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up,” Dunkum said, eager to know. “What did the pit bull say when he sat on the sandpaper?”
    Ellen’s eyes were open, but they stared straight ahead. “ ‘Rough, rough,’ ” she giggled.
    â€œHey, that’s a good joke,” Jason said as he headed for the door. He was usually the last person to arrive anywhere. But when it came to sweets, Jason Birchall was first in line!
    Dunkum’s parents waved from the back of the room. “We’ll see you at the party,” Dunkum’s dad called.
    Dunkum’s house was across the streetfrom the school. He and his friends were going to walk to the party.
    Abby and Stacy followed Ellen and her guide dog down the stage steps. Jason and Eric joined the girls near the outside door. So did Dunkum.
    Adam Henny, a kid with dirt on his face, showed up just then. “Where’s everyone going?” he asked.
    â€œNo place special,” Dunkum lied.
    Adam was the last person Dunkum wanted hanging around. Adam’s clothes looked like toxic waste dump specials. Especially the ratty red T-shirt he had on.
    Besides that, Adam Henny was not a Cul-de-sac Kid. No way was Dunkum going to invite an outsider to his party!

TWO
    Dunkum couldn’t wait to leave. “Have a nice summer,” he said to Adam.
    The dirty kid smiled a faint smile. He pushed his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out something. “Here’s my phone number.”
    Dunkum shook his head. “Uh, no, that’s OK,” he said and rushed out the door. He wanted to forget about Adam. No sense messing up the end-of-school party over that kid.
    The Cul-de-sac Kids were waiting atthe flagpole. “What kind of ice-cream toppings are we having?” asked Jason.
    â€œThat’s not polite,” Eric piped up. “Just wait and see.”
    Dunkum elbowed Eric’s ribs. “Hey, relax, Eric. School’s out. It’s pig-out time!” He began to name off all the toppings. “Jelly beans, chocolate sprinkles, strawberry syrup . . .” He paused. “Uh, I forgot the rest.”
    â€œCome on, try!” Jason pleaded. “Dunkum’s always forgetting stuff,” Ellen said.
    â€œIt’s a good thing Abby’s our club president,” Dunkum said. “ She never forgets anything.”
    â€œAnd don’t you forget it,” Abby agreed.
    It was true. Dunkum was a good detective only because Abby and the others were his partners. She paid attention to details. So far they’d solved every mystery known to man. Well . . . at least the oneson Blossom Hill Lane.
    Dunkum waited at the curb for Honey to step into the street. Ellen gripped the harness with her left hand. “Honey, forward,” she said.
    But Honey waited for two more cars. When it was safe, she led Ellen across. “Good girl,” Ellen said.
    A black jeep was parked in the driveway across the street. On the back was a bumper sticker. It read I pets! A bald man was holding a fluffy, gray cat.
    â€œHey, that’s Mister Whiskers!” Dee Dee said, racing across the street.
    â€œWhat’s that man doing with your cat?” Dunkum asked, staring.
    The man turned and frowned. “Poor thing. I found him just wandering around,” he explained. He gave Dee Dee her cat.
    â€œThat’s strange,” Abby said. “I thought he stayed in the house.”

    â€œMister Whiskers?” The man looked at the cat in Dee Dee’s arms. “What a nice name.” He stroked the kitten, but his eyes seemed very dark. At least Dunkum thought so.
    â€œMister Whiskers is a cool Cul-de-sac Cat,” Jason said, nodding his head.
    The man turned and looked at Honey. “That’s one nice dog you’ve got there,” he said.
    â€œThanks,” Ellen said. “She’s my eyes.”
    â€œI can see that,” the man said. Suddenly, he got into his car.
    â€œThanks for taking care of my cat,” Dee Dee called