Blink and You Die

by Lauren Child

  ‘mom moved the cushons she got very mad when she saw the banana milk sploge.’

  There was nothing more.

  Ruby was called down to eat her supper and while she was chewing on her slightly over-cooked lamb chop, she asked Mrs Digby if she could remember Mrs Beesman owning a dog.

  ‘A long time ago,’ said Ruby, ‘like maybe when I was about two and three-quarters, going on three?’

  ‘Are you out of your mind, child? That old lady can’t abide hounds, never could; she sees a hound, she crosses the road.’

  ‘She doesn’t cross the road when she sees Bug,’ countered Ruby, ‘she doesn’t seem to dislike him.’

  ‘That’s different,’ said Mrs Digby. ‘No one dislikes Bug. He’s more than a dog.’

  But the note about the barking lodged there in Ruby’s brain; it might seem of little consequence, a barking dog in the cat woman’s yard, but EVEN THE MUNDANE CAN TELL A STORY. It was RULE 16. So what story was this mundane piece of information trying to tell her?

  By the next day, Ruby decided that she really, really needed to know. In fact, she thought she might creep into the old lady’s yard if that’s what it took, and in the end that’s exactly what she did.

  The yard gate had long since been secured with nails and screws to prevent any unwanted visitors, which actually meant anyone, but there was a way in if you knew exactly where to look, and Ruby did, because for many years she had watched cats come and go this way. A couple of the fence slats were secured by just one nail and so could be pushed to one side to create a gap big enough for a medium-sized animal to crawl through, or a particularly small thirteen-year-old girl. Once inside, the problem became about finding whatever it was she was looking for, and to be honest she had no idea what that might be.

  Ruby had stood in Mrs Beesman’s yard only once before. It was back in April when she and Clancy had helped to clear the junk which was piled up so high it was getting to be a health hazard. They had shifted quite a lot of it, but had only worked to clear the area nearest to the house where it was at its most precarious.

  The junk seemed to be growing again and it wouldn’t be long before it would be back to how it had once been. Ruby looked around her. What a dump, she thought, and where exactly do her cats hang out? Poor creatures. Ruby couldn’t see any of the 74 felines Mrs Beesman was rumoured to have. Then as she poked around she noticed a narrow channel between stacked-up crates and she edged her way through, expecting to find another wall of garbage. But what she actually found was another gate, this one unlocked, and when she levered it open she found herself in a garden. Not a formal garden, or even a well-weeded or maintained garden, but it was certainly a garden. A garden with coloured bottles suspended from trees and tin-can sculptures and a broken-crockery mosaic path; a beautiful garden, even in winter. So struck by it was she that Ruby began to walk along the twisting mosaic walkway which snaked around the trees and plants. The land to the back of the house was a lot bigger than she’d ever realised; she had just never seen beyond the junk.

  At the far end, Ruby saw another little work of art in the form of tiny rows of coloured boards all decorated with words and numbers, all sticking out of the ground. She moved closer and read: Fred, Billy, Giggles, Fluff, Bertrude, Rolly, Puddle …

  Cat graves! thought Ruby. Here lie Mrs Beesman’s cats …

  And the names went on. Hubert, Flip, Fester, Kimble, Mnemosyne …

  Ruby stopped. The same name as Mr Pinkerton’s dog. A coincidence?

  But Ruby didn’t believe in coincidences, not when they were as big as this.

  She looked at the name again. This had to be Mr Pinkerton’s dog. There were hardly likely to be two animals called Mnemosyne, not on the same street, probably not even in the same city.

  The date said November 1962. It made sense, this had to be the dog whose barking she had heard, the date fitted. But why had it arrived here, and why had Mr Pinkerton never come back to find it?

  Ruby did not hear the footsteps as they neared, she only became aware of the hunched figure behind her when she felt a hand on her arm.

  ‘I see you got your coat back,’

  Ruby shrieked. ‘Jeepers, Mrs Beesman!’

  ‘I found it in that alley, you ran off pretty quick,’ said Mrs Beesman. ‘Looked like you had taken fright.’

  Ruby had never heard the old lady say so many words all at once. And her voice was not the voice Ruby had imagined, not gruff as Ruby had expected, but softly spoken and perfectly clear.

