Free Return to Howliday Inn by James Howe Page B

street!”
    Chester, who had committed both addresses to memory, said, “Treetop Lane. That’s it, all right.”
    It wasn’t quite dawn yet, but as we moved slowly down Treetop Lane, the streetlight wasenough to make Hamlet realize he’d been there before. He stopped short when we came to the small brick house at the end. There was a name—Cantelloni—on the mailbox.
    â€œArchie isn’t here,” he said, shaking his head.
    â€œHow do you know?” Chester asked.
    â€œBecause this is Cousin Flo’s. This is where I was staying until . . . that man came along.”
    We looked at the darkened house as Hamlet continued. “Life was pretty good here for a while. Flo Fenster was a nice lady who never stinted on the dog food. She didn’t even get angry when I chewed up one of her favorite slippers. She just said, ‘Dogs will be dogs,’ and bought herself another pair.
    â€œBut one day she met Jed Cantelloni in the produce section of the superette. I was watching through the store window as he approached her with a pineapple in his hand. I saw the look in his eyes when she showed him how to tell if it was ripe. They did the rest of their shopping together and came out of the store all smiles becausethey’d found out they used the same brand of dish detergent. But he stopped smiling when he saw me. ‘Don’t you find such a big dog a lot of bother?’ he asked her. And she didn’t say, ‘Oh, no, of course not.’ She said, ‘He’s my cousin’s dog.’ She never even noticed she’d forgotten to buy my food.
    â€œIt was a whirlwind romance. They got married two weeks later and went to Mexico for their honeymoon. On the way to the airport, they dropped me off at Chateau Bow-Wow. And that’s the last I saw of either of them.”
    Just then, a light went on in one of the downstairs rooms. We all ran to hide behind a bush. Being the tallest, Hamlet and I were the only ones who could see inside. Craning my neck, I made out a man with thinning hair and a thickening middle scratching his head and yawning. From the way his lips were moving, it seemed that he was whistling.
    â€œThat’s him,” Hamlet said.
    There was a high-pitched yipping.
    â€œAnd who’s that?” I asked.
    Hamlet’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t know,” he said.
    The front door opened. Out stepped Jed Cantelloni, a jacket thrown over his pajamas. He was holding a frisky puppy at the end of a leash. “Ready for our morning walk, Cupcake?” the man who didn’t like dogs said cheerfully. “Let’s go then, pal.”
    â€œI can’t believe it,” Hamlet said as they started down the sidewalk. Cupcake turned briefly and sniffed in our direction, but fortunately, her master tugged at her leash and they disappeared around a corner.
    â€œWhat an awful person,” said Linda, as we watched them go. “How could he do that to you, Hamlet?” She shuddered. “This would never happen in Upper Centerville.”
    â€œDon’t be too sure,” said Bob. “We still don’t know what’s become of Tom and Tracy.”
    Bob and Linda gave each other a soulful look.
    â€œHow’s about we go in and snitch Cupcake’sfavorite toys?” Felony asked. “Maybe spill her water.”
    â€œAnd we could claw this bum’s Barca-Lounger while we’re at it,” Miss Demeanor snarled.
    â€œI appreciate the offer,” Hamlet said, “but it isn’t the dog’s fault, and Cousin Flo, well, she’d be really upset to see any of her furniture ruined, so—”
    â€œBut she let this guy get rid of you,” said Felony. “Don’t you want to get even?”
    Hamlet shook his head. “It’s not her fault either. It’s no one’s fault. Why shouldn’t they want a cute little puppy instead of an old coot like me?”
    â€œThat’s