by Lauren Child
‘That’s another story,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m just enjoying the fact that I’ll be able to find my way home if I really need to.’
‘Just like those two kids, what were they called, you know, in that old book?’
‘Hansel and Gretel?’ Ruby suggested.
‘That’s it,’ said Clancy. ‘What happened to them again?’
‘They couldn’t find their way home because their ground glows got eaten,’ said Ruby.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Clancy. ‘They messed up with their breadcrumbs. Didn’t the squirrels munch them?’
‘Yeah, bad things can happen when you come up with a defective insurance plan like that – at least no one’s gonna eat these babies,’ said Ruby.
Clancy still had his mind in the fairy tale. ‘And they got lured into a house made of candy, I remember,’ he said. ‘It belonged to a mean old witch.’
‘She was only mean because those kids started eating her house.’
The sun was getting high by now and the light shining in her eyes seemed to set Ruby off sneezing again.
She fumbled for something to blow her nose with, but all she could find was an old scrumpled tissue still in her pocket from the perfume launch.
‘You don’t look like someone who’s getting over the flu, you actually look kinda worse,’ said Clancy.
‘I know,’ agreed Ruby, ‘I can’t seem to shake it.’
‘So when are they sending you back out to retake your survival test?’ asked Clancy. ‘’Cause you’re gonna be in trouble if it’s soon.’
‘They haven’t told me yet,’ replied Ruby, ‘but I sure as eggs is eggs am gonna be taking these little suckers with me. So long as I don’t get lost it’ll all be OK.’
‘What about the robbery case? You come close to solving it?’ asked Clancy.
‘Not exactly,’ said Ruby. ‘I mean not; that’s to say the trail has gone sorta dead on the whole jewellery theft thing.’
‘You haven’t found anything? No leads at all?’
‘All I’ve achieved so far is to alert Melrose Dorff to a bird that flapped in through a restroom window. Turns out Elliot was right: Dillon Flannagon broke a window, hitting a baseball.’ She shook out the tissue preparing to blow her nose again and as if on cue a blue feather floated from it.
‘Is that one of the bird’s feathers?’ Clancy was pointing at it as it floated off towards the edge of the roof and down into the Crews’ garden.
Ruby looked puzzled and then remembered where it came from: the perfume launch at Melrose Dorff, the feather which had detached itself from some smart lady’s feather boa. Unless it hadn’t. . .
‘Maybe,’ said Ruby slowly. ‘I guess it could be, it would sorta make sense.’
‘What are you doing?’ said a small voice.
Ruby and Clancy turned to see Olive’s face sticking out of the open window.
‘You’re not allowed up here, Dad said.’ Her face was deadpan and annoying. ‘Dad said, “If you walk on the roof, you will break the tiles.” That’s what he said,’ said Olive firmly.
‘Get lost, would you Olive?’ said Clancy.
‘I’m just saying what he said,’ she repeated.
‘Well, quit bugging me about it,’ said Clancy.
‘I will if you give me one of those mints,’ said Olive, pointing to the tube of ground glows which were lying next to Ruby.
‘They’re not mints,’ said Clancy.
‘They are mints, I can see they are,’ said Olive.
‘They’re really not Olive,’ said Clancy, picking them up and stuffing them into his pocket.
‘They look just like mints to me,’ said Olive.
Clancy looked at Ruby.
‘The thing is Olive, they are sort of mints, but not exactly,’ explained Ruby. ‘They’re mints for people with, you know, a need to go to the bathroom but can’t.’
‘You mean for people who can’t poop?’ asked Olive, with five-year-old directness.
‘Yeah Olive, if you want to put it like that, then yes, that is what I mean,’ said Ruby. ‘Therefore, can I offer you a piece of bubblegum instead?’
‘No,’ said Olive. ‘I heard that it can get all tangled up in your guts and strangle you from the inside.’
‘First of all,’ said Clancy, ‘that’s only if you swallow bubblegum – which you shouldn’t – and second of all that’s horse manure.’
‘I’m going to tell Dad that you said horse manure and that you were sitting on the roof eating bubblegum,’ said Olive.
