third Floor was trembling so much that Walt felt like she was going to be sick. But suddenly, Mrs. Third Floor went still. She tilted her head and looked down the hallway, blinking.

Because just as suddenly as the ghost had appeared, it disappeared.

“Where did it…” She trailed off, looking around wildly and clutching Walt even tighter.

“It… uh…” Mr. Slick Hair shot a nasty look at the Bald Guy, who nodded in response. “IT IS DISPLEASED,” Mr. Slick Hair continued in a booming voice. The Bald Guy edged back toward the hallway, trying to look invisible. But before he got there, he stopped short.

Because the ghostly apparition they’d seen before had been replaced by something much more terrifying.

A huge shape loomed in the hallway, a shape with multiple arms that waved and reached out toward them.

“OH NO NO NO,” Mrs. Third Floor whimpered, and buried her face in Mrs. Food’s shoulder.

“PSST, Walt!” Butterbean hissed. “Am I still supposed to be looking at my fixed spot, or can I look at— WHAT THE HECK? IS THAT MR. WIGGLES?” Butterbean barked.

That’s when they heard the scream. It was the most bone-chilling sound any of them could ever remember hearing. And it was coming from Mr. Slick Hair.

He’d collapsed in a heap on the floor and was scrambling crab-style away from the thing in the hallway. “WHAT IS THAT?” he shrieked, pointing toward the flailing ghostly tendrils. “Gord, what have you done?”

“NOT ME!” the Bald Guy wailed, flattening himself against the wall. “I didn’t do anything like that thing! Mine was just gauze!”

A ghostly tentacle reached out in his direction, and he scrambled back into the kitchen. Then he screamed and pointed at the floor.“NOOOOO!”

Everyone peered into the kitchen. Tiny white footprints had appeared on the linoleum.“Those weren’t there before!” the Bald Guy screamed. “I SWEAR!”

A tentacle dangled down from the light fixture and gently touched Mr. Slick Hair on the back of the neck. (There were also some quiet giggling sounds, but no one noticed them over all the screaming.)

Mr. Slick Hair jumped away, screaming and slapping at his head.“IT TOUCHED ME! THE GHOST TOUCHED ME?”

“All right, what is this?” Officer Marlowe demanded. She’d seen just about enough.

“Don’t let it get me!” Mr. Slick Hair threw himself onto the floor, grabbing at her legs for protection. She shook him off and started walking carefully down the hallway toward the ghost.

As she reached for the light switch, she smacked into the piece of Plexiglas.“Interesting,” she said, smacking it again with her hand. The multi-armed ghost quickly pulled itself up and disappeared.

“Want to explain this?” She peered into the bedroom doorway. “Nice trick, guys.” She went into the room, emerging a few minutes later holding the wadded-up-fabric ghost figure. “I think I see what’s going on here.”

Mr. Slick Hair scrambled to his feet.“No, I mean, yes, that’s a fake. We were trying to trick her, I confess. That was a scam, sure. But that thing? With the…” He shuddered. “… the… the arms? We didn’t do that! That was a real ghost. Listen! Those noises? That’s not us!”

They all listened. Oscar had stopped singing, but a new sound had started. It was one that all the animals recognized. The sound of vocal exercises.

“That’s not a human sound, Officer,” Mrs. Third Floor said softly.

“Officer?” Mr. Slick Hair stared up at Officer Marlowe in horror. “Wait, what? I mean, no, this was all a… a prank!”

“Yes, good fun,” the Bald Guy said from his perch on a kitchen stool. “Just a joke between friends. Now let me out of here.”

He hopped from the stool onto the couch and then scrambled over the coffee table toward the door, like he thought the ghost would grab his feet.

Officer Marlowe stepped in front of the exit, blocking the Bald Guy’s path. She turned to Mrs. Third Floor. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to say these men are scamming you. This ghost? It’s all fake.” She put one hand to her temple. “I’m seeing a whole lot of fraud charges in their futures.” She reached into her waistband and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “I’m taking them in.”

Mrs. Third Floor nodded.“Yes, you’re right. I know you’re right, but still…” She swallowed. “These men didn’t vandalize the apartment. Or lick the cupcakes. They may be scammers, but there’s still a ghost. Can’t you hear it?”

“Cat! That’s your cue!” Wallace hissed from the vent.

“I realize that, ma’am, but—”

Officer Marlowe was cut short. Because at that moment, the white cat made her appearance.

Trotting in from the kitchen, covered with flour, she gave a pathetic unearthly yowl and collapsed in a heap on the living room floor. She had even managed to find a spotlight. (It was very dramatic.)

“This is my favorite death scene,” she said in between screeches and moans. She put a paw onto her forehead and fell back. “Observe my skills,” she said, coughing gently and batting her eyes up at Mrs. Third Floor. “You don’t see a performance like this every day,” she moaned. “OH WOE IS ME!”

“Oh, it’s a kitty!” Mrs. Third Floor squealed.

“It’s covered with gross stuff. What is that?” Madison said, taking a step forward to examine it. Butterbean was way ahead of her.

She snuffled at the white cat for a moment.

“Stop it! You’re ruining my scene!” the cat screeched, batting at Butterbean’s face before collapsing back in a heap. “OH WOE!”

Butterbean lifted a white nose and sneezed. A puff of flour flew up around them.

Madison examined Butterbean’s face. “It’s flour!” She stood up. “Just like before!” She did a discreet fist pump in the air. “I KNEW it wasn’t a ghost! High five, dog!” She held up her hand for a high five. Butterbean did her best to high-five back.

“The poor little kitty!” Mrs. Third Floor let go of Walt, who fell in a heap on the floor. Then she scooped up the white cat and cuddled it to her chest. She didn’t even notice the flour all over her front.

“There’s your ghost,” Officer Marlowe said, picking up the phone and pointing at the white cat with it. “I knew there was a rational explanation. That cat’s been in your apartment.”

Madison frowned.“But that doesn’t explain the—”

“Hsst,” Mrs. Food hissed, poking her in the side.

“… pizza,” Madison finished under her breath. She exchanged significant looks with Mrs. Food. “Right, that’s it! That kitten must’ve gotten stuck in here somehow. Wow, crazy, right?”

“That cat must’ve licked your cupcakes,” Mrs. Food said to Mrs. Third Floor.

“Poor little darling,” Mrs. Third Floor cooed. “Poor baby kitten. We have to find your mommy and daddy.”

“Kitten, my butt,” Walt grumbled, standing up and smoothing her sweaty, matted fur. “That cat is older than me.”

“I need backup at the Strathmore Building,” Officer Marlowe said into the phone. Then she pointed it at the couch. “I’ll need you two gentlemen to sit down there. Your little con is over.”

The ghost men sat down on the couch obediently. Mr. Slick Hair was still shaking and staring at the floor. The Bald Guy had his head in his hands.

They didn’t hear the cheers coming from the vent overhead or see the two octopuses high-fiving in the light fixture.

— 19 —

IT DIDN’T TAKE OFFICER TRAVIS long to show up to assist with the arrest. And he seemed very relieved to find out that the exploding flour canister episode from before had a kitten-related explanation.

“I figured it was a cat or something,” he said to Mrs. Third Floor as he put the handcuffs on Mr. Slick Hair. “I said to myself, ‘That’s a cat doing this, not a ghost.’ That’s what I thought, anyway.”

“Kitty kitty,” Mrs. Third Floor said, cuddling the white cat. “Little sweetie pie.”

“Really?” Madison said, eyeing Officer Travis skeptically. “If that’s what you thought, why didn’t you say so?”

Officer Travis shrugged.“Thought it was obvious.” He hustled Mr. Slick Hair away without meeting Madison’s eye.

“How long is this scene, anyway?” the white cat meowed to Walt as Mrs. Third Floor made kissy noises at her. “I don’t do extended runs.”

Walt just smirked.

Officer Marlowe came over to Mrs. Third Floor, with Bob the maintenance man behind her. He stopped short when he saw Butterbean and Walt.

“Oh. You guys,” he said, looking from Butterbean to Walt and back again. “I should’ve known.”

They’d had some run-ins with Bob before. Butterbean lolled her tongue as a hello gesture. He didn’t seem to appreciate it.

Officer Marlowe snorted.“Hello? Not them. This is the cat here,” she said, pointing to the floury mess in Mrs. Third Floor’s arms. “Those other animals are all accounted for.”

“Right,” Bob growled. “Of course. Those guys always have a cover story.”

Butterbean wagged her tail at him. He ignored her.

Bob leaned forward and carefully examined the white cat, who preened like she was having hair and makeup done. Bob stepped back, dusting his hands off.“Yeah, I’ve seen this cat before. How’d she get in?”

“We’re not sure,” Officer Marlowe said. “We’ll leave that mystery for you to solve. Now if you can just get this cat home? I think she’s done enough damage here.”

“Did you hear that?” the white cat smirked. “They totally bought my performance.”

Walt rolled her eyes.

Bob looked at his clipboard.“So I’m thinking this cat lives next door.” He flipped the papers back down on the clipboard and reached out for the white cat. “Come on, Bertha. Let’s get you home.”

Butterbean’s jaw dropped. “Bertha? Your name’s BERTHA?”

“PRINCESS JUBILEE! CALL ME PRINCESS JUBILEE!” the cat shrieked as Bob carried her away. “Princess Jubilee’s my stage name! No one calls me BERTHA!”

“Wow. I didn’t expect that,” Butterbean said to Walt.

Walt snickered.“Princess Jubilee.” It was almost worse than Bertha.

“Well, that’s that,” Officer Marlowe said, coming over to Mrs. Third Floor. “I’m heading down to the precinct. I’ll be back later to take your statements.” She held up the video camera. “Evidence. Those doofuses taped the whole thing—set up, crime, confession, you name it.” She shook her head again and looked down at Butterbean. “I’m just surprised those animals of yours didn’t root out that cat right away. You’d think they would’ve tipped us off to a strange animal.”

