Zoo Poo Clues

by Hazel Edwards

  ‘Breakfast for one of the animals.’ suggested India looking down. Art wasn’t sure. That bag could have a real body inside.

  ‘Can I have that photo later?’ Sleuths needed clues. And that photo might be evidence! Art looked back, at the tiny figure on the ground next to the truck. He was watching them.

  Chapter 4

  Landing

  “No clothes. Skinny- dipping.’ The wicker basket tipped as the passengers leaned across to look at the people on the rooftop pool.

  ‘Watch it!’ yelled Sara.

  ‘We are,’ grinned Mars Bar.

  ‘They must be cold.’

  ‘My company built those high rise flats,’ said Mr. Brand.

  ‘And we’re building more, if we can. Butterfly Houses, they’ll be called.’ A cyclist in a lime- green helmet rode from the flats towards the zoo. Just below was a church spire. If they went down here would the balloon burst?

  ‘Have to go in now,’ said Sara.

  ‘The wind’s changed.’ The basket skimmed the dam. Would they land in the water? The basket tipped. Mr. Brand’s chest squashed India. By letting air out of the balloon, Sara got it upright before they touched the grass on the other side. Mr. Brand was now squashed against Mars Bar. Some paper fell on the floor of the basket. The balloon rose and landed for the third time, safely, but sideways.

  ‘Cherry picker!” said Mars Bar lying on top of Art.

  ‘Ace driving.’ Art felt like the bottom of a squashy sandwich. They crawled out of the basket. Mr. Brand’s red -framed glasses had fallen off, into the grass.

  ‘Piloting, not driving,’ corrected India.

  ‘Just as well,’ Mr. Brand untangled himself.

  ‘My company needs me for the sale next week.’ Groping, he found his glasses.

  ‘Who’d want to buy him?’ Mars Bar whispered.

  Zak had the next group of passengers in the van. While Sara held down the balloon, they swapped places, one at a time. Mr. Brand had trouble getting out.

  ‘Hey!’ He dropped his instant photos. Picking them up, India returned them to him. Later, Art picked up one, which they’d missed.

  ‘Enjoy the flight?’ A cork popped. Zak poured them a drink from the back of his van.

  ‘Champagne for adults. Orange juice?’ Mr. Brand drank his quickly.

  ‘Why champagne?’ India accepted an orange drink.

  ‘The first balloonists were French aristocrats. They used open fires in the basket to heat the balloon. When they landed in peasants’ fields, the peasants would pitchfork their balloons.’

  ‘Why?’ Art sipped.

  ‘The peasants thought that‘devils’ were coming from the sky. To save their balloons, the aristocrats offered champagne to the peasants.’

  ‘Ever get holes in your balloon?’ asked Mars Bar as they climbed into the van and followed the balloon on its second flight.

  ‘No. Like aircraft, balloons are checked every 100 hours flown.’’

  ‘Is there a balloon repair kit?’ asked India. Sara shook her head.

  ‘Not yet.’ India smiled.

  Maybe she could invent a dog-proof, mini-balloon to carry Tiny? After the horoscopes, hot ice-cream scoop, the dog- seat- belt and the parachute. Later they had breakfast at Sara’s farmhouse. Orange juice. Eggs, bacon, toast, strawberry jam and coffee. Art’s Mum woke up and joined them. After second helpings, Mr. Brand and his friend left hurriedly.

  ‘I have to make my report, and get the cards ready,’ Art wondered what sort of report, but forgot when Sara gave them their certificate,

  ‘I FLEW IN A HOT AIR BALLOON’ and a postcard.

  ‘I’ll go up anytime!’ India quickly stuffed a leaflet into her pocket. Balloon Flights, Endless Lane, Countryville $255 per passenger.

  ‘Only if someone else pays,’ added Mars Bar.

  ‘Yours are good enough to use for our new postcards,’ said Sara, looking at India’s photos.

  ‘For Balloonfly, our new name.’

  ‘Found this on the floor of the basket,’ Art opened his hand. Inside was a photo of the Butterfly House.

  ‘One of yours, India?’

  ‘No.’ India turned it around.

  ‘That’s Mr. Brand’s. But I’ve got this one of the walkway and the ‘body’! It might be a clue.’

  ‘D’you think there’s been a murder or a kidnapping?’ said Mars Bar, suddenly interested.

  ‘At the zoo?’

  ‘We’ll check that walkway inside the zoo,’ said Art. Mars Bar nodded.

  ‘We’ll have to find the right one. Near that tip.’ India checked her watch.

  ‘Unless we’re outside the zoo gates by 9‘o’clock, Mrs.Tasker will chuck a mental. Let’s go!’

  After thanking Sara, they left. Mars Bar collected his hat from the boot and started to blow up one of his flat packages, inside the car. Art’s Mum was worrying about getting to her work on time and didn’t listen as they talked about ‘the body’.

  ‘Bye. Enjoy the zoo,’ She dropped them off at the ZOO ENTRY sign, but not before she kissed Art goodbye in front of the whole class! Some parents were so uncool!

  Chapter 5

  Blow Up Dino

  Wearing his Viking hat with horns, Mars Bar stood under the ZOO ENTRY. He clutched a giant, purple, blow-up dinosaur. Mrs.Tasker was NOT impressed.

  ‘Mario, you never listen. We’re here to visit the animals, not add to the zoo.’ .

  Even parents had come, after Mrs.Tasker invited them, twice. Sam’s Dad was wearing his mobile on his belt , just in case he got called.

  Mars Bar spluttered,’ But it’s a present. A blow-up dinosaur. Now it won’t go down.’ As Mars Bar tried to change his hold on the large head, the dinosaur’s leg hit him on the nose.

  ‘Aw!’

  ‘Marcus!’ warned Mrs.Tasker in her no-messing-around- voice.

  ‘Cool!’ Art touched the hard, tight plastic of the dinosaur.

  ‘Stick a pin in him.’

  ‘No!’ Mars Bar said indignantly. ‘I only got Dino yesterday.’

  ‘Is that Dino, the film that’s on in the city now?” asked India.

  ‘Yes. I thought the other dinosaurs at the zoo might like to meet him,’ said Mars Bar, glancing at Mrs.Tasker who gave a little smile.

  ‘Dinosaurs are extinct,’ said India firmly.

  ‘They don’t stink’ said Mars Bar quickly. He smelled the plastic.

  ‘He’s just new.’

  ‘EX-stinct. They don’t live around here any more.’ If anything stinks, it’ll be that!’ India pointed to the bags of ZOO POO on sale near the entrance.

  ‘Leave Dino in a locker,’ suggested Mrs.Tasker.

  ‘Near the Pushers for Hire. Meet us in there. But pin on your name tag first.’ Mrs.Tasker didn’t like Mars Bar’s Monster hat with the Viking horns, but it was a hat. India’s floppy cricket hat was okay. Art had forgotten, so she coated his nose with pink zinc.

  ‘You’ve got lipstick on your cheek,’ pointed Mars Bar. Art rubbed furiously. Mothers could be so embarrassing.

  ‘Here are your name tags.’ Mrs.Tasker gave out rainbow- coloured tags in animal shapes. The children groaned. ’So baby-ish.

  ‘Find your own animal today and write down its scientific name.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Art.

  ‘On the back,’ India pointed

  ‘I’ve got the platypus. Its proper name is ORNITHYORYNCHUS ANATINUS. I’ll never fit THAT on the back.’ She looked at Art’s tag. ‘A butterfly’s an insect, not an animal.’

  A lion roared behind the wall. Birds shrieked. Art was more interested in finding the ‘body’ under the walkway than visiting the Butterfly House. Animal noises grew as the storm clouds threatened.

  There was a waiting-for-something - to happen kind of feeling. Families left heavy bags of fo
od and gift - wrapped boxes in the zoo lockers. Some little kids seemed to be having zoo birthday parties. Others carried drinks, lunch bags, rugs and cameras with them. Tourists walked in groups, carrying their hi- tech cameras. A bearded, older man strode through the gate.

  ‘Excuse me,’ A woman with spiky hair, a microphone and a recorder on a shoulder strap pushed past. ‘I have to interview the Butterfly Expert.’ Light glinted on her nose ring as she hurried after the bearded man. She glanced at Mars Bar and India who were trying to push the dinosaur into the locker. Her glasses had red frames like Mr. Brand’s.

  A bike was chained to the post. The cyclist’s back was to them as he put things into a locker. Lastly, he put in his green helmet.

  After placing a dollar in the slot, he turned the locker key. It locked. He pulled out the key. The coin tinkled through as he left. As usual, India was good at working out sizes, shapes and numbers.

  ‘Dino won’t fit.’ The lockers were big, but Dino was bigger.

  ‘Leave Dino here, until we come back.’

  ‘Mrs.Tasker handed in their tickets.

  ‘But someone might steal him!’ said Mars Bar.

  ‘What for?’ asked Art.

  ‘Who’d use a purple dinosaur?’

  ‘Here’s a pusher. Wheel it around,’ suggested India.

  ‘Babystuff!’ Mars Bar was scornful. ‘Besides, it costs.’

  ‘Can you think of anything better?’ So India helped him put Dino in a pusher WITH the baby seat belt.

  Mars Bar paid the five dollar deposit. Art opened his name tag pin. Then he changed his mind. If the dinosaur went down, Mars Bar would blow up. Meanwhile, the cyclist returned and unlocked his locker. He took out his helmet. When he shut the door again. It wouldn’t lock.

  ‘Put more money in,’ explained India.

  ‘Your dollar went straight through.’

  ‘No more change.’ The cyclist wedged the door to make it look locked, even though it wasn’t.

  ‘If there’s anything missing, I know it was you!’ he said.

  Art noticed a BRANDS NAME SELLS sticker on the helmet now dangling from his arm.

  ‘D’you know Mr. Brand?’ asked Art. The cyclist looked closely at him,

  ‘Should I? Do you?’

  ‘He was on our balloon flight this morning,’ said India. ‘Taking photos.’

  ‘Come along,’ called Mrs.Tasker. Each group of four went with an adult. Sam’s Dad looked nervous about taking India, Art, Mars Bar and the purple dinosaur in the pusher. Sam’s Dad’s mobile phone hung like a gun from his belt.

  ‘If I get a call, I may have to go,’ he reminded Mrs.Tasker.’To deliver urgent parcels.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Mrs.Tasker.

  ‘Here’s a map .You navigate, Art. Find the Butterfly House .See you at the Zoo School later.’ Art hesitated.

  ‘All the animal enclosures are marked, with pictures. There’s a butterfly.’ Mrs.Tasker pointed.

  ‘That’s yours.’

  ‘That’s where I’m going too,’ said the Cyclist with a strange laugh.

  ‘Bye. Got to fly. Got a date with a butterfly.’

  Chapter 6

  Zoo Poo

  Zoo signposts had pictures and words. Pleased, Art said, ‘Platypus. That’s your picture name tag, India.’

  In tiny letters, she printed the scientific name on her name tag.

  The zoo gardens were damp, green and thick. Fresh paint mixed with the animal smells. Just ahead, the woman with spiky hair was asking the Expert questions. Her nose ring caught the light as Spiky spoke fast into her microphone.

  Art nudged India. ‘What’s she talking about now?’ India listened.

  ‘I don’t speak Spanish. Probably making a radio program for other countries. About butterflies.’ The Expert stopped outside the noisy Great Flight Aviary.

  ‘D’ you think there are bird languages?’ asked India.

  ‘I can speak Italian,’ said Mars Bar.

  ‘But I can’t speak to Italian birds.’ He made bird noises and India said, ‘Stop being a galah, Mars Bar. Hey, that almost rhymes.’

  Mars Bar didn’t think that was funny, but the Expert smiled while speaking Spanish into Spiky’s microphone. When you didn’t know the words, they sounded like chains of sounds. Art felt like that about some books. Pages of squiggles. Comics were easier.

  ‘Here’s the kiosk,’ Art pointed out the picture on the zoo map to India.

  ‘Are you hungry already?’ Then India realised.

  ‘Oh, you mean it’s near ‘the body?’ Just then, a smelly mini- truck stopped alongside them.

  ‘Where does all that go?’ Mars Bar sniffed.

  ‘On the gardens,’ said India.

  ‘Or sold as ZOO POO.’

  ‘Khaki,’ Art muttered, looking at the driver’s shirt.

  ‘That’s a clue.’

  ‘Car key?’ repeated Mars Bar.

  ‘You’re not old enough to drive.’

  ‘The colour!’ Mars Bar shrugged.

  ‘It’s the zoo workers’ uniform.’

  ‘Doesn’t show the animal poo,’ said India. The driver left the open mini-truck piled with droppings. He wore short shorts, khaki shirt and long socks. Pushing his sun- glasses back on his head he took a shovel from the truck.

