Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! (6 page)

 MR. AND MRS. BUNNY BECOME DETECTIVES! 

“M
r. Bunny, I have had
an idea
!”

Mr. and Mrs. Bunny were sitting in the back garden of their new house, enjoying the fine summer morning and watching the smoke rise from some fire on the horizon.

“Do tell,” he said.

“I think we should become detectives.”

“That's it?”

“Yes.”

“What about my job with the carrot marketing board?”

“Quit.”

“And your job collecting lint and creating art from it?”

“That is not a job, that is a calling. But to heck with it. Let's go buy fedoras.”

Mr. Bunny grimaced. He suspected that many of Mrs. Bunny's sudden enthusiasms were just thinly disguised excuses to go shopping. But he knew better than to bring this up.

“Detective licenses?”

“I think fedoras are enough. Anyone who sees a bunny in a fedora will not feel the need to see a license.”

“It is very hard to find fedoras with holes cut out for our long and fuzzy ears, Mrs. Bunny. On the other hand, if we go to town we can drive our bright and shiny red Smart car.”

The car, as you will recall, had been included in the sale of the house, but so far the Bunnys had had no occasion to try it out.

Mrs. Bunny frowned. She had reservations about such a vehicle herself. For one thing, Mr. Bunny was a little too fond of going around the house pretending to shift gears and murmuring “Zoom zoom” in a loud and speeding way. She shuddered to think what he would do when he finally got his long and floppy foot on the gas pedal. Secondly, Mr. Bunny didn't know how to drive. She felt sure this was going to be a problem.

“Mr. Bunny, I think we could use some exercise. Let us leave the car for another day.”

“Nonsense, you've been hopping around that garden all morning. You're hopped out. What we need is a pleasant summer morning drive. Zoom. Zoom.”

“I knew it,” muttered Mrs. Bunny to herself.

By the time she had her purse and shawl and had locked the door against the possibility of foxes, Mr. Bunny was already behind the wheel, looking flummoxed.

“I just don't get it,” he said when Mrs. Bunny got in. “What makes it go?”

“What have you tried?”

“I have sat here saying all the car-starting sounds I could think of, including ‘zoom zoom' and ‘zuppety zuppety,' which always makes
me
go, Mrs. Bunny, but the car has not gotten the idea.”

“Maybe it has an On button. Like a light switch.”

“Please, Mrs. Bunny,” said Mr. Bunny. “Don't display your automotive ignorance. That is a particularly ridiculous idea.”

“Well, then, what is that slot there?”

“Where?”

“On the side of the steering wheel.”

“That's …” Mr. Bunny studied it furiously from all angles. “That's where you keep your parking coins.”

“I don't believe a coin would fit in there,” said Mrs. Bunny. “Unless it was a very bendy-shaped coin.”

“Would,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Well, I can be of no more help.”

“You could get out and push,” said Mr. Bunny. “I'm fairly certain if you pushed and I steered we could get this thing to town in very little more time than it would take to hop. Particularly when you factor in going down hills. Of course, at the bottom of the hills I would have to wait for you to catch up and you would have to hop very fast so as not to keep me waiting.”

Mrs. Bunny's answer to this was to get out and start hopping down the road. She trusted Mr. Bunny would catch up when he was in his right mind again. And indeed, shortly afterward, who should hop up behind her but Mr. Bunny himself.

And then all was silence until an hour later, when, drenched in sweat (merely misted in the case of Mrs. Bunny), the Bunnys
found themselves on Main Street. Rabbits abounded. All hopping. All shopping.

“Have you ever seen so many bunnies in one place at one time?” asked Mr. Bunny.

“And not a shotgun in sight,” said Mrs. Bunny. “It's like a bunny miracle.”

But Mr. Bunny did not seem to be paying attention, until Mrs. Bunny poked him, and then he said, “Mrs. Bunny, as I live and breathe! Look! Across the street.” He pointed.

“Oh, Mr. Bunny!” cried Mrs. Bunny. “A hat shoppe!”

And then she poked him again. Not because he wasn't paying attention but because when she did it the first time she found she liked it.

Mrs. Bunny might think she was getting away with this, but Mr. Bunny was silently counting the pokes to pay her back later.

The Bunnies hopped up and opened the door, which caused a little bell at the top of it to tinkle. Mr. Bunny had never come across a tinkling door before. It startled him so much that he fell against a display of bonnets and it was lilies, lilies everywhere.

A proprietress bunny came hopping quickly from behind a counter and extricated him. “Oh, I am so sorry,” she said.

“No, I am so sorry,” Mr. Bunny said gallantly, although privately he thought people who attached bells to their doors got what they deserved.

“Not at all,” said the proprietress, picking beads and feathers out of Mr. Bunny's fur. “It does have a startling effect, I find, on bunnies who have just come up from the country and have never heard a shoppe bell. Trust me, you are not the first to find yourself splayed among the hats.”

Mrs. Bunny bristled at this. She did not want to be thought of as a country bunny, true though it might be.

