Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! (8 page)

“Y
es, I thought that the first second I saw you. I didn't raise twelve rabbits for nothing. Well, that's what tea is good for,” said Mrs. Bunny. “You sip it and find a way to tell us.”

“No, not stuck as in I can't find a way to express myself, or stuck as in a problem, stuck as in the
door
!”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Bunny. “Give yourself a push.”

Mr. Bunny was on the outside and Mrs. Bunny was on the inside and Madeline was wedged tightly in the door frame with her neck at a very uncomfortable angle.

“I tried. I can't move. I'm telling you, I'm stuck!”

“Well, this won't do. You're blocking the doorway so I
can't get in either. I want my tea too,” said Mr. Bunny. “Did you think of that?”

“I didn't do it for fun,” said Madeline.

“Well, come back out, then,” said Mr. Bunny.

“I can't,” said Madeline, tearing up again.

“We shall have to push her,” said Mr. Bunny. “Heave ho, Mrs. Bunny.”

Mr. Bunny pushed from the outside. Mrs. Bunny pushed from the inside. It was quite some time before Madeline realized that they were pushing against each other and that was why she was going nowhere.

“Oh, I
am
tired,” said Madeline. “I can't think straight. Stop pushing, both of you.”

“It's not our fault. For such a little girl you certainly have a big bottom,” said Mr. Bunny.

“I'm always telling him not to say things like that,” Mrs. Bunny whispered to Madeline. “He always thinks people won't take offense.”

“I don't know how to get myself out of this doorway without knocking out one of your walls with my feet,” said Madeline.

“Well, don't, for heaven's sake, do that,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Oh dear, this is a disaster,” said Mrs. Bunny. “And I was going to treat you to my carrot scones with carrot jelly.”

“Mrs. Bunny, your brains are clearly fried from too much hopping. Her mouth is, after all, on your side. You could serve her a scone with jelly while we try to figure out how to move her humungous bottom.”

“I'd be afraid to,” said Mrs. Bunny. “She might just blow up and get stuck all the more. I think what we will have to do is starve her out.”

“I'm already starving,” said Madeline.

“That's true. She's already starving, Mrs. Bunny, and you can see what good it's done. No, I shall simply have to go for my crowbar.”

“Mr. Bunny is a wonder with a crowbar,” Mrs. Bunny whispered to Madeline.

“Why are you whispering?” asked Mr. Bunny.

“I don't know,” said Mrs. Bunny. “It just seems a comforting way to talk to someone who is stuck.”

Mr. Bunny hopped off to the toolshed and returned with his crowbar.

“This may smart a little,” he said.

Madeline closed her eyes and braced herself. Then she
realized that she must unbrace herself or she'd never get out. Mr. Bunny did his crowbar magic and with a few sharp tugs had Madeline out of the doorway and back in the garden.

Mrs. Bunny came out. “Well, I think we can congratulate ourselves on our good fortune.”

“And excellent crowbarmanship!” said Mr. Bunny. “Now we'll have tea in the garden. And we won't say another word about Madeline's humungous bottom. It will be lovely outside on such a fine day.”

Mrs. Bunny hopped in to get the victuals while Mr. Bunny led Madeline to the iron table and chairs. Unfortunately, although the table was suitable, the chairs were all too small for her.

“That big bottom again,” said Mr. Bunny, forgetting his promise.

“I don't have a big bottom!” protested Madeline. “You have small chairs.”

Mr. Bunny just shook his head sadly. Many people were in denial about their large bottoms.

Fortunately, at that moment Mrs. Bunny hopped out with the tea tray, and although the scones and cups of tea were bunny, not people size, Madeline found that by drinking several
potfuls of tea and eating platefuls of rabbit-sized scones, she was quite as satisfied as the Bunnys with this repast.

I
definitely
could not have imagined
this
, she thought. Maybe I
am
a bunny whisperer. And Uncle was right, the things you could find out if you could speak an animal's language! For instance, how many people knew that there were rabbit detectives?

“So,” Madeline began. “As I said, I might need to hire some detectives.”

“At your service,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Likewise,” said Mrs. Bunny. “And really, I don't think we can even charge for it. We do a certain amount of pro bono work, don't we, Mr. Bunny?”

“Tons, tons and tons of pro bono work,” said Mr. Bunny.

“What's that?” asked Madeline.

“I really don't know,” said Mr. Bunny.

“It means we don't charge,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Oh, well, thank you. Now, um, Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—” Madeline began.

“Yes? For so we are called,” interrupted Mr. Bunny.

“Just out of curiosity, how much detecting have you, um, done?”

“Oh, lots. Tons. Oodles,” lied Mr. Bunny enthusiastically. “Some pro bono, some anti.”

“We solved the Case of the Large Amount of Smoke in a trice,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Have you ever looked for, um, say, something living?” asked Madeline.

“Of course, we
could
branch out to people,” said Mrs. Bunny.

They looked at Madeline inquiringly.

Madeline thought about this. They seemed very silly, and they were bunnies, but they were the only detectives she was apt to come across any time soon. “Okay, you're hired. Well, it all started on the day of Luminara. I had just found out Prince Charles was coming to our school, and I went home to tell Flo and Mildred—”

“Are we going to find Prince Charles?” the Bunnys shouted together.

“No, no, but he's coming to our school, Comox Elementary, and I wanted to go to the ceremony because he will be giving out awards and I won some but I don't have white shoes.…”

The Bunnys nodded sagaciously, as if she were making any sense.

“Of course you must go to the graduation! Prince Charles! My, my!” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Then you know who he is?” asked Madeline. She somehow was surprised that rabbits knew such things.

“Oh yes. After all, we're Commonwealth rabbits,” said Mrs. Bunny. “But you must get some white shoes.”