Mrs. Food frowned down at Butterbean, who blinked back with her most innocent face on.“Hmm. Yes, you’d think.” She turned to Madison. “I’m going to be a while here. Could you put them back in the apartment? I think they’re overtired. Especially Bean, with all that howling.”

“I was in character!” Butterbean complained as Madison dragged her to the elevator.

She didn’t stop grumbling until Madison unlocked the door to Mrs. Food’s apartment a few minutes later.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Butterbean said to Walt as Madison shut them back inside.

“But it isn’t over, is it?” a voice said as the door closed behind them.

Butterbean stopped short. Sitting in the middle of the sofa, waiting for them, was Jerome.

He drummed his tentacles on the arm of the sofa.“Well, I did my part. Now how are you getting me home?”

Luckily, Jerome was in a much better mood once Oscar appealed to his better nature. (The way to appeal to Jerome’s better nature was with sardines. Lots of sardines.)

“So you think you can get me a map of the pipes?” Jerome said, spraying a fine mist of fish juice. “Since I obviously can’t go back the way I came.”

“Right,” Walt said. “The city website is sure to have one. Once we get you that map, you can just follow the pipes back to the zoo.”

“And take Larry down,” Jerome growled menacingly. (Or as menacingly as he could with a mouth full of sardines.) “I’ll be so entertaining, they’ll never even THINK about replacing me.”

“YEAH!” Butterbean cheered, high-fiving one of Jerome’s free tentacles. She was still hyped up from the ghost stuff earlier.

“We think it should be pretty straightforward,” Oscar said, scooting down the arm of the sofa. He was definitely going to need a bath to wash off all the fish residue.

“Good. Because I don’t want to end up in some water recycling plant or decorative fountain or something,” Jerome grumbled. He shook his fist again. “TAKE LARRY DOWN!”

“TAKE HIM DOWN!” Marco and Polo cheered. The enthusiasm was a little contagious.

Jerome giggled and elbowed Wallace in the side.“Did you hear those ghost guys scream? Oh man, I should incorporate that ghost stuff into my routine at the zoo. It’ll be a huge draw. Seriously, you guys have given me a lot of great new ideas.” He tapped his cheek thoughtfully. “I think I just needed this quality time away from the paparazzi to find myself again. You know, personal growth and all that.”

“Erm. Great,” Oscar said, eyeing the door. Mrs. Food and Madison could get back any minute, and they still had to use the computer. “We’re glad it was beneficial. But maybe you should go get your things together?”

“Right,” Jerome sighed, flipping the empty sardine container toward the trash can. (It missed.) “No point in wasting more time here.” He stretched and headed off to the kitchen. “I’ll be hanging at Chad’s place until you get that map. He’s going to be crushed that I’m leaving.”

Jerome climbed up onto the counter and paused.“You know, those pipes run both ways. You ever want to pull a prank like that again, I’m your octopus. You got it?”

“Got it,” Walt said solemnly.

Jerome waved a tentacle at each of them like he was doing a fancy interpretive dance and then disappeared down the drain.

Oscar looked at Walt nervously.“I just hope you’re right about that map.”

Walt’s whisker twitched. “I hope so too.”

They were not right about the map. Walt had been searching for the past ten minutes with no luck. And Mrs. Food wouldn’t be gone much longer.

“Well?” Oscar said, tapping his feet impatiently.

“Anything?” Butterbean asked, her nose trembling.

Walt shook her head.“Nothing.” The city waterworks website seemed to be woefully inadequate.

“This is ridiculous,” Oscar said bitterly. “Why is there no easily accessible map? What about regular citizens who need to know how to get somewhere by pipe? What about them?”

“Yeah, what about them?” Butterbean echoed. She had a feeling there wasn’t much demand for pipe maps in human circles, but she wanted to be supportive.

Walt kept typing.“The public site just doesn’t have the plans, and the section with the documents is password protected,” Walt explained. “Very securely password protected. I can’t even see what’s there.”

“I wish he could just go back the way he got here!” Polo complained. “That would be so much easier!”

“Yes, well, we all do,” Oscar said. “But that’s obviously not an option.”

They all stared at the computer screen for a long minute.

“Why don’t you hack it?” Marco finally called from the doorway. He was officially the lookout, but he kept getting distracted. Whatever was happening with the computer sounded a lot more interesting than watching an empty living room. “You know, the computer. Hack it up.”

“Yes! Let’s hack it up!” Butterbean said. “That sounds like fun!”

“Ooh good idea, I’ll hack it,” Walt said sarcastically.

Marco looked wounded. It didn’t sound like Walt was being serious. “Maybe just a couple of hacks?”

Walt slumped a little.“I’m sorry. I tried hacking. I can’t crack it. The website has a two-part authentication system, and I don’t have a security fob.”

“Yeah. Wow,” Marco said. “That stinks.” He didn’t have any idea what any of that meant.

“Can you get one?” Polo asked. She wasn’t sure what a security fob was, but how hard could it be?

Pretty hard, apparently.

“Doubtful. I’m not a city employee, and they’re the only ones who get them. Is there anyone in this building who has one, Butterbean? I’m sure Chad would be able to ‘borrow’ it for us.” She didn’t even bother to make the air quotes. They all knew what it meant when Chad borrowed things.

Butterbean sat down and stared at the ceiling while she went through her mental list of the residents of the building. Her lips moved while she thought. Finally, she made a face.“I don’t think so.”

“High Heel Woman? Spicy Food Couple? Mrs. Hates Dogs?” Oscar said. Surely there was someone.

“No. Sorry,” Butterbean said.

“Man Who Smokes Cigars?” Walt said. “None of them?”

Butterbean shook her head.“High Heel Woman works in a store, I think, cosmetics section. Man Who Smokes Cigars is a bank guy. Mrs. Hates Dogs is retired, and Spicy Food Couple does something on the internet. A food blob? Something like that. The only office person I remember smelling was Man Who Smelled Like Onions, but he’s gone.”

“And there isn’t any other way to get the plans?” Oscar asked Walt.

“There’s one other way,” Walt said slowly. “We could fill out a request form. Then they’d send them to us.”

“Oh!” Butterbean said. “Let’s do that, then!”

Walt shook her head.“It wouldn’t work.”

“Will they send them in the mail? Is that the problem?” Oscar wasn’t willing to give up. “I know tampering with the mail is a federal crime, but we’ve never let that stop us before, right? We can certainly find a way to intercept the plans before Mrs. Food sees them.” They’d planned aheist. Surely it wouldn’t be that hard to steal a letter.

“That’s not it,” Walt explained. “It takes four to six weeks. Processing.”

“Oh.” Butterbean sat down hard. Oscar’s feathers drooped.

Four to six weeks was a long time. Four to six weeks of Jerome was even longer.

“We’ll find another way,” Oscar said. They’d have to.

When Mrs. Food and Madison got back, they found the animals lying lethargically around the living room. No matter how much brainstorming the animals had done, they hadn’t been able to find another way.

Walt had draped herself along the back of the couch. Butterbean was partially wedged under the coffee table. Marco and Polo were lying flat on the floor of their aquarium. And Oscar was sitting gloomily on the bottom of his cage. (Wallace was lying behind the couch, but Mrs. Food and Madison didn’t notice him.) They had failed. And they hadn’t told Jerome.

“What’s wrong, guys? Too much ghosty stuff for you?” Madison asked, patting Walt on the head. Walt twitched an ear in response.

Madison bent down to look under the coffee table.“Butterbean, we did it! We stopped those guys! Aren’t you excited?” Butterbean didn’t even move. Madison stood up. “I think they’re traumatized,” she told Mrs. Food.

“They’ll stop being traumatized when I get the can opener out,” Mrs. Food scoffed, going into the kitchen.

“We’re being depressed,” Butterbean said without moving. She’d thought it was pretty obvious. They’d run out of ideas. They would never get Jerome back to the zoo now. They were stuck with him.

Madison picked up the remote.“Maybe we can watch the news? They like that.” She sat down on the couch and rested her head on Walt’s back. “Want to see the news, cat?”

Walt didn’t respond.

It didn’t matter anyway. The News was over.

“Oh crud,” Madison said, turning the TV off again. “I was hoping they’d say something about that new octopus. I still can’t believe Mr. Wiggles is really gone!”

“Well, it’s been a while,” Mrs. Food said, setting the table. “They can’t keep looking forever.”

“I know, but I was right there!” Madison said, getting up. “I was probably one of the last people to see him!”

“Last person,” Butterbean couldn’t help saying. “You were the last person. I’ve told you that A MILLION TIMES.”

“Maybe even the LAST person,” Madison said.

“Thank you,” Butterbean said.

“I just keep thinking about it, you know, trying to retrace my steps in my head. Surely I saw something, right? Maybe something I saw is the key to everything! It’s like one of those mystery movies where they call everybody into the drawing room to reveal the killer.”

“Right,” Mrs. Food said. “Madison, help me with the rice, okay?”

“Sure,” Madison said, going into the kitchen.

None of the animals moved. Then slowly, Walt’s ears started to perk up.

“Oscar,” she said without moving. Her voice was muffled by the couch cushion. “Did you hear what she said?”

“I did,” Oscar said.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Oscar sat up a little straighter.“About the murder mystery?”

“The drawing room part? Calling everyone together? Retracing steps?”

“Exactly.” Oscar shot up onto his perch. “How much time do you need?”

Walt jumped down from the cushion.“Not long. Cover for me, Bean!”

She streaked into the office.

