“Whiskers?” Mara repeated, putting together what a child of eight would interpret as whiskers. “So potentially, she had unsightly hair?”
Arch shook his head. “No, miss. I don’t believe it was simply a female issue. I did not press Sir Fletcher so as not to frighten him. Yet I firmly believe this was something he considered out of the ordinary. Not simply because it was so pronounced on a woman, but just that he’d made note of the very fact that they were bushy whiskers. Along with, as you already know, Mimi’s description of her ‘swingy’ hair. He said it as though he knew it was rude to speak of out loud, yet appeared to find it rather important, now that I reflect.”
“So we’re lookin’ for a bitch who has a beard?” Nina crowed.
“Oh, Miss Nina,” Arch said on a chuckle. “I do so miss your presence. Tell me, when will you bring me my sweet Charlie? Surely, she’s overdue for some of Grandfather Archibald’s spoiling?”
Nina held up her knuckles to the screen for Arch to bump, her grin wide. “She doesn’t need another fucking toy, Arch. Jesus, you and the stuffed unicorns. She’s got a hundred of ’em in her damn crib. Promise, once shit cools off, I’ll bring her over, and Carl, too.”
Carl’s glazed eyes had brightened while he watched Archibald talk. He thumped the screen with the side of his hand in his attempt at a wave.
Archibald waved back. “Hello, Sir Carl! Aren’t you a fetching fellow? Come soon to visit, won’t you? I shall make you a broccoli soufflé so light and airy, you’ll surely float.”
Carl grunted his approval, but swiftly became distracted. He stood still for a moment, his head cocked at an awkward angle as though realization had just hit him, then began to hop around in his stilted fashion.
He grabbed a handful of Mara’s hair and tugged at it. Due to his stiff limbs, what Mara was certain was meant to be just a tug turned into a full-on wrenching. “Ow! Easy, Carl. It’s attached to my head,” she reminded him with a smile.
But Carl wouldn’t let go. He clutched her hair tighter, drawing her to his chest.
“Carl!” Nina jumped up with a shout. “No hair pulling, buddy. Do you remember our list of rules and personal space?”
Carl began to make new sounds, anxious and frantic. He loosened his grip, but refused to let go.
Mara’s ears twitched. “I think he’s trying to tell us something,” she said on a wince when he lifted the rope of her hair higher and shook it.
Carl bounced once more, spewing forth short, excited grunts.
Harry rose from the table and put his hand on Carl’s. “Carl, easy, pal,” he soothed, easing the thick strands from Carl’s grip. “First, are you trying to tell us something you think is important?”
Carl hopped again, snorting and huffing with a wheeze.
Harry smiled his encouragement. “Okay, good. So, obviously, it has something to do with Mara’s hair?”
Carl went straight for her head again, but this time Mara ducked him. “My hair, right, Carl?”
“Wait!” Wanda yelled from the laptop screen. “Archibald just said Mimi mentioned the woman who took them had swingy hair like Mara! Is that what you mean, Carl?”
Carl thumped the counter with the side of his hand.
“Good job, pal,” Harry complimented with a gentle pat on the back and a warm grin. “Now, what about Mara’s hair? I don’t get it, but I will, okay? Just give me a minute, and if you understand what I’m saying, bang the counter, okay?”
Carl banged the counter, his grunts becoming more expressive.
Mara squeezed his arm and grinned. “Oh, Carl, you’re so smart! So, does my hair have to do with something you know?”
Carl whacked the countertop so hard that he knocked one of his fingers off. It rolled to the end of the counter and dropped to the floor with a light thud.
“Shit,” Nina muttered. “I’ll get the duct tape.”
“Easy, Carl,” Mara coaxed with a smile. “Don’t hurt yourself. So you know something that we need to know to help us find out what that note you had means?”
Carl thumped, only this time, with less vigor.
“Did you know the person who took you, Carl? Was it Guido?”
Carl stood stock-still.
Not Guido. Hold on. Her hair. She twisted the length of it, her eyes widening. “My hair . . . do you think the person who took Mimi and Fletcher was the same person that took you, Carl? Did she say something about the kids to you?”
“Christ, this is like goddamn zombie charades,” Nina muttered, reentering the room with silver duct tape. She began to wrap Carl’s finger back on, while Carl thumped his other hand in answer to Mara’s question.