  ‘It looked warm,’ said Mrs Beesman. ‘Too good to lose.’

  ‘You returned it?’ said Ruby. ‘It was you who left it on the stoop?’

  The old lady didn’t seem to hear. ‘So you’re the child,’ she said.

  ‘Uh, well, yeah,’ said Ruby, ‘I’m the Redfort girl.’ She pointed unnecessarily towards her house across the street, as if the old lady hadn’t observed her day in day out for the past thirteen years. But Mrs Beesman just nodded.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ruby, ‘… for the coat.’ She hesitated. ‘You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here?’

  ‘You’re looking for Homer Pinkerton.’

  Ruby nodded, ‘Well, yes,’ she said, ‘I guess I am.’

  ‘He hid for a long time, years and years he hid and then one day they found him – came and took his dog,’ said the old lady.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the old lady.

  ‘Why did they want his dog?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘They knew he would do anything to get her back,’ said Mrs Beesman, ‘and what they wanted, he had.’

  ‘What was it?’ said Ruby.

  The old lady shrugged. ‘He told me one day someone might come.’

  ‘He did?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘He said he had something that people wanted and when they figured out he still had it, they would find him and make him give it to them.’

  ‘So he did?’

  ‘I don’t know, he never came back,’ said Mrs Beesman.

  ‘But his dog did. Mnemosyne came to you – why?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Mr Pinkerton trained her to find people – a smart dog, that mutt. He called it the ‘go find trick’. If he told her where to go then she would go.’

  Ruby thought of Bug. Bug could do that trick, but only when he was in the mood.

  ‘Were all his dogs as smart as Mnemosyne?’

  ‘He only had one,’ said Mrs Beesman. ‘He lived for her – had her for forty years, you know.’

  ‘What?’ said Ruby. ‘That isn’t possible. A dog’s lifespan is twelve years, fifteen maybe.’

  Mrs Beesman shrugged again. ‘All I know is what I know – that dog lived forty years. He said he kept her healthy but I think it was something to do with those mushrooms he fed her.’

  ‘Mushrooms,’ mouthed Ruby.

  ‘Mushrooms,’ nodded Mrs Beesman.

  ‘What kind of mushrooms?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘He said they came from Mars,’ said the old lady, ‘but I don’t know about that. The dog died two weeks after Homer Pinkerton went missing, call it a broken heart, call it what you will but that dog couldn’t do without him.’

  And then without word or warning, Mrs Beesman picked up a spade and began digging in her yard, pulling up a rose bush with her gnarled old hands.

  Was that it? Conversation over? Ruby was unsure if she should stick around, so she turned, walked towards the gate and headed back towards the fence.

  She was halfway through the gap, one leg out on the sidewalk, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up to see Mrs Beesman, her hands muddy. In her grip was a dog’s chew toy, a bone made of blue rubber all covered in earth. She pushed it into Ruby’s hand and looked at her with an expression that Ruby had never seen before and would never see again.

  ‘He said you might come,’ she said. Then she tottered away and seemed to disappear into the pile of junk.

  Ruby walked slowly back towards her house, clutching the bone
in her hand.

  She went up to the kitchen, poured herself a banana milk, sat down at the table and wrote down everything Mrs Beesman had said. She looked up when she heard Mrs Digby open the door.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ asked the housekeeper, her eyes trained on the muddy chew toy.

  ‘You won’t believe me,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Well, that’s more than likely,’ said Mrs Digby, ‘but I’m willing to take a chance.’

  ‘Mrs Beesman gave it to me,’ said Ruby.

  Mrs Digby picked up the dog bone. ‘That poor old soul, she really has lost the plot.’

  But Ruby was beginning to wonder if Mrs Beesman was the only one to have any sense of what the plot might actually be.

  BACK IN HER ROOM, Ruby sat at her desk and stared at the bone.

  What did it mean? Was it a clue? And if it was then what exactly was it trying to tell her?

  The telephone began to ring and Ruby reached for the lobster.

  ‘Hey,’ she said.

  ‘Rube, where are you?’

  It was Del.

  ‘What do you mean, where am I? You just called me – I’m at home, bozo.’

