Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire!

by Polly Horvath

  MADELINE HYPNOTIZES A MARMOT

  Madeline and Mrs. Bunny stared at Mr. Bunny blankly. What could be worse than falling into a toilet? Madeline thought it would certainly be the low point of her day.

  “He’s disappeared,” Mr. Bunny said.

  “Impossible,” said Madeline. “How could he? There’s no back way out. You can see where the hallway ends.”

  “He’s got the only copy of the coded card with him,” said Mr. Bunny.

  “Where could The Marmot have gone? Think, Mr. Bunny,” urged Mrs. Bunny.

  “Let’s go outside and see if we can’t find him,” said Madeline.

  “He did have that Irish coffee,” said Mrs. Bunny. “Maybe it went to his head and he left by the window accidentally.”

  “No one leaves by a window accidentally,” said Mr. Bunny.

  “You’re right. There are more sinister forces at work,” said Mrs. Bunny.

  “Sinister, my elbow,” said Mr. Bunny. “Marmot forces at work is more like it.”

  The three rushed out to the parking lot and did a complete circuit of the restaurant, but there was no sign of The Marmot.

  “Not only that, but he made off with my fedora,” said Mr. Bunny. “Now I shall have to detect bareheaded.”

  “Maybe he just forgot about us and went home,” said Madeline. “Let’s check there first.”

  They ran back to the parking lot, but now they realized that the Smart car was gone too.

  “SWELL! That tears it! I left the keys and my driving shoes in the car and now he’s stolen it!” said Mr. Bunny.

  “What shall we do?” asked Madeline, sitting down with a thump, followed by the two thumps of Mr. and Mrs. Bunny.

  They sat on the curb for sixteen minutes in a state of complete despair.

  “Well, it will cost a fortune but I suppose we will have to call a taxi,” said Mr. Bunny finally.

  “Rabbits have taxis?” said Madeline, leaping to her feet.

  “I told you rabbits have everything,” said Mr. Bunny.

  So Mr. Bunny went inside and phoned a taxi. He asked for one large enough to accommodate a really gigantic bottom.

  The taxi driver arrived shortly and took them to The Marmot’s hole. While the driver waited, the Bunnys ran over to the hole entrance and Madeline cased the grounds.

  “I’ve found the car!” she called. “It’s over here behind this rock pile.”

  “You come out of there, you dirty thief!” yelled Mr. Bunny down the hole. “We know you stole our car.”

  “I didn’t steal nothing,” The Marmot called back. “Go away, I’m trying to sleep.”

  “You come up or I’ll come down and drag you up,” said Mr. Bunny. He was so mad his fur was standing on end.

  A very sleepy-looking marmot dragged himself out of the hole.

  “What did you think you were doing, stealing our car and running away like that?” asked Mr. Bunny.

  “I wasn’t stealing nothing,” said The Marmot. “I just should never have had that Irish coffee. It got me all confused.”

  “Didn’t I warn you that that would happen?” demanded Mr. Bunny, and went to pay the driver.

  When he returned, it was to hear Madeline shout, “YOU DID WHAT?”

  “Oh, honestly, I knew we never should have started up with marmots. It’s always a mistake,” said Mrs. Bunny, hopping in circles and pulling at her fur.

  “What? What did he do?” asked Mr. Bunny.

  “He lost the file card,” said Madeline.

  “HE WHAT?”

  “Lose it? Did I lose it? That’s the question,” said The Marmot.

  “Do you have it now?” asked Mr. Bunny

  “Noooo,” said The Marmot, frowning in perplexity.

  “Then that’s the answer, you idiot. Now think, where did you lose it?”

  “That’s another question. All these questions after Irish coffee. It’s too much. My little marmot brain is bursting. Besides, how can I possibly remember? It was so long ago,” said The Marmot. “Before my nap.”

  “By George, I’ll shake it out of that marmot brain of yours!” said Mr. Bunny, hopping up and down in place with such force Mrs. Bunny said she was afraid one more hop and he would propel himself right over the moon.

  “Calm down, let’s think rationally,” she said.

  “RATIONALLY? THIS IS A MARMOT WE’RE TALKING ABOUT!” yelled Mr. Bunny.

