The Missing Dog Is Spotted by Jessica Scott Kerrin Read Free Book Online

wearing bright orange coveralls with Twillingate Cemetery Brigade embroidered on the chest.
    â€œTell me when this is straight,” Mr. Creelman ordered Trevor, one cotton-ball eyebrow raised.
    He held the plaque to the wall underneath the windowsill and slid it up and down until Trevor called out, “It’s straight.”
    One of Mr. Creelman’s companions held the plaque in position, while Mr. Creelman slowly bent down to retrieve a drill from his toolbox. Then he drilled holes in the wall so that he could screw the plaque into place. When they were done, the second companion produced a broom and swept up the debris made from the holes.
    Trevor tried to bury himself in his stack of books so as not to be further noticed.
    Flying under the radar, as his parents put it — another family expression.
    â€œYou from a school around here?” Mr. Creelman asked as he locked his toolbox.
    â€œQueensview Elementary,” Trevor said automatically, and instantly regretted it. Why didn’t he say he was homeschooled? He practically deserved what was coming next.
    â€œQueensview? I was just there,” Mr. Creelman said, knitting his brows together. “The Queensview Mystery Book Club. That’s why I recognized you. You were sitting in the front row.”
    Here we go, thought Trevor. He’s going to make a comment about my unusual height. Trevor braced himself.
    â€œI spoke about stone carvers,” Mr. Creelman explained to the two elderly men with him. “And then I read some epitaphs.”
    His two companions didn’t say a word. They just nodded and stared at Trevor, as if he were under interrogation or something. It was unnerving.
    â€œQueensview’s a good school,” Mr. Creelman continued. “They teach the kids about community service.”
    The two men nodded in agreement.
    Trevor began to fidget. Any minute now, Mr. Creelman was sure to figure out that he was the one who didn’t want cemetery duty and chose the animal shelter instead. The pile of books about dogs in front of him was a dead giveaway.
    Trevor took a deep breath, stealthily reached across the table and turned the stack ever so slowly until the spines with the book titles faced away from Mr. Creelman.
    â€œWhat are you reading?” Mr. Creelman demanded.
    â€œNot much,” Trevor said, feeling like an idiot as soon as he said it.
    Mr. Creelman strode over to Trevor’s table and picked up the book on top of the pile.
    â€œToday’s English Bulldog: A Complete Guide,” he read out loud. Then he pulled the stack of books around so that he could read the spines.
    Mr. Creelman’s eyes narrowed, his bushy eyebrows taking a dive to complete the frown.
    â€œDo you own a dog?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” Trevor said.
    â€œThinking of getting one?” Mr. Creelman asked.
    â€œNo,” Trevor admitted. “We move too much.”
    â€œI see,” Mr. Creelman growled.
    Busted.
    Trevor stared at his stack of books and felt very small.
    Very small, indeed.
    Mr. Creelman picked up his toolbox and started to leave. The two elderly men fell into step behind him.
    Mr. Creelman paused and turned back to face Trevor.
    â€œGive my regards to Isabelle Myers.”
    â€œWho?” Trevor asked in a little voice.
    â€œIsabelle Myers. The director of the animal shelter.”
    The woman in the lab coat, Trevor realized. He forced himself to swallow. He could feel his face burning bright red.
    Without another word, Mr. Creelman and his two companions marched out of the library.
    Trevor felt bad and he wasn’t really sure why. Okay, so he had gotten out of cemetery duty because he didn’t want to be paired with Loyola-the-giant. And even that didn’t work out. But at least the dogs were fun, and they distracted people from making rude comments while he and Loyola were forced to violate their secret pact. The Twillingate Cemetery Brigade should surely understand