Butterbean sat up in confusion. She was not thinking what they were thinking.“WHAT’S HAPPENING?” she barked, and then started running in circles around the living room. She didn’t have time to come up with a new distraction technique. Circles were always her best option.

“What in the world?” Mrs. Food came out into the living room.

Madison poked her head around the corner.“She’s lost it.” Then she frowned. “What is that cat doing?” She wiped her hands on a dish towel and headed off into the office.

“OH NOOOOOOOO,” Butterbean wailed. She couldn’t even manage a simple distraction anymore.

Madison was back less than a minute later.“She’s playing with the computer keyboard. It’s like she thinks she can type,” she laughed.

Butterbean and Oscar exchanged glances. As long as Mrs. Food and Madison thought Walt’s computer hijinks were all a big joke, they should be okay. Just as long as they didn’t investigate too much.

Walt stalked in a few minutes later and sat down in the middle of the living room, a smug expression on her face.

“Did it work?” Butterbean asked, collapsing in a heap next to her.

“Just wait.” She started grooming her tail.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Third Floor poked her head in. “Madison?” She let herself in. “Sorry to bother you, but I just got the STRANGEST message that I think was meant for you. It was someone from the City Zoo. They need you to come by tomorrow for some kind of reenactment? It’s part of the Wiggles investigation. Anyway, I wrote down what they said.” She handed a piece of paper to Madison.

“Okay, thanks.” Madison looked at the piece of paper. “Huh.”

Walt smoothed her whiskers.“Bingo.”

— 20 —

“MADISON, COME QUICK!” MRS. FOOD hit the pause button on the Television as Madison came into the apartment. “Look! He’s back! Mr. Wiggles is back!”

“What?” Madison dumped her book bag onto the entryway floor, her water bottle bouncing out into the dining room.

Walt inspected it carefully. She was just glad it was empty this time.

“No way! I was JUST THERE! When did this happen?” Madison said, sitting down on the couch.

“They just announced it,” Mrs. Food said. “Here, I’ll run it back.”

Mrs. Food rewound for a few seconds and then hit play.

“And he’s back! Just as mysteriously as Mr. Wiggles disappeared, today he returned with no explanation. Zoo officials say they had almost given up hope of ever seeing the beloved celebrity and spokes-octopus again, but today he mysteriously reappeared in his own tank, ringing the bell that tells zookeepers that he wants a snack. Zoo officials say he seems healthy and happy, and may have even put on a little weight.”

“He did eat a LOT,” Butterbean whispered to Walt.

The camera zoomed in on the tank holding Mr. Wiggles. He pulled himself up and waved to the camera, spitting water onto the reporter standing nearby. Then he winked and gave the camera a thumbs-up.

“Did you see that?” Butterbean gasped. “He winked at us!”

“It wasn’t necessarily at us, Butterbean,” Oscar said. But he secretly thought it was.

“Zoo officials say this is especially good news in light of the recent scandal involving European octopus Monsieur Octavio, also known as the Annihilator. Back to you, Herb,” the reporter said, trying to ignore the water dripping down her nose.

“That is good news! And boy did they dodge a bullet with that Annihilator. Talk about bad news!” The anchorman chuckled to himself. “Glad to see that Wiggles character back where he belongs.”

Mrs. Food hit pause.“What’s all this about the Annihilator?”

Madison grinned.“You didn’t hear about that? He escaped from his tank and ate the entire display of saltwater fish. Apparently he does that a lot. That’s why they were trying to get rid of him.”

Mrs. Food smiled and got up.“Well, then, I’m glad their reenactment worked. You can be proud that you helped find him.”

“No, but that’s just it. It didn’t work!” Madison said, a confused expression on her face. “It was the weirdest thing. There was no official reenactment at all—they didn’t even know what I was talking about! So I walked around and did the stuff I did before, but it felt kind of dumb, so I just came home.”

Mrs. Food looked confused.“But the phone call—”

“I know!” Madison said.

“Huh,” Mrs. Food said thoughtfully.

They both stared at the pets for a long second. Butterbean tried not to squirm. There was no way they could pin this on them.

“Anyway, it was strange…” Madison said, shrugging.

Mrs. Food frowned.“This will sound silly, but you don’t think—”

“YOOHOO!” a voice came from the front entrance. Mrs. Third Floor was standing in the doorway. “Beulah, Madison, I need help, please!”

“Oh no, not again,” Mrs. Food muttered as she hurried to the door. “What is it, Mildred? What can I do?”

Mrs. Third Floor laughed.“You can give me my spare key. You’ll never believe it. I found a renter!”

“Already?” Mrs. Food gasped, handing her the key.

“Already?” Wallace groaned from his pile of cedar chips. He knew it was too good to last.

Mrs. Third Floor clasped her hands together.“Yes, and I didn’t even have to list it. You’re going to be so surprised. Meet my new tenant!” She stepped aside and held her arms out like she was displaying a refrigerator on the Television.

Officer Marlowe poked her head around the door.“Hello, you two.”

“Officer Marlowe!” Madison blurted. “You’re moving in?”

“Guilty,” Officer Marlowe said. “I just had to snap it up. Don’t tell anyone, but I had my eye on that place from the first minute I saw it.”

“And she can help protect it from ghosts!” Mrs. Third Floor said happily.

“Ghosts don’t mess with me,” Officer Marlowe smirked. “Mostly because I don’t believe in them.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news,” Mrs. Food said as Mrs. Third Floor held out the key. “Welcome to the building. It would be good to have a police officer nearby.”

“Thanks,” Officer Marlowe said, taking the key. She turned to go and then hesitated. “Would you like to see what I’m doing with the place? Mrs. Thurfel said it was okay if I did a little decorating.”

Mrs. Third Floor beamed.“I’m going to let her put nail holes in the walls AND paint the rooms a different color! I might even let her have a pet!” She cleared her throat and shot Walt and Butterbean a look. “I haven’t decided about that one, though. No offense,” she said to Butterbean.

“None taken,” Butterbean said.

“So, what do you think, Wallace?” Walt asked, raising an eyebrow. “She might be able to have a pet.”

Wallace shook his head.“No, that’s okay. I’ll find a new place. I was actually thinking about one on seven. That’s my favorite floor, you know. That 7C is pretty nice.”

“But that’s where Mrs. Power Walker lives!” Butterbean gasped.

Wallace shrugged.“I know. I get the feeling she wouldn’t mind. We’ll see. It’s just a thought.”

“Come on, Beulah. We need your opinion on paint colors,” Mrs. Third Floor said, hurrying into the hallway. “You too, Madison.”

Madison picked up the leash.“Do you want Butterbean and Walt, too?”

Mrs. Third Floor made a face.“No, we don’t need them. The ghost is gone! Besides…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have carpeting.”

“Ah,” Madison said, putting the leash away. “Sorry, guys.” She followed the others out.

“Offense taken,” Butterbean grumbled.

“Oh please,” Walt said as the door closed. “NOW she has carpeting? How insulting. ‘I have carpeting.’ Well, I have bruises across my rib cage, thank you very much. That’s gratitude for you.”

“I wouldn’t pee on her carpet if she begged me,” Butterbean said. (Although secretly, she wasn’t so sure.)

“Let it go, Walt,” Oscar said. “Think of it this way. Your dangling days are over. You’re safe now.”

Walt sniffed.“I guess you’re right.”

“Are they gone?” The white cat poked her head out from under the couch. “I thought those guys would never leave.”

“Tell me about it,” Chad said, slipping up the drain into the kitchen sink. “Where are the snacks? Jerome cleaned me out before he left. My entire stash of canned salmon is gone.”

He jerked the refrigerator door open with one tentacle and then hung suspended between the counter and the door as he rummaged around.“Herring snacks. Perfect.” He grabbed the jar of herring and swung himself back up onto the counter.

“Retirement isn’t for everyone, let me tell you,” the white cat said, settling down on Walt’s cushion and propping her feet up. “Mr. Wiggles wouldn’t have been happy staying here.”

“I wouldn’t have been happy with him staying here,” Chad muttered, sucking down half of the herring snacks. Butterbean was impressed. (Although she didn’t know how they were going to explain the missing snacks to Mrs. Food.)

“He wanted me to give you this, by the way,” Chad said, flipping a piece of paper in Oscar’s direction. It was a dramatically posed photo of Jerome, signed with an inky tentacle.

“An autographed photo…” Oscar breathed. “Just like he promised.”

“You should see the outtakes,” Chad snickered, spraying herring all over the counter.

“Great.” Walt eyed the photo. There was definitely some retouching there. “Now, did you want someth…” Walt’s voice trailed off. She held up a paw. “Do you hear that? What is that?” Her eyes were wide as she looked at Oscar.

He cocked his head and listened.“Oh no.”

A slight splashing sound was coming from the bathroom.

“It can’t be him. The water bottle was empty when she got back,” Walt said. “I looked.”

“Is it Chad?” Oscar asked.

“Still over here, genius.” Chad waved a tentacle from the kitchen. “I can move fast, but not that fast.”

Butterbean swallowed hard.“Ghost?”

“OH NO, IS THIS PLACE HAUNTED TOO?” Wallace wailed. It was so unfair.

Oscar flew over to the bathroom door, followed by the others. Slowly they pushed open the door.

“WHOOHOOO HOT TUB!” Marco cheered as he reclined in the sink. “This is the best. Do the bubbles again, Polo!”

Marco and Polo were lounging in the half-filled sink. Polo held on to the sides and kicked her feet to make bubbles.

“Nope, I’m outta here.” The white cat turned and stalked back into the vent behind the couch. She’d already had one bath too many that week. Flour was a lot harder to get off than she’d expected.

“Walt, Oscar, look, it’s our very own bubble bath!” Polo cheered.

“Just like Chad and Jerome had in the other place!” Marco said, splashing water at them.

“Except we don’t have a Jacuzzi. We just have feet!” Polo explained.

