The Man with the Red Bag Read Online Free Page A

Midge moved closer to Grandma and whispered, “Who needs the Mormon Tabernacle Choir when we’ve got them, Mrs. Saunders?”
    I wondered if I should ask Midge, since she was a dog expert, if a little puppy could live in a Star Tours bag and never bark, whine, or go to the bathroom. But I decided not to. It might not be a good idea toget any of the tour people involved with my mystery just yet. I’d wait and watch my suspect some more until I had proof.
    There weren’t too many people visiting the Great Salt Lake today. Buffo and Blessing were the only two floaters. At a distance, three people walked along the path, two dogs frolicking beside them. The dogs kept darting off to leap into the kelp, biting and snapping at the rising flies. Suddenly they seemed to see us, and they came at a gallop, tails wagging, ears turned inside out, pink tongues lolling.
    â€œHello, ladies,” Beth said, bending to stroke one as it streaked past her.
    Millie lit a cigarette and laughed. “They’re gentlemen.” She held out a hand but the dogs ignored her.
    â€œProbably they don’t care for the smell of tobacco,” Beth said, waving smoke away from the front of her face.
    One of the dogs suddenly stopped, legs rigid, then raced straight at Charles Stavros. The other followed, his nose in the air.
    Stavros saw them coming and instantly lifted the red bag at arm’s length over his head.
    The dogs leaped, trying to reach it. They were big dogs, with shiny black coats. One of them had his paws on Stavros’s chest. The dog didn’t look menacing, just excited.
    â€œGet down! Get away!” Stavros shouted.
    Geneva’s father rushed toward him, and so did Midge. Midge pulled on the collar, but the dog was too strong. Stavros was almost knocked off balance as he staggered back, the bag high above his head. I remembered how heavy it had been.
    â€œWoof, woof,” the dogs laughed. “Woof!”
    I started forward, but Grandma grabbed my arm. “Stay right here, Kevin,” she said.
    From the lake Buffo shouted, “Hey! What’s going on?” He and Blessing had their heads lifted to see better, and I thought how much they looked like the black otters I’d seen in Monterey Bay, lying on their backs munching on abalone.
    The dogs’ owners sprinted along the path, shouting, “Primo! Casper! Stop that this minute.” As if on cue the dogs dropped down, shamefaced, and stood with their tails dragging.
    The owners were apologizing to Stavros and clipping heavy leashes on the dogs. “Bad boys,” they scolded. And then to Stavros: “They weren’t going to hurt you, honest. They’re really gentle.”
    â€œYou could have fooled me,” Millie said quite nastily.
    â€œIt’s all right.” Stavros yanked down on his windbreaker, which had risen almost to his armpits.
    â€œIt’s whatever you have in that bag that attracted them,” one of the owners, a guy with a spotty face, said. “Do you have steaks? They do go crazy for steaks.” He gave a little nervous laugh.
    â€œNo. No steaks,” Stavros said.
    Geneva stood next to me. “What do you think he does have?” she asked. “It’s weird how he never lets go of that bag. Everywhere he goes, it goes.”
    â€œI’ve noticed,” I said, casually.
    She stared at me. “I think you know something,” she said.
    I couldn’t help noticing that her eyes were a much darker blue than the lake behind her. Of course, her eyes were probably not as salty. And you definitely couldn’t float in them.
    Buffo and Blessing came trudging out of the lakethrough the kelp and flies. Their spiky red hair had turned dark in the salt water. “That was terrific,” Buffo said. “A once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
    â€œExhilarating,” Blessing called out as they headed for the showers. The tattoo on her shoulder was a red heart