Thirty-one

“Who are you people?” the Terror in Terrycloth demanded. “What’s all the screaming about? Where is Mr. Van Dyne?”

That was my opening. “He’s in the hospital.”

The man’s voice dropped a few decibels, but his aggressive stance remained. “That doesn’t explain who you are or why you’re here.”

He took two steps forward. Esther took a step back. I stood my ground.

Planting my hands on my hips, I demanded, “Who are you to ask?”

Baffled for a second, he blinked, and was now close enough that I could tell he’d been smoking—and not tobacco.

“I’m…I’m Mr. Van Dyne’s neighbor,” the man said, lowering the mallet. “I live across the hall. I heard a woman screaming—”

“That was my friend Esther.” I gestured to her. “She’s Mr. Van Dyne’s friend, as well. He left her the keys to his apartment. While he’s in the hospital, he requested that she take care of his duck.”

“Duck?”

Esther spoke up. “His name is Wacker. The little guy got feisty and gave me a scare, that’s all.”

“We’re sorry for the noise,” I added.

The neighbor blinked again. “Van Dyne is in the hospital, you say?”

Wow, this one’s quick, I thought.

“Yes, he had an accident last night. We’re going to take care of his pet duck until he’s out of the hospital.”

“This is a no-pet building,” he replied. “If the owner finds out Van Dyne was hiding a pet, he could lose his lease.”

“But—”

He cut Esther off. “You’re going to have to take that duck with you unless you want the building manager to call animal control.”

“Don’t do that,” Esther said.

“Are you going to take it?” he demanded.

“Yes!” Esther suddenly decided, glancing anxiously my way. “But we need a little time to pack up and call for a ride.”

“How much time?” He glanced at his naked wrist, realized he wasn’t wearing a watch, and scowled. That’s when I heard voices in the hall and saw an elderly couple peek through the wide-open door.

“I’d better let my neighbors know what’s going on,” he said, heading for the exit.

“You might consider putting on pants while you’re at it,” I called.

Annoyed, he shook the mallet until his bathrobe flared like terrycloth wings. “I’m not going anywhere until you and that duck are gone!”

Esther smirked. “Back to flashing us, are we?”

Scowling again, he retied his robe. Then he wheeled on us, marched to the door, and addressed the couple in the hall.

“Everything is under control,” he said. “And if not, I’m calling animal control!”

Esther gripped my arm. “I can’t let Wacker end up served with orange sauce at some shady restaurant.”

“I agree,” I said. “He’s a pet. We have to take care of him.”

As Madame had done for me more times than I could count, I patted Esther’s hand, and was touched by the grateful look I glimpsed behind her black-framed glasses.

“Okay, let’s work fast,” I whispered.

“We better,” Esther returned. “Or else King Killjoy is liable to flash us with his scepter—and I would pay good money never to see that again!”

In a kitchen cabinet I found a bag of duck chow (who knew?), and we quickly fed the hungry bird. Then Esther put the duck in the cage she’d found in the bedroom while I sent a text to Nancy at the Village Blend, asking her to send our van to this address.

ASAP, I typed.

When she sent back three thumbs-up emojis with five exclamation points, we headed out.