Part Two

The events of the past nine days were enough to give anyone a strong headache, and Ruby Doo was no exception. First Scooby called saying Scrappy was missing after a dam accident. Then in the midst of swimming through grief while trying to arrange a leave of absence and airline tickets, she got a Skype call from her building's superintendent. Scrappy showed up at her apartment and was now waiting on a couch in Lorenzo Ciancio's office.

"Are you sure it's him?"

"Oh, absolutely, Ma'am. No one can forget that little menace… PUPPY, I mean. Would you like to speak to him?"

"Yes, please!"

Lorenzo covered the microphone and said something before calling Scrappy to his computer. "Mom?"

"What in the world happened to you!? Scooby called saying you went missing and there was some accident."

"What? No. They left me. Again!"

"Left you? Did you run off? I've told you time and again not run off! You listen to your Uncle Scooby! Do you have any idea what I've been through?"

"Mom, I did! THEY ran off! I went looking for them!"

"That doesn't sound right. Scooby would never just leave you."

"Your memory of Uncle Scooby is a little fuzzy, huh?"

"Don't get smart with me. You're in a lot of trouble."

"We're both in trouble. There's some weirdo in your apartment."

"That's Mr. Galbraith. He's my renter."

"What?"

"I'm teaching overseas. He is renting our apartment."

"So, you're not in New York?"

"No. I'm in Yangzhou, China. This call is costing Lorenzo a fortune."

"It's Skype, Ma'am," the Super answered. "It's okay."

"So, Mom? What do you think? Could I fly to China tomorrow or something?"

"Pffft! What?" Ruby giggled. "It doesn't work that way, Honeybear. You have to apply for a visa. The Chinese Government has to grant you permission to come here. You can't just show up. It could take six weeks or two months just to find out if they'll let you in the country. Then there's actually getting you here. I'm also staying in a tiny studio apartment. There's barely any room for you. I don't even have a television."

"I just got done living in a van, Mom. I just want to come home."

"A heads-up would've been nice. Unfortunately, I can't do very much from here. We're in the middle of a school year, so I can't just leave. You'll have to go back to your Uncle Scooby until I get back to New York."

"Mom…"

"Is there a problem? Did you get in a fight?"

"No, I just… I can't. I can't deal with them anymore."

"What happened to I want to be just like my Uncle Scooby when I grow up? What happened to My Uncle Scooby is the greatest uncle ever?"

Scrappy sighed when he couldn't come up with an answer.

"So, you got in trouble?"

"No. I mean yeah, sometimes, but…"

"But you found out you had to follow rules and you didn't like that."

"Mom…"

"Listen, Bub. You can't just do whatever you want. You were there by the virtue of your uncle's kindness and now he's absolutely sick about you. He thinks he lost you! He thinks you're dead! He and those kids are walking around a river looking for you. You don't have a choice. You must go back to him and you must apologize for running away."

"Isn't there anyone else? Like Grandma and Grampa?"

"No. They're on a cruise. And you can't go back to Yabba."

"I know. He and Dusty are in Belize."

"Right. Lucky dog… But let's not get off topic. This has to cost Mr. Ciancio some kind of money. We need to wrap this up. I'll call Scooby and wire cash for a bus ticket."

"Wait. What about Scooby Dee?"

"Dee? You're kidding, right? I wouldn't begin to know how to get ahold of Dee. Plus she's entirely too busy to look after a wayward pup. She's a movie star."

"How about Dum? Dixie? Whoopsy? Skippy? Dooby? Howdy? Horton?"

"Would you stop? NO! No, no, no, and no. The last thing I need is some lecture from Horton, or Skippy, or MOM about having babies I can't raise. I can already hear it now… No. I am not putting you with anyone else."

"Mom…"

"For. Get. It."

"You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand fully," Ruby paused for a thoughtful moment. "You may be right. You obviously need more authority in your life."

"Huh?"

"I can think of one other fellow I can put you with. He's a friend of your father's. But, you have to promise me you will do precisely what he says. That means no running off, no talking back, no acting up, no fighting, nothing. Things will not go well for you if you screw up, this time. You think you can live with that?"

"What's his name?"

"His name is Beegle."

"He doesn't sound so bad."

"So, can I trust you not to call me in a week and tell me how horrible it is or run away again? Because I'm not doing this again. You need to stay where you're put and you need to BEHAVE."

"Yes, Mom."

"Okay. I'm going to go. I'll call back when I have an update. You be good with Mr. Ciancio. You put him through a lot, too."

"Yes, Mom."

Scrappy turned away from the computer to Lorenzo looking at him with an unbalanced grin. "I guess the shoe is on the other foot, huh?"

"I'm sorry?"

