Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! (10 page)

After Mrs. Bunny got out, he drove on to the manor house to collect Madeline, who was waiting by the gate.

“How is your uncle?” asked Mr. Bunny.

“He's still in a coma,” said Madeline.

“That's dreadful,” said Mr. Bunny. “Gosh, I hope he doesn't die!”

“Well, that's not very tactful!” wailed Madeline. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Oh dear, I'm afraid not. If Mrs. Bunny were here she
would stuff a sock in my mouth,” said Mr. Bunny, looking remorseful. “I'm sure he won't die. Don't worry. I had a coma once for three years and woke up very refreshed. Mrs. Bunny even suggested to a travel agency that they offer bargain vacations along those lines. The ad campaign could read, CAN'T AFFORD THE BAHAMAS THIS YEAR? TRY A COMA!”

“THREE YEARS!” said Madeline. “If we can't find Flo and Mildred ourselves, we'll need Uncle out of his coma and decoding that file card sooner than that. I'm sure there must be a clue there. A clue that starts with
r
. I need more time to brainstorm such things with you, so I thought maybe we could put up a tent for me at your hutch. I already told Uncle's butler I was going to stay with the Bunnys. I think he may have thought that was the last name of someone human. Well, of course that's what he thought. And you see, this way we can devote all our energies to the search.”

“Our idea exactly. Except we thought you and I should spend the morning building you a guest cottage while Mrs. Bunny is in her hat club meeting.”

“Isn't that a waste of time? Wouldn't a tent be easier and quicker? I really think we need to find Flo and Mildred
soon
!”

“I think if the plan is to drag Mrs. Bunny out of the first
club meeting she has ever gone to, it is going to take more than two of us,” said Mr. Bunny, looking speculative.

“Oh, all right, but I hope it won't be a
long
meeting,” said Madeline, nervously twisting the corner of her shirt.

Mrs. Bunny's hat club meeting was a howling success. There was some milling about and chitchat before it began, and Mrs. Bunny was quite the social maven.

Then the proprietress, whose name was Mrs. Ruskeebunny, started the meeting by saying, “I have the most wonderful idea! Next week is the annual parade of bonnets. We had planned to be hopping down Main Street as usual.
However
, I have just overheard some news that could change everything! Mrs. Bunny has been telling Mrs. Hopbunny that Prince Charles is coming to Comox Elementary! Suppose we take the parade to Comox? To hop in front of the school as the prince arrives? What greater honor can we rabbits bestow upon him than to grace him with our bonnety presence?”

There was a great buzz of excited noise as the ladies considered this.

“All in favor say ‘Aye,' ” said Mrs. Ruskeebunny.

It was unanimously decided to go.

“Excellent. Then we will hire some Greyhound Explorers,” she began.

There was a shrill shriek from the back. “Greyhounds! Run for your lives!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sneepbunny, but not all greyhounds are dogs. Some of them are buses.”

Several bunnies had fainted, but Mrs. Ruskeebunny paid no attention. There were always a few drama queen bunnies.

“And thank you, Mrs. Bunny, for bringing us this wonderful information. And at your very first meeting!”

There was a rousing round of applause. Mrs. Bunny blushed and blushed.

“Now, we must make our bonnets extra-special. As you know, in years past we have lined the bonnets with silk, but if it rained, our furry heads got drenched. So this year it has been suggested that we make our bonnets more weatherproof. To this end I have purchased several rolls of plastic lining, and I shall show you how to attach it to the hats.”

“Won't that cause dreaded furry head sweating?” asked
one of the members. Her husband was a furatologist and saw many cases of this when bunnies overhatted.

“Not at all,” said Mrs. Ruskeebunny. “In my experience only the gentleman bunny sweats. The lady bunny dews, at most. And dewing is very attractive. No, I think we should line all the bonnets with plastic this year. It will be expensive but will protect the bunny's head from rain. We don't want to greet Prince Charles looking like a bunch of drowned cats! And next week it may be rainy.”

“Very rainy,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Very, very rainy,” said Mrs. Tobagobunny.

“Very rainy,” said Mrs. Sneepbunny.

It was hard to tell if they were all agreeable or just unoriginal. It hardly mattered to Mrs. Bunny, of course. She was having a
marvelous
time. She even told them about her lint art, and they exclaimed that she must bring some in to show them
for sure
.

So she was feeling elated, until Mr. Bunny picked her up. One look at his face and she forgot her happy morning in a trice. “Why, Mr. Bunny,” she said as they pulled away from the curb, “whatever is the matter?”

“We must hurry and get back on the case. Madeline and
I built a cottage for her, and I brought in a team of plumber bunnies, who installed a small bathroom. I'm afraid to even look at the bill.”

“Oh, money,” said Mrs. Bunny. If Mr. Bunny was merely having a conniption over expenses, she need not be concerned.

“Let us not be so cavalier about the bills. But that's not the problem. Madeline is just in a
state
about these parents of hers. We must rescue them
now
, she keeps saying. We are taking too long. She has been practically hysterical. And
what
parents they turn out to be! While we built the cottage, Madeline told me dreadful tales. As you already know, she is made to waitress for shoe money. But wait! It gets worse! Her parents won't even come to her parent-teacher conferences. She goes in their place. They completely refuse to attend her Christmas concerts and graduation ceremonies.
She
is the one who changes the lightbulbs in her house! It sounds to me like
she
takes care of
them
.”

