Emmy and the Home For Troubled Girls (7 page)

“How do you know?”

Emmy told him.

Joe looked serious. “At least I've only got one soccer game left. Once that's over, I can help figure out what's going on.”

“I saw Miss Barmy's blood in the charascope,” Thomas said suddenly. “There was something in it that looked like a big ball of caterpillars. Only not so nice.” He held out his caterpillar for Joe's inspection.

“That's a big one,” said Joe. “How many do you have in your collection now?”

“Twenty-three,” said Thomas. “I've drawn pictures of every one—”

“Joe! Great news!” Joe's father came striding toward them, snapping his cell phone shut. “You'll never believe it!”

Joe looked suddenly wary.

“Remember that exclusive soccer camp we were trying to get you into? The month-long one, in California?”

Joe nodded slowly.

“There's been a cancellation, and you were next on the list! I just called the airlines and managed to get us seats on the next flight out. We're going to California, Joe—tomorrow, right after the championship game!”

E
MMY SAT
on the slippery vinyl seat of Brian's ancient truck, bouncing with every bump in the road, and hung on to the bag of doll clothes in her lap.

“Where's the turnoff for Joe's street?” Brian's voice was pitched to be heard above the roar of the engine.

Emmy leaned out of the window to point. “Two more blocks, on the right.”

The car door was warm from the summer sun, and the rushing air cooled her cheeks. And in spite of the fact that Joe had to go away tomorrow, Emmy felt almost happy. Maybe she was looking forward to this party after all.

Sure, she would have to shrink, but there was no fear of cats, because Brian was going to carry them straight to the Rodent City entrance. Then, too, the party was underground, so at least she wouldn't be
seen
hanging around with rodents.

Besides, it would be a good opportunity to tell the
Bunjees about Cheswick's threats. Buck and Chippy would see the danger, even if the professor hadn't. And practical, no-nonsense Mrs. Bunjee could never be fooled by Miss Barmy.

Emmy smiled, thinking of the chipmunks. It would be fun to see them again, even though they weren't real, human friends …

Up ahead, on the sidewalk, three girls walked arm in arm. Two of them looked all too familiar, and they were laughing.

In a panic, Emmy pulled her head in and slid down on the vinyl seat just as the truck passed the girls. She was almost sure that she had ducked in time.

“What's the matter, Emmy? Did you drop something?” Brian asked.

Emmy pretended to search for something on the floor mat, hoping that Meg and Kate hadn't seen her. It had been embarrassing enough to have to fall off Mr. Peebles's boat right in front of them. But by now, Meg must have told the other girls how she'd caught Emmy talking to herself and pounding the wall. No wonder they had been laughing, Emmy thought gloomily as Brian's truck screeched to a stop in front of Joe's house.

It was a nice house, though small, built of cream-colored brick with a peaked roof and windows set in gables. It looked like a happy sort of place. But as Emmy neared the door, the voices from within didn't sound happy at all.

“Well, of course I said yes!” Joe's father sounded exasperated. “If I hadn't, someone else would have gotten his spot. We discussed it months ago; he said he wanted to go—”

“He doesn't want to go now. And I should think you would have asked him, Jack. People change, you know.”

“But this is about his future! He could have a big career in sports! And I've laid out a lot of money already—the airline tickets, and the camp fees—”

Emmy didn't want to knock and interrupt, and she didn't want to stand there listening. She backed away and stood on the walk, irresolute.

“I don't want him to go out tonight.” Mr. Benson's voice carried clearly through the screen door. “He needs to pack for his trip and rest up for tomorrow's game.”

Mrs. Benson murmured something Emmy couldn't hear.

“But it's the
championship
!” Mr. Benson said, his voice rising in anguish. “You don't seem to understand how important that is to him!”

A toot from Brian's horn made Emmy jump. The voices stopped, and Emmy rushed forward and rang the bell before the argument could start up again.

“We're here to pick up Joe and Thomas,” she said brightly. “Are they ready?”

“I am,” said Thomas, squeezing past his mother. He wore a sweatshirt in spite of the heat, and he walked hunched over, his arms folded across his stomach.

“Joe will be just a minute,” said Mrs. Benson with a slight worried frown, and in the background Emmy heard Mr. Benson muttering, “We've got to hide the cookies again, Caroline—I swear that kid's gained five pounds since yesterday.”

Emmy leaped off the doorstep and followed Thomas with a sense of relief. She caught up to him at the elm near the street, where he was squatting with his back to her.

“All clear, Ratty.” Thomas opened his sweatshirt.

