Now that I am calm, they will have disappeared, she said to herself, and opened one eye. The Bunnys were still there. They had followed her down the hill and were bent over, giving her worried, inquiring looks.
“I think I’ll just go for a walk now, and then maybe I’ll stop hallucinating,” Madeline said.
“For the last time, you are not hallucinating,” said Mr. Bunny.
“Never mind hallucinating; do you live in the manor house?” asked Mrs. Bunny excitedly.
“Um, why else would I be here on these grounds?” asked Madeline, hedging. She didn’t feel like going into the long explanation of what she was doing there.
“We don’t live here and we are on the grounds,” said Mrs. Bunny. “Of course, we didn’t know until you mentioned it that we were on the manor house grounds. We wanted to be on the grounds, but mostly we were hopping in circles. Because Mr. Bunny wouldn’t let me buy a map.”
“We were not hopping in circles. I knew exactly where we were going. Your sense of direction, Mrs. Bunny, is all in your—”
“So, you were coming to the manor house on purpose?” interposed Madeline tactfully.
“Yes, to detect!” said Mrs. Bunny.
“You’re not supposed to tell people that,” said Mr. Bunny.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Bunny, and bit on a knuckle. “I forgot.”
“Detect what?” asked Madeline.
“What and why you are burning things!” said Mrs. Bunny. “We’re detectives!”
“MRS. BUNNY! You have more enthusiasm than brains.”
“I’m not burning things,” said Madeline. “That’s my uncle’s butler.”
“Isn’t he your butler too?” asked Mr. Bunny.
“Actually, I’m just visiting,” said Madeline.
As they watched from afar, they could see the butler carrying boxes to the fire. He upended them, and a blizzard of old socks hit the flames. Smoke filled the air, and a wind blew it toward them.
Oh, honestly, Uncle, thought Madeline, old socks?
“Is that burning legal?” asked Mrs. Bunny. “It smells very polluting to me.”
“I don’t know,” said Madeline. “Suddenly I don’t seem to know what’s what about anything.”
“I’m sure you know lots of things, dear,” said Mrs. Bunny. “How long are you visiting your uncle?”
“I don’t know that either, he’s deathly ill,” said Madeline.
“You poor dear. Your uncle is deathly ill and your parents are”—and here Mrs. Bunny bent down to whisper tactfully—“dead.”
“DEAD!” said Madeline, completely hysterical now. “What do you know that I don’t know?”
“NOTHING!” said Mrs. Bunny, falling over backward in alarm.
“Then why would you say that?” asked Madeline, sitting up and bending over Mrs. Bunny in a frighteningly crazy manner.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Mr. Bunny, hopping between them. “It was a natural assumption.”
“Why? What do you know?” asked Madeline breathlessly, dreading the worst.
“Well …,” said Mrs. Bunny.
She and Mr. Bunny exchanged glances.
“You see,” said Mr. Bunny, “we’ve never talked to a human before, so really, all we know of them is from books.”
“We read a lot of books. Children’s books mostly, because they’re always much more truthful than adult books. And much more entertaining,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“And in all of them,” said Mr. Bunny.
“With few exceptions,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“The parents are dead,” they finished together.
“Oh,” said Madeline. “Well, they’re not dead, they’re just …” And then she stopped. One of the things she had been trying to decide was whom it would be safe to tell about her parents. It was clear she was going to need some help finding them. If these rabbits were real, then foxes might indeed have been the ones to kidnap Flo and Mildred. In which case, stumbling upon a pair of detectives, even rabbit detectives, was the most fortuitous thing that could have happened to her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the six dollars she had left. She held it out to Mrs. Bunny. “Is this enough to hire a detective? I mean, if I was going to.”
“Well, dear, first I think we need to discuss the case,” said Mrs. Bunny, trying to remain calm but practically falling back up the hill in excitement. Their first client!
“Yes,” said Mr. Bunny. “We must proceed in a businesslike fashion. Put that back in your pocket and follow us.”
