Atticus Claw Breaks the Law

by Jennifer Gray

  The children nodded.

  ‘Will Mum be in danger?’ Michael asked in a worried voice. ‘She’s in charge of the tiara.’

  ‘No, I don’t think the magpies will hurt anyone,’ Mrs Tucker reassured him. ‘They just want the loot.’

  Atticus hoped she was right. Jimmy Magpie had promised no one would get hurt but would he stick to his word? If things got nasty, there was no telling what the horrible bird might do. Atticus was glad he was going to be there – no bird-brained magpie would hurt Mrs Cheddar or the kids with him there to protect them.

  Atticus purred reassuringly to let Michael and Callie know he had it covered.

  ‘How are you going to get close enough to the tiara?’ Callie asked. ‘Loads of people will be there. Mum said they were expecting huge crowds, especially when Rupert Rich tells the Get Rich Quick! viewers how much he thinks the tiara’s worth.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that,’ Mrs Tucker said. ‘I’m going to pretend I’ve got something even more valuable than the Tofflys’ tiara to show Rupert Rich. When he starts doing his “Attack the attic, make a packet!” routine, that’s when I’ll show up with my ruby necklace.’

  ‘You’ve got a ruby necklace?’ Mr Tucker bellowed. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

  ‘It’s not real, you silly old fishfinger!’ Mrs Tucker said, exasperated. ‘Otherwise I’d be living at Toffly Hall myself! I’ve got a fake one that belonged to my grandmother. It’s made of glass but it’ll fool everyone long enough for us to snatch the magpies.’

  ‘But what if Dad sees you?’ Michael said. ‘He might not let you near Rupert Rich. He’ll guess it’s not real.’

  ‘That’s the best part!’ Mrs Tucker chortled. ‘I’m not going as Mrs Edna Tucker – feisty fishwife from Littleton-on-Sea; I’m going as Countess Salmonella Von Troutperch – loaded lady with lots of lolly from Los Angeles. I’ll pretend I’ve come over specially for the show with my perfect Persian cat.’ She shot a look at Atticus.

  Persian cat?! Atticus thought. Where was she going to get one of those at such short notice?

  ‘Brilliant!’ bellowed Mr Tucker, banging his leg on the table. ‘You’ll look smashing in rubies.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not wearing them,’ Mrs Tucker said.

  Mr Tucker, Callie and Michael stared at her, puzzled.

  ‘Who is, then?’

  Mrs Tucker grinned. ‘Atticus.’ She folded her arms. ‘We’re going to dye him white.’

  Michael and Mr Tucker dragged a reluctant Atticus into the bathroom while Mrs Tucker went with Callie to get changed.

  The bathroom was full of bottles of different shapes and sizes.

  Atticus eyed them warily.

  ‘What are all these for?’ Michael asked, staring at the forest of multi-coloured glass.

  ‘I’ll tell yooze.’ Mr Tucker tapped a few with the stick of his pipe. The glass made a tune. Next he started banging his wooden leg on the tile floor. Soon he had a rhythm going. He cleared his throat noisily. Suddenly, to Atticus’s astonishment, he broke into a sea shanty.

  ‘Once upon a time when men were fish,’ he sang,

  ‘They all ate each other and then went squish,

  One of them invented eyeball oil, Just put it in a pan and let it boil …’

  Michael giggled.

  Atticus put his paws over his ears. He’d heard donkeys with tonsillitis sing better than that.

  ‘HERE COMES THE CHORUS!’ Mr Tucker yelled. ‘JOIN IN IF YOU LIKE!’

  ‘This one makes you hairy,’ he bellowed, tapping away at the glass, ‘this one makes you smaaarrrt,’ he banged his leg on the floor, ‘this one cures verrucas,

  And this one makes you faarrrt.’

  ‘You’d better not get them mixed up,’ Atticus growled.

  ‘This one makes you smelly,’ Mr Tucker yodelled, ‘This one makes you moo, This one helps your hearing, And this one makes you poo!’

  Michael was laughing his head off.

  Atticus couldn’t understand why. There was nothing funny about it. Mr Tucker was bonkers. He was one scale short of a fish skin. He was mad, barmy, doolally and dangerous. There was no knowing what was in those bottles. Michael wouldn’t be laughing if one of them were about to get tipped all over him! This was serious. Atticus might turn into a cow or start farting or both. And he definitely didn’t have verrucas. Atticus felt so worried he thought he might faint.

  ‘Aaarrrr, here’s what we’s lookin’ fooorrrrr!’ Mr Tucker stopped singing suddenly and picked up a heavy green bottle with a blue label and a thick rubber stopper.

