by Lauren Child
‘Her cousin Emily – lives in North Twinford. You see the thing is she was offended, she shouldn’t have been, but that’s Mrs Digby all over, she gets offended at the drop of a hat.’
‘Offended? By what, Mrs Redfort?’
‘You know, anything really, it can be the smallest criticism, one has to be so careful, the slightest thing can set her off; I ask her to dust, she thinks I’m criticising, I ask her not to, she thinks I don’t trust her with a duster…’
‘No, Mrs Redfort,’ said the detective, trying hard to hold on to his short temper. ‘I meant to say how did you offend her this time?’
‘Well look, it’s like this Detective,’ interrupted Brant Redfort. ‘Sabina stepped into an argument between Consuela our talented new chef and Mrs Digby our much loved housekeeper – some tomato juice was thrown and Sabina was understandably rather upset.’
‘It went all over my new Oscar Birdet jacket. It’s most probably ruined – tomato juice is a stubborn one to get out,’ assured Sabina.
‘The thing is,’ continued Brant, trying to keep the conversation on track, ‘Mrs Digby felt Sabina was taking Consuela’s side – she’s very high-strung.’
Ruby was by now standing in the doorway quietly observing. The detective was writing something on his notepad, obviously thinking very hard.
‘What is it?’ asked Sabina.
‘Could just be that your Mrs Digby is somehow involved in all this – have you thought of that?’ He waved his arm to indicate the now furnitureless house.
‘Oh now come on Detective! Nat, you’ve seen Mrs Digby – you really think a little old lady is capable of stealing every stick of our furniture?’ Brant was appalled by this suggestion.
‘Well as it happens, I don’t, but as the Detective says, we have to follow up every lead.’
‘Maybe she wasn’t acting alone,’ said the detective.
‘Oh, you must be out of your mind – Mrs Digby practically raised me,’ exclaimed Sabina. ‘That’s an awful thing to say.’
‘Maybe I am, and maybe it is, but you have to admit it’s quite a coincidence her disappearing at the same time that you lose all your million-dollar stuff, wouldn’t you agree, Mrs Redfort?’
‘Well yes, but, but…’
‘I’m just saying, we need to look into it,’ said the detective, closing his notepad. ‘Thanks for your time.’
He left by the back door.
‘Sorry not to come with better news,’ said the sheriff.
Just then his radio crackled. ‘Nat, you there? We got a problem at the City Bank.’
The sheriff sighed and spoke into the radio. ‘Not again! OK, I’ll get over there right away.’
He looked up at the Redforts. ‘Darn it, this gold delivery’s causing mayhem – the new alarm system keeps triggering. It better be fixed before that shipment arrives.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Look, I’ll let you know if I get any more leads. You take care. Remember, get those locks changed!’
‘What’s left to steal?’ said Sabina, closing the door.
Ruby glanced over at Hitch. He looked far from the suspicious character Clancy wanted him to be – he was busy making cocktails and seemed not the slightest bit interested in this latest development. Was he listening? It was hard to be sure – he seemed a lot more concerned about squeezing limes than he did about a little old lady who was missing, presumed felon. Maybe there was nothing sinister about him at all, maybe he was just a bit dumb.
Handsome but probably not a lot going on upstairs, thought Ruby.
Brant caught sight of his daughter. ‘Hey, Ruby honey, what happened at basketball?’
‘Oh, you know, bounced a ball, shot some hoops, came home. What’s going on?’
‘Well that… detective fellow wanted to interview Mrs Digby about the robbery, but no one can find her.’
Ruby took a breath. ‘Do you think it’s possible…’ her voice was hushed so her mother wouldn’t hear. ‘Do you think it’s possible that Mrs Digby was stolen, you know, along with all our stuff ?’
Brant Redfort smiled, ‘That’s a good one Rube!’
But Ruby wasn’t joking.
‘I’m serious Dad, perhaps she was kidnapped?’
‘If she was kidnapped then we would know about it,’ said Brant.
‘Not necessarily, the kidnappers might be waiting a while before they make contact – you know, to build up the tension.’
‘You know what?’ said Brant conspiratorially.
