Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat (8 page)

“It's a
chinchilla
, brainiac,” muttered the Rat.

“What's she doing now?” Emmy fidgeted on the bucket.

“Okay, um—she's got the chinchilla, and—oh my gosh!”

“
What?
” Emmy straightened. “I can't see anything! What's she doing?” She grabbed the ledge and stood on her tiptoes. The bucket teetered.

CRASH! Emmy fell through the shrubs. BANG! The bucket spun out and hit the side of the house.

“Ow!”
cried Emmy as she landed, scraping an elbow. Too late, she clapped a hand to her mouth.

Above her, Joe and the Rat peered down from the windowsill.

And then, with a creak, the door opened. A metal-tipped shoe poked out. Emmy held her breath.

HONK! HONK HONK!

A yellow cab rolled up the driveway. The back door opened before the driver had time to set the brake, and Emmy's parents spilled out, laughing and talking all at once.

“Emmy! Sweetheart, did you fall? Are you hurt?”

“Here's my girl!” Emmy's father reached her first and lifted her high. “You've grown! Keep that up and you'll be playing basketball!”

Emmy laughed, almost giddy with joy. She was really too big to be lifted in the air by her father anymore, but she didn't care. It felt absolutely wonderful.

“I get to hold her, too,” Emmy's mother protested, and then they were all three hugging, Emmy in the middle and a parent on each side. Emmy was breathless by the time they set her down, but it didn't matter. “Did you have a good trip?” she asked, beaming. “Are you going to stay home now?”

Metal-tipped shoes came tapping down the back steps. “Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Addison,” said Miss Barmy, fluffing her hair and smiling her tight-lipped smile. “I'm dreadfully sorry you had to take a cab—I
did
send Jems with the car. Was your plane early?”

“Nope, five thirty, right on time.” Emmy's father nodded to the driver, who took the bags out of the trunk. “Jems wasn't waiting, so we just took a cab. No harm done.”

Emmy glanced up quickly. So she had been right about her parents' arrival time, and Miss Barmy had been wrong! And after all that fuss in Dr. Leander's office, and having to swallow that stupid vitamin drink!

Emmy almost laughed. If she had come home at the time Miss Barmy said, and had ridden with Jems, she'd be sitting at the airport right now while her parents were home with the nanny.

Or was that what Miss Barmy had planned all along?

Miss Barmy came a step closer. “Emmaline has just had a fall. Perhaps she should lie down and rest.”

Emmy's father looked at his daughter, who was shaking her head vigorously, and laughed. “She doesn't look tired.” He patted Miss Barmy on the shoulder. “We appreciate your concern, though. It's clear that Emmy is healthy and happy, and that's the important thing.”

He wheeled around, looking up at the imposing stone house, the gnarled trees overhead, and threw an arm over his wife's shoulder. “It's great to be back, isn't it, Kathy? Why did we ever leave in the first place?”

“I haven't the faintest idea,” Kathy Addison said cheerfully, brushing Emmy's hair back from her face. “We must have been out of our minds. Let's go inside, sweetheart. I want to hear all about school and everything else.”

Emmy turned to go in with her parents. But as she looked back over her shoulder, she saw that a muscle had begun to jump in Miss Barmy's cheek.

 

“And then I got an A+ on this project, ‘Animals of India.'”

Emmy, seated on the leather couch between her mother and father, was enjoying their undivided
attention. From time to time she'd reach into her binder and pull out more papers, and they admired and asked questions about every one.

Just now her father was looking through her math workbook, nodding approvingly and checking her answers. Kathy Addison was deep into Emmy's latest book report, curled up against the sofa arm, her light brown hair falling forward against her cheek. Emmy leaned back, full of contentment.

The view outside the window was spectacular. A soft breeze moved fitfully through the big, graceful elms, making dappled and moving shadows on the wide, green lawn. Out on the lake, bright sails moved back and forth in Loon's Bay.

