We told our story and we told it well—at least I like to think we did, for Odelia and Marge uttered several cries of ‘No way!’ and ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ which I took to be a sign our story really gripped. Finally, when we were done, Marge and Odelia shared a look of determination.
“Your grandmother has done it again,” said Marge. “She’s going to antagonize this entire town, and turn them against your uncle.”
“Only thirty percent,” said Dooley, “according to Gran’s calculations. Sixty percent will be over the moon.”
“So the Mayor wants to fire Uncle Alec, and Gran wants to turn Uncle Alec into the new mayor. This is going to be a disaster,” said Odelia.
I’d offered my subsidies plan to help support the peaceful transition from a poo-on-the-sidewalk economy to a litter-box model, but Odelia had shot it down with much the same argument Dooley had employed. Those seventy percent non-dog owners would never be enticed to pay for the litter boxes of the thirty percent dog owners.
“Look, I think they’ll happily pay just to prevent stepping into dog doo,” I said now, offering up my final and best argument. “It’s a good plan.”
“It’s not going to fly, Max,” said Marge.
“It doesn’t have to fly,” I said. “It just has to pass the council and then we’ll all be able to walk the streets without being afraid to step into doo.”
Marge gave my neck a tickle, which I usually like, but now, in the heat of my argument, it felt patronizing and I told her so in no uncertain terms.
“It’s a noble plan,” she said, “but it’s not realistic. You can’t force people to adopt a policy, and you can’t force them to pay taxes for something they don’t see the point of.”
“What you can do is fine the people who don’t clean up after their dogs,” said Odelia.
“And employ those big dog poop vacuum cleaners,” said Marge.
“Dog poop vacuum cleaners?” asked Dooley. “What do they do, Marge?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious, Dooley,” I said. “They vacuum dog poop. I still think my dog litter tax plan—”
“Drop it, Max,” said Odelia. “It won’t fly.”
“It doesn’t have to fly!” I stubbornly repeated, but my humans had stopped listening. They had other fish to fry—or grandmothers.
“We have to stop your grandmother, honey,” said Marge. “Before she ruins Alec’s reputation and proves that horrible Mayor Dunham right.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t realize it, but she’s playing straight into his hand,” said Odelia.
Several cars came driving up, and I recognized the man driving the first car as Abe Cornwall. We’d recently spent a not-so-pleasant time in his facility. There were a lot of dead bodies there, which probably was to be expected from the county morgue.
“Great,” said Odelia. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m going back to the library,” said Marge. “And hope Johnny and Jerry haven’t stolen all of my books and my computers.”
“And I’m going to try to find Gran and talk some sense into her.”
“Good luck with that,” said Marge.
We all filed into Odelia’s car, and soon were on our way back to Hampton Cove.
“Um, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Yes, Dooley?”
“Why did we come all the way out here, only to go back again?”
Odelia glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, dammit, you’re absolutely right!” And she immediately stomped on the brakes, then opened the door. “Your mission, Max and Dooley, should you choose to accept it, is to talk to any pet you meet, and try to find out what happened to Grace and Fabio. Think you’re up to the task?”
“Yes, Odelia, we are!” I said with a measure of excitement.
“Finally a mission that doesn’t involve dog dung!” said Dooley, equally excited.
And so we got out and watched Odelia and her mother drive off. And then we began the short hike back to the Farnsworth place.
We were on a mission to find a missing person or persons, and this time it was a mission I knew I could wholeheartedly embrace—no ethical qualms whatsoever.
Chapter 16
When Marge walked into the library, she was holding her breath. She half expected the entire library to have been plundered, her precious collection of books having been carted off and the internet computers that were so popular with her older clientele having been looted.
Instead, she found Johnny seated behind her desk, staring into the void with a half-smile on his face. Kids were playing in the pirate ship that stood in the kid’s section, pensioners were gabbing and checking their email, and people were browsing the shelves, looking for the latest John Grisham, Nora Roberts or James Patterson.
All in all, the atmosphere was delightful.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Johnny, how did it go?”
Johnny started, as if emerging from some roseate dream or reverie.
“Mrs. P! Am I glad to see you! This library business is a lot tougher than I thought. When you did it, it looked so easy.”
“Yeah, well, it is pretty easy,” she said.
“I think I managed,” said Johnny. “I checked out a lot of books today, Mrs. P. For a while there Jerry took over from me, but he couldn’t cope, so I had to step in again.”
“Oh? And what was the problem?”
“Well, Jerry is what you might call an excitable person, Mrs. P, and when people kept shoving their cards and their books in his face, he got annoyed and started calling them names.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not. He came into the basement looking all upset, and I had to calm him down, and so I took over again, and then all was fine. There’s only one thing I’ve been wondering about, Mrs. P.”
“Marge, please, Johnny.”
“Yes, Marge,” he said dutifully.
“So what have you been wondering about, Johnny?”
“These people, they all take three books, four books, five books. Do you think they read all of them?”
“Yes, Johnny, they do,” she said with a smile. “Why, aren’t you a big reader?”
“I’ve never read a book in my life, Marge,” the big guy confessed.
“Well, maybe it’s time you started, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it’s just… I’m not big on reading, Marge. I’m just not.”
“Didn’t you read when you were a little boy?”
“No, Marge. My pa wasn’t into reading, and neither was my ma.”
“Isn’t there a kind of story you enjoy? Westerns, maybe, or detective stories?”
“I don’t know, Marge,” he confessed.
“What kind of movies do you like? Or TV shows?”
His face lit up. “I like cartoons. Like that Road Runner? Or Tom & Jerry. I like how Jerry always hits Tom over the head. I laugh very hard.”
Marge smiled. Johnny was almost like a child, she thought. And now she wondered if maybe he might enjoy children’s books. “I’ll see if I can’t find a nice book for you to read, Johnny,” she said. “Something to start you off with. So how are things downstairs? Have you had any luck finding that leak?”
“Leak? Oh, the leak. No luck so far, Marge. Though Jerry thinks we might be making a breakthrough very soon now. He thinks we’re very close.”
“That’s great, Johnny,” she said. The big guy didn’t seem anxious to resume his activities in the basement, and she didn’t mind a helping hand. “So you like the job?”
“Oh, yes, I do, Marge, very much,” he said with a flicker of excitement in his mellow cow eyes. “I think I may have chosen the wrong profession when I embarked on a life of crime. I should have been a librarian instead.”
“Well, it’s not too late, Johnny. You can still be a librarian if you want.”
“Do you really think so, Marge? Oh, I would really like that.” Then his face sagged. “I’m not sure if Jerry would like it, though. We’re partners, you see.”