Redfort smiled, ‘That’s a good one Rube!’
But Ruby wasn’t joking.
‘I’m serious Dad, perhaps she was kidnapped?’
‘If she was kidnapped then we would know about it,’ said Brant.
‘Not necessarily, the kidnappers might be waiting a while before they make contact – you know, to build up the tension.’
‘You know what?’ said Brant conspiratorially.
‘What?’ said Ruby
‘You watch too much TV.’ He laughed, patted his daughter on the head and walked into the living room. Ruby sighed as she straightened the barrette in her hair.
‘And you guys probably don’t watch enough’, she muttered under her breath. This kind of situation was always coming up in Crazy Cops. Ruby had learned a lot about the workings of the criminal mind from watching this show. It was on tonight and if Mrs Digby were here they would be watching it together – side by side on the couch. Except there was no couch. Wherever Mrs Digby was now, Ruby wondered, was she watching Crime Night?
Ruby’s sleep was fitful that night – she had a hard time dozing off, and when she did, she dreamt dreams which gave her no rest. Dreams where the telephone rang and the voice on the other end spoke in riddles. Dreams where her mother was taken hostage by a dangerous toast eating butler and her father was shot at by crazy furniture thieves, and all the while the voice of Mrs Digby called out to her from some faraway prison cell. She was woken by her own voice calling, where are you Mrs Digby?
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Mrs Digby, a criminal? That detective was a prize bozo. Mrs Digby would never commit a crime – well, not a crime against the Redforts anyway. Ruby’s mind began sifting through worries, exploring solutions, hitting dead ends and double-backing to square one. She consoled herself with RULE 33: MORE OFTEN THAN NOT THERE IS A VERY ORDINARY EXPLANATION FOR THE ‘EXTRAORDINARY’ HAPPENING.
But it was no use, she was wide-awake.
She got up, pulled on a sweatshirt and quietly made her way downstairs – she didn’t want to wake Bug. But Bug was already awake and staring intently at the man sitting in the kitchen. Ruby froze: from her vantage point she could see Hitch, perched on a stool, his right shirtsleeve rolled up high to reveal a bandage at the top of his arm, which he slowly began to unwind.
She held her breath and became as still as the walls.
She watched as gradually all the gauze was removed to reveal what could only be a gun-shot wound.
Meanwhile,somewhere in themiddle of nowhere…
Mrs Digby was crawling out of a floatation tank. She emerged in a polka dot bathing suit, somewhat dazed and disorientated, finding herself not quite in the Redfort’s spa gym. Certainly most things were familiar but at the same time everything was very, very unfamiliar. All the furniture was the same, all the objects were the same, all the art was the same, what was odd was there was no house.
‘Where in all heaven have the darned walls gone?’ she exclaimed.
She appeared to be in an enormous aircraft hanger containing just about everything the Redfort’s had ever owned.
The last thing Mrs Digby had been aware of was climbing into the floatation tank at three o’clock the previous day – she had been suffering from angry thoughts concerning her rival in the kitchen, Consuela, and thought she could do with some isolation time – or who knew what she might do.
Sabina Redfort had had the floatation tank installed only the other month, having taken advice from her personal healer, who had persuaded her that she needed more time with herself.
Mrs R always finds it very calming – what harm could it do? I guess it prunes the skin a little but at my age what’s a little pruning?
Mrs Digby had thought these thoughts as she climbed in, lay down, pulled the door shut and instantly fell into a heavy sleep.
Boy, had she slept!
What was the day, she wondered? Better not be Tuesday, she thought, catching sight of the Redfort’s kitchen clock. If it is then I’m missing Crime Night, and I never miss Crime Night.
Getting Lucky
BY DAYBREAK RUBY WAS UP, showered and pulling on her school clothes despite the fact that there was no one to nag her. Ruby was no early-bird, everyone knew that – in desperation her parents had given her an alarm clock which showed a bird pecking at a worm. It made a pleasant tweeting sound if set for any time before 7am – later than that and it made a sort of strangled squawking noise. Ruby walked into the bathroom and was surprised to see, laid out in neat piles, jeans, T-shirts, over the knee socks and other essentials. On closer inspection she saw that these garments were more than acceptable, in fact they were exactly the clothes she might have chosen herself. There was even a T-shirt printed with the words, keep it zipped.
This could not be the work of her mother.
She spotted a typed note next to a pair of size 3 Yellow Stripe sneakers.
Hope you approve. Had my stylist friend Billie pick these things out for you – she’s good at that kind of thing. Hitch.
Airhead he might be but he was certainly good at his job. Ruby moseyed downstairs to say thanks and found Hitch examining a piece of toast very closely, almost as if he were reading it.
He looked up, startled, and immediately began to spread it with peanut butter.
‘Toast?’ he said.
Not just an airhead but a weirdo too, thought Ruby.
Today, Ruby felt like taking the bus. She made it to the stop in plenty of time, clambered aboard, and sat down, barely acknowledging her friends, Del and Mouse. The two girls tried to get her attention.
‘Hey Rube,’ called Del.
Ruby didn’t even look up.
Del looked at Mouse. ‘Was it something I said?’
Ruby was staring at the card she’d picked up in Organic Universe and chewing furiously on her pencil – what was it she wasn’t seeing? What was there to see? Just the words Don’t call us we’ll call you and the simple decorative border – nothing to give any indication as to where the meeting would take place.
‘Tomorrow night at eight for eight’ was all the voice on the telephone had said.
What am I missing?
‘So Ruby, I see your toe is all mended,’ said Del.
Ruby looked down at her foot – she had forgotten all about her fake injury. ‘Oh, yeah,’ she answered.
Mouse looked at Del and sort of widened her mouth and rolled her eyes – this was her silent way
