Finding Elmo (5 page)

My eyes pressed forward.
In danger of extinction, the glossy black cockatoo is considered priceless
.

Priceless?

How could Elmo be priceless? We'd inherited him from that old sailor—the one who'd brought Elmo back from one of his trips. Then again, maybe the sailor hadn't known either.

I clicked on the website.

What I saw next nearly made me hyperventilate. It was a photograph of a bird. Glossy black feathers, with bright red
on his tail panels. But it was the eyes that got to me. Brown eyes, rimmed with pink. Eyes that looked right into you. The picture looked exactly like Elmo.

I was starting to feel like a human yo-yo. One minute I was up—like when I discovered Elmo was actually a glossy black cockatoo— the next I was down. Way down.

Like when I phoned the police station.

“I'll have to take a message,” a woman with a bored-sounding voice said when I asked for Officer Leduc.

“It's about my bird.”

“Your
bird
?”

I sighed. “Yes, m'am, my bird. Elmo. He was kidnapped, er...birdnapped and I want Officer Leduc to know it turns out Elmo's really valuable. Priceless even. Can you tell him I was surfing the net and—”

“Your number please,” the woman said, cutting me off.

I gave her the number.

“He's working on a high-priority case.” I could hear her tapping a keyboard in the background. “But I'll pass on your message.”

Something told me Elmo wasn't exactly on Officer Leduc's high-priority list.

“Where'd Sapna go?” I asked Mr. Singh as I pulled out a stool in front of his counter.

Mr. Singh was using a mortar and pestle to grind spices, so the air smelled sweet and sharp at the same time. “Sapna has gone to Dollarcity for Styrofoam plates,” Mr. Singh explained. “She insists they're bad for the environment, but the two of us can't keep up with the dishes. Especially on weekends.”

He put the pestle down on the counter and shook out his wrist.

“Ever thought of an electric spice grinder?” I asked. “Or a dishwasher?”

“Bah,” he said. I guessed that meant no.

I felt Mr. Singh's eyes on my face. “Any news on your bird?” he asked.

At least
someone
wanted to know the latest developments in Elmo's case. “It turns out Elmo's really valuable. Priceless, in fact. I found out when I was surfing the net.”

“Are you sure?” Mr. Singh asked.

“Look at this,” I told him, reaching into my back pocket for the printout of the glossy black cockatoo website.

Mr. Singh whistled. “Why then,” he said, speaking more quickly than usual, “that would explain why a birdnapper would want Elmo.”

I was starting to feel up again. Until Mr. Singh asked, “So what are you going to do next?”

“That's just it. I haven't figured that part out.”

Mr. Singh made a clucking sound. “How about a vegetable pakora with some mint chutney?”

The pakora was greasy but good. “Solving problems is a little like cooking,” Mr. Singh said, passing me a napkin. “It's a matter of taking one step at a time. When I make chicken curry,” Mr. Singh went on, “I don't think about chicken curry. I think about onions and turmeric. I think about trimming every last bit of fat from the chicken. Good cooks—and I believe I may count myself among them—”

“You're a very good cook,” I assured him.

“Good cooks understand that cooking is about the journey, not the destination—the steps, rather than the end product...”

I could tell from the way Mr. Singh's turban had tilted to one side that he was getting carried away.

In the end, Sapna saved me from having to hear more about chicken curry. The two bags of Styrofoam plates she was carrying were so big you could hardly see her behind them.

“Tim, will you please give that great-niece of mine a hand?” Mr. Singh said when he saw her. Then he disappeared behind his counter to make room for the plates.

It was 9:15 on Thursday night. “Let me guess,” I told Rodney. “Your mom's just picking up a few things at Mega.”

Rodney nodded.

We'd just closed the store, and I wanted to go home. It wasn't just that I'd worked all day helping customers, stocking shelves and cleaning out the animal pens. I'd been starting to think maybe Mr. Singh had a point. Maybe I needed to think things out one at a time.

I wanted to lie on my bed and review every single thing I knew about Elmo's disappearance.

