by Lauren Child
When they were done washing the silver convertible they sat in the kitchen sipping the drinks Hitch had fixed – a couple of mint lemonade sodas. Hitch went up to check on the restorers. Sixty minutes after arriving, they had finished, their tools packed, dustsheets folded. Hitch took a fat wodge of twenty-dollar bills from his wallet, peeled off a large number and handed them to the guy in charge, shook them all by the hand and watched them leave. Then, reaching into his bag, he drew out a silver aerosol can, free of logo or label and sprayed it across the room.
‘What’s that?’ asked Clancy.
‘I think it must be an odour neutraliser,’ said Ruby.
‘I don’t smell anything,’ said Clancy.
Ruby looked at him. ‘Did the panic affect your brain? It’s to remove the smell – from all that polish and stuff.’
Done with that, Hitch picked up one of Mrs Crew’s perfume bottles, squeezed the atomiser and let it waft through the air. Now the room smelled as it should.
He checked his watch – seventy-four minutes gone. He took a final look around and, judging everything to be ship-shape, clicked his fingers, a signal that it was time to leave, then closed the door and walked speedily downstairs, trailed by Ruby and an awe-struck Clancy.
Before he exited, he turned to Clancy and said, ‘Don’t blow it by being all cute and nice to your mom. She’ll smell a rat in five seconds flat.’ He stepped into his car and turned the key. ‘Adios amigos,’ he called, then drove off in the direction of Cedarwood Drive. He had barely turned the corner of Rose when he saw Mrs Crew’s limousine sail by.
He glanced at his Spectrum-issue watch and smiled as the countdown hit zero.
Clancy watched as his mother pulled in through the gates. ‘Boy that’s some butler,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ said Ruby, ‘that was impressive.’
Mrs Crew was getting out of the car.
‘Hey there Mom, how are you? Can I help you with your bags? Get you some iced-tea?’ called Clancy.
‘What are you doing?’ hissed Ruby.
‘I don’t know,’ whispered Clancy, ‘it’s the nerves.’
His mother was looking at him suspiciously. That was until Ruby kicked him hard in the shin and Clancy cursed loudly before punching her on the arm.
Mrs Crew’s face relaxed; everything was as it should be.
When Ruby returned to Cedarwood Drive, she walked upstairs into the kitchen. Mrs Digby’s voice called out. ‘A fellow dropped by to see you.’
‘Who?’ asked Ruby.
‘Well, it wasn’t Quent Humbert, if that’s what’s worrying you. It was that Ray Penny from the bookstore – he left something for you.’
There was a rectangular package on the hall table and next to it a scrawled note.
Your book came in, just thought I should drop it over, you being in such a hurry and all.
The poetry book cost no more than a few dollars. It was not a first edition, nor even a second. Its pages were torn and grubby and its binding was broken, some pages floating free of the spine. It was not signed by the author nor inscribed to anyone of note but still, the words were there and that was what really mattered.
Ruby began to read. She read it in the order the poems were set out. From front to back, every letter written she read, including the copyright page, the publisher’s address and the information saying where the book was printed. She read it all in case the dullest part of the book held some clue as to why it had been stolen. It didn’t seem to.
The weird thing was, there was a poem listed in the index – poem 14, ‘You Are a Poem, Celeste’ – but when Ruby looked for it, it didn’t seem to be there.
She checked the page number to see if perhaps one piece of the book had fallen out, become lost, but no, the page numbers were all in order; nothing was missing.
She remembered the newspaper article. She remembered that Mr Okra’s copy had been inscribed, by hand, by someone named Celeste.
Well, that’s certainly a connection, thought Ruby.
‘So what have you got there?’ said Mrs Digby, peering over Ruby’s shoulder. ‘Saints preserve us, that school of yours isn’t making you study that pretentious book of self-absorbed drivel?’
‘You know this poet?’ asked Ruby.
‘I do,’ replied Mrs Digby. She had her hands on her hips. ‘My cousin Emily had a job at the Scarlet Pagoda, back in the day and she said that JJ Calkin came in practically every week to watch the shows and gaze at his muse, whoever she might be – drove everyone quite doolally.’
