by Peter Cox
“I’m surprised,” I said.
“Oh,” she looked devastated, absolutely devastated. I didn’t mean anything by it, but she looked like I’d told her that her favorite sports player was injured and would never play again.
“I get it,” she said. “People don’t think I’m smart. It’s because I’m so big, and because I talk kinda slow, and because of my lisp. Teachers don’t even call on me because they don’t want to offend ‘the slow kid.’ But I’m not slow. Not in my head. I just talk slow.”
“Ohmygosh!” I blurted out in one big word. “I didn’t mean that! I just meant I was surprised that you liked all the same books I do! I didn’t think I’d find another kid here who liked Koontz. I mean, it’s not exactly kid-friendly stuff, so most parents don’t let their kids read it.”
She looked at me warily, like she was trying to decide if a strange dog on the street was friendly or a rabid beast.
“I’m serious! I’ll even let you borrow the last Harry Potter book if you want.”
She made up her mind.
“Really?!” she beamed at me. “I thought I’d have to wait until the library copy got worn out.”
I wanted to know why she couldn’t get her own copy (paperback was like five bucks), but didn’t want to be rude.
I smiled back.
“Seriously. It’s so cool you like that stuff too.”
I wanted to chat with her about all my favorite books, see what she thought of the latest Odd Thomas story or what she thought of the Lord of the Rings movies versus the books, but that wasn’t the first thing we had to discuss. After taking a tour, she’d want to know more about Basset.
Sam showed me around her creation, which had three separate rooms, and a winding metal staircase leading up onto the roof.
“I found that thing in a scrap pile. It took a lot of fixing up, but it’s sturdy. Has to be,” she said with a laugh, indicating her height.
She was getting a little more comfortable with me.
Basset stayed at my heels for a while, interested in our conversation, but he couldn’t help himself for long. He quickly went off and started sniffing all the corners.
I’d have to remember to ask him later why he had to go sniffing things. It was almost obsessive compulsive.
There was more recycled furniture, but everything was surprisingly clean and sturdy.
When we were done, Sam led us back to the dining room table and folded herself down on a chair topped with an old couch cushion that looked like it had the exact same pattern as my grandmother’s sofa.
“I usually like to sit up on the roof, but it’s windy today,” she said. “And I want to be able to hear everything. If you’ll tell me, of course.”
I did.
Chapter 9
THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS
I had wanted to tell someone about the talking animals from the first moment it started, and now that I finally had the chance the words all came spilling out of me like word diarrhea.
Gross analogy. But it fits.
I told her everything: about how Basset first talked to me, about meeting the other animals in town, and about noticing the birds disappearing that morning. She didn’t interrupt at all, but sat with an interested look on her face. I was sure she’d have questions, but she was saving them until I was done.
“I thought I was crazy, and maybe I am, but I don’t think so,” I said at the end. “I don’t know why, but as insane as this is, I just feel like it’s real. But that’s probably what a crazy person would say.”
“Crazy people usually don’t think they’re crazy,” Sam said. “I always thought there was more to life than the humdrum mundane crap adults think there is. Go to school, get a job, die. There’s more than that, right? Well this just proves it.”
I nodded. “I’ve always felt the same way.”
She sat for a minute, thinking to herself.
“So what does Basset think happened to the birds?”
I turned to look at my dog, who was sniffing under a fancy side table.
When he noticed me looking, he turned around with dust covering his nose and hanging down like a Santa Claus beard.
He returned with his face pointed down sheepishly.
“It’s okay buddy, I know you can’t help it.”
“I’m just so curious! There’s so much to smell!”
“I know. Look, Sam was wondering if you have any clue what happened to all the birds. I know earlier you had no idea, but have you thought of anything?”
He paused a moment, cocking his head curiously to the side.
“Nothing. Imagine one day all the police in town disappeared, or all the mailmen just vanished. That’s how weird this is for me. I’ve got no explanation.”
I turned to Sam, who was watching us with interest.
“I must look pretty crazy carrying on a conversation with a dog when you can’t hear him talking back, huh?”
“You sure do,” Sam laughed.
“Anyway, he said he has no idea. They just packed up and left, all at once.”
“That’s not good,” Sam said, looking out one of the windows. “I don’t know why, but I feel like there’s something more going on here.”
“I know what you mean. It feels so….wrong.”
“It’s bad,” Basset said with that sad faraway look in his eyes. “It’s worse than a trip to the vet. Something is happening here, and this is just the start.”
I sat thinking for a minute, then remembered that Sam couldn’t hear Basset, and snapped my head up.
“He says it’s bad, by the way.”
“I figured. You looked glum.”
As I tell this story, I won’t always tell you when I repeated conversations from animals for Sam. That would get tedious. So in general, it’s probably safe to assume from here on out that I’m translating for Sam. Unless there was no time, of course.
