The Penguin Who Knew Too Much(29)

I heard Michael come in and do the same thing. So much for a romantic first night in our newly renovated home.

I was almost asleep when a bloodcurdling scream jolted me wide awake.

“What the hell was that?” Michael asked.

“I think someone found the snake I put in the hall bath,” I said. “Why did you—never mind. That came from the backyard, not the house.”

The screaming had subsided into muted wails, and I could also hear voices, and someone laughing. I stumbled over to the window overlooking the backyard. Rob, wearing a black cape and a smear of stage blood around his mouth, was sprawled on the ground just outside the cellar doors, laughing hysterically. The wailing appeared to be coming from a small cherry tree. Dad, Horace, and Rose Noire were standing beneath the tree, saying soothing things to it.

The Adirondack chair was empty.

“Ah,” I said. “Rob was helping Dr. Smoot relive childhood memories.”

“Serves him right for telling everyone about his damned trauma all day,” Michael muttered.

Rob's laughter died down—not that he’d stopped, but he’d reached the point where he only had the breath to utter an occasional, barely audible squeak. But just about then, the hyenas kicked in, more than making up for his silence. Chief Burke burst out of the back door, strode over to the cherry tree, and stood looking up at it with his hands on his hips.

“Get a grip on it, man!” he bellowed.

I heard another scream at closer range.

“Now that was definitely the snake in the hall bath,” I said.

Michael groaned, and pulled a pillow over his head.

I followed his example.





Chapter 17

Normally I manage to ignore dawn. But most of our guests, two- and four-legged alike, seemed intent on greeting it with loud, enthusiastic cries of one kind or another. I could hear the hyenas chuckling in the barn, the penguins honking in their pen, Spike barking furiously from somewhere inside the house.

I strolled over to the window and glanced out. Several sheep were grazing in the backyard, accompanied by a stray llama. Apparently Mrs. Fenniman was trying to clear the sheep out of the yard—she was prodding one in the rump with her enormous black umbrella, but the sheep seemed oblivious.

The lemurs were on top of the penguin coop, sitting on their haunches, their front paws on their knees, eyes closed, heads tipped back, apparently basking in the morning air.

It almost looked as if they were doing yoga. Down on the lawn Dr. Smoot had assumed much the same pose. I deduced that at some point someone had coaxed him down from the cherry tree, and he’d spent the rest of the night in the Adirondack chair.

Sheila Flugleman popped out of the penguin coop, carrying her trusty buckets toward the front of the house. Nice to see someone was on the job. The penguins occupied a cage with wheels on the bottom, rather like a small, bare-bones version of a circus wagon. The cage looked brand-new, and reassuringly sturdy. Dad had probably enlisted the Shiffleys to build it. As I watched, Dad clucked to the donkey hitched to the front of it, and the wagon rolled slowly off toward the pasture.

Was the donkey from Lanahan's petting zoo? Or had Dad used the penguins’ transportation needs as an excuse to acquire more livestock?

The sheep suddenly raised their heads and trotted briskly off to my right. The llama followed them, though not with-out a few glances over its shoulder. A few moments after the sheep vanished, four wolves appeared. On leashes, luckily—apparently Rose Noire and Horace were taking them for a walk. And talking to them, nonstop. I couldn’t hear what Rose Noire was saying. Probably trying to convert them to a mindful vegetarian lifestyle. Judging from how eagerly they strained against their leashes, I didn’t think she’d have much luck.

I glanced over to see that Michael was still fast asleep. He’d probably succeeded better than I had in tuning out the hyenas during the night. I threw on some clothes, grabbed my notebook, and headed downstairs.

Before I even hit the stairs, I heard bustling below. I peeked over the banister and saw several pieces of furniture milling indecisively around in the hallway. Our dining table, and all of its chairs. I leaned a little farther out and saw that they weren’t moving under their own steam but on the backs of a squad of my larger cousins and nephews. Mother's voice rang out.

“Well, if the chief is going to be difficult, we’ll just have to put them in the living room till he's finished,” she said.

The table and chairs obediently turned and trooped through the archway from the hallway into the living room. I ventured down the stairs. Mother was standing in the archway frowning.

“Meg, dear, do see if you can convince the chief to be reasonable,” she said when she spotted me. “He won’t let me take any of the furniture into the dining room.”