The Rat skidded out and landed on his feet, lurching. He brushed the sweatshirt lint off his paws,
smoothed his neck fur, and gave Thomas a cool stare. “The name's Rat.
Raston
Rat.”

There was a little pause.

“Agent 86,” clarified the Rat, shading his eyes as he scanned the lawn. “Hold your position; I'm going to secure the perimeter.” He flattened himself against the elm tree, blending in with the gray bark, and edged, claw by claw, around to the opposite side.

Emmy looked at Thomas. “
What
did you let him watch?”

“Just
Sesame Street
,” said Thomas, shrugging.

“I put in
Get Smart
instead.” The Rat poked his head out briefly. “I'm not a kindergartner, in case you hadn't noticed. Besides, Big Bird gives me a headache. Too much yellow.”

“Oh, for—”

The Rat narrowed his eyes and held up a paw. “Enemy agents sighted!” he hissed. “Lurk! Lurk!”

Emmy made an exasperated noise and turned around. Standing in the street were three girls.

“Hi,” said Meg.

“Hi,” said Kate.

“Um—” said Emmy, startled and cautious. Had they seen the Rat?

The third girl jingled some coins in her pocket.

“This is Sara,” said Kate politely. “We're going to the candy store. Do you want to come, too?”

Emmy looked at Kate in hopeless frustration. Of
course
she couldn't go with them.
Naturally
. She was going to a party with a bunch of
rats
.

She found her voice at last. “I'm sorry, I can't,” she said with an effort. Her gaze fell on Thomas, and she had an inspired excuse. “I'm babysitting.”

“You are
not
!” said Thomas indignantly, and the three girls exchanged glances.

“Well, have fun—
whatever
you're doing,” said Kate in a bright, false voice, and the girls walked off, giggling.

Emmy wanted to kick something. It was so unfair! Every time—every single time she had a chance to do something normal, something ordinary, something that regular kids did
all the time
…

The front door slammed. Joe skimmed down the sidewalk and vaulted into the back of the truck. “Let's go!” he called, hanging over the side. “Next stop, the Antique Rat!”

The children sat in the cargo bed of the truck with their legs stretched out straight. The Rat, who had
found a pair of G.I. Joe field glasses in Emmy's bag, took a position on the ledge behind the window and swept the horizon with a professional air.

“Ah, the old ‘enemy agents pretending to go to the candy store' trick,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “I'll keep my eye on them for you, Chief.”

“Which one of us is ‘Chief'?” murmured Joe.

“I'll be Chief,” Thomas volunteered, raising his hand.

Raston frowned. “You can't be the chief. You're Special Agent 99.”

“Oh,” said Thomas.

“It's Emmy's turn to be captain today,” said Joe. “Remember Good Fort?”

“Golden Fortress, said Emmy automatically.

“Gophers with Flugelhorns? I certainly do,” said the Rat.

“Right. So, since she's captain of the good ship G.F., I can be chief of … whatever it is you're doing.”

“Making the world safe for rodents,” said the Rat promptly. “But if you want details, I'm spying on three enemy agents who are pretending to be innocent schoolgirls.”

Emmy slid onto her back as the truck passed the girls, and stared at the sky. Its pure blue was deepening to cobalt, and high in the east she could see the pale disk of the moon, like a coin rubbed thin.

She was going to be awfully lonely in the next few weeks without Joe. “What did your dad say?” she asked as the truck rumbled on down the street.

“He's going to call the airlines and the camp and try to get a refund.”

“Really?” Emmy watched some birds soaring overhead, trying to feel hopeful but wishing Joe hadn't said “try.”

“He was picking up the phone when I left.” Joe leaned forward, seemingly unworried. “What's in the bag?”

“Doll clothes.” Emmy sat up. “We've got to have something to wear to the party, remember?”

Joe scowled. “I'll go as I am, thanks.”

Emmy shook her head firmly. “You can't. But you can go in uniform.”

“Seriously?” Joe brightened.

“Yup. If you're in the military, that's what you're
supposed
to wear.” Emmy grabbed for the side of the truck as Brian barreled around a corner.

“All right! Hear that, Ratty?”

Raston looked fixedly through his binoculars, ignoring Joe, and Emmy rose to her knees. They had entered the backstreets, and the Rat's binoculars were aimed directly at the shoe shop. No, the sign out front, for he read the words aloud:

“The Home for Troubled Girls.” Raston lowered the binoculars. “Now,
that
sounds suspicious.”

