I could leave straightaway, taking Elmo with me, or I could try to feed him. Just then, Elmo opened his beak again. His tongue, usually a pale pink, was gray. He had to eat something.
On a table near the cage, I spotted a key and a plate of pineapple chunks. But pineapple would be too heavy on Elmo’s stomach. I used the key to open the padlock, and then I unlatched the cage and reached in for the water bowl.
I dipped one finger into the water, and then I brought it up to Elmo’s beak. His eyes were dull, listless. “Come on, boy,” I urged him. Just when I was sure he wouldn’t have any water, he opened his beak. His throat jiggled as he swallowed the first drop.
When I ran my fingers down Elmo’s spine, I felt bones. I took some seeds from the seed dish, dipped them in water and cupped them in my palm.
Elmo pecked at the wet seeds.
“Attaboy.”
It was time to get him out of there. There was no sense taking the cage. I pressed my forearm in front of his belly so he could hop on.
“We’re going home,” I told Elmo.
Just as he landed on my forearm, I heard a clattering sound. I thought it was coming from the scaffolding. Was it the workers? I was about to make a run for it when I realized the noise was coming from the hallway. Someone had dropped something— and now whoever it was was coming into the office. I had to move quickly.
I put Elmo back on the balsa branch and locked the cage. Then I put the key back exactly where it had been. My heart thumped so hard I felt it in my throat. I walked back toward the window.
“Where are those two blockheads?” someone asked from the front room.
Why did the voice sound so familiar?
It took me five steps to reach the window. I know because I counted them. A warm breeze blew up against my back. If I hoisted myself up in time, I could hide on the scaffolding.
“Lyle!” I heard the voice bark as I stepped out onto the scaffolding. I could tell the guy was on his cell phone. “I told you two not to leave the bird alone. Not for a second,” he continued.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t hear anything. Lyle must have been coming up with some excuse. But then the barking started up again. “Just get yourselves back up here!” the voice said.
Even after he snapped his cell phone shut the guy kept grumbling. “Curse that bloody Barnes for refusing to sell us the cockatoo,” he said. “Especially after all the money we offered him!”
I nearly gasped. Why wouldn’t Dad sell Elmo? Wasn’t he always saying all the animals in the store were for sale? And with money so tight, I’d have figured...
That’s when I placed the voice. No wonder it seemed familiar. It was Mr. Morgan.
chapter thirteen
I peered down between the metal bars to the pavement. I wasn’t up that high, but I felt woozy when I looked down.
Who’d have guessed Mr. Morgan was a birdnapper? Wait till Dad found out.
I still couldn’t believe he’d refused to sell Elmo. It was because of me, of course. He knew how much Elmo meant to me. Maybe I’d been too hard on Dad. Maybe he hadn’t changed as much as I’d thought. And maybe part of our problem was that I’d been changing too.
In the distance, I saw what looked like a black moth flitting its wings. Rodney.
Once he spotted me, he started running in my direction. His cape kept getting caught between his legs.
I inched up as close as I could to the wall and tried to focus on the bricks. It was better not to look down.
I could hear footsteps in the stairwell. Lyle and his partner probably hadn’t had time to try Mr. Singh’s butter chicken.
“Look, Boss,” I heard Lyle say as he trudged into the office, “we were just downstairs.”
Mr. Morgan’s words came out like a hiss. “You know what a bird like that is worth. One of you was supposed to stay with him at all times. That was our agreement.”
The voices came closer as the three men headed for the back room. I stepped away from the window.
“The bird’s fine,” said the guy whose name I didn’t know. “Hey, there are seeds on the bottom of the cage. Guess he got his appetite back.”
That seemed to please Mr. Morgan. “Good timing. The bird needs his energy. He leaves for Paris this afternoon.”
Paris? They couldn’t take Elmo all the way to Paris!
Lyle whistled. “That bird’s got the life.”
“His buyer’s in Paris. Luckily I was able to arrange a new deal.” It sounded as if Mr. Morgan was clapping his hands—applauding himself. “Our job ends once he lands at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Lyle, you and I leave in ten minutes. There’s a van outside. Steve, Lyle will be back for you after he drops us off at the airport. In the meantime, get rid of all traces of the bird.”
I scanned the parking lot. A gray van was parked near the office building.
Just then, I heard another whistle. This one came from the ground. “Shh,” I said, mouthing the word when I saw Rodney.
It was too late. Lyle had heard him too. “Something going on out there?” Lyle walked over to the window until he was so close, I could hear him breathe. Whatever you do, don’t look outside, I thought.
“It’s probably just some bird,” Steve said. Lyle stepped away. I’d been so nervous that for a few seconds, I’d forgotten to breathe.
I started climbing down the scaffolding. It was like a jungle gym, only harder because the bars were farther apart.
When I reached the ground, Rodney sighed so loud you’d think he was the one who’d been climbing.