‘First of all, you just said horse manure, so you better tell on yourself; second of all, I’m not eating bubblegum because I don’t actually like bubblegum, it belongs to Ruby; and third of all, get lost Olive.’
The five-year-old disappeared from view. The whole conversation was getting confusing and she had lost track a bit of whom she was now telling on.
‘Boy, am I glad I don’t have sisters,’ said Ruby. ‘She gonna go tell your dad? Because you really don’t need the at ention.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Clancy. ‘He’s away this week and she’ll have Forgotten about it by the time he returns.’
‘I hope you’re right my friend; you know how your dad hates horse manure.’
The two of them sat out there a little while longer before Ruby decided it might be safe to return to the family abode. Elaine Lemon had surely found a replacement babysitter by now.
She climbed through the window, scooped up her shoes and ran barefoot down the stairs; the carpet felt good under her sore foot. She walked out the back way, through the garden and there on the path spotted the little blue feather. She picked it up, wondering to herself if Clancy’s thought might be right – was this the feather of the department store intruder? It was pretty exotic, shimmering lapis blue with small pink markings like little Os running along the length of it. Maybe she would look it up in one of her bird books at home and then she had a better idea.
Chapter 34.
A flight of fancy
MRS ATTENBURG LIVED A FEW STREETS AWAY FROM THE REDFORTS. Her unpainted natural wood clapboard house had a wraparound porch which was covered in bird feeders and potted flowers. The house was set right in the middle of a large plot of land planted with roses, shrubs and low-branched trees. It was hard to tell where the garden ended and the house began, which was the way Mrs Attenburg liked it since she was all about the birds.
Ruby knocked on the screen door, waited, called and then wandered off to see if Mrs Attenburg might be outside. She was.
She was actually standing, binoculars in hand, staring at a small bird with a green back, a yellow front and face and a black patch on its crown like a little dark toupee.
She handed the binoculars to Ruby who immediately identified the bird as a Wilson’s Warbler.
‘It certainly is,’ said Mrs Attenburg. Ruby had spent so much time staring out of the window that she had a pretty good knowledge of all things ornithological.
‘Nice little fellow,’ said Mrs Attenburg, taking back the binoculars. ‘What can I do for you dear?’
‘I wondered if you might be able to identify this?’ said Ruby, producing the feather.
Mrs Attenburg squinted at it.
‘That’s going to require my strong glasses,’ she said. ‘Come on inside.’
Ruby followed her up the wooden steps and into the house.
Without asking, Mrs Attenburg started some water boiling and set about making two cups of tea. Ruby was not fond of tea, but like most children had long ago discovered a method of drinking without tasting – it required a modicum of nose-holding which had to be carried out discreetly. Mrs Attenburg found her glasses and peered long and hard at the feather; she looked puzzled and then a little thrilled.
‘Oh my Ruby, this is exciting; that bird’s been dead for forty years.’
‘Do you mean this exact one or just generally?’ asked Ruby.
‘I mean the species – extinct,’ said Mrs Attenburg.
‘But then ho
w did one of its feathers end up on the marble floor of Melrose Dorff?’ said Ruby.
Mrs Attenburg scratched her head. ‘Well, I don’t have an answer to that. My guess is it came in as a decoration on someone’s hat because I can’t see how it could possibly have flown in under its own steam.’ She sighed. ‘Even if it wasn’t an extinct species these birds aren’t even visitors to America and, as far as I am aware, they haven’t been seen in the wilds of their native Australia for the best part of seventy years. I’ve only ever heard of them being kept in captivity.’
‘So what kind of bird do you think it is?’ asked Ruby.
‘I think it’s one of these. . .’
Mrs Attenburg stood looking at her bookcase – it ran across the whole back wall of the house from the living room through the doorway into the kitchen. All the books had some connection to birds and nature. ‘Now where is it?’ she muttered. Her eyes finally alighted on the one she was after; a book called The Lure of the Bowerbird.
The book was old, but not wildly out of date, though the writing had an old-fashioned tone. It was cloth-bound and illustrated with delicate watercolours.
