Finding Elmo (3 page)

“Excellent.”

When I felt Dad's eyes land on me, I didn't look up. I was giving him the silent treatment. But the silent treatment only works when the other person notices.

“I'll be in my office making phone calls,” Dad said as he headed out the aviary door. He sounded happier than he'd sounded in a long time. Sure, I thought, he thinks Elmo's going to solve his money problems. If only he cared as much about Elmo. Or me.

“Something bothering you?” Amy asked.

“Nah, I'm fine. Hey, what's the red smudge on that one's head?” I asked, pointing at the smallest fledgling.

“Lipstick. A family was in yesterday. They totally fell in love with her. When I told them they couldn't take her home for two weeks, they insisted on leaving a down payment. So I dabbed her head with lipstick; that way, we'll be able to tell her apart from her brothers.”

“Hey, Amy,” I said, when we were scooping up the fledglings to put them back in the cage. “Ever hear of people renting out birds? For parties and stuff?” I was holding one of the fledglings in my hands, and I could feel the thump-thump of his heart.

“Nah,” Amy said. “Never heard of it. Why do you want to know?”

“No reason.”

The silent treatment hadn't worked. Keeping my feelings in wasn't working, either. So though I didn't have to pee, I headed for the bathroom at the back of the store. On the way, I stopped at my dad's office.

The door was half-open, but he wasn't there.

“I think he went to the bathroom,” Trout called out. He was feeding the fish.

When I walked into the bathroom, my dad was checking out his shave in the mirror.

I looked for feet inside the stalls. I didn't want anyone else to hear what I was about to say.

“How
could
you?” I asked, looking up at my dad. When I heard my voice, I was surprised by how angry I sounded. I don't think I'd ever really gotten angry with my dad before.

“How could I what?” I could tell Dad had no idea what I was talking about. That made me angrier.

“How could you rent out—” I had trouble finishing the sentence. “How could you rent out Elmo?” It sounded like I'd spit out the words.

“How do you know about that?”

“I heard you tell Mom.”

“Since when did you start listening in on private conversations?” Dad's eyes flashed and his whole face was red. I couldn't believe he was getting angry at me! He was twisting things. I wasn't the one who'd done something wrong, he was.

I tried to stay calm. “I wasn't listening in. I just heard you talking is all.”

I was sure Dad would apologize for losing his temper and for his plan to rent out Elmo. I was sure he'd say it was all a big mistake and he'd changed his mind.

But he didn't.

Instead he walked right past me and pressed his palm against the bathroom door so hard it made a smacking sound. “What makes you think I need some kid telling me how to run my business?”

“I'm not telling you how to run your business. I...I just want to look after Elmo.”

The veins on Dad's hand looked purple and swollen. “Now you're telling me I don't know how to look after my animals? Is that what you're saying?”

“N-no,” I stammered. “It's just that I...I'm worried.”

Dad dropped his eyes to the ground. “You don't know the first thing about worries,” he muttered as he left the bathroom.

I knew there wasn't any point going after him. But I wasn't ready to go back into the store, either. My heart was racing and I needed to catch my breath. Dad and I had never fought before.

So I just stood there, staring at my reflection. I looked so much like him. Usually I thought that was a good thing.
But not today. Today I didn't want to be anything like my dad.

I nearly jumped when the bathroom door opened. I spotted the black cloak first. “Rodney!” I shouted, and for a second I sounded as angry as my dad had a few minutes before. “What's wrong with you? Why are you always following me around like some stray pup?”

Not exactly pet people, I thought as I made my way through the crowd, balancing a tray of samosas over my head with one hand.

It was Saturday night and the store had been converted into a weird cross between a jungle and a ballroom. I'd never seen anything so tacky. I had helped Dad and Trout push the shelves of pet supplies over to one wall to make room for a giant dance floor. There was a cardboard cutout of a life-sized tiger at one end. The huge black
strobe lights on either side of the tiger made it hard to see straight.

