Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! (9 page)

Mr. Bunny had to sit on six telephone books in order to see out the windshield because the Smart car was a normal human-sized car. Unfortunately, this meant his foot did not reach the gas pedal.

“I have an idea,” said Mrs. Bunny, and she hopped back into the house. When she returned she had a pair of twelve-inch purple sequined platform shoes.

“Ah, Mrs. Bunny,” said Mr. Bunny, getting out of the car and strapping them on. “A relic of your disco-dancing phase. I knew someday one of your short-lived enthusiasms would come in handy.”

Everyone got back in the car. When Mr. Bunny reached down with his newly shod foot, he had no trouble reaching the gas pedal.

Madeline sat in the front passenger seat and politely offered her lap to Mrs. Bunny.

“I could sit happily on the floor,” said Mrs. Bunny. “Believe me, the less I see, the better.”

“But then you wouldn't fit in the seat belt, and I feel we should definitely wear seat belts,” said Madeline.

Mrs. Bunny agreed to sit on Madeline's lap because of the seat belt, but she rode with her paws pressed firmly over her eyes the whole way. Madeline found it comforting to have Mrs. Bunny's warm furry weight on her lap. It reminded her of her younger days with stuffed animals.

Mr. Bunny did not seem to care that he flooded the engine twice; he was clearly having a marvelous time. He braked when he should have applied gas only eleven times and bragged that it must be some kind of record for a beginner. There was no real whiplash, he insisted, that was just Mrs. Bunny exaggerating. By the time they arrived at the driveway to the manor house, Mr. Bunny declared he had things completely under control. Then he ran into the gate. But that could happen to anybody, he pointed out.

Madeline asked Mr. Bunny to let her out there so the butler wouldn't see her.

“Why are you hiding from the butler?” asked Mr. Bunny.

“It's for Uncle's sake,” explained Madeline. “Uncle would be thrilled to observe rabbits pulling up in a Smart car. He is going to make it his life work to study your, um, driving habits.”

“To each his own,” said Mr. Bunny loftily. He felt sure
there was an implied insult in anyone's studying him in any way at all.

“But Jeeves is apparently not to be disturbed with, any, um, disturbing concepts, such as some people might find, um, driving rabbits or kidnapping foxes,” finished Madeline awkwardly.

“Don't worry, dear,” said Mrs. Bunny, patting Madeline's shoulder, which she could do easily from her position on Madeline's lap. “Good help is so hard to find. In fact, don't worry about a thing. Mr. Bunny and I have everything under control.”

Mrs. Bunny, having thus reassured twelve children of her own in days gone by, had quite the knack for it, and Madeline found herself feeling greatly comforted. Nobody had ever reassured her about anything, and it was a wonderful novel sensation. She went inside, had dinner and went happily to sleep.

But after Madeline had gone, Mrs. Bunny turned to Mr. Bunny and said, “I have no idea what we're doing, have you? I mean, usually I don't mind having no idea what we are doing, but now I feel we really must. We're going to have to step it up, Mr. Bunny.”

“Don't worry,” said Mr. Bunny resolutely. “Already I suspect someone. I consider that half the battle.”

“Whom do you suspect?” asked Mrs. Bunny.

“The butler.”

“How so?” asked Mrs. Bunny. “I thought it was foxes who were to blame.”

“No doubt they have co-opted the butler,” said Mr. Bunny.

“But then they would know where the uncle was,” said Mrs. Bunny reasonably. “They wouldn't need to kidnap Madeline's parents.”

“And yet I feel we must still suspect him in some capacity. In every detective novel, is it not the butler who did it? They always announce it out of the blue at the end. But here's where we have the jump on them. We are suspecting him from the first!”

Mrs. Bunny sighed. When Mr. Bunny got ahold of an idea, he did not like to let go of it. And even when he did let go of it, he pretended he hadn't. This whole idea of the butler was completely ridiculous, and now she would have to hear about him until the end of the case. She sighed again.

“And I think we'd better get Madeline to stay with us,” continued
Mr. Bunny. “She may be in danger even at the manor house if her parents suddenly remember where her uncle lives.”

“But the foxes won't care about Madeline at that point. It's the uncle and his decoding skills they want.”

“Unless they go on a fox rampage. You know how horrible that can be.”

Mrs. Bunny shuddered. “I hadn't thought of that. But where will she sleep?”

“Tomorrow when you're at your meeting, I shall bring her back to the hutch and we will build her a guest cottage just her size.”

Mrs. Bunny nodded. “I'll leave out some beet salad sandwiches for you. And cupcakes. Children love cupcakes.”

“Mr. Bunny loves cupcakes,” Mr. Bunny reminded her, and then stepped on the gas, causing Mrs. Bunny to clamp her paws back over her eyes, which Mr. Bunny thought very unsporting of her. Until he realized that it gave him an excellent opportunity to give her the two swift pokes he owed her.