The bowerbird in general There are twenty species of bowerbird currently on this planet of ours, though until approximately thirty years ago there was a twenty-first bird. This unusually small bowerbird was called the Lapis bowerbird on account of its stunning blue wings and interest in bright blue objects, collecting them to adorn its bower. {See page 234}.
Mrs Attenburg thumbed through the pages until she came to a picture of a tiny bird.
The Lapis Bowerbird Unusually small at about four inches long (most other bowerbirds averaging between nine and sixteen inches ) the Lapis bowerbird has satin blue-black feathers, though when courting reveals vivid blue wings with bright pink circles and blue plumage. Like the Satin bowerbird, it is particularly interested in collecting blue objects.
It lures female bowerbirds to it by creating a bower and decorating it with found blue objects – from flowers, to plastic bottle tops, candy wrappers and blueberries, anything which might attract the eye of a suitable mate.
‘So you’ve never seen one yourself?’ asked Ruby.
Mrs Attenburg shook her head. ‘No, but I would pay good money to. Unfortunately, I have never been so lucky, but my mother told me she once had. She saw it up at the Fengrove place. Flemming Fengrove used to have these big parties in that crazy house he built – it looked like a French chateau. He liked to show off, invite starlets and celebrities and famous folk; he had this sort of menagerie and my mother claimed he actually owned a Lapis bowerbird.’ Mrs Atenburg’s eyes had gone a bit glazed over with the memory.
‘She said that Lapis bowerbird was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.’
‘I’ve heard about that place,’ said Ruby. ‘What happened to the old man?’
‘Mr Fengrove?’ pondered Mrs Attenburg, ‘I heard he died – folks said he went mad as a hatter after the animals were sold, wouldn’t let anyone up there after that, he was grief-stricken you see.’
‘Why were the animals sold?’ asked Ruby.
‘The authorities demanded that he return all the rarest ones to the state zoo where they could be properly looked after so he sold the lot. In any case, no one wanted to work up there after the incident with the bear.’
‘What incident with the. . . never mind,’ said Ruby, interrupting herself. The phrase mad as a hatter had made a link with Mrs Digby’s best hat and the image of it was now circling around in Ruby’s mind. She felt a strong need to take a look at it – maybe she could catch the housekeeper before she left for her poker game. The bear story could wait.
Ruby thanked Mrs Attenburg and hurried back to Cedarwood Drive, half hopping half hobbling.
Chapter 35.
Too big a coincidence
MRS DIGBY WAS LONG GONE – but she must have changed her mind about her outfit because the hat was still sitting on top of the bureau and newly attached to it was the feather brooch she had been fashioning. Ruby took out the bowerbird feather and held it against the brooch feathers; they matched precisely.
Ruby’s head filled with possibilities; one after another they piled in.
She tried to focus on one thought at a time.
QUESTIONS
1. Exactly where did Mrs Digby find these feathers?
2. She mentioned a park that has roses and a violent fountain. There are several of these, so which was it?
3. Maybe Mrs Attenburg was wrong about the bird. Maybe it wasn’t so dead and gone after all – is it actually alive and well?
What was that other thing niggling her?
Ruby fished out the yellow notebook from her dress pocket:
Wednesday morning: Mrs Beesman’s one-eared cat spotted somewhere near Dad’s office wearing quality costume jewellery.
But where near her father’s office had he spotted the cat?
Ruby searched her memory: he hadn’t exactly said, but he had mentioned that he had passed by Mrs Beesman in the morning as he walked into the office. What Ruby knew about the cat lady (from her years of yellow notebook observations) was that Mrs Beesman followed a very strict routine. She left the house early around 7.20 and trundled up to Chatterbird Square to feed the starlings and pigeons; she would trundle on to Harker Square afterwards and usually had a sit-down on the bench on the west side of the park at 8.05 am. Mr Redfort usually arrived at work at ten minutes past eight on Wednesdays and would pass by Mrs Beesman’s bench as he cut through Harker Square.
Mrs Digby found earrings in a hedge.
Perhaps Mrs Beesman also got lucky finding jewellery in a hedge?
