Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! (13 page)

When the Bunnys and Madeline got home, they all had dinner and then the Bunnys put Madeline to bed.

“Don't worry, dear,” said Mrs. Bunny. “We'll find Flo and Mildred. Tomorrow is a new day.”

“I'm so worried about them,” said Madeline. “Suppose they're cold? Suppose Mildred doesn't have enough room to do a downward dog?”

Mr. and Mrs. Bunny looked at each other.

“Just try to get some sleep,” said Mr. Bunny, and they hopped back to their own hutch.

Madeline lay shivering in the dark. She had planned to check in on Uncle to see if he was out of his coma, but now
there was no rush. Of course, she didn't want him to be in a coma, but even if he came out of it, she had nothing for him to decode. Why hadn't she made photocopies of the file card? She seemed to think of everything too late. Poor Flo and Mildred. She turned the light back on and paced.

“Madeline, turn out your light and go to sleep,” called Mrs. Bunny from the hutch.

“I can't,” Madeline called back. “I can't sleep in a soft bed when Flo and Mildred might not have one.”

“I'm sure The Marmot will remember what he decoded tomorrow. Marmots are like that,” called Mrs. Bunny back.

Madeline switched off her light, but she kept pacing restlessly in the dark. She had enjoyed having the support and help of the Bunnys. The problem was, she wasn't used to having anyone taking care of her and making the decisions. It gave her the uneasy feeling that she wasn't doing what she was supposed to be doing. That she shouldn't be trusting so much in the Bunnys' judgment. On the one hand, they were very sweet and responsible adults. On the other hand, they were rabbits. She had to face facts, as much as she didn't want to; if she ever wanted to find Flo and Mildred, at some point she might have to strike out on her own. In the meantime, she
would just have to trust that they could cope with whatever came their way. But Oh dear, she thought, who am I kidding? Coping has never been their strong suit.

“I can't cope with this,” said Mildred to Flo. They were somewhere in a darkish factory basement, tied back to back. Foxes kept coming in and grilling them about the location of Uncle Runyon, but they simply couldn't remember. Everyone but the Grand Poobah wanted to give up. “I keep telling them I'm a vegan and still they keep bringing animal products. When I asked them why the broth in the vegetable soup was so brown, they said it had a beef base. You see? They just don't get it.”

“Hey,” Flo called to the guard fox. “You think you could get Mildred, like, a salad or something? You got union lettuce, right?”

The guard looked at him blankly. Just then the door opened and the Grand Poobah entered.

“Oh man, am I glad to see you,” said Flo. “This guy, like, just sits there and watches us. It's giving me the creeps. And he won't get Mildred anything. We asked for tofu, a salad, some peanuts. Like, we're not trying to be a nuisance, man, but she's gotta eat.”

“A thousand apologies, my dear dementomando!” said the Poobah, bowing low. He knew that Flo would never guess that it meant “demented man.” “But Frederico Fox hasn't learned English yet. He couldn't understand anything you said.”

“You've been speaking English?” asked Flo in wonder. “Man, I thought we had just somehow, like, miraculously been understanding Fox. Like those French immersion classes Mildred always wants to take. Where, you know, you just
get
it without having to work at it.”

“Mwa-hahaha. Mwa-hahaha,” laughed the Grand Poobah. He really did find this most amusing. “I think not. We have been studying English for years now, so that we are, I fancy, rather fluent, for the most part. Fox is far more complicated. You would never learn it.”

“Hey, try me, man,” said Flo.

“How do you say ‘I need something to eat that is
meat-free
!'?” said Mildred.

“Zakszokeyid,”
said the Grand Poobah. “Now you try it.”

“Je besoin de quelque chois sans viande,”
said Flo.

“That's French,” said the Poobah coldly.

“
Geben mir
something mitout the meaties,” said Flo.

“That's a combination of German and gibberish,” said the Grand Poobah.

“I'm hungry!” said Mildred.

“You will be hungrier still before the night is over. Unless you can remember where your relative lives,” said the Grand Poobah.

“Hey, man, we're trying, but nothing's coming. In the meantime, we might as well learn Fox,” said Flo. “So we can talk to, like, your guards.”

“I would be willing to bet you an, um, say, an earlobe that you cannot learn Fox,” said the Grand Poobah, drooling.

“Oh, you're just afraid to find out how much Fox I already understand,” said Flo confidently.

“Zxignsyajhdi,”
said the Grand Poobah.

“What does that mean?” asked Mildred.

“My dear dementoladyo,” said the Grand Poobah. “You don't want to know. Mwa-hahaha.”

“Hey, maybe if you teach us Fox, it will activate our brains and we'll remember where Runyon lives,” said Flo.

“I think not. You're both far too yummy, I mean hopeless,” said the Grand Poobah.

“Come on,” whined Flo.

“Very well. Repeat after me.
Zadyhenhizsiy
.”

“La plume est dans ma poche,”
said Flo.

“Zykidysa.”

“Sprechen sie la chêvre.”

“Where does Runyon live?”

“Hmmm. Can't remember.”

“Zygiofodik.”

“Still don't remember. But I think I'm beginning to get Fox. That meant summerhouse. Right? Am I right?”

“No. Where's the decoder?”

“Still nothing coming.”

And so it went.

All night.

Flo and Mildred didn't learn any Fox or activate their brains enough to remember where Uncle Runyon lived, but the Poobah picked up a little French.

Mrs. Bunny sat knitting next to Mr. Bunny by their hearth.

“I wish she wouldn't worry so much. I'm sure everything will turn out fine. After all, we
are
detectives,” she said.

“Of course we are,” said Mr. Bunny. “We have the fedoras to prove it.”

Mr. Bunny tried to soothe Mrs. Bunny by finishing the article from
The Scientific Bunny
on “New Things That Explode.”