The people were even worse than the decorations. Take this one lady who let out a shriek when Cottontail jumped out from under the log where she'd been hiding.

“Don't worry. He's harmless,” I said, offering the woman a samosa.

The woman took a handkerchief from her purse. She sighed as she dabbed her forehead.

The air smelled like the ground floor at some department store where those perfume ladies attack you with spray bottles. What I'd give right now, I thought, for a whiff of hay and ammonia.

Instead of renting out the big birds, my dad had come up with another plan to make money: He'd rented out the whole store. Maybe this was his idea of a compromise. We hadn't talked about our argument. In fact, since that day in the bathroom, the two of us hadn't really talked about anything, except basics like what had to be done at the store and what kind of take-out we were bringing home for dinner.

All the party guests were connected to Realco. In exchange for letting the company use the store for this party, Mr. Morgan had agreed to let my dad pay only half of next month's rent.

Dad had gone along with Mr. Morgan's plan like an old dog being dragged out for a walk. “What else can I do?” I heard him tell Mom during one of the late night conversations that I wasn't supposed to be listening to. “Soon I'm going to owe Realco so much money that guy can get me to do just about anything.”

Why couldn't Dad stand up to Mr. Morgan? I'd put my pillow over my head so I wouldn't have to hear anymore. Why couldn't Dad put the animals first the way he used to?

So there I was, dressed in a penguin suit—a black tuxedo Dad had insisted on renting for me. I didn't even have a free hand to scratch my neck, which was itching something awful because of the starched collar.

I felt like it wasn't just Four Feet and Feathers that had been rented out for the
night. I felt like I'd been rented too. Like I didn't belong to myself anymore.

Mr. Singh, who'd been hired to cater the party, was racing back and forth between the food court and the store. “These fancy people can't get enough of my samosas,” he said, handing me another tray of the crispy appetizers. “The ones on the left have meat, the rest are vegetarian.”

After the first round of appetizers was served, Mr. Singh gestured that I should follow him to the food court. His forehead was dotted with sweat. “Tim,” he said, sounding more formal than usual, “there's someone I'd like you to meet.”

I knew right away he meant Sapna. He'd told me she'd arrived earlier in the week, but that she'd spent her first two days in Montreal, getting over her jet lag.

I expected to see her standing behind the counter, but she wasn't there. At least not at first.

When she did pop up from behind the counter, cradling a copper pot in her arms, my first thought was that she didn't look
anything like Mr. Singh. She had long dark hair that she wore in a braid down her back and her eyes were like stars.

“You must be Tim,” she said. “I'm delighted to meet you. Great-uncle tells me we have much in common. There are twins in my family too. Mine are sisters. They have the same dark hair I do. Only not so long, of course.”

When she talked, she moved her hands, and the gold bangles on her wrist jangled.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, reaching out to shake her hand. Her fingers felt small and warm.

I didn't have to worry about what to say next because Sapna seemed to be one of those people who never ran out of conversation. It was hard to feel shy around her. “It was a very long flight from New Delhi,” she said. “Fifteen hours if you include the stopover in Frankfurt. It's a good thing I arrived when I did, because I don't know how Great-uncle would have managed without me tonight.”

Just then I heard the sound of someone snapping his fingers. It was Mr. Morgan.
He'd tracked me down at the food court. “I need two glasses of white wine for some friends of mine. On the double.”

I wanted to tell him not to order me around, but of course, I couldn't. He ran Realco. And he wanted a kid in a penguin suit to serve wine to his snooty friends. “Look,” I told Sapna, “I've gotta go, but let's talk later.” Then I headed back to the store and toward the bar.

On the way, I spotted Elmo. He and Winifred and Hubert were perched on their swings under the palm tree. There were people milling around, gushing about the colors of the birds' feathers and coaxing them to talk.

“Hello, hello, hello,” a bald-headed man kept repeating. He sounded like he was having trouble with his cell phone.

When I caught his eye, Elmo stopped preening himself and lifted one wing. I nodded and then, for a second, he shut his eyes the way he does when I pet him.

