“Two each? Can Ms. Lenz spare them?” Joshua squinted into the box. “Lots of pretty wrapping, though.”
“Don’t be silly,” Ruth said, grabbing the box from him. “This is something really special, Josh. Do you want to try one or can I have yours?”
“No way!” he said.
“Wait, you guys,” PJ cut in after releasing Oohoo onto the grass beneath the tree house. “I promised Ms. Lenz I’d be serious about this. Can you split up and try the truffles? Otherwise you’re just going to goof off. You have to savor the truffles slowly, let them melt in your mouth!”
Joshua threw his hand in the air and mimicked PJ’s voice, saying, “I’m off to savor and savor! I’ll send my report when I’m done!” He scooped a truffle out of the box, tilted his head back, and dropped it into his mouth.
Ruth rolled her eyes. “Come on, PJ, grab Oohoo. We have work to do.”
PJ lifted the owl into her shirt and swung up to the tree house behind Ruth.
Ruth popped a truffle into her own mouth and said, “Omigod. Is this for real?” She sucked in her cheeks and added, “PJ, this is awesome. Sweet lemon, keep going all the way to the top of my head! Wow. Tell Ms. Lenz I approve and we’ll take any rejects.”
“I’ll tell her. She’s special, Ruth, and you know what? She’s so tuned in to owls, she wanted to know why she hadn’t heard any at night recently. Have you heard any?” PJ asked.
Ruth pursed her lips and waited until the truffle had totally dissolved before saying, “I don’t think so. I wondered why the nights were quiet all of a sudden.”
They both looked down at Oohoo bulging out of PJ’s shirt and then looked at one another. Something wasn’t right. But what?
“Why not take her to the window?” Ruth suggested. “She loves watching sunsets. See if you can get her to open up to you? I’ll check on Squirt and Cardy,” she added, turning toward their cages.
PJ slid her fingers under the owl’s talons and lifted her onto her shoulder.
Above them, the skylight framed the soft pink colors of the sunset like a beautiful painting set into the sloping planks of the ceiling. “Enjoy all those lovely colors, Oohoo,” said PJ as the owl nuzzled her cheek. “See how they change from second to second.” PJ pointed at the dabs of rose pink sky visible between the curvy, vine-covered branches of the live oak.
Behind them on the big cushions, Squirt played a gymnastic game with Ruth, winding himself around her arms and leaping from one hand to the other. “Nothing wrong with you, my friend.” Ruth laughed. She checked Squirt’s back leg muscles.
Cardy lifted his brilliant red-plumed head and conical beak and suddenly started to sing, a beautiful chirpchirpchirp followed by pewpewpew, over and over.
A car backfired outside. Cardy stopped singing. The owl stiffened, ears spiked and sharp, and dug her talons into PJ’s shoulder. The tree house was silent for a moment.
PJ kept perfectly still. “Oohoo, it’s time you talked to me.”
The owl glanced over at Ruth, but she had Cardy on her raised knee and Squirt tumbling about in her hands.
“Talk, Oohoo. You can see Ruth’s busy!”
Oohoo listened for a moment, then whispered in PJ’s ear, a long hollow sound like wind moving through a tunnel. “I’m safe here.”
PJ turned her head so she could whisper in the owl’s ear. “Safe?”
“From the owl thief. He sells us to pet stores. He took my chicks. And friends.”
PJ jumped up and Oohoo nearly toppled off her shoulder. “Owls aren’t pets. Who’s stealing them?”
Oohoo stared at the skylight. The sunset was easing from pink into gray streaks. “He’s dangerous.”
“Who?”
The owl shuddered.
“Oohoo, we know something’s going on. Who’s stealing owls?”
“The helicopter pilot.”
“Pete? That’s impossible!”
“It’s true,” Oohoo said.
“But he was so nice. He flew me over the cliffs to find my little bird friend Lemon Pie….” PJ paused. “Oh wow. You mean he uses the helicopter to find baby owls?”
“Ooooh,” whispered Oohoo, and the long single note vibrated through PJ’s shoulder. Tears rolled out of Oohoo’s huge eyes and down her softly mottled feathers.
After a moment, Ruth said, “We need to talk about this, don’t we? It’s OK. I heard everything.” Ruth’s gold-flecked gray eyes moved between PJ and Oohoo, and she twirled her pigtail as though trying to figure something out.
Squirt was stretched out along her thigh. Cardy chirruped and hopped around her feet.
Oohoo began to rock back and forth.
Ruth gestured to PJ to join her on the pillows. PJ placed one reassuring hand behind Oohoo to steady her as she knelt down.
The older girl folded her arms. “How do we tackle Helicopter Pete?”
“Carefully. I can’t let my parents find out,” said PJ. “I don’t want to give them another reason for an argument.”
Ruth had heard that PJ’s parents were having problems. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“Not right now. Let’s work out a way of dealing with Helicopter Pete.”
“OK, PJ, I hear you. Where does he hang out?”
“I’ll ask Mrs. Patel. She’ll know,” said PJ.
“YO!” Joshua suddenly shouted from below. “I just e-mailed Ms. Lenz. That Lemon Nectar is dangerous. When word gets out, she’ll have to hire security guards. Folks’ll be climbing through her windows to get at the truffles!”
Ruth lifted Squirt off her leg and went to the door. She was just about to give a snide response, but then looked at her twin thoughtfully. “Hey, Josh? Can you free up some of your schedule for the next few days? We may need your camcorder skills.”
He blinked up at her. “To video the truffles?”
“No, you moron. We’re working on a criminal investigation.”
“No kidding! Sounds hot!”
“It is!” PJ agreed, joining Ruth at the door. “We start tomorrow, Josh.”
Ruth added, “Not a word to Mom and Dad, OK?”
“Now you’re talking!” He grinned.
PJ eased Oohoo off her shoulder and placed her carefully in her cage. She glanced up at Ruth and said, “Meet me outside Mrs. Patel’s house on your bike tomorrow after school?”
When PJ returned home, she left the box of truffles on the kitchen table. She made some excuse to her mom about homework and took a bowl of stir-fried veggies and brown rice up to her room. She needed alone time and didn’t want to be in a situation at dinner where her parents argued or asked her too many questions.
She reached for her sketch pad and pastels and began playing around with colors on the pad, blending and rubbing them with her fingers to try to match the gentle contrasts of merging pinks she’d enjoyed earlier. What lingered in her mind was the image of the skylight framing the sunset like a painting, so she sketched it from memory, complete with the view of curvy branches in the background. She put down the pastels, picked up her dinner, and started to eat it, but soon lost interest and put it to one side. Darkness was settling in. Ms. Lenz had spoken earlier about the silence at night and a sky that was empty of owls.
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 ow
l 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!”
Sunshine Picklelime Page 5