I didn’t have time to catch my breath. “They’ve got Elmo. You call nine-one-one right now,” I told Rodney. “Give them that van’s license number.” I pointed toward the back of the gray van. “L-Q-Z one-two-four. Got that, Phantom?”
Rodney repeated the number like it was a secret password.
“Phone from Tandoori Palace,” I said.
The van was locked. I ducked behind a nearby convertible and did something that’s really hard for me. I waited.
My mind was racing. But I knew one thing: Now that I’d found Elmo, there was no way I was going to lose him again.
I heard Mr. Morgan before I saw him. “Put that bag of cement in my van, Lyle,” he said. I peeked out from behind the convertible. Lyle looked as mean as I’d imagined. His eyes were close set, like a bug’s.
Lyle’s arms were wrapped around a bag, and he stumbled as if he was carrying something heavy. I knew it was an act. That wasn’t a bag of cement. It was Elmo. They’d wrapped his cage in paper.
Mr. Morgan unlocked the van doors and popped open the back. Then he opened the other doors. “With this heat, we’d better air out the car,” he said loudly. In a lower voice, he added, “I don’t want that bird getting heatstroke. I don’t want to lose my investment.” I clenched my fists. An investment. That’s all Elmo was to him.
Mr. Morgan walked to the back of the van. He drummed his fingers on the roof as Lyle put Elmo inside.
I had to move quickly.
“Not so close to the window,” Mr. Morgan told Lyle.
I thought I heard a squawk, but the sound was drowned out as a jet passed overhead. This was my chance to make a dash for the backseat.
There was a flannel blanket on the floor. Once I was in the van, I threw the blanket over me.
Perfect. Mr. Morgan and Lyle hadn’t noticed a thing. They were too busy arguing. “Not so close to the air conditioning vents,” Mr. Morgan said.
“I know what I’m doin’.”
“If you knew what you were doing, you wouldn’t have left the bird alone.”
“Want me to drive?”
Mr. Morgan threw Lyle the keys.
I made my next move when the two of them got into the van. I hopped over the backseat into the back of the van. The flannel blanket came with me.
A few seconds later, we were heading to the airport. When Lyle turned on the radio, Mr. Morgan shut it off.
“You got something against techno?” Lyle ask
ed.
I was glad they were arguing again. The more they argued, the less chance they’d notice they had an extra passenger along for the ride.
I had to find some way to get Elmo and me out of the van. Maybe Lyle would stop for gas.
I wanted to put my hand on Elmo’s cage to let him know I was there. Of course, I couldn’t. Instead I thought about Elmo—and what a great escape artist he was. What would he do if he were me?
Elmo loved unlatching things. If he were me, he’d figure out how to unlatch the back door of the van.
We were still on the side streets leading to the highway. If I wanted to escape with Elmo, I had to do it soon.
I wriggled over to the back door. Lyle and Mr. Morgan had begun arguing about money. “If you cut a new deal,” Lyle said, “Steve and I should get more too.”
I reached for the inside handle and unlocked the back door of the van. Then I wedged a corner of the blanket under the door.
Now all I had to do was wait for the right moment.
“We had an agreement,” Mr. Morgan told Lyle.
There was just enough blanket to cover me. I positioned one leg so when the timing was right, I could kick open the back door.
We were nearly at the ramp for the highway. I reached for Elmo’s cage, keeping my arms under the blanket.
When Elmo squawked, I froze. I didn’t want to imagine what Mr. Morgan and Lyle would do if they found me in the van.
I felt Mr. Morgan turn his head. “What’s going on back there?”
“We haven’t finished discussing money,” Lyle said, hitting the brakes. The van screeched to a stop.
“Are you trying to get us killed?”
I thought this had to be the last stoplight before the highway. I bent my knee in toward my chest, and then I stretched out and kicked open the back door. I grabbed Elmo’s cage.
There were cars everywhere. But what I remember noticing most was the blue sky and the sound of a police siren behind us.
chapter fourteen
“Now this is my kind of party,” Mr. Singh said as he whizzed by with a tray of samosas.
Sapna was there too, dressed in a shiny green sari. She’d come all the way from New Delhi to spend Christmas in Montreal.
“I wouldn’t miss this party for anything,” she’d said when Mr. Singh and I met her at the airport. “It’s not every day Four Feet and Feathers celebrates its first anniversary. Did I mention my parents have been married for nearly twenty years, and they’re planning a celebration too?”
We’d stayed in touch by e-mail. I’d even sent Sapna a message from an Internet café on Kangaroo Island. I’d spent a week there in October with my dad and Elmo—on an all-expenses paid trip courtesy of the Australian government.
The people from the Kangaroo Island Conservation Society had wanted to buy Elmo, but my dad said no way. Instead we’d come up with another plan. In the spring, a representative from the Conservation Society was coming to Montreal with a female glossy black cockatoo, and we were going to try and breed her with Elmo.