 THE CODED MESSAGE 

W
ith a good day's detecting work under their belts, the Bunnys were enjoying their nightly routine in their new hutch. Mr. Bunny had found an armchair and reading lamp by the living room fireplace that he declared an excellent fit. The old owners' subscription to
The Scientific Bunny
hadn't been canceled, and Mr. Bunny enjoyed reading choice nuggets of it to Mrs. Bunny while she knitted. He informed her of archaeological digs in search of ancient rabbit life, and the latest in genome phenomena (Mrs. Bunny usually tuned him out and thought about the garden during this), and now he was happily settled reading a very long article on new things that exploded.

“What, invented just to explode?” asked Mrs. Bunny. “That seems very wasteful to me. Why would you want to invent something to explode?”

“Science marches on, my dear,” said Mr. Bunny. “Sometimes a man just wants an exploding item around. And the things that exploded last year are old news. Listen to what they have developed to explode in just the last month: phenohepteroids—”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It's an alkaloid of some kind,” said Mr. Bunny knowledgeably.

“The things you know, Mr. Bunny!”

“I like to keep up,” said Mr. Bunny. “Books with the word
pfeffernüusse
in the title.”

“They explode?”

“Exploding all over the place, apparently.”

“Do they warn people?”

“Doesn't say. They've developed an exploding variety of prune plums.
That's
a shame. I like prune plums …” Mr. Bunny would have gone on reading the list, but there was a knock on the door.

“A visitor! Our first visitor, Mrs. Bunny. I hope he brought cake!”

Mrs. Bunny opened the door. It was Mrs. Treaclebunny from across the way. She was a widow who lived alone in a tiny cottage on her own large meadow across from the Bunnys. The Bunnys were quite envious. Mrs. Treaclebunny had an ocean view.

“How do you do,” said Mrs. Treaclebunny. “I have been waiting for an opportune time to come and introduce myself.”

“Delighted,” said Mrs. Bunny. “Do come in.”

“Oh, mustn't intrude, mustn't intrude,” said Mrs. Treaclebunny, coming in and sitting down in Mrs. Bunny's chair by the fire. “My name is Mrs. Treaclebunny.”

“Yes, so we gathered from your mailbox. We've seen you hopping about too, of course. Meant to say hello,” said Mr. Bunny. “I am Mr. Bunny, and this is Mrs. Bunny.”

“Charmed,” said Mrs. Treaclebunny, and then no one could think of anything else to say.

Finally Mrs. Treaclebunny said, “Well, now that we're old acquaintances of several minutes' standing, I feel I might ask you a favor.”

“Anything at all,” said Mrs. Bunny, relieved that someone had found something to say.

“Yes. I came over to see if I could borrow a cup of toilet bowl cleaner.” Mrs. Treaclebunny held out a teacup she had brought for this purpose. “I was cleaning the bathrooms and found I'd run out and I didn't feel like hopping all the way into town just for that.”

“Well, of course,” said Mrs. Bunny, taking the teacup and hopping into the bathroom to fill it. She handed it back to Mrs. Treaclebunny, expecting her to rise and depart. After all, who wants to sit around all evening holding a teacup full of toilet bowl cleaner? But Mrs. Treaclebunny didn't stir.

“I was also wondering if you had any spare dinner about?” said Mrs. Treaclebunny.

Mr. Bunny threw Mrs. Bunny a look.

“Uh,” said Mrs. Bunny. “We may. I made a stir-fry so there's never
very
much left. It is one of Mr. Bunny's favorites.”

“It
is
Mr. Bunny's favorite, and he was counting on the leftovers for a little midnight snack,” said Mr. Bunny, none too subtly.

“I'm
very
hungry,” said Mrs. Treaclebunny.

“Oh, of course, in that case,” said Mrs. Bunny, and, not knowing what else to do, hopped into the kitchen, heated the
rest of the stir-fry in the microwave, brought it back to Mrs. Treaclebunny, held the teacup of toilet bowl cleaner for her and watched her devour the stir-fry.

“It could do with some fresh ginger,” said Mrs. Treaclebunny when she was done. “Thanks very much. See you.”

She took back the toilet bowl cleaner and hopped out without another word, spilling drops of it here and there on her way.

“Honestly, Mrs. Bunny,” said Mr. Bunny. “Is this what you were pining for, living on the mountainside without bunnies all those years? Neighbors? Is this what you had in mind? I'm going to bed. Will you be coming too or waiting up to see if anyone is in need of deodorant and drain cleaner?”

“Humph,” said Mrs. Bunny, who didn't think much of Mr. Bunny's sarcasm when it was directed at her. She countered it with a dignified flounce. She flounced all to pieces. Then, flounced out, she headed up to bed.

The next day Mrs. Bunny made carrot cakes until she baked one she deemed worthy to bring to the hat club meeting. Mr. Bunny told her she was becoming an obsessive cake maker and he hoped it wasn't the beginning of other odd habits.

“How you do run on and on,” said Mrs. Bunny dismissively while knitting winter underwear out of used dental floss. She had greatly reduced their carbon footprint that year doing this alone. Suddenly she had an idea. She put down her underwear knitting pattern and turned the pages of her knitting book until she found what she wanted. Then she started a whole new knitting project with a smile on her face.

Finally, it was time for Mrs. Bunny's hat club meeting. She carried her cake out to the car, put it carefully on the floor and then put her paws firmly over her eyes as Mr. Bunny drove her to the hat shoppe.