chapter ten

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.