But I couldn't leave Rodney standing out in the parking lot.

I checked my watch. “Did she say what time she'd be back?” I tried not to sound impatient.

“You don't have to wait.” Rodney reached under his Phantom of Doom cape so he could tuck his hands into his pockets.

“I don't mind,” I lied.

“My mom's always forgetting something. Cereal, bananas...”

All that was left of the sun was an orangey purple crescent. Soon it would be completely dark. I hoped Rodney's mom would turn up soon. She should have known better than to drop him off so late. Sometimes parents didn't act like parents. I thought of my mom in her pj's and my dad giving in to Mr. Morgan.

“You never talk about your dad,” I said to Rodney.

Rodney hunched his shoulders under the cape. “I've never met him,” he said in a small voice.

“Uh, look,” I stammered, “sorry for mentioning it.”

“They broke up before I got born. Mom says he loved animals, dogs ex-pecially.”

“I guess that's where you got it from.”

“Got what?”

“You know...your way with animals.”

Rodney grinned. “You think I have a way with animals?”

“I'm sure of it.”

For a few seconds neither of us said anything. I watched Rodney shuffle from
one foot to the other, and I realized I wasn't the only one who had troubles. “You think Elmo'll ever come back?” he asked at last.

I made a gulping sound. I wanted to say I was sure of that too. But I couldn't. I gulped again. “I hope so, Phantom. I sure hope so.”

Rodney was already focused on something else. “When's that building going to be ready?” he asked, pointing to an office tower Realco was putting up next to the mall. The frame was up, but only the first three floors looked finished. The metal scaffolding outside the building gleamed, reflecting the sun's last few rays.

“Not till fall.”

“Then how come there are lights up there? See?”

“There aren't any lights up there,” I said without looking up.

Rodney kept pointing.

I followed his hand. There were lights on. They were coming from the second floor. How could that be?

I got to thinking—to reviewing all the pieces. The bakery van was abandoned in
the mall parking lot. Elmo—or someone who'd been with him—must have been in the van at some point, or I wouldn't have found the feather.

But maybe the birdnapper hadn't taken Elmo to the other end of town or the other end of the planet. Maybe Elmo was a lot closer than that.

A beat-up Volkswagen pulled up and honked. Rodney's mom leaned across to the passenger side and rolled down the window. Her frizzy hair reminded me of a dandelion. “You must be Tim,” she called out in a high voice. “Thanks for looking after Rodney.”

As I unlocked my bike, I took another look at the lights on the second floor of the office building. Somebody was definitely up there. And I had to do some more thinking.

“How ‘bout a ride to work today?” My dad's face was hidden behind
The Gazette
business section.

“Nah,” I said as I popped a piece of bread into the toaster. “I'll take my bike. I've got stuff to do on the way.”

My dad didn't ask what stuff. “Remember,” he said, “no biking after dark. We were worried last night.” He'd put the newspaper
down next to his plate, but I could tell he was still reading.

I had the feeling I was supposed to apologize for worrying them, but I didn't feel like it. Dad still hadn't apologized to me. As I spread raspberry jam on my toast, I started feeling guilty for making my parents worry. They had a lot on their minds lately. “Sorry,” I muttered under my breath.

Dad nodded.

When my mom came in, her index finger was pressed up against her lips. Which meant we were talking too loud.

My dad looked away from the newspaper. “Are they still sleeping?” he whispered. “Both of them?”

Mom collapsed into the nearest chair. “Both of them,” she said with a sigh. I didn't think it was worth pointing out the dried baby spit on the collar of her housecoat. She reached for the coffeepot.

Dad blocked her hand. “Maybe you should go back to bed, Adrienne.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” my mom said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “I've got too
much to do.” She took the lid off the sugar bowl. “Shoot, no more sugar.”

“You don't have to call me ridiculous,” said Dad.

“You don't have to be so sensitive,” Mom snapped back.

I watched them glare at each other. Things were getting worse and worse at our house. I tried to calculate how many years till I could move out. Seven, maybe eight. I wasn't sure I could wait that long.

