The Great Mistake Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Sylvia McNicoll

rolls her eyes.

      The cyclist nods. “Our Pomeranian could use a lot more exercise. She’s getting a pot.” He tucks the card into his front pocket and heads back for the library.

      Renée lets go a gigantic sigh.

      “I just want to help my dad grow his business, Renée.” We start walking, the dogs sniffing along the grass as we go.

      “Yeah, well, you’re handing your phone number to people you don’t even know.”

      “It’s a business phone. That’s what it’s for.” Still, Renée plants a worry in my head. Maybe this is mistake number three of the day, only it’s something I do on other days all the time. “We both know Red from school.”

      “Never mind that now. Come over here. Sit, Ping! Give them treats so we can talk.”

      Both of the dogs slump under the tree, and I give them each a liver bite.

      “So, what did you see?” Renée asks.

      “Well, the dogs came to stay with me last night. And around midnight, they started barking out the window. I got up to see what their fuss was about and saw that Volkswagen Beetle in the parking lot.”

      “Who was driving it?”

      “Remember there’s only one light over the parking lot — I couldn’t tell.”

      “Darn. So you can’t ID the perp for the police.”

      “No. Why? Are you planning to join the force?”

      “My brother texted me twenty minutes ago. The police officers took him in for questioning.”

      “Can you blame them? He did spray paint a tank crashing into the wall of Champlain High.”

      Renée frowns. “And the Beetle belongs to him.”

      “Attila owns a car?” Ping gives a little growl now, so I dump out two more treats for the dogs.

      Renée nods. “My grandfather gave it to him.”

      “But I saw Mr. Sawyer driving it yesterday afternoon.”

      “You know Mrs. Watier had him transferred to Champlain High.”

      I didn’t know that, actually. “So, he’s custodian there, now. I’m glad he didn’t lose his job totally.”

      Pong stretches out and flips to his back. Rubbing his tummy soothes him and me. Don’t get too attached to the clients, I hear my father’s voice in my head.

      “My brother and some of his classmates were working on the Beetle during auto shop. Everyone has access to the keys there. Mr. Sawyer probably borrowed it.”

      “Mrs. Watier was driving it yesterday evening.”

      “She’s marrying Attila’s shop teacher, Mr. Moody.”

      “So, she borrowed it, too?”

      Renée nods. “Someone put something in her car’s gas tank. It stalled on the way to the high school, so she borrowed the Beetle to get to her appointment.”

      “The wedding dress fitting, I remember. How did you find out about the gas tank, though?”

      She chews the side of her mouth. “Well, my brother and his friends were laughing about it last night.”

      “How did they know about it?”

      “They didn’t do it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

      “Well, they do have a strange sense of humour.” I stop patting Pong as he sits up and begins scratching his ear. “And your brother’s graffiti on the high school wall was a picture of a crash, after all. You can see how the police might suspect him.”

      She nods as she scrubs at Ping’s head. “I swear it wasn’t Attila.”

      “How can you be so sure?” I ask.

      “Because he was souping the car up for Beetle Cruise Night at the mall. He might like painting a picture of a crash on a wall, but he would never have crashed that car.”

      My phone plays a funny half-note and I grab it to answer. “Hey, I’m getting my first text message ever!” I select the little envelope icon and find a strange sentence from someone named M.Y.O.B.

      Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. Otherwise, the dogs will get it.

      So, who is this M.Y.O.B.? Mistake number three was definitely handing that particular person my business card.

      day two, mistake four

      My breathing speeds up and my heart does a drum roll as the message sinks in. “Oh my gosh, Renée. Someone’s threatening me.”

      “Calm down and let me see.” She grabs the phone and stares at the message. “We have to take this to the police.”

      “Are you kidding?” I look at Ping and Pong and want to hide them somewhere. “M.Y.O.B. will hurt the dogs.”

      “But it will prove my brother isn’t the criminal. He doesn’t even know your number.”

      “I may have given him my business card.”

      Renée nods her head. “Of course you did. Is there anyone in all of Brant Hills who doesn’t have the Noble Dog Walking business card with your cell number on it?”

      I frown. Dad and I handed out flyers with the card stapled to it. Everyone in the neighbourhood should have one by now. “Pass me back my phone.” I grab it, hit reply, and thumb type: I don’t know anything.

      A few moments later, there’s a half-chime. Another message from M.Y.O.B. Fine, better keep it that way!

      “Are you going to the police with me?” Renée asks.

      “They’re only questioning your brother. They’ll find out about all the others who drove the car, without me having to risk the dogs.”

      “The others were adults. They’re going to pin it on a kid first.” She frowns. “Are you sure you didn’t see something? M.Y.O.B. seems to think you did.”

      “I wish I could remember. But something bothers me about what Mrs. Klein told me.”

      “What?” Renée asks.

      “She said the halls were full of fumes because the car ran all night. Once the driver jumped out, wouldn’t the car just shut down?”

      “You didn’t hear about the brick on the accelerator?”

      “No. You know more about this than I do. Why isn’t M.Y.O.B. threatening you?”

      “When you were standing at your window, did you have your lights on?”

      I think for a moment. “Sort of. Three night lights, anyway.”

      “Whoever drove that car must have seen you and thinks you saw him.”

      “You could be right. We need to test that.” I think for a moment. “What makes you think it’s a him. It could have been Mrs. Watier.”

      “Seriously, why would she do that to her own school?”

      “Maybe ’cause she wants to add a new gym.” I repeat Mr. Ron’s idea. “With that area wrecked anyway, the school board might let her.”

      “And the bomb threat? Did she send that to her own office? She’s trying to get ready for her wedding this Saturday.” Renée pats Ping’s back absent-mindedly, without noticing what he’s doing, which is licking his personal parts.

      “Does your brother like dogs?” I ask.

      She glances down at Ping, and he jumps up to lick her face. She pulls away in the nick of time. “No, Attila got bitten once. Badly. But he’s still at the police station, remember?”