The Great Ghost Hoax

“We’re not sure,” Officer Marlowe said. “We’ll leave that mystery for you to solve. Now if you can just get this cat home? I think she’s done enough damage here.”

“Did you hear that?” the white cat smirked. “They totally bought my performance.”

Walt rolled her eyes.

Bob looked at his clipboard. “So I’m thinking this cat lives next door.” He flipped the papers back down on the clipboard and reached out for the white cat. “Come on, Bertha. Let’s get you home.”

Butterbean’s jaw dropped. “Bertha? Your name’s BERTHA?”

“PRINCESS JUBILEE! CALL ME PRINCESS JUBILEE!” the cat shrieked as Bob carried her away. “Princess Jubilee’s my stage name! No one calls me BERTHA!”

“Wow. I didn’t expect that,” Butterbean said to Walt.

Walt snickered. “Princess Jubilee.” It was almost worse than Bertha.

“Well, that’s that,” Officer Marlowe said, coming over to Mrs. Third Floor. “I’m heading down to the precinct. I’ll be back later to take your statements.” She held up the video camera. “Evidence. Those doofuses taped the whole thing—set up, crime, confession, you name it.” She shook her head again and looked down at Butterbean. “I’m just surprised those animals of yours didn’t root out that cat right away. You’d think they would’ve tipped us off to a strange animal.”

Mrs. Food frowned down at Butterbean, who blinked back with her most innocent face on. “Hmm. Yes, you’d think.” She turned to Madison. “I’m going to be a while here. Could you put them back in the apartment? I think they’re overtired. Especially Bean, with all that howling.”

“I was in character!” Butterbean complained as Madison dragged her to the elevator.

She didn’t stop grumbling until Madison unlocked the door to Mrs. Food’s apartment a few minutes later.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Butterbean said to Walt as Madison shut them back inside.

“But it isn’t over, is it?” a voice said as the door closed behind them.

Butterbean stopped short. Sitting in the middle of the sofa, waiting for them, was Jerome.

He drummed his tentacles on the arm of the sofa. “Well, I did my part. Now how are you getting me home?”

Luckily, Jerome was in a much better mood once Oscar appealed to his better nature. (The way to appeal to Jerome’s better nature was with sardines. Lots of sardines.)

“So you think you can get me a map of the pipes?” Jerome said, spraying a fine mist of fish juice. “Since I obviously can’t go back the way I came.”

“Right,” Walt said. “The city website is sure to have one. Once we get you that map, you can just follow the pipes back to the zoo.”

“And take Larry down,” Jerome growled menacingly. (Or as menacingly as he could with a mouth full of sardines.) “I’ll be so entertaining, they’ll never even THINK about replacing me.”

“YEAH!” Butterbean cheered, high-fiving one of Jerome’s free tentacles. She was still hyped up from the ghost stuff earlier.

“We think it should be pretty straightforward,” Oscar said, scooting down the arm of the sofa. He was definitely going to need a bath to wash off all the fish residue.

“Good. Because I don’t want to end up in some water recycling plant or decorative fountain or something,” Jerome grumbled. He shook his fist again. “TAKE LARRY DOWN!”

“TAKE HIM DOWN!” Marco and Polo cheered. The enthusiasm was a little contagious.

Jerome giggled and elbowed Wallace in the side. “Did you hear those ghost guys scream? Oh man, I should incorporate that ghost stuff into my routine at the zoo. It’ll be a huge draw. Seriously, you guys have given me a lot of great new ideas.” He tapped his cheek thoughtfully. “I think I just needed this quality time away from the paparazzi to find myself again. You know, personal growth and all that.”

“Erm. Great,” Oscar said, eyeing the door. Mrs. Food and Madison could get back any minute, and they still had to use the computer. “We’re glad it was beneficial. But maybe you should go get your things together?”

“Right,” Jerome sighed, flipping the empty sardine container toward the trash can. (It missed.) “No point in wasting more time here.” He stretched and headed off to the kitchen. “I’ll be hanging at Chad’s place until you get that map. He’s going to be crushed that I’m leaving.”

Jerome climbed up onto the counter and paused. “You know, those pipes run both ways. You ever want to pull a prank like that again, I’m your octopus. You got it?”

“Got it,” Walt said solemnly.

