The hotel's revolving doors whizzed around three times, then Toby burst into the lobby.

"AWESOME!" he squealed. "Your turn!"

Joe grinned at his little brother. He knew they shouldn't be playing in the revolving doors, but it was hard to resist . . .

It was a sunny Friday afternoon and the Edmunds family had just arrived at the Grand Hotel in Skipton Sands. Dad had gone to get the rest of the bags. Mom and Sarah, Joe's big sister, were waiting at the reception desk, and Joe and Toby were supposed to be sitting quietly on the lobby couches.

"Boys!" snapped Mom as the doors spun around again and Joe tumbled out. She gave them that look. The one that meant they were inches away from a mega-blaster scolding!

But Toby was already heading back to the doors.

"Toby!" bellowed Mom. "Stop that at once! You might get stuck."

"Your mother's right," said a voice. It belonged to a silver-haired older lady who had appeared from the office behind the reception desk. "Accidents do happen!"

"Oh, hello," said Mom. "My name's Helen Edmunds. We've got a booking for two nights."

The lady glanced down at a big book on the desk. "Oh yes, you're here for the wedding. Welcome to the Grand Hotel—I'm Mrs. Stanway, the owner. Please call me Sylvia."

Joe looked around the lobby. It was huge, with a high ceiling and wood-paneled walls. There were lots of weird ornaments everywhere, too—a stuffed fox inside a glass case, a giant vase with a blue whale painted on the side. There was even a collection of samurai swords pinned to a wall.

"Look, Joe!" Toby had found a large brass gong. He picked up a wooden stick that hung next to it . . .

GONGGGG!

Sarah gave a shriek.

"Toby!" Mom snapped. "Put that down! I'm so sorry," she added to Mrs. Stanway. "He's a bit overexcited about staying in a hotel."

"Oh, don't worry," Mrs. Stanway replied. "The gong isn't valuable. None of my things are. I just like collecting interesting objects." She smiled at Toby. "You should look at the suit of armor on the landing upstairs. My granddaughter says there's a ghost inside."

"Wow!" Toby said breathlessly. "Can I see it?"

"Maybe later," Mom called, but Toby was already racing up the stairs, two at a time.

Joe was about to follow, when he noticed a small dog sleeping near the bottom of the stairs. It had a long thin body and droopy ears, and it was snoring loudly.

"Joe! Give me a hand!" Dad was struggling through the revolving doors, his arms full of luggage. He shuffled forward, then staggered into the reception area, dropping the bags.

The dog looked up and blinked a few times. Joe noticed it had weird eyes—big and staring and green. The dog stood up stiffly, and Joe noticed its short legs. It was a wiener dog! Then suddenly the dog lunged toward Dad . . .

RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! It was barking at Dad and baring its teeth.

Dad ignored the dog and calmly picked up the stuff he'd dropped.

The dog leaped forward as though it was about to sink its teeth into Dad's ankles.

"Watch out!" cried Joe.

But Dad didn't even look up. "Come on, Joe!" he said impatiently. "Help me with the bags."

"But . . . ," Joe began.

And then the dog stopped barking and sat down. "It's not him. He looked a bit like one of the bad guys for a minute, but he's not!"

Joe gasped. The dog had spoken. This was no ordinary dog—it was an undead pet! That explained why Dad had ignored it—he couldn't see it!

"Hello, Joe," the dog said, turning to face him. "My name is Frankie. I've been waiting for you. There's going to be a robbery, and you've got to stop it!" fM7aSEsliNU5pxdj2dilPN3X7ZrsAatvfse13IdLmswOPjyIo3fqWjzZWjR1Ssvf