‘From his poetry I would guess he wasn’t a happy guy.’
‘Lighten up is what Emily told him.’
‘How did that go down?’
‘He wasn’t a fellow who took criticism well – he never spoke to her again. You want a tuna sandwich? You look pasty.’
‘I’d rather have cake,’ said Ruby.
‘I’ll make you a sandwich,’ said the housekeeper.
It was much later, after supper in fact, that Ruby got a call, something important judging by the fly flashing amber on her Escape Watch. She excused herself, suggesting she needed an early night, climbed the stairs to her room, grabbed her jacket and climbed out of the window.
Her arm was buzzing – she looked down and saw that the fly was now illuminated red.
Jeepers, she thought. When do they expect me to sleep?
Chapter 21.
WHEN RUBY ARRIVED AT SPECTRUM she went over to Buzz’s circular desk.
Buzz was speaking Mandarin, and when she caught sight of Ruby she paused her conversation, and said, ‘Blacker wants to see you, he’s in the canteen.’
Ruby found him wiping soy sauce off his jacket.
‘So what have you got for me?’ said Ruby.
Blacker worked in decoding and for that reason he and Ruby had spent many long hours together poring over bits of paper in small rooms, donut boxes spilling out of the trashcan. Blacker gave the impression of a person who wasn’t really keeping his eye on the ball, but the truth was very different from the way it appeared. ‘Don’t underestimate Blacker,’ was something Hitch had cautioned her against right from the get-go. She never had.
Blacker leaned forward in his seat. ‘You’ve heard about these weird robberies, right?’ he said, pulling a newspaper cutting from his pocket. It was folded several times and looked like it had been read over and over.
The headline read, GHOSTLY CRIMES. It was a piece about the Okras and their missing book. The picture showed them clutching hands on the couch, looking stricken.
‘Sure I have, but why would Spectrum be interested in this?’ asked Ruby. ‘I’m as eager as anyone to know who this skywalker is, but Spectrum? I heard these burglaries were all domestic robberies, not important financially or security-wise.’
‘You think getting robbed doesn’t matter?’ said Froghorn, who had just that second arrived at their table. He sounded very pompous and puffed up about it. ‘Little Ruby Rich Kid doesn’t need to worry about losing a few hundred dollars because she’s got her millionaire mommy and daddy to fill her piggy bank whenever she wants a new ballet dress. . .’
‘What?’ said Ruby. ‘What are you babbling about ballet dresses? I’m raising a legitimate point here.’
Blacker looked at Froghorn. ‘Come on Miles, Rube is actually asking a fair question.’ Froghorn pursed his lips. ‘Look Miles,’ said Blacker, ‘why don’t you make a start on the data? It would be one big help if we could make a few inroads here. I gotta hand it to you man, the work you took on yesterday kept the whole showboat afloat.’
Froghorn was the one who fed all sorts of data into the computer-banks so he knew a lot about the various cases Spectrum 8 were working on. He was no slouch in the brain department either; you couldn’t dismiss him as a lightweight, nor an upstart, and his combative attitude made him a formidable intellectual opponent. It was just a shame he was such a potatohead.
Froghorn stood up, very nearly smiled at Blacker, and without speaking another word
exited the canteen. That was the other thing you couldn’t but admire about Blacker – he was a diplomat.
Froghorn gone, he turned back to Ruby. ‘Let me explain. So as you know, a few days ago Mr and Mrs Okra had their ninth-floor apartment broken into. It would seem that the thief entered via the small bathroom window, which means he is pretty determined.’
‘It also means he is a heck of a climber too.’
‘And either very small or some kind of contortionist,’ said Blacker. ‘Not many people could fit through a window that size.’
‘I probably could,’ said Ruby.
‘Yeah, I reckon you could,’ said Blacker looking at her. ‘To answer your question, there are two really strange things about this crime which interest Spectrum, the most obvious being, why go to such lengths when all you intend to steal is a poetry book?’
‘Yeah,’ said Ruby. ‘The only thing I discovered is that the poet used to hang out at the Pagoda theatre.’