‘What?’ said Ruby
‘You watch too much TV.’ He laughed, patted his daughter on the head and walked into the living room. Ruby sighed as she straightened the barrette in her hair.
‘And you guys probably don’t watch enough’, she muttered under her breath. This kind of situation was always coming up in Crazy Cops. Ruby had learned a lot about the workings of the criminal mind from watching this show. It was on tonight and if Mrs Digby were here they would be watching it together – side by side on the couch. Except there was no couch. Wherever Mrs Digby was now, Ruby wondered, was she watching Crime Night?
Ruby’s sleep was fitful that night – she had a hard time dozing off, and when she did, she dreamt dreams which gave her no rest. Dreams where the telephone rang and the voice on the other end spoke in riddles. Dreams where her mother was taken hostage by a dangerous toast eating butler and her father was shot at by crazy furniture thieves, and all the while the voice of Mrs Digby called out to her from some faraway prison cell. She was woken by her own voice calling, where are you Mrs Digby?
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Mrs Digby, a criminal? That detective was a prize bozo. Mrs Digby would never commit a crime – well, not a crime against the Redforts anyway. Ruby’s mind began sifting through worries, exploring solutions, hitting dead ends and double-backing to square one. She consoled herself with RULE 33: MORE OFTEN THAN NOT THERE IS A VERY ORDINARY EXPLANATION FOR THE ‘EXTRAORDINARY’ HAPPENING.
But it was no use, she was wide-awake.
She got up, pulled on a sweatshirt and quietly made her way downstairs – she didn’t want to wake Bug. But Bug was already awake and staring intently at the man sitting in the kitchen. Ruby froze: from her vantage point she could see Hitch, perched on a stool, his right shirtsleeve rolled up high to reveal a bandage at the top of his arm, which he slowly began to unwind.
She held her breath and became as still as the walls.
She watched as gradually all the gauze was removed to reveal what could only be a gun-shot wound.
Meanwhile,
somewhere in the
middle of nowhere…
Mrs Digby was crawling out of a floatation tank. She emerged in a polka dot bathing suit, somewhat dazed and disorientated, finding herself not quite in the Redfort’s spa gym. Certainly most things were familiar but at the same time everything was very, very unfamiliar. All the furniture was the same, all the objects were the same, all the art was the same, what was odd was there was no house.
‘Where in all heaven have the darned walls gone?’ she exclaimed.
She appeared to be in an enormous aircraft hanger containing just about everything the Redfort’s had ever owned.
The last thing Mrs Digby had been aware of was climbing into the floatation tank at three o’clock the previous day – she had been suffering from angry thoughts concerning her rival in the kitchen, Consuela, and thought she could do with some isolation time – or who knew what she might do.
Sabina Redfort had had the floatation tank installed only the other month, having taken advice from her personal healer, who had persuaded her that she needed more time with herself.
Mrs R always finds it very calming – what harm could it do? I guess it prunes the skin a little but at my age what’s a little pruning?
Mrs Digby had thought these thoughts as she climbed in, lay down, pulled the door shut and instantly fell into a heavy sleep.
Boy, had she slept!
What was the day, she wondered? Better not be Tues
day, she thought, catching sight of the Redfort’s kitchen clock. If it is then I’m missing Crime Night, and I never miss Crime Night.
Chapter 8.
Getting Lucky
BY DAYBREAK RUBY WAS UP, showered and pulling on her school clothes despite the fact that there was no one to nag her. Ruby was no early-bird, everyone knew that – in desperation her parents had given her an alarm clock which showed a bird pecking at a worm. It made a pleasant tweeting sound if set for any time before 7am – later than that and it made a sort of strangled squawking noise. Ruby walked into the bathroom and was surprised to see, laid out in neat piles, jeans, T-shirts, over the knee socks and other essentials. On closer inspection she saw that these garments were more than acceptable, in fact they were exactly the clothes she might have chosen herself. There was even a T-shirt printed with the words, keep it zipped.
This could not be the work of her mother.
She spotted a typed note next to a pair of size 3 Yellow Stripe sneakers.
