Tom and Anna in Danger: The Case of the Disappearing Dogs

By James Timothy Connelly

Our two young heroes, Tom Sinclair and Anna Kavanagh, are at it again. This time they are confronted by the puzzling disappearance of a large number of dogs, including their friend, Mia's. Without warning they are thrown into a desperate situation and barely escape without harm. In a spectacular climax they secure the arrest of their attacker and

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Timothy Connelly
• Release date: Aug 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9780992454739

Book preview

Chapter One

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Hi! I’m Tom.

This story is about Anna and me. You might have heard of us. We’re in the same class, and hang out together a fair bit when we’re not at school.

We’re good at noticing things, especially things that look suspicious. Then we try to do something about them.

This story is like that.

We found out about a big problem. More than a problem. It was a crime. And it led us into a great adventure.

Anna and I have got bikes. Our parents don’t mind us riding round at the weekends and in the holidays, so long as we do it together. We’re never allowed to ride by ourselves.

Anna’s mum is very strong about that. She’s nervous about a lot of things. She keeps the front door of the house locked even when they’re home. And she’s always worrying about Droopsy, their dog, whether he’s getting sick or eating too much.

We’re not like that in our family. My dad lived in the country when he was a boy, and he says it taught him not to worry about things too much.

There’s four in our family. First there’s Dad and Mum. Dad works at a petrol station, in the office, looking after the money and ordering all the things they need. Mum used to go out to work, part-time, but she stays at home, now. She says there’s enough to do at home looking after us without going to work.

Then there’s my big brother, Trevor. Other people like him all right, but he’s bossy and thinks he knows everything. He never takes much notice of what I’m doing.

Then me.

With Anna, there’s just her mother and father and her. And their dog, Droopsy. Droopsy’s a big dog. Labrador, mostly, I think.

This story is about dogs.

Not Labradors like Droopsy, but small dogs. Different breeds, but all of them small dogs. Some were pure-breds and very expensive. People paid hundreds of dollars for them. Others were just ordinary dogs that weren’t valuable at all.

It was my mother, really, who first got us thinking about these dogs.

She read something in the paper, and she showed it to me. It said that a lot of small dogs were disappearing. They all came from our part of Melbourne.

The article in the paper said the police thought they’d been stolen, and some of the owners said they would give a reward if they got their dog back. One woman said she would pay five hundred dollars if someone returned her dog.

Anna and I talked a lot about the missing dogs. I haven’t got a dog, but I know how much Anna fusses over Droopsy. It made me realise what it would be like if you had a dog and someone took it.

That’s when we first thought we might try to find who’d been taking these dogs and see if we could get them back. We felt so sorry for the owners of the dogs – and for the dogs, too.

The paper said one of the dogs that disappeared was from a house in Fenchurch Street, close to my place, about five streets away.

I remembered a house in that street where I’d often seen a small white dog in the garden. I’d seen it three or four times when I’d ridden past.

The next Saturday morning we rode over there. Maybe that dog was the one that was missing.

How could we find out? And, if so, what could we do about it?

*       *       *

We met at the gates of our school, like we always do. It’s about half-way between Anna’s place and mine. I had my binoculars in my bag and Anna always brings her camera just in case we need it.

There was nobody outside the house in Fenchurch Street when we got there, and no sign of a dog, so we knocked on the door. A woman came out.

She looked down her nose at us, as if she thought we were going to ask her for money, and held on to the doorknob.

‘We’re Anna and Tom,’ Anna said. She does most of the talking when we knock on someone’s door.

‘I hope you don’t mind us asking, but did you once have a little white dog?’ she went on.

The woman frowned and said nothing. I came to the rescue.

‘We heard that some dogs had been stolen,’ I said, ‘and we wondered if we could do something about it.’

Anna broke in. ‘We used to see a little white dog in your garden, and …’ Her voice faded away.

‘And we were hoping yours wasn’t one of them.’ I finished Anna’s sentence for her.

The woman looked at our bikes where we’d put them down at the front gate, then said nothing for a while.

‘Yes,’ she said, finally. ‘We did have a little dog.’ Suddenly she looked alarmed. ‘Why are you asking about him? Do you know where he is?’

‘No,’ Anna said hurriedly. ‘I’m sorry. We don’t know where he is. It’s hard to explain,’ she went on.

I was kicking one foot against my other ankle. Anna says I do that when I’m nervous, though I usually don’t realise I’m doing it.

At last I spoke up. ‘We ride our bikes a lot, and we find out about things that are happening. We thought we might be able to look for your dog while we’re riding around.’

I don’t think the woman was very impressed.

‘I don’t see what a couple of kids can do,’ she said.

Nobody spoke for a long time. The woman’s face went a bit softer and she said, more gently, ‘Thanks for trying, anyway.’

We thought she was going to close the door, so Anna said in a rush, ‘Can you tell us about your dog?’ It sounded rather rude, but the woman did answer.

‘We bought him as a puppy,’ she began. ‘A Maltese terrier. White. We called him Barclay, my husband and I, though he had another name. A pedigree name. He was two. Two years old,’ she went on. ‘We let him run round in the front garden. That was our mistake.’

She didn’t need to tell us someone had stolen him from the garden.

‘In broad daylight,’ she went on. ‘On a Friday afternoon. Two weeks ago. He just wasn’t there when we came to call him in.’

The woman shuffled and went to close the door.

I spoke up quickly. ‘Can you tell us your name, in case we find out something, please?’ I said.

The woman hesitated. ‘McLeod,’ she said. ‘Mrs McLeod.’ Then she closed the door, without another word.

Back at the school, we stopped to think things over.

‘We’ve made a start,’ I began. ‘We know where one of the dogs was taken from. And we’ve got a name. McLeod.’

‘Two names,’ Anna broke in. ‘Barclay, as well.’

‘And an address,’ I went on as if Anna hadn’t spoken. ‘11 Fenchurch Street.’

‘And there’s another thing we’ve got,’ Anna continued. ‘The date. The date he was stolen. Two weeks ago, on a Friday afternoon.’

‘I’ll work it out from the calendar,’ I said. ‘I’ll start a notebook, and write down everything we’ve got so far. Show you at school on Monday.’

There wasn’t much more to say, and it was lunch time, so we hit the road for home.

I called out goodbye to Anna on her corner and went on by myself.

I had the feeling that we might be at the start of something big.

*       *       *

At school on Monday, I showed Anna what I’d written down in my note book.

I’d listed all the things we knew about Barclay and the McLeods. Anna had found out their phone number from the telephone book, so I included that. We’d both worked out the date when Barclay