Madeline’s stomach growled. With all the flurry of activity and adrenaline in the last two days, she was starving. Breakfast seemed like a long time ago. Mr. and Mrs. Bunny averted their eyes politely.
“Why don’t you come to our hutch for lunch, dear? It’s just over those thirty-seven hills. Hopping, hopping, never stopping, that’s our motto,” said Mrs. Bunny.
The prospect of thirty-seven hills was not a welcome one at the moment, but as she started walking, Madeline discovered that there was a certain point in fatigue where it was possible to keep moving one foot after another with little thought to what came next.
The Bunnys came up from behind her now and then and gave her a helpful shove. They said they were tired from their busy day too, and so everyone was very happy when the hutch came into view.
“Scones!” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Tea!” said Mr. Bunny.
“Anything at all!” said Madeline as she followed Mrs. Bunny toward the doorway of the hutch.
“And you can tell us where you learned to speak Bunny,” said Mr. Bunny.
“Learned to speak Bunny?” said Madeline in surprise. “But I don’t. I thought you were speaking English.”
“We can understand English,” said Mrs. Bunny. “Although we can’t yet speak it very fluently.”
“We speak Fox, Marmot, Bird,” said Mr. Bunny. “You know, the Romance languages. All bunnies learn those in grade school. Later we might pick up a little Bear. Some Groundhog, a touch of Prairie Dog.”
“Highly esoteric,” sniffed Mrs. Bunny. “And impractical. I keep telling him he should take a course in Squirrel.”
“But humans never understand Bunny. Not without being taught. Unless …”
They both stared at her wide-eyed, although she could only see Mrs. Bunny. Mr. Bunny was still behind her, outside.
“She’s a …,” began Mr. Bunny.
“Bunny whisperer!” said Mrs. Bunny in awed tones.
“Are you?” asked Mr. Bunny.
“I don’t know,” said Madeline, who had frozen in the doorway like a statue. “I mean, if I am, I never knew it. Of course, no bunnies have ever spoken to me before.”
“In general, dear, we like to be spoken to first,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Well, since I’ve never learned Bunny, I guess I must be,” said Madeline.
“Extraordinary,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Not as extraordinary as it would be if a human finally took the time to actually learn our language instead of expecting us to speak theirs,” said Mr. Bunny.
“Now, now, let’s not get political, she’s just a little girl,” said Mrs. Bunny. “So, Madeline, tell us what is bothering you so.”
“It’s hard to know where to begin—” Madeline said.
“Of course it is,” Mrs. Bunny interrupted soothingly as she put a paw on Madeline’s arm and gave her a helpful tug forward. “Come in and have a nice cup of tea to loosen your lips.”
“I can’t,” said Madeline, wiggling helplessly in the doorway. Her eyes filled with tears. Did everything have to go wrong? “I’m stuck.”
MR. AND MRS. BUNNY ARE HIRED
“Yes, I thought that the first second I saw you. I didn’t raise twelve rabbits for nothing. Well, that’s what tea is good for,” said Mrs. Bunny. “You sip it and find a way to tell us.”
“No, not stuck as in I can’t find a way to express myself, or stuck as in a problem, stuck as in the door!”
“Nonsense,”
said Mr. Bunny. “Give yourself a push.”
Mr. Bunny was on the outside and Mrs. Bunny was on the inside and Madeline was wedged tightly in the door frame with her neck at a very uncomfortable angle.
“I tried. I can’t move. I’m telling you, I’m stuck!”
“Well, this won’t do. You’re blocking the doorway so I can’t get in either. I want my tea too,” said Mr. Bunny. “Did you think of that?”
“I didn’t do it for fun,” said Madeline.
“Well, come back out, then,” said Mr. Bunny.
“I can’t,” said Madeline, tearing up again.
“We shall have to push her,” said Mr. Bunny. “Heave ho, Mrs. Bunny.”
Mr. Bunny pushed from the outside. Mrs. Bunny pushed from the inside. It was quite some time before Madeline realized that they were pushing against each other and that was why she was going nowhere.
“Oh, I am tired,” said Madeline. “I can’t think straight. Stop pushing, both of you.”
