Suddenly, Felony cried out, “Hey, that’s the street!”
Chester, who had committed both addresses to memory, said, “Treetop Lane. That’s it, all right.”
It wasn’t quite dawn yet, but as we moved slowly down Treetop Lane, the streetlight was enough to make Hamlet realize he’d been there before. He
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stopped short when we came to the small brick house at the end. There was a name—Cantelloni— on the mailbox.
“Archie isn’t here,” he said, shaking his head.
“How do you know?” Chester asked.
“Because this is Cousin Flo’s. This is where I was staying until… that man came along.”
We looked at the darkened house as Hamlet continued. “Life was pretty good here for a while. Flo Fenster was a nice lady who never stinted on the dog food. She didn’t even get angry when I chewed up one of her favorite slippers. She just said, ‘Dogs will be dogs,’ and bought herself another pair.
“But one day she met Jed Cantelloni in the produce section of the superette. I was watching through the store window as he approached her with a pineapple in his hand. I saw the look in his eyes when she showed him how to tell if it was ripe. They did the rest of their shopping together and came out of the store all smiles because they’d found out they used the same brand of dish detergent. But he stopped smiling when he saw me. ‘Don’t you find such a big dog a lot of bother?’ he asked her. And she didn’t say, ‘Oh, no, of course not.’ She said, ‘He’s my cousin’s dog.’ She never even noticed she’d forgotten to buy my food.
“It was a whirlwind romance. They got married two weeks later and went to Mexico for their honeymoon. On the way to the airport, they dropped
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me off at Chateau Bow-Wow. And that’s the last I saw of either of them.”
Just then, a light went on in one of the downstairs rooms. We all ran to hide behind a bush. Being the tallest, Hamlet and I were the only ones who could see inside. Craning my neck, I made out a man with thinning hair and a thickening middle scratching his head and yawning. From the way his lips were moving, it seemed that he was whistling.
“That’s him,” Hamlet said.
There was a high-pitched yipping.
“And who’s that?” I asked.
Hamlet’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t know,” he said.
The front door opened. Out stepped Jed Cantel-loni, a jacket thrown over his pajamas. He was holding a frisky puppy at the end of a leash. “Ready for our morning walk, Cupcake?” the man who didn’t like dogs said cheerfully. “Let’s go then, pal.”
“I can’t believe it,” Hamlet said as they started down the sidewalk. Cupcake turned briefly and sniffed in our direction, but fortunately, her master tugged at her leash and they disappeared around a corner.
“What an awful person,” said Linda, as we watched them go. “How could he do that to you, Hamlet?” She shuddered. “This would never happen in Upper Centerville.”
“Don’t be too sure,” said Bob. “We still don’t know what’s become of Tom and Tracy.”
Bob and Linda gave each other a soulful look.
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“How’s about we go in and snitch Cupcake’s favorite toys?” Felony asked. “Maybe spill her water.”
“And we could claw this bum’s BarcaLounger while we’re at it,” Miss Demeanor snarled.
“I appreciate the offer,” Hamlet said, “but it isn’t the dog’s fault, and Cousin Flo, well, she’d be really upset to see any of her furniture ruined, so—”
“But she let this guy get rid of you,” said Felony. “Don’t you want to get even?”
Hamlet shook his head. “It’s not her fault either. It’s no one’s fault. Why shouldn’t they want a cute little puppy instead of an old coot like me?”
“That’s enough of that kind of talk,” said The Weasel. “Come on, Hamlet, you stick with me. I’m going to cheer you up.”
And so, as The Weasel sang “The sun’ll come out tomorrow,” we set off on the final lap of our journey, the one that would take us to our last hope— the second address in Hamlet’s file.
It was daylight now. The streets were getting busy with cars and the sidewalks were filling with people. We were forced to take back roads and, when we could, cut through yards and parks and playgrounds to avoid being too conspicuous. My stomach was making more noise than The Weasel’s singing, but we pushed onward, ever onward, knowing that we had little time before we’d be missed and our chance to save Hamlet would be lost forever.
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I don’t suppose any of us could have anticipated what would lie at our journey’s end. Certainly, we never imagined Archie might be living in such a place as the huge stone house that confronted us in the sleepy little town of London.
“Wow,” I said to Hamlet when I saw it. “I know you said Archie was rich, but—”
Hamlet looked confused. “He’s not this rich,” he said.
“Well, he sure owns a lot of cars,” said Howie. “And, look, he’s got servants.” Several people in uniform were walking across a yard that was big enough to be a public park.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked Chester.
Chester looked up at the address on the gate in front of us: 1717 Burrito Boulevard.
“This is it,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”
We all looked back at the numbers. That’s when we noticed the sign above them. We weren’t sure what it meant at first, but Chester explained it to us. Hamlet shook his head sadly.
“What am I going to do now?” he asked.
I lifted my eyes once more and read the words:
SUNNYDALE NURSING HOME
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CHAPTER TEN
A Paranormal Experience
WE crept through the gate of the Sunnydale Nursing Home only to be met by another sign. This one was larger than the first and had lots of words written on it, but there were only three that mattered to us at the moment. Three little words near the bottom.
NO ANIMALS ALLOWED.
“Well, Pop,” said Howie, “there’s your omen.”
“More obstacle than omen,” Chester muttered. Then, seeing the forlorn look in Hamlet’s eyes, he added, “And an obstacle is nothing more than a victory waiting to happen!”
I recognized Chester’s statement as one of the many he’d been quoting ever since finishing that
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recent best-seller, Everything I Always Wanted to Be I Already Am. I wondered if The Weasel had read it too; it seemed like his kind of book.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Hamlet said, “but I don’t see how—”
“All we need is a plan,” Chester said.
Howie ran to a nearby rock garden and pulled a fern out by its roots. “Here,” he said, presenting it proudly to Chester.
“That’s plan, Howie, not plant.”
“Oh.”
“Keep that up, and we’ll be bounced out of here before you can say—”
“Open window.”
We all turned at the sound of Felony’s voice.
“There’s an open window over there by the parking lot,” she said. “We make our way under the cars, see; then it’s a dash and a leap and we’re in.”
“Not a bad plan,” Chester said, squinting his eyes and nodding approval. “With a little help, it’ll be better than not bad. It’ll be good.”
Felony and Miss Demeanor scowled. I had the feeling they weren’t used to having their plans improved upon.
But Chester wasn’t used to having somebody else come up with the plan in the first place. “The problem is we don’t know what’s on the other side of that window,” he went on. “Now, the hedge underneath will make an excellent hiding place while one of us gets up on Hamlet’s or Harold’s back and
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checks out the interior. The only other problem is how we get to the window without being seen.”
“I told ya,” said Felony, gritting her teeth, “we skedaddle under the cars.”