  Atticus stared at the label in disbelief.

  Traditional White Beard Dye

  Puts years on you in an instant.

  Strongly recommended by sailors.

  (Can Also Be Used on Jumpers)

  No … no … no … no … NO!!!! Before Atticus could jump away, Mr Tucker had bundled him into the bath, whisked off his red handkerchief and lathered him all over with Thumpers’ Traditional White.

  ‘It says on the label you have to leave it on for an hour to set,’ Michael said anxiously.

  An hour! Stuck in the bath with this gunk all over him? Atticus didn’t think so. He got ready to spring.

  ‘We don’t have an hour,’ Mr Tucker grunted. ‘We’ll just have to hope it laaarsts long enough to catch them magpies. Rinse him off would you, Michael?’

  Rinse him off??!! Didn’t they know cats hated water? Atticus panicked. He tried to scramble out of the bath but his feet kept slipping on the soapy white bubbles.

  ‘Sorry, Atticus!’ Michael started the shower. ‘I know you don’t like it, but you’ve got to let me do this.’

  ‘I’ve got him!’ Mr Tucker’s big hands closed round Atticus’s body.

  Atticus wriggled helplessly. He heard a hiss then a gurgle. Suddenly he was hit by a deluge of water. Were they trying to kill him?! He was drowning! He couldn’t breathe! His fur was being matted and mangled! Even his chewed ear was soggy!

  ‘Careful it doesn’t go in his eyes,’ Mr Tucker remarked. ‘That stuff will sting like a jellyfish!’

  ‘I’m being as careful as I can,’ Michael complained. ‘Stop wriggling, Atticus, it’s just water!’

  Just water?! How could humans say that? It was torture. It was cat cruelty. It would give him nightmares for years. Atticus screwed his eyes shut and let out a pitiful yowl.

  ‘There,’ Michael said eventually. ‘You’re done.’

  Atticus stopped yowling. He opened his eyes cautiously. He was still alive – just – but freezing cold. He began to shiver.

  ‘Now, let’s get you blow-dried.’ Mr Tucker scooped Atticus up in a towel and took him through to the bedroom. ‘Then we’ll show the ladies.’

  Being blow-dried was much better than being dyed. Atticus closed his eyes as the warm stream of air fluffed out his fur. It was like being tickled. The only off-putting thing was the noise. Someone should invent a hairdryer that didn’t scream.

  ‘Wow,’ Michael whispered solemnly when he’d finished. ‘You look completely different, Atticus.’

  Atticus swallowed. Completely different. It didn’t sound like Michael meant it in a good way.

  ‘Have a look in the mirror,’ Mr Tucker encouraged.

  Atticus padded over to the dressing table and hopped up on to the stool. He stared. A strange-looking cat with white fluffy fur and a chewed ear stared back at him.

  Atticus blinked.

  The cat in the mirror blinked back.

  Atticus put out a paw.

  So did the cat in the mirror.

  It really is me, he thought. That’s weird.

  ‘Don’t worry, Atticus,’ Mr Tucker said. ‘It won’t laaarrrst very long.’ He made a slurping noise with his false teeth. ‘And mind yooze don’t lick it off.’

  Yuk! Don’t worry, he wouldn’t. Atticus was glad the dye would wear off quickly though. He didn’t mind being a Persian cat for a few hours but he didn’t want to stay like that for the rest of his life. White made
him look a bit of a sissy.

  ‘Atticus!’ Callie ran into the bedroom. ‘Is that really you? You look even more handsome than usual!’

  Atticus purred modestly. Perhaps white suited him after all.

  ‘Huh-hum!’ A cough came from the doorway.

  ‘Oh, sorry!’ Callie made a little bow. ‘May I present Countess Salmonella Von Troutperch?’

  Mrs Tucker waltzed into the room in a long puffy purple dress. She had a black shawl around her shoulders and a blonde curly wig on her head. ‘Darlings!’ she said in a posh American accent. ‘How perfectly peachy to perceive you!’

  ‘Edna, you look like a million dollars,’ Mr Tucker gasped. ‘I’d never have recognised yooze.’

  Mrs Tucker grinned at Atticus. ‘And you look like you’ve seen a ghost! I wouldn’t have known you apart from the chewed ear,’ she chortled. ‘Let’s hope the magpies don’t notice it. Here, get these on.’ She fastened the fake ruby choker around Atticus’s neck and swept him up in her arms.

