Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! (16 page)

Eventually there was the sound of a door opening and she thumped down on a hard cement floor.

“Is anyone there?” asked Madeline in a scared little voice.

“You're mine now!” said the voice.

“I wish you'd stop saying that,” said Madeline, rallying. “It's a silly thing to say!”

“Is not. It's scary,” said the voice.

There was something about the whiny tone that reminded Madeline of someone, but she couldn't think who.

“Anyhow,” the voice went on, “I guess this will teach you to spy on
me
!”

Did the foxes think she and Mr. Bunny had been spying on them? They had been trying to, but they hadn't caught
sight of the foxes once. It was she and Mr. Bunny who had been spied on, apparently. She tried to remember if they had glimpsed any sign of foxes, but she didn't think they had. Oh, they really were formidable foes, to stay so well hidden. Anyway, the thing now was to figure a way out. Well, first things first, Madeline thought, and began to try to scratch open a hole in the bag.

Madeline frantically worked at the cotton with her fingers. She was about to try her teeth when she heard the loud clang of a door opening and a whooshing noise as cold air poured into the room. There was the sound of scurrying and then the door clanged shut again.

“Hello?” called Madeline. “Has everyone left? Hello?”

She felt certain there were still foxes in the room. She could smell their slightly musty fur. And then she smelled something else. She couldn't place it at first. Wait, it was garlic!

“Are we on a garlic farm?” she asked.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” came the voice.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Wouldn't you like to know that too?”

“Where are Flo and Mildred? Are they okay?”

“Who are Flo and Mildred?” taunted the voice once more
before the room grew silent, leaving Madeline alone in the dark. She began to cry.

She had always been so self-sufficient. And that had been fine with her. She took pride in it. Didn't Flo and Mildred like to say she was more of an adult than they were? Didn't she solve their problems for them? She was very good at it. But she didn't want to anymore. She had gotten used to the Bunnys' company. To Mrs. Bunny's soothing cups of tea and Mr. Bunny's complete confidence in every situation. She liked knowing she could rely on them. And she missed her bunny pals! But they'd never find her here. Because of her great self-sufficiency, no one would ever know what happened to her. And the Bunnys themselves might be tossed into prison the next morning and not understand why she never visited them with carrot cakes or tried to plan a daring prison break. They would think she didn't care! Oh, the poor, poor Bunnys! And poor, poor me! Madeline thought. She soaked her bag with tears until she fell asleep.

 THE BUNNY COUNCIL 

M
r. Bunny slept so badly that he got up at the crack of dawn, put on his overalls and went out to hammer a few shingles onto Madeline's roof. He found hammering always calmed him down.

He lost complete track of time, and before he knew it, Mrs. Bunny was standing in front of the Smart car and calling, “Mr. Bunny, stop that, you'll wake Madeline. And shake a paw, it's time to leave!”

“I thought she was already up,” said Mr. Bunny, climbing down his ladder.

“No, no, don't you remember, she asked me not to wake
her this morning. She's exhausted—poor, tired little thing. A morning in bed will do her good. Now hurry!”

She must be able to sleep through anything, thought Mr. Bunny, who had been pounding on her roof for the last hour. “I'll be there in a second. I have to change,” he called.

“Are you kidding? We'll be late! Just wear your overalls.”

“Overalls?” said Mr. Bunny, coming over to the car. “I can't go wearing my overalls. What will they think? It doesn't show the proper respect. They might arrest me for that alone.”

“Nonsense. They'll see me in my lovely black dress and best high heels and they will forget to arrest you because they will be consumed with the question of why such an elegant bunny would marry a zshlob like you.”

“I do not like that word, Mrs. Bunny,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Come along, let's not talk anymore. We're both nervous and we're sure to quarrel,” said Mrs. Bunny.

So they rode in nervous silence all the way to the council hall.

There they found other bunnies waiting outside the courtroom with pale, strained faces.

“See!” said Mr. Bunny. “They're all accessorizing their pale, strained faces with suits.”

“Hush,” said Mrs. Bunny. Now she was
very
nervous. Suppose they both went to prison? How could they take proper care of Madeline? She wondered how long a little girl could live on prune cakes. She had baked and frozen a dozen. Then she realized Madeline couldn't even get into the hutch to find them. Well, they would simply have to win their case, whatever it was.

The council was running late, as luck would have it, so the Bunnys had an even longer chance to fidget. Mrs. Bunny got a run in her stocking by nervously clawing at it.

“Darn it,” she said.

“Shhh,” said Mr. Bunny. “You never know what they will think is objectionable language. They may arrest you for that alone and throw you in the clink. Some part of me rather thinks it would serve you right.”

Some part of me rather thinks the laugh will be on you when you get home, open the freezer and find nothing to eat but prune cakes, thought Mrs. Bunny. She smiled. Mr. Bunny, seeing her smiling face, thought she had really lost her bunny mind this time. Of course, neither one of them meant these things at all. They were bunny pals forever, through thick and thin.

“Listen, seriously, Mrs. Bunny, this is important. In the courtroom,
never
volunteer information. Got that? Keep the bunny trap shut. In these situations, answer politely and to the point, but
never
volunteer
anything
.”

“Okay, okay,” muttered Mrs. Bunny, twisting her handkerchief. She hated it when Mr. Bunny was emphatic. It made her twice as nervous. It stirred her all up.

