Sunshine Picklelime (8 page)

PJ opened her windows and listened. Nothing. There had to be an easier, faster way of finding out more about the neighborhood owls. She hunted for her flashlight and pulled a dark hoodie over her head. Then she turned on the radio, hoping her parents wouldn’t try to talk to her for another hour or two. She could hear the TV in the front room.

PJ scrambled out the window, down a trellis to the grass, and over to Ruth’s garden. She scaled the tree-house ladder and took a startled Oohoo from her cage. With Oohoo zipped up inside the hoodie, PJ swung herself down and ran over to Mr. Splitzky’s.

“Oohoo,” she whispered, edging her way out of view of Mr. Splitzky’s windows, all lit up. “You know lots of
owls nest in the barn roof. Can you help me find out if anyone’s left?”

The owl popped her head above the zipper and started to hoot but PJ shushed her. “Wait, we’re not there yet.”

Blossom, Mr. Splitzky’s dog, met PJ at the gate, happily swishing her long, bushy tail.

“Here, Blossom, good girl, good
girrrrrrl!”
whispered PJ. Luckily the dog knew her so well, she didn’t even bark. PJ crunched her way up the granite gravel path, past the hives humming with bees, toward the barn where Mr. Splitzky stored his honey. Blossom trotted close to PJ’s heels. Oohoo disappeared deep down inside PJ’s shirt so no one would see her, especially the dog.

The barn interior was deliciously fragrant. It took all PJ’s willpower not to dip into one of the jars that lined shelves on either side of the door.

She waited until her eyes were fully accustomed to the dim interior. “OK, Oohoo, you can come out now. Where exactly do your owl buddies live?” PJ asked. She squinted up at the dark outlines of crisscross beams and rafters.

Oohoo’s head popped out under PJ’s chin. “Unzip me, PJ.”

PJ placed a cautionary hand on Blossom’s head to keep her from barking as Oohoo hopped onto PJ’s shoulder and flew off. The owl circled the interior of the barn a couple of times before soaring upward, making gentle hoots as she ascended. PJ lost sight of her but didn’t want to shine the flashlight around in case she frightened anything else that might be nesting in the beams. Blossom sniffed the air and sat down obediently by PJ’s side.

Within minutes, Oohoo came swooping back to PJ’s shoulder. “They’ve all gone, PJ. Monkey Face, Tyto, and the rest, just as I thought,” the owl said sadly. “They haven’t been here for a
looooong
time. I can tell.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Why not squat in their space?”

“Squat?” asked Oohoo, head to one side.

“Just move in and keep the place warm in case they come back.”

Oohoo was silent for a moment. “PJ, I’m a
flammulated
owl. We live in trees. Monkey Face and Tyto are common barn owls with white faces all heart-shaped. Not like
me
. We’re friends, but we don’t
live
the same way.”

“Oh,” said PJ.

The owl added,
“They
live in old buildings, caves, and trees.
We
like hollow branches. Think of my colors, PJ.” She pointed a tip of her wing at her madly mottled and
striped collection of rusts, browns, and grays. “You wouldn’t notice me in a tree, would you?”

“I’d notice you anywhere, Oohoo.”

“Oh, come on, PJ! I hoot. Barn owls hiss. We eat insects. They eat mice and things.”

“I thought all you owls ate the same things.”

Oohoo rolled her large brown eyes in exasperation.

Undaunted, PJ asked, “You think they escaped because they were scared? Can we look somewhere else?”

“No. The nights are silent, just as Ms. Lenz said. I’ve listened. Helicopter Pete must have trapped them with the others.” Oohoo sighed.

“Then help us find them, Oohoo. Don’t give up. You saw it happen. Which direction did Pete take?”

Oohoo nodded toward the west.

Suddenly, Blossom began to bark loudly.

“Oh wow,” said PJ. “Hop into my hoodie again. Quickly, Oohoo. I think Blossom’s warning us!”

PJ was right. Just as she ducked behind some old planks of wood with Oohoo, the door swung open. Mr. Splitzky stood there in a beam from the sensor lights. Blossom immediately turned in the opposite direction and began digging frantically under a pile of burlap. “Come on, Bloss, girl!” Mr. Splitzky said. “It’s probably a
mouse and you’ll never catch it! C’mon, let’s go walkies!” Blossom bounded toward the door and followed her owner outside.

PJ and Oohoo peeped out of a broken beam in the barn wall and waited until Mr. Splitzky and Blossom were well out of sight.
Good dog
, thought PJ. She didn’t want to have to explain herself to Mr. Splitzky at
this
time of night!

It was velvety dark when they ventured outside, tiptoeing around close to the barn to avoid the sensor light. PJ walked back to Ruth’s. Oohoo was asleep by the time PJ climbed up to the tree house and placed her in the cage.

As she reached her own home, PJ could hear her parents arguing loudly in the kitchen. For once she felt relieved, because she knew they wouldn’t notice her climbing the trellis up to her bedroom window. When they peeked in her door later, she pretended to be fast asleep.

Just before dawn, she tiptoed downstairs for something to drink and found two separate messages chalked up on the board in the kitchen. Her mother wrote, “Truffles are divine.” Her father wrote, “Candies are far too sweet.”

helicopter pete

PJ sat in the
front window munching apples and cheese when she got home from school, and then called Mrs. Patel.

“Hi, Mrs. Patel. Any idea where I can find Helicopter Pete?”