“Need some help?” a familiar voice asked. What was Rodney doing here? “My mom,
uh, needed to get milk. When we saw Four Feet and Feathers was open late...” He was talking more quickly than usual. Was I making him nervous? Then I remembered how I'd given him a hard time the other day. He hadn't deserved it.

“Slow down, Phantom, will ya?”

Rodney cracked a little smile. “Hey, Tim,” he said, “what's going on here, anyway?”

“They're having a party.”

“Why would anyone want to have a party in a pet store?”

“Just what I was thinking.”

“Are you sure I can't help?”

“Na, I'm all ri—,” I said, but then I changed my mind. “See Mr. Singh over there at the back of the store? Could you grab that tray from him? Just don't let the samosas get jammed at one end.”

Someone clapped their hands at the front of the store. “Mr. Morgan,” a woman called out, “time for your speech, sir.” Straightaway, people quieted down and headed to the dance floor, where a microphone was set up.

I grabbed two glasses of wine and hurried over to where Mr. Morgan was standing with his friends. The woman thanked me when I handed her a glass. “Richard,” she said, holding her glass up to toast Mr. Morgan, “to a wonderful host and devoted friend.”

“Why, thank you.” Mr. Morgan sounded embarrassed. Then he turned to face me. I figured he wanted to give me a few more orders before making his speech. “Who's that child?” he asked, pointing at Rodney. “And why is he wearing that ridiculous outfit?”

“He's—uh—a friend of mine.”

Mr. Morgan smirked. “I want him out of here. Now.”

I tried to keep my voice low. Sure, it was Mr. Morgan's party, but Rodney wasn't causing any trouble. “His mom's just—”

Mr. Morgan turned his back and began walking to the dance floor. People clapped as he passed.

“Tim!” a small voice called out. Rodney was pushing through the crowd to get over to where I was. Why hadn't he gone to get
the tray of samosas like I'd asked him to? And why was his face so pale?

Rodney's hand was over his mouth. His other hand was pointing at the palm tree. “E-E-lmo's not on his swing,” he stammered. “Where'd he go?”

Problems have a way of seeming really bad at night when you're lying in bed and it's too dark for shadows, but it was morning and I wasn't feeling any better.

“You're telling me there's been a
bird
napping?” the police officer asked. He was jotting down notes on a pad of paper. From where I stood, the notebook was upside down, but I could make out the words
Four
Feet and Feathers
and
cockatoo
—
mostly black, some red
.

“This is the first time I've heard of a
bird
napping.” The second police officer nudged the first one's elbow.

“He is a very valuable bird,” I said, hoping this would make them take Elmo's case more seriously.

The first officer raised one eyebrow. “I see. How much is a bird like, what did you say his name was aga—?”

“Elmo. His name's Elmo.” My nerves were shot. Elmo was gone. Birdnapped. What if he was locked up in some gerbil cage—or worse, a cardboard box?

“How much would you say a bird like Elmo is worth?” The police officer made a dollar sign on his note pad.

“About two thousand dollars,” Dad said.

I hadn't been able to look at Dad all morning. I was too angry. This was his fault. If he hadn't rented out the store for the party, I'd still have Elmo. It didn't help that Dad was taking Elmo's disappearance
so calmly. Wasn't he worried? Didn't he have a heart anymore?

The second officer whistled. “Two thousand for a bird? Geez, if I had that kind of dough, I'd take a cruise.”

I felt my face get hot. “Cockatoos are like people,” I said.

“Look, kid, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings,” the second officer said. “Don't go getting worked up. Why don't you tell us some more about Elmo? He's black with a brown head, he's got some bright red on his tail feathers and he's almost a foot and a half long. Anything else we should know?”

“Here,” my dad said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “Here's a picture of Elmo with Tim.”

I'd never seen the picture before. It shows Elmo perched on my forearm, looking up at my face. Looking at the picture made me feel even lonelier.

“Does this bird of yours say anything?” the first officer asked.