Hope you approve. Had my stylist friend Billie pick these things out for you – she’s good at that kind of thing. Hitch.
Airhead he might be but he was certainly good at his job. Ruby moseyed downstairs to say thanks and found Hitch examining a piece of toast very closely, almost as if he were reading it.
He looked up, startled, and immediately began to spread it with peanut butter.
‘Toast?’ he said.
Not just an airhead but a weirdo too, thought Ruby.
Today, Ruby felt like taking the bus. She made it to the stop in plenty of time, clambered aboard, and sat down, barely acknowledging her friends, Del and Mouse. The two girls tried to get her attention.
‘Hey Rube,’ called Del.
Ruby didn’t even look up.
Del looked at Mouse. ‘Was it something I said?’
Ruby was staring at the card she’d picked up in Organic Universe and chewing furiously on her pencil – what was it she wasn’t seeing? What was there to see? Just the words Don’t call us we’ll call you and the simple decorative border – nothing to give any indication as to where the meeting would take place.
‘Tomorrow night at eight for eight’ was all the voice on the telephone had said.
What am I missing?
‘So Ruby, I see your toe is all mended,’ said Del.
Ruby looked down at her foot – she had forgotten all about her fake injury. ‘Oh, yeah,’ she answered.
Mouse looked at Del and sort of widened her mouth and rolled her eyes – this was her silent way of suggesting that all was not right with Ruby Redfort. Even Clancy Crew couldn’t get any sense out of her – and when Vapona Begwell dared to suggest that Ruby’s ‘recovered’ broken toe was either a miracle or she was some cowardly faker who had chickened her way out of the basketball tournament, she barely even blinked.
‘Hey Redfort,’ sneered Vapona. ‘Did those burglars steal your guts along with the furniture?’
Clancy couldn’t believe it. ‘You gonna let her get away with that Rube?’
‘Look, my mind’s got bigger concerns than Bugwart right now.’
‘Has something else happened?’ said Clancy eagerly. ‘More burglars? Something else go missing?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
‘What?’ said Clancy.
‘Mrs Digby,’ replied Ruby
‘Mrs Digby?’ mouthed Clancy.
Ruby nodded. ‘She isn’t at cousin Emily’s and she isn’t back home. We don’t know where she is.’
Clancy’s eyes were saucers. ‘Do you know what I think? I think the butler who isn’t a butler took her.’
‘And why would he do that, Clance?’
‘So he could get her job – get her outta the way.’
‘My mom didn’t give him the job because Mrs Digby had gone – she didn’t even know Mrs Digby had gone when she hired him.’
‘Yeah well, I still think he’s some bad news,’ Clancy said firmly.
‘Yeah well maybe you’re right ’cause guess what? I saw his injured arm – he doesn’t know I saw it but I did and I am telling you Clance, that’s no housemaid’s elbow he is suffering from – more like Gangster’s Shoulder.’
‘So I was right,’ marvelled Clancy. ‘He was in a shoot out.’ His face lit up. ‘You know he’s probably on the run, hiding out at your house, stealing your stuff and selling it.’
‘Clance, that brain of yours never ceases to amaze.’
But she couldn’t help thinking he might not be so far from the truth.
Ruby pretty much sleep-walked through her morning classes, so distracted was she by the puzzle she needed to solve. And then at 2.30 during her history lesson she suddenly saw what it was she couldn’t see before.
Mrs Schneiderman was giving a very tedious lecture about the ancient Greeks, and those students who weren’t staring out of the window were busy painting their fingernails with Wite-Out and generally working hard to keep from falling asleep. It wasn’t that anyone didn’t want to be interested, it was just that Mrs Schneiderman was one of those people who managed to make even the most interesting things sound very dull indeed. It was something to do with her delivery – she tended to ramble. Ruby was brought out of her thoughts and back into the classroom by the sound of one hundred thumbtacks falling to the floor. Ruby looked across the room and saw the ever accident prone Red Monroe frantically trying to scoop them back into their container.
‘Sorry, Mrs Schneiderman,’ she said. ‘They just sorta fell off my desk.’
