I’m going to stay here. I need to recuperate.”
They argued for nineteen minutes before Ruby threw in the towel.
She wasn’t about to waste her entire Sunday sitting at Clancy’s bedside listening to total horse manure; instead she would check out what Del was up to.
It was late Sunday afternoon, and Ruby had been playing Del Lasco at table tennis for more than a few hours. They had come out even, winning seventeen games each. By the time she climbed on her bike, Ruby was flat-out tired and finding it a struggle to turn the pedals, but as she reached the corner of Amster, she saw the stranger again; he was getting into a car. Maybe it was time to turn the tables, tail
him
for a change and see how he liked it.
The car’s engine started, and the car pulled out from the curb and drove north up Bleaker. Her heart was beating pretty fast and adrenalin pumped through her.
What do I do when I catch him?
But this wasn’t going to be a question she needed an answer for.
Ruby kept up OK until he turned onto Flower, which was a pretty steep hill, one of the steepest in Twinford. Her legs, after thirty-four games of Ping-Pong, were never going to chase a car up a hill, and as the gap between them grew, she accepted defeat and freewheeled back down, gliding on home to Cedarwood Drive.
On Monday, while Ruby was brushing her teeth, she switched on the radio, turning the dial until she reached Twinford Talk Radio. There was a jingle playing, some commercial about the benefits of eating cereal with raisins in it if you wanted to have a productive day at school. Ruby couldn’t see it herself; she had always felt that raisins had no business being in breakfast cereal.
Who wants to eat a shriveled grape floating in milk?
The commercials over, the voice of Greg Witney, the TTR anchorman, came back on the air.
“SO, SHELLY, WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENED TO THESE GREAT OCEAN PREDATORS?”
“IT’S HARD TO DRAW ANY FIRM CONCLUSIONS, GREG, BUT THEY DO SEEM TO HAVE BEEN SAVAGELY ATTACKED BY SOME OTHER PREDATOR. JUDGING BY THE STATE OF THEM, CERTAINLY SOMETHING FEARSOME.”
“BUT JUST WHAT CREATURE COULD TAKE ON A TIGER SHARK? IT DOESN’T BEAR THINKING ABOUT, HUH, SHELLY?”
“IT CERTAINLY DOESN’T, GREG. TWINFORD FOLK MIGHT WANT TO KEEP OUT OF THE WATER UNTIL THIS VERY STRANGE MYSTERY IS SOLVED. NOW BACK TO YOU.”
Jeepers. Clancy is never going to get out of bed again
.
Ruby got dressed: today’s T-shirt kept its insult short and simply said bozo. She stamped her feet into her well-worn Yellow Stripe sneakers and skittered downstairs.
Hitch was sitting at the kitchen table, polishing some silverware and looking for all the world like an actual butler.
“I think you may be getting too into your cover story,” said Ruby, her nose in the refrigerator, searching for the juice.
Hitch shrugged. “Mrs. Digby runs a tight ship.”
“Yeah, but she already
believes
you’re a butler; you don’t need to make out you’re the best entire one to ever polish forks on this earthly universe of Twinford.”
“And I don’t want her thinking I’m a lousy one either. My life wouldn’t be worth living, kid.”
Ruby shrugged and sucked on her drinking straw. When she came back up for air, she said, “So did you hear the story about the attacked sharks?”
Hitch looked up from his polishing. “Yes, that is strange. Sounds almost supernatural.”
“Yeah,” mused Ruby. “Almost like there’s some kinda giant sea monster swimming about offa the Twinford coast.”
“You telling me you believe in sea monsters, kid?”
“Not really, but stranger things have happened,” said Ruby.
“This city’s going to the dogs,” said Mrs. Digby, walking into the room, bucket in hand. “The dogs, I say.”
Bug registered the word
dog
and looked at her hopefully.
A tiny glow came from Hitch’s sleeve, and he furtively looked at his watch.