“
I
was not at all startled,” she said. “All the best shoppes have bells. Some even have
whistles
.”

“Really?” said the proprietress. “I have never heard a whistling shoppe.”

“Oh? Pity.”

The proprietress was busy picking the last of the sequins off poor befuddled Mr. Bunny. He surveyed the wreckage he had caused and decided that since he would be no good putting things back in their proper places, he needn't even try.
Mr. Bunny's conscience was always extremely easy to placate. It was what he liked best about it.

“Anyhow,” said Mr. Bunny, “we have come looking for fedoras.”

“Ah,” said the proprietress. “Then you are shopping for yourself, sir?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Bunny, who did so like being called sir. “And a fedora for Mrs. Bunny too.”

“Really?” said the proprietress. “The fedoras are kept, you see, in the men's section.”

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Bunny, “that is because such a small nonwhistling town is too tiny to support a fedora-wearing female bunny population.”

Mr. Bunny and the proprietress stared at her blankly.

“I'm sure you're right, whatever you said,” said the proprietress. “Well, let me show you what I've got. It isn't much, I must warn you. It might not suit such urbane bunnies as yourselves.”

And Mrs. Bunny could swear there was the merest hint of sarcasm in the proprietress's tone. It made Mrs. Bunny want to deck her.

“Oh, Mr. Bunny,” said Mrs. Bunny in excitement when the proprietress had hopped to a hat rack where several fedoras of different size and color were arranged. “They have
earholes
!”

“You have only seen earholeless fedoras?” asked the proprietress. “Perhaps then your last town was a
human
one?”

Mrs. Bunny paled. She had been found out! She wasn't an urbane bunny after all. She was just another country bunny who had lived on the outskirts of a human town. There was no lower status amongst bunnies.

Mr. Bunny, as usual, was clueless. He was busy examining fedoras. “These are remarkably smooth and comfortable. They look freshly brushed too,” he said admiringly.

“Yes, I belong to a hatters' club, and we do all the upkeep on the hats. We are not a hat shoppe that just lets our hats sit around gathering dust. We take good care of them until they find a happy home on top of some fuzzy head,” said the proprietress.

“A hat club!” exclaimed Mrs. Bunny, despite herself. “Oh, how wonderful! To belong to such a thing! You must be the happiest bunny on earth!”

“You are welcome to join,” said the proprietress. “We are always looking for new members. We are not such a popular
club as you might think, even though our refreshments are of the best carroty sort.”

“Oh, Mr. Bunny! To join a club on my first day in town!” squealed Mrs. Bunny. “This is so kind of you. Mr. Bunny, I would like the white fedora, if it's all the same to you.”

“No good,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Why not?” asked Mrs. Bunny, who had put it on and was admiring herself in the mirror.

“I think she looks very charming in it,” said the proprietress.

“Yes, but it stands out. A detective does not want to stand out. We need plain brown fedoras that will blend in with our fuzzy ears and whiskers and not shout out ‘Detective on the premises!' ”

“I beg to differ, Mr. Bunny,” said Mrs. Bunny, who was growing more attached to the white hat by the minute. “Any fedora at all is sure to scream out ‘Detective on the premises!' That is, in fact, the point of the fedora.”

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Bunny. “But you don't want it to shout out ‘Detective too stupid to even
try
to disguise herself!' now do you, Mrs. Bunny? Particularly when you are supposed to be
undercover
.”

And Mrs. Bunny had to allow that one did not, and so she put back the lovely white hat and handed two brown ones to the proprietress, who rang up the purchase. While Mr. Bunny fumbled with his bills and coins, Mrs. Bunny said, “Tell me, is there a fire beyond the village? From our cottage we seemed to see one in this direction.”

“Oh, that comes from the manor house. We don't know what they burn or why. Indeed, our newspaper reporters would like to do a story about it, but of course they are too timid to go on the grounds. So they just write stories in which they speculate. Occasionally when they tire of this they make things up.”

“That sounds like fun. Let's become reporter bunnies,” said Mrs. Bunny to Mr. Bunny.

“One short-lived enthusiasm at a time, Mrs. Bunny,” said Mr. Bunny, handing over the correct change. “For now it sounds to me like what this town needs is a pair of detecting bunnies on the case.”

“Well, good luck,” said the proprietress. “Now, Mrs. Bunny, do come Friday to the hat club meeting. We meet in this very shoppe. Bring a carrot cake.”

The Bunnys said their goodbyes and hopped back outside.

“I do not like being told what kind of cake to bring,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Never mind that, Mrs. Bunny,” said Mr. Bunny, happily donning his brown hat and handing Mrs. Bunny hers. “Our first detecting job! The Case of the Large Amount of Smoke.”

“Hmm,” said Mrs. Bunny, eyeing the brown hat thoughtfully. Then she hopped back inside to exchange it for the white one after all.

 THE CASE OF THE LARGE AMOUNT OF SMOKE