‘So we have a connection to the shoes at least,’ said Blacker. ‘Both are linked to the Scarlet Pagoda.’
‘And what’s the second thing?’ said Ruby.
‘Second,’ said Blacker, ‘Mrs Okra claims to have found something at the scene. At first she thought it had been left by the Crime Scene Investigation squad, but when she contacted them they had no knowledge of it.’
‘Knowledge of what?’ asked Ruby.
‘Well, Mrs Okra keeps a very orderly house, no dust, no clutter but she found something that doesn’t make any sense to her.’
‘Something the cops missed?’
‘Easy to miss.’
‘What was it?’
‘A card,’ said Blacker.
‘Like a postcard?’
‘No, like a calling card.’
‘So was there a number?’ asked Ruby.
‘No,’ said Blacker.
‘An address?’
‘There wasn’t one.’
‘A name?’
‘Uh uh.’
‘Nothing?’
‘It was blank.’
‘So why does Mrs Okra think this is important?’
‘Because it wasn’t there before.’
‘That’s a good enough reason, I guess.’
‘It is if you are Mrs Okra – boy is she tidy.’
‘So this thief accidentally left evidence?’
‘I wouldn’t say so. This card was very deliberately placed on top of a pile of books. It didn’t just land on the floor like it fell out of a pocket.’
‘A completely blank card?’ repeated Ruby.
‘Well, blank, as in nothing printed on it,’ said Blacker.
‘I don’t follow, is it blank or is it not blank?’
‘It has bumps.’
‘Bumps like Braille?’
‘Yes, but no.’
‘As in not Braille but possibly another form of touch language?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘You mean the thief is maybe deliberately leaving some kind of coded message?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ said Blacker. ‘And that’s what brings Spectrum into it. That. . . and the fact that a similar break-in and robbery was identified at that DOD base, the item taken from a secure room, no one seen arriving nor leaving.’
‘So you think there is a connection?’ said Ruby.
‘Well,’ said Blacker, ‘could be. It’s too big a coincidence for there not to be a connection, don’t you think? The yellow shoes were taken from a secured room and no one at the theatre saw a thing.’
They thought about this for almost a minute until Blacker asked, ‘You wanna split a donut?’
‘Let’s split two,’ said Ruby.
Taking a break was a good idea, and the donut was an even better one.
‘Boy, is there anything so good as a jelly donut?’ said Blacker.
‘You got me,’ said Ruby.
‘So anything come to mind?’ he asked. ‘Case-wise, I mean?’
‘I’m thinking, if you were going to steal something as inconsequential as a book, from somebody’s apartment, secure yes, but no Fort Knox, then why be so elaborate about it? Is it really necessary to climb up and down walls? What is this guy trying to prove here?’
‘That, my pal Ruby, is a mystery,’ said Blacker. ‘Not only do we not know why he does it, but nor do we know how he does it – why is it that not one security camera has picked him up leaving the apartment?’
‘So you are thinking of investigating the ghost angle,’ said Ruby.
‘Not yet I’m not, but I’m telling you, it might come to it,’ said Blacker. He winked and wiped his hands on his jacket. He caught Ruby’s eye and shrugged, ‘Ah, it needs washing anyway.’
‘So this card Mrs Okra found, did the cops get any fingerprints off it? Or were there prints in the apartment?’ asked Ruby.
‘Zip,’ Blacker replied. ‘The lab technicians are running some tests – UV light, that kind of thing.’
‘And this Braille-type code,’ asked Ruby, ‘is there enough for us to crack it?’
‘We’ll see but I don’t think so,’ said Blacker. ‘It looks like only a handful of characters. Not enough for us to break it with any kind of statistical analysis. We need more cards. More cipher text.’
‘In other words, we have to wait for him to strike again?’
‘And you can bet he will,’ said Blacker. ‘For now, stay on standby. I’m gonna have SJ hand the card over to you when she’s done her thing. I want your input on the code.’
‘You know me,’ said Ruby, ‘I’m always on standby.’
Chapter 22.
