by Duncan Ball
‘Funny money?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean, Mayor Trifle. You’ve been caught passing party paper. You know — crazy cash, laughing lucre.’
‘Crazy cash?’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Phoney money, Mrs Trifle. You made a big mistake when you spent a fake twenty-dollar note at the supermarket this morning.’
‘Fake twenty?’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Fake twenty?’ Dr Trifle said, taking a twenty-dollar note out of his wallet and looking at it.
‘Aha! There’s another one!’ cried the captain, grabbing it out of Dr Trifle’s hand. ‘So you’re in this together.’
‘Gulp,’ thought Selby. ‘It’s from my stash! It’s all fake money! What have I done?’
‘Surely you don’t think that we are making phoney money,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Why, we’re completely honest! We’ve never done anything wrong in our lives. Well, except my wife keeping that library book a bit longer than she should have.’
‘Don’t try that innocence nonsense with me, Dr Trifle. I know you people who forge money. I know how you live. I know how you think. You’re the sneakiest criminals in the world. You pretend to be nice people. You’re good to your neighbours. You’re polite. You give money to charities. You’re the sort of people who everyone thinks are honest. When you give one of your fake banknotes to someone in a shop, they don’t hold it up to the light or look at it carefully, because they trust you.’
‘B-B-But we’re not forgers,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘They’re certainly not!’ Selby thought.
‘Which is what you people always say,’ said the captain. ‘You deny everything. That’s why I know you’re guilty.’
‘You know we’re guilty because we say we’re innocent?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Exactly!’
‘Then we’re crooks,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘We’re forgers. We’re guilty. What do you say to that?’
‘Aha! So you admit it! I knew you’d crack. This is the quickest confession I’ve ever got.’
‘No, no, he was kidding!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘We have nothing to hide. Go ahead, search the house.’
‘Yeah,’ Selby thought. ‘Go ahead and search the house. Wait — what am I saying? No! Don’t search the house!’
‘Is this a trick?’ the captain said. ‘Forgers never hide the money in their own houses. They bury it in biscuit tins so that if anyone finds it they don’t know whose it is. But go ahead, boys, you heard the mayor — search the house. Maybe you’ll find the printing plates they use to print the money.’
‘Oh, woe woe,’ Selby thought. ‘Why didn’t I just leave that money where I found it?’
‘I’ve been watching this town for ten years, since you started spending your funny money,’ said the captain. ‘You stopped last December, but you didn’t fool me. I knew that sooner or later the Laughing Lady would show up again.’
‘The Laughing Lady?’ asked Mrs Trifle.
‘Here’s a proper twenty-dollar note and here’s one of yours,’ the captain said. ‘Yours is almost a perfect copy. But when you made your printing plates, you made one tiny mistake. Look at the lady in the picture — you made her mouth curve up a tiny bit. It looks like she’s laughing.’
‘How interesting,’ Dr Trifle said, studying the banknotes.
One of the police officers came out of the house.
‘We found it,’ he said. ‘A whole stack of Laughing Ladies hidden under some things in the workroom. It was the first place we looked.’
‘Okay, Dr and Mrs Trifle,’ the captain said. ‘Now tell us where you’ve hidden the printing plates. Those won’t be buried in the ground because they’d rust. But we know they’re here somewhere.’
‘What’s going on here?’ cried Melanie Mildew, making her way through the police line, followed by Postie Paterson. ‘What are you doing to the Trifles?’
‘We’re arresting them for making money.’
‘You can’t arrest people for making money,’ Melanie said. ‘They make plenty of money. So what? They’ve been doing it for years.’
‘Just as I thought.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Postie Paterson said. ‘The Trifles are the most honest people in the whole town.’
‘And what brings you two here?’ the captain asked. ‘Are you part of their gang?’
‘Gang?!’ Melanie exclaimed. ‘We’re not part of any gang. Mrs Trifle said she’d give us some dough today.’
‘Some dough? So you were helping them pass off the Laughing Ladies.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Postie. ‘It was bread. Mrs Trifle makes lots of bread.’