Butterbean climbed up to sniff the water.“I’m not going to fit in there,” she said, snuffling at the bubbles.

Wallace scrambled up the cabinet and slid into the water. He giggled.“Come on in, the water’s fine!” he said happily. “I always wanted to say that.”

Oscar landed on the edge of the sink and dangled his feet in the water.

Walt pawed gently at the water.“I’ll pass, but thanks.” She didn’t like to get wet. But it was good to just have fun for a change and not worry about everything. Especially pesky octopuses like Jerome.

She looked up just in time to see Chad flying through the air.

“CANNONBALL!”

3. THE GREAT VANDAL SCANDAL

— 1 —

BUTTERBEAN LIKED TO THINK THAT nothing could shock her. She’d been part of an International Crime Syndicate, after all. She was an experienced Ghost Investigator. But this? Nothing had prepared her for this.

Mrs. Food had been eating tuna fish for the past five minutes and hadn’t offered her a bite once. NOT EVEN ONCE.

Butterbean scooted forward until her chin was practically in Mrs. Food’s lap. Maybe Mrs. Food just hadn’t seen her. That was the only logical explanation.

“You’re not getting any, Bean,” Mrs. Food said, her mouth full. “Stop begging.”

Butterbean fell backward in shock. BEGGING? As if a Ghost Investigator would resort to BEGGING. She was simply making herself available. Staying open to opportunities. And if that opportunity happened to be a mouthful of tuna fish, so be it.

Walt stopped licking her paw and looked over at the crumpled pile of what used to be Butterbean.“Do I even want to know?” she asked Oscar.

Oscar opened his beak to answer and then reconsidered. He shook his head.“No.”

“For the record, I was NOT begging,” Butterbean grumbled, picking herself up and stomping over to the living room. “I was very restrained.”

“It’s true!” Polo called from the rat cage. “I saw the whole thing!”

“Me too,” Marco said, climbing up onto the water bottle. “Oooh, you know what this calls for? I think this calls for an investigation!”

“Yes!” Polo narrowed her eyes. “Why wouldn’t Mrs. Food give Butterbean any of her tuna fish? Very suspicious, if you ask me. Mysterious, even.”

“Yeah! Mysterious!” Marco agreed. “We should definitely investigate.”

Oscar groaned. There hadn’t been much to investigate since they’d solved the mysterious haunting of Apartment 5B, it was true. But that didn’t mean the rats hadn’t tried. There had been the mysterious case of Madison’s missing hairbrush. (It fell behind the bed.) Mrs. Food’s suspicious behavior involving a series of mysterious and very short phone calls. (Telemarketer.) And the mysterious disappearance of Walt’s favorite seafood treats. (Chad ate them. He was an octopus they knew who lived on the eighth floor. And to be honest, he was usually behind any mysterious food disappearances.) Oscar was beginning to think that the rats didn’t really understand the meaning of the word “mysterious.”

“That’s not a mystery,” Oscar said. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Are we sure, though?” Polo asked. “Seems kind of mysterious to me.”

“Maybe we should investigate why it isn’t mysterious,” Marco said thoughtfully.

“Maybe we should investigate why you want to investigate everything,” Walt said, resuming her paw licking. “Begging isn’t allowed. Mystery solved.”

“I WAS NOT BEGGING!” Butterbean barked. “I WAS WATCHING CLOSELY.”

Walt rolled her eyes.“Fine. Watching closely is also not allowed. Not at mealtimes.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Marco said. Walt was an amazing investigator.

“You know,” Oscar said thoughtfully. “Since there aren’t any crimes going on, I think it might be time for us to officially retire.”

“Retire?” Marco gasped. “You meanretire retire?” As far as he was concerned, being an investigator was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Well, that and being part of an International Crime Syndicate. Not many rats had that kind of r?sum?.

“Can you even retire from being an investigator?” Polo asked.

“I think we can,” Oscar said. “Besides, we have lots of other things to do now. I, for one, am thinking of improving my Human language skills. How does this sound?” He cleared his throat.“Quiet, Oscar!” He looked around expectantly.“That was me being Mrs. Food, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“I could tell,” Butterbean said. She’d heard Mrs. Food say that a lot.

Walt raised one eyebrow.“Impressive.”

Polo shot Marco a look.“Um, yeah. It sounded just like her.”

“Like looking in a mirror!” Marco piped up. “Or, no. I mean…”

“OOOHHH! Do the elevator lady voice next!” Butterbean said, wagging her tail. She loved the voice in the elevator that told you what floor you were on.

“It’s just a little something I’ve been working on,” Oscar said, preening. “I still need more practice.”

“What needs more practice?” Wallace, a wild rat who used to live in the vents, peeked around the edge of the sofa to make sure it was all clear.

“We’re talking about retiring from the investigating business,” Polo explained. “We’ve all got lots of other things to do. Oscar is going to work on his Human language skills.”

“Yeah,” Marco said. “And me and Polo, we’re, um…” He hesitated, looking around the cage. “Well, these seeds aren’t going to sort themselves,” he said, staring at the scattered seeds doubtfully.

“And I’m going to be a therapist!” Butterbean said.

Everyone stared at her.

Wallace shot a look at Polo, who shrugged.“Um, sure, okay,” Wallace said finally. “Well, I’m super busy too. I finally moved out of Apartment 5B and set up my sleeping bag behind the couch in 7C.” Wallace had used one of Madison’s pom-pom socks as a sleeping bag during a stakeout once, and he may have forgotten to give it back.It was one of his prized possessions.

“Wait, 7C? Mrs. Power Walker’s apartment? Are you moving there for sure?” Butterbean asked. Mrs. Power Walker was one of Butterbean’s favorite residents in the Strathmore Building. She was always really friendly in the elevator, pushing buttons when needed and never asking questions. The perfect neighbor.

Wallace shrugged.“I’m not ready to move my collection of lost keys in or anything, but it looks promising. She leaves a bowl of milk out every night, so that’s a plus. She says it’s for the brownies. I think that’s a kind of fairy,” Wallace explained.

“No, brownies are like cookies but fatter,” Butterbean said. “Like flat cake.”

“That’s true,” Polo agreed. “Madison eats them.”

Oscar closed his eyes. He decided not to say anything.

“Well, I haven’t seen any, so I think it’s fair game,” Wallace said. “I’m not turning down free milk.”

“Sure,” Butterbean said. Free milk was free milk.

“See? It sounds like we won’t even miss being investigators,” Oscar said, clicking his beak. “What with Wallace’s new apartment, Marco and Polo with their seed sorting, Walt with her…”

“Relaxing,” Walt said. “I’m planning on doing some high-quality relaxing.”

“Right. Relaxing. And Butterbean with her—”

“Being a therapist,” Butterbean said, nodding.

“Um. Right,” Oscar finished lamely. He didn’t even want to ask. But somebody had to. “Butterbean, about this therapist job—”

“You can’t just decide to be a therapist,” Walt interrupted.

Butterbean looked offended.“I’m not. It’s a real job.”

Walt sighed.“Of course it is, but you’re a wiener dog. Do you really think—”

She hadn’t even finished the sentence when the front door slammed open, and Madison Park, the medium-sized girl who lived with them, rushed into the room waving a piece of paper over her head.

“It’s all set!” she said, dropping her backpack and throwing herself into the chair next to Mrs. Food.

“Well, hello to you too,” Mrs. Food said, swallowing the last of her tuna. Butterbean looked mournfully at the empty plate. It was so unfair.

“Right, sorry, hello. But it’s all set! See?” She pushed the piece of paper toward Mrs. Food. “I got the appointment for Butterbean.”

Mrs. Food peered down at the paper through her glasses.“Well, isn’t that something!”

Madison jumped up and hurried over to Butterbean.“You’re going to be great, Bean!” She kissed Butterbean on the head. “She’s going to be perfect. Look at her—she even looks like a therapy dog!” Madison rubbed Butterbean’s ears and then rushed off toward her bedroom. “I can’t wait to e-mail Aunt Ruby!” Madison was staying with Mrs. Food while her aunt was deployed overseas.

“Therapy dog?” Oscar said slowly. It was all making sense now.

“I told you. I’m going to be a therapist,” Butterbean said smugly.

Walt raised an eyebrow.“I don’t think it’s quite the same thing, Bean.”

“You’re just jealous because I’m going to have my own practice,” Butterbean said.

“OOOOoooh, are we talking about our careers? Me next, please.”

Everyone jumped at the voice. (Marco hit his head on the bottom of the water bottle.)“DON’T DO THAT!” Marco said, rubbing his head.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” The white cat emerged from behind the couch and blinked at them innocently. “Oops. My bad.”

“YOU KNOW YOU DID!” Polo said. “And you can’t just come in like that. Mrs. Food is RIGHT THERE!” She waved her arms in the direction of the dining room table.

“Relax, you know I always keep out of sight,” the white cat said. She lived on the fifth floor but didn’t see anything wrong with using the vents to explore other apartments. “So did I tell you I’ve come out of retirement?” The white cat was the cat featured in all the Beautiful Buffet Cat Food commercials. (Print and television.)

“Only a million times,” Marco grumbled softly.

“Sales of Beautiful Buffet Cat Food PLUMMETED when I retired. They practically begged me to come back. I didn’t have the heart to say no.” The white cat curled her tail around her feet.

“So you’ve said,” Oscar said politely. He’d heard the story so many times he could practically recite it word for word.

“Well, it’s true,” the white cat said.

“I’ve got a career now too,” Butterbean said. “I’m going to be a therapist. That’s why we’re all retiring from investigating, because we’ve got so much to do.”

“Hmm. Well, good to know. Of course, that’s bad news for Biscuit, but I guess he’ll figure things out himself.” The white cat lashed her tail in the air as she turned to go back behind the couch.

