Free Dangerous Deception by Peg Kehret

froze. The yowl came from inside the Dumpster!

CHAPTER SEVEN
    T he sides of the Dumpster were too high for me to see in. I needed something to stand on, and I needed a way to lift the cat out.
    â€œI’ll be right back,” I told Midnight. I raced back inside, up the apartment stairs, and pounded on the door of apartment 4. No one responded. No Help had probably thrown Midnight in the Dumpster, like a piece of garbage. He had admitted he didn’t like cats, and he’d made it clear that he didn’t care if Midnight starved to death.
    I clattered down the stairs and knocked on the door of apartment 2. I heard nothing. My fury boiled over like an erupting volcano. I banged my fist on Apartment 1. Wham! Wham! Wham! My hand stung, but I didn’t care.
    â€œHold your horses,” said a voice from inside. “I’m coming as fast as I can.”
    An elderly woman wearing a flowered pink dress and a blue cardigan sweater opened the door. Both her hands rested on a metal walker. A cloud of white hair frizzed around her wrinkled face, and wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.
    â€œI’m sorry to bother you,” I said. “I’m a friend of Sophie’s, from apartment three. She isn’t here because her mother’s in the hospital, and somebody threw her cat in the Dumpster behind the building. Do you have a chair I can borrow?”
    â€œSlow down,” the woman said. “I don’t hear as well as I used to. Now, what’s this about a cat?”
    â€œSophie’s pet cat, Midnight, is in the Dumpster,” I said, speaking slowly and enunciating carefully. “I can hear him meowing, and I need to get him out, but I can’t reach him. I need a ladder, or even a chair to stand on. Oh, and a container of some sort to lift him out, and maybe some rope.”
    â€œWho are you?” the woman asked.
    â€œI’m Emmy. I’m Sophie’s friend.”
    â€œI’m Mrs. Spangler. Rose Spangler.”
    â€œHow do you do?” I said. “Do you have something I can use to get me high enough to see inside the Dumpster?”
    Mrs. Spangler backed up, pulling the walker after her, then turned around and headed toward her kitchen. I followed. “Would that work?” she asked, pointing to a step stool, the kind that folds flat but has two steps when it’s opened.
    â€œThat’s perfect!” I said. “Is it okay if I borrow it?”
    â€œYou’re not going to jump down inside the Dumpster, are you?” Mrs. Spangler asked. “It isn’t sanitary in there.”
    I wrinkled my nose and shook my head.
    â€œGood, because you might not get back out.”
    â€œThat’s why I need something that I can lower down for Midnight to sit in while I pull him out. An empty box, maybe, or a basket.” I looked around Mrs. Spangler’s tidy apartment. Lace doilies covered the arms of an overstuffed chair, and framed photos flanked a small TV set.
    â€œMy laundry basket might work,” Mrs. Spangler said. “It’s in the bedroom.”
    She led the way and I followed, wishing she could move more quickly. She opened her closet door and showed me a wicker laundry basket with a few clothes inside. “Dump the dirty clothes on the floor,” she instructed, “and take the basket.”
    â€œThank you!” I said. “Now all I need is rope or twine. I can tie it on the basket’s handle, and lower the basket down, and then, when Midnight gets in it, I’ll pull him out.”
    â€œI don’t have rope,” Mrs. Spangler said, “but I have yarn. I used to knit, before the arthritis bent my fingers too much. I still have a bag of yarn.” She showed me the yarn, and I selected a thick skein the color of cotton candy. By using several strands, it would be sturdy enough to hold the weight of the basket with Midnight in it.
    While I cut six lengths of the pink yarn and threaded them through