‘I’ve heard enough,’ the police captain said. ‘Take the Trifles away, guys. And take these two away for questioning as well.’
‘Oh, woe woe woe,’ Selby said to himself. ‘I was only trying to help and I created a terrible shemozzle. I should have suspected there was something wrong with that money. It was all too easy.’
Selby watched as police officers searched the house from floor to ceiling, even cutting open mattresses and ripping pillows apart, trying to find the plates.
‘They won’t find anything, because there’s nothing to find,’ Selby thought. ‘But the Trifles could go to jail for years and years and years just because they had my stash of cash.’
Selby blinked back a tear.
‘I know,’ Selby thought. ‘I’ll write a letter to the cops and tell them what really happened. But I won’t sign it so they won’t know who I am.’
Selby thought again.
‘That’s silly. They won’t believe it. I guess I’m just going to have to go to the police station and tell them. I’ll be giving away my secret (sniff) and I may have to go to jail (sniff sniff) but at least they’ll have to let the Trifles and Melanie and Postie go.’
‘Hey! Look what I found under the house!’ one of the police officers said, holding up Selby’s dog suit disguise. ‘These people are weird.’
Selby started out the door just as another police officer ran a metal detector up and down the walls.
‘Now hang on,’ Selby thought. ‘Somewhere in Bogusville there must be the real forger. All I have to do is find him and then call the cops. Hmmm,’ Selby hmmmed. ‘Where do I start? I’ll make a list of the most honest, helpful and friendly people in Bogusville.’
It was a cunning dog that crept into the Trifles’ study and opened the drawer marked ‘Bogusville Council’. In it was a file folder called ‘Awards’.
Selby read through the list of all the people who had been given awards for tidiness, cleanliness and all the other nesses that Bogusville gave awards for.
One name came up time after time — Mavis Deeds.
‘Oh, isn’t that sweet that she got all those awards,’ Selby thought. ‘She was so nice. I used to see her walking along Bogusville Creek. She always stopped to pat me. It couldn’t be her. Hang on! What am I saying? Maybe it was her. I used to see her near where I found the biscuit tin. No, she was too nice. But hang on again! She’s got to be my first suspect just because she was so nice. But wait — she can’t be the one because she died last December.’
Selby looked down his list of names again.
‘She died last December!’ he said out loud (and almost too out loud). ‘That’s when the money stopped. It was her! It absolutely had to be her! I wonder if that old house of hers has been sold yet?’
‘Hey! Who nicked my metal detector?’ a police officer cried. ‘Come on, guys, a joke’s a joke! Give it back.’
It was a window-lifting dog that climbed into Mavis Deeds’ empty house and scanned its walls with a borrowed metal detector. And it was a very happy dog that heard the beep beep beep on his headphones.
Selby grabbed a (borrowed) hammer and with a crash thump bang made a hole in the wall.
‘The plates!’ he yelled. ‘I’ve found them!’
‘Thank heavens someone found those mone
y-printing plates and called the police,’ Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle when they got home. ‘And to think that the forger was that sweet little old lady, Mavis Deeds. She was the very last person I would have suspected.’
‘Do you really think that was her real name?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Why not?’
‘She never married, did she?’
‘No, I don’t believe so.’
‘And she always called herself Miss Deeds.’
‘Miss Deeds?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Oh, I get it. Misdeeds are bad deeds, aren’t they? I guess that was her little joke on us.’
‘So she,’ Selby thought as he curled up for a nap, ‘was the Laughing Lady after all.’
Selby and the Chocolate Factory
‘There’s been a real shemozzle at Hippity Hop,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘A shemozzle?’ asked Mrs Trifle.
‘Yes — the bunnies are coming out funny.’
‘Hippity Hop? Funny bunnies? I don’t understand.’
‘I’m afraid it’s trouble with my EBM.’
‘You must be talking about one of your inventions,’ said Mrs Trifle. ‘Would that be your Extra Bouncy Mattress? Or maybe it’s your Electronic Burp Maker.’