“We should think about getting a housekeeper. Even for one or two days a week,” Dad said.

Mom winced as she gulped her coffee. You could tell she didn't like the taste of it without sugar. “Not until we can afford it.”

It was only when I was biking along the lakeshore that I realized Mom and Dad hadn't even mentioned Elmo, or asked how the search was going.

I'd expected Sapna, but not Rodney. They were sitting on a bench outside the mall. I'd phoned Sapna when I got home the
night before to tell her I needed her help again.

“I like feeling useful,” she'd told me. “That's how I feel when I help my great-uncle. That poor man works too hard. Especially for someone his age.”

“Hey, Phantom, whatcha doing here so early?” I asked Rodney. “Don't tell me your mom's already out of groceries.”

“She had an er-pointment,” Rodney said.

“A-ppointment,” Sapna corrected him.

“Whatever,” I told them. “Look, I need to fill you two in on the plan. I'm headed up there,” I said, raising my eyes to the second floor of the office building.

Sapna frowned. “The building's not complete. There'll be no one there but construction workers. Why would they have your bird?”

“Rodney noticed lights up there last night.”

Rodney's chest puffed up like a sparrow's. “What do you want us to do?” he asked.

“Just keep an eye out. In case.”

“In case what?” Rodney wanted to know.

“In case, you know, something happens... or I take too long.”

Rodney's eyes had turned big. “You're not going to disappear, are you?”

“Of course not,” Sapna said, patting him on the shoulder.

As I walked toward the office building, I turned to look back at the mall. Sapna got up from the bench. “I'm going to check on things at Tandoori Palace,” I heard her tell Rodney. “You keep watch until I'm back. Is that clear, superhero?”

There weren't any workers on the scaffolding, but once I got inside the building, I heard hammering coming from upstairs. The air smelled like white glue.

The ground floor had walls, but there was a gaping hole where the elevator was going to be. I looked around—past piles of two by fours, and bags of cement—until I spotted a stairwell. I stood still when the hammering stopped; when it started up again, I made a run for the stairwell.

I'd come up with a story in case someone found me. It wasn't very good, but hey, I was under pressure. I'd say I'd had a fight with my dad and that I'd run away. In a weird way, my story felt true. My dad and I might have had a fight if I'd told him all the stuff that was bothering me. That he didn't seem to care about Elmo or about how I was doing. That he was distracted all the time. That he wasn't the dad he used to be—the one who'd opened the first Four Feet and Feathers.

The stairs were made of black metal, and I could imagine the racket I'd make if I ran up them. So I walked super slowly, taking one at a time. I was headed to the corner of the building overlooking the parking lot.

Light streamed in onto the stairwell, but when I got to the second floor hallway, it was almost completely dark. I let my eyes adjust. A row of doors lined both sides of the hallway. The only light came from the cracks under the doors.

Now that I was upstairs, I realized I hadn't thought any further ahead than this.
Then I remembered Mr. Singh's advice: one ingredient at a time. Careful to make as little noise as possible, I started down the hallway. Then I heard voices.

Men's voices.

I ducked back into the stairwell.

“I don't like the idea of staying too long in this place,” a gruff voice said.

“None of us do, Lyle,” a second voice answered. You could tell he was trying to calm Lyle down.

“We should have left town after the heist like we planned.” Then I heard a loud bash. Had Lyle punched a wall? I took another step back into the stairwell.

The word “heist” got my attention. Could they be talking about Elmo?

The hammering had started up again.
Rat-tat-tat
. I'd have to get closer if I wanted to keep listening in.

“Look,” said the man whose name I didn't know, “the deal fell through. When Boss phoned yesterday, he said he'd have news soon. Said he thought we'd be outta here by the end of the week. On a plane to—”

The hammering got louder. I hadn't heard where they were going or what the heist was all about.

For a second, I saw myself the way someone like Lyle might see me if he found me here. Some kid crouched in the corner of a hallway, listening in on someone else's conversation. I shivered.