Joe glanced at Emmy. “Miss Barmy was going to send you there, right? Remember Mrs. B and her flowerpots.”

“Maybe that's where the girls are!” Thomas bounced up excitedly.

“What girls?” Joe grabbed the back of Thomas's shirt. “Sit down, or you'll fall out of the truck.”

“You know, the girls on the cane—with the carved faces?”

“They're dead.” Emmy looked at Thomas's stricken face and amended, “Well, Priscilla's dead, anyway. And Mr. Peebles said the girls' parents were all dead. So it stands to reason—”

“They
can't
be dead.” Thomas gripped the side of the truck with dimpled fists. “Maybe they're just prisoners in that house.”

“They're not,” said Emmy flatly. “The police even searched it. Mr. Peebles said Mr. B only put up that sign outside because they had a dollhouse inside with that same ‘Troubled Girls' sign on it. He thought it was cute or something.”

“Stupid, more like,” said Joe in disgust.

“I want them to be alive,” said Thomas stubbornly, his blue eyes troubled.

“Better pray for a miracle, then,” said Joe. “You're going to need one. What were their names again? Ana, and—and Carrot—”

“Berit,” corrected Thomas, counting on his fingers. “Lisa. Lee. And—who was the last one, again?”

“Merry Pumpkin,” said Emmy with a sigh.

 

Thomas was fascinated with the shrinking process. He sat on a swivel chair at the Antique Rat and watched as the Rat bit the others one by one.

“Do it again!” he said, round-eyed, as Professor Capybara shrank down, down, until he was doll-sized, perfectly attired in the gray pin-striped suit that shrank with him.

“The lad is strangely bloodthirsty,” said the Rat.

Joe grinned and held out his finger for a bite. “I'm
melting … melting!” he cried, writhing as he shrank. “Oh, what a world, what a world …” He collapsed in a tiny heap on the desk blotter.

Emmy sat on the broad desk that abutted the window of the Antique Rat, and braced herself as the Rat's teeth grazed her finger. Her stomach contracted, as if she were on an elevator dropping fast, and her arms and legs prickled intensely. When at last it was over, she opened her eyes to see a gigantic and beaming Thomas overhead.

“
I
want to do it!” he cried, twirling in the swivel chair. “I want to shrink, too!”

“Not tonight,” said the professor firmly, stretching high to pull the chain of the desk lamp. “You'd need Cecilia's kiss to grow again, and she's in Rodent City.”

“But I could go
with
them!” Thomas was near tears.

“Only then you couldn't help me with the experiments,” Brian pointed out.

“And you get to order pizza,” Joe added, using the stapler for a springboard. “Hey, Brian, want anything stapled? I can jump on the end, like this—”

Thomas wiped the back of his chubby hand across his eyes. “Can I look through the charascope again?”

“Of course,” said Brian kindly. “Now, what would you like? Pepperoni?”

“Sausage and onion,” said Thomas, sniffing a little as Brian led him away. “And would you call me Agent 99, please?”

It took some time to find doll clothes that fit. And although Emmy was tempted by a pair of Barbie's high-heeled shoes, she couldn't walk in them without tripping. At last she took an armful of clothes behind an open book and grimly tried on the lot.

She ended up with something blue and shimmery, with enough stretch so she could get it on and still be able to breathe, and a pair of flat silver slippers. Relieved, she came out from behind the book to see Joe looking handsome in a dress uniform of blue and gold, and the professor looking anxiously at his watch. “Brian!” he called.

Emmy walked across the desktop to gaze through the window. Across the way, jars in the window of the candy shop glowed with colors of lemon, cherry, and sour apple, and girls' shadows moved. She felt a small dull pain in her chest.

“Here I am, Professor. Will this do?” Brian set a cat carrier down on the desk, complete with airholes and a side door.

“Admirably, my boy, admirably,” said the professor. “We won't be in it long. But where is Raston?”

Emmy, still gazing out the window, caught sight of a small gray form creeping across the street and up to the Antique Rat. “He's coming to the door,” she said, surprised. “How did he get outside?”

Brian opened the door. But it was Sissy who came in, tired, dusty, and footsore.

“I'm sorry,” she gasped. “I've tried and
tried
to find him.” She limped across the floor, her satchel dragging, and gazed up as Emmy looked down over the edge of the desk. “I'm having trouble following his scent—I think I'm getting a cold—but that's no excuse, of course,” she added hastily, wiping her nose. “At the Speedy Rodent Messenger Service, we
never
make excuses.” She looked anxiously around the room. “I don't suppose you've seen him anywhere?” she asked faintly.