Finding Elmo (7 page)

“Are you trying to get us killed?”

I thought this had to be the last stoplight before the highway. I bent my knee in
toward my chest, and then I stretched out and kicked open the back door. I grabbed Elmo's cage.

There were cars everywhere. But what I remember noticing most was the blue sky and the sound of a police siren behind us.

“Now
this
is my kind of party,” Mr. Singh said as he whizzed by with a tray of samosas.

Sapna was there too, dressed in a shiny green sari. She'd come all the way from New Delhi to spend Christmas in Montreal.

“I wouldn't miss this party for anything,” she'd said when Mr. Singh and I met her at the airport. “It's not every day Four Feet and Feathers celebrates its first anniversary.
Did I mention my parents have been married for nearly twenty years, and they're planning a celebration too?”

We'd stayed in touch by e-mail. I'd even sent Sapna a message from an Internet café on Kangaroo Island. I'd spent a week there in October with my dad and Elmo—on an all-expenses paid trip courtesy of the Australian government.

The people from the Kangaroo Island Conservation Society had wanted to buy Elmo, but my dad said no way. Instead we'd come up with another plan. In the spring, a representative from the Conservation Society was coming to Montreal with a female glossy black cockatoo, and we were going to try and breed her with Elmo.

If that didn't work, I might have to think about letting Elmo move to Australia permanently. But for now, I wasn't going to worry about that.

This was a much simpler party than the one we hosted the night Elmo disappeared. Money was still tight, and I was trying to help my dad cut back on expenses.

We'd even begun looking over the accounts together on Saturday afternoons.

All we'd needed to rent for tonight were coat racks and a microphone. The coat racks were at the front of the store, loaded with parkas. Colorful woolen hats and scarves dangled from the pockets.

Even the canaries seemed to know there was a party going on. They were trilling their hearts out for the occasion.

“We wouldn't have had better music if we'd hired a band,” Amy said.

“I just hope the fish don't get all worked up,” Trout said, reaching for a samosa.

My dad adjusted the microphone we'd set up under the palm tree. Mom—she'd taken a double dose of antihistamines—had Jake in her arms. Emma, who'd just learned to walk, was on the floor, leaning against Mom's leg.

Dad cleared his throat. “I'm not much good at making speeches. But I've got a couple of things I need to say.”

“First off, I want to thank you all.” He lifted his eyes to the crowd. “You've been
loyal friends and customers. I even recognize some of you from our first Four Feet and Feathers location. To be honest, I wasn't sure we'd make it when we moved to Lasalle. But here we are a year later.” People clapped, but Dad kept talking.

“I need to thank the folks at Realco—at least most of them.” Here, there was some nervous laughter, probably from people who'd heard about Mr. Morgan's arrest. Lyle and Steve had been arrested too, along with one of the construction workers who'd been paid off not to say anything about Elmo.

“Of course, I need to thank my wife for her love and support and for looking after our kids.” People strained to look at the twins and me.

“But the person I need to thank most is my son, Tim.” My face felt hot, but I tried to smile. I felt embarrassed and proud at the same time. “Parents are supposed to teach kids stuff, but I've learned a whole lot from Tim.”

“I guess you know Tim's a hero. Together with a couple of friends—why don't the
three of you come up here? Tim, Rodney, Sapna? Tim foiled an international bird smuggling ring.”

People reached out to pat my back as I made my way through the crowd. They chuckled when they saw Rodney. He'd grown a couple of inches, so his cape didn't trail on the ground the way it had during the summer.

My dad put his arm around my shoulders. “Tim,” he said, talking into the microphone so everyone else would hear, “somewhere along the road, I got lost. I got so worried about money, I forgot why I got into the pet business in the first place. You made me remember that it's not about ledger books and profits. It's about letting animals into your heart. The way you did with Elmo.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said when the clapping died down.

Sapna nudged me. “Aren't
you
going to make a speech?” she whispered.

“Uh, sure,” I said, feeling my face get hot all over again. I lowered the microphone. “Thanks to all of you for being here tonight
and supporting the store. Dad,” I raised my eyes to meet his, “you're the one who found a way to keep Four Feet and Feathers going when things got rough. You made me see how ledger books and profits matter too. And I want to say that whatever I know about taking care of animals, I learned from you. Now, there's someone I'd like you all to meet.”

I looked out across the room for Amy. She was leaving the aviary with Elmo on her arm.

“Hey, Elmo,” I said, and for a second, I forgot I was talking to so many people. They must have been following my gaze because they turned to watch as Amy stretched out her arm and raised her wrist into the air.

When Elmo lifted his wings, they made a rustling sound. A moment later, his sleek black body was moving over the crowd until he landed, like a jet, on my forearm.

I turned around so everyone could admire Elmo. “He's a glossy black cockatoo from Kangaroo Island—one of the last of his kind,” I explained. “But to me, he's just Elmo.”

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When award-winning author Monique Polak was a kid, her best friend was her budgie, Nervous Thompson Williamson. Monique is the popular author of many books for children and young adults, including
Home Invasion
and
No More Pranks
in the Orca Soundings series. Monique lives in Montreal, Quebec.