  “If there were just some way we could get him to remember!” said Mrs. Bunny.

  “Oh!” said Madeline, clapping her hands. “I know! I can hypnotize him. KatyD taught me how. Would you let me do that, Mr. Marmot?”

  “Please call me The,” said The Marmot affably.

  “Uh, all right, The,” said Madeline. “Let’s all sit here in the, uh, mud, and The, you just relax.” Madeline stopped. Her sentences were becoming more and more confusing. “Listen, can I call you something else? Don’t you have a nickname?”

  “My mother sometimes called me her Special Precious,” said The Marmot.

  “I don’t think I could do that,” said Madeline, shuddering.

  “Look, just let her call you Mr. Marmot,” said Mr. Bunny.

  “How about Poindexter?” said The Marmot.

  “Why Poindexter?” asked Madeline.

  “Please do not ask him questions. Please. We’ll be here all night. When it comes to marmots, give orders,” said Mr. Bunny.

  The Marmot had climbed up a tree and hung upside down by his hind legs, looking perplexed.

  “All right, all right. Listen, can I just call you Marmot?” pleaded Madeline, looking up into his puzzled face.

  “It doesn’t have a very friendly ring.”

  “All right! Poindexter,” said Madeline.

  The Marmot just hung there.

  “Poindexter?” Madeline gently prodded.

  The Marmot didn’t respond.

  Mr. Bunny pinched him. “That’s you!”

  The Marmot fell down from the tree.

  “OUCH! I forgot. Keep your paws to yourself, you vicious bunny.”

  “This isn’t going to work,” declared Mr. Bunny. “If you’re going to concentrate a mind, you need to begin with one.”

  “Let’s just take a cleansing breath,” said Madeline. “Now, I want you to begin by thinking of someplace that you find relaxing or something you like to do that relaxes you.”

  “I like to throw spitballs at robins,” said The Marmot.

  “YOU LIKE TO WHAT?” cried Mr. Bunny in outrage.

  “Robins and rabbits have always been allies,” Mrs. Bunny whispered to Madeline.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Bunny, we’re not really going to throw spitballs. Only in our minds’ eyes. There we are walking through a sunny meadow on a beautiful summer morning. Robins are everywhere. We throw spitballs at them. One spitball, two spitballs, three spitballs …”

  Madeline tried to give her voice a drowsy soothing tone, and The Marmot’s eyes began to close.

  “But we don’t fall asleep, we just relax. Now, as we’re throwing spitballs we think to ourselves about the yummy lunch at The Olde Spaghetti Factory. Sit in that meadow and remember it. You have the coded file card in your hand.…”

  “It’s in my hand,” murmured The Marmot drowsily. “I put it down to reach for more garlic bread …”

  “No, you don’t. There is no more garlic bread. You ate it all,” said Madeline. “You pick up the file card again.”

  “I ask Mr. Bunny to order more garlic bread.…”

  “While you are waiting for it to come, you pick up the file card.”

  “I pick up the file card.”

  “You take it into the restroom.…”

  “I take it into the restroom …,” repeated The Marmot.

  “And you …”

  “I put it on the sink and go into the toilet stall …,” The Marmot went on.

  “The file card is on the sink!” cried Mr. Bunny, hopping up. “What are we waiting for?”

  “No …,” s
aid The Marmot in the same drowsy hypnotized voice.

  “No …,” said Madeline, giving Mr. Bunny a look and resuming the soothing tone. “Because … what happens next?”

  “What happens next is I get into the toilet stall and I think, That file card is too important to leave lying on a sink.”

  There was a long silence while The Marmot’s eyes began to droop.

  “The file card is too important to leave on the sink so you …,” prompted Madeline.

  “So I zip my pants back up,” said The Marmot.

  “You zip your pants up.”

  “And I go and get it.”

  “You go and get it.”

  “I bring it back with me into the stall …,” said The Marmot. “For safekeeping.”

  “You bring it back with you into the stall. For safekeeping.”

  “Then I start thinking about the garlic bread again.”

  “You think about the garlic bread.”

  “I love garlic bread.”

  “You love garlic bread. Of course you do. We all love garlic bread,” droned Madeline soothingly.

  “I wonder if I can get Mr. Bunny to go back and get me several orders to go.”