If that didn’t work, I might have to think about letting Elmo move to Australia permanently. But for now, I wasn’t going to worry about that.
This was a much simpler party than the one we hosted the night Elmo disappeared. Money was still tight, and I was trying to help my dad cut back on expenses.
We’d even begun looking over the accounts together on Saturday afternoons.
All we’d needed to rent for tonight were coat racks and a microphone. The coat racks were at the front of the store, loaded with parkas. Colorful woolen hats and scarves dangled from the pockets.
Even the canaries seemed to know there was a party going on. They were trilling their hearts out for the occasion.
“We wouldn’t have had better music if we’d hired a band,” Amy said.
“I just hope the fish don’t get all worked up,” Trout said, reaching for a samosa.
My dad adjusted the microphone we’d set up under the palm tree. Mom—she’d taken a double dose of antihistamines—had Jake in her arms. Emma, who’d just learned to walk, was on the floor, leaning against Mom’s leg.
Dad cleared his throat. “I’m not much good at making speeches. But I’ve got a couple of things I need to say.”
“First off, I want to thank you all.” He lifted his eyes to the crowd. “You’ve been loyal friends and customers. I even recognize some of you from our first Four Feet and Feathers location. To be honest, I wasn’t sure we’d make it when we moved to Lasalle. But here we are a year later.” People clapped, but Dad kept talking.
“I need to thank the folks at Realco—at least most of them.” Here, there was some nervous laughter, probably from people who’d heard about Mr. Morgan’s arrest. Lyle and Steve had been arrested too, along with one of the construction workers who’d been paid off not to say anything about Elmo.
“Of course, I need to thank my wife for her love and support and for looking after our kids.” People strained to look at the twins and me.
“But the person I need to thank most is my son, Tim.” My face felt hot, but I tried to smile. I felt embarrassed and proud at the same time. “Parents are supposed to teach kids stuff, but I’ve learned a whole lot from Tim.”
“I guess you know Tim’s a hero. Together with a couple of friends—why don’t the three of you come up here? Tim, Rodney, Sapna? Tim foiled an international bird smuggling ring.”
People reached out to pat my back as I made my way through the crowd. They chuckled when they saw Rodney. He’d grown a couple of inches, so his cape didn’t trail on the ground the way it had during the summer.
My dad put his arm around my shoulders. “Tim,” he said, talking into the microphone so everyone else would hear, “somewhere along the road, I got lost. I got so worried about money, I forgot why I got into the pet business in the first place. You made me remember that it’s not about ledger books and profits. It’s about letting animals into your heart. The way you did with Elmo.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said when the clapping died down.
Sapna nudged me. “Aren’t you going to make a speech?” she whispered.
“Uh, sure,” I said, feeling my face get hot all over again. I lowered the microphone. “Thanks to all of you for being here tonight and supporting the store. Dad,” I raised my eyes to meet his, “you’re the one who found a way to keep Four Feet and Feathers going when things got rough. You made me see how ledger books and profits matter too. And I want to say that whatever I know about taking care of animals, I learned from you. Now, there’s someone I’d like you all to meet.”
I looked out across the room for Amy. She was leaving the aviary with Elmo on her arm.
“Hey, Elmo,” I said, and for a second, I forgot I was talking to so many people. They must have been following my gaze because they turned to watch as Amy stretched out her arm and raised her wrist into the air.
When Elmo lifted his wings, they made a rustling sound. A moment later, his sleek black body was moving over the crowd until he landed, like a jet, on my forearm.
I turned around so everyone could admire Elmo. “He’s a glossy black cockatoo from Kangaroo Island—one of the last of his kind,” I explained. “But to me, he’s just Elmo.”
Other titles in the Orca Currents series
Camp Wild
Pam Withers
Chat Room
Kristin Butcher
Cracked
Michele Martin Bossley
Daredevil Club
Pam Withers
Dog Walker
Karen Spafford-Fitz
Finding Elmo
Monique Polak
Flower Power
Ann Walsh
Hypnotized
Don Trembath
Laggan Lard Butts
Eric Walters
Mirror Image
K.L. Denman
Pigboy
Vicki Grant
Queen of the Toilet Bowl
Frieda Wis
hinsky
See No Evil
Diane Young
Sewer Rats
Sigmund Brouwer
Spoiled Rotten
Dayle Campbell Gaetz
Sudden Impact
Lesley Choyce
Swiped
Michele Martin Bossley
Wired
Sigmund Brouwer
Visit www.orcabook.com for more information.
When award-winning author Monique Polak was a kid, her best friend was her budgie, Nervous Thompson Williamson. Monique is the popular author of many books for children and young adults, including Home Invasion and No More Pranks in the Orca Soundings series. Monique lives in Montreal, Quebec.
Finding Elmo Page 5