‘No, it’s the Easter Bunny Machine I invented for Trudy Truffle to use in her Hippity Hop Chocolate Shop. She already had a machine that made little Easter bunnies. I changed it so it could make very big Easter bunnies. Only it’s gone out of control. I have to get over there and fix it.’
‘Remember that Willy and Billy are coming for lunch,’ said Mrs Trifle. ‘On the way back could you pick up something for dessert?’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, anything. Maybe some apple pie.’
‘Okay. I might take Selby with me. He’s been stuck in the house all day.’
Selby’s ears shot up.
‘Oh, yummy!’ he squealed in his brain. ‘I love chocolate. It’s my absolutely fave thing after peanut prawns. Maybe Trudy will give me a bunny.’
‘Don’t take Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He might eat some chocolate.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s very bad for dogs — and cats. If they eat enough it can kill them.’
‘But we used to give him chocolate cake, remember? It didn’t hurt him then.’
‘I didn’t know about chocolate and dogs then.’
‘But I’ve eaten tonnes of chocolate,’ Selby thought as he crept outside. He quietly opened the car door and hid in the back. ‘I’m going. I’m sure a little bit of chockie won’t hurt me — I’m not like other dogs. And then I’ll stay away from the house till the terrible twins have gone.’
Trudy Truffle, the owner and Chief Chocolate Chef of the Hippity Hop Chocolate Shop, was waiting at the door when Dr Trifle drove up.
‘Thank goodness you’re here!’ she said. ‘This is a disaster! It’s a catastrophe! The bunnies aren’t bunnies, they’re monsters!’
Dr Trifle followed Trudy into the back of the shop, where he saw a terrible sight — huge dripping bunny monsters were coming along the production line.
Selby snuck out of the car and came through the back door.
‘Sheeeesh!’ Selby gasped. ‘Those faces! Those mouths wide open and dripping chocolate! They’re bunny zombies! bunnies from beyond the grave! No wonder Trudy’s upset.’
‘What am I going to do?’ Trudy asked. ‘No one will buy these.’
‘Maybe you could save them till Halloween.’
‘They’re even too horrible for Halloween! Besides, Easter is only a week away and people want their chocolate bunnies now. Oh, Dr Trifle, I wish I hadn’t let you change the machine.’
‘Hmmm,’ Dr Trifle hmmmed. ‘Are you recycling the bad bunnies?’
‘Yes. They all get chopped up and melted down again, like this.’
Trudy Truffle picked up a monster bunny and threw it into the Bunny Chopper and Melter.
‘Good, then nothing’s wasted,’ Dr Trifle said as they climbed up to the chocolate vat.
They watched as two mechanical arms shot out in front of them, clamping a metal mould into the chocolate and then placing a big bunny on the conveyor belt.
Dr Trifle dipped a finger into the chocolate and licked it. ‘This chocolate is delicious.’
‘It’s my new secret recipe. Everyone loves it.’
‘New recipe? Does it have more oil in it?’
‘Why, yes, it does.’
‘Aha! That’s the problem!’ Dr Trifle exclaimed. ‘You’ve made the chocolate softer. The bunnies are too runny.’
‘Then I guess I’ll have to go back to the old recipe.’
‘No, don’t do that. I’ll just make the cooling tube cooler. That should fix things.’
As Trudy Truffle and Dr Trifle climbed down the ladder at the front of the vat, Selby crept up the one at the back.
‘Dr Trifle is brilliant!’ he thought. ‘Two minutes and he’s solved the problem.’
Selby ducked as the grabber arms swung around and splashed down into the chocolate, lifting out another fully formed bunny.
‘What a heavenly smell!’ he thought as he leant over the rim of the vat towards the melted chocolate. ‘Oh, I just have to have a little tastywasty.’
Selby leant way over, had a lick of chocolate and then pulled back just in time to miss the grabber arms.
‘Sheesh, that was close!’ he thought. ‘But that chocolate is sooooo yummy!’
Selby turned to go and then stopped.
‘Maybe one more little lick.’
Once again Selby leant way over and licked. Over the rim of the vat he could see Dr Trifle turning a knob on the side of the machine.
‘I’d better get out of here before they see me,’ Selby thought.
