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Novellas, Hotel for Dogs by Lois Duncan ch 15-1

Hotel for Dogs by Lois Duncan ch 15-1

CHAPTER FIFTEEN It took Mr. Walker exactly ten minutes to get home from work after Mrs. Walker called him. Since his office was normally a twenty-minute drive away, it seemed to the children that the only way he could have made the trip so quickly was to have flown.

He still seemed to be flying as he leaped out of his car and strode up the walk and into Aunt Alice's house. His face was grim as he glanced about at the little group assembled in the living room.

“What in the world has been going on here?” “You'd better ask your son and daughter that question,” Mrs. Walker said as calmly as she could. “It seems they have turned the vacant house down the street into a dog hotel. There are nine dogs there now; at least, there were at last count. One of them happens to be the Gordons' long-lost Irish setter.” “A dog hotel.” Mr. Walker repeated the words as though they had been spoken in a foreign language. He turned to Bruce, who was seated forlornly on the end of the sofa. “What is all this about, son? I think you'd better come up with an explanation.” “Well …” Bruce said slowly. How exactly had it all started? “I guess the beginning was with Friday.” “Friday is mine,” Andi said. “At least, I was the one who found her. She ran in the night it was raining while you were dripping on the carpet, and she had puppies upstairs in the sewing-room closet.” “She had puppies here?” Aunt Alice gave a startled gasp. “There were a dog and puppies right here in this house?” “We got them out as fast as we could,” Andi said. “We didn't want to start you sneezing. And then when Bruce found out about the vacant house and that Jerry Gordon had knocked out the windows —” “He what?” Mr. Gordon, who was seated in the armchair by the window, straightened up with a jerk. He was a big man and handsome like Jerry, but there was a look of kindness in his face that could not be found on Jerry's. “My son, Jerry, broke windows? Why wasn't I informed?” “I didn't think you'd believe it,” Bruce told him. “Tim Kelly said you never believe anything bad about Jerry. But the windows were out, and the house was empty, and when Red ran away and we found him —” “And he was hurt and scared,” Andi said, “and he loved Bruce —” “— and then Andi and Debbie came home with MacTavish —” “— and the Bulldales were going to be drowned —” Once they were started, they could not stop themselves. The story had been building within them for so long. Now out it came, pouring like a stream rushing down a mountain. By the time they were finished, Andi was crying again and Bruce was biting his lip to keep it from quivering.

“Preston, the beagle, was our only paying guest,” he ended. “Delaney Belanger's father is paying five dollars a day for us to keep him. We needed that money. The food costs have been quite high.” “I imagine they have been,” Mr. Walker said wryly. “This sounds like a pretty expensive enterprise. Nine dogs is hardly a small family.” “It's more than just food,” Andi said. Now that things were out in the open, it seemed that he might as well know the worst. “We have to pay to have your projector repaired. It's smashed, and the cord's gone out of it.” “That cord was from your father's projector?” Mr. Gordon asked her. A light of understanding came into his eyes. “Things are beginning to fall into place now. You wouldn't happen to have a color slide of Red Rover anywhere around, would you?” “Yes, sir,” Bruce said miserably. “It's in my jacket pocket.” “Bruce is a wonderful photographer,” Andi said. “The picture looks just like Red.” “Jerry thought so, too,” Mr. Gordon said shortly. “The thing, as I see it,” broke in Mr. Crabtree, “is that this is a clear case of breaking and entering, of damage and vandalism —” “I hardly think that,” said Aunt Alice. She spoke in a businesslike manner, very unlike her usual nervous flutter. “The children did not break, they merely entered. The breaking had already been accomplished. As for damage and vandalism, I certainly didn't see signs of any. The inside of the house was clean and in excellent repair.” “That is hardly the point,” Mr. Crabtree said coldly. “As I see it —” “A house standing open with no panes in the windows is an open invitation to children,” Aunt Alice continued as if she had not heard him. “It is what is legally termed ‘an attractive nuisance' and is the owner's and Realtor's responsibility. The only possible charge that might stand up in court is trespassing.” She paused. Then, seeing the confusion on Mr. Crabtree's face, she continued in a gentler tone. “My husband was a private detective, and I worked with him and ran his office for many years. We had many fascinating cases and were in court a number of times. I have a good fund of legal knowledge.” Andi regarded her father's aunt with astonishment. “You never told us!” “You never asked, dear,” the white-haired woman said placidly. “Well, trespassing, then. That's bad enough,” Mr. Crabtree said. “What if I had taken a different buyer to see that house? How could I have explained all of those animals leaping out from all directions? I most certainly would have lost a sale, and my client might even have had heart failure.” “But that didn't happen,” Mrs. Walker reminded him. “Nobody had heart failure. And you didn't lose a sale. In fact, I think you may have made one.” “The point is —” Mr. Crabtree stopped in mid-sentence. He stared at Mrs. Walker. “I beg your pardon? I don't think I quite understood you.” “I said, you may have made a sale.” Mrs. Walker turned to her husband. “It's really a lovely house, dear, with nice big rooms and two baths and a fireplace. With some hard work next summer, the yard could be made quite beautiful.” “The location is good,” Mr. Walker agreed. “It's close enough to my work and near Aunt Alice. I'm willing to take your word about the interior being what we're looking for. If the price is right —”


Hotel for Dogs by Lois Duncan ch 15-1

CHAPTER FIFTEEN It took Mr. Walker exactly ten minutes to get home from work after Mrs. Walker called him. Since his office was normally a twenty-minute drive away, it seemed to the children that the only way he could have made the trip so quickly was to have flown.

