Smells Like Dog (16 page)

“No time for questions. Do keep up.” Madame quickened her pace. When she reached the end of the hall, she walked under an archway and disappeared into a haze of blinding light. Homer and Dog hurried to catch up. They both squinted as they passed beneath the archway. “Welcome to the museum’s Grand Hall,” Madame called from the center of the gigantic room.

As his eyes adjusted, Homer took a big breath. He was standing between the legs of a dinosaur skeleton—a
Tyrannosaurus rex
, to be exact. Its bleached bones reached halfway to a vaulted ceiling. Dog started to growl but Homer clamped a hand over his muzzle. “I promised that you’d be good,” he whispered. When the growl subsided, Homer let go. “Good boy.”

Everything in the Grand Hall was massive in scale. A pterodactyl with a six-foot wingspan hung in a corner, its claws posed to snag some prey. A mammoth stood at the base of a central stairway, its trunk raised to the sky. A glass-encased giant squid spanned the length of a wall. Even the golden clock, set above the entrance to the gift shop, was the size of a wagon wheel.

Homer rushed to a bin marked
MAPS
. He hesitated.

“You may have one,” Madame said as she started up the red carpeted stairs.

“Thanks.” Homer unfolded the glossy paper, then unfolded again and again until it was flat. It was a tourist
map, easy to read, full color, mass-produced by the thousands. There’d be no secret clues waiting in such a map, only clear, easy directions so visitors wouldn’t get lost. Hall of Prehistoric Man, Hall of African Mammals, The Ocean Dome, World of Birds. A color-coded legend highlighted services such as the bathrooms, coat-room, gift shop, and cafeteria. And a standard north-south arrow sat in the top right corner, which every compass-wearer appreciates.

“The party is this way,” Madame called from the top of the stairway. She walked along a balcony railing, then disappeared from view. Homer refolded the map, perfectly and precisely, then tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Have you ever tried to refold a map? Most people will never master the feat. It’s an accordion-pleated conundrum that boggles the mind. Actually, it’s best to never unfold a map in the first place, unless you have nothing else planned for the day.

Dog stood at Homer’s feet, holding a bone in his mouth. “Oh no. Where’d you get that?” After a struggle, Homer pulled the bone free. Then he looked over at the T. rex, who just happened to be missing one of its toes. Homer ran back and shoved the toe into place. Dog tried to take another toe but Homer pushed him away. “Maybe I should have left you outside.”

“Homer!” Madame called from the upper floor.

Homer knelt and lifted Dog’s chin so he could look right into those red-rimmed eyes. “Listen,” he whispered. “I don’t know if you can understand me, but please don’t do anything to get us kicked out. I really need to see that coin collection.”

“Urrrr.” Dog licked Homer’s face.

“Yuck,” Homer said, wiping his face with his jacket sleeve. But then he smiled and he was pretty sure, as the corners of Dog’s mouth twitched, that Dog smiled, too.

At the top of the stairs, Madame ushered Homer and Dog into an exhibit called Life on the Edge, which turned out to be a long, narrow room filled with displays of North and South Pole critters. The floor was transparent like ice, the exhibit walls were painted arctic blue, and the room’s thermostat was set on extra chilly, all to create the illusion that one had just stepped into an arctic world. Homer shivered.

“Homer!” Gwendolyn waved happily. She sat on a bench in front of a penguin display. A package of mint cookies lay on her lap. A single balloon, tied to the bench, floated beside her.

Homer waved back. His sister was actually smiling—a big, happy grin flecked with bits of cookie.

“Would you like a cookie?” Madame asked. She took a small package from her suit pocket and handed it to
Homer. They were dinosaur-shaped sugar cookies from the museum’s gift shop. Dinookies.

“Thanks.”

Madame looked at Gwendolyn. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s great,” Gwendolyn said. “It’s the best party ever.”

The best party ever?
Homer furrowed his brow. How could this be the best party ever? There were no streamers, just that single balloon. No party hats or music. No punch bowls or chocolate fountains. No piñatas or cakes.