"C'mon! I got a job for ya!"

Within minutes, Scrappy was armed with trash bags, litter tongs, and a bucket of wet soapy rags. After so many careless escapades with Annie and Duke, now, he had to clean up everyone else's mess.

The Super pointed toward a dark grey dome attached to a nearby ceiling. "I'm watchin' you on those cameras. You screw around, I know. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Start at the top floor. Work your way down. If it's trash, pick it up. If it's dirty, wipe it up." He cracked open a can of beer and took a swig. "And don't forget the stairs."

Scrappy nodded and turned toward the lobby and its bank of elevators. "Don't even think about it, Mr. Puppy Power. You don't have lift privileges. You take the stairs. Then maybe you know what I went through when you and your friends shut down all the lifts."

"Oh, man." The door to the stairwell slammed shut behind him as Scrappy stared up through ten floors worth of steps and landings.

It took his mother several hours to call back. She had to get to a computer with outside Internet access. She settled on an off-campus cafe and a computer with a credit card terminal, since the campus library was closed for the night. She hadn't talked to Beegle in years and his old phone number no longer worked. It took several web searches to find a number that corresponded to him at the Boykin County Sheriff's Office. She still couldn't call him directly, but at least she made a little headway with someone who sounded like a clerk or receptionist. Beegle was out working a beat in Danesville. She was able to leave a message with an email address.

It was dark by the time the Super came to collect Scrappy. Despite Lorenzo's efforts at making him miserable, Scrappy was still somewhat perky after clearing many hallways of trash and grime. "I turned it into a game," He exulted, "I got 300 points so far."

"Whatever gets it done, Kid."

"Did my mom call?"

"Email… But yeah she did. You gotta' go. An Uber's coming."

Lorenzo took the bags of trash and bucket of rags from Scrappy. Scrappy turned for the stairs, but the Super stopped him. "You got no time. Take the lift… Wait!"

Scrappy paused. Lorenzo took a wallet from his back pocket and gave him forty dollars in twenties along with a folded-up slip of paper. Your mom sent some money so you can eat. You gotta' go."

Scrappy hit the lobby button and the elevator doors closed. The Uber was already waiting outside when he came out of the lobby. A bubbly woman in a light green Prius made small talk while wading through traffic toward the Port Authority bus terminals. "I guess I'm supposed to drop you off at Whippet. Are you traveling alone?"

"Nah," He lied. "My uncle is waiting."

"Oh, well, trips are always fun, right? Where are you going?"

He unfolded and looked over the paper that Lorenzo handed him with the cash. It was a list of directions, phone numbers, and a reservation number for a one-way bus ticket to Danesville, Tennessee. The bus was scheduled to leave in an hour. "Danesville?"

The Mystery Machine wound down Highway 1 through Corona Del Mar. It was well over a year since everyone saw home. Their normal level of excitement was dulled by fatigue and the end of their search for Scrappy. The only evidence of him they found were his collar and tags. These, as Velma predicted, washed over five miles beyond from the dam's spillway. Scooby made the discovery. The gang called the search at that point. They'd never find his body. Rather than think of things that may have happened to him, Fred and Daphne wove a small cross from nearby sticks and reeds and planted it in the rocks and grainy soil beside the place where his collar washed up. Whether spoken aloud or made in silence, everyone blessed it with a prayer. They figured once dam decommissioning is complete, the cross will wash away.

Fred took a memorial picture with his phone and saved it with GPS coordinates. They'd never return to the site, but at least they had one last record of Scrappy.

"A penny for everyone's thoughts?" Fred wanted to face the elephant in the van. "We're almost home."

"I can't figure out why my phone signal flakes out right before we get to Crystal Cove. I'm purely on WiFi right now."

"It could be the service angle of your carrier's transmitter. We might be right under it, which would make the signal hard to pick up."

"I meant about us," Fred frowned. "Is this just a break, or is Mysteries Inc. finished?"

Shaggy put his phone down, stretched, and leaned over the back of the front seat. Scooby picked up the phone. "I don't know if we want to call that right now. We're all tired, right?"

The rest of the gang nodded.

"Why don't we just chill for a while? Then see what we think."

"Time to see other people," Velma murmured.

"What?" Daphne blinked.

"I'm just saying that sounds a lot like, let's see other people."

Daphne fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. "You don't want to break up. Do you, Fred?"

"Not you and I…"

"I'm not saying we all stop being friends and stuff," Shaggy crossed his arms and hugged them closer to his perch. "I just think we need a break. Creatively. Isn't that what bands call it? When members leave to cut solo albums?"

"But are we ever coming back? Peter Gabriel never went back to Genesis."

Velma chucked, "Which one of us is Peter Gabriel?"

