The Case of the Lost Boy by Dori Hillestad Butler

Author:Dori Hillestad Butler [Butler, Dori Hillestad]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-1947-8
Publisher: Albert Whitman & Company
Published: 2011-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

6

Smells Like a Kidnapping

“News?” I cry. “What news?” I hope I can get the news before the door closes.

“BUSTER JUST TALKED TO SOMEONE FROM THE NEXT NEIGHBORHOOD OVER,” I hear Mouse call from down the street. “IT SOUNDS LIKE YOUR HUMAN MAY BE PLAYING AT THE PARK.”

“He’s there now?” I wiggle my nose in between the door and Jelly Donut’s leg and squeeze my way out.

I have to get to the park. I have to find Connor.

“Buddy!” Mom yells at me. “Come back here!”

“I know where Connor is,” I call back to her. “Follow me!”

I keep on running. I dart through the Deerbergs’ backyard ... through the flowers ... through the Sanchezes’ backyard.

I run all the way to the park. It feels strange to be here without Kayla. But I can’t think about Kayla right now. I have to think about Connor. Where is he?

I check the swings. I check the climbing toy. I check inside the slide.

No Connor.

I check the bushes. I check the other bushes. I check the creek.

Still no Connor.

I put my nose to the ground and sniff. I sniff all around the park, but I don’t pick up Connor’s scent anywhere.

“Hey!” I call out to anyone who can hear me. “I’m the one who is looking for the missing boy. My friend Mouse heard through the Network that my boy was at the park. Did someone smell him there?

Several nearby dogs start talking at once:

“I smelled him!”

“I smelled him, too!”

“Toast, cereal, soap, and sweaty socks, right? You’ll pick up his scent over by the swings.”

Toast, cereal, soap, and sweaty socks? No, that’s not Connor.

“Connor smells like eggs, bacon, toothpaste, and dirt,” I say.

Silence.

“Sounds like the message got a little mixed up,” says a little dog across the street.

That happens sometimes. One dog mixes up the information a little bit. The next dog mixes it up more. Pretty soon the message is completely wrong.

My shoulders sag. “So none of you has smelled a mix of eggs, bacon, toothpaste, and dirt?”

“No.” “Nope.” “Sorry,” they all reply.

If I were human, I could let the sadness and frustration I’m feeling drip out of my eyes. Since I’m not human, I have no choice but to carry the sadness and frustration in my heart.

“We’ll send out another alert,” says a big dog from a block away.

I hear the alert go out: “Please report back to Mouse or King if you smell eggs, bacon, toothpaste, and dirt.”

But Connor could be anywhere by now.

While I am standing there trying to decide what to do next, a couple of police officers come up behind me. These are not the same donut-eating police officers who were at Connor’s house a little while ago.

One is a lady police officer who smells like burnt toast. I am not a fan of burnt toast, but I will eat it if it’s there. The other officer smells like a fishing boat.

“There he is!” Burnt Toast Lady says.

“Grab him,” Fishing Boat says.

Grab who? Me?

I take off running again. No one else has done much to find Connor.

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