So, if the bowerbird feathers were found in a park with a fountain and rose bushes, then this could be Fountain Square, Central City Park or Harker Square.
Fountain Square is never referred to as a park.
Ruby put a cross next to Fountain Square.
Central City Park has rose bushes, hedges and a fountain, but the fountain is nowhere near the roses.
Ruby put a cross next to Central City Park.
Harker Square is often described as a park. It has rose bushes, hedges and a fountain, and the fountain is next to the roses.
Bingo.
X
FOUNTAIN SQUARE
X
CENTRAL CITY PARK
HARKER SQUARE PARK
?
Ruby found herself actually running to the bus stop as if her wounded foot gave her no pain and her flu fever had evaporated. She ran because she wanted to be right, as if any delay might make it not so.
On the one hand, it seemed like an absurd idea, as absurd as suggesting Mrs Beesman was a cat burglar, as absurd as suggesting Mrs Beesman’s cat was a cat burglar, but having spoken to Mrs Attenburg it really didn’t seem such a long shot. Magpies and bowerbirds, thieves and collectors both.
The park in front of the department store wasn’t exactly small, but it wasn’t huge like the city park. It had formal hedges and trees clipped into shapes and a great many flowerbeds and benches. Mrs Digby had claimed she had found the earring in the hedge, but which hedge was uncertain, Mrs Digby had not said. . . but then again maybe she had. Ruby remembered her mentioning that the roses snagged her dress.
Practically tore my dress to shreds.
There were several rose beds that were located in front of a hedge, but only one near enough to the fountain that could cause one to get soaked through to the undergarments. The hedge itself was wide and dense, perhaps a couple of feet deep. A satin black feather was caught on one of the rose stems. Ruby used her penknife to clip a small hole in the hedge, somewhere where no one would notice it. It took a while as there was a lot of hedge to snip through. Then she took off her watch, unfastened the back where the mirror was contained and flipped out the extendible zigzag of metal that it was secured to. She pushed her arm through the hedge as far as it would go and angled the mirror so it might reflect back what was on the other side where she could not see.
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Suddenly a flash of blue. Shiny things, all dazzling blue, reflected back to her.
There was the Lapis bowerbird’s bower, all adorned with its beautiful treasures, all neatly arranged between the hedge and the park’s retaining wall, where no person ever went. A perfect place for a feathered thief to store his valuables.
Chapter 36.
Lost and found
RUBY AND BLACKER WERE STANDING BEHIND THE BIG HEDGE IN HARKER SQUARE, staring at the bowerbird’s creation.
The bower was constructed as a delicate circle of twigs, a perfectly round tunnel adorned with found things, all of them blue.
And right in the middle sat a brooch, as if the bird was aware that this was a great deal more valuable than the candy foil and plastic bottle tops. The tiepin was clipped neatly to the entrance like it was a 100,000-dollar doorbell.
There was no sign of the bird.
‘That’s some unusual cat burglar.’
‘It explains the thefts,’ said Ruby, ‘but not where the thief came from.’
‘That is kind of a mystery,’ agreed Blacker. He radioed LB from his watch. She in turn called Sheriff Bridges who notified the department store. The director of Melrose Dorff, relieved that the jewel thief was just an opportunistic bird and that the only lapse in security had been a small hole in a bathroom window, made the story public. She figured they would get a nice frontpage piece in the Twinford Mirror which would no doubt bring people flocking to the store. Since all the jewels could be and would be recovered, it would not jeopardise Twinford’s chances of holding the Gem Festival next year.
They could probably get an advertising campaign out of it: Visit Melrose Dorff, our jewellery literally flies out of the store.
Mrs Digby was at first a little disappointed to learn that her newly acquired earring, which went so well with her polka-dot poker dress, was in fact stolen goods. That said, once she realised that this meant she had recovered something highly valuable, she perked right up, enjoying all the attention and the trip to the police station. By way of a thank you, Sheriff Bridges had someone take her mugshot so she could keep it for a souvenir. However, two hours later, and not a single cop had mentioned the word ‘reward’, and Mrs Digby was beginning to feel unappreciated.