“Make yourself comfortable, Homer. We have much to discuss.” Madame pointed to an empty spot next to Gwendolyn.

Discuss? Yes, Homer had a ton of questions, like
Why did you invite me here
? and
Why aren’t there any more guests?
Two people did not add up to a party, in his opinion. Especially if those two people spent every single day together.

But a buzzer sounded overhead and a man’s voice burst from a speaker in the wall. “Madame?”

“What is it?” she asked curtly.

“We have a disturbance outside.”

“Can’t you handle it?”

“You know I can’t be seen here. I’m supposed to be on holiday.”

“Fine!” Madame pursed her lips real tight and clenched her fists. “The things I have to put up with.” Then she gave the Pudding kids a stern look. “Under no circumstances are you to leave this room.” Her high heels clicked and her blunt hair swayed as she hurried from the room.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Gwendolyn asked. “And this place is a million times bigger than it looks in the guidebook. I’ve been here all day. When I told them who I was at the ticket booth, Madame let me in for free. I ate macaroni and cheese in the cafeteria—not goat cheese, by the way. They don’t serve goat cheese here, isn’t that great? I showed Madame all my animals and she liked them. She said I was destined to become a Royal Taxidermist. Maybe one of the greatest Royal Taxidermists ever.” Gwendolyn smiled dreamily.
“Ever.”

Homer sat next to his sister. He pushed the bag of Dinookies behind his back, hiding it from Dog because he’d already eaten popcorn, magazines, and pink sprinkle doughnuts, none of which was proper dog food. At some point he’d need to get some proper dog food. “Did you say that Madame liked your animals?”

“Of course she liked them, Homer. Why wouldn’t she like them? She took the entire duffel bag and promised she’d put my animals on exhibit. I’m going to get my own wing. Can you believe it? The Gwendolyn Maybel Pudding Wing!”

But Homer had seen the duffel bag crammed into the garbage can.

Madame la Directeur had lied to Gwendolyn, but why? “Gwendolyn, I think you should know…”

“She’s so nice.” Gwendolyn leaned against the penguin’s glass window. “I want to be just like her when I grow up. She specialized in herpetology at university, which, in case you don’t know, and you probably don’t, is the science of reptiles and amphibians. Then she became a Royal Taxidermist and worked her way up to running the entire museum. We talked for a really long time.”

Dog pressed his black nose against one of the display windows. A low growl vibrated in his throat as he stared into the glass eyes of a stuffed polar bear, lounging on the edge of a fake glacier.

Homer punched the single balloon. “It’s not much of a party. Did Madame tell you why she invited me here?”

“Oh, I asked that right away. I told her that it must have been a mistake because I’m the one who wrote all those letters and she told me that it had definitely been a mistake. She said I was the VIP, not you.” Gwendolyn flipped her hair behind her shoulders. “She said that treasure hunting isn’t as important as taxidermy.”

As Dog waddled around the exhibit, leaving a nose smudge on every glass window, something nipped at the
back of Homer’s mind. “You told her I was a treasure hunter?”

“No,” Gwendolyn said, folding her arms. “Because you’re
not
a treasure hunter, Homer. Reading about treasure hunting isn’t the same as actually doing it.”

“But then how did she know…?”

“She knows all about you. She’s very smart. She said she even knew Uncle Drake. She asked if he’d left you anything special. I told her about your droopy dog. She asked if he’d left you anything else. And then I remembered that coin.”

The room felt chillier. Homer jumped to his feet. “You told her about the coin?”

“Is there a problem?”

The situation was like a map with missing pieces. What he now knew was that the invitation had not been wrongly addressed. Madame had sent the invitation to Homer because she had wanted to talk to
him
. If she had cared one ounce about Gwendolyn, she wouldn’t have thrown away the duffel. Would she try to take the coin? Like Ajitabh, would she do anything to get it? And if Homer refused to give her the coin, would his parents ever see him again? Would he become a part of the prehistoric man exhibit?
Look Agnes, that’s the fattest stuffed cave boy I’ve ever seen.

“Gwendolyn, I think we’re in trouble.” Homer grabbed his sister’s arm. “We need to get out of here.”