  ‘You’re the bozo, bozo.’

  ‘How do you figure that?’

  ‘Cos you’re meant to be at Red’s place checking out space costumes for the Eye Ball, remember?’

  This had completely slipped her mind.

  ‘Oh,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Yeah, you got that right,’ said Del.

  ‘I completely forgot,’ said Ruby.

  ‘I figured,’ said Del. ‘You did this last time, Halloween remember?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Everyone’s here waiting for you.’

  ‘Sorry again,’ said Ruby.

  ‘So are you coming over?’ asked Del.

  ‘Sure,’ said Ruby, ‘give me five minutes and I’ll be there.’

  ‘Redfort, there’s no way you’re going to be here in five minutes,’ said Del.

  ‘OK, so maybe six,’ said Ruby. She put down the phone, picked up the blue dog bone and stuffed it in her laundry basket. It was as good a place as any to hide it. Then she pulled on her boots, grabbed her coat and ran out of the door.

  Once on her bike, she rode as fast as she could down Cedarwood onto Amster and when she met Dry River Road she hit the hyperspeed-boost button and the bike suddenly accelerated and Ruby tore down the road.

  She arrived at Red’s house exactly as she had predicted, six minutes later.

  Red’s mom Sadie had brought home a selection of space-themed costumes, pretty good ones too, so it took a while for everyone to pick and choose, but once they had, Sadie pinned them on and made alterations where alterations were required. They were just waiting for the pizza delivery guy to arrive when Clancy yelped, checked his watch and began to flap his arms. ‘Six seventeen! I gotta split,’ he said. ‘I promised my mom I’d be back to watch Olive.’

  He was pulling on his coat and already halfway out the door. ‘I’m going to be late,’ he said, sounding more than a little panicky.

  ‘I’d drive you there, Clancy,’ said Sadie, ‘but the car’s got a flat. Let me order you a cab at least.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Ruby, ‘I’ll take him. Jump on the back of my bike, Clance, you’ll be home in four minutes, I swear.’

  When they reached Ambassador Row, some three minutes thirty-nine seconds later, Clancy was clearly impressed.

  ‘Boy, that’s some bike,’ he said. He looked both impressed and relieved. His mother was very committed to punctuality.

  ‘Yeah, I mean I could almost forgive it for being red,’ said Ruby, ‘but I’m going to respray it as soon as I have a minute.’

  Ruby was about to head off when Clancy remembered something.

  ‘Oh, I forgot, I found your scarf, the striped one,’ he said. ‘Come in for a minute, I’ll fetch it.’

  They stepped into the house and immediately a voice called down from the first floor.

  ‘Clancy? Is that you?’

  ‘Just a minute, Mom!’ he called.

  ‘Now!’ called his mother.

  Clancy gave Ruby an exasperated look.

  ‘Don’t worry, Clance, I’ll fetch it,’ said Ruby.

  ‘It’s down the hall corridor,’ he said. ‘Just coming!’ he yelled, as he made for the stairs. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Rube, OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Ruby.

  She found the scarf draped over a chair at the far end of the corridor, and was just turning to leave when she was confronted by Olive, who was coming the other way. She was pushing Buttercup in a tiny stroller and talking to her as she went.

  ‘Now, Buttercup, I don’t want to hear another peep out of you or you will have to go right to bed without any tomatoes.’

  Olive was dressed in her mother’s (no doubt very expensive) pink blouse which trailed down past her knees. On her feet were a pair of Lulu’s high-heeled shoes and she made for a strange sight as she shuffled along. What made her look even odder was that she had pinned one of her mother’s hairpieces to her own curly head and it was secured in place with approximately thirty assorted barrettes. Some of them looked to be Minny’s since they were printed with words like ‘puke’ or decorated with skulls and other gothic images. Others, Ruby suspected, were Lulu’s, since they twinkled quite a lot and Lulu was a fan of things which twinkled.

  ‘Nice look,’ said Ruby as she approached Olive. ‘They your sister’s barrettes?’

  ‘They’re not barrettes,’ said Olive, ‘they are wig j-e-w-e-l-s.’

  ‘Right,’ said Ruby, trying to step past the little girl.