  “You wonder if Mr. Bunny will buy you several orders to go.”

  “Because it would be nice to have some to nibble at night while I watch television.”

  “Because it would be nice to have some to nibble at night while you watch television.”

  “But I don’t know if Mr. Bunny will go for that.”

  “But you don’t know if Mr. Bunny will go for that.”

  “He’s kind of an ornery bunny, but he wants his file card decoded, so I bet I can get him to do anything.”

  “Why, you!” said Mr. Bunny.

  “Shhh,” said Madeline.

  “I love garlic bread, so I decide to give it a try,” said The Marmot.

  “You decide to give it a try.”

  “I reach for the toilet paper, but the stall I’m in is out of it.”

  “You reach for the toilet paper, but the stall doesn’t have any.”

  “But then I notice I have a file card in my hand.”

  “You notice you have a file card in your hand.”

  “I think, Paper is paper.”

  “You think, Paper is paper.”

  “Any old port in a storm.”

  “Any old port in a storm?”

  “So I use the file card.”

  “You use the file card?”

  “Then I flush it down the toilet.”

  THE DREADED ENVELOPE

  “THEN YOU FLUSH IT DOWN THE TOILET?” yelled Madeline.

  “YOU IDIOT!” yelled Mr. Bunny.

  “Uh-oh,” said The Marmot, coming suddenly awake and leaping up. In a flash, he was down his hole.

  Madeline closed her eyes. She had entrusted the one thing that might lead her to her parents to a couple of rabbits and a marmot. She was the idiot. She picked her way across the scrap heap that passed for The Marmot’s front yard and yelled down the hole, “Did you at least decode it first?”

  “I may have, but I can’t talk now. I’m traumatized. And I’m especially not talking to that hostile rabbit until he’s had a chance to calm down. I’m going into my bedroom and locking the door,” said The Marmot. “It’s not my fault I forgot about the file card. You should never have brought me to a restaurant that serves garlic bread.”

  They heard a door below slam with enough force to shake the ground under their feet.

  “It’s late,” said Mrs. Bunny softly. “Let’s go home.”

  When the Bunnys and Madeline got home, they all had dinner and then the Bunnys put Madeline to bed.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” said Mrs. Bunny. “We’ll find Flo and Mildred. Tomorrow is a new day.”

  “I’m so worried about them,” said Madeline. “Suppose they’re cold? Suppose Mildred doesn’t have enough room to do a downward dog?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Bunny looked at each other.

  “Just try to get some sleep,” said Mr. Bunny, and they hopped back to their own hutch.

  Madeline lay shivering in the dark. She had planned to check in on Uncle to see if he was out of his coma, but now there was no rush. Of course, she didn’t want him to be in a coma, but even if he came out of it, she had nothing for him to decode. Why hadn’t she made photocopies of the file card? She seemed to think of everything too late. Poor Flo and Mildred. She turned the light back on and paced.

  “Madeline, turn out your light and go to sleep,” called Mrs. Bunny from the hutch.

  “I can’t,” Madeline called back. “I can’t sleep in a soft bed when Flo and Mildred might not have one.”

  “I’m sure The Marmot will remember what he decoded tomorrow. Marmots are like that,” called Mrs. Bunny back.

  Madeline switched off her light, but she kept pacing restlessly in the dark. She had enjoyed having the support and help of the Bunnys. The problem was, she wasn’t used to having anyone taking care of her and making the decisions. It gave her the uneasy feeling that she wasn’t doing what she was supposed to be doing. That she shouldn’t be trusting so much in the Bunnys’ judgment. On the one hand, they were very sweet and responsible adults. On the other hand, they were rabbits. She had to face facts, as much as she didn’t want to; if she ever wanted to find Flo and Mildred, at some point she might have to strike out on her own. In the meantime, she would just have to trust that they could cope with whatever came their way. But Oh dear, she thought, who am I kidding? Coping has never been their strong suit.

  “I can’t cope with this,” said Mildred to Flo. They were somewhere in a darkish factory basement, tied back to back. Foxes kept coming in and grilling them about the location of Uncle Runyon, but they simply couldn’t remember. Everyone but the Grand Poobah wanted to give up. “I keep telling them I’m a vegan and still they keep bringing animal products. When I asked them why the broth in the vegetable soup was so brown, they said it had a beef base. You see? They just don’t get it.”