He still seemed to be flying as he leaped out of his car and strode up the walk and into Aunt Alice's house. His face was grim as he glanced about at the little group assembled in the living room.

“What in the world has been going on here?” “You'd better ask your son and daughter that question,” Mrs. Walker said as calmly as she could. “It seems they have turned the vacant house down the street into a dog hotel. There are nine dogs there now; at least, there were at last count. One of them happens to be the Gordons' long-lost Irish setter.” “A dog hotel.” Mr. Walker repeated the words as though they had been spoken in a foreign language. He turned to Bruce, who was seated forlornly on the end of the sofa. “What is all this about, son? I think you'd better come up with an explanation.” “Well …” Bruce said slowly. How exactly had it all started? “I guess the beginning was with Friday.” “Friday is mine,” Andi said. “At least, I was the one who found her. She ran in the night it was raining while you were dripping on the carpet, and she had puppies upstairs in the sewing-room closet.” “She had puppies here?” Aunt Alice gave a startled gasp. “There were a dog and puppies right here in this house?” “We got them out as fast as we could,” Andi said. “We didn't want to start you sneezing. And then when Bruce found out about the vacant house and that Jerry Gordon had knocked out the windows —” “He what?” Mr. Gordon, who was seated in the armchair by the window, straightened up with a jerk. He was a big man and handsome like Jerry, but there was a look of kindness in his face that could not be found on Jerry's. “My son, Jerry, broke windows? Why wasn't I informed?” “I didn't think you'd believe it,” Bruce told him. “Tim Kelly said you never believe anything bad about Jerry. But the windows were out, and the house was empty, and when Red ran away and we found him —” “And he was hurt and scared,” Andi said, “and he loved Bruce —” “— and then Andi and Debbie came home with MacTavish —” “— and the Bulldales were going to be drowned —” Once they were started, they could not stop themselves. The story had been building within them for so long. Now out it came, pouring like a stream rushing down a mountain. By the time they were finished, Andi was crying again and Bruce was biting his lip to keep it from quivering.

“Preston, the beagle, was our only paying guest,” he ended. “Delaney Belanger's father is paying five dollars a day for us to keep him. We needed that money. The food costs have been quite high.” “I imagine they have been,” Mr. Walker said wryly. “This sounds like a pretty expensive enterprise. Nine dogs is hardly a small family.” “It's more than just food,” Andi said. Now that things were out in the open, it seemed that he might as well know the worst. “We have to pay to have your projector repaired. It's smashed, and the cord's gone out of it.” “That cord was from your father's projector?” Mr. Gordon asked her. A light of understanding came into his eyes. “Things are beginning to fall into place now. You wouldn't happen to have a color slide of Red Rover anywhere around, would you?” “Yes, sir,” Bruce said miserably. “It's in my jacket pocket.” “Bruce is a wonderful photographer,” Andi said. “The picture looks just like Red.” “Jerry thought so, too,” Mr. Gordon said shortly. “The thing, as I see it,” broke in Mr. Crabtree, “is that this is a clear case of breaking and entering, of damage and vandalism —” “I hardly think that,” said Aunt Alice. She spoke in a businesslike manner, very unlike her usual nervous flutter. “The children did not break, they merely entered. The breaking had already been accomplished. As for damage and vandalism, I certainly didn't see signs of any. The inside of the house was clean and in excellent repair.” “That is hardly the point,” Mr. Crabtree said coldly. “As I see it —” “A house standing open with no panes in the windows is an open invitation to children,” Aunt Alice continued as if she had not heard him. “It is what is legally termed ‘an attractive nuisance' and is the owner's and Realtor's responsibility. The only possible charge that might stand up in court is trespassing.” She paused. Then, seeing the confusion on Mr. Crabtree's face, she continued in a gentler tone. “My husband was a private detective, and I worked with him and ran his office for many years. We had many fascinating cases and were in court a number of times. I have a good fund of legal knowledge.” Andi regarded her father's aunt with astonishment. “You never told us!” “You never asked, dear,” the white-haired woman said placidly. “Well, trespassing, then. That's bad enough,” Mr. Crabtree said. “What if I had taken a different buyer to see that house? How could I have explained all of those animals leaping out from all directions? I most certainly would have lost a sale, and my client might even have had heart failure.” “But that didn't happen,” Mrs. Walker reminded him. “Nobody had heart failure. And you didn't lose a sale. In fact, I think you may have made one.” “The point is —” Mr. Crabtree stopped in mid-sentence. He stared at Mrs. Walker. “I beg your pardon? I don't think I quite understood you.” “I said, you may have made a sale.” Mrs. Walker turned to her husband. “It's really a lovely house, dear, with nice big rooms and two baths and a fireplace. With some hard work next summer, the yard could be made quite beautiful.” “The location is good,” Mr. Walker agreed. “It's close enough to my work and near Aunt Alice. I'm willing to take your word about the interior being what we're looking for. If the price is right —”