It wasn't quite like the old days, when they had all lived in the little apartment above the bookstore that Emmy's parents had owned. The view, in those days, was of a scraggly tree and a busy street. They hadn't had any leather couches, and their one carpet had been faded and threadbare.

Emmy pressed her feet into the thick Oriental rug and looked around at the gleaming grand piano, the fresh flowers in polished vases, the crystal chandelier. It was all very nice. Very, very nice, but—it just
wasn't very important. What
was
important was sitting on either side of her, and that, at least, was just like the old days.

Emmy leaned against her father's shoulder. “Dad? Are you going to get the sailboat out this weekend?”

Jim Addison studied the lake. “I don't see why not. The water's a little cold, but the air is warm enough … oh, Jems, there you are!”

Jems was standing in the doorway, chauffeur's cap in hand. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said in his dignified way. “I was told the wrong time to pick you up. I should have checked on it myself, sir.”

“No problem,” said Emmy's father, getting up. “Say, Jems, I'd like to get the sailboat in the water tomorrow. Are you free after breakfast?”

Emmy's eyes widened as she watched Jems walk to meet her father. Clinging to the chauffeur's trousers, with his back paws anchored on one well-shined shoe, was the Rat—and hanging on to the other cuff was what looked like a blond action figure in a blue jersey.

She had forgotten all about Joe and the Rat, stuck on the windowsill. They must have climbed down
the vine, but what were they doing hanging off Jems's pants leg?

“Mom?” she said quickly. “Here are more reports to read, when you're done with that one.” She added to her mother's stack, watching her eyes.

“Mmm,” said Kathy Addison absently, turning over a page. Emmy relaxed inwardly and glanced back at the chauffeur's ankles—but Joe and the Rat were gone.

“
Psst! Don't eat them!
”

Emmy jerked her head around and saw the Rat sliding down the back of the sofa.

There was a small but decided tug on her socks. Emmy bent over as if to look in the backpack she had left on the floor—the rat pee had dried by now—and found herself staring at Joe's tiny, worried face.

“Listen, Emmy—don't eat them! And don't let your parents eat them!”

“Eat
what
?” Emmy whispered. She glanced up through her bangs as Miss Barmy's cane tapped into the room.

Behind her, Mrs. Brecksniff held a silver tray in her hands. And on the tray was a coffee service, with cups, plates, jam, butter, and—

“Grandmother's potato rolls!” announced Miss Barmy.

Emmy's mother looked up. “Oh, Miss Barmy, you shouldn't have.”

Jim Addison chuckled. “It would hardly feel like coming home if we didn't get those rolls, Miss B. You must have made them for us after every single trip we've taken.”

“I know they're old-fashioned,” said Miss Barmy sweetly, “but there's nothing like the taste of bread made by loving hands.”

Mrs. Brecksniff, closely followed by her cat, set the tray on the coffee table with a thump. Muffy meowed, looking attentively at the tray.

“Sit down, Miss Barmy; you should at least enjoy the rolls with us.”

“Of course,” said Miss Barmy. “I should be honored to join you during Emmaline's quality time.” She seated herself on a wing chair, crossing her legs at the ankles.

Emmy felt cold. It was like watching a cobra rising, getting ready to strike.
What
was in those rolls?

Muffy rubbed against her leg, purring. Emmy ignored her.

It didn't matter what was in the rolls. She just had to get rid of them. But how?

The cat meowed, sounding muffled. Emmy looked down. Muffy had her head
right in the backpack
…

“Muffy, no!” Emmy shot off the sofa and grabbed the cat by the hind legs.

Muffy dug in her claws, looking bored. Emmy dragged her out. Relieved to see that the cat hadn't gotten Joe or the Rat, she was about to let her go—and then she had it. Her solution.

She pinched the cat.

“
Mrrrrraaoow!
”

Hissing, spitting, and furious, Muffy twisted violently in Emmy's hands. Emmy, pretending to struggle for control, waited until the perfect moment—the perfect trajectory—and let the cat go, just like a bomb over a target.

“Oh! Oh no! My
potato rolls
!”

