War of the World Records (9 page)

His only hope was that Ruby's parents would not open the book for much more than a superficial glance. Indeed, he was counting on Rex and Rita Goldwin's disdain for their daughter's taste in literature to keep the message hidden from unwanted viewing, and their love for record-breaking objects to keep the message safe from the rubbish heap. Only time would tell if his strategy worked.

Arthur slipped both the freshly encoded novel and the fake cover letter from the Joss Langston Appreciation Society into the shipping box, then closed the package and sealed it shut with a strip of packing tape.

He left the café, dropping the parcel addressed to Ruby and the envelope addressed to D.S. Greenley into a nearby post-box, then made his way back to the car to rejoin his family.

After returning home later that evening, Arthur concealed his other sketch of the Treasurer's note inside one of the ceramic rocks he had received for his birthday and stole away to the outskirts of the Goldwin estate. He scaled the wall and planted the rock beside the 137th iron spike as he had described in his message.

There was nothing left to do but wait.

• • •

On Tuesday, after three days with no word from Ruby, Arthur finally received a letter.

He ran up to his room and shut the door behind him, then tore open the envelope and unfolded the enclosed piece of paper. Unfortunately, it was not a message from Ruby. It was, however, the next best thing.

The note read as follows:

A.W.—

Communication received. Meet in the city—Friday, 21:00 at the Broken Record. Ask for a “Mr. Green.” Will discuss further.

—D.S.G.

Arthur smiled. The investigation was back on. Now he only had to retrieve his partner.

• • •

When Friday morning arrived, Arthur had yet to hear from Ruby.

He waited at the graveyard for nearly an hour before finally accepting the fact he'd be meeting Sergeant Greenley alone that night. Arthur rose from his lookout spot with a frown, brushed himself off, then turned around—and practically collided with a dark-haired, green-eyed girl.

“So, how's the investigation going, Detective Whipple?” Ruby asked nonchalantly, as if two full weeks had not passed since their last meeting.

“What?” Arthur said with a start. “Where did you come from? Where have you—?”

“Sorry it took me so long to get away. Ever since the hide-and-seek disaster, Rex and Rita have had the house on lockdown. Nonstop training every day. They've only just eased up enough to let me out for an ‘oxygen renewal session.' Honestly, I'd almost rather be back on the compound. It's been absolutely killing me not being able to get out here to the graveyard, which, I might add, is even better than the one in
Manslaughter Park
—though, of course, you can't really beat the one in
Southanger Cemetery
. It's good to see you, by the way.”

“Wh—yeah,” Arthur stammered, still recovering from the shock of Ruby's abrupt appearance, “it's good to see you too. I was starting to wonder if I'd ever see you again . . . but, I take it you deciphered my message?”

“Yep—though I think my baby brother could have figured that one out. You might want to work on your ciphers a bit.”

“Well,” said Arthur in an injured tone, “I had to make it simple, didn't I? How else could I be sure you'd get the message, since we hadn't established a set code language? I know lots of codes. Have you heard of the one where you list the letters of the alphabet in one column, then reverse their order in a second column and then use the corresponding letters to write a hidden message? Yep? Just an example. What about the one where you assign a letter to each key of the piano and then record a tune with a secret message encoded in it? Didn't think so. That's a good one. Maybe next time you won't be so hasty to judge someone on his knowledge of ciphers without taking a look at his codebook first.”

By this time, an impish grin had formed on Ruby's lips.

“What?” Arthur demanded.

“I'm only teasing, Arthur,” Ruby giggled. “You did great. I mean, I'm here, aren't I? I got
this
, didn't I?”

With that, she held up Arthur's hand-sketched copy of the Treasurer's note, which he had planted atop the Goldwins' wall for her to find.

“Ah, you did, didn't you,” said Arthur, his tone softening. “Sorry for getting defensive. I guess I take a bit too much pride in my ciphering skills.”

“As well you should.”

Arthur smiled bashfully, then moved on to more pressing matters. “So. You've read the Treasurer's note.”

“I have indeed,” Ruby replied.