“Well, this is all very intriguing,” he said, swiftly putting the silverware back where it
They argued for nineteen minutes before Ruby threw in the towel.
She wasn’t about to waste her entire Sunday sitting at Clancy’s bedside listening to total horse manure; instead she would check out what Del was up to.
It was late Sunday afternoon, and Ruby had been playing Del Lasco at table tennis for more than a few hours. They had come out even, winning seventeen games each. By the time she climbed on her bike, Ruby was flat-out tired and finding it a struggle to turn the pedals, but as she reached the corner of Amster, she saw the stranger again; he was getting into a car. Maybe it was time to turn the tables, tail
him
for a change and see how he liked it.
The car’s engine started, and the car pulled out from the curb and drove north up Bleaker. Her heart was beating pretty fast and adrenalin pumped through her.
What do I do when I catch him?
But this wasn’t going to be a question she needed an answer for.
Ruby kept up OK until he turned onto Flower, which was a pretty steep hill, one of the steepest in Twinford. Her legs, after thirty-four games of Ping-Pong, were never going to chase a car up a hill, and as the gap between them grew, she accepted defeat and freewheeled back down, gliding on home to Cedarwood Drive.
On Monday, while Ruby was brushing her teeth, she switched on the radio, turning the dial until she reached Twinford Talk Radio. There was a jingle playing, some commercial about the benefits of eating cereal with raisins in it if you wanted to have a productive day at school. Ruby couldn’t see it herself; she had always felt that raisins had no business being in breakfast cereal.
Who wants to eat a shriveled grape floating in milk?
The commercials over, the voice of Greg Witney, the TTR anchorman, came back on the air.
“SO, SHELLY, WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENED TO THESE GREAT OCEAN PREDATORS?”
“IT’S HARD TO DRAW ANY FIRM CONCLUSIONS, GREG, BUT THEY DO SEEM TO HAVE BEEN SAVAGELY ATTACKED BY SOME OTHER PREDATOR. JUDGING BY THE STATE OF THEM, CERTAINLY SOMETHING FEARSOME.”
“BUT JUST WHAT CREATURE COULD TAKE ON A TIGER SHARK? IT DOESN’T BEAR THINKING ABOUT, HUH, SHELLY?”
“IT CERTAINLY DOESN’T, GREG. TWINFORD FOLK MIGHT WANT TO KEEP OUT OF THE WATER UNTIL THIS VERY STRANGE MYSTERY IS SOLVED. NOW BACK TO YOU.”
Jeepers. Clancy is never going to get out of bed again
.
Ruby got dressed: today’s T-shirt kept its insult short and simply said bozo. She stamped her feet into her well-worn Yellow Stripe sneakers and skittered downstairs.
Hitch was sitting at the kitchen table, polishing some silverware and looking for all the world like an actual butler.
“I think you may be getting too into your cover story,” said Ruby, her nose in the refrigerator, searching for the juice.
Hitch shrugged. “Mrs. Digby runs a tight ship.”
“Yeah, but she already
believes
you’re a butler; you don’t need to make out you’re the best entire one to ever polish forks on this earthly universe of Twinford.”
“And I don’t want her thinking I’m a lousy one either. My life wouldn’t be worth living, kid.”
Ruby shrugged and sucked on her drinking straw. When she came back up for air, she said, “So did you hear the story about the attacked sharks?”
Hitch looked up from his polishing. “Yes, that is strange. Sounds almost supernatural.”
“Yeah,” mused Ruby. “Almost like there’s some kinda giant sea monster swimming about offa the Twinford coast.”
“You telling me you believe in sea monsters, kid?”
“Not really, but stranger things have happened,” said Ruby.
“This city’s going to the dogs,” said Mrs. Digby, walking into the room, bucket in hand. “The dogs, I say.”
Bug registered the word
dog
and looked at her hopefully.
A tiny glow came from Hitch’s sleeve, and he furtively looked at his watch.
“Well, this is all very intriguing,” he said, swiftly putting the silverware back where it
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