“Oh, no problem, child,” replied Mrs. Patel. “I just saw him land at the helipad. He usually pops into the Buzz coffee shop after flying. Why?”

“Oh, um, Ruth and I wanted to talk to Pete about something,” PJ said. “It’s a new project.”

“A new project,” Mrs. Patel said slowly. “Hmmm. I wonder what you are up to now?”

“Up to? Come on, Mrs. Patel. You know me better than that!” she said.

“I can see you through the window, PJ. Meet me outside?”

As PJ joined her in the street, Ruth came hurtling around the corner on her bicycle and skidded dizzily to a stop.

Mrs. Patel jumped out of the way. “Now, girls, I don’t want you playing hijinks on your bikes like this. You set a bad example for the younger kids!”

“We won’t. Bye, Mrs. Patel,” said PJ, and she ran to get her own bike before Mrs. Patel could say anything else.

The two girls cycled off in convoy. Once they were out of earshot, PJ told Ruth about her adventure with Oohoo in Mr. Splitzky’s barn.

Ruth sucked in her breath. “Wow. You took a chance. You rock, PJ!”

“Just call me PJ ‘Chance’ Picklelime,” said PJ, feeling proud at earning Ruth’s approval.

Within ten minutes they caught sight of Pete’s blue-green chopper on the helipad, like a huge dragonfly glinting in the afternoon sun. And just as Mrs. Patel had assured them, tall Pete with his balding head and stringy circle of hair was sitting outside the nearby Buzz, enjoying a tall latte and a cinnamon bun. He rose as they approached. “Come and join me, girls. What can I get you?”

“Orange juice,” said Ruth.

“Nothing,” said PJ.

“We’ll both have orange juice, thanks, Pete!” Ruth cut in. As they parked and locked their bikes by the curb, she whispered, “Cool it, PJ. Pretend this is a social visit. Otherwise he’ll get suspicious!”

They pulled up chairs opposite Pete, and Ruth casually asked him what he was up to these days, now that that bird rescue was over.

“Oh, this and that,” he said, wiping speckles of cinnamon bun icing off his cheeks. “Picking up computer supplies, my regular job. Sometimes the coast guard needs backup. You girls are welcome to fly with me as long as I get the OK from your folks. Or if Mrs. Patel joins us like last time, PJ!”

PJ said nothing.

Ruth leaned forward on her elbows. “Pete, we need your help,” she said.

“We heard something at school that makes us
really
unhappy. You fly all over the place, so you see a lot of things from the air we don’t see from our bicycles. Right, PJ?”

“Oh. Right,” PJ said. Unlike Ruth, who was playing the innocent card, PJ could barely look at Pete. She hated to think about what he might have done to Tyto, Monkey Face, and Oohoo’s chicks.

“A couple of kids told one of our teachers that someone was stealing owls,” Ruth went on, widening her gold-flecked gray eyes. She flicked her long pigtail away from her ear. “This jerk was trapping them to sell to pet stores. Have you ever heard anything so
awful?”

Pete stared at her for a second, then made a great show of shaking his head. “The things people do. Which kid told you this?”

“The whole group was discussing it and someone’s contacted Animal Planet,” she fibbed, nudging PJ under the table. “We wondered if you had seen anything.”

Pete leaned back, eyes darting between the two girls, and folded his arms. “I haven’t. Kids shouldn’t be involved. Maybe I should go talk to your teacher, see how I can help?”

PJ and Ruth exchanged glances, then PJ said tightly, “Our teacher told us to get involved.”

Pete ran a hand over his balding crown and said, “Girls, I have to leave you. My head’ll start blistering under the sun soon. Hey, I’ll keep my eyes open, OK? I promise. Anything I find out I’ll pass along to Mrs. Patel.”

Pete rose and strode off toward his dragonfly blue-green chopper on the helipad. Ruth and PJ watched in silence as he climbed inside the cockpit and seemed to search for something.

“You nearly blew it,” said Ruth, sipping her juice. “You have to learn to be cool when you try to trick someone on the opposite side, like using fancy footwork in soccer. The important thing is never to show anger.”

“I can’t help it.” PJ waited until Pete jumped down off the chopper and disappeared into the helipad office before asking, “OK. What now?”

“He knows something’s up. I’m going to call the animal hotline from a public phone, disguise and deepen my voice, pretend I’m from France. ‘I ’ave im-por-tant news
pour vous
about an owl thief,’” she said, exaggerating a French accent. “They’ll
never
know it’s me!”

“Oh, c’mon, Ruth, they record those calls and run one of those voice-matching machines with all the zigzag lines if there’s a problem. Maybe we
should
start dropping hints around school? You know how word spreads.”

“I don’t think we have that sort of time. We need to move. Fast! I’m going to hit the Internet, see which pet shops offer exotic birds,” she added.

“Hmmm,” PJ said thoughtfully. “Oohoo said barn owls eat mice, so whoever trapped them must have a fresh source. You should Google pet shops that sell birds and mice.”

“Good point, PJ. Let’s touch base later. We’ll brainstorm a rescue plan my twin, Spielberg the Second, can catch on his camcorder!”

“That’s who you meant by Animal Planet?” PJ grinned and adjusted her bike helmet.

“Oh, well, local media first. Then who knows who’ll pick up the story?”

PJ’s father met her at the front door. He was not in a good mood.

“PJ, how many times have I told you
not
to feed birds on your window ledge?” he said. “It’s
disgusting
. And unhygienic. The ledge is covered with bird droppings stuck with feathers!”