The coffee was spilled. Miss Barmy was on her feet. And the potato rolls were everywhere—on the floor, behind the couch, under the table … one had even shot across the room and landed at Jems's feet.

“Oh, gosh,” said Emmy. “I'm so sorry.”

“You—you're
sorry
—” Miss Barmy gripped her cane with both hands, her knuckles white over the little carved faces.

“Maybe we could just dust the rolls off and eat them anyway,” suggested Emmy's father.

“Jim,” said Kathy Addison, sounding amused. “The cat
landed
on them.”

“Ah well, we'll have to get along without them this once. It's too bad, Miss B.”

“Maybe I could help you bake some new ones?” Emmy said brightly.

“Thank you, that won't be necessary,” said Miss Barmy, her voice icily controlled. “I shall bake new rolls myself. This very moment.”

“I absolutely forbid it.” Kathy Addison's voice was firm. “You've made us feel very welcome, Miss Barmy, but I insist that you take the rest of the evening off. We're going to—” She looked at her husband.

“We're going to take Emmy out for burgers and malts,” said Jim Addison promptly. “Run on up and drop off your things, kiddo. We're going on a picnic.”

Emmy grabbed her backpack, hoping devoutly that both the Rat and Joe were in it by now, and waved at everyone on her way out of the room. She waved especially hard at Miss Barmy, whose eye had begun to twitch.

“I
F I NEVER SEE
the inside of your backpack again, I can die happy,” said Joe, staggering out onto Emmy's floor.

“You and me both,” muttered the Rat.

“And I had no idea a cat's teeth were so
big
!” Joe shook his head.

“That was no cat—that was an Assassin.”

“An Executioner.”

“A Furball with Homicidal Tendencies.”

“
Will
you two listen?” Emmy opened the door to her playroom. “I'm going out for a while. Why don't you guys just hang out in here? There's a dollhouse, and little cars, and an electric train … you might find something warmer to wear, Joe; not Barbie clothes, either.”

“Sure, Emmy. After you, Your Rattiness.”

“No, after
you
, Dandelion Head.”

“Lead the way, Sir Fuzzalot.”

“Arrrrrgh! I'm leaving!” said Emmy.

“What's wrong with her, Teenyboy?” said the Rat, scampering toward the playroom door.

“No idea, Shaggy Guy,” said Joe, tearing after him.

“Hey, wait! What
was
in those rolls, anyway?” Emmy called.

“Tell you later!” shouted the Rat.

“You're safe for now, Emmy!” Joe's voice came faintly. “Hey, cool, Ratty, look at the train!”

 

“Seriously, Jim—why do we do it?” Kathy Addison, seated on a bench by her husband, looked out over the bay.

They had brought take-out food down to the beach. Talking, laughing, skipping stones across the water … it had all been as wonderful as Emmy had ever hoped for. But now, lying on a blanket a few feet away from her parents, she pretended to be absorbed in making patterns in the sand. Grown-ups always talked more if they thought you weren't listening.

“Why
do
we travel all the time? Was it really necessary to attend Count Whaposki's polka stomp, and the anniversary of Princess Rotunda's liposuction? And how about that German guy, what was his name?”

“Baron Kartoffelpuffen von Shtinken?”

“Yeah, him. Be honest, now—did you
really
enjoy the Five-Day Sauerkraut Fest and Hedgehog Hunt?”

“Well, the little fellows
were
pretty cute when they rolled up, all spiny—”

“I thought so. And what about the week on the yacht with that billionaire and his very bouncy friend?”

“Bimbo LaRue? The starlet who only knew words of one syllable?”

“That's the one. Jim, what do we have in common with people like that, after all?”

“Not one thing, except …”

“Except money,” Kathy Addison finished.

There was a pause. “Well, would you want to go back to living above the bookstore and pinching every penny?” her husband demanded.

