Spy Cat (15 page)

“I don’t think burglars would bother to throw their trash in the garbage can,” Rocky said. “Could it have been one of the deputies?”

The boys thought back to when the sheriff and the deputies had been there. “None of them carried a bag like this,” Alex said.

“The sheriff said to report anything unusual,” Rocky said. “I think we should call him.”

“
Yes
,”
Pete said.
“
Call the sheriff.
”

Alex dialed Sheriff Alvored’s cell-phone number.

Pete ate his num-num and went back to bed.

*   *   *

Sheriff Alvored and Deputy Flick sat in their patrol car, drinking cups of coffee. The two men had been partners for more than ten years, and they often brainstormed ideas about what a criminal’s next move might be. More than once their hunches had paid off with an arrest.

Their method was simple: think like a criminal. Try to figure out what the criminal might do next.

“This is the fourth burglary in three days in this area,” Sheriff Alvored said. “All of them followed the same pattern, so it’s likely the same burglars. What I’m wondering is, how are they getting rid of so much stolen property, so fast? Where are they taking it?”

“They can’t be selling it as quickly as they steal it,” Deputy Flick agreed. “The flea markets are only open weekends, and there hasn’t been time for the thieves to run ads in
The Little Nickel
or some other paper. Maybe they’re taking it to pawnshops.”

“Maybe. But some of these items are awfully big and distinctive for the pawnshops. Where are they going to get rid of a grandfather clock?”

“What’s your guess?” Deputy Flick asked.

“Jim’s Second Hand Store? He buys from anybody that walks in the door, and the place is big enough to handle large quantities.”

“I checked there this morning on my way to work. Jim has a new sign, ‘I Buy Junk and Sell Antiques,’ but I looked through the whole store, and he didn’t have anything that was reported stolen in the previous burglaries.”

“Maybe the thieves live around here. Maybe they’re taking everything to their own place.”

“It’s possible,” Deputy Flick said, “but you’d think a neighbor would notice and get suspicious. Hilltop isn’t a big city; people in rural areas tend to know who their neighbors are and what vehicle they drive.”

“We’ve had good media coverage. How could a person carry in load after load without someone wondering about it and putting two and two together?”

“Maybe he unloads at night.”

The cell phone rang. Sheriff Alvored answered.

“This is Alex Kendrill. I found a bag of trash in our garbage can that isn’t ours. There were two pieces of paper in it; one has our phone number on it and the other has an address.”

“What’s the address?”

“Six thirty-five West Platt.”

The sheriff repeated the address while his deputy wrote it down.

“Thanks, Alex,” Sheriff Alvored said. “We’ll check it out.”

Deputy Flick called headquarters and asked who lived at that address.

Sheriff Alvored pulled away from the curb. “We aren’t too far from West Platt now,” he said.

Soon Deputy Harper’s voice came over the radio: “I have the information you wanted on that address. It’s a big storage complex called Overflow Storage.”

“It makes sense,” the sheriff said as he drove. “The thieves take all the stolen goods to one of those rental units, and leave it for a couple of months until the owners have quit watching the want ads or searching the pawnshops for their stolen items. Then the thieves take the items out of storage and sell them.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“It always bothers me when there’s a child involved,” Sheriff Alvored said. “Makes me think of my own kids.”

“Me, too. I wonder why they took the boy, if they did, and what they’ll do with him.”

Sheriff Alvored did not reply. He didn’t want to say what he thought would happen.

He didn’t need to.

“We have to find that boy,” Deputy Flick said, “before it’s too late.”

B
enjie kept counting.
He was up to three hundred eighteen when he heard tires approaching
on the gravel. Was it the van returning, or was it a different car. Someone who could help him? He wished he could see outside the dryer.

He heard the tires stop next to his hiding place.

Maybe it wasn’t the bad guys. Maybe it was the people who owned the washer and dryer. Hope leaped high in Benjie’s chest, but he didn’t push the door open. Not yet. He had to be sure who was out there.

“What did I tell you? Sitting there waiting for us.”

Benjie’s hope turned to despair as he recognized Vance’s voice.

