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When it came to teaching the cleverest student in the history of Twinford Junior High, Mrs Drisco was out of her depth. On the other hand, it was a little pathetic for a grown-up teacher to be so snarky.
Once this little pupil-teacher exchange was over, Ruby went and sat down next to Clancy.
‘So was last night fun?’ whispered Ruby.
‘Well, that depends on what you call fun – my sister Nancy accidentally sat on the Spanish ambassador’s dessert,’ replied Clancy.
‘Oh, well at least she got dessert – some of us weren’t so lucky,’ said Ruby
‘What?’ said Clancy
‘Never mind, I’ll tell you later,’ whispered Ruby.
It was the usual Twinford Junior High day, nothing in any way out of the ordinary. Ruby had the usual interaction with her arch enemy Vapona Begwell, which went something like this…
VAPONA:‘Hey Ruby, can you see outta those glasses because my suggestion would be – don’t look in the mirror if you don’t wanna give yourself a fright.’
RUBY:‘Why, you gonna be standing behind me?’
There was a mildly interesting geography lesson followed by a mind-numbingly dreary French class (Ruby’s French was already so good that she spent the lesson reading War and Peace in the original Russian). History had Mrs Schneiderman promising in the next week or so to give a lecture on the Jade Buddha of Khotan. ‘My, is it ever the most fascinating story,’ she said. ‘I could talk about it forever.’
‘Meet my folks and you probably will,’ muttered Ruby.
At lunch time Ruby got into an altercation with Mrs Arthur over the let them eat cake T-shirt she was wearing. Ruby was protesting about Mrs Arthur’s strict guidelines about cake – or, more accurately, no cake. Mrs Arthur had banned cake.
MRS ARTHUR:‘Cake is in no way essential and should not be present in any child’s diet.’
RUBY:‘Cake is one of life’s great wonders and who would deny wonder to a child?’
All the pupils, with the exception of Denning Minkle, who had a sugar allergy, supported Ruby. However, Ruby was requested to turn her T-shirt inside out or risk a month of detention.
Ruby said goodbye to Clancy, who was being kept behind so he could retake his French vocab test. He was nervous; French made him feel queasy and Madame Loup gave him the shivers.
‘You’ll be fine, Clance,’ said Ruby, as she secretly slipped him an index card. ‘Copy this list onto your arm and you’ll have no problem.’
The piece of paper had all the test answers written in code – the code they had devised a couple of years ago and perfect for a situation like this. To the regular human on the street it just looked like gobbledygook.
Then it was time to catch the bus back to Cedarwood Drive.
Yes, everything was pretty normal. Things only began to get strange when Ruby arrived home.
She swung open the gate and saw that the front door to the house was standing open and a police car was parked in the drive. As she walked up the stairs to the kitchen she could hear the voice of Sheriff Bridges.
Now what is he doing here?
It didn’t take Ruby long to find out. She stood there in the living room, open mouthed.
Everything had gone. Well, almost everything. The telephone was still plugged into its socket and was sitting on the floor. Apart from that the house was as empty as a house could be. Even the dust was gone. It was obvious to anyone, even someone who had never visited the Redforts before, that they had been burgled.
‘Yes,’ said her mother, second guessing her daughter’s thoughts, ‘Every room is full of nothing.’
Chapter 5. (#ulink_107dfdc3-8a1e-541e-83b4-a08328f51987)
More of nothing
RUBY TURNED AND RAN UPSTAIRS, right to the top of the house. She went into her empty bedroom and set about pulling at the wobbly floorboards. As she lifted them up she was met by the yellow glow of her 622 yellow notebooks.
Thank goodness, it seemed everything was in order. Next she checked the doorjamb – and was reassured to see that, yes, the 621st notebook was also safe. She checked her other eleven hiding places before breathing a huge sigh of relief.
As Ruby turned to leave the room, she caught sight of her donut phone tucked underneath the bookcase. It was the only remaining phone from her collection and the only remaining visible object in the room. She picked it up and dialled Clancy’s number. He wasn’t home yet so she left a message. ‘Call me, OK?’ Then she went back downstairs. As she walked into the kitchen she adopted an expression of quiet distress.
‘I’m sorry sweetheart,’ said her mother kindly.
‘Don’t worry Ruby, we’re going to track this yoyo down,’ said the sheriff, patting her on the shoulder. ‘I’ll see myself out, Mrs R.’
‘Goodbye Nat,’ called Sabina.
Two minutes later the doorbell rang.
‘Oh, Ruby honey, would you get that?’ asked her mother. ‘It’s probably Nat, he’s forgotten his notepad.’
But when Ruby answered the door she was surprised to see a remarkably handsome, rather tall, formally dressed man. He was neither particularly young nor would he ever be considered in any way old – in fact it was impossible to really put any accurate age on him.
‘You are inside out,’ said the man, extending his hand.
‘Huh?’ said Ruby.
‘Let me guess, the so-called authority figures didn’t like your silent demands?’ he was pointing at her T-shirt which was of course inside out, the let them eat cake slogan no longer visible.