He leaned over for one last lick, but this time he could feel his paws losing their grip and sliding towards the chocolate.
‘Uh-oh!’ he thought as he struggled to stand up. ‘I’m going in!’
In a second, Selby had fallen deep into the chocolate.
‘I can’t swim!’ he screamed in his brain. ‘I’ll be the first dog ever to drown in chocolate!’
Selby bobbed to the surface, gasping for breath and swallowing gobs of chocolate. He looked up and saw the huge grabber arms coming towards him. ‘They’re going to get me!’ he thought. Suddenly the grabber clamped around him and dropped him onto the conveyor belt.
‘Oh no!’ Selby squealed in his brain. ‘Help! Let me out of here!’
Selby reached up to pull the chocolate away from his face, but as he did, the extra-cold air in the cooling tube hit him, hardening the chocolate.
‘I can’t move,’ he thought. ‘And I can’t breathe!’
Selby tried to open his mouth to lick away the chocolate, but his jaw wouldn’t budge.
‘This is the end,’ he thought. ‘I’m a chunk of chockie! I’m a slab of sweet! I’ve been bunnied! I’m a done dog!’
Selby’s life flashed in front of him. He remembered when he was watching TV years ago and he suddenly understood everything the people on TV were saying. He remembered teaching himself how to talk people-talk, and he remembered the day he decided to keep it a secret.
‘The Trifles were (sniff) wonderful to me,’ he whimpered. ‘They’re the kindest most loving people in the (sniff) world. Now I’ve gone and got myself chocolate-coated — and I’m going to (sniff) die.’
Selby could feel the hot tears in his eyes as he thought of the great times he’d had with the Trifles. He blinked, and then he blinked some more. From the darkness inside the chocolate, Selby saw a light that grew brighter and brighter.
‘It’s over,’ he thought. ‘I’m on my way to heaven.’
Selby blinked and blinked again.
‘Now hang on,’ he thought. ‘My tears are dissolving the chocolate! Hey! I can see!’
Selby wiggled his face loose from the inside of the chocolate.
‘And now I can breathe! The air is coming through the eye holes!
And I can hear! Well, just a tiny bit.’
‘The bunnies are okay now,’ Selby heard Trudy say. ‘Ooops!’ she said suddenly, seeing Selby. ‘Another bad one. Strange — this one looks more like a dog than a bunny.’
‘There are bound to be a few duds,’ Dr Trifle said, picking Selby up. ‘I’ll just chuck this one in the chopper-upper.’
Selby barked as loudly as he could, considering he was barking through chocolate and he couldn’t open his mouth.
‘Did you hear something?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘You mean like a dog barking?’
‘Something like that.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
Once again Dr Trifle was about to drop Selby into the spinning blades.
‘No! No!’ Selby screamed out loud in plain English as he saw the whirring blades coming closer. ‘Don’t mince me! I’m not some bodgie bunny! I’m Selby, the only talking dog in Australia and, perhaps, the world! And I don’t want to die!’
Dr Trifle turned to Trudy Truffle.
‘Did you say something?’
‘No, I thought you did. I thought you said something about pie.’
‘Pie? That reminds me — I’ve got to take home some dessert.’
‘How about some chocolate?’ Trudy said. ‘Why don’t you take home a nice big Easter bunny?’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly do that.’
‘Yes, you could,’ Selby thought. ‘You could!’
‘I guess I could take this one, ‘Dr Trifle said.
‘Yes, yes, take me! Take me!’ Selby squealed in his brain.
‘No, don’t take that ugly one. Take a nice one.’
‘No! Take me! Take the ugly one!’
‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly take one that you could sell.’
‘That’s right!’ Selby thought. ‘Take me! Please take me.’
‘It’s okay,’ Trudy said. ‘Drop it in the chopper and it’ll be melted down and you’ll have a nice new one in a couple of minutes.’
‘No, I won’t be melted,’ Selby whimpered. ‘I’ll be all chopped up. I’ll ruin the chocolate!’
‘Something tells me I should take this one,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Besides, it’s only for my nephews. They won’t notice what it looks like.’