He could tell that the men had left the van’s engine running. Their footsteps crunched on the gravel as they walked toward the dryer.

Did they know he was inside?

Why else would they be coming?

He barely breathed as he listened to the men approach.

The footsteps stopped.

“Take the washer first,” Vance said. “Lift on the count of three.”

They don’t know I’m in here, Benjie thought. If they knew, they would open the door and make me get out.

“One, two, three!”

Benjie heard a scraping sound against the outside of the dryer. He heard one of the men grunt, the way men do when they’re lifting something heavy.

“It’s leaking,” Porker said. “Water came out of the hose and got my shoe all wet.”

“Lift a little higher,” Vance said. “Slide it in.”

Benjie realized the men were putting the clothes washer in their van. They hadn’t come back for Benjie; they were stealing the appliances.

He wished he had pulled the dryer door all the way shut. What if it swung open when they picked up the dryer? What if one of the men looked inside and saw him?

He didn’t dare close the door now. They might see it move or hear the click as it closed. He would have to sit here like an animal in a cage, and wait.

“Now the dryer,” Vance said.

What would happen if the men found him? Scary images rattled in Benjie’s brain like coins in a piggy bank.

A boot kicked the dryer door from the outside. Startled, Benjie’s hands flew to his mouth, stifling a gasp. The door clicked shut.

“Lift when I count three,” Vance said. “One, two, three.”

Benjie felt himself rise, as if he were in an elevator.

“This dryer is heavy,” Porker complained. “Are you sure it’s empty?”

Don’t look, Benjie thought. Please, please, don’t open the door and look inside.

“Quit your bellyaching,” Vance said, “and move it.”

“We should have brought the truck. It’s easier to load.”

Benjie pushed his hands against the dryer drum in front of him and braced his back on the inner ridges, trying not to bump against the door as the men tilted the dryer and lifted it into their van.

He heard the van doors close and felt the van move forward. In only a minute or two the van stopped, the door opened, and Benjie heard the door on the storage unit roll up. Even without being able to see, Benjie knew exactly where he was, and what was going to happen next.

They took the dryer out first.

Once again Benjie managed not to bump against the door or make any sound while the two men lifted the dryer from the van and carried it inside the storage unit.

Instead of setting the dryer down gently, Porker let go of his side when it was a foot from the cement floor.

Crash!

A sharp pain jolted up the back of Benjie’s neck when the dryer landed. His head snapped back and hit the metal drum.

“Ooof!” The sound escaped even though he was trying to be quiet.

“What was that?” Porker said.

Tears stung Benjie’s eyes as he waited for the door to be flung open.

“That was the dryer getting dented, you oaf,” Vance said. “You’re supposed to put it down carefully, not drop it.”

“I couldn’t hold it any longer. I told you I was too tired to do this.”

“For someone who calls himself a muscle man, you sure are a wimp.”

Muscle man? Benjie frowned. The men who had moved the furniture for Mary and Mrs. Sunburg were called Muscle Men Movers. Is that who the burglars were?

A minute later Benjie heard another sharp clunk on the concrete and knew the washer had been unloaded, too.

“Let’s get out of here,” Vance said.

“Finally,” Porker said.

The overhead door rolled down, and Benjie heard the van drive away.

The men were gone.

Benjie went limp with relief. He remained hunched
over in the dryer for a few minutes, to be sure they didn’t come back. He thought about how close he had come to being discovered.

He also thought about the possibility that these two men ran a moving company as a way to see what people owned. Then, after they got paid as movers, they went back and stole the expensive things. They would know exactly what was there.

Of course that didn’t explain all the burglaries. His family had not hired Muscle Men Movers, and it was three months since Rocky’s family had moved. Still, this was important information for the sheriff.

Benjie put his shoulder against the dryer door and pushed, in case the door would release from the inside. The door popped open.

Benjie climbed out. His legs felt wobbly, his neck and shoulders ached, and his hands shook. It was dark inside the storage unit, but Benjie knew the men would have unloaded the washer and dryer right inside the door. He felt in front of him, his hands groping until they hit the metal roll-up door.