‘Oh yeah,’ she said, ‘something like that…’
How did he know about the school cake protest? she wondered.
Who is this guy?
Her mother by now had made her way downstairs. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Hitch,’ said the man, looking into the house. ‘I see you go in for the minimalist look.’
‘Pardon me? Oh yes, I see what you mean, we’ve been robbed,’ stammered Sabina. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing to photograph.’
‘Well, lucky I didn’t bring my camera.’
‘Why ever not?’ Sabina said, shaking his hand – Ruby noticed the man wince as if the action had caused him a sudden flash of pain.
‘Because I take terrible photographs – always getting my thumb in front of the lens.’
Sabina looked blank. ‘But aren’t you the photographer from Living Luxury Magazine?’
‘I’m a household manager – from Zen Home management – you called this morning?’
‘Oh!’ said Sabina, brightly, ‘you’re the butler?’
‘I prefer household manager, but butler if you insist.’
‘But I only called the house management agency a few hours ago, they said no one would be available for weeks, how did you…’
‘I returned from London unexpectedly two hours ago. My previous employers, Lord and Lady Wellingford, suddenly decided to tour the palaces of India and no longer required my services.’
‘But surely they will be back in a few weeks?’
‘Not for three years,’ he replied quickly.
‘It takes three years to tour the palaces of India?’ said Sabina.
‘They are travelling by elephant.’
A likely story, thought Ruby. I’ll bet he got fired.
‘So, do you want to see my references? I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.’ He winked at Sabina and she giggled.
‘I’ll bet I won’t!’ said Sabina cheerily,
Oh brother! thought Ruby
‘I’m so glad you’re here, Mr Hitch.’
‘Just Hitch – that’ll do fine.’
‘Oh of course, that’s a butler thing isn’t it, calling yourself by your last name.’
‘Well in this instance it’s more of a me thing, it’s my only name – only my mother calls me anything else.’
‘Oh, and what does she call you?’ asked Sabina.
‘Darling, usually.’
‘Well, you can call me just Sabina – or darling – no just kidding…’
Ruby looked at her mother. Something strange had happened. Why was she giggling like an idiot?
‘Anyway, I don’t mind telling you, Hitch,’ Sabina went on, ‘things have been none too pleasant around here lately, no siree Bob. First the airline totally lose our luggage, and now look – we have been cleaned out.’
Sabina babbled on excitedly about the tomato incident and Hitch listened. It was if she had fallen under some kind of spell.
What is this guy, some kind of hypnotist?
Sabina was interrupted by the ring of the telephone.
‘At least we still have the telephone!’ cried Sabina, delighted that one small possession had escaped the burglar’s grasp. ‘I expect that’ll be the airline! Get that would you Ruby?’
Ruby walked over to the phone and picked up the receiver. ‘Chucks Cheesery, you want cheese we aim to please.’
But for the third time there was absolutely no one on the end of the line. She hung up and was about to dial Clancy’s number when the phone rang again.
‘Look buster if you ain’t gonna talk, why call?’
‘I’m sorry?’ said a low, gravelly voice.
‘What’s with all the heavy breathing and hanging up? It is considered rude you know,’ snapped Ruby.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about – I am not in the habit of calling people with whom I have no intention of conversing,’ replied the voice.
So who called me those other times?
‘I am looking for Ruby Redfort,’ said the voice.
‘Well you found her,’ replied Ruby.
‘Good, so now I’ve found you, all you’ve got to do is find me.’
‘Excuse me?’ said Ruby, ‘what is this, quiz night?’
‘Well,’ the voice said, ‘a little bird told me that you notice everything – but do you notice everything Ruby Red?’
‘The name’s Ruby Redfort.’ Ruby didn’t like her name to be messed with.
‘As I was saying,’ continued the voice. ‘I hear that you are quite the code cracker, that you are capable of noticing the smallest things, the tiny details and how they connect. I bet you can see when something is plum square in the wrong place, while everyone else just walks on by. You can see that something ordinary might mean something extraordinary once it’s put in context. Am I right?’
‘I can crack a code,’ said Ruby struggling to sound more confident than she felt.
‘Good,’ said the voice, and the line went dead.
‘So what’s the code, buster?’ said Ruby to no one but herself. She slowly put down the receiver.
Now what?
Hitch meanwhile, true to his job description, had been managing the Redfort household. By the time Brant Redfort walked in the door Hitch had brought in some of the lawn furniture, conjured camp beds from nowhere, and ordered sushi for dinner. Sabina was leaning on the countertop, and chatting as if she had known him a good deal longer than one hour and forty-two minutes. Though Ruby observed that the conversation was not exactly scintillating.
‘So would you believe it, Hitch, I take my little Oscar Birdet jacket to the drycleaners – you know, Grosvenors on Harling Street? And what do they say? ‘Sorry Mrs Redfort but we won’t be able to fix this, it’s too delicate.’ Can you believe it? What kind of drycleaning service are they?’
‘Well it is an Oscar Birdet, maybe they felt a little out of their depth.’
‘You know Oscar Birdet?’
‘Sure I do.’
‘Aren’t his designs exquisite?’