She pulled her arm free. “Are you crazy? I’m not leaving.”

Homer tiptoed out of Life on the Edge, then peered over the second-floor railing. The Grand Hall stood empty. Except for Dog, who was growling at a stuffed walrus, all was quiet.

“You’re not supposed to leave the room,” Gwendolyn whispered from behind Homer. She stood in the entry to Life on the Edge.

“No one’s down there,” Homer told her. “We can make a run for it. Come on.”

Gwendolyn put her hands on her hips. “And why would I want to make a run for it?”

Homer didn’t get the chance to explain because a siren wailed outside. A blue light shone through the Grand Hall’s windows and pulsed across T. rex’s legs. Homer ran down the grand staircase and across the hall to the row of windows that faced the street. He pressed his nose against a pane of cold glass.

A police car had pulled up to the sidewalk. Madame la Directeur stood talking to a police officer. Next to her, under a streetlight, stood a man in a cap and overalls.

“It’s Dad!” Homer cried.

T
hough Homer couldn’t hear what was being said, he could tell his dad was hollering by the way he was shaking his fist. Madame stood very still, her gloved hands clasped behind her wide hips.

“What did you say?” Gwendolyn called from the balcony.

“Dad’s outside.”

“Oh, crud!” Gwendolyn ran down the stairs and pressed her face next to Homer’s. “He’s going to take us back home. I don’t want to go home. He can’t make me.
I’m staying!” The glass fogged up, so Homer wiped it with his jacket sleeve.

Homer wanted to run outside, for surely Madame wouldn’t try to take the coin in Mr. Pudding’s presence. But hiding behind his father’s broad back wouldn’t solve anything and it wouldn’t be something a true treasure hunter would do. He still hadn’t solved the mystery of the coin and he still hadn’t found his uncle’s belongings. And Ajitabh was out there, somewhere, probably sharpening his sword. Madame knew Homer’s address, and Ajitabh had visited the farm, so they would easily find Homer once he returned to Milkydale. And if he ran outside, his father would take him home for sure.

Home. Back to that black smoky hole where the library had once stood. Back to the empty bedroom. Back to everybody telling him he was weird and that he’d never be a real treasure hunter.

But worse than all those things, Dog would be returned to the Snootys.

“I’m going to tell Dad to stop yelling at Madame la Directeur,” Gwendolyn said. “It’s so embarrassing!”

“Gwendolyn, wait!”

But there was no stopping his sister once she set her mind. She ran past the ticket booth and pushed open the entry door. Homer wiped the window again and watched as she rushed down the museum stairs, past a
pair of lion statues, and down the walkway. Just as she reached Mr. Pudding, another car pulled up and a large man in a blue pinstriped suit stepped out. Homer recognized him from the elevator ride. Fishing through his crowded pockets, he found the business card.
MR. DILL, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, SPECIALIZING IN PERSONAL INJURY AND UNWANTED PARTY GUESTS
. Madame spoke to Mr. Dill, who then spoke to the police officer. She pointed at Mr. Pudding.

Was it really against the law to be an unwanted party guest?

Mr. Pudding didn’t notice Gwendolyn because he was hollering at the police officer. Gwendolyn tugged on her father’s sleeve. He swept her into a hug, then held her at arm’s length, hollering some more. Homer grimaced. He and Gwendolyn were in big trouble, no doubt about it. Their punishment would be the longest chore list in history. News reporters would travel to Milkydale to interview the children who never stopped doing chores.

But before Homer could imagine all the horrid things his father would add to the chore list, the scene outside turned ugly. The officer pulled out a billy club and waved it at Mr. Pudding. Mr. Pudding shook both his fists and his cap flew off his head. The officer grabbed Mr. Pudding’s arm and shoved him into the patrol car.
Gwendolyn kicked the officer, who then shoved Gwendolyn into the patrol car and closed the door.

And all the while, Madame la Directeur calmly stood by, not moving a finger.

“Stop! Wait!” Homer ran to the ticket booth and was about to push open the museum door when he remembered something. “Dog?” he called. Where was he? “DOG!”