Finally the door opened and the Bunnys were called in.

They stood in the dock, looking up at the council, who all sat on very high stools behind a very high table up on a very high stage and stared down at them with great dislike.

And they've never even met us, thought Mrs. Bunny perturbedly.

“So, is your name Mrs. Bunny?” asked the head councilbunny, looking at her sternly.

“Yes,” squeaked Mrs. Bunny.

“And are you married to that zshlob in the overalls?”

“I dislike that word,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Yes, I am married to the, uh, gentleman in the overalls,” said Mrs. Bunny. “But I'd like to add that he was working feverishly hard right up until the time we left and didn't have time to change. He owns a very nice suit too. With cuffs.”

“Stop volunteering information,” muttered Mr. Bunny out of the side of his mouth.

“Really?” said the head councilbunny acidly. “I hope this putative suit of his is long enough to cover his
PURPLE PLATFORM SHOES
!”

There was a stunned silence. However had the council found out about Mr. Bunny's disco shoes?

“Those are my driving shoes,” said Mr. Bunny with dignity.

“Well, they are unbecoming to a bunny,” said the head councilbunny. “But that is the least of your worries and not why you have been called here. It has been brought to our attention that you have been consorting
WITH MARMOTS
!”

“Curses!” said Mr. Bunny, sotto voce, to Mrs. Bunny. “Someone squealed.”

“Wh-wh-what makes you think we consort with marmots?” stuttered Mrs. Bunny.

“Someone at The Olde Spaghetti Factory reported it to us,” said the head councilbunny.

“But how did
he
know? The Marmot was in disguise!” said Mrs. Bunny.

“AHA! That is the confession and confirmation we were
looking for. Thank you very much, Mrs. Bunny,” said a councilbunny, making a note.

“I told you,
never
volunteer information,” whispered Mr. Bunny.

“Silence! That alone would not have been enough to have you thrown in the big pit of snakes,” said the head councilbunny.

“You have a big pit of snakes?” interrupted Mrs. Bunny, beginning to shake violently.

“No, I have just always wanted to say that,” said the head councilbunny.

“You stop that right now,” said Mr. Bunny, shaking his fist. “You're
scaring
Mrs. Bunny.”

The council yawned and ignored him.

“But the truly actionable thing you have done is that you have been seen in the company of a HUMAN! A girl human! And you have not even tried to disguise this fact. Not only that, you brought said human to a bunny eating establishment, which goes absolutely against the charter of bunny laws, section six, subcode twelve twenty-three.”

“Who says?” said Mr. Bunny.

“A certain bunny waiter.”

“I told you to leave a bigger tip,” whispered Mrs. Bunny.

“This, in combination with your marmot consorting, has put both of you in a most tenable postion,” said the head councilbunny. “Most tenable.”

“Perhaps you do not know the meaning of
tenable
?” suggested Mr. Bunny.

“Shhh,” said Mrs. Bunny, pinching Mr. Bunny. “Don't make him mad.”

“I'll tell you what we have to say,” said Mr. Bunny, stepping out of the dock and pacing like a lawyer in the courtroom. “I'll tell you what we have to say. We say, HA!”

“Ha?” asked the head councilbunny.

“You heard me. Ha! Consorting with marmots, I will give you. Or rather,
a
marmot. But let me point out, we all consort with marmots when we need to
decode messages
! Therefore, we are well within our rights and there will be no pit of snakes for us! Ha!”

“True, true,” murmured all the councilbunnies.

“Also, we don't have a pit of snakes,” whispered one of them.

“True, indeed,” Mr. Bunny went on, picking up the pace of his pacing. “No, you can have no objections to
that
. We don't like marmots, but we use them. Am I correct?”

“Nevertheless,” said the head councilbunny, “we may
use
marmots, but we don't take them to The Olde Spaghetti Factory. And as for humans, we never, ever befriend them. The waiter reported that the little girl was your
friend
.”

“The waiter was wrong. That little girl is
not
our friend,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Oh, really?” said the head councilbunny acidly. “She just happened to follow you into The Olde Spaghetti Factory, sit next to you and let you pay for her spaghetti?”

“She is not our friend because she is …” And here Mr. Bunny paused for dramatic effect. He paused so long that several councilbunnies went out for coffee. One had time to order a short decaf double shot no whip mocha iced frappuccino to go. Mr. Bunny paused so long that when the councilbunny's coffee came, he had time to change his mind to a venti semi-skim soy no sugar caramel macchiato with no whip but double caramel and a reduced-fat skinny poppy seed and lemon muffin, hot, no butter. When the councilbunnies got back, Mr.
Bunny was almost done pausing. They sipped their coffee and turned their attention back to him.

“OUR PET!” Mr. Bunny finished.

“Your pet? The little girl is a pet?” said the head councilbunny. “A likely story.”

“I think if you will read your bunny charter of rights you will find, section sixty-two, subsection nine thirty-four, that, and I quote, ‘Bunnies have the inalienable right to have for their pet any animal they choose so long as they build it suitable housing.' ”

“AHA!” said the head councilbunny.

“And as you can see, I am wearing my overalls because I was working on the said pet hutch right up until council time! HA! HAHAHAHA, HAHA!” said Mr. Bunny triumphantly.