“That wasn't such a bad life. We had fun together, we had work we believed in, and we had Emmy. Your great-uncle William may have left us his estate, but that didn't mean we had to give up everything else we loved. Sometimes I wish he had left it all to those other distant relatives … his second cousins once
removed, or first cousins twice removed, or whatever they were … he didn't even
know
us.”

“We haven't given up everything else we love!” Jim Addison raised his voice. “Emmy? Come here, honey, I want to ask you a question.”

Emmy got up. “Yes, Dad?”

“Listen, kiddo.” He pulled her to his knee. “Do you remember the bookstore Mom and I tried to run? Do you remember how tough it was?”

“It was fun,” Emmy said promptly. “We ate dinner together every night, and then we'd read together in the big blue chair. And on weekends you'd let me help in the bookstore, too.”

“You see?” said Emmy's mother.

“I remember that blue chair.” Emmy's father sounded disgusted. “It was worn through on the arms and the back left leg kept falling off.”

“It was the best chair in the world,” said Emmy sturdily.

Emmy's father looked at his wife.

“Told you so,” she said. “Emmy knows what's important.”

Jim Addison grinned. “I know when I'm beat.” He got up and shook out the picnic blanket. “Bedtime
for you, Emmy. But why don't we read a story or two tonight?”

“Let's!” said Emmy's mother. “We don't have the big blue chair anymore—”

“That's a relief,” muttered Emmy's father.

“—but, Emmy, you can bring your pillow and some books to our room, and we'll all pile onto the big bed and read. How does that sound?”

“Great!” said Emmy, starting to skip.

“And tomorrow afternoon,” added her father, “once Jems and I get the boat ready, we can go sailing.”

“Jim, we have a charity function at the house tomorrow, remember? It's already on the calendar, so we can't cancel it now.”

“All right, we'll get the boat ready Saturday morning, and put it in the water in the afternoon.”

“And can we go to church together on Sunday?” asked Emmy. “Maggie goes. And we used to.”

Emmy's mother nodded. “I can't remember the last time we sat in a pew together,” she said thoughtfully. “See, Jim, I told you Emmy knows what's important.”

“Point taken,” said Emmy's father, starting the car. “But if you say ‘I told you so' one more time, I'm calling Bimbo.”

Emmy danced up the stairs to her bedroom. What book should she pick? A new story or an old favorite? She rummaged through her pajama drawer and found some fuzzy blue ones. Perfect. It would remind Mom and Dad of the chair.

“Hey, guys!” Emmy poked her head into the playroom. “I brought you some supper.”

They had forgotten to shut off the electric train. Emmy flicked the switch on the control box and the hum from the motor abruptly died.

“Ratty? Joe?”

There was a soft grumbling rattle from somewhere near her feet. Emmy knelt to look in the dollhouse and there was the Rat, snoring in a miniature bed.

“Ratty? Where's Joe?”

“Snurrrgh,” said the Rat and rolled over. “Snorrk.”

“Joe? Are you there?”

Joe's head emerged from a third-story window. “Did you bring me any supper?”

Emmy handed him the bits she had saved in her napkin. “Listen, Joe—what was in the potato rolls? What did Miss Barmy
do
with the chinchilla?”

Joe swallowed a bite of french fry. “She made a bunch of little dough balls, for the rolls, you know …”

Emmy nodded.

“Then she grabbed this chinchilla around the middle and made it stick out one of its feet. And then—in every roll—she stamped it!”

Emmy felt sick. “She stamped a
rat's
foot? In the
rolls
?”

“Yeah, and she didn't wash it first either. Was she trying to poison you guys or something?”

Emmy knelt on the floor, perfectly still. She was thinking back to the little room full of cages in Professor Vole's store. Back to the tags, each with a special power, each with its own instructions.

She didn't remember seeing the chinchilla, and she had no idea what its tag had said. But there was
some
kind of power that Miss Barmy had hoped to use on the Addison family, and odds were it wasn't anything good.

There was a knock on her door. “Come in,” Emmy called, and Maggie entered, carrying a plate of milk and cookies.

