The Pet-Sitting Peril by Willo Davis Roberts

we’re staying here for now, taking care of some dogs and cats,” Nick said.
    The man was young, with a sandy mustache and rather longish hair under his cap that matched the coveralls. A name, Al, was embroidered over his breast pocket.
    The driver got out and came around thefront of the truck. He was very skinny and dark haired, and over his coverall pocket was the name Greg.
    â€œThis the right place?” he asked.
    â€œHillsdale Apartments, right?” Al said, and Nick nodded. “Okay. The manager is supposed to live in the back. Do we ring the front doorbell, or go around the side?”
    â€œI think he’ll come if you ring the bell,” Nick said.
    â€œYou got a key to the front door?” Al looked at the ring of keys Nick had taken out of his pocket. “No need to bother the manager if you kids can let us in.”
    Nick stared at him. “I don’t have any right to let anybody in except me, to take care of the dogs.”
    â€œHey, we’re not here to rip anybody off,” Al said, and laughed. He had crooked teeth. “The owner sent us, to do some repairs.”
    â€œFunny time to start a job like that, this late on Saturday,” Sam said.
    â€œWell, we have to work at night and on weekends because we’re doing this on the side. We work regular jobs in the daytime. Besideswe’re just here to look things over,” Al told them. “It don’t make no difference to me if you don’t want to let us in. Ring the bell, Greg, and get the manager. We’d ought to tell him we’re here, anyway.”
    Nick felt a little bit silly, letting himself and Sam and the dogs inside and leaving the newcomers to stand on the porch waiting for Mr. Griesner to answer the bell. But it wasn’t his house, and he didn’t intend to be responsible for anyone getting into it. He inserted the key into Mr. Haggard’s door, nearly tripping up when the dogs wound both leashes around his legs so that Sam had to disentangle them.
    Mr. Griesner, wearing his usual soiled trousers and a plaid flannel shirt, came toward them in the dimly lighted hallway.
    â€œWhat’s going on? You kids monkeying with the bell?”
    â€œNo, sir,” Nick said. He got the door open, and Rudy pushed past him into the apartment. Sam dragged Maynard inside, too. Behind them, they overheard the manager and the repairmen.
    â€œWhatta you want?”
    â€œMr. Hale sent us. Do some repairs, you know?”
    â€œHe didn’t say anything to me about sending anybody over. What do you mean, comin’ at a time like this.”
    â€œYou reported stuff needing repairs, didn’t you? We came to look it over. Call him up and ask him. We can wait. He’s paying us by the hour, so it don’t matter to us how long it takes,” Al said.
    Nick closed the door on the conversation. Maynard was sniffing the unfamiliar quarters; Rudy waited expectantly with his tongue lolling out for his treat.
    â€œI don’t know about Fred, but these two are okay together,” Sam said. “Where’s this dog biscuit Rudy’s supposed to get? I suppose I’d better give Maynard one, too, okay?”
    â€œIn the cupboard under the sink,” Nick said. “A red-and-yellow box.”
    He was busy drawing the shade over the big colored glass window onto the street; he felt as if they were on exhibition otherwise, even if the window was high off the street. Heturned around when he heard Sam’s surprised grunt.
    â€œHey, Nick! Look what’s under here. The gas can you were talking about.” Sam lifted it and shook it. “It’s just about full, too. The old man must have taken it out of the closet and brought it over here.”
    Nick frowned. “Why would he do that? I mean, it would be Mr. Griesner’s job to get rid of it, and under Mr. Haggard’s sink isn’t a very good place to store it.”
    â€œNo better than the