"Don't look at me. I'm Phil Collins!" Shaggy made a ta-dum-tish motion. The gang chuckled briefly.

"Shaggy is right. We need some fresh air." Fred glanced at Daphne. "You wanted to work on something, right Daph?"

"Mystery vlogs," She nodded. "Like a weekly vlog about a different mystery. What it was, where it was, who solved it, and how they figured it out."

"That sounds interesting," Velma lit up. "Let me know when you start your channel."

"What about you, Fred?"

"I've had a trap book on my mind for a while. You know, old stand-bys, design improvements, theories, applications. What do you want to do, Shag?"

"There's this online cooking school. I don't know if I'm going to do it or not. Just something I'm thinking about. I don't think anyone's unlocked the true culinary potential of extra cheese pizza with pickles."

Scooby drooled and licked his chops enthusiastically.

Scrappy nested himself in the window seat and watched the lights of Newark Liberty International Airport fade as the Whippet Coach found its stride on I-95. Cities eventually turned to towns and townships with more darkness in between. His mind troubled him. He rarely questioned his mother, but why would she just leave and never say anything? There was no goodbye visit. No phone call. Not even a text. If it takes six weeks to get permission to enter China, she knew she was leaving. She had enough time to get a renter.

"She had no intention of saying goodbye," He thought. "She never wanted me back." A lump grew in his throat. He couldn't figure out what he ever did to make her not want him around. Was he that much of a failure? An embarrassment? Or were Horton and Grandma right about having a baby she didn't want to raise?

"You look entirely too young to have whatever's on your mind."

Scrappy startled and looked around. Across the aisle and one row up sat a pierced and punkish Weimaraner who looked to be in her late teens. "I'm Alix. Where are you headed?"

"Scrappy. Danesville."

"Cool. I'm off at Knoxville." The silvery blue-eyed girl reminded him a lot of Flim-Flam. "My dad lives there."

"Is your mom trying to get rid of you, too?"

She giggled in surprise. "Not trying, that I know of. My Dad's a doctor. Mom wants me to go into medicine and she thinks living with him will inspire me or some nonsense."

"What do you want to do?"

"Overthrow the government. Change social order. Eat the rich." She patted the neck of a guitar case covered in punk stickers. "Play on stage with Mickie Murder or at least be her roadie." She patted the seat next to her.

"Right on." Scrappy hopped over.

"What about you? What do you want to do?"

"I don't know anymore," Scrappy sighed. "I used to be really into detective stuff, but, I think I only got into it because someone I liked was into it."

"So you were into, like, tracking serial killers?"

"More just busting small-time chicanery. And some ghosts."

"Ah sweet! I love ghosts! There's this old abandoned children's hospital by where I used to live. Before it was a hospital, it was a tuberculosis sanatorium. That place was waaaay haunted. Me and my friends used to camp out there. We called it New Purgatory."

"You slept-over in an empty hospital?"

"Yeah! It was awesome."

"I didn't know anybody could do that."

"Well, you're not supposed to. We snuck in. The security guards never left the foyer, so we had full run of the place as long as they didn't hear or see us. One night, we dared this one really tough collie girl to spend the night in the old mental ward." The punk girl glanced around and moved in close to whisper, "She woke up SHAVED!"

"That's crazy!"

"I know, right?!"

The two shared potato chips, crazy ghost stories, adventures, and mysteries for a couple of hours before falling asleep.

Bright sunlight cut across the seats as the motor coach pulled into Atlas I-81 Travel Center for a fuel and food stop. Scrappy woke, sprawled across the row he shared the night before. Alix and her guitar case were gone. "What?" He shook himself more awake and looked around. "Are we in Knoxville?"

"Nope. Roanoke." An older Bedlington gentleman answered him. "A truck stop more specifically."

"Do you know what happened to Alix?"

"That girl?"

"Yeah."

"She got off in Hagerstown."

"She said she was going to Knoxville."

"Uh-oh," The Bedlington shook his head. "You might want to check your things."

Scrappy went back over to his seat and opened the shopping bag he got from the bus stop newsstand. His original purchase was a cold box lunch, some snacks, and a graphic novel. He also slipped the rest of his money in the novel since he didn't have another way to carry it. The bag was void of any trace of his belongings. Instead, it had a hoodie from a band named, GroupThink. Under it was a note on a torn half of a receipt. "It was nice to meet you, Scrappy."

"You gotta be kidding me!"

"Did she rip you off?"

"She left a hoodie. But nothing else."

"Sorry, Kid." The Bedlington looked sympathetic. "That's an old scam. She probably got on another bus to trick somebody else."

"What the heck? What am I supposed to do now?"

To be Continued.