We sat thinking for a little while. This fort was the perfect base of operations for exploring the woods or playing games of soldiers or cowboys or whatever, and it was a perfect spot for card games or reading, but I wasn’t excited at all. I just couldn’t stop wondering what had happened to the birds.
“Look, this is the first really weird thing that I’ve seen in my whole life,” Sam said. “But it happened right after you first learned you could hear animals talk. Too much of a coincidence.”
I nodded.
I had been thinking the same thing.
I didn’t know what that meant, but it wasn’t good.
“I think if anyone can figure this out, it’s you. And Basset of course.”
“What do you mean? I’m just a boy and his dog.”
“The cops won’t listen. Any adult out there will think we’re crazy if we tell them the birds disappeared and it’s a bad omen. But you, you know the animals, you can find out what’s going on. You have to solve this. It’s up to you.”
I shuddered. That’s a lot of pressure.
“You want to help?” I asked, suddenly excited. If I had a friend with me this would be a whole lot easier. It could even turn out to be fun.
“What can I do?”
“You can help me figure this out. You might not be able to talk to animals, but you’re smart. You can help solve this.”
“I’d love to help if I can,” Sam looked embarrassed. “Not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Perfect,” I heard Basset say beside me. “Maybe we can figure this out.”
“Chances are we’re getting worked up for nothing,” I said. “Overactive imaginations. When I was ten I saw some strangers in black cloaks hanging around town, and was convinced they were a gang of bank robbers. I looked like an idiot when I warned my parents about it and they told me the men were just monks visiting the local church. It’ll be embarrassing if it turns out the birds just got scared off by a new cat or something. We’d look like a toddler getting scared of a plastic spider.”
“I don’t think we’re just imag
ining this,” Sam responded. “There’s no simple explanation.”
“So what should we do?”
“You and Basset go around and talk to the other animals. See if anyone saw anything or heard anything unusual. My guess is the animals are paying closer attention to all this than humans are.”
“Some,” Basset said.
I nodded.
“We’ll head out then. Boy, I wish I could hang out here some more,” I said in an off-hand way, barely noticing I said it.
Sam had a huge smile.
“Maybe once this is all settled?” she said, like she was almost afraid of the answer.
“Definitely. Listen, Sam, why don’t you come with us while I talk to the animals?”
“You don’t think the animals will mind? I mean, I don’t know them.”
“I think it’ll be fine. Most of them are trusting, and the more cautious ones know Basset.”
“Most of us are good judges of character too,” Basset said.
When I told Sam that, she smiled shyly.
We headed out of the fort and back into the forest, which was eerily quiet.
“Where should we start?” I asked.
“We should talk to the animals who live near the edge of the forest,” Basset said.
At the exact same time Sam said “Probably with the animals near the woods,” which made me laugh.
We started off three houses south of my house, at the corner of Maple and Elm streets, which were the border to the woods.
Neither the Pomeranian nor the black cat had seen anything.
Same story two houses down, where a collie named Paulie had slept through the whole morning.
The cats next door were wondering what happened to the birds, but had no more ideas than we did.
“There has got to be a faster way,” Sam said. “Hey, I don’t know how it works in the animal world, but anytime my mom wants to know something, she calls up Mrs. Maplewood. She blathers on about all the latest gossip and knows what everyone has been up to. No point in talking to anyone else.”
“Of course!” I shouted. “Genevieve!”
Chapter 10
GENEVIEVE
Basset looked up at me in surprise, then looked down embarrassed, like when my parents came in after he had been rummaging through the trash.
“I should’ve thought of that. Sorry buddy.”
“It’s okay,” I said, explaining to Sam.
Sam got down on her knees and scratched behind Basset’s ears.
“You can’t think of everything,” she said in a surprisingly small, soothing voice. “Don’t put too much on your shoulders.”
Basset looked up into Sam’s eyes, and licked her hand.
“He says thank you,” I told her.
“So who’s Genevieve?” Sam asked as we made our way down to her house. “I mean, I’m assuming she’s the town animal-gossip, but who is she?”
“She’s a cat,” I started.
“Ah, of course.”
I smirked. “A massive Persian about the size and shape of a bowling ball. She’s sweet, but you have to take everything she says with a grain of salt. She’s more interested in telling a good story than telling the truth.”
“Same as Mrs. Maplewood.”
As we continued walking down the street, we were greeted by Mr. Barston, the county librarian, on his way to work.
“Good morning children,” he said, tipping his cap in our direction.
We nodded back.
Ken Barston is one of the few friendly people I’d met in town. I’d go into the library often to check out new books, and he would always chat with me about what he was reading.
He looked like a librarian, too. Large round glasses with thick metal rims, spidery white hair that stuck up all over the place, rather tall and lanky, with his eyes always looking kind of dazed and dreamy. I liked him.
Before long we arrived at Genevieve’s house. I’m sure her owners would have preferred we call it “The Johnsons’ house,” but obviously that wasn’t true. It was Genevieve’s.
We walked right up the front lawn, through a rusty iron gate, and into the enclosed backyard.
