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“OOOH! The News!” Oscar jumped up onto the bars of his cage to get a better view. He’d been feeling seriously News deprived. It had been almost a whole day. Anything could’ve happened.

“Look, it’s Jerome!” Polo pointed at the screen.

There, on the screen, was a candid shot of Mr. Wiggles spitting water at a crowd of squealing zoo-goers. Then the image changed to a shot of a reporter in front of an empty tank, surrounded by sniffling and depressed-looking fans.

“… and while the zoo has not found any signs of the missing octopus, officials say they have not given up the search. In addition, they are considering a wide range of options in the event that Mr. Wiggles is not found.”

“What does that mean?” Polo asked. Marco shrugged.

“Wow, I can’t believe he’s still missing! Everything seemed normal there when I saw him,” Madison said. “I wonder where he went?”

“He went with you!” Butterbean barked. “In your water bottle!”

“I’ve heard about octopuses escaping before,” Mrs. Food said thoughtfully. “They’ll probably find him hiding in another tank somewhere.”

“Or upstairs! He’s in Wallace’s apartment!” Butterbean tried again. Mrs. Food turned up the sound.

“… but without their star attraction, zoo attendance has reportedly dropped significantly. Back to you, Herb,” the reporter on the screen finished.

“That’s terrible. I hope they find him soon,” Madison said.

“UPSTAIRS! He’s in the apartment you JUST LEFT!” Butterbean made a face. She turned to Walt and shook her head. “I keep trying to tell her.”

“I know,” Walt said sympathetically.

“It’s okay, Butterbean,” Madison said, standing up. “You can stop barking now. I’ll walk you.”

“Madison, wait—look!” Mrs. Food turned up the volume on the TV. “It’s them!”

A commercial featuring low spooky music had just started. Oscar peered closely at the Television. A slick-haired man and a bald man with a mustache stood in a room filled with lots of thick mist. It would’ve been spookier if the room hadn’t looked like a condo in a sitcom. But then Oscar had discriminating tastes.

“And RIGHT HERE, in Agnes Nessman’s OWN HOME, we were able to identify and communicate with three very agitated spirits.” The two men waved their arms in ghostly ways while they talked. “And with our help, those uneasy souls have returned to their rightful place IN THE AFTERLIFE!” Thunderclapped onscreen.

Butterbean walked so close to the Television that her nose smudged the screen. The house where the ghost men were standing didn’t look like it was haunted. And she didn’t see any ghosts.

“Do the ghosts not show up for the commercials?” Butterbean asked after a second.

Oscar shrugged.“I wouldn’t know,” he said disdainfully. “This is not a show I watch.”

“Tune in for a brand-new episode tonight on Channel Fifty-Seven. And don’t forget,” one of the men onscreen said. “There’s no residence too big…”

“And no ghost too small,” the other man continued.

“For the Ghost Eliminators!” they finished together. The thunder clapped again. It didn’t even sound like real thunder. (Butterbean would know. Real thunder scared the heck out of her.)

“That’s them?” Madison took the remote from Mrs. Food and ran the commercial back. “They look like they work at a bank. And what are those graphics?”

Butterbean thought she must be talking about the squiggles of fake mist in the background. They were impressive, as far as squiggles went. But that wasn’t saying much.

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I can’t imagine they’ll be interested in Mildred’s problem,” Mrs. Food said, examining the frozen grin of one of the men onscreen.

“I hope not.” Madison didn’t like the looks of those guys. She didn’t think they were serious scientists. “And you’re sure it’s not a fiction show?”

Mrs. Food turned the Television off.“Who knows? She’ll never get hold of them anyway.”

“Good. They creep me out,” Madison said, going to get Butterbean’s leash.

“I don’t want those guys here,” Butterbean said as Madison put on her shoes and jacket. “I don’t like their squiggles.”

Madison came over and clipped the leash to Butterbean’s collar. “Come on, dog, let’s get you outside before you make a mess.” She shot a look at Mrs. Food and lowered her voice. “But first, we’ll take a little side trip upstairs. We need to figure out this ghost stuff fast, before those creepy TV guys get involved.”

Butterbean shot Oscar a panicked look.“Oscar?”

“Keep tabs on her, Bean,” Oscar warned.

Butterbean nodded solemnly and trotted after Madison.

But as soon as Madison opened the front door, she took a startled step back. Because there, in the doorway, was Mrs. Third Floor. And she had a crazed grin on her face.

“Um, hi?” Madison stood for a second, unsure of what to do. Mrs. Third Floor didn’t say anything. She just stood there grinning. Madison decided to try again. “Do you want to come in?”

“Good thing I used the box,” Butterbean grumbled.

“What’s going on, Mildred?” Mrs. Food stood up, smoothing her pants. “Have you heard from the police already?”