The Snake Mistake Mystery. Sylvia McNicoll

the aquarium sits complete with a thawed, soggy mouse and wood chips. She scoops up a handful of chips. “This might have some of King’s scent on it.” She lowers her hand to Ping’s head and he licks some up.

      Ack, ack, ack. He horks it back up.

      “Let’s just take them from room to room, and see where they go,” I suggest.

      “Okay.”

      We guide them to the master bedroom. Renée immediately drops the leash and Ping tears around sniffing.

      “You think you should let him loose?”

      “No worries. He’ll bark his head off if he finds King.”

      The dogs both seem excited, running from corner to corner as if they’re on to something. Ping dives under the bare bed and scores the pizza crusts. Pong joins him.

      After their snack, no smells call to them anymore.

      We grab their leashes and take them to the bathroom. Sniff, sniff, nothing. Into the second bedroom, which is more like an exercise room. Some weights are piled up on a rack against a wall, and a stationary bike and treadmill face a shelf with a TV on it. Ping continues to sniff. Again nothing.

      The last bedroom is full of boxes. Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff. No python slithers out from anywhere. Maybe I’m even relieved.

      We head down the stairs into the basement, which is just four walls of cinderblock. More boxes. We guide them to pipes we think might be warm.

      “Let’s face it. That python could be anywhere,” I tell Renée. “We need to catch a break. A really lucky one.”

      But, no break for us. Not a trace of snake anywhere. We head back upstairs.

      “Okay. What the heck, set them loose and let them go where they like.” I drop Pong’s leash, and Renée sets Ping free. Both gallop to the kitchen.

      Ping suddenly barks his high-pitched excited bark. Pong lets go a loud woof that sounds deep and dangerous. And he rarely makes a sound.

      Could it be? Renée and I look at each other for a moment and then slowly, step by step, head toward the barking.

      “Ball pythons are small,” Renée reminds me. “They’re friendly, too, otherwise no one would have them as pets.”

      When we finally make it into the kitchen, the dogs are both lying on the floor in front of the fridge, chowing down on something.

      One of the doors is wide open: the freezer. I’m sure it wasn’t like that when we came in before. We would have noticed. Neither Ping nor Pong has opposable thumbs so I’m guessing someone left it open, just a little, and the dogs pawed it open the rest of the way once the smell of food kicked in.

      Okay, well, letting them run loose was definitely mistake number six.

      “Ew, ew, ew!” Renée hops from one foot to the other. “They’re eating mice!”

      DAY ONE, MISTAKE SEVEN

      “Give me that!” I grab the frozen mouse from Pong — he’s chewed through the plastic wrap already. When I put the little stiff back in the freezer, I see a stack of bodies on the bottom shelf. King’s food supply?

      Meanwhile, Renée struggles to get Ping’s away from him. He thinks it a game and dodges from side to side, growling.

      Renée grabs onto one end of the mouse as Ping shakes the other. “Gross, gross, gross!” Her whole arm shakes along. “LET GO, Ping!” Renée’s losing it.

      What’s even more gross is that the owners keep their frozen pizza and a couple of steaks one shelf up from the mice. “Oh. What’s this?” Next to the pile of steaks, I spot a silver bell about the size of a small fist.

      Renée finally forces the mouse out from between Ping’s teeth. “Uh!” She squeezes in beside me and throws it into the bottom of the freezer.

      “Look at that!” I point to the silver bell. The dogs move in close, trying to get around us for more mouse sushi. “Leave it!” I nudge them away with my foot.

      Renée can’t resist a shiny thing. She pulls it off the shelf and smiles. “This is an engagement ring box. See?” She lifts the lid. Inside is a blue velvet cushion with a slot. She sticks her finger in it. “This is where the diamond ring usually goes.”

      Ping and Pong sit pretty now in eternal hope that she holds a treat.

      “Why would anyone keep an empty ring box in the freezer?”

      “My mom always hides her expensive jewellery in the freezer when we go away.” Renée hands the silver bell back and shuts the door.

      “But the box is empty!” My voice rises just enough so that Ping must think we’re arguing. He warns me with a bark, startling Renée for a second.

      She does a two-step back and nearly falls. “Ick, ick!” She points to the puddle on the floor, then gives the dogs a hard stare. “Pong? Ping?”

      Ears up, they stare innocently back at her.

      “Don’t blame them. The water looks clear.”

      Ping barks again as if in agreement. Pong slumps down and looks away.

      “If it really isn’t dog pee,” Renée says, “the door must have been open awhile. The freezer must have been leaking.”

      Ping sneaks in closer and laps at the puddle.

      “See, that proves it,” I say. “No way would he drink his own pee. We just didn’t notice the water before.” I think some more as I put the bell-shaped box back in the freezer. “Engagement rings have diamonds. They’re valuable, right? You don’t think the ring that belonged in that bell was stolen, do you?”

      Renée shrugs. “Most people wear their engagement rings twenty-four seven. Hard to tell if someone broke in here or not, with the mess.” Renée sweeps Ping away from the fridge with her foot. He pounces on her leg, ready to play. “Stop!” she tells him. Then turns to me. “But honestly, who leaves their freezer open?”

      “Actually, once when I stuffed the ice cream container in, the lid fell off and wedged itself between the door and the rest of the freezer.”

      “All right, but what kind of slob leaves all their drawers open?”

      My cheeks get hot. “Sometimes, when I’m late for school and trying to find something …”

      “Oh, come on, Stephen. So why are the sheets off the bed?”

      “Someone meant to change them. Then the phone rang in the middle. Someone catching a plane?”

      “Or … someone looking for something. Valuables.” Renée clasps her hands together and grins. “Maybe someone even stole King. Pythons are exotic animals. They must be worth something.”

      I shake my head at her.

      Her smile drops a little. “Why not? Don’t you see, that will get us off the hook for not checking in on him sooner. And … we won’t have to pick him up with our bare hands.”

      “Another robbery with no sign of a break-in. Where Noble Dog Walkers have access to a key? Not only will we lose all our customers, we’ll get arrested.”

      “Never thought of it that way.” She bunches up her mouth and then brightens. “Okay, okay. I have an idea.”

      It’s a long, long walk to the Burlington Animal Shelter. Renée ends up carrying Ping the last block. As we draw closer to the building, other dogs begin barking, deep, throaty big-dog barks.

      Ping finds his energy again, leaps down, and yaps back. As we step through the doors, Pong perks up, too. It’s a school office–type beige room with a standard bulletin