“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.”
“Yes, yes, all interesting ideas,” said Mr. Bunny, rubbing his chin in a pensive manner. “Let’s drive about and look for signs of foxes. And butlers.”
“Ignore him,” said Mrs. Bunny. “He will never admit he is wrong about the butler.”
“We have to get serious,” said Madeline as they pulled into the Bunnys’ driveway. “We can’t just flounder around this way.”
“Never you mind,” said Mr. Bunny. “Wait until you see what I have in the house. It’s my greatest invention.”
“Another sleepless night?” called Mrs. Bunny as Mr. Bunny ran inside. “Mr. Bunny gets up and invents things when he can’t sleep.”
“Well, that must be handy,” said Madeline.
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Bunny vaguely. “When the basement fills up, I suppose we can sell them for scrap metal.”
“Don’t they work?” asked Madeline.
“Well, he says they do,” said Mrs. Bunny.
Mr. Bunny ran back outside. He was carrying a box with a bell on top. “This,” he declared proudly, “is a fox finder!”
“Really?” said Madeline. “How does it operate?”
“You see the bell on the top? When the box gets close to a fox, the bell goes off. I’m telling you, someday I will patent this and make a fortune and Mrs. Bunny will never have to knit again.”
“I like knitting,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“How does it work exactly?” asked Madeline. “I mean, how does it sense that a fox is about?”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Bunny. “Maybe it is magic.”
Madeline started to have the uneasy feeling again that she was putting way too much trust in these nice rabbits. On the one hand, it was so comforting to have help. On the other hand, to be realistic, they were no help at all. “Well, have you ever tried it before?”
“I’ve tried it, but of course the bell didn’t ring because there were no foxes about. So, in that sense, I think we can say it works fine.”
Madeline paused. “Is that all you’ve got?” she asked finally,
but she was interrupted by Mrs. Bunny, who had found an envelope taped to the door, ripped it off, opened and read it.
“Oh, Mr. Bunny!” Mrs. Bunny cried.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Bunny.
“It’s a notice.”
“I can see that, but a notice from whom?”
“It’s not just a notice, it’s a summons!”
“Oh no. Not from—”
“Yes! We’ve been called before … the Bunny Council.” And then a terrified silence ensued.
MRS. BUNNY WORRIES THAT PRISON WILL BE BAD FOR HER COMPLEXION
“Well, I never thought it could happen to us,” said Mr. Bunny. “The thing is, the summons might be about so many things. They may be blaming us for the disappearance of the previous owners of the hutch.”
“Oh, surely they could not be so unfair,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Can and most likely are!” said Mr. Bunny. “I’ve read that this is a particularly fierce council, prone to making mistakes and unjust arrests. You can be stripped of your bunny citizenship like that!” He snapped his fingers. It made Mrs. Bunny jump. “They could be charging me with driving without a license.”
“You said you didn’t need one,” said Madeline.
“I don’t, but they’re a capricious bunch,” said Mr. Bunny. “Suppose they think it wasn’t foxes that got the previous owners but that we killed them for their hutch and car? But the council can’t prove it. So they get me on an illegal driving charge and lock me up and throw away the key.”
“Mercy, Mr. Bunny!” said Mrs. Bunny. “What a thought!”
“Would you wait for me?”
“For a little while …,” said Mrs. Bunny, her eyes wandering. “Perhaps I shall make a few prune cakes and freeze them.”
“You mean carrot cakes,” said Mr. Bunny, turning to Madeline to explain. “Mrs. Bunny likes prune cakes but never makes them because I don’t eat prune.”
“He likes prune plums but not prunes. Such is the way of the male bunny.” Mrs. Bunny rolled her eyes and then continued thoughtfully, “Hmmm. Prune cake or carrot?”
“Not now, Mrs. Bunny,” said Mr. Bunny. “This is not the confectionary hour. Try to keep your mind on the facts.”
“What facts?” asked Mrs. Bunny. “We have no facts. They ought to at least give us a hint as to why we’re being called before them.”
“That’s how they mean to trip you up,” said Mr. Bunny. “What’s the date on the summons?”
“It says we are to appear before them tomorrow,” said Mrs. Bunny, reading it again.
“We don’t have time for this!” said Madeline, wringing her hands.
“Madeline, dear, this isn’t a game. The Bunny Council is a very serious thing indeed,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Finding Flo and Mildred is serious!” said Madeline. “And things keep getting in the way!”
“Don’t worry,” said Mr. Bunny. “We’ll find Flo and Mildred before we get tossed in the clink.”
“And then I will have to rescue you too,” said Madeline.
“There is no rescuing from a bunny prison,” said Mrs. Bunny. “They’re very secure.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Madeline.
“Come on, let’s get to work, no sense sitting around worrying,” said Mr. Bunny, and they drove Mrs. Bunny to her hat club meeting.
Mrs. Bunny went inside determined to act as if nothing had happened, although the temptation to tell everyone was overwhelming. After all, one of the great things about making friends was all those long and fuzzy sympathetic ears. Still, one never knew how others might react to such tidings, and she was so new to the community. They might not be sympathetic at all. They might shun her.
Better not say a word, she thought, or even give hint of such a thing as Mr. Bunny and I going to prison. No, no, no, better keep my bunny lips sealed.
“I have wonderful news,” said Mrs. Ruskeebunny as she opened the bunny hat club meeting with a sharp rap of her turnip gavel. “The Bunny Council has approved the making of an extra two hundred bonnets for the march past Comox Elementary. And because Prince Charles’s visit is such a singular honor, we are opening up the parade to bunnies from six other counties. All of the parading bunnies will be decked out in our beautifully hand-decorated bonnets.”
