SIX

Perched precariously on a bendy branch six feet from the ground, I felt about as safe as a fly in a spider-web. Even if the branch didn’t break and dump me under the bull’s stamping feet—I’d probably lose my balance and fall and end up as mashed potato.

What a fantastic adventure. Not. I couldn’t wait to tell Noah what I thought of his sucky double-dare. My throat felt full of rocks. When I opened my mouth to yell for help, all that came out was a crusty creaky croak. Both my hands were scratched and bleeding. My new red sweater was history. And I’d lost my silver biro in the mad scramble to climb the tree, so couldn’t even record the important points of my soon-to-be ghastly death.

Blinking, I peered down at the tail-swishing, deadly-horned critter snorting his fury below. And caught my breath. The way the bull was eying me off, he’d evidently missed out on his breakfast this morning. I suddenly knew what it felt like to be a tempting piece of cheese waiting for a hungry mouse to pounce.

How long would it take before someone at Treehaven discovered Noah and I were missing? Meal time probably. I glanced at my watch and felt like throwing up. It would be another three or four hours to our next meