“Strange happenings afoot last night in Forest Park. It appears that sometime after midnight there was a large explosion in the vicinity of the Jewel Box. The Jewel Box, once a center of horticultural delights in St. Louis, has for several years been closed for renovations. At the same time, local residents claim they heard the howling of wolves from around the park. Also, a hyena is missing from the zoo. Zookeepers say she is shy and looks a little like a small, spotted dog. If anybody sees her, they are to call the zoo hotline.”
Now Cynthia stared at the TV with David. She did not understand why any of this should have significance to either one of them, but somehow it did. Something inside her had died, but she had no idea what it was. She looked at David. He was muttering to himself. “She’s there, I know it... I have to get it back...”
Cynthia did not understand, and David didn’t offer any explanation.
“I’m late,” he said absentmindedly and walked to the door.
Cynthia started to clean up the mess and then changed her mind. She went into the living room closet and removed a bottle of vodka and carried it back to the kitchen, poured some into a glass, and added orange juice. Then she took David’s place at the kitchen table and stared at the television.
Chapter 46
Two weeks later
“It’s snowing! It’s snowing!” Joey bounced into the dining room at breakfast time. He was so excited that he kept flitting back and forth between kangaroo and boy form, bouncing higher and higher each time he changed. He had never seen snow before, as it never fell in his hometown of Alice Springs right in the middle of the Australian desert.
Today was the first day of winter break. Professor Ainsworth had flown home to see his family in Florida (being an animagus sure saved him airfare!), and the P.A.W.S. students who were staying at the institute had two weeks of freedom from classes.
It had been snowing all night, and Forest Park had been transformed into a winter wonderland. After breakfast Miri walked up Art Hill with Danny, Josh, Mandy, Joey, Sean, and Sandy. Some of them were dragging sleds, but Joey had been able to persuade their old janitor, Bob Stone, to come out with him.
At the top of the hill, Bob transformed into his giant tortoise form, and Joey, whooping loudly, slid down the hill on top of the old tortoise’s shell. Miri watched them happily.
“Come on, Miri,” shouted Danny. Miri joined him on his sled, and together they sped down Art Hill.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Debbie grew up in the UK in the East London suburb of Barking. She has lived in Israel, New York and North Carolina and somehow ended up in St. Louis, where she works as a writer and as a freelance puzzle constructor of word puzzles and logic problems. She lives with her husband, two children and a very opinionated feline. She believes that with enough tea and dark chocolate you can achieve anything!
Connect with Debbie on her website:
debbiemanberkupfer.wordpress.com
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BONUS MATERIAL
THE GREAT BOBBERT
“Popgoes! Hey, Popgoes! Come back here! Where is that weasel?”
The Great Bobbert scratched his head unleashing a cascade of bluish purple powder from his long straggly orange hair. His many pockets bulged with a multitude of objects: cards, rings, whistles, coins, scarves, and balloons – all the tricks of the trade for a working clown.
He rushed through the park, puffing and panting, accidentally kicking a squirrel in his path that chattered angrily at him.
“No need for that kind of language,” muttered the clown.
“Now, where is that pesky weasel? Ah, there he is. What the . . . ? Is that a kangaroo? Where did it come from? They’re certainly not indigenous to Missouri, or at least I don’t think they are. Did it escape from the zoo? I wonder if there’s a reward?”
Clowning no longer was as lucrative as it used to be, especially as weasel food had become so expensive of late, so Bobbert was always looking for a way to supplement his income.
“Maybe if it’s not from the zoo, we can use it in the act? Maybe Popgoes is arranging a contract. Good weasel – they’ll be extra Purina Weasel Treats for you tonight.”
Cautiously the clown moved forward. “I wonder if it’s fierce. It doesn’t look fierce, but you never know. Appearances can be deceptive. Look at Popgoes. Everyone thinks he’s so cute, but he’s a devious little bugger with a nasty bite!”
“Popgoes, come here!” The weasel looked up at the clown and then leaned towards the kangaroo as if sharing a joke or a secret.
Without warning, the kangaroo bolted out of the path. Bobbert pounced and grabbed his weasel before it followed. “No, you don’t,” he said, and returned the struggling Popgoes to the felt hat on the top of his orange thatch. Resigned the weasel sat there surveying the world around him.
“Now, let’s go see what happened to that kangaroo.” He scoured the park looking for the wayward critter. He saw squirrels and rabbits galore, and plenty of locals walking their dogs. He asked a couple if they’d seen a kangaroo, but they looked at him as if he was crazy.
Finally, winded and dejected, he sat down on a bench next to a boy with dark messy hair. He looked vaguely familiar.
“Hey Kid, have you seen a kangaroo, around here?”
“No mate!” the boy said smiling. “Now, why would there be a kangaroo in the park?”
“Joey!” a voice called from the other side of the path.
“Gotta go!” said the boy, and bounded off, but for just a second it looked to Bobbert that he morphed into a small brown kangaroo.
“I must have drunk too much schnapps,” said Bobbert, shaking his head. “Come on Popgoes, let’s go home.”
The story continues in
ARGENTUM
Turn the page for a sneak peak …
Chapter 1
In the years that Josh had been living in the P.A.W.S. Institute of the Midwest, he had not been able to visit his mother, Sarah Sinclair, as often as he would have liked. The Institute’s business came first, but on the first night of Passover, Josh always went home for the Seder—the ceremonial meal that he and his family had celebrated every year as far back as he could remember.