The tacks had rolled right across the room and a few had ended up under Clancy’s chair – as he stood up to help, a couple of them lodged themselves in the sole of his left sneaker. Mrs Schneiderman was trying to regain the attention of her students and rapped her ruler on the wall. Ruby looked up and saw, projected on the screen, a slide showing a simple repeat pattern, the famous Greek key pattern used on pottery, mosaics and, it seemed, almost everything ancient Greek.
‘This is a decorative border called “meander”, first used in the Greek Geometric period,’ said Mrs Schneiderman loudly. ‘The name “meander” conjures up the twisting and turning of the Mæander River. “Greek key” is a modern term used to describe the pattern. It is always useful to remember that, in history, decoration is very rarely purely decorative, it is usually there to symbolise something or convey a message.’
Ruby was suddenly very alert. She reached behind her and felt for the jacket hanging on the back of her chair. Locating the left pocket she pulled out her notebook containing the little white card – the one from Organic Universe. On it were the six words, DON’T CALL US WE’LL CALL YOU, but it wasn’t the words that Ruby was interested in. The thing that got her attention today was the pattern decorating the edge of the card. She had previously overlooked this, considering it to be simply decorative – thus forgetting one of her own rules, RULE 13 in fact, THERE IS MORE TO MOST THINGS THAN MEETS THE EYE.
Now she studied the decorative border carefully – it was made up of interlocking figure eights which repeated all the way around the edge of the card.
‘… tomorrow night at eight for eight…’
Ruby knew the time was set for eight but what if the destination was also eight? ‘Be lucky,’ the voice had said – why? Why did she need to be lucky?
After school, Clancy and Ruby picked up Bug, and cycled out to the ocean. Ruby found watching the husky racing in and out of the waves helped her mind relax but still she had no answer. It wasn’t until they started off for home that something clicked. Ruby was cycling very slowly along the sidewalk – Clancy was on foot; his bike chain had broken and he was telling her about how this oil sheik had been on the way to meet with Clancy’s dad when he ran out of gas.
‘Imagine the scene – he is an actual oil baron and he runs out of gas!’
‘That’s pretty funny,’ said Ruby.
‘But that’s not all, his chauffeur flags down this old truck and who does it belong to?’ Clancy didn’t wait for her
to guess. ‘Only old Mr Berris who owns the local gas station, that one that’s closing down due to lack of business. Old Mr Berris has a spare can, fills up the sheik’s car and the sheik makes it to dinner on time!’
‘That’s really something,’ smiled Ruby.
Clancy couldn’t get over the irony of the situation. ‘Here is a guy with all the fuel he could ever want but he has to borrow a can from some little old guy who is about to close down due to no one buying his gas!’
‘He certainly got lucky,’ said Ruby, and then she stopped – she had stumbled on the final piece.
‘What’s up? What did I say?’ asked a bewildered Clancy.
‘Sorry Clance, gotta split – I promise I’ll tell you tomorrow!’ she said, steering herself off the kerb and back on to the street. ‘Drop Bug off would ya,’ Ruby called as she turned in the direction of Mountain Road and pedalled like crazy up the hill.
‘What?’ shouted Clance. ‘What just happened?’
‘I think I just got lucky!’ she shouted back.
Chapter 9.
A small dark space
RUBY PULLED UP AT EXACTLY THE SPOT she was sure she was meant to be. It was just out of town on Mountain Road, at a place where the road bent round to the left. It was the site of the old gas station. The only thing remaining of it was the faded sign which still pronounced, ‘Be Lucky, Treat Your Automobile to Some Lucky Eight Gas.’
It had been an unusually sunny afternoon and the road still felt warm under her feet. She took a look around.
Am I meant to be meeting someone?
There was nothing in any direction, nothing at all. Ruby was about to admit to herself that she had made a mistake when she noticed a manhole cover. She walked slowly over to it and brushed the dust from the cover with her hand. The manhole cover had a company logo on it – a picture of a fly with the words Bluebottle and Larva underneath it. Around the edge was the same repeating pattern as on the card, and there was a number in the middle: 848.
Eight for eight.
She waited, only taking her eyes off the manhole to check her watch. At precisely eight o’clock she began working on how to open the cover.