“Wait, Biscuit? What’s wrong with Biscuit?” Butterbean asked, frowning.

“Oh, nothing important.” The white cat waved a paw dismissively. “Nothing that a career dog like you should worry about.”

“But which Biscuit?” Butterbean asked. There were a lot of Biscuits in the building, and Butterbean was friends with them all. “Second Floor Biscuit? Eighth Floor Biscuit? Biscuit with the Slobber Problem? Biscuit who—”

“Second Floor,” the white cat said. “But like I said, he’ll probably be fine. I’m sure he’ll survive somehow.” She turned to leave, but Walt blocked her path.

“Okay, spill it.” Walt’s whiskers were bristling. She didn’t have strong feelings about any of the Biscuits, but she didn’t love the way the white cat was toying with them. “What’s wrong with Second Floor Biscuit?”

“Well, if you must know,” the white cat said, her eyes gleaming. “Your friend is in big trouble.” She made a sympathetic face at Butterbean. “He’s getting evicted. Kicked out. By this time next week, your little friend will be out on the street.”

— 2 —

“WELL, THAT WAS FUN,” BUTTERBEAN said, getting up. “Retirement is over. Time to investigate.”

Oscar hopped onto the side of his cage.“What? But we just agreed!” He had really hoped to be retired for more than five minutes.

Walt put a paw on Butterbean’s back. “Butterbean, calm down. We don’t even know if there’s anything to investigate at this point.” She turned to the white cat. “We need details. Why is Second Floor Biscuit getting kicked out?”

The white cat stood up, stretched, and then sat back down.“Well—”

“So wait, Second Floor Biscuit, he’s the one with the good haircut?” Polo interrupted. She had seen him once when she was out with Butterbean. He was a pretty fashionable dog.

Butterbean cringed.“Well, not anymore,” she said slowly. She leaned forward. “There was a grooming incident,” she whispered, spraying Polo with a fine mist of spit. “He’s got bangs now.” She nodded significantly. “I mean… BANGS.”

“Oooohhhhh,” Polo said, her eyes widening. “But…” She hesitated. “Bangs aren’t bad, are they?” She’d seen lots of people with bangs. Fashionable people, even.

“Not usually. But these?” Butterbean made a face. “Trust me. They’re bad.”

“Okay, wow,” Polo said. “Bad bangs.” She smoothed down her own fur in sympathy.

“SERIOUSLY?” Marco stomped over, rolling his eyes so much it was surprising he could stand upright. “You guys are talking about BANGS? Who cares about a dumb hairdo? We need to know what’s wrong with Biscuit! I’m pretty sure it’s not BANGS!” He waved his paws at the white cat. “You!Explain!”

“Barking. It’s a barking problem,” the white cat said, smirking. “Nonstop, from what I hear. Nobody knows why, and the humans are MAD.”

“Bangs,” Butterbean said knowingly.

“Doubtful,” Walt said.

“It’s probably not the bangs, Bean,” Oscar said. “Marco’s right. No one barks that much over a haircut. Hair does grow out, after all.”

“Besides, haircut emergencies are more a cry-in-the-corner kind of situation,” Walt said. Not that she’d ever had a haircut. She looked around. “Right?”

Marco and Polo shrugged. They’d never had haircuts either.

“It does seem mysterious,” Polo said. “For real this time.”

“Not like the tuna fish,” Marco added. “Sorry, Butterbean.”

Butterbean nodded. It was definitely more mysterious than the tuna fish.

Oscar cocked his head.“I have to admit, it does seem strange. But I don’t see that there’s anything we can do. Shouldn’t he just stop barking?”

“Well, duh,” the white cat said, getting up. “That’s pretty obvious. But he won’t.”

“Then I don’t know what to say,” Oscar said. “I’m sorry, Butterbean. Even if we weren’t retired from investigating, I don’t see how we could help.”

“But if I could just talk to him…” Butterbean whimpered. “I could therapy him!”

Walt sighed.“Sure. Maybe. But you can’t do anything tonight. Whatever we do will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“If he lasts that long,” the white cat snorted. “Sorry to say it, but that dog is toast.”

“WHAT?” Butterbean yelped. “OSCAR!”

“Um, how about us?” Polo interrupted, tentatively raising a paw. “We could check. If you want.”

“We can’t do therapy like Butterbean—” Marco said.

“But we can go in the vents. We could tell Biscuit to keep quiet until tomorrow,” Polo said.

“Really?” Butterbean sniffled.

“I mean, the seed sorting can probably wait a little longer,” Marco said.

“The seeds aren’t actually that important,” Polo agreed.

“Would that make you feel better, Butterbean?” Oscar asked, watching Butterbean carefully. She was twitching like she might start doing laps around the room, and nobody wanted that.

“And it’s not like we’d be INVESTIGATING,” Polo said carefully. “Since we’re retired. We’ll just be CHECKING IN.”

“Yeah, passing a message,” Marco said. His whiskers trembled as he looked at Polo. “A SECRET message.”

Polo clutched at Marco’s arm. “LIKE SPIES!” Polo squealed. “WE CAN BE A SECRET SPY ORGANIZATION.” She turned to Oscar, her eyes shining.

Oscar groaned.

“OOOHHH, CAN I BE A SPY TOO?” Butterbean yelped eagerly. “I’ll be a THERAPIST SPY.”

“I don’t think therapists are supposed to be spies,” Oscar said doubtfully.

“But don’t you see? That’s why it’s perfect! NO ONE WILL SUSPECT ME!” Butterbean was practically levitating, she was bouncing up and down so fast.

Oscar had to admit, a Secret Spy Organization did sound pretty exciting. And he didn’t know any other mynah birds who were International Crime Bosses, Ghost Investigators, AND Secret Spies. He would be the first. It was an appealing idea.

Oscar nodded.“Okay, we’ll see how the secret messaging goes first. Then we can decide on the Secret Spy Organization.”

“YAY! We’re SPIES!” Polo cheered, high-fiving Marco as they climbed out of their cage.

“WHOOHOO SPIES!” Marco and Polo edged past the white cat into the opening of the vent. “Excuse me, white cat. You didn’t see a thing. Because we’re STEALTHY SPIES.”

“I don’t believe this.” The white cat shook her head as the rats streaked past her.

Their voices echoed as they disappeared into the vents.“SECRET SPY MISSION—GO!”

If Marco and Polo had had any doubts about the white cat’s story, they went away pretty quickly. Because the white cat was right—there was no ignoring that barking.

“It’s not so much that it’s loud,” Polo said thoughtfully as they slid down a vent. “It’s more… piercing.”

“Like if a car alarm was a dog,” Marco agreed. He didn’t personally own a car, but he’d seen car alarms on TV, and he always had to cover his ears.

“Exactly,” Polo said.

“I can see why Bob is upset,” Marco said, following the yips. Although, to be fair, it didn’t take a lot to make Bob upset. Bob was the maintenance man in the building, and just catching a glimpse of Marco and Polo in the vent opening one time had made him rip the grate cover off with his bare hands. Marco still had nightmares about that sometimes.

By the time they made it to the second-floor vents, the barking had reached hands-over-ears levels. Polo pointed to a grate at the end of the vent.“That one.”

Marco nodded and took a step toward it. Then he hesitated.“So we use our spy skills to pass Biscuit our message, and then we get out. No hair commentary, okay?” He still couldn’t believe they’d wasted so much time earlier talking about hairdos.

“Okay.” Polo nodded. It’s not like she hadn’t seen bad hair before. After all, she’d seen Butterbean in the morning. “We’ll be fast. No bangs talk.”

She and Marco fist-bumped and then peeked into the room.

The lights in Biscuit’s apartment were mostly off, but they could tell that the living room was a lot like Mrs. Food’s, with cozy-looking furniture and doilies on the tables. It was totally empty, except for one small figure silhouetted in the window. A Yorkshire terrier–shaped figure. Biscuit.

He was standing on a cushioned bench in the shadows, and he was obviously very angry. He was barking so furiously that every bark lifted him off his feet. His face was so close to the window that he’d smeared the glass with an elaborate design using only the moisture from his nose. (Polo was pretty sure that part was unintentional.)

“There he is. YOOHOO! BISCUIT!” Polo leaned forward to get a closer look.

It was only then that Biscuit stepped out of the shadows.

Polo blinked. Twice.

“Whoa!” Polo staggered back in shock. “Wow. I mean. Um. I think that’s Biscuit.” She composed herself just in time. They had a plan, and the plan didn’t involve hair commentary.

Polo took a deep breath and waved her arm.“Um, MR. BISCUIT!” she called. “UP HERE!”

She had almost caught Biscuit’s eye when she heard a gasp next to her.

“HOLY COW.” Marco grabbed Polo’s free arm. “POLO! Polo, holy cow. Look at those BANGS!”

“Focus on the assignment! Remember? No hair commentary?” Polo hissed.

Spies didn’t get distracted by bad bangs (even if they really wanted to).

“But those are PEOPLE BANGS!” Marco pressed his face against the grate to get a better look. “That dog has PEOPLE BANGS.”

Polo nodded grimly. Biscuit’s hair had been lopped off just above the eyes, giving him thick, heavy bangs that made him look like he had a human bowl-cut hairdo.

Marco couldn’t help but stare. Maybe Butterbean was right about the barking. Those bangs would make him angry too.

“Don’t look at the bangs,” Polo said. “Just look at something else.”

“Right, right,” Marco said, taking a deep breath and looking away from the bangs. “We’re professionals, I know. We’re spies. We can’t get distracted. It’s just… wait, what’s with his FEET?”

The bangs were bad enough. Polo didn’t want to look at the feet. But there was no way she could resist. She looked at the feet.

Polo gave a shrill squeak and stopped waving.

