For previous editions, go here.

With Sassy draped over her lap and a bag of her mother’s homemade trail mix in her hand (even if she hadn’t seen her mother in a week, the glass jar was always magically refilled, as though kitchen elves did it), Birdie skimmed through the library’s archives.

A tall librarian wearing a severe black cardigan and grey skirt stopped by her table, a pile of books clutched in her thin arms.  “Shouldn’t you be in school, young lady?”

Birdie smiled at her.  “I’m homeschooled.”

The woman clucked her tongue.  “I’ve never seen you attend any of our homeschool groups.”

Birdie kept the smile on her face, hoping it didn’t turn into a snarl.  “We just moved here a few months ago.  I’ve been attending my old groups.”

“Where are your parents?” the woman demanded, her unpleasantly thin face twisting into a scowl.

“At the university, where they teach,” Birdie replied impatiently.  “If you excuse me, I must get back to my research.”

The woman narrowed her eyes.  “I’ll be watching you,” she threatened, turning and stomping down a narrow aisle of books.  Sticking her tongue out at the woman’s back, Birdie returned to her stack of articles and computer screen.  So far, there were at least 50 Max Westings to investigate.

Leaning back, she rubbed her eyes and dribbled a handful of trail mix in her mouth.  Suddenly, her eyes flashed with inspiration.  Leaning forward, she leaned forward and typed in the name “Pemberely.”

Several university papers flashed on the screen, flanked by a picture of a shy young man holding a black cat in one arm and shaking a man’s hand with another as he received an award.  Birdie learned forward, peering at the screen.

“That’s him all right, Sassy,” she muttered, staring at the grainy image.  “Same eyes, same mouth, same build.  Gosh.  I can’t believe he turned himself into a cat.”  Peering under the photo, she read the caption aloud.  “Graduate Pemberely with the Dean of Zoology of the University of Hampton.  “Only Pemberely can take over my anthropological veterinary studies,” the Dean told the audience.

Birdie furrowed her forehead, running her fingers through her hair.  “Pemberely was a scientist,” she murmured.  “Why would he be interested in anthropology if his goal was to avoid humiliation and literally bring humans and animals together?”  She eyed the picture of the black cat.  Even now, the unblinking eyes made her shudder.

Typing in a few keywords, Birdie hit enter and watched as more articles filled the screen.  Absently taking another handful of trail mix, she began to read.

And through the window, towards the back of the room, a black cat sat on the windowsill.  His yellow eyes fixed on Birdie, his tail twitched slowly back and forth.

***

“Do you know how long we’ve been waiting?” Percy whined as Birdie stumbled up to the park.  She blinked at the dark sky, rubbing her red eyes.

“Did you take a nap?” Frankie’s father asked, sulking a bit.  He hadn’t had a nap in ages.

“She found something.”  Detective Michaels knew that exhilarated yet exhausted look too well.  It was one he had often worn.

“I found something.”  Birdie’s eyes shone.  Handing Sassy’s leash to Detective Michaels, she pulled out a paper.  “I didn’t find much on Max Westing, other than he was a big shot Hollywood insider guy once.  Some articles hinted of a scandal, but I couldn’t find any more details.  But that’s not the interesting part.”

“That’s because you were looking up Max Westing,” Detective Michaels said, scanning the paper.  “Not Maximillian Magnus the Third.  Westing is one of his alias.  Don’t you remember me telling you his full name the first day you came to see me?”

Birdie’s cheeks burned, and she lowered her head.  Frankie’s father reached forward and patted her arm.  “The poor little lass is exhausted,” he said, glaring at Detective Michaels.  “How could she expected to remember that?  I didn’t even find that in my research.”

“Plus, I told her Westing,” Percy admitted.  “I threw her off course.”

“Never mind,” Birdie muttered, her cheeks blazing now.  She didn’t dare look at Detective Michaels.  “I did find out something really interesting about Mr. Pemberely, even if we still don’t know about Max.”

The group waited patiently, their eyes fixed on the folder in her arms.