The Johnsons never minded me coming by. Most people in the neighborhood let me wander around, actually. The adults were a close-knit group, and it was a sleepy little village, so the kids could mostly come and go wherever they pleased.
When we came into the backyard, I don’t think Sam saw Genevieve at first. But when she did, her eyes grew wide and round as saucers.
That’s how I was when I first saw her.
Genevieve spent most of the day sunning herself on a large gray boulder, and when she curled up and slept she looked exactly like she was a part of the rock. Same color gray, her flat face smooth as a stone, and her massive rolly-polly body made her look like a boulder alright.
But once she moved, even the slightest bit, you knew there was nothing solid about her.
This cat jiggled.
“Ahhh, good morning Basset,” she purred, stretching herself out like a sausage being pulled on both ends. “Was hoping you’d stop by. Heard some just delicious news about Frankie and Delilah, the two poodles on the next block.”
Basset gave her a disapproving look. He didn’t much like gossip.
“It’s a secret of course,” she said “and I shouldn’t tell, but I know you’d get it out of me sooner or later so I might as well just give it to you without a struggle.”
I could tell he wanted to bare his teeth, but he was holding back. We needed her to be talkative today.
“We came to ask you if know anyone who saw anything unusual today or last night,” Basset said.
Genevieve perked right up. She sat up straight, making her rolls of flesh ripple and bend like Jell-o sitting on a washing machine.
“Ooooh, someone’s a curious boy,” Genevieve purred. “What’s with the questions? You’re usually so disinterested in my stories.”
“Well today I’m asking. Has anyone seen anything unusual?”
“Oh of course someone has,” she said. “But who, I wonder? What’s this all about?”
“I’m assuming you’ve noticed the birds have gone missing?” I asked.
“I wondered what happened to them myself,” she said, clearly surprised by the news but unwilling to admit it. “I like to give them a little chase in the morning, like any good cat.”
The only animal Genevieve could ever catch would be a slug. And that would be an exhausting, day-long hunt.
But you don’t insult a cat’s pride. Especially if that cat happens to be a 50 pound gossiping Persian named Genevieve.
I knew how to deal with people like Genevieve. Or animals, I mean. It’s the same thing. Flattery. That’s what gossips are after.
“We knew no one else could help us,” I said. “You know more about this neighborhood than anyone else.”
She purred deeply and closed her eyes.
“Of course I do. But before I help you out, perhaps you can help me?”
Basset was trying to keep calm, but there was a slight growl in his throat.
“What do you want?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just a secret or two. You’re always so quiet, Bassy. So private.”
“He has a right to be,” I said back. It was reflex. I would stand up for Basset no matter what.
Basset gave me a proud look that said “thank you.”
I was glad I’d stuck up for him, but I knew Genevieve didn’t respond well to force. She’d just curl back up in a furry ball and ignore us if we didn’t play along.
“Someone’s in a bad mood today,” she said, looking from me to Basset. “You really should keep a better leash on your human.”
Basset gave me one of his looks that said “sorry,” but he was smart enough not to respond or snap at the cat.
“I’ve already given you enough juicy news for free today,” she purred out. “What have you got for me? I know you’ve heard things even I haven’t,” she said to me. �
��You’re ears are so much further off the ground. You can hear all sorts of good things.”
“I tell you some gossip, you tell me yours in return?” I asked.
“Oh, no no no!” she hissed. “I do not gossip. I merely spread the news. The animals have a right to know. It’s a useful, noble profession, you know.”
“Sorry, Genny, that’s not what I meant. Of course. News for news. Now let’s see, what’s particularly juicy? Something about Franklin, the puggle next door? Or Angelise, the black cat across the street? I saw some particularly odd behavior from her the other day.”
I knew teasing her was the best way to draw her out. Genevieve sat up straight, like she spotted a treat in my hand.
“Oh? Odd behavior? But Angelise has always been so prim and proper. What’s she been up to?”
She sounded practically starving.
Before I could continue, Sam laughed behind me.
“Oooh, or perhaps we could tell you about the cat who’s been stealing cream from her owners after the milkman drops it off?” she said. “That’s a nasty one for sure.”
Genevieve got that shocked look cats get when you start up the vacuum, when they freeze for a second before bolting for cover.
“What? What’s that? I mean, who? How…”
“You’re such a well-groomed cat, Genny,” she said. “But you’re not very good at wiping off your mouth.”
She hastily licked her paws and cleaned off her face before she even had a chance to think about it.
“Sorry for interrupting,” Sam said. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks,” I whispered. “I was bluffing. Good one.”
“Any time.”
“So, Genny. You want me to spread the news on that one, right? The public has a right to know, after all.”
She blinked. I think she wanted to run away, but all the cream had gone straight to her hips. And her sides. Basically all of her, to be honest. She couldn’t run. She was more a waddler, and occasionally a trip-and-roll-er.
“Or, you could just tell us what you know,” I continued. “You have a noble profession, after all.”