Legend of the Ghost Dog Read Free Page A

the fridge. “Can you find out if there are flying saucers here?Can you figure out secrets when people don’t want you to? If I want to call the president, can you get his phone number?”
    Joe paused in the doorway and looked at me.
    â€œThanks for the assist, Tee,” he said. “I’ll just leave you and Quin to get acquainted at your own speed.”
    It was only then that I noticed the girl sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, her nose buried in a book. She had the same red-gold hair as Joe, except hers hung in a long, fat braid over one shoulder. She glanced up at the sound of her name, making brief eye contact with me. As her father left the room, she returned her attention to her book without saying a word. Henry trotted over to her, sat down, and stared at her. Quin calmly turned a page and continued reading.
    Okay then.
    I didn’t need to make small talk, either. I got a brick of cheese out of the fridge and began grating it into a bowl. When I had more than even Jack could consume in one sitting, I pulled a loaf of bread from the bread box and stuck it in the oven to warm. I poked around in the cupboard, eventually finding five bowls of varying sizes and designs, and I placed them on the table.
    Quin still hadn’t moved. Henry was sitting next to her, watching her quietly. Usually my dog couldn’t resist hurling himself on new people, attempting to climb them to examine every available inch with his wet, pink tongue. I had never seen him sit so respectfully next to a stranger. I felt an irritating twinge of jealousy.
    I picked up his bowl.
    â€œHenry. Ready for some hoosh?” I asked, using the word for meat stew that the old polar explorers had used. We learned about that when my father wrote a book on the South Pole, and after that hoosh became the default world for all of Henry’s meals.
    Henry’s ears pricked up and he gave me an interested look. But he didn’t come scampering over as he usually did at the mention of food. Quin turned another page and Henry returned his gaze to her. Shifting the book into one hand, Quin reached over and stroked the beagle’s back, her eyes still on the page. Henry’s tail wagged wildly at the attention. My twinge of jealousy upgraded itself to a full-blown pang.
    I poured Henry’s kibble loudly into his bowl, then shook it for added emphasis.
    â€œHenry! Hoosh!”
    The magic combination of sight, sound, and the scent of doggy kibble finally spurred my dog to his feet. He trottedover to me, but when I put his bowl on the floor, he didn’t attack it in his customary feeding frenzy.
    It was almost unheard of for Henry to lose his appetite. I forgot about Quin and her magical effect on my dog, and knelt down to feel Henry’s nose.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, buddy? Don’t you want to eat? Are you still upset about before?”
    â€œWhat happened before?”
    Ah. She speaks.
    â€œI don’t know — nothing really,” I told Quin. “I took him for a hike to do some exploring. He slipped his leash after about a mile and took off down another trail. When I found him, he was acting weird.”
    Quin put her book down.
    â€œWeird how?” she asked.
    I hardly knew the answer myself, and it seemed strange to suddenly be having a conversation with the formerly silent Quin. But I was intrigued by the effect she had on Henry. Plus, she lived around here. Maybe she’d know what spooked him so thoroughly.
    â€œHe was crouched really low to the ground, and he was shaking and whimpering. He seemed to be staring at something, but I couldn’t see anything at all. Just a couple of bushes and part of an old fence.”
    Quin watched Henry thoughtfully. He was still ignoring the food, though a few telltale beads of drool had gathered in the corner of his mouth.
    Quin put her book down and got to her feet. Henry looked up at her and thumped his tail a few times as she walked over.