The Runaway. Alison Hart

more fashionable, like Bess.”

      “Both of you are Karen, so both of you can be Nancy or George or whoever you want,” Maryellen said. She wanted them to hurry and change so they could get outside. Mrs. Larkin had taken the younger kids with her to the supermarket, so for once they weren’t hanging around. But there was only an hour and a half before Mrs. Stohlman would be back to pick her friends up.

      Karen King put her hands on her hips. “I vote we all be Nancy then.”

      “I second the motion,” Karen Stolhman said. “Now we’ll need to look for clues. Do you have a magnifying glass?” she asked Maryellen.

       “Somewhere in that old science kit.” Maryellen pointed to a torn box in her closet, and Karen Stohlman started to rummage in it.

      “And we need disguises!” Karen King exclaimed.

      Maryellen frowned. “Disguises?”

      “Of course! If Mr. Brad the ice cream guy sees you snooping around again, don’t you think he’ll get suspicious?”

      Maryellen thought a minute. “Not if we’re buying ice cream…. I have twenty cents saved from my allowance.”

      But Karen King was already using Carolyn’s lipstick and mascara. “With a little makeup, we’ll look like teenagers, not twerpy fifth-graders.”

      “Carolyn’s not going to like you using her stuff,” Maryellen warned. “And I’m not allowed to wear makeup until I’m fifteen.”

      “But we’re older than fifteen.” Karen King grinned, the smudge of red around her lips making her smile look as huge as a clown’s. “We’re Nancy Drew, remember?”

      “Look! I found a magnifying glass. Now we need a flashlight,” Karen Stohlman said, backing out from the closet.

      “It’s daylight out,” Maryellen protested.

      “We might get locked in a dark room,” Karen Stohlman said in a spooky voice.

      “Then we better have a whistle, too,” Karen King said, “in case we have to call for help. And a pad of paper to write down all our clues.”

      “And a camera to take photos of suspicious characters. Hey, I want a disguise, too!” Karen Stohlman said when she saw her friend’s made-up face.

      Maryellen rubbed her forehead. She loved the Karens, and they had some good ideas, but if they didn’t hurry, they’d never get any sleuthing done. “Mom keeps a flashlight in the kitchen in case the power goes out. Tom has a toy whistle. I can’t use Dad’s camera—he’s afraid we kids will break it. I have a school notepad that will fit in my pocket and a pencil. Now, let’s hurry before you have to leave.”

      It took ten minutes of hunting in the boys’ room before Karen King finally found Tom’s whistle under his pillow. She tried it out as they clattered downstairs. Maryellen found the flashlight, and finally got her two friends outside.

      “What time does the ice cream truck come around?” Karen Stohlman asked.

      “I think we should knock on doors,” Karen King said. “Maybe a lonely little old lady has Scooter and is feeding him steak so he doesn’t want to leave.”

      Maryellen was torn about what they should do first. “Let’s go to Beachside Street. My family didn’t check there, and Scooter can cut through our backyard to get to it. If the ice cream truck comes by, we’ll check out Mr. Brad again.”

      “Good plan, Nancys!” the Karens chorused.

      “Wait—I’d better leave my mom a note.” Maryellen ran inside the house.

      By the time she ran back outside, Mrs. Stohlman was waiting on the curb.

      The two Karens hurried past her and into the house to get their school clothes and books. “Sorry, we have to go,” Karen King apologized.

      Karen Stohlman gave Maryellen an encouraging pat on the shoulder as she left. “You’re still Nancy Drew, so keep investigating!”

      Maryellen waved good-bye, not quite believing that they’d spent the entire time time getting ready to be detectives. She turned toward the house with a frustrated sigh, and then stopped midstep. Her friends had given her some good ideas. The afternoon hadn’t been a total waste.

      She tucked the flashlight into her waistband and shoved the whistle in the pocket of her pedal pushers along with the twenty cents she’d put there earlier. Then, sitting on the front step, she began to write in her notebook.

      For her first entry, Maryellen put yesterday’s date and wrote down what the Happy Hollisters had discovered:

       Spots: the Bateses’ Dalmatian missing for two weeks

       Misty: brown and white dog missing for how long??

       Mr. Brad: dog hairs on his uniform

       Chow-Chow treats in truck

       loves dogs

       drives all over the neighborhood

       lured Buster into his truck and may have taken him

       Officer Polansky: other dogs reported missing too

      When she finished, Maryellen realized that she had quite a lot of information. Only none of it told her exactly where Scooter was.

      How would Nancy Drew find a missing pet? Of course—she’d try to find its trail. Yesterday they’d been so busy hunting up and down the neighborhood, they’d never checked for tracks.

      Maryellen ran into the house and out onto the back steps. No one had played in the backyard since Scooter had gone missing. Using the flashlight and magnifying glass, she searched for paw prints. She remembered it had drizzled the night he disappeared, which could have washed away tracks, so she would have to search carefully.

      She found ants crawling up the steps to some spilled kibble, and an earthworm squirming in the moist earth. But there were no Scooter tracks around the steps or leading into the backyard. That meant he probably hadn’t gone toward Beachside Street.

      She wrote her findings on her pad and then hurried to the front porch. When she’d let Scooter out the front door, it was the last time she’d seen him.

      Carefully, she looked around the steps and down the Larkins’ walkway. There would be no prints in the concrete, she knew, but maybe there was a muddy one on it that the light rain hadn’t washed away.

      She made her way down the length of the walkway until it met the main sidewalk. Nothing. It was as if Scooter had disappeared into thin air.

      Or turned into a ghost like Casper.

      Maryellen plopped dejectedly on the curb. If Scooter were here, he’d be playing her faithful sleuthing partner who could track lost kittens and, well, lost dogs. He would have helped her solve his own disappearance in a finger snap.

      She sighed, missing him with an ache. Don’t give up, she told herself as she got to her feet. Scooter depends on you.

      Taking baby steps, she made her way down the sidewalk along the street, searching for a sign of where he might have gone. Suddenly, she gasped. Muddy paw prints!

      They came from the direction of the Larkins’ grassy front yard, crossed the sidewalk, and then disappeared right at the curb. Maryellen checked the prints carefully with her magnifying glass. They were faded and slightly dried, and about the size of Scooter’s paws. Had he crossed the street to the other side? Her stomach did a flip-flop. She really hoped he hadn’t. The speed limit was only twenty miles an hour, but the street was still no place for a little dog.

      She used the flashlight to search the asphalt and found no sign of prints in the road. She blew out a relieved breath but then frowned in confusion.