Biscuit’s hair was still long and luxurious, just like it had been when she’d seen him before. But it had been cut straight across about three inches from the floor, so Biscuit’s shaved naked feet stuck out awkwardly. It looked like he was wearing a silky horse blanket. Or a caftan. Or some kind of grass skirt. It was like the whole haircut was designed to draw attention to his tiny naked feet.

“Butterbean told us it was bad,” Polo said.

“I know.” Naked dog feet weren’t something Marco thought should bother him, but for some reason they really did.

Polo snapped out of it first. She put her hands on Marco’s shoulders. “We need to pull ourselves together! Forget the feet. Forget the bangs. We’re SECRET SPIES. We need to pass on our message.”

Marco nodded.“You’re right.” He stepped forward and hissed through the grate. “BISCUIT!”

Biscuit’s ears swiveled around as he scanned the room. “SHOW YOURSELVES, INTRUDERS!” he barked angrily. “YOU’RE NO MATCH FOR ME! I’LL STOP YOU! YOU’LL NEVER TAKE THIS APARTMENT!”

Polo glanced anxiously at Marco. That wasn’t exactly the reception she’d expected. She stuck her arm out of the vent again and waved in what she hoped was a cheery spy-message kind of way.

“Um, Biscuit, hi,” Polo yelled. “Calm down! We’re friends! We’re here with a message.”

“I’LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS!” Biscuit barked. “I’LL TAKE YOU APART!”

“Right. So, um, we’ve got a message from Butterbean,” Marco called.

“She’s coming to help!” Polo added. “We’re here to help!” It was hard to keep waving enthusiastically while Biscuit was threatening them like that. “But you need to stop barking!”

“I’LL RIP YOUR EARS OFF!” Biscuit barked so hard that he fell off the bench, then growled and turned on it like the bench had personally attacked him. “I’LL USE YOUR TAILS FOR DENTAL FLOSS!”

“Goodness,” Polo said, thrown. She hadn’t expected Biscuit to be quite so descriptive.

Marco touched his tail carefully.“Can he do that?” he whispered. “The tail thing?” He was kind of attached to his tail.

Polo shook her head.“He’s bluffing,” she said. She just hoped she was right.

She took a deep breath and tried again.“We know Butterbean, your friend. She will—”

“So you’ve got Butterbean, have you?” Biscuit growled. “WELL, YOU WON’T GET PAST ME!” He let off another volley of barking, leaping on and off the bench and racing around the room.

A loud thumping sound came from the apartment next door.“QUIET!” a voice shouted.

Biscuit turned to the wall and let out a howl.

“That must be Teacher Man,” Polo said. “In 2B?”

“We should go. We’re making it worse,” Marco said, watching Biscuit race around the room. He’d never heard Teacher Man yell like that. “But we did what we said we’d do. We passed on the message. So it was kind of a successful mission?”

“I guess,” Polo said. They hadn’t been very successful at getting Biscuit to stop barking.

Marco backed away from the grate.“I don’t think we convinced him, though.”

Polo shook her head.“No. But did you see? He was looking out of that window. He’s barking at something specific.” The fur on her neck prickled. “Something outside.”

— 3 —

“SO THE FIRST THING WE need to do,” Oscar said, watching Mrs. Food carefully, “is to come up with a plan.”

Mrs. Food and Madison were in the dining room having breakfast. Oscar usually had his breakfast then too, but these were special circumstances. If the white cat was right, they didn’t have much time. His stomach would have to wait.

“Right,” Walt agreed. (She’d had her breakfast earlier.) “We need to figure out how Butterbean can make contact. Once we’ve done that, we can set up the meeting.”

Oscar cocked his head.“Butterbean, where do you usually run into Biscuit? Do you see him on your walk every day?”

“No,” Butterbean said, her mouth full of kibble. (Her stomach wasn’t worried about special circumstances.) “I mean, sometimes. But not always. It doesn’t matter, though.”

“I think it does, Butterbean,” Oscar said thoughtfully. “It will make planning harder.” Butterbean had never been the head of an International Crime Syndicate, so she obviously wasn’t aware of the detail involved.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Butterbean said, drooling a little as she finished the kibble. “I have a plan already. It’s all set.”

Oscar blinked.

“You have a plan,” he said.

“Yup,” Butterbean said.

“It’s all set,” Oscar said.

“Yup,” Butterbean said, licking her food dish. “I worked it out with Marco and Polo. We’ve got it all figured out.”

“You worked it out. With Marco and Polo?” Oscar looked at the rats questioningly.

“We’re STEALTHY SPIES now, Oscar!” Polo said proudly. “We came up with a SUPER-SECRET PLAN.”

Marco nodded, doing some stretches. It was important to warm up before a super-secret spy mission.“We thought since it was our first mission—”

“Second mission,” Polo interrupted.

“Second mission,” Marco corrected himself. “We thought we should keep it simple. We could use extra help, though.”

“Are you in?” Polo asked, bobbing anxiously on the balls of her feet. “We need you, Oscar.”

“You too, Walt,” Marco said, doing air punches as he ran in place. “We need all the help we can get.”

“Trust us—it’s a solid plan,” Polo said. “It’s pretty much guaranteed to succeed.”

“Pretty much,” Marco agreed.

Walt shrugged.“We’re in,” she said. There was no point in arguing, not with those kind of odds. “Pretty much guaranteed success, Oscar,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“So you’re, what, just hoping that you’ll run into Biscuit on your walk?” Oscar didn’t think that sounded like pretty much guaranteed success, especially given how easily Butterbean was distracted. It sounded like pretty much guaranteed failure.

“No,” Butterbean snorted. “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, good, because—”

Butterbean sat up straighter.“I’m going to his apartment.”

Oscar stared at her.“You’re just… going to his apartment?” Well, it was a simple plan, he had to give them that much.

“Wait, what?” Walt tried to keep her expression neutral.

“Isn’t that perfect? We’ve got it all worked out,” Polo said.

“But you can’t fit in the vents,” Walt said slowly.

“We’re not using them,” Marco said. “Butterbean’s just taking a little detour on her walk. That’s all.”

Walt and Oscar exchanged a look. Oscar sighed.“Okay. Sure. What do we do?” He could already think of a million ways this could go wrong, but he wasn’t going to say anything. They weren’t supposed to be investigating things anyway. They were supposed to be retired.

“Okay, I’ll fill you in on the TOP SECRET PLANS,” Butterbean said, spraying a fine mist of kibble dust as she hurried over to Oscar’s cage. When she got there, she looked around carefully before leaning against the cage stand in her most casual way. She didn’t want to be too obvious.

“So this is the plan,” Butterbean whispered once she was sure no one was watching them. “When Mrs. Food and Madison finish breakfast, we’re going to—”

“Okay, Bean!” Madison called, getting up from the table and picking up Butterbean’s leash. “Come on. Time for your walk!”

Butterbean’s eyes got wide. “OH NO. OSCAR! OH NO!” She jumped to her feet, bumping Oscar’s cage and making it sway dangerously from side to side. Oscar clung to his perch. When he’d thought of a million ways that things could go wrong, he hadn’t thought of that.

Butterbean lolled her tongue out of her mouth as she trotted over to Madison.“You’ll know what to do. Just wait for the signal!” she called over her shoulder.

“Just follow our lead, okay, Oscar?” Polo shouted as she ran to the far end of the cage. “POSITIONS, EVERYBODY! Your position is, um, your cage, I guess, Oscar.”

Oscar got in position, which was pretty much the same place he’d been standing before.

“Don’t worry, Butterbean!” Marco yelled, as he took his position at the other end of the cage. “We’ve got you covered!”

Madison clipped the leash onto Butterbean’s collar. “Ready to go? We can’t waste time today. I don’t want to be late.” Even though Madison was living with Mrs. Food while her aunt was overseas, she still had to do regular human things like go to school.

Butterbean threw a significant look over her shoulder at Marco and Polo as she trotted behind Madison to the front door. She stood perfectly still as Madison put on her jacket and unlocked the door. But as soon as the door opened, she gave a low bark.“NOW!”

Marco and Polo sprang into action. Marco immediately started jumping as high as he could, so that he hit the lid of the cage. (He was particularly good at hitting it so that it made a hollow WHOOMP noise.) Polo’s specialty was doing running kicks at the water bottle, so that it clattered against the glass. It was pretty effective. The aquarium was vibrating so much, it looked like it might fall off the table.

“What the heck?” Madison said, looking back at the rat cage. “You guys! What are you doing?”

Oscar nodded to himself.“Distraction… I see. I can do distraction.” It wasn’t his usual assignment, but he was more than able to improvise. With a loud squawk he leaped from his perch and fluttered against the bars of his cage, making it sway back and forth.

“WHAT THE HECK?” Madison’s eyes grew wide. “OSCAR?”

Mrs. Food came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.“What in the world?”

Madison dropped Butterbean’s leash and let go of the door as she hurried toward the animal cages. That was all the opening Butterbean needed. Taking a deep breath (and scooping up her leash in her mouth), Butterbean made a dash for it, slipping out of the door just as it swung shut. She was in the hallway before Madison even realized what was happening.

But she wasn’t alone. Walt was right behind her.

“Walt? You’re coming too?” Butterbean gasped as she raced for the elevator.

“Think of me as insurance,” Walt said.

Butterbean jumped up to hit the call button for the elevator, keeping one eye on Mrs. Food’s door at the end of the hall. She had to make it into the elevator before Madison noticed she was gone, or the whole plan would fall apart. And the elevator was slower than ever.

Walt sat and watched the numbers over the elevator.“So what happens if Madison comes out before the elevator gets here? Do you have a contingency plan?”

“Improvise,” Butterbean said. She’d seen a show about improvising once, and it seemed like a fancy way of making stuff up. She was good at making stuff up. Or at least she hoped she was.