THE SUMMER WAS FADING FAST NOW, the wind beginning to gust through the trees, pulling at the branches in an effort to loosen the leaves. Whatever the townsfolk might be feeling, the authorities certainly weren’t sad to see the back of summer, but no one was quite expecting the season to change with such force.
Clancy and Ruby lay on beanbags facing towards the large picture window in Ruby’s top-floor loft-style bedroom.
‘Do you reckon that by the time we grow up, man will have invented a flying suit – a Superman-type of thing?’ mused Clancy.
‘Maybe,’ said Ruby, thinking of the Glider Wings. ‘It’s more than likely.’
‘It would be pretty cool – I mean, if I could have any superpower, that would be it,’ said Clancy. ‘That or invisibility.’
‘Invisibility is overrated as a superpower,’ said Ruby. ‘There’s an art to being invisible – you just have to think yourself into it.’
‘Yeah,’ said Clancy. ‘I saw that guy on TV doing it, you know, the one I was telling you about? The illusionist?’
‘Darnley Rex,’ said Ruby.
‘Yeah,’ said Clancy, ‘him. I might give it a try.’
‘Give what a try?’
‘Thinking myself invisible,’ said Clancy, ‘see if it works.’
‘You might have to lose the socks,’ said Ruby indicating Clancy’s neon yellow footwear.
‘Nancy took all of mine, I’m down to wearing Minny’s.’
‘And perhaps the hat should go too,’ added Ruby.
‘But this hat’s practical; it’s got a good brim and it’s waterproof.’
‘It’s pea green,’ said Ruby, ‘it practically glows.’
‘Not if you’re against grass,’ argued Clancy.
‘I don’t think invisibility’s a natural fit for you Clance.’
It was true enough. Clancy was the sort of boy who wanted to blend but who got noticed, and usually for all the wrong reasons. The only person who didn’t seem to see him was his father.
‘No, if I could have any superpower,’ said Ruby, ‘and I admit flying would be good, I might choose time travel. Imagine being able to teleport yourself from one time and place to another.’
‘Yeah, that would be kinda useful.’ Clancy was thinking about all those French tests he could retake once he had memorised the answers.
‘D’ya wanna grab a snack?’ said Ruby, pulling her
self up.
Clancy nodded. ‘I could eat.’
They went downstairs and padded barefoot into the kitchen where Mrs Digby was sitting reading her Twinford Echo.
She didn’t look up but said, ‘If you two children think I’m about to up and fix you an ox tongue and sea pickle sandwich you are quite mistaken.’
‘I’m disappointed,’ said Ruby, ‘but actually I was thinking more along the lines of cheese and ham.’
‘Oh, well that I can do you for,’ said Mrs Digby getting to her feet. ‘I live to serve.’
Clancy wiped his brow; he wasn’t always sure when the old lady was pulling his leg. She had told him so many stories of the things she had been forced to eat as a young woman growing up during the Great Depression that he couldn’t be certain that the housekeeper wasn’t about to feed him some alarming part of a creature.
‘So what have you children been plotting – mischief no doubt,’ said Mrs Digby tutting.
‘We have been discussing superpowers,’ said Clancy. ‘What kind of super human would you be if you could be anything?’
‘I’ve got just about all the superpowers a person could have – look at the amount I have to do around here. You think you could do all this at my age?’
‘I hadn’t looked at it that way,’ said Clancy.
Mrs Digby threw Ruby a glance. ‘That Quent called again. He wants to know if you will be attending his superhero party.’
‘Darn it,’ said Ruby, ‘I was trying to forget about that.’
‘Well, I hope your father doesn’t hear you talking that way. You know how he gets about the notion of hurting another mortal’s feelings.’
Ruby sighed, she knew only too well.
‘Jeepers,’ said Clancy, ‘so you’re gonna have to go!’
‘I’ll think of something,’ said Ruby.
They were just about to settle into some solid TV time, when Mrs Digby called from the kitchen.
‘Child, did you put this piece of bread in the toaster?’
Silence.
‘I just made you a snack for jeepers’ sake,’ continued Mrs Digby. ‘It’ll be dinner not so long from now and you’re making yourself toast. You suffering from worms or something?’
