Free The Case of the Vampire Vacuum Sweeper by John R. Erickson Page A

Stage Two: Advance toward the scoundrels for a closer look.
    I shifted into Stealthy Crouch Mode and moved eastward on silent paws that made not a . . . SNAP . . . sound. Okay, maybe I stepped on a stupid twig, but otherwise it was a flawless . . . sometimes they put out twigs and various other obstacles, in hopes that we’ll step on them and betray our position, don’t you see.
    It was an old trick. We’d seen it dozens of times, so it was no big . . . the, uh, twig did snap and they heard it. I stopped. Froze. Eased myself down into some weeds.
    Dog One spoke. “Uh. Thought I hearding snap of twig.”
    Dog Two answered. “Uh.”
    I could hardly believe my ears. Do you see what was going on here, the meaning of this intercepted conversation? Holy cats, it promised to blow this case wide open and lead the investigation into an entirely new direction.
    Maybe you missed it, so let me explain. See, Buster and Muggs were not only traveling through our country in Phony Coyote Profile, but they were also using Phony Coyote Dialect! What this meant was that they had gone to a fair amount of trouble to develop disguises for this job.

    I mean, I wasn’t fooled by it, not for a minute, but it was slick enough to fool about ninety percent of the ranch dogs in the Texas Panhandle. In other words, these guys were clever. You don’t often find such a high level of preparation in stray dogs. Most of the time, they’re just dumb mutts from town who drift out into the country to make mischief and get into trouble. But these guys . . .
    This was promising to be a very interesting case, and it was time for me to move into Stage Three—confront them, expose them as frauds and charle­magnes, and order them off my ranch.

Chapter Eleven: A Slight Miscalculation, Nothing Serious

    E xposing these hoodlum dogs would have been easier and more fun if I’d had Slim backing me up with his shotgun, but he had botched his part of the mission and I was left all alone on life’s front lines.
    That’s not the kind of situation we hope for, but that’s where I was. And it was time for action. I took a big breath of air, rose from the weeds in which I had been crouching, and announced my presence to the mutts.
    â€œOkay guys, the party’s over. We’ve had you under surveillance from the moment you set foot on this ranch. We know who you are and who you pretend to be. We know why you’re here and what mischief you have in mind. Get off the ranch right this minute or . . .”
    Huh? They seemed to be . . . laughing, you might say. That seemed odd, but I let them laugh. I had an idea that they wouldn’t be laughing for long.
    Dog One was the first to speak. “Ha! Coyote always got mischief on mind and coyote make gooder mischief than whole world.”
    Now it was my turn to chuckle. “Listen, Buster, you can drop the phony coyote lingo. It won’t sell, sorry. In the first place, the accent’s wrong. In the second place, you don’t sound dumb enough to be a coyote. In the third place . . .”
    At that very moment the wind shifted and I caught the unmistakable musky odor of . . . that smell was really strong, and I noticed that the hair along my spinebone had more or less raised itself, almost as though . . . and I noticed for the first time that Dog One had . . . uh . . . shockingly yellow eyes and big teeth, real big . . .
    HUH?
    Gulk.
    My mind was tumbling through this latest churn of events. I couldn’t believe this had happened to me, but all the evidence was beginning to suggest that it had.
    Okay, let me explain everything and get you up to speed. Remember our discussion about the Phony Coyote Profile and Phony Coyote Dialect? Well, it had been even phonier than I could have suspected in my wildest dreams, for you see, these guys had used the Ultimate Disguise: They had disguised themselves as themselves!
    And I had fallen for it—hook, line, and