“Yes, I know, but I couldn't because Flo and Mildred—”

“Who are Flo and Mildred?” interrupted Mr. Bunny.

“Oh. My parents. Flo and Mildred—”

“For so they are called,” said Mr. Bunny serenely.

“Didn't want me to get white shoes. That is, there was no money for them. So I waitressed and I had the money and then, well, they didn't want me to anyway, of course … but that's neither here nor there and not important now and not why I hired you.”

“No indeed, but it could be a case in itself. The Case of the White Shoes. You say you needed some for the ceremony—”

“Yes,” said Madeline, feeling silly because Flo had pointed out how superficial the whole thing was. “You see, my teacher—”

“Oh, no need to explain, dear,” said Mrs. Bunny hurriedly. “My goodness, I had twelve bunnies of my own. Your teacher
wanted everyone dressed alike for the prince. Well, that's only natural. Oh, how I miss these events now that the bunnies are grown and gone. Christmas concerts, graduations, fun fairs.”

“Since time is short, let's not waste any more of it. We'll worry about the shoes later. Tell us about the case,” said Mr. Bunny, leaning forward.

“Well,” said Madeline. “This is probably going to sound ridiculous, but it looks as if my parents were kidnapped by f—”

“FIENDS!” Mrs. Bunny had the unfortunate habit of finishing people's sentences.

“Fillains!” said Mr. Bunny, who couldn't think of an
f
word but wanted to join in the game.

“Fairies!” said Mrs. Bunny.

Madeline was beginning to regret hiring them. “Foxes,” she said.

The effect of this word was far more dramatic than she expected. The Bunnys' playful expressions vanished. Under their fur she could see them turning pale. Their very ears quivered.

Madeline passed them the kidnappers' note and the file card.

“This is grave,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Very grave,” said Mrs. Bunny after she had read both. “Oh, Mr. Bunny! Rabbit by-products!”

“This is evil. It's impossible to know if such a factory exists yet. I hardly think it does, because there would be far more rabbits disappearing. But whether it is a factory that is just being built or this is just some fox's idea of a joke, we cannot know. Nevertheless, whatever it is, we must put a stop to it. But why would they want your parents? And what are all these confounded squiggles on the file card?” asked Mr. Bunny.

So Madeline explained about her uncle and how the foxes obviously needed him for decoding.

“We must get on the case immediately. We must find your parents before the foxes, uh, get hungry, and we must find out if such an evil factory has already been built and, if it has, run those foxes out.”

“How will you do that?” asked Madeline.

“Oh, we have a special antifox SWAT team, but before the Bunny Council will send them out, we must know where the foxes are. There have been too many false alarms when bunnies only thought there were foxes about. It's a form of bunny hysteria. Now the council makes you present solid evidence.”

“And fill out ninety-three requisition forms,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“That's why Uncle didn't want to call Ottawa,” said Madeline. “The requisition forms. He said we must solve this mystery ourselves, and we were about to when he fell into his coma.”

“Very bad luck there,” said Mr. Bunny, clucking his tongue.

“But good luck to have found us,” said Mrs. Bunny.

She and Mr. Bunny put on their fedoras and spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the garden, trying to think of what to do next. They were very disappointed to find that sporting fedoras, while fashion-forward, did nothing to inspire their detecting brains.

Periodically Madeline would call out, “Do you have an idea yet?” and Mr. Bunny would reply, “Shhh, patience, you must give the fedora time to work.”

In the end, Mr. and Mrs. Bunny had not an idea between the two of them, but they did not want to tell Madeline this. They could see that what she needed most was hope.

“Don't worry,” said Mr. Bunny. “The germ of a seed of a spore of an idea begins. We must let it grow overnight.”

“Really?” said Madeline. “That
does
sound promising.”

“Yes, it does, doesn't it?” said Mr. Bunny, feeling pleased with his big fat lie. “Dinnertime approaches. We would invite you to stay with us, but, of course, you won't fit into the guest room.”

“So perhaps we should all rejoin after my hat club meeting tomorrow,” said Mrs. Bunny as she headed into the house with the dirty cups and saucers. “Now, we should escort you home so you can get some rest. Tomorrow will be very busy.”

What a long day it has been, Madeline thought. I can hardly stand the thought of those thirty-seven hills. Then she noticed the Smart car in the driveway.

“You have a car!”

“We
have
a car,” said Mrs. Bunny, coming out and wringing her paws. “We just don't know how to start it.”

“We don't know how to start
this
kind of car,” said Mr. Bunny.

“Well, I've seen KatyD start hers lots of times before,” said Madeline. “Give me the keys and I will see if I can show you what she does.”

“Keys?” said Mr. and Mrs. Bunny.

“The car keys,” said Madeline.

The Bunnys looked at her blankly.

“You need keys to start a car. The keys go into this little hole right here on the side of the steering wheel.”

“Oh, I hope there's room for them, what with all the parking coins,” said Mrs. Bunny, giving Mr. Bunny a look.

“Do you know where the keys are?” asked Madeline.

“No, you see, we inherited the car with the house,” said Mrs. Bunny.

“Well, in my experience people quite often keep them hanging on a hook in the front hall,” said Madeline.

Mrs. Bunny hopped into the house and came back out right away with a set of keys hanging from one paw. “Exactly where you said they'd be!”

“You would make a fine detective, Madeline,” said Mr. Bunny. “If we could just find some way to disguise your gigantic bottom.”

“Do you think you could show Mr. Bunny how to start the car?” interrupted Mrs. Bunny hastily. “And also how to drive it?”

“Didn't he have to learn before he got his license?” asked Madeline.

“Bunnies don't need licenses,” said Mr. Bunny. “They are
born with a certain innate knowledge of all things worth knowing. Hand me the keys, please.”