  ‘This one’s an emerald and this one’s a diamond probably,’ said Olive, pointing first at a snot-green hairclip, and then at one covered in gold sequins.

  ‘Well,’ said Ruby, ‘don’t look now but you have a fly in your hair.’

  ‘That’s not a fly,’ said Olive, ‘it’s a spider.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Ruby, moving in to take a closer look, ‘that’s my barrette.’

  It was too.

  ‘Olive, I’m gonna need that barrette back.’

  ‘It’s not a barrette, it’s a wig jewel,’ said Olive.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Ruby.

  ‘You’ll have to pay me,’ said Olive.

  ‘Why should I pay you for something that’s already mine?’

  ‘Finders keepers,’ explained Olive.

  ‘Olive, do you have many friends?’ It wasn’t really a question.

  ‘Buttercup’s my friend,’ said Olive.

  Ruby sighed. ‘How much d’ya want for it?’

  ‘Five hundred dollars,’ said Olive.

  ‘I’m not giving you five hundred dollars,’ said Ruby.

  Olive frowned. ‘Twenty-five …’

  Ruby gave the kid a hard stare.

  ‘Cents?’ suggested Olive.

  Ruby reached into her pocket and pulled out a quarter. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Olive Crew.’

  Olive smiled and as she tugged the barrette from the hairpiece, so she took a chunk of the fake hair with it. Olive would have trouble coming her way when Mrs Crew made it downstairs.

  Ruby slipped the fly-barrette into her hair and walked off down the corridor and out of the front door.

  Ruby was attempting to cycle while also winding her scarf around her neck. It wasn’t easy because the breeze kept catching it and whipping it away and the bag with the space costume in kept banging against her side. Eventually, she saw sense and came to a halt on Everglade, leaned the bike against the wall and attempted to untangle it. Suddenly she felt a hand grab her and pull her away from the streetlight’s glow and into black.

  She would have certainly yelped had it not been for the palm pressed over her mouth.

  ‘Don’t scream,’ hissed a voice, ‘I am not in the mood for screaming.’

  The hand let go.

  ‘Don’t look so alarmed, Ms Redfort, I am not the Grim Reaper, not today at leas
t.’

  ‘S-so …’ stammered Ruby, stepping back a pace, ‘what do you want?’

  ‘I want the key-tag,’ said the Count.

  ‘The key-tag?’ said Ruby. ‘But you already have it. You took it when we were on the roof of the Hotel Circus Grande, you must remember?’ Her heart was pounding.

  ‘I gave it away,’ he said bitterly. ‘A mistake, as it turns out.’

  ‘Who did you give it to?’

  He didn’t quite answer, instead he said, ‘Someone who started off as a little fly in the ointment but over the years seems to have grown into a spider. I had this apprentice once you see, but he has got quite above himself, and now I find I am rather at his mercy.’

  ‘It must be very embarrassing for you,’ said Ruby.

  ‘It is irksome,’ said the Count, with a wave of his arm. ‘Little Casey Morgan sought me out when just a tiny rat of a boy, begging me to teach him the dark art of disguise, real disguise you understand, transformation of face and voice so convincing that if you mastered it your own mother wouldn’t know you.’

  ‘Homer Pinkerton taught you …’ said Ruby.

  ‘Oh, so you know about dear Homer. Such a friend until he became an enemy.’

  ‘An enemy you killed?’

  ‘No, no, why would I do that when he held such a secret? No, Casey Morgan killed him – the fool.’

  ‘Doesn’t that make you the fool?’ said Ruby. ‘You trusted him.’

  ‘I’ll admit it was poor judgement on my part,’ he said. ‘I trusted him to find me the one thing I had been seeking for so many years.’

  ‘A soul?’ suggested Ruby.

  The Count clapped his hands. ‘Very witty Ms Redfort … no, I’m not interested in souls; they are ten a penny. No, it’s long life and wisdom I am after.’

  ‘The Mars Mushrooms?’

  ‘Hypocrea asteroidi, exactly so,’ said the Count. ‘I set little Casey Morgan the task of finding where they grew and thirty-three years later he did indeed find what I so desired. Encased in an iceberg north of Alaska.’

  ‘In the eyes of the Jade Buddha of Khotan …’ said Ruby.