Ruby Redfort 1 - Look Into My Eyes (17 page)

The two girls and the dog left Elliot on the sidewalk and made their way across the road to the fruit bar, Cherry Cup. Ruby liked the fruit shakes here because they had an unlimited choice of both the interesting and the more pedestrian fruit. The owner, Cherry, was a man in his late fifties. Five years ago he had given up his job selling insurance and opened this place. Now he was just happy to be liquidizing fruit, any combination, however unlikely. If anyone ever asked him how he was, he would reply, “Not too shabby,” meaning, pretty darn good.

“So where’ve you been, Rube?” asked Mouse.

“My grandmother has been sick,” said Ruby.

“Really? How bad is she?”

“Tragically bad,” replied Ruby in a hushed voice.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mouse. “What hospital’s she in?”

Ruby looked down at the floor. “Uh, one in New York — I’ve sorta been flying back and forth.”

Another lie,
she thought.

Mouse took Ruby’s unease as a signal that she no longer wanted to talk about it, and fell silent. The door opened, and in walked Clancy Crew. He barely even glanced at Ruby.

“Hey, Clance,” said Mouse.

“Hey, Mouse,” said Clancy. Ruby said nothing.

Clancy went over to one of the booths and sat down. He pulled out a comic, appropriately titled
Buzz Off
,
and began to read it intently. Mouse looked first at Ruby then at Clancy and then back to Ruby. “Something you want to tell me?”

“Like what?” Ruby was staring hard at the Cherry Cup menu.

“Like did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Nah,” said Ruby.

“Are you sure? I haven’t seen old Clance like this since that time you stepped on his turtle.”

“Look, Mouse, could you just drop it? I don’t feel like talking about Clancy Crew right now, OK?”

“Whatever you say, Rube,” Mouse said, sighing.

“Listen, Mouse, I got bigger things on my mind than some boy with a bad case of the grouches.”

“Course you do, Rube,” said Mouse, biting her lip.

Ruby felt guilty. She didn’t like to lie to Mouse, and now she was making it worse by snapping at her. “Look, I didn’t mean to bite your head off, it’s just my brain is overloaded and all — what with my grandmother being so sick and my mom all racked with worry so she can’t sleep anymore.”

Another lie.

“That’s OK, Rube — no offense taken. Let me order you a fruit shake.”

“Thanks, Mouse, my old pal — make mine a pineapple quince, two straws. Here.” She held out a five-dollar bill. “They’re on me.”

Mouse ordered the drinks and waited at the bar. She was fiddling with toothpicks, sticking them into the plastic cherries that decorated the bar top. She looked up at Ruby. “Hey, I bet it has to do with his teeth.”

“Huh?” said Ruby.

“Clancy being all grouchy — it must be to do with his teeth. I overheard his mom talking about how one of his molars is infected — how it’s gotta come out. You know what Clancy’s like about the dentist. I’ll bet that’s what’s making him act weird.”

Ruby smiled. “You know what, Mouse, you’re probably right. You usually are.”

Mouse was pleased with that. “So you heard about the TV people coming to film the ‘safest safe in the U.S. of A.’?”

Ruby looked blank.

“Twinford City Bank, you know — the gold?”

“Oh yeah, I read about that in the paper — the ‘unstealable gold,’” said Ruby.

When they got up to leave Mouse called out, “See you, Clancy.”

“Yeah, see you, Mouse,” he replied.

It was as if Ruby didn’t even exist.

It was late afternoon by the time Ruby got home, and as she climbed the stairs she could hear the singsong voice of Barbara Bartholomew. She stuck her head around the living-room door; Ruby’s mother was reclining on a new and elegant sofa, Barbara sitting cross-legged on a pile of silk cushions — both were sipping on elaborate cocktails. They were deep in conversation.

“I can’t tell you, Barb, how super great Hitch was this morning. I had quite the lucky escape.”

“Really, no kidding?”

“Well, he drove me into town — I needed to stop off at Glenthorn’s jewelers, they are altering that necklace of mine.”

“The white jade one?” asked Barbara.

“The white jade one,” confirmed Sabina. “I want to wear it at the launch and it needs a better setting — more modern.”

“Oh, that will be nice,” cooed Barbara

“So Hitch stays in the car because there are no free parking meters, as per usual.”

“Oh, Sabina darling, there never are — it’s terrible.”

“Isn’t it? Why the mayor doesn’t do something, I don’t know. Anyway, where was I?”

“Hitch stayed in the car,” said Barbara.

“That’s right — anyway, I am in there a little while, thirty minutes, maybe forty, and Hitch is driving around the block and I come out and I stand there waiting on the street for him to reappear and then you won’t believe what happens.”

“What?” whispered Barbara dramatically.

“I only get my purse snatched by some criminal is all!”

“You don’t!”

“I’m telling you, and no one does anything, I mean the guy’s fast but still . . . you’d think . . .”

“You would,” agreed Barbara.

“Anyhow, suddenly Hitch drives around the corner, sees me screaming at the thief; I tell you Barb he was out of that car before you could blink and run. I’ve never seen a man move so fast.”

“Hitch, your butler? You are kidding!”

“I am not kidding, Barbara. He is after that guy, catches up with him, karate kicks him in the back of the legs, and the guy drops my purse.”

“No way!”

“I get my purse back, no harm done.”

“What about the guy?”

“Hitch chases him up a fire escape and over the top of the Wilmot building but the guy leaps down about forty feet into a passing garbage truck and he’s gone.”

“Wow, Sabina. That’s some butler you have there — hold on tight to that one.”

“You can be sure of it, Barb!” And the two women dissolved into unexplained giggles.

Ruby walked into the kitchen, where Hitch was preparing snacks.

