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“NO!” Mrs. Food and Oscar and Walt burst out simultaneously. They’d already had to deal with Mrs. Third Floor imagining ghosts in the building. They didn’t want to deal with that again.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mrs. Food said more calmly, patting Mrs. Third Floor’s hand. “It is a mystery, though. I just wish I knew what to say to get Madison off the hook.”

“Maybe you should talk to someone official? Maybe Carmen?” Mrs. Third Floor said tentatively. Carmen was a police officer who’d recently moved into the building. Butterbean’s ears pricked up. Carmen had been helpful in their past investigations.

Mrs. Food shook her head.“She’s out of town this week,” she said. “And I really don’t want to get the police involved if I can help it, even informally.”

“That’s understandable.” Mrs. Third Floor sighed. “Well, we know Madison didn’t do it. Maybe she can just lay low for a while, and it’ll work itself out?”

“Maybe,” Mrs. Food said. But she didn’t sound convinced.

Walt was also not convinced.“That plan will absolutely not work,” she said as they watched Mrs. Third Floor leave. “If some condo board member is out for blood, Madison won’t be able to lay low enough. There won’tbe a low enough.” She bristled at the thought. “Oscar, how soon can we activate Operation Raccoon?”

“Now,” Oscar said, opening his cage door. “I’m going down now.”

Walt blinked.“Um, hold on there a sec,” she said, shooting a look in the direction of Mrs. Food. “How are you planning to do that? It’s daytime. We can’t just go down there, especially not if they’re cleaning up the storage area. People will see us.”

“I’m not going to the storage area,” Oscar said calmly. “Here’s the plan. Walt, you and Butterbean stay here. We need you to keep Mrs. Food occupied so she doesn’t notice I’m gone. Marco and Polo—you head down into the vents. See if you can get information on what’s going on in the storage area. I’ll head down to talk to the raccoons.”

Walt rolled her eyes.“Did you not hear me? The storage area has PEOPLE in it.”

“That’s not a problem,” Oscar said, watching as Mrs. Food walked slowly down the hallway to her office. “Because I’m not going to the storage area. I’m going to the loading dock.” He hopped out of his cage and flexed his wings. “Walt, open the window, please. I’m flying. OUTSIDE.”

Operation Flying Outside (as Oscar was secretly calling it) took longer to implement than he’d expected. About fifteen minutes longer, to be exact. Mostly because he hadn’t expected to spend fifteen minutes arguing with Butterbean and Walt, who were convinced that his flying to the loading dock alone was a bad idea.

Oscar was finally able to convince them they were wrong. And now, seconds after leaping dramatically out of the apartment window, he realized he’d been right. It wasn’t a bad idea.

It was a terrible idea.

Sure, launching himself out of the window had felt heroic and exciting. But once Oscar was airborne, he was forced to admit a few uncomfortable truths. Namely, he was an apartment bird, and as an apartment bird, he was not in great flying shape. Also, he didn’t know his way around outside very well. (“Very well” in this case meaning “at all.”) And there were people. Lots of people. He could see them on the sidewalks, in cars, standing at bus stops, everywhere. Everywhere.

Oscar decided to ignore the people. (They were making him light-headed.) Instead, Oscar decided to focus on flying and keeping himself in the air. (Which was easier said than done.) He dove down a little lower and circled the building, scanning the ground for the loading dock. When he finally spotted it, he took one last backward glance in the direction of his window. He couldn’t even tell which one it was anymore. Oscar didn’t want to think about how he was going to find his way back.

Looking around anxiously, Oscar landed clumsily on the loading dock, trying hard to stay on his feet. His wings felt like jelly. And the last thing he wanted was to be seen by someone who knew about birds. Partly because a crash landing was always embarrassing, and partly because that someone would know that a mynah bird probably shouldn’t be hanging out next to the building dumpster. (It was mostly the embarrassing part, though.)

But there was no one. Oscar breathed a sigh of relief, and then frowned. No people was a good thing. But no rats? No raccoons? That was a problem.

Oscar perched on the edge of the loading dock and peered down to the ground below. It was going to be very difficult to get the raccoons to stop if he couldn’t find them.

Oscar cocked his head and examined the dumpster. If there was one place on this loading dock likely to attract raccoons, it had to be that dumpster. The lid looked like it was shut tight, but there was some intriguing-looking crud lying underneath on the ground. That had to be the spot.

Taking a deep breath, Oscar hopped off the loading dock. He just hoped he wasn’t making the worst mistake of his life.