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with pictures of cats—big ones like lions and cheetahs and lynxes. Mrs. Lee told us it’s because of Mr. Lee’s business.”
    â€œWhat is his business anyway?” I asked. “All I know is that nobody ever sees him.”
    â€œHis business is exotic pets,” Yasmeen said. “He travels all over the world buying and selling. His customers are super-rich people who want something unusual.”
    â€œPets?” I said. “Yasmeen, what if . . . ?”
    â€œWhat if what?”
    â€œWhat if Mr. Lee has something to do with the missing cats?”
    â€œYou aren’t listening, Alex. No offense to Luau, but there is nothing exotic about a house cat.”
    â€œNot here in Pennsylvania,” I said, “but maybe somewhere house cats are exotic, or—what about this? What if he
does
something to them to make them exotic?”
    There was a pause, and I could hear Yasmeen breathing. Then she said, “No. No way. If you ever got a chance to talk to Mr. Lee, you’d see. He’s nice, really.”
    My head hurt. And arguing with Yasmeen would only make it worse. So I didn’t. But all the same, this is what I was thinking: Was Mr. Lee really the nice guy she thought he was? Or could he be a serial catnapper?

Chapter Nineteen

    Mom walked into the family room as I was hanging up the phone. She was just getting home and still had her uniform on. She tried to smile at me and say, “Hi, honey,” but she was yawning, so her face got twisted and her words came out, “Hi-yuh-ee.” Then she took a good look and woke right up. “What on earth happened to your
head
?” she asked.
    I touched the bandage. “Little accident. I’m okay.”
    â€œDid your dad clean it up?” she asked.
    â€œ
Oh
, yeah,” I said. “I think he used steel wool.”
    Mom looked sad. “I wish I had been home to do it, but somebody’s got to make College Springs safe for decent people—and decent cats.”
    â€œAnything new?” I asked.
    â€œAnother cat is missing,” Mom said.
    â€œAnother negligent owner?” I asked.
    Mom dropped into the big, comfy chair, closed her eyes, and nodded. “I may never figure this one out, but at least you got a new vocabulary word.”
    â€œAnd did this one see the thief in action?”
    â€œSaw something, but no good description,” Mom said. “I swear, whoever this is moves like a ghost.”
    My ears pricked up. “A ghost?” I said. “See, Mom. Maybe it really is—”
    Mom silenced me with a look. Obviously, she did not want to hear any more from me about ghosts. Should I tell her my suspicion about Mr. Lee? But I didn’t think she’d appreciate me suspecting our next-door neighbor without an atom of evidence either. So I asked a different question. “Did you have a chance to talk to Kyle’s family?”
    â€œFor quite a while,” she said. “They were a positive joy after the other folks I’ve been visiting lately. Except that boy is morbid, don’t you think? I asked what he does for fun, and he said, ‘I visit the cemetery across the street.’ ”
    â€œDid you notice anything else about Kyle?” I asked Mom. “Like was he—I dunno—
scared
of you or anything?”
    I was thinking of how nervous he had seemed in the cafeteria when he told Yasmeen and me to stop detecting. If it scared him for
us
to investigate Halloween’s disappearance, wouldn’t he be terrified by a police detective asking questions?
    â€œHe did seem anxious,” Mom said. “But it fit in with him being an odd kind of kid. What did Fred call him? A Gloomy Gus?”
    â€œWhat else did you find out?” I asked.
    â€œThat Fred Krichels was right about something else,” Mom said, “that little sister of his—Cammie. I think I am now a leading authority on the life of Cammie.