  “Hey,” Flo called to the guard fox. “You think you could get Mildred, like, a salad or something? You got union lettuce, right?”

  The guard looked at him blankly. Just then the door opened and the Grand Poobah entered.

  “Oh man, am I glad to see you,” said Flo. “This guy, like, just sits there and watches us. It’s giving me the creeps. And he won’t get Mildred anything. We asked for tofu, a salad, some peanuts. Like, we’re not trying to be a nuisance, man, but she’s gotta eat.”

  “A thousand apologies, my dear dementomando!” said the Poobah, bowing low. He knew that Flo would never guess that it meant “demented man.” “But Frederico Fox hasn’t learned English yet. He couldn’t understand anything you said.”

  “You’ve been speaking English?” asked Flo in wonder. “Man, I thought we had just somehow, like, miraculously been understanding Fox. Like those French immersion classes Mildred always wants to take. Where, you know, you just get it without having to work at it.”

  “Mwa-hahaha. Mwa-hahaha,” laughed the Grand Poobah. He really did find this most amusing. “I think not. We have been studying English for years now, so that we are, I fancy, rather fluent, for the most part. Fox is far more complicated. You would never learn it.”

  “Hey, try me, man,” said Flo.

  “How do you say ‘I need something to eat that is meat-free!’?” said Mildred.

  “Zakszokeyid,” said the Grand Poobah. “Now you try it.”

  “Je besoin de quelque chois sans viande,” said Flo.

  “That’s French,” said the Poobah coldly.

  “Geben mir something mitout the meaties,” said Flo.

  “That’s a combination of German and gibberish,” said the Grand Poobah.

  “I’m hungry!” said Mildred.

  “You will be hungrier still before the night is over. Unless you can remember where your relative lives,” said the Grand Poobah.

  “Hey, man, we’re trying, but nothing’s
coming. In the meantime, we might as well learn Fox,” said Flo. “So we can talk to, like, your guards.”

  “I would be willing to bet you an, um, say, an earlobe that you cannot learn Fox,” said the Grand Poobah, drooling.

  “Oh, you’re just afraid to find out how much Fox I already understand,” said Flo confidently.

  “Zxignsyajhdi,” said the Grand Poobah.

  “What does that mean?” asked Mildred.

  “My dear dementoladyo,” said the Grand Poobah. “You don’t want to know. Mwa-hahaha.”

  “Hey, maybe if you teach us Fox, it will activate our brains and we’ll remember where Runyon lives,” said Flo.

  “I think not. You’re both far too yummy, I mean hopeless,” said the Grand Poobah.

  “Come on,” whined Flo.

  “Very well. Repeat after me. Zadyhenhizsiy.”

  “La plume est dans ma poche,” said Flo.

  “Zykidysa.”

  “Sprechen sie la chêvre.”

  “Where does Runyon live?”

  “Hmmm. Can’t remember.”

  “Zygiofodik.”

  “Still don’t remember. But I think I’m beginning to get Fox. That meant summerhouse. Right? Am I right?”

  “No. Where’s the decoder?”

  “Still nothing coming.”

  And so it went.

  All night.

  Flo and Mildred didn’t learn any Fox or activate their brains enough to remember where Uncle Runyon lived, but the Poobah picked up a little French.

  Mrs. Bunny sat knitting next to Mr. Bunny by their hearth.

  “I wish she wouldn’t worry so much. I’m sure everything will turn out fine. After all, we are detectives,” she said.

  “Of course we are,” said Mr. Bunny. “We have the fedoras to prove it.”

  Mr. Bunny tried to soothe Mrs. Bunny by finishing the article from The Scientific Bunny on “New Things That Explode.”

  “Chicken wings,” he read.

  “All chicken wings?” asked Mrs. Bunny.

  “No, only ones from south Florida. Schzapels.”

  “What are those?”

  “I haven’t time to explain,” said Mr. Bunny, and then there was a knock on the door.

  “What now?” he said. “Don’t answer it.”

  But Mrs. Bunny had already opened the door. It was Mrs. Treaclebunny.