This was what Arthur had been dreading. How did he tell his friend and partner that he suspected her own father of being a maniacal villain and the key player in a plot to murder his family? If only there were a greeting card for this sort of thing.

“So,” Arthur stalled nervously, searching for the right words, “what did, er, how did you—”

“Yeah,” Ruby said matter-of-factly, “I'm pretty sure Rex is the Treasurer.”

“What?” exclaimed Arthur. “You too?”

“It seems fairly obvious, doesn't it? I mean, who else has as much to gain from your family's demise? Who always happens to be around when something goes wrong with them? Not to mention the fact he's just painted a ten-foot canvas of that flaming crown symbol and hung it over his bed.”

“Wow. Really? Well, are you all right then?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, knowing your father might be a lawless criminal—are you all right?”

“He's not my father, Arthur.”

Arthur frowned. “I know you
think
he's not your father, but this is a serious situation. You probably shouldn't be relying on hunches here.”

“I'm completely serious,” protested Ruby. “It isn't just a hunch anymore. They've as good as said it.”

“Really?” Arthur replied, suddenly intrigued. “What did they say?”

“Well, the other day I was hiding in a cupboard to avoid afternoon calisthenics, and I overheard Rex and Rita discussing the World Record Championships of the World—”

“World Record World Championships,” Arthur corrected.

“Whatever. And Rex was going on about how easy it would be to defeat your family, but that he was a bit worried I would somehow destroy everything he'd worked for—which is a typical topic of discussion for him. ‘Rubilda is definitely a weak link,' he said. ‘If only there were a way to make up for her embarrassing lack of ambition. We really should have adopted another daughter when we had the chance.'”

She paused here as if expecting a response, but Arthur just stared at her blankly.

Ruby bristled. “Well? That proves it, doesn't it?”

“Does it really?” Arthur replied. “I mean, granted, it probably won't be earning him any records for World's Best Father, but I don't quite understand how it proves you're not his daughter.”

“Didn't you hear me? He said ‘we should've adopted
another
.' Why would he say ‘
another
,' unless they had already adopted a daughter?”

Arthur's brow furrowed. “Are you sure he didn't mean ‘adopted another
daughter
?' Like, in addition to the biological daughters they already have?”

“That's not how he said it. I could tell he meant ‘adopted
another
.'” Ruby exhaled, then snapped, “Look—you weren't there, were you?”

“Hold on now,” Arthur objected. “I didn't mean to offend. You could be right; I just thought it might upset you to find out Rex is the one behind the attacks—regardless of whether or not he's your actual father.”

“Look, Arthur, even if I wasn't adopted, God knows I don't belong
here
. So I'm either waiting around for my real family to turn up and save me, or until I'm old enough to escape this one on my own. Maybe this is my chance. And besides, even if Rex
were
my real father, is there anything I can do about it if the man decides he wants to be a murderer?”

Arthur shrugged. “I guess not.”

“Then why should I be upset?”

“I don't know, I just thought. . . . Well, anyway, I'm glad you're all right.”

Ruby's expression softened. “Thank you for your concern,” she said sincerely. After a short pause, she added, “So what do we do now?”

“Oh—right,” said Arthur, remembering why he'd been so anxious to regain his partner that day. “As I mentioned in my message, I have recently been in correspondence with Detective Sergeant Greenley, and he's arranged a meeting with us tonight at twenty-one hundred hours in the city. We can bike to Farfield Station and take the train from there. Do you think you can get away?”

“Are you joking? They'll have to shackle me to a dungeon wall to keep me from this one.”

“Be careful,” Arthur warned. “If Rex really is the Treasurer, there's no telling what he's capable of.”

“Hey. I've survived this far.”

“Well, keep up the good work then.”

• • •

After arranging to meet back at the graveyard in six hours, Arthur parted ways with Ruby and headed for home.

He ambled up the drive and spotted Uncle Mervyn walking toward the house alongside Mrs. Waite, the housekeeper. This was not the first time Arthur had seen the gray-haired couple strolling alone across the grounds together.