Jerome waved a tentacle at each of them like he was doing a fancy interpretive dance and then disappeared down the drain.

Oscar looked at Walt nervously. “I just hope you’re right about that map.”

Walt’s whisker twitched. “I hope so too.”

They were not right about the map. Walt had been searching for the past ten minutes with no luck. And Mrs. Food wouldn’t be gone much longer.

“Well?” Oscar said, tapping his feet impatiently.

“Anything?” Butterbean asked, her nose trembling.

Walt shook her head. “Nothing.” The city waterworks website seemed to be woefully inadequate.

“This is ridiculous,” Oscar said bitterly. “Why is there no easily accessible map? What about regular citizens who need to know how to get somewhere by pipe? What about them?”

“Yeah, what about them?” Butterbean echoed. She had a feeling there wasn’t much demand for pipe maps in human circles, but she wanted to be supportive.

Walt kept typing. “The public site just doesn’t have the plans, and the section with the documents is password protected,” Walt explained. “Very securely password protected. I can’t even see what’s there.”

“I wish he could just go back the way he got here!” Polo complained. “That would be so much easier!”

“Yes, well, we all do,” Oscar said. “But that’s obviously not an option.”

They all stared at the computer screen for a long minute.

“Why don’t you hack it?” Marco finally called from the doorway. He was officially the lookout, but he kept getting distracted. Whatever was happening with the computer sounded a lot more interesting than watching an empty living room. “You know, the computer. Hack it up.”

“Yes! Let’s hack it up!” Butterbean said. “That sounds like fun!”

“Ooh good idea, I’ll hack it,” Walt said sarcastically.

Marco looked wounded. It didn’t sound like Walt was being serious. “Maybe just a couple of hacks?”

Walt slumped a little. “I’m sorry. I tried hacking. I can’t crack it. The website has a two-part authentication system, and I don’t have a security fob.”

“Yeah. Wow,” Marco said. “That stinks.” He didn’t have any idea what any of that meant.

“Can you get one?” Polo asked. She wasn’t sure what a security fob was, but how hard could it be?

Pretty hard, apparently.

“Doubtful. I’m not a city employee, and they’re the only ones who get them. Is there anyone in this building who has one, Butterbean? I’m sure Chad would be able to ‘borrow’ it for us.” She didn’t even bother to make the air quotes. They all knew what it meant when Chad borrowed things.

Butterbean sat down and stared at the ceiling while she went through her mental list of the residents of the building. Her lips moved while she thought. Finally, she made a face. “I don’t think so.”

“High Heel Woman? Spicy Food Couple? Mrs. Hates Dogs?” Oscar said. Surely there was someone.

“No. Sorry,” Butterbean said.

“Man Who Smokes Cigars?” Walt said. “None of them?”

Butterbean shook her head. “High Heel Woman works in a store, I think, cosmetics section. Man Who Smokes Cigars is a bank guy. Mrs. Hates Dogs is retired, and Spicy Food Couple does something on the internet. A food blob? Something like that. The only office person I remember smelling was Man Who Smelled Like Onions, but he’s gone.”

“And there isn’t any other way to get the plans?” Oscar asked Walt.

“There’s one other way,” Walt said slowly. “We could fill out a request form. Then they’d send them to us.”

“Oh!” Butterbean said. “Let’s do that, then!”

Walt shook her head. “It wouldn’t work.”

“Will they send them in the mail? Is that the problem?” Oscar wasn’t willing to give up. “I know tampering with the mail is a federal crime, but we’ve never let that stop us before, right? We can certainly find a way to intercept the plans before Mrs. Food sees them.” They’d planned a heist. Surely it wouldn’t be that hard to steal a letter.

“That’s not it,” Walt explained. “It takes four to six weeks. Processing.”

“Oh.” Butterbean sat down hard. Oscar’s feathers drooped.

Four to six weeks was a long time. Four to six weeks of Jerome was even longer.

“We’ll find another way,” Oscar said. They’d have to.

When Mrs. Food and Madison got back, they found the animals lying lethargically around the living room. No matter how much brainstorming the animals had done, they hadn’t been able to find another way.