  Mr Tucker whistled. ‘Make that two million dollars! You sure it’s glass?’

  ‘Supremely certain, darling,’ Mrs Tucker said in her posh voice.

  The children clapped their hands in delight. No one would ever know it was Mrs Tucker. Or Atticus – as long as the dye didn’t rub off!

  Mrs Tucker and Atticus admired their reflections in the mirror for a few seconds. Then Mrs Tucker raced to the stairs and took them two at a time. ‘Come on, everyone,’ she cried. ‘What are we waiting for? LET’S CATCH SOME CROOKS!’

  Up at Toffly Hall the antiques fair was in full swing. Most of the stalls were inside the great marquee. Queues of people were waiting patiently to see if they would make a packet. So far, though, nothing very exciting had happened.

  Lord and Lady Toffly were talking to the Chief Inspector of Bigsworth by the marquee entrance.

  ‘So I told Mrs Cheddar to get the men to put it on the south-south-south west-west-west lawn in the end,’ Lady Toffly explained. ‘That way it doesn’t spoil the view from the library or ruin the begonias.’

  ‘Bravo, Antonia,’ said Lord Toffly. ‘Thank goodness someone’s got some sense around here. That Cheddar woman’s so dippy – like the cheese you get in Switzerland.’

  ‘And it’s right next to the rose garden, which is where Rupert Rich wants to value my tiara,’ Lady Toffly remarked.

  ‘It’s worth trillions, you know,’ Lord Toffly boasted. ‘Zillions, probably.’

  ‘Rupert says he needs natural light,’ Lady Toffly explained, ‘so that he can tell us exactly how many carrots it is.’

  ‘Carats.’ The Chief Inspector of Bigsworth stifled a yawn. ‘Not carrots. They’re the things rabbits eat.’

  ‘Rabbits?’ Lord Toffly sounded puzzled. ‘Eating diamonds? What an extraordinary thing. The police should do something about it, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Talking of the police, how’s that Gorgonzola fellow?’ Lady Toffly asked. ‘I must say I was pleased when he caught that hedgehog.’

  ‘It was a cat,’ the Chief Inspector told her. ‘Not a hedgehog.’

  ‘Really?’ Lord Toffly looked startled. ‘Are you sure? I’ve seen some dodgy-looking hedgehogs in my time. They look pretty tricky to me.’

  The Chief Inspector of Bigsworth felt like shouting ‘Don’t be an idiot’ at Lord Toffly, like he did at most of his police officers when they said something stupid. Luckily he remembered just in time that Lord and Lady Toffly were very, very rich and he needed donations for the Police Helmets Fund. He clamped his mouth shut.

  Just then a man with big hair, a bright green jacket and an orange suntan rushed over, accompanied by Mrs Cheddar. A crew of cameramen jogged behind them. Inspector Cheddar jogged behind them.

  ‘Rupert!’ Lady Toffly exclaimed. ‘Are you ready to talk tiara turkey?’

  ‘Rupe, old man!’ Lord Toffly thumped him on the back. ‘Hope you’ve got your calculator ready with loads of noughts on!’

  Rupert Rich flashed his teeth. It wasn’t really a smile. More like a row of piano keys. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing this baby all day. Do you know what a lot of rotten old rubbish people bring in? I had one guy with a teaspoon he’d found on the compost heap. I told him it cost 20p from the Co-op. He seemed really upset. Good TV though. Makes for a great show, especially when you know you’ve got the biggy to look forward to at the end.’ He flashed his teeth at Mrs Cheddar. ‘It’s been brilliantly organised so far, I must say.’

  ‘Thanks!’ Mrs Cheddar smiled back.

  ‘Biggy!’ Lord Toffly exclaimed. ‘This is a hugey! It’s an enormousy! It’s the size of a housey!’

  Inspector Cheddar tried to squeeze his wife’s hand. ‘Congratulations, darling,’ he whispered. ‘Everything’s going according to plan!’

  Mrs Cheddar scowled at him. ‘Your plan, maybe!’ she hissed. ‘To get rid of Atticus.’

  Inspector Cheddar sighed. Not that again!

  ‘But I don’t think it was just Atticus who burgled those houses,’ Mrs Cheddar muttered. ‘You should have listened to what the children said about the magpies …’

  ‘Yeah, well, I think we should get on with the show.’ Rupert Rich glanced at the sky. ‘A few clouds are gathering. We don’t want to get rained on. It’ll spoil my hair. And I’m keen to do the valuation outside like we agreed. I want a shot of me against the yellow roses – they’ll look good with my jacket. GOT THAT?’ he yelled at the camera crew.