The apartment door opened a crack. They could hear the ruckus inside. It looked like they were out of time.

Butterbean set her jaw. Time to improvise. She stood up. Not that she knew what she was going to do, that is. But standing up seemed to be an important first step.

But just as she did, the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

“RUN!” Butterbean yelled, dashing inside with Walt close behind. She jumped up, hitting the button for the second floor, and pawed at the close doors button. The doors started to close. Butterbean slumped against the wall. They’d made it.

The doors were almost completely shut when an arm shot into the elevator between them, making them bounce open again.

“HA!” Madison said, pushing her way inside. “Not so fast, you weird dog.” She bent down and picked up Butterbean’s leash. “What is wrong with you all today? You’re not going for a solo walk, Butterbean. Sheesh.” She leaned against the back of the elevator.

“So your plan is to just run out of the elevator?” Walt asked from her location behind Madison. She didn’t think she’d been spotted yet.

“When I get to the second floor, yeah, pretty much,” Butterbean said under her breath. She watched the numbers. Madison being in the elevator was not part of the plan, but she wasn’t giving up. Not yet.

“Second floor,” the elevator voice said. Butterbean leaned forward, her muscles tensed and ready.

The doors opened. Butterbean could hear Biscuit’s barks echoing from down the hall.

Butterbean sprang forward. And immediately flopped back as she reached the end of the leash. She didn’t even make it out of the elevator.

Madison shook her head and gave her a grim smile.“Nice try, dog,” she said. She had the leash in a tight grip and was holding it extra close. Madison had thought of everything.

“Well, shoot,” Butterbean said, standing up. The doors closed again. She was out of ideas. The next stop was the lobby. She didn’t know how to get back to the second floor once they got to the lobby.

“Ahem.” Walt stepped out of the shadowy corner and winked at Butterbean. “See? Insurance,” she said, sitting down and licking her paw.

Madison gasped.“Walt? You got out too?”

“Lobby,” the elevator voice said as the doors opened.

Madison blocked the exit.“Sorry, Bean, we’ve got to go back. We can’t go out until we take Walt back.” Madison hit the button for the fourth floor and then leaned down awkwardly to hold on to Walt to keep her from running away. “Stay here, Walt.”

She glanced at her watch. The last thing she needed was a tardy.

“Are you addressing me?”

Madison looked over her shoulder into the lobby and turned red. A middle-aged woman was staring at the three of them with a pinched expression.“Oh, I-I’m sorry,” Madison stammered. “I just—”

“Yes, I can see,” the woman said. “Quite the zoo. Thank you, but I’d prefer to wait.” She frowned at Butterbean with distaste.

Butterbean glared back.“Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six,” she muttered under her breath. They had a history.

“Thanks, I’m sorry, they just…” Madison said apologetically before trailing off and staring down at Walt. Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six raised an eyebrow.

Butterbean stared stonily at Mrs. Hates Dogs on Six until the doors started to close. Then she jumped up and hit the button for the second floor. She looked over at Walt.“Ready?”

“Ready,” Walt said.

“Second floor,” the elevator voice said.

The doors opened.

Walt and Butterbean both made a dash for the doors. Butterbean’s hind feet were moving so fast that they almost passed her front feet. The leash jerked, catching Madison by surprise this time and yanking her forward. The leash flew out of her hand.

“BUTTERBEAN!” Madison squealed as she hurried after them. This was not the way she had planned to spend her morning.

“BISCUIT! BISCUIT!” Butterbean yelled as she raced to Biscuit’s door and threw herself against it, clawing at the handle. “OPEN UP!”

It wouldn’t budge. “WHY DO PEOPLE LOCK THEIR DOORS!” Butterbean wailed as she tried again. “I CAN’T GET IN!”

Walt jumped up and rang the doorbell as she looked behind them. Madison had almost caught up.“Talk fast, Bean, we only have a second.”

“BISCUIT, IT’S BUTTERBEAN,” Butterbean barked through the door. “YOU NEED TO—”

She stopped abruptly. Because the front door had been thrown open.

In the doorway stood Biscuit’s human, Mrs. Biscuit.

“Um,” Butterbean said. She didn’t know what to say to Mrs. Biscuit. They’d never officially met.

“Um,” Mrs. Biscuit said, looking down at the dog and cat standing at her feet.

“Um,” Madison said, racing up behind them and looking back and forth between Mrs. Biscuit and Butterbean and Walt. This was pretty bad. She was definitely going to get in trouble for this.

Biscuit stuck his head out from behind Mrs. Biscuit’s legs. He had a wild look around the eyes, like he hadn’t slept at all. He stared at Butterbean in confusion. “Butterbean?”

“Biscuit, we need to talk,” Butterbean said. “Excuse me.” She pushed past Mrs. Biscuit’s legs and squeezed into the apartment. Walt slipped in on the other side.

Mrs. Biscuit blinked at Madison, who blinked back.“Um, hi?” Madison said after a long second. “So… I guess my dog wants to play with your dog?”

She was definitely going to be late.

— 4 —

“PLEASE, HAVE A SEAT,” MRS. Biscuit said to Madison, waving vaguely at the sofa. “I think this is the first time he’s stopped barking in days.”

Madison sat on the very edge of the sofa and tried not to look at her watch. She was not going to be here long, not if she could help it. And technically, she was in charge, not Butterbean. She didn’t know why it didn’t feel that way.

“So he’s been barking a lot, then?” Madison said, trying to be polite. She’d seen him around, of course, but she didn’t even know this dog. Not really.

“Nonstop,” Mrs. Biscuit said grimly, watching Butterbean and Biscuit sniff each other. She flashed a tight smile at Madison. Madison gave a weak smile back.

Walt kept an eye on Madison as she turned to Biscuit.“Okay, quick. We don’t have much time,” Walt said. “Spill it, dog. What’s the situation?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Biscuit said gruffly. “There’s no situation. I’ve got everything under control.” He blew air out of his nose loudly.

“Give me a break,” Walt said.

“Walt, let me handle this. Biscuit, that’s not what we heard,” Butterbean said softly, in her best therapist voice. “I tried to get a message to you last night. Word on the street is that you’re about to get kicked out for barking. How does that make you feel?”

“What message? Last night?” Biscuit looked suspicious. “I didn’t get any message.”

Butterbean frowned. Maybe it would’ve worked better if she’d had Biscuit lie down on the couch. That seemed to be the prime therapy position, at least from what she’d seen on the Television. She tried again. “The white cat said you were in trouble, so we sent Marco and Polo to tell you we were coming. They were in the vents.”

“Marco and Polo are rats,” Walt added.

“So those things in the vents were your friends? Well, thanks for the extra trauma, I guess,” Biscuit said grouchily.

“We just wanted to help.” Butterbean tried to keep her voice even. Being a therapist was harder than she’d expected.

“Look, I’ve got enough invaders to deal with, okay? I don’t need any extras from you. I’m already having to monitor the perimeter of the apartment 24-7.”

“Invaders? What invaders?” Butterbean frowned. “Where?”

On the couch, Madison clasped her hands together and leaned forward.“So!”

“Uh-oh,” Walt said.

“You know, we should really get out of your hair,” Madison said, smiling. She could probably still make it on time, if she brushed her teeth really quickly. That would do it. She’d just be super fast. “This was a lot of fun, though.”

“Oh no, please. Give them just a few more minutes. They’re being so quiet,” Mrs. Biscuit said, gripping Madison by the arm a little too tightly. She had a strange hollow look around her eyes too, just like Biscuit. “There’s been so much barking.”

“But…” Madison looked over at the pets, who had frozen and were watching her carefully. She shrugged and sank back down onto the couch. “Okay, I guess. Just a few minutes.” She didn’t really need to brush her teeth.

Mrs. Biscuit gave her a weak smile.

Walt lashed her tail in the air.“Come on, Biscuit. We’re on a deadline.”

“If the white cat knows the situation, it’s all over the building. So you might as well share. Express your emotions. Um. Find your center.” Butterbean wished she knew more therapy terms, but she hadn’t even started her classes yet.

Biscuit snorted.“Look, that’s not my problem. My problem is—”

Mrs. Biscuit sneezed softly.

“Excuse me. INSPECTION!” Biscuit yelled, launching himself up into Mrs. Biscuit’s lap. He examined her nose thoroughly, and after a few seconds, he nodded in satisfaction. “Okay, all clear.”

“Um,” Madison said.

“That’s just something he does,” Mrs. Biscuit said, dabbing her nose with a tissue.

Biscuit jumped off the couch.“Sorry, just one of my dogly duties.”

“Wait, what? Sneeze inspections are a DOGLY DUTY?” Butterbean had never once inspected Mrs. Food’s nose after a sneeze.

“It’s not a requirement, Bean,” Walt said softly. She really didn’t want sneeze inspections to become a thing.

“But if it’s a DUTY—” Butterbean started.

“My PROBLEM, since you’re so concerned,” interrupted Biscuit as he trotted over, “is the INVADERS on the LOADING DOCK!” He jumped up onto the cushioned bench under the window. Butterbean’s eyes widened. It was like his feet were made of springs.

Biscuit pressed his face close to the glass, making more nose smears. Butterbean was surprised he could even see outside anymore.

“Oh no, here we go,” Mrs. Biscuit said, holding her breath.

“Invaders? That’s your problem?” Walt jumped up onto the bench and looked out of the window. “Oh come on, Biscuit. Seriously?”

“What?” Butterbean said, jumping up clumsily after them. She didn’t want to miss out on any invaders. Maybe she could do some therapy on them.

Walt rolled her eyes.“That’s the loading dock. Those invaders? They’re the loading dock rats. Are you seriously freaked out because of a couple of rats?”