“Wow.” Emmy looked at the chocolate wafers with crème filling. “What's the occasion?”

“Miss Barmy insisted on sending up snacks.” Maggie, smiling, set the plate down on Emmy's bedside table. “Better hurry, now. Your parents are waiting.”

Maggie whisked out. Emmy stared at the plate. And then slowly, carefully, with a slight twisting motion, she lifted the top wafer off one of the cookies.

There, slightly blurred in the crème filling, was the imprint of a rat's foot.

 

Emmy grabbed a book at random and headed for her parents' bedroom. It was going to be complicated to explain, but once her parents saw the rat print in her cookie—well, they'd
have
to get rid of Miss Barmy.

Emmy gave a little skip of joy as she opened her parents' door—and stopped. The book slipped from her fingers.

“Look at this closet! Just
look
at it!” Kathy Addison wailed. “I have absolutely
nothing
to wear, we're having
people
over tomorrow, and I don't have
time
to fly to New York ….”

Emmy stepped behind her mother and looked anxiously at the closet bulging with clothes. “How about this one?” She pointed to a pale green silk. “You wore that to the orchestra gala, didn't you?”

“
Exactly.
I wore it two months ago, I couldn't
possibly
wear it again. One of my friends would be sure to notice.”

“But—” Emmy hesitated. “If they're your friends, they wouldn't make you feel bad about it, would they?”

“Oh, darling, you are
so
naïve. Friends are the
worst;
they'll rip you apart, you can't let your guard down for a single
minute.
”

Emmy swallowed hard and looked around the room. Her father, hunched over on the edge of the bed, was talking fast on the phone. She turned back to the closet and tried again. “This pink one is pretty, Mom …”

“That's not
pink,
darling, what a plebeian name, it's
brine shrimp
—but the color is
so
last year. There's no hope for it, I'll just have to get hold of Carravacci in New York tomorrow, and God only knows if I'll be able to find anything
decent,
much less the right
shoes.
”

“Don't give me that load of horse puckey!” Jim Addison's face got redder as he yelled into the phone. “You can get me a direct flight if you try. Name your price—you can bet I'm not hanging around in Frostbite Falls for any three hours while some minimum-wage dolt finds an excuse to lose my luggage.”

“Dad?” Emmy tugged timidly at his sleeve. “Weren't you going to read with me?”

Her father ruffled her hair and looked at his watch. “Not tonight, baby, Daddy's got some very important business to take care of.”

“But, Dad, you promised …”

“I know, honey, and I really
want
to, but you
know
how important these recreational opportunities are to me, I've been so busy and I really need to get away ….”

Emmy's voice was very small. “Are you going away tomorrow?”

“No, baby, we're going to have the whole weekend together, just like we planned. I'm not leaving until Monday, that is, if this cretin on the phone ever gets his act together— What?” Emmy's father spoke into
the phone. “You can get a direct flight to Alaska Saturday night? That's great, that's fabulous, book it.”

He banged down the receiver and smiled broadly at Emmy. “There you go, doll, we'll have all day tomorrow and most of Saturday, too. You can't ask for more than that!”

He picked up the phone again. “Jack? Jim Addison here. I'm going to need the best salmon-fishing outfit you've got ….”

Emmy sat on the edge of the bed without moving, a small, miserable lump in blue fuzzy pajamas. Slowly, painfully, she looked at her father. He had forgotten her completely.

Emmy stood up stiffly. There was no point in staying here any longer. She stooped at the door to pick up the book she had dropped—and then she saw it.

A tray, on a little table. Two mugs of tea, half drunk … and a plate with a few broken fragments of cookies still left on it. Sandwich cookies with crème filling.

Emmy stared at the plate and then at her parents, so suddenly changed. She saw it all—
now
she understood.

There was a soft thumping down the hall: Miss Barmy's cane. Emmy, feeling hot with anger and sick with fear, turned to face her.

“Bedtime, Emmaline,” said Miss Barmy, her eyes glittering with triumph. “Quality time is
over
.”