Walt had draped herself along the back of the couch. Butterbean was partially wedged under the coffee table. Marco and Polo were lying flat on the floor of their aquarium. And Oscar was sitting gloomily on the bottom of his cage. (Wallace was lying behind the couch, but Mrs. Food and Madison didn’t notice him.) They had failed. And they hadn’t told Jerome.

“What’s wrong, guys? Too much ghosty stuff for you?” Madison asked, patting Walt on the head. Walt twitched an ear in response.

Madison bent down to look under the coffee table. “Butterbean, we did it! We stopped those guys! Aren’t you excited?” Butterbean didn’t even move. Madison stood up. “I think they’re traumatized,” she told Mrs. Food.

“They’ll stop being traumatized when I get the can opener out,” Mrs. Food scoffed, going into the kitchen.

“We’re being depressed,” Butterbean said without moving. She’d thought it was pretty obvious. They’d run out of ideas. They would never get Jerome back to the zoo now. They were stuck with him.

Madison picked up the remote. “Maybe we can watch the news? They like that.” She sat down on the couch and rested her head on Walt’s back. “Want to see the news, cat?”

Walt didn’t respond.

It didn’t matter anyway. The News was over.

“Oh crud,” Madison said, turning the TV off again. “I was hoping they’d say something about that new octopus. I still can’t believe Mr. Wiggles is really gone!”

“Well, it’s been a while,” Mrs. Food said, setting the table. “They can’t keep looking forever.”

“I know, but I was right there!” Madison said, getting up. “I was probably one of the last people to see him!”

“Last person,” Butterbean couldn’t help saying. “You were the last person. I’ve told you that A MILLION TIMES.”

“Maybe even the LAST person,” Madison said.

“Thank you,” Butterbean said.

“I just keep thinking about it, you know, trying to retrace my steps in my head. Surely I saw something, right? Maybe something I saw is the key to everything! It’s like one of those mystery movies where they call everybody into the drawing room to reveal the killer.”

“Right,” Mrs. Food said. “Madison, help me with the rice, okay?”

“Sure,” Madison said, going into the kitchen.

None of the animals moved. Then slowly, Walt’s ears started to perk up.

“Oscar,” she said without moving. Her voice was muffled by the couch cushion. “Did you hear what she said?”

“I did,” Oscar said.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Oscar sat up a little straighter. “About the murder mystery?”

“The drawing room part? Calling everyone together? Retracing steps?”

“Exactly.” Oscar shot up onto his perch. “How much time do you need?”

Walt jumped down from the cushion. “Not long. Cover for me, Bean!”

She streaked into the office.

Butterbean sat up in confusion. She was not thinking what they were thinking. “WHAT’S HAPPENING?” she barked, and then started running in circles around the living room. She didn’t have time to come up with a new distraction technique. Circles were always her best option.

“What in the world?” Mrs. Food came out into the living room.

Madison poked her head around the corner. “She’s lost it.” Then she frowned. “What is that cat doing?” She wiped her hands on a dish towel and headed off into the office.

“OH NOOOOOOOO,” Butterbean wailed. She couldn’t even manage a simple distraction anymore.

Madison was back less than a minute later. “She’s playing with the computer keyboard. It’s like she thinks she can type,” she laughed.

Butterbean and Oscar exchanged glances. As long as Mrs. Food and Madison thought Walt’s computer hijinks were all a big joke, they should be okay. Just as long as they didn’t investigate too much.

Walt stalked in a few minutes later and sat down in the middle of the living room, a smug expression on her face.

“Did it work?” Butterbean asked, collapsing in a heap next to her.

“Just wait.” She started grooming her tail.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Third Floor poked her head in. “Madison?” She let herself in. “Sorry to bother you, but I just got the STRANGEST message that I think was meant for you. It was someone from the City Zoo. They need you to come by tomorrow for some kind of reenactment? It’s part of the Wiggles investigation. Anyway, I wrote down what they said.” She handed a piece of paper to Madison.

“Okay, thanks.” Madison looked at the piece of paper. “Huh.”

Walt smoothed her whiskers. “Bingo.”

— 20 —

“MADISON, COME QUICK!” MRS. FOOD hit the pause button on the Television as Madison came into the apartment. “Look! He’s back! Mr. Wiggles is back!”

“What?” Madison dumped her book bag onto the entryway floor, her water bottle bouncing out into the dining room.