  Everyone jumped.

  Rupert Rich turned to the Tofflys and rubbed his hands together. ‘Time to “attack the attic and make a packet!”’ He strode off towards the rose garden.

  The camera crew picked up their equipment and jogged after him.

  ‘See you later.’ Mrs Cheddar gave her husband a dirty look and trotted after them.

  The Tofflys skipped off in the other direction – hand in hand towards the Hall.

  ‘Shouldn’t I get some of my officers to go with them?’ Inspector Cheddar asked the Chief Inspector of Bigsworth anxiously.

  ‘Relax, Cheddar,’ the Chief Inspector snapped. ‘You worry too much. The cat’s behind bars. Nothing can go wrong now.’

  ‘Inspector Cheddar?’ A young woman rushed up to him. She had beautiful long dark hair and a flowery top. ‘I’ve got something important to tell you.’

  ‘Miss Rana!’ Inspector Cheddar greeted her with a cheerful smile. ‘We hope to have some news on your missing emeralds soon.’

  The woman shook her head impatiently. ‘No, you don’t understand. I found them! They turned up in my handbag. I honestly don’t know how they got there. I was sure they were in the safe.’ She went off to join a friend.

  Inspector Cheddar stared after her. It was then that he heard a strange noise.

  ‘CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA.’

  He glanced up sharply. It was coming from somewhere in the rose garden where Rupert Rich was heading with Mrs Cheddar and the TV team. He listened closely.

  ‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka!’

  The noise came again, quieter this time. It was followed by a thump and a loud SQUAWK.

  Inspector Cheddar frowned. What a weird sound! Chatter-chatter-chatter! It was as though someone was laughing at them.

  Suddenly Inspector Cheddar’s eyes started popping. His face went red. Chattering?! Laughing?!! Emeralds in handbags?!!!

  Atticus wasn’t the burglar. At least not the only one! Everything Callie and Michael had said was true. Atticus had been trying to say sorry. He had put the emeralds back. The magpies had framed him. Now they were after the Tofflys’ tiara! His wife had been right!

  He glanced up at the sky. The clouds were moving quickly towards the Hall. They swirled and swished around. He peered closer.

  ‘Oh my giddy aunt!’ he said. His face went from red to purple. His mouth opened and closed like a fish.

  ‘What’s the matter, Cheddar?’ The Chief Inspector was looking at him with concern. ‘You look like you’ve swallowed a noodle the w
rong way.’

  Inspector Cheddar’s teeth chattered. ‘I …I … I … think we’re in for a storm, sir.’

  He galloped off towards the Hall.

  ‘Where are you going now?’ the Chief Inspector yelled.

  ‘I’m going to check on the Tofflys,’ Inspector Cheddar yelled back. ‘Just in case.’

  Just at that moment the Tuckers zoomed into the car park in a cloud of dust. Atticus squeezed out of the sidecar where he’d been riding with Callie. Mrs Tucker had wrapped him in an old apron to keep him clean. He examined his legs and tummy and back – the bits that he could see by twisting his head. They were all still dazzlingly white. He’d pass for Persian for the time being anyway. As long as the dye didn’t rub off before he found Jimmy.

  Mr Tucker rolled off the trailer and hoisted the fishing nets over his shoulder. ‘Take these.’ He gave a lobster pot each to Callie and Michael and grabbed the rope and bucket.

  ‘Let’s go!’ Mrs Tucker took off her helmet and straightened her wig. ‘Come on, Atticus … I mean Claude.’

  Claude?! Atticus looked at her incredulously. Couldn’t she come up with a better name than Claude?

  ‘He doesn’t like it,’ Callie said.

  ‘How about Henry?’ Michael suggested. ‘After Henry VIII?’

  ‘He’s certainly fat enough,’ Mrs Tucker said. ‘After all those sardines. Come along, Henry.’ She scooped him up and glanced at the sky. The sound of chattering birds was getting closer. So were the clouds. ‘Let’s get this antiques show on the road.’

  They hurried along the path towards the marquee, Mr Tucker clunking along at the rear.

  ‘ATTENTION, ATTENTION! WOULD EVERYONE WHO WISHES TO VIEW THE TOFFLYS’ TIARA, PLEASE MOVE TOWARDS THE ROSE GARDEN.’

  ‘It’s Mum!’ cried Callie.

  ‘Quick!’ Michael yelled. ‘It’s nearly time.’

  ‘I can’t go any faster!’ Mr Tucker grumbled. ‘Me leg’ll fall off.’