He was sure the men would not come back here tonight. It would be safe now for Benjie to leave the storage unit, walk to the street, and find help. He leaned down, his hands feeling along the bottom of the door, searching for a handle.

He dropped to his knees and crawled the full width of the door, feeling along every inch of the door from the bottom to the first hinge, about three feet up. There was no handle, nothing to grasp to roll the door up.

The door only opened from the outside. He was locked in, and nobody knew where he was.

For an instant, panic rose in Benjie. Still kneeling, he beat his fists against the metal door and yelled, “Help! Help!” even though he knew there was no one who could hear him.

Then he took a deep breath and tried to think what a brave and well-trained spy would do in this situation.

Stay calm, he told himself. Listen for a vehicle outside or for people talking, and then yell and pound on the door. He sat on the cold concrete floor and rested his back against the dryer.

He didn’t know where he was or how long it would be before someone found him, but he was alive. It was far better to be locked alone in a storage unit than to be on his way to a mountain cabin with two thugs who intended to leave him there to freeze to death.

Benjie’s stomach grumbled. He wondered what Mom was fixing for dinner tonight. Spaghetti, maybe? Or tacos? He wondered if Mrs. Sunburg had baked cookies that afternoon. She had asked him what his favorite kind was, and when he had told her snickerdoodles, she had said those were her favorites, too.

His mouth watered at the thought of warm-from-the-oven snickerdoodles. Why hadn’t he gone straight to Mrs. Sunburg’s house, as he had been told to do, instead of running home when he saw a strange van in his driveway?

Two tears trickled down Benjie’s cheeks. He hoped Alex would feed Lizzy for him and clean out her litter pan.

He wondered if Pete had gotten hurt when the bad men threw him out of the van. He hoped not. Pete had tried to help Benjie. He had puffed out his fur and bit the bad man’s hand.

Benjie shivered, wishing he had a jacket or a warm blanket. His feet were freezing on the concrete floor, especially the foot with no sock.

He wondered how long it would be before someone went past this storage unit and heard him pounding on the door. Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week?

No. He couldn’t think that way. He needed to focus on something positive. Benjie decided to make a mental list of all the information he knew about the burglars. He knew their names, he had written down their license number, he knew what their van looked like. He knew they had used a truck for one burglary and that Porker called himself a muscle man.

Benjie could describe both men. He knew they went hunting and stayed in a cabin in the mountains. He knew a lot about those bad guys. But all of his information wouldn’t help him unless he got out of the storage unit.

Benjie remembered that there had been a light on in the storage unit earlier. He stood up and began feeling along the walls, searching for the light switch.

If he could turn the light on, he could look at everything the bad guys had stolen. He could see what was packed in the boxes.

He found the switch and pushed it. The light made him blink. He looked around, feeling less frightened now that it wasn’t dark. Maybe there was a cellular phone in here, and he could call for help. Maybe there was an ax, and he could chop a hole in the door. Maybe there was a box of cookies.

T
here’s the storage
place,” Deputy Flick said. “On the right, in the next block. I can see the sign.”

Sheriff Alvored slowed the patrol car. “There’s a vehicle on the grounds. It’s coming out.”

“And the driver’s in a big hurry,” Deputy Flick said.

Sheriff Alvored stopped the patrol car, turned off the lights, and waited.

A maroon-colored van barreled out of the gravel driveway of Overflow Storage, turned right, and sped away.

Sheriff Alvored turned on the lights, stepped on the gas, and followed the van. As soon as the patrol car’s lights reached the back of the van, Deputy Flick saw the license number.

“Bingo,” he said.

He called their position in to headquarters and requested backup officers as Sheriff Alvored turned on the siren and the flashing lights.

Vance saw the blue lights in the rearview mirror. “We’ve got cops behind us,” he said. “We’re being pulled over.”

Porker groaned.

“They can’t pin anything on us. This is my van and there’s nothing in here to connect us to any burglaries. Act innocent. Say we were looking over the storage units because your grandmother died and left you her furniture and you need a place to keep it for a while.”