The hat clubbers clapped their paws together enthusiastically. Bunny applause is never very loud. The fur muffles it. To make up for this, it often goes on for quite a long time. Mrs. Bunny was shaking out her tired clapping paws while thinking she mustn’t let anything slip about where she might be in a week. Under no circumstances would she mention prisons.
“But can we make so many bonnets by then?” asked Mrs. Sneepbunny.
“We will no doubt wear the fur right off our knuckles, but I feel this is a singular honor and we mustn’t shrink from it!” said Mrs. Ruskeebunny.
“No indeed,” said the rest of the bunnies.
“The council has posted notices everywhere calling for donations of things to decorate the bonnets. This is a true community effort, and so many bunnies started to contribute as soon as they heard donations were needed. That’s true bunny nature, and we can all be proud of it. We’ve had people dropping off their old ribbons and bows and fabric flowers all night, and one very generous anonymous benefactor has donated bolts and bolts of thin rubber to line the bonnets, so we will stop lining the bonnets in plastic and switch to rubber.”
“But however can we finish the bonnets with so few meetings before Monday?” asked Mrs. Wigglebunny.
“An excellent question. Indeed, we cannot. Only if we take bonnets home to work on during the week can we hope to finish. Now, I have made up boxes of bonnets and decorations for everyone. I suggest you work on your box of bonnets whenever possible. I myself shall work in front of the television in the evening. And when I chat on the phone with my bunny pals.”
“An excellent idea,” said Mrs. Hushbunny. “I will do it while waiting for the kettle to boil.”
“I will do it during those long empty prison hours,” said Mrs. Bunny. “Oh, curses!”
“Mrs. Bunny, what are you talking about?” asked Mrs. Ruskeebunny.
“Nothing, nothing,” said Mrs. Bunny. “My mind wanders.”
“Now, I know,” said Mrs. Ruskeebunny, “that we ladies won’t mind the rather pungent smell of the rubber lining we are putting in the bonnets, but some of us have husbands who may object. Might I ask if any of you have any helpful suggestions for ways to deal with this?”
“A Glade PlugIn,” said Mrs. Sneepbunny. “Or several. Put them in every light socket. That should cover the smell.”
“My husband would object to a whole house smelling suddenly of Tuberose Surprise,” said Mrs. Binglybunny.
“And those Glade PlugIns have a pungent odor of their own,” said Mrs. Hopperbunny. “If you plugged them into every light socket the neighbors might complain.”
“Or the warden,” said Mrs. Bunny. “Or that scary bunny down in cell block D.”
“Really, Mrs. Bunny, you make no sense today,” said Mrs. Ruskeebunny.
“No, I don’t. I really don’t. No sense. No sense at all,” said Mrs. Bunny, biting her lips.
“What about candles?” asked Mrs. Hushbunny. “There are some lovely scented ones at the card shoppe.”
“Yes, that’s fine if they let you have matches in your cell, but they don’t,” said Mrs. Bunny before she could stop herself.
“Mrs. Bunny, restrain yourself,” said Mrs. Ruskeebunny.
“I’m trying,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Why bring the rubber lining home at all? We can decorate the hats at home and then have a special extra meeting just for lining the hats,” suggested Mrs. Biliousbunny.
“Ah, now there is a helpful suggestion,” said Mrs. Ruskeebunny, giving Mrs. Bunny a reproving look.
Mrs. Bunny blushed and blushed.
“We could form an assembly line,” said Mrs. Sneepbunny.
“Using the techniques we learned making lic
ense plates,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Mrs. Bunny, you are an enigma today,” said Mrs. Ruskeebunny.
“What did I say? What did I say?” asked Mrs. Bunny.
“License plates?” said Mrs. Sneepbunny.
“Oh, curses! What do I know about license plates? Nothing! Nothing! I don’t even drive. What a silly bunny I am. What I meant to say was that an assembly line is an excellent idea!”
“Except that we may not have time for an assembly-line meeting,” said Mrs. Snowbunny. “Therefore I suggest we go back to plan A and all buy Glade PlugIns. There are many fine scents that have nothing to do with either tuberose or surprise.”
“Excellent!” said the other bunnies, hopping up and down. “Excellent, excellent, excellent!”
And they all hopped home with their boxes of bonnets and decorations, feeling useful and brilliantly intelligent as each remembered the idea as being her own.
Meanwhile, back in the factory basement, the Grand Poobah was pacing back and forth in front of a tired Flo and Mildred. They had been grilled all night, and for the last two hours without even a single language lesson to relieve the tedium, but still their memories remained a blank.
“Isn’t his house by a big tree?” Flo asked Mildred wearily. They had been over this hundreds of times. Where exactly was Uncle Runyon?
“Oh, that’s no good. There are big trees everywhere on the island. Wasn’t there a lake?” asked Mildred.
“I don’t think so. There might have been a pond.…”
“Wasn’t he north of Duncan?”
“YES! YES, he was!”
“Aha!” said the Grand Poobah. “Finally we narrow it down!”
“Or south …,” said Flo. “It was one or the other.”
“You really should just ask Madeline!” wailed Mildred. “She knows for sure. She probably has the address memorized. That’s the type of person she is. I can’t believe I gave birth to the type of person who memorizes addresses. My doula never warned me of that.”
“Ask Madeline? Ask Madeline?” said the Grand Poobah, his face getting progressively redder and his voice louder. “ASK MADELINE? We DID try to ask Madeline. We sent two foxes there in the dead of night to steal her away. And guess what, Madeline is gone! So we’re left with just you. So LET’S START FROM THE BEGINNING! WHERE IS THIS RUNYON’S BLASTED HOUSE?”
Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! Page 9