  ‘Hey!’ Art pointed.

  ‘Shorty is the one we saw from the balloon.’

  Shorty hurried up the path, carrying his shovel. The children followed. Pleased they weren’t fighting, Sam’s Dad followed, checking his map.

  Was Shorty just collecting animal droppings? From the balloon Art had only seen a blur, not a face. But the suspect was wearing short shorts and a khaki shirt. And he’d stuffed a body under the walkway. Had some person or some animal died?

  As Shorty reached the walkway across the swamp, he glanced back, saw the children and took off. Art grabbed India’s arm.

  ‘Look who he’s meeting.’ His lime green helmet swinging, the Cyclist was waiting outside the Butterfly House. From his back pocket, Shorty gave him something. Then the Expert arrived with Spiky trailing behind.

  ‘This Butterfly House is world famous. It has some rare butterflies.’ Sam’s Dad puffed up behind them.

  ‘D’you want to go in the Butterfly House now? We have to meet at the Zoo School in half an hour, Mrs.Tasker said.’ Art tugged at Shorty’s sleeve.

  ‘Excuse me, did you notice a balloon flying over this morning?’

  ‘Goes over most days.’ Up close, the golden hairs on Shorty’s legs looked like tawny wire.

  ‘Were you working here early?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Shorty nodded.

  ‘Are you doing a project?’ India whipped out her notebook.

  ‘Zoo animals, food and shelter.’ Shorty shrugged.

  ‘Aren’t you going to the Zoo School later? They know all that stuff. Must get back to work.’ Suddenly, he turned.

  ‘Were you taking a photo up there this morning? I saw a flash.’ India nodded.

  ‘See much from up there?’ He sounded worried.

  ‘Don’t mention anything to Kip will you?’

  ‘Who’s Kip?’

  ‘The teacher at the Zoo School,’ said Shorty.

  ‘Always wears an elephant tie.’ In his pocket, Art felt for the body- under-the-walkway photo. Should he bring it out? Or should they check under the walkway first?

  ‘Come on!’ said Sam’s Dad firmly.

  ‘Leave the pusher outside, Mars Bar.’ Shorty spoke hurriedly to the Cyclist. Art overheard. ‘See you after I’ve got it.’

  Still carrying his helmet, the Cyclist vanished inside the Butterfly House. Shorty followed. So did Art. If Shorty had seen the flash and the balloon, then he was the suspect. And why didn’t he want this mysterious Kip to know?

  Chapter 7


  The Butterfly House

  ‘Like a giant igloo-shape, but hot,’ said India as they entered a small passage way. Then they opened the second door of the misty Butterfly House...

  ‘Keeps the heat inside,’ guessed Art. Waves of warmth came towards them.

  ‘Stops the butterflies escaping,’ said Mars Bar. ‘Bet they’re worth millions.’

  ‘Like your Grandad’s greyhounds.’ Art stared as butterflies of all colours flitted Big ones. Tiny ones. But all fast movers. He needed a remote to put them on slow motion.

  ‘Like ideas flitting around in your head.’ India stared.

  Inventor India’s’ head might be full of butterfly ideas, but Art didn’t think that way. Clues filled his head like a jigsaw with missing pieces. Mars Bar’s head would be messy, with blobs everywhere, like Tiny’s dinner, thought Art.

  Had Shorty gone inside the Butterfly House to collect butterflypoo? Or was he following the Butterfly Expert? One little girl shrieked.

  ‘EEEEE.’ A butterfly had landed on her eyelid. She stood motionless.

  ‘Shh,’ said the Expert. ‘Don’t frighten them.’

  ‘Do butterflies drop much poo?’ asked Mars Bar. The Expert smiled.

  ‘They drink mainly nectar from flowers. So they drop liquid. Not very much.’

  ‘Yuk,’ said Mars Bar. The little girl scrubbed at her eye with a tissue. Ahead, Art glimpsed a figure in khaki. Was it Shorty?

  ‘No. He’s a Voluntary Zoo Guide,’ India pointed to his badge.

  The guide wore khaki long pants and a shirt which just buttoned over his tummy. Leaning against the railing, he watched everybody and answered questions. Could insects tell the difference between people if they wore the same colour clothes, wondered Art?