Up until the age of nine, while his father was alive, their house was often filled with guests on this first Seder night. There were friends of his parents, or distant relatives he could never truly place. On the second night, they would have another Seder with just the three of them. Josh always enjoyed this one better. On the first night, the guests were often impatient, anxious to get to the festive meal; with reason, his mother was truly an excellent cook. On the second night, though, they took their time and didn’t skimp going through the Haggadah; each took turns telling the story.
His father and mother would read each section in Hebrew and Josh would repeat them in English, and after the meal they would sing all the songs. Josh loved those songs, particularly the final one, Had Gadya, a fable like those in his storybooks, his children’s Haggadah illustrated with pictures of the cat, and the dog, and the young goat.
Since his father’s death, there had been no guests in the Sinclair household for Seder. Each year Josh would come and he and his mother would read through the Haggadah together, and eat the modest meal that Sarah Sinclair cooked, just the two of them. Often, Josh would notice tears in the corners of Sarah’s eyes during the Seder as she remembered the parts that Albert always used to chant.
This year, however, it was different. Josh had asked his mother if he could bring guests. Sarah had readily agreed. She enjoyed entertaining and was happy to hear that Josh had friends—a girlfriend, even!
Mandy was nervous about the idea of meeting Josh’s mom.
“What if she doesn’t like me?” she protested.
“Of course she’ll like you,” reassured Josh, putting his arm around her, “what’s not to like?”
But with the holiday approaching, Mandy was feeling
a little down. Normally, when she used to live at the Saul Emmanuel Academy, she’d have gone home to her parents for Passover. She had asked Jessamyn if that might still be possible, but Jessamyn had determined that it was too early. Her parents had been told that she’d been accepted on a special school exchange program overseas and would not be returning until the summer.
Jessamyn, sensing Mandy’s disappointment, had suggested that maybe shopping might cheer her up. She’d generously given Mandy and Miri fifty dollars apiece and sent them off on the Metro to the Galleria. Wandering around the mall had been a weird experience for the girls. During the months at P.A.W.S. they had all but forgotten that the regular world outside the institute existed, but here that world continued as normal, oblivious to the strangeness not so many miles away.
It was actually fun pretending they were normal teenagers hanging out at the Galleria. They laughed like crazy at the Easter Bunny, who appeared to be drunk as he swayed back and forth while a bunch of rambunctious toddlers clambered all over him for a photo op. They tried on fancy dresses in the swankiest stores in the mall. It occurred to Miri that she was enjoying herself, that she’d never done this before, never “hung out” with a friend at the mall like a normal teenager.
They wandered through Macy’s, trying perfumes and lotions. Giggling and flirting with a cute cashier. Then suddenly Miri pulled Mandy away, and they ducked into a fitting room.
“What was that for?” hissed Mandy.
Miri peered out behind the door of the fitting room. She pointed at a woman up by the Chanel counter. She was dressed in a fur jacket over a navy tailored suit, and wore impossibly high red stiletto heels.
“That’s my Aunt Cynthia,” explained Miri in a whisper, “she mustn’t see me.”
“She looks rich,” observed Mandy, “but . . . not at all happy.”
***
It was true, Cynthia had lost the sparkle she once possessed. In the last few months, she’d gradually been withdrawing from her circle of friends. The fundraisers and coffee mornings bored her. She was restless. She constantly believed that life had left her behind, discarded her on the wayside. There had been something else, someone else, but that part of her mind was fogged. She couldn’t summon up the memories. If someone had peered at her closely, they would have seen the dark circles under her eyes showing through the layers of concealer and foundation. Sleep, it seemed, was part of an earlier, more easygoing life, one that today felt like it had happened to a different person, and she would lie awake at night, thoughts racing through her brain, listening to the loud snores of David, her husband, sprawled out on two thirds of their king-sized bed.
David still wouldn’t talk to her, and continued to spend most of his daytime hours in his office. He, too, looked tired and withdrawn and worried, deeply worried. When he wasn’t working, he would spend hours wandering aimlessly around Forest Park, searching for she knew not what. Cynthia knew about this because she’d hired a private detective to track him. She’d worried that he might have been having an affair. At first she’d searched for David’s friend Alistair Wolfe, but with no luck. He seemed to have no agency listed in the phone book. Instead, she found a Mr. Aldous Wrigley, whose ad in the Yellow Pages boasted that lost cats and wayward husbands were his specialty.
He shared his office on Big Bend in central St. Louis County with an old clockmaker—cuckoo clocks, carriage clocks, grandfather clocks, ticking, buzzing, clicking, chiming—a cacophony of clocks punctuated their conversation as Cynthia shared with Aldous Wrigley the intimate details of her marriage.
Aldous took notes and curiously would check his watch every few minutes, as if he didn’t trust all the many clocks that surrounded him. He agreed to take on Cynthia’s case and set about trailing David during his endless rambles around Forest Park, observing everything . . . and nothing. David wasn’t having an affair. It looked to Aldous as if he was searching for something, or someone, in the park, but who or what he could not penetrate.
Nevertheless, Cynthia continued to pay Aldous, if only so she could have some purpose, and so she could return to the curious clock shop.
***
From their hiding place, Mandy and Miri watched Cynthia purchase a large bottle of Chanel No. 5 from the snooty cashier and then wobble away on her scarlet heels.
Miri, who had been holding her breath, let out a sigh of relief and turned to Mandy.
“I think we should be getting back to P.A.W.S.” she said.
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ARGENTUM
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P.A.W.S. Page 19