“It’s not our fault. For such a little girl you certainly have a big bottom,” said Mr. Bunny.
“I’m always telling him not to say things like that,” Mrs. Bunny whispered to Madeline. “He always thinks people won’t take offense.”
“I don’t know how to get myself out of this doorway without knocking out one of your walls with my feet,” said Madeline.
“Well, don’t, for heaven’s sake, do that,” said Mr. Bunny.
“Oh dear, this is a disaster,” said Mrs. Bunny. “And I was going to treat you to my carrot scones with carrot jelly.”
“Mrs. Bunny, your brains are clearly fried from too much hopping. Her mouth is, after all, on your side. You could serve her a scone with jelly while we try to figure out how to move her humungous bottom.”
“I’d be afraid to,” said Mrs. Bunny. “She might just blow up and get stuck all the more. I think what we will have to do is starve her out.”
“I’m already starving,” said Madeline.
“That’s true. She’s already starving, Mrs. Bunny, and you can see what good it’s done. No, I shall simply have to go for my crowbar.”
“Mr. Bunny is a wonder with a crowbar,” Mrs. Bunny whispered to Madeline.
“Why are you whispering?” asked Mr. Bunny.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Bunny. “It just seems a comforting way to talk to someone who is stuck.”
Mr. Bunny hopped off to the toolshed and returned with his crowbar.
“This may smart a little,” he said.
Madeline closed her eyes and braced herself. Then she realized that she must unbrace herself or she’d never get out. Mr. Bunny did his crowbar magic and with a few sharp tugs had Madeline out of the doorway and back in the garden.
Mrs. Bunny came out. “Well, I think we can congratulate ourselves on our good fortune.”
“And excellent crowbarmanship!” said Mr. Bunny. “Now we’ll have tea in the garden. And we won’t say another word about Madeline’s humungous bottom. It will be lovely outside on such a fine day.”
Mrs. Bunny hopped in to get the victuals while Mr. Bunny led Madeline to the iron table and chairs. Unfortunately, although the table was suitable, the chairs were all too small for her.
“That big bottom again,” said Mr. Bunny, forgetting his promise.
“I don’t have a big bottom!” protested Madeline. “You have small chairs.”
Mr. Bunny just shook his head sadly. Many people were in denial about their large bottoms.
Fortunately, at that moment Mrs. Bunny hopped out with the tea tray, and although the scones and cups of tea were bunny, not people size, Madeline found that by drinking several potfuls of tea and eating platefuls of rabbit-sized scones, she was quite as satisfied as the Bunnys with this repast.
I definitely could not have imagined this, she thought. Maybe I am a bunny whisperer. And Uncle was right, the things you could find out if you could speak an animal’s language! For instance, how many people knew that there were rabbit detectives?
“So,” Madeline began. “As I said, I might need to hire some detectives.”
“At your service,” said Mr. Bunny.
“Likewise,” said Mrs. Bunny. “And really, I don’t think we can even charge for it. We do a certain amount of pro bono work, don’t we, Mr. Bunny?”
“Tons, tons and tons of pro bono work,” said Mr. Bunny.
“What’s that?” asked Madeline.
“I really don’t know,” said Mr. Bunny.
“It means we don’t charge,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Oh, well, thank you. Now, um, Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—” Madeline began.
“Yes? For so we are called,” interrupted Mr. Bunny.
“Just out of curiosity, how much detecting have you, um, done?”
“Oh, lots. Tons. Oodles,” lied Mr. Bunny enthusiastically. “Some pro bono, some anti.”
“We solved the Case of the Large Amount of Smoke in a trice,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Have you ever looked for, um, say, something living?” asked Madeline.
“Of course, we could branch out to people,” said Mrs. Bunny.
They looked at Madeline inquiringly.
Madeline thought about this. They seemed very silly, and they were bunnies, but they were the only detectives she was apt to come across any time soon. “Okay, you’re hired. Well, it all started on the day of Luminara. I had just found out Prince Charles was coming to our school, and I went home to tell Flo and Mildred—”
“Are we going to find Prince Charles?” the Bunnys shouted together.