“Our friend Wallace knows the loading dock rats,” Butterbean said, finally getting her footing. That bench was taller than it looked. “They’re not bad. Did you just notice them or something? Because I think they’ve always lived there.”

Biscuit made a face.“No, the loading dock rats aren’t freaking me out. I’ve lived here my whole life—you think I care about a couple of rats? No, this is something new. INVADERS. A lot of them.”

“Something new,” Walt said.

“I can hear them, every night. Scratching. Lots of them. And I can see their eyes. THOUSANDS OF GLOWING EYES. I hear them clawing at the walls. Trying to get in. I’VE GOT TO STOP THEM!”

“Calm down, okay?” Walt said, shooting a look at Mrs. Biscuit, who had started to wring her hands in agitation. “They’re not getting in. Nothing’s getting in.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Butterbean said. “Tell me about your mother. Take some deep cleansing breaths. Go to your happy place.”

Walt rolled her eyes.“This isn’t the time, Bean.” She looked at Biscuit. “Butterbean’s going to be a therapy dog.”

“Therapist,” Butterbean corrected.

“Whatever,” Walt said.

Biscuit leaned over and took some deep cleansing breaths. Then he nodded.“Better. That worked.”

From the couch, Mrs. Biscuit suddenly gave a brittle laugh.“I don’t suppose you rent those pets of yours out, do you? To keep mine quiet?” She gave another shrill laugh.

“Um, ha-ha,” Madison said, edging away slightly. “Sorry, that stinks.”

“You said it,” Mrs. Biscuit said.

Madison cleared her throat.“Well, thanks for letting us come over, but I guess I was wrong about playing. Maybe they just wanted to sniff? We should get going.”

“Shoot,” Walt said. “Biscuit, where’s a toy? We have to make this look good.”

Biscuit jumped off the bench and picked up a tube sock half hidden under the couch.“Here, tug on this sock. I love this sock. It’s the best toy ever.”

“Yes, socks are wonderful,” Butterbean agreed, jumping down and gingerly picking up the other end of the sock. “Walt has some compression socks,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

“Yes, but those aren’t for playing,” Walt said. “Too valuable.”

“No kidding,” Biscuit said, tugging gently at the sock. “What I wouldn’t give for one of those.”

“Oh, wait, don’t go yet. Look at that! I haven’t seen him do that in years!” Mrs. Biscuit said, grabbing Madison by the arm again. “You can stay another minute or two, can’t you? Maybe he just wanted some company?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Madison agreed. Maybe if she ran extra fast. And skipped packing her lunch. Maybe if she teleported. That would do it. She’d be at school in no time if she teleported.

Walt kept one eye on Madison.“Look, we’ll see what we can find out, okay? But in the meantime, you have to shut your mouth.”

Butterbean nodded, which was difficult to do while she was pulling on the sock.“What time do you see them? The invaders.”

Biscuit jerked the sock violently.“Night, mostly. But I keep up the guard during the day anyway, just in case. Never can be too sure.”

Walt nodded.“How’s this—we’ll find out what’s out there at the loading dock. And you keep quiet until we do. Deal?” She watched the tug-of-war carefully. Biscuit was definitely winning. But Walt thought Butterbean was holding back.

“Oh, I know what’s out there,” Biscuit said, jerking the sock a little too hard. (Butterbean made a note to check all her teeth later.) “Monsters, that’s what. I saw SLAVERING JAWS. SLAVERING. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had venom. DRIPPING FROM THEIR TEETH.”

“Right. We’ll find out all about the um, venom,” Butterbean said, trying not to lose her grip.

“Just keep your trap shut while we do,” Walt said.

“Okay, deal.” Biscuit sagged. He let go of the sock, sending Butterbean tumbling backward.

“And um, don’t worry about guarding. We’re part of a Secret Spy Organization. We’ll handle the guarding for you,” Walt said. They didn’t need that dog losing any more sleep. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Biscuit sagged even more.“Really?”

“Just hang tight until we report back,” Walt said.

“Maybe, um, take a nap while you wait,” Butterbean said. Naps were always a good way to pass the time.

“You really are a good therapist, Butterbean,” Biscuit said softly. “I feel better already.” He curled up in his basket and closed his eyes.

Butterbean trotted over to Madison and tugged on her pants leg.“Come on, Madison! Let’s go!” They needed to consult with Oscar and the others right away.

“Oh! Look, she wants to go! Wow, great talking to you got to go bye!” Madison babbled as she scooped up Walt and Butterbean.

“Come back anytime,” Mrs. Biscuit said, clutching Madison’s arm again. “ANYTIME.” She hardly took her eyes off of Biscuit as she held the door open for them. “THANK YOU,” she mouthed to Madison as they left.

Madison kept the frozen smile on her face until the door shut. Then she took off in a mad dash toward the elevator.

She didn’t think even teleporting would help her now.

— 5 —

“WE’RE NOT RETIRED ANYMORE, ARE we?” Oscar said, his feathers drooping. “Because we’re supposed to be retired, remember? We agreed?” He thought sadly of his extensive to-do list. That list had so many good plans. It didn’t have investigating intruders on it anywhere.

Butterbean and Walt had told the others what Biscuit had said as soon as Madison dropped them off. And“dropped them off” was the nice way to put it. Madison had practically pitched them into the apartment, grabbed her book bag, and raced off for the bus before their feet even hit the floor. She didn’t seem to remember that Butterbean hadn’t actually been for a walk. Butterbean didn’t mind, though. Walt had given special one-time permission for the use of her litter box. Butterbean appreciated it.

“We’re stealthy spies now, Oscar,” Walt said dryly. “Get used to it. We’re a Secret Spy Organization, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Yes. Okay,” Oscar sighed. “So slavering-jawed invaders are at the loading dock?” He frowned. “That sounds unlikely. Surely Wallace would’ve heard something from the loading dock rats?”

“Unless…” Polo wrung her hands anxiously. “I mean, could something have happened to them? The loading dock rats?”

“Because slavering jaws, that sounds pretty bad,” Marco said. He wasn’t entirely sure what “slavering” meant, but it sure didn’t sound good.

“And venom, don’t forget the venom,” Polo piped up.

“Right, the venom,” Marco agreed.

Oscar gave a tentative shrug.“Well, we don’t want to jump to any conclusions. They’re probably all just fine.”

“Who’s probably just fine?” A voice came from the kitchen. A lip-smacky voice that sounded like it was talking with its mouth full. Chad.

Chad was an octopus who lived on the eighth floor. He was an original member of both their heisting gang and investigative team. He visited the apartment a lot, but he sometimes seemed more interested in the contents of Mrs. Food’s refrigerator than their company.

“Guess what, Chad!” Polo said, waving at him. “You’re a spy now! We’re doing secret spy investigating these days. We’ve retired from regular investigating,” she added, nodding significantly at Oscar. That retired part seemed to be important to him.

“Call it whatever you want,” Chad said as he sucked down the last of the herring snacks. “My price has gone up. I’m working for shrimp these days.”

“Fine,” Oscar said. “One question. Have you heard anything about monsters with slavering jaws at the loading dock?”

Chad snorted.“You mean the rats?”

Oscar frowned.“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then no,” Chad said.

“Have you heard ANYTHING about the loading dock?” Marco asked, his eyes narrowed. Past experience had taught him to be skeptical about Chad’s answers. Because sometimes he didn’t tell you the truth unless you asked the question in exactly the right way.

“I’ve heard something about monsters with slavering jaws,” Chad said, chucking the herring-snack jar into the recycling bin.

“But you said—” Marco started.

“Who’d you hear that from?” Polo asked, folding her arms suspiciously.

“You guys,” Chad smirked. “Just now.”

“CHAD!” Polo stomped her foot.

Chad gurgled with laughter and then slid down into the sink.“If you need any spy work done, you know my rates.”

Oscar shook his head as Chad disappeared.“And the sad thing is we’ll need him. Can we even get shrimp?”

“I can add it to Mrs. Food’s grocery delivery,” Walt said, stretching. “Okay, so who’s up for dealing with the monsters? We should go tonight, right?”

“Oh. We?” Oscar said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I just assumed the rats were going to do that. Right?”

Marco and Polo exchanged a worried glance.“You want us to… with the slavering…” Polo said hesitantly.

“By ourselves?” Marco asked.

“That just makes sense, right?” Oscar said. He didn’t quite meet their eyes. “Since you have the vents?”

“Sure, but…” Polo nudged Marco in the ribs.

“I mean, maybe we should stay here? We don’t want to hog all the spy work,” Marco said, wringing his hands anxiously.

“Yeah. And we went last night, sooo…” Polo said.

“I don’t mind if you hog it,” Oscar said. “I hate to ruin your fun.”

“Yeah, but…” Polo tried to think of a counter argument.

“But we did a really lousy job of passing the message, remember?” Marco said quickly.

“We almost ruined everything,” Polo agreed. “So maybe you should check it out, Oscar? So we don’t mess it up.”

“I see your point,” Oscar said slowly. “But you know my feet aren’t good in the vents. We need a more stealthy presence. Walt, maybe you…?”

Walt sniffed.“Well, I mean, I COULD, but—”

“I’ll go!” Butterbean said. “I’ll need help getting out of the apartment, but I’ll go down there. I can do some monster therapy. It’ll be good practice. I’ve got my test coming up.”

Walt shook her head.“Not a good idea. What about Wallace? Maybe he could check it out?”

“Maybe Wallace could check what out?” Wallace asked, strolling into the living room. He was eating a chunk of banana, and he waved it in the air. “Free banana, right there in the dish! My new apartment is awesome.”

“We’re talking about the loading dock. Have you heard anything about monsters there? Dripping venom and whatnot?” Polo said.

“Glowing eyes and slavering jaws,” Marco added.