Walt inspected it carefully. She was just glad it was empty this time.

“No way! I was JUST THERE! When did this happen?” Madison said, sitting down on the couch.

“They just announced it,” Mrs. Food said. “Here, I’ll run it back.”

Mrs. Food rewound for a few seconds and then hit play.

“And he’s back! Just as mysteriously as Mr. Wiggles disappeared, today he returned with no explanation. Zoo officials say they had almost given up hope of ever seeing the beloved celebrity and spokes-octopus again, but today he mysteriously reappeared in his own tank, ringing the bell that tells zookeepers that he wants a snack. Zoo officials say he seems healthy and happy, and may have even put on a little weight.”

“He did eat a LOT,” Butterbean whispered to Walt.

The camera zoomed in on the tank holding Mr. Wiggles. He pulled himself up and waved to the camera, spitting water onto the reporter standing nearby. Then he winked and gave the camera a thumbs-up.

“Did you see that?” Butterbean gasped. “He winked at us!”

“It wasn’t necessarily at us, Butterbean,” Oscar said. But he secretly thought it was.

“Zoo officials say this is especially good news in light of the recent scandal involving European octopus Monsieur Octavio, also known as the Annihilator. Back to you, Herb,” the reporter said, trying to ignore the water dripping down her nose.

“That is good news! And boy did they dodge a bullet with that Annihilator. Talk about bad news!” The anchorman chuckled to himself. “Glad to see that Wiggles character back where he belongs.”

Mrs. Food hit pause. “What’s all this about the Annihilator?”

Madison grinned. “You didn’t hear about that? He escaped from his tank and ate the entire display of saltwater fish. Apparently he does that a lot. That’s why they were trying to get rid of him.”

Mrs. Food smiled and got up. “Well, then, I’m glad their reenactment worked. You can be proud that you helped find him.”

“No, but that’s just it. It didn’t work!” Madison said, a confused expression on her face. “It was the weirdest thing. There was no official reenactment at all—they didn’t even know what I was talking about! So I walked around and did the stuff I did before, but it felt kind of dumb, so I just came home.”

Mrs. Food looked confused. “But the phone call—”

“I know!” Madison said.

“Huh,” Mrs. Food said thoughtfully.

They both stared at the pets for a long second. Butterbean tried not to squirm. There was no way they could pin this on them.

“Anyway, it was strange…” Madison said, shrugging.

Mrs. Food frowned. “This will sound silly, but you don’t think—”

“YOOHOO!” a voice came from the front entrance. Mrs. Third Floor was standing in the doorway. “Beulah, Madison, I need help, please!”

“Oh no, not again,” Mrs. Food muttered as she hurried to the door. “What is it, Mildred? What can I do?”

Mrs. Third Floor laughed. “You can give me my spare key. You’ll never believe it. I found a renter!”

“Already?” Mrs. Food gasped, handing her the key.

“Already?” Wallace groaned from his pile of cedar chips. He knew it was too good to last.

Mrs. Third Floor clasped her hands together. “Yes, and I didn’t even have to list it. You’re going to be so surprised. Meet my new tenant!” She stepped aside and held her arms out like she was displaying a refrigerator on the Television.

Officer Marlowe poked her head around the door. “Hello, you two.”

“Officer Marlowe!” Madison blurted. “You’re moving in?”

“Guilty,” Officer Marlowe said. “I just had to snap it up. Don’t tell anyone, but I had my eye on that place from the first minute I saw it.”

“And she can help protect it from ghosts!” Mrs. Third Floor said happily.

“Ghosts don’t mess with me,” Officer Marlowe smirked. “Mostly because I don’t believe in them.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news,” Mrs. Food said as Mrs. Third Floor held out the key. “Welcome to the building. It would be good to have a police officer nearby.”

“Thanks,” Officer Marlowe said, taking the key. She turned to go and then hesitated. “Would you like to see what I’m doing with the place? Mrs. Thurfel said it was okay if I did a little decorating.”

Mrs. Third Floor beamed. “I’m going to let her put nail holes in the walls AND paint the rooms a different color! I might even let her have a pet!” She cleared her throat and shot Walt and Butterbean a look. “I haven’t decided about that one, though. No offense,” she said to Butterbean.