Pet-sitter Nick finds himself up to his ears in dogs, cats, and danger in this thrilling mystery from three-time Edgar Award–winning author Willo Davis Roberts. Nick is excited to earn money by pet-sitting for the residents of the Hillside Apartments. What could be easier than feeding cats and walking dogs? But he wasn’t expecting an Airedale twice his size…or a hissing, sharp-clawed cat named Eloise. And he’s definitely not prepared for the strange happenings at the apartment building: light bulbs that mysteriously burn out, gasoline stored near flammable materials, and two small fires. Can Nick figure out what’s really going on before it’s too late? Willo Davis Roberts wrote many mystery and suspense novels for children during her long and illustrious career, including The Girl with the Silver Eyes , The View from the Cherry Tree , Twisted Summer , Megan’s Island , Baby-Sitting Is a Dangerous Job , Hostage , Scared Stiff , The Kidnappers , and Caught! Three of her children’s books won Edgar Awards, while others received great reviews and other accolades, including the Sunshine State Young Reader’s Award, the California Young Reader’s Medal, and the Georgia Children’s Book Award. The Pet-Sitting Peril Chapter One The hall light was out again. Nick saw that as soon as he rounded the corner. He broke stride, though the dog continued to pull him along in spite of himself. It was the third time in a week, he thought uneasily. This was Thursday, and it had been out on Monday, and last week Friday. Why did that light keep going out? It wasn’t that he was afraid of the dark, like a little kid. After all, he was nearly twelve. It was only that it seemed peculiar for a lightbulb not to last more than a few days at a time; and that entry hall was sure black when the light wasn’t on. There was still a glow in Mr. Haggard’s first floor apartment to the right of the double doors. The middle part of the big window was ordinary glass, but it was surrounded by a border of multicolored glass segments that glowed like jewels when the light came through them. There was colored glass like that around the windows in the doors, too; and when the hall light was on you could read the big numbers of the house on the glass: twelve on one side, thirty on the other. Twelve-thirty Hillsdale Street. In the daytime you could read the sign secured to one of the posts that held up the porch roof: HILLSDALE APARTMENTS. Now you couldn’t tell there was a sign on the porch, let alone read it, because the outside porch light was out, too. It was almost as if someone were deliberately unscrewing the bulbs, Nick thought, stepping off the opposite curb as Rudy tugged on the leash. Only why would anyone do that? And how? Since the outside doors were locked, nobody could enter except the residents who had keys. He wondered if Dad would let him bring a flashlight with him at night from now on, the little one that would fit in his pocket. He’d ask tomorrow. Rudy, not in the least tired although they’d been gone for over an hour, strained to cross the street and bound up the steps onto the dark porch. Rudy was an Airedale, and he weighed eighty-five pounds, so when he pulled against Nick’s small frame there wasn’t much choice except to move with him. Nick had the key ready in his hand, sorted out while he was under the streetlight. He unlocked the door and heard a short “whuff” from Rudy that might have been a warning. Nick stood still, his heart pounding unaccountably; Rudy didn’t bark again, and after a few seconds there was the sound of a door closing, somewhere far back in the building. “Is somebody here?” Nick asked, and felt silly when no one answered. Rudy was again tugging him along, toward Mr. Haggard’s apartment; he could find that without any lights—it was only a matter of putting out his free hand until he felt the doorknob. Of course nobody was in the hallway with him, or Rudy would know it. Dogs could tell that kind of thing. Still, there had been that odd half bark when Nick first opened the front door. Rudy had never done that before, and Nick had been walking him for almost three weeks now, twice a day, every day. There must have been some reason for it. He had a little trouble getting the key into Mr. Haggard’s door, because he couldn’t see the lock and Rudy was too eager to get inside and receive his treat. He always got a bone-shaped dog biscuit when they returned from a walk. “Sit,” Nick commanded, and was relieved when the dog obeyed so that he could finally insert the key and twist it. It seemed bright in the big, cluttered room when they first walked into it. Mr. Haggard was seated in his chair with a blanket over his legs, reading the evening paper. “Have a nice walk?” he asked, pushing his glasses into place on his nose. “More of a run, it was,” Nick said, slipping the choke chain over Rudy’s head so he could go for his “cookie,” as Mr. Haggard referred to the treats. “We ran all