“So I hear you were quite the action hero today.”

“Yeah, well, stopping purse snatchers isn’t usually what I do but it makes a change from arranging cheese straws.”

“But you do it so nicely,” said Ruby, adopting her mother’s voice.

“It’s not as hard as it looks. Want to try?”

“Nah, I’d cramp your style. So I guess your shoulder’s getting better if you can chase a thief up a fire escape?” said Ruby.

“Yeah, it must be, finally — which can only mean one thing. I’ll be moving on soon. I’ll have to get someone else to babysit you.”

“Just like Mary Poppins, you’ll be gone,” said Ruby, pouring herself a glass of banana milk.

“Yeah, well, kid, I’m not saying it hasn’t been supercalifragilistic to know you, but I’m kind of glad to be getting back to the day job, know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean.”

Ruby walked upstairs to her room and met Consuela coming the other way with a tray piled high with dirty cups and cereal bowls.

“I was just about to bring those down,” said Ruby, correctly predicting trouble.

“I shouldn’t have to be going up and down cleaning up after you. I’m a dietician, not a housemaid,” said Consuela. “But we are running out of dishes — they are all in your room!”

“Look, I’m sorry, I really am.” Ruby gave Consuela her best “I’m sorry” face, and Consuela’s scowl instantly softened.

“Oh, your friend Clancy called,” she said. “He wanted me to ask you how your grandmother is doing? He seems to think she is sick or something.”

“Yeah, poor Clance, he can get very confused about things — gets facts very mixed up. He’s got some sorta disorder.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” said Consuela, unusually concerned.

“Yeah, it’s too bad,” said Ruby, and as she closed the door to her room, she remembered how every little untruth always led to a hundred others. This was
RULE 32: TELL ONE LIE AND GET READY TO TELL A WHOLE LOT MORE.

The next day, riding her bike through Twinford, she had the same “watched” feeling she’d had before, but there was no sign of anything that might suggest she was being tailed.

After sitting at the desk in the dusty brown office for six hours, it dawned on Ruby that she was bored. It wasn’t the work exactly, although today it
was
painstaking, reading files over and over, trying to find a loose thread or something that would lead her to the next thing. No, it was the environment that was the problem, cut off from the world with only a supreme potato head for company. She wondered if this was how Lopez had felt.

Only it was doubly bad for Ruby because it looked like she was going to fail, and the fear of failure was indeed a strange new feeling.

She started absentmindedly rolling her pencil up and down the desk — she wasn’t even aware that she was doing it. She was lost in thought when she heard Froghorn shout, “Hey! Little girl, could you stop doing that!”

Ruby jumped, and the pencil rolled across the desk and disappeared off the edge.

Darn it.

She slipped off her chair and took a look underneath the desk — she could see the pencil there on the floor but she couldn’t reach it. As quietly as she could, Ruby began pulling at the heavy piece of furniture until it moved a couple of inches. She slid her hand along and felt around until it found what she was looking for. But the pencil she retrieved was not her pencil; it was green with white writing. The writing said:

The Fountain
.

Ruby sat still for so long that Froghorn came in to see if something had happened.

When he saw her sitting there, just staring at a pencil, he made some pathetic attempt at a smart remark. Ruby noticed that he had a mayonnaise stain on his tie but she really couldn’t be bothered to point it out — she was far too busy thinking about Lopez.

. . . when she heard a voice, or rather voices.

“We better go and talk to the old lady, get her to
cooperate
if you know what I mean.”

Oh I know what you mean,
said Mrs. Digby to herself. She sat back in her chair and waited for the inevitable. The door was opened and in walked two men: the one with the nice face who she had met before and another much bigger man, almost a giant, who she hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet. There was no sign of the woman with the high-pitched scream.

The nice-looking man seemed to be in charge — at least he did most of the talking.

Mrs. Digby stood there with her hands on her hips. “What is this? Kidnap-an-old-person week?” She wasn’t taking captivity lying down. The Digbys had always fought tooth and nail, no matter what the odds.

“All we want you to do,” said the man, “is call your employers and tell them that you are safe and sound in Miami.”

She folded her arms.

“And why would I tell them that, when it is perfectly obvious to me that I am not?”

“Well,” suggested the man softly, “why don’t you just
say
that you are?”

“Because that would make me a liar and I’m no liar.” Mrs. Digby pursed her lips.

“Well,” said the man, “cross your fingers behind your back and
pretend
that you are.”

Mrs. Digby sighed heavily. “And just what am I
doing
in Miami?”

“Perhaps you are playing a game of blackjack. Perhaps you have friends there.”

“And what if I’m not in Miami? What if I’m being held at gunpoint in a warehouse, what are you going to do then?”

“Then,” said the other man, the one with the big hands and the silver rings that looked a little bit like brass knuckles, “then perhaps you are gonna wish you was in Miami playing blackjack.”

“OK, OK, I get the picture, tough guy.” Mrs. Digby picked up the phone, praying Ruby might have skipped school. If Ruby heard her voice she would know in a moment that something was up. Ruby was one smart cookie. Mrs. Digby dialed the number — but no one answered.

“So leave a message,” hissed the tough guy.

Mrs. Digby glanced at his silver rings and decided she would do as she was told.

“They won’t believe it, you know,” she said. “You can force me to say a whole lotta mumbo jumbo on an answering machine but the Redforts know me inside out — they’ll know I was made to do it. It just won’t ring true, they know I have no cousin Ernie — believe you me, you all are gonna be stitched up like a pack of kippers.” Mrs. Digby was defiant as ever, but her captors merely laughed.

“Don’t wait too long to be rescued, old lady — you might pass your sell by date.”