I walked into the kitchen. “Baxter!” I called as I walked through the dining room into the living room.
He was curled up on his smooshy bed by the purple couch.
“Wake up, Baxter!” I said.
His head popped up. He sleepy scrambled to his feet and rushed over, his tail wagging a million times a minute.
“Wow, your ears must really be bothering you—you didn’t hear me come in at all, did you?”
I shook my head, and Baxter shook his head, too, flapping his ears extra hard because they still hurt. I gently hugged him around the tummy, and he leaned into me and rested his chin on my shoulder to hug me back.
And soon, I was feeling the tiniest bit better—because I realized that all the outstanding stuff Tyler had just done was with a basketball. So even if he was a better Basketball Study Buddy, I was still better than him in all the nonbasketball parts.
I stood up. “Let’s get TJ.”
Baxter followed me into the kitchen. I grabbed the leash from the Baxter Station and we headed out, closing the back door behind us.
But just as we came around the side of the house into Professor Reese’s front yard, there was a man in a brown suit storming up the walk.
Baxter gave a little woof, deep in his throat.
The man glared at Baxter and me. Then he marched up Professor Reese’s porch steps and rapped on the door.
17The Crabby Detective
Baxter woofed hello and ran to see who the man was.
He rapped on Professor Reese’s front door again, and by then Baxter was charging up the porch steps so he could sniff who the man was, too.
The man took a few steps backward, so I whistled Baxter back to me. Because even though he’s the sweetest dog ever, he’s a lot of dog when he meets you all at once.
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge. “I’m Detective John Jacobs of the Portland Police Department. I’m looking for Margery Reese.”
I shook my head. “She’s not home.”
He stuck the badge back in his pocket. “And who are you exactly?”
“Jordie Marie Wallace. I live next door.”
I pointed toward our house, but the detective didn’t even look. Instead, he said, “Has anything out of the ordinary happened around here recently?”
I didn’t know how to answer that because lately it seemed like everything was out of the ordinary. But of course I couldn’t say that. But I didn’t think I should lie to the police, either, so I tried to figure out something to say that was true but not too teleport-y.
I patted Baxter’s shaggy neck. “Well, yes,” I finally decided. “I got half of a magical dog—”
The detective raised his finger to cut me off. “Out of the ordinary for Mrs. Reese.”
“Professor Reese,” I corrected him, as politely as I could (which, if you’re a kid correcting a grown-up, they never think is polite enough). “She likes to be called Professor. She says no one ever thinks that a little old lady could be a scientist and that it’s good to challenge assumptions.”
“Fine.” He took a deep breath. “Has anything out of the ordinary happened recently to Professor Reese?”
“Yes. She got half of a magical dog, too. The other half.” I scritched Baxter’s back while he sniffed and sniffed in the detective’s direction. “Technically, he sleeps at her house, but I take care of him in the afternoon—which is half the day, if you think about it, so he’s half hers and half mine.”
I stopped talking, as it didn’t seem like the detective was listening anymore.
“Are your parents home?”
“No.”
He went back down the porch steps and started wandering around Professor Reese’s yard.
“My mom’ll be home soon,” I added as me and Baxter wandered after him.
The detective looked in all the windows. Then he squatted down, and Baxter helped him peer into the dark crawlspace beneath her porch.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
But he just stood back up and put his hands on his hips, glancing over his left shoulder and then his right. “Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself. “Not even missing twenty-four hours yet.”
“Professor Reese is missing?” My stomach started feeling fluttery.
He shook his head. “Probably just went shopping and forgot to tell anyone.” He squinted up at the second story. “But does that matter? Of course not. One call from the president of the university to the police chief, and I’m pulled off all my other cases.”
“Wait. You mean she’s missing person missing or more like she’s not at work and nobody knows where she—”
“And whose butt’s in a sling if anything happens to her?” He marched back up the front porch steps. “My butt, who else.”
Which of course made me look at his butt.
He rang the doorbell, twice.
Baxter gave a little woof.
“She’s not home,” I said again, and now it felt scary saying it, even though it hadn’t felt scary before.
He turned to me, whipped a little notepad and pencil out of his jacket pocket, and flipped to a fresh page. “OK, when’s the last time you saw her?”
“This morning, before I went to school.”
He wrote that down.
I hurried up the steps to see what he was writing. Baxter came with me. “Did something happen to her?” And my stomach felt jumpy even asking.
“I don’t know yet. That’s why I’m investigating.” He held up his notepad to prove it. “What was she doing the last time you saw her?”
“Yoga and a crossword puzzle.”
He frowned. “At the same time?”
“Well, mostly the crossword but she does downward-facing dog pose when she can’t figure out a word. She says the blood flow is good for the brain.”
“Of course she does.” He rubbed his forehead like it hurt. “And what was she wearing?”
“A lavender leotard. And those tights with no feet at the bottom.”
“Are you sure your parents aren’t home?” he asked again.
I nodded.
“Fine. Footless tights.” He added it to his list. “So what were you doing in her yard