“Uncle Mervyn! Mrs. Waite!” he called, quickening his pace to catch up to the pair, who turned and stopped to wait for him. “Uncle Mervyn,” Arthur called again when he was within a few yards, “I was just coming to see you. Are you ready to pick up where we left off on our potential-record list? I've got a good feeling about this next series of events. Seems the magical domino's working. Today just might be the day, right Uncle Mervyn?”

“Aye, lad. It may indeed,” Uncle Mervyn said with a smile. His expression was warm as ever, but there was something unfamiliar in his tone. Something somber. “But if not today,” he continued, “you must promise me you won't give up—not before trying every item on this list. Do you swear it, lad?”

Arthur was dumbstruck. “I—I swear,” he stammered. It was then he got his first clear view of Mrs. Waite's face. Her eyes were red and swollen. She gave a faint sniffle and brushed away a tear with her handkerchief.

Arthur, confused and increasingly anxious, stood petrified as Uncle Mervyn continued.

“If this is important to you, lad, you must keep after it—until you have exhausted every possibility. You may find someday that these things no longer matter, and on that day you may hang up your hat with pride—but you mustn't give up now, simply because the task is difficult. Battle on, lad—never give up and never give in!” Uncle Mervyn's voice reached a crescendo here and quickly fell off into a deep, reflective sigh. In a frustrated whisper, he asked himself: “How do you cram a lifetime of advice into a few short sentences?” Then, with sudden resolve, he offered his right hand to the boy and said, “Arthur, you are a fine lad, and I am honored to call you my nephew.”

Arthur took the man's hand and the two shared a heartfelt handshake. “Thanks Uncle Mervyn,” he said sincerely. “I am honored to call you my uncle. But please, what on earth is the matter?”

“Come, lad. We must go and see the others.”

• • •

Arthur's family was in the study, seated around a large table with a small stack of egg crates at its center. It appeared to be a typical family meeting, except that, instead of eggs, the egg crates were filled with hand grenades. Arthur feared his family had taken their rivalry with the Goldwins a bit too far.

“Now,” said Mrs. Whipple, “who'd like the first throw?”

All the children's hands shot up at once.

“Ah, come on,” pleaded Edward, pointing to the one blank spot on a sleeve otherwise covered with embroidered patches. “I'm only three tosses away from my Young Grenadier's badge!”

“Very well, Edward,” his mother said with a nod and then handed him a grenade, much to the displeasure of her other children. As she turned to see Arthur enter the room with Mrs. Waite and Uncle Mervyn, a sudden smile formed across her face. “Mervyn, you're just in time!” she beamed. “We've just finished planning the World's Largest Simultaneous Live Grenade Toss. Wait till those Goldwins see
this
!”

Arthur breathed a small sigh of relief. Disturbing as his mother's plan sounded, he was glad to hear his family had not yet entered into all-out military conflict.

“So, Mervyn,” inquired Mr. Whipple, “how was your meeting with old man Grazelby this morning? He's no doubt regaled you with endless stories of his latest trip to the Congo; I only hope he's made it worth your while. Tell me, has the miser finally come to his senses and offered you a raise?”

Mervyn cleared his throat. “He has indeed. A whole twenty-five percent.”

While the words themselves were undoubtedly positive, Uncle Mervyn's tone was hardly indicative of a man whose income has just been increased by one quarter.

“Well, well,” Arthur's father said with a smile. “Congratulations, old boy! I've always said they were paying you a mere fraction of what you're worth. Of course, it's still true—but at least the fraction's a bit larger now, eh?”

“Aye, well, unfortunately this is not the sort of promotion I had hoped for. The increase, you see, is contingent on my taking a new position—a position I am required to accept if I am to remain in the employ of Grazelby Publications. It seems—” Uncle Mervyn struggled with the words “—it seems I have been transferred to Moscow. I'm afraid I've only come to say goodbye.”

The Whipples' smiles turned to looks of shock and dismay. Arthur's heart sank.

“What?!” exclaimed Mr. Whipple. “How is this possible?”