“Mr. Pemberely is a lot more romantic than we ever imagined,” Birdie replied, waving a folder full of papers.  “I don’t mean relationship wise, either.”

“Care to explain?”  Detective Michaels leaned against the bench next to a wide-eyed Percy.

“I was wondering why Mr. Pemberely appeared to be a mad scientist, with his fascination for bringing humans and animals together,” Birdie admitted.  “He’s such a gentle man….it didn’t seem normal.  Plus, there’s the fact that not everyone can see the animals in his shop.  And the tiny miniture animals in the back.”

“There’s tiny miniture animals?” Frankie’s dad asked, his eyebrows furrowed.  “I just saw the elephant.  And the empty cages.”

“I mean Mr. Pemberely is smart, but for him to figure out some kind of technology dozens of other scientists couldn’t…”  Birdie shook her head.  “It didn’t make sense.  Plus, he didn’t act like a pure scientist.  He talks to his animals, dreams of being closer to them…he practically wants to be an animal.  He’s far too emotional and unrational to be a true scientist.  He’s just a really smart vet that’s good at chemistry.”

“So what did you find?” Detective Michaels prompted as Frankie’s dad bounced on the balls of his feet.

Birdie smirked.  “Back when he was studying to be a vet, Mr. Pemberely did an internship with the Dean of Zoology at Hampton University.  The Dean was as notorious as Pemberely was for unorthodox ideas; they were two peas in a pod.  Except the dean was concerned with animals of sub cultures, particularly historic subcultures, such as Native American tribes in America and smaller villages in Africa.  The dean was particularly fascinated with the mysticism of the animal cultures.”

As her audience hung onto every word, Birdie continued.  “Apparently, Mr. Pemberely was helping the dean one day when he met a Seminole Indian woman who told him he was the answer to a legend about bringing human and animals together in one true world and ending violence.  She gave him a black cat and blessed him, telling him he was the protector of all animals and would bring nature back to our current daily lives.”

Percy blinked.  “I know the cat you speak of.  He’s ancient, never talks to the other animals.”  The others looked at him.  “Well, not really talk but…”  His head bobbed uncomfortably.

“That might explain why not everyone can see the animals,” Detective Michaels mused.  “And it would explain why Pemberley set up shop in our small town.  He’s more comfortable in smaller environments.  He’s not out for the glory; Max is.  But what does Max want?  And who is he?”

“I bet I could find out.”  Frankie’s dad’s eyes gleamed.  “Speaking of finding out, I found”–

“Anyway, that mystical belief spurred Mr. Pemberely into his notorious experiments where he wound up making himself a living freak show,” Birdie continued, shooting an apologetic look to Frankie’s dad.  “But according to the article, the woman also gave him a powerful artifact believed to control animals, to make them do their bidding.  Supposedly, that’s what’s fueled him for all these years–a never ending passion to bring humans and animals together as one race, one species.  The artifact offers protection, never ending life, all those mystical things.”

She looked up at the others.  Seeing the skepticism in her eyes, she said defensively, “I’m just telling you what the articles I found said.  It could very well be rumor, but it would make sense as to all the variety of animals in his shop.”

“Magic doesn’t work well in investigations, I’m afraid,” Detective Michaels murmured, patting Birdie’s arm.

“I’ve never seen anything like it in the shop.”  Percy pushed his glasses up on his long nose, his enormous head bobbling on his thin neck.  “And Mr. Pemberely has never expressed any interest in other cultures.  He won’t even eat Mexican or Chinese food.”

“She’s right.”  Everyone turned to look at Frankie’s dad.  “It’s what I tried to tell you earlier.”  He held up a copy of the paper, pointing to a picture buried in the metro section.  “This is what they want at the zoo.  And if we’re not careful, they’ll get it.”

From the dark shadows of the tree above them, two yellow eyes watched.  A long black tail twitched slowly, curling from left to right.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new recipe tomorrow and a new Dallas Jean Friday!  Stay tuned!

More