“Oh, Mr. Bunny!” sobbed Mrs. Bunny.

“Yes,” said Mr. Bunny with satisfaction. You could always tell when you'd told a heartrending tale well because Mrs. Bunny could not control the waterworks. There were damp puddles on the seat already. You could water crops with Mrs.
Bunny's tears once she got going. Indeed, Mr. Bunny had often thought of holding her over the lettuces.

They drove a bit in silence and then Mrs. Bunny said, “You know, Mr. Bunny, maybe we could … uh …”

“We could what?” asked Mr. Bunny, still thinking about how well he had handled it all.

“Keep her,” said Mrs. Bunny in high, strangulated tones.

“Oh, Mrs. Bunny, we're not supposed to befriend humans, let alone adopt them.”

“No? Then I think we must steal her,” said Mrs. Bunny, mulling it over.

“Mrs. Bunny, get ahold of yourself.”

Mrs. Bunny said no more, but she still thought it was a good idea.

In the meantime, Madeline was pacing.

When she saw the Bunnys' car pull up, she ran to it.

“Finally!” she said. “Let's go find Flo and Mildred.”

“Let's have some soup first,” said Mrs. Bunny reasonably. “It's no good detecting on an empty stomach.”

Mrs. Bunny had vowed to herself that from now on somebody was going to take care of Madeline. This was going to be her priority. Even before finding Flo and Mildred and closing down the evil factory.

“I can't help feeling everything is taking too long. You said you had things under control, but we haven't done anything! Maybe we should see if we can get a doctor to
force
Uncle out of his coma. Do you think that would be possible?”

“Not if he is enjoying himself,” said Mr. Bunny. “People can be very stubborn about remaining comatose. No, the first thing to do is to try to decode the note ourselves. Let us have the soup while we do it. No one can decode with a malnourished brain.”

Madeline set the outside table, and Mrs. Bunny heated up some soup, and the three of them slurped soup and worked on the note.

They read it frontways and backways and upside down. Mrs. Bunny suggested they try reading it while standing on their heads, and though that didn't seem to make any sense, they tried that too. It didn't help.

Mrs. Bunny said that inspiration was sure to strike at any
second. Mr. Bunny then remembered his secret decoder ring that had come in a box of Carrotloop cereal. He went inside to get it. But that didn't work either.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” said Madeline.

“Would you like some more soup, dear?” asked Mrs. Bunny.

“She doesn't want more soup, she wants her note decoded,” said Mr. Bunny. “There's only one thing to do, and I had hoped to avoid it.”

“Oh no,” said Mrs. Bunny. “Don't even think it.”

“What?” asked Madeline.

Mr. Bunny sighed. “We shall have to visit a marmot.”

 THE MARMOT 

“N
o!” said Mrs. Bunny. “NOT MARMOTS!”

“What's so terrible about that?” asked Madeline.

Mr. and Mrs. Bunny laughed and laughed.

“What's so funny?” asked Madeline. They didn't look as if they were having fun, they looked hysterical.

“Nothing,” choked out Mr. Bunny between guffaws. “It's just
too terrible
to think about.”

“What do they do that is so awful?” asked Madeline.

“When they come to visit, they don't bring cake,” said Mr. Bunny.

“I came for a visit and I didn't bring cake,” said Madeline.

There was an awkward silence.

“But you're family. You need
never
bring cake,” Mrs. Bunny said hastily.

Madeline felt a faint glow. Then she thought, my adopted family are rabbits. I finally fit in somewhere and it is with a whole different species. Naturally.

“But there is one marmot talent that, while usually pretty useless, is of the greatest value to us right now.”

“They can decode,” said Mr. Bunny. “They can decode like sons-of-guns.”

“Virtual Rosetta Stones, every one of them,” said Mrs. Bunny. “And the greatest one of them all, the one who has never been stumped, is The Marmot.”

“The marmot? Which marmot?”

“That's his name. His parents named him The, and of course his last name is Marmot. So he is The Marmot. And
that
should tell you all you need to know about marmots, even if you didn't already know about the cake thing,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“But we have to find Flo and Mildred!” said Madeline. “So can't we forget about the cake thing temporarily?”

“Temporarily,”
said Mr. Bunny.

“Because it really is
so
rude,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Yes,” said Madeline. “Now, where do we find The Marmot?”

“Well, that's another thing,” said Mr. Bunny. “You never know about marmots.”

“They keep changing their houses. One day they're here. One day they're there.”

“They're very transient,” said Mr. Bunny.

“And they don't bring cake,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Yes, yes, we've covered that,” said Madeline impatiently. “Well, how do we find out where The Marmot lives, then?”

Mr. and Mrs. Bunny looked at each other.

“We thought all children knew how to find things,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Google,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“I didn't know you could Google marmots,” said Madeline.

“You can Google anything, dear,” said Mrs. Bunny patronizingly. “I just learned how to use the computer this year. Mr. Bunny taught me.”

“And I'm never teaching you anything again,” said Mr. Bunny.

“You got that straight,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” said Madeline, so Mr. Bunny hopped inside to his computer and Googled The Marmot.

He came out waving a piece of paper with the address, and the three of them set off over hill and dale to a “particularly ugly part of the countryside,” as Mrs. Bunny loftily put it. They pulled up in front of a pile of dirt.