“No, no, but he’s coming to our school, Comox Elementary, and I wanted to go to the ceremony because he will be giving out awards and I won some but I don’t have white shoes.…”
The Bunnys nodded sagaciously, as if she were making any sense.
“Of course you must go to the graduation! Prince Charles! My, my!” said Mrs. Bunny.
“Then you know who he is?” asked Madeline. She somehow was surprised that rabbits knew such things.
“Oh yes. After all, we’re Commonwealth rabbits,” said Mrs. Bunny. “But you must get some white shoes.”
“Yes, I know, but I couldn’t because Flo and Mildred—”
“Who are Flo and Mildred?” interrupted Mr. Bunny.
“Oh. My parents. Flo and Mildred—”
“For so they are called,” said Mr. Bunny serenely.
“Didn’t want me to get white shoes. That is, there was no money for them. So I waitressed and I had the money and then, well, they didn’t want me to anyway, of course … but that’s neither here nor there and not important now and not why I hired you.”
“No indeed, but it could be a case in itself. The Case of the White Shoes. You say you needed some for the ceremony—”
“Yes,” said Madeline, feeling silly because Flo had pointed out how superficial the whole thing was. “You see, my teacher—”
“Oh, no need to explain, dear,” said Mrs. Bunny hurriedly. “My goodness, I had twelve bunnies of my own. Your teacher wanted everyone dressed alike for the prince. Well, that’s only natural. Oh, how I miss these events now that the bunnies are grown and gone. Christmas concerts, graduations, fun fairs.”
“Since time is short, let’s not waste any more of it. We’ll worry about the shoes later. Tell us about the case,” said Mr. Bunny, leaning forward.
“Well,” said Madeline. “This is probably going to sound ridiculous, but it looks as if my parents were kidnapped by f—”
“FIENDS!” Mrs. Bunny had the unfortunate habit of finishing people’s sentences.
“Fillains!” said Mr. Bunny, who couldn’t think of an f word but wanted to join in the game.
“Fairies!” said Mrs. Bunny.
Madeline was beginning to regret hiring them. “Foxes,” she said.
The effect of this word was far more dramatic than she expected. The Bunnys’ playful expressions vanished. Under their fur she could see them turning pale. Their very ears quivered.
Madeline passed them the kidnappers’ note and the file card.
“This is grave,” said Mr. Bunny.
“Very grave,” said Mrs. Bunny after she had read both. “Oh, Mr. Bunny! Rabbit by-products!”
“This is evil. It’s impossible to know if such a factory exists yet. I hardly think it does, because there would be far more rabbits disappearing. But whether it is a factory that is just being built or this is just some fox’s idea of a joke, we cannot know. Nevertheless, whatever it is, we must put a stop to it. But why would they want your parents? And what are all these confounded squiggles on the file card?” asked Mr. Bunny.
So Madeline explained about her uncle and how the foxes obviously needed him for decoding.
“We must get on the case immediately. We must find your parents before the foxes, uh, get hungry, and we must find out if such an evil factory has already been built and, if it has, run those foxes out.”
“How will you do that?” asked Madeline.
“Oh, we have a special antifox SWAT team, but before the Bunny Council will send them out, we must know where the foxes are. There have been too many false alarms when bunnies only thought there were foxes about. It’s a form of bunny hysteria. Now the council makes you present solid evidence.”
“And fill out ninety-three requisition forms,” said Mrs. Bunny.
“That’s why Uncle didn’t want to call Ottawa,” said Madeline. “The requisition forms. He said we must solve this mystery ourselves, and we were about to when he fell into his coma.”
“Very bad luck there,” said Mr. Bunny, clucking his tongue.
“But good luck to have found us,” said Mrs. Bunny.
She and Mr. Bunny put on their fedoras and spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the garden, trying to think of what to do next. They were very disappointed to find that sporting fedoras, while fashion-forward, did nothing to inspire their detecting brains.
Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! Page 5