“Chicken wings,” he read.

“All chicken wings?” asked Mrs. Bunny.

“No, only ones from south Florida. Schzapels.”

“What are those?”

“I haven't time to explain,” said Mr. Bunny, and then there was a knock on the door.

“What now?” he said. “Don't answer it.”

But Mrs. Bunny had already opened the door. It was Mrs. Treaclebunny.

“Thought I saw your light,” she said, coming in and sitting in Mrs. Bunny's chair. “Lovely evening.”

“It was,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Say, do you have any spare toothpaste?” Mrs. Treaclebunny held out her toothbrush.

“I think I have an extra tube in the bathroom drawer,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Oh, I don't need a tube, just squeeze a little on here. Try to make sure it covers all the bristles without slopping over. That's how I like it,” Mrs. Treaclebunny said to Mrs. Bunny, who was hopping away to perform this task.

She was some time at it. No matter how hard she tried, she could not get the toothpaste to line up perfectly with the end of the brush. Then she'd have to rinse the brush and start over. It was a disgusting task, rinsing someone else's toothbrush, but Mrs. Bunny thought it her neighborly duty.

When she had finally achieved toothpaste perfection, she came in to find Mrs. Treaclebunny staring at the fire and Mr. Bunny pretending to be asleep in his chair.

“Say, have you got any extra dinner about?” asked Mrs. Treaclebunny, taking the toothbrush.

“Well, I didn't have time to make much,” said Mrs. Bunny. “You see, we had a very long and trying day. I just opened a couple of boxes of mac and cheese.”

“That'll do,” said Mrs. Treaclebunny, so Mrs. Bunny hopped into the kitchen and wearily heated up some of the leftovers. Then she hopped back, gave the plateful to Mrs. Treaclebunny and held her toothbrush while she finished it.

“I'd try adding a little real cheese next time,” said Mrs. Treaclebunny. “Perks it up. Well, thank you and good night.” And Mrs. Treaclebunny hopped out.

Mr. Bunny's eyes snapped open the second the front door closed.

Then the Bunnys took showers and went to bed.

“It's been a very trying day,” said Mrs. Bunny again.

“That is what always happens when you get mixed up with marmots,” said Mr. Bunny in the dark.

“I couldn't agree more, dear,” said Mrs. Bunny.

Then they reached over and held paws until they fell asleep.

In the morning everyone woke up feeling refreshed and ready to hit the detecting trail.

“I have an idea,” Madeline said to the Bunnys when they came in with toast and juice. She had always wanted breakfast in bed, but she couldn't linger over it now; she was too anxious to get back on the case. “Could you make some garlic bread for us to take over to the marmot? To entice him up?”

“What an excellent idea!” said Mrs. Bunny, and made a large batch.

They took it over to The Marmot's hole.

“Listen, you can come out now. No one is mad. We brought you some garlic bread. Mrs. Bunny made it herself,” Madeline called down the hole.

“I like the kind from The Olde Spaghetti Factory,” called The Marmot.

“Well, perhaps, if you're
very
helpful, we'll get you some from there later,” called Madeline.

“I remember things better when I have
real
garlic bread,” said The Marmot, but he came up anyway.

“Okay, here's the deal,” said The Marmot after he had eaten all the garlic bread and pronounced it decidedly yummy, if inferior to The Olde Spaghetti Factory's. “It's slowly beginning to come back to me. I
did
decode some of the file card before its, uh, unfortunate end. But it's very hard to remember what it said. Somehow that part seems to have all slipped away. Of course, if I had it in front of me …”

“Do you think he really
was
traumatized, as he said?” whispered Madeline to Mrs. Bunny. “Don't trauma victims sometimes have trouble remembering?”

“No,” sighed Mrs. Bunny. “He's just being a marmot. They're thick as bricks.”

“I
do
remember
something
,” The Marmot went on.

“Yes?” said Madeline and Mrs. Bunny encouragingly.

“That is, I remember one word I decoded. I know there was more, but for some reason all I can remember is the one word.”

“Okay, that's good,” said Madeline. “One word is a start.”

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Bunny.

“Rubber.”

“Rubber?”
asked Mrs. Bunny.

“Rubber.”

“Rubber what?” asked Madeline.

“That's the part I can't remember. Well, that and all the other words that went with it. Really, it wasn't a difficult code to break.”

“Well, hey, that's great. That's a start. It must be the
r
word that Uncle was starting to say as he slipped into his coma,” said Madeline. “Let's sit down and—”

“Oh, no. No more hypnosis. Gave me terrible nightmares, it did. If I remember anything in a
natural
way, I will phone you. Otherwise, leave me alone,” said The Marmot, and he jumped into his hole. They could hear doors being slammed and locks being locked.

Madeline, who was having nightmares of her own every night, sympathized. “Well, we have one word, at least.”

“Rubber,”
said Mr. Bunny. “My giant detecting brain is already on the alert.”

“Let's give it some thought,” said Mrs. Bunny. “In the meantime, I have my hat club meeting this afternoon.”

The Bunnys and Madeline got back into the car and started to drive to the hutch.

“How can you go to a hat club meeting with Flo and Mildred still captive?” asked Madeline. “We have to start searching! Let's go search around everything we can think of that has anything to do with rubber.”

“
Tch, tch
, that's not methodical,” said Mr. Bunny. “Sherlock Holmes had a
method
. That's what I feel we need now. A
method
. My method is to spy on the butler. I shall call it the
butler method
. While Mrs. Bunny is cavorting, you and I will do a little light spying.”

“There's no point spying on the
butler
,” said Madeline. “He's got nothing to do with it. We must try to find foxes. Maybe we should even look for factories, in case they have my parents in the rabbit by-product factory.”