The Gargoyle at the Gates by Philippa Dowding

gargoyles were smashed and a rare Cellini apple tree was cut down. Local resident and shop owner, Cassandra Daye, who owns the curio store Candles by Daye, reported the crime, stating the antique statues would be impossible to replace and the Cellini apple tree is very rare. Residents are asked to contact police if they have any further information.
    The article was written by a reporter named Stern, and it went on to describe the location of the park. What really made James stare were the photographs: the park had a fountain, an apple tree, and one of the photos showed the head of a broken statue.
    It was a gargoyle !
    He looked in amazement then got his father’s magnifying glass from the writing desk and looked more closely. Suddenly, he realized he looked exactly like his grandfather examining newspapers all summer.
    But the magnifying glass really did help him see everything in the grainy images. James peered at the photographs. There were footprints in the snow all around the smashed statues.
    â€œI wonder …” James stood at the dining room table, scratching his head.
    His father called him from the front hall. “Come on, Jamie! If you want a ride to school, you’d better hurry!”
    James stuffed the newspaper into his backpack, grabbed an apple for breakfast, and dashed out the door to his father’s car.
    After school and his chemistry test (which he did rather well on, he thought), James jumped on the streetcar. He quickly found the little park described in the newspaper, and not long afterwards he stood on the sidewalk looking in through the park gates.
    It was locked, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He was definitely too big to squeeze through the bars, but he was big enough to jump over the fence at the back of the park. The snow was thick, and the bushes dumped their snow as he vaulted over the iron railing (he left the sidewalk, since he didn’t want anyone to see him). He slowly walked to the centre of the tiny place.
    He approached the fallen apple tree.
    â€œIt’s bearing fruit,” he said to himself as he touched an apple. He noticed how beautiful the tree was — he’d never seen anything like it. The fruit was golden and sweet-smelling, and still warm to the touch, even lying in the snow.
    He walked over to the seahorse fountain, which was bubbling away quietly. “Hmm. Water.” He walked to the tree stump and started snapping photos on his cell phone. After brushing away the snow, he took several pictures of the broken gargoyle statues, and several close-ups of their faces.
    â€œGrampa Gregory will definitely want to see this,” he said under his breath as he snapped photo after photo.
    The snow covered many of the tracks, and people had come and gone since the statues were broken and the tree cut down.
    James kept looking. He pushed bushes aside, moving slowly along the fence, carefully looking over the snow. Finally, he let out a little gasp. There it was, he’d found it: a perfect undisturbed footprint in the snow.
    It wasn’t human. Oh no. It was just like Theodorus’s wet print on the flagstones beside the summer pond.
    It was the scaly, taloned imprint of a gargoyle.

Chapter Twenty-Nine
    Down on the Farm
    Katherine and Christopher were sick of looking up into city trees. They had spent days looking, straining to see up into the branches and treetops in street after street after street of tree-lined neighbourhoods. Their necks were sore from craning upward, their voices were hoarse from calling softly, and Katherine was developing a bad cold from standing out in the snowy sidewalks for so long. Occasionally, Claire had tagged along to help, but since she’d never met a gargoyle and didn’t know Gargoth or Ambergine, she didn’t really know what or who she was looking for.
    Katherine’s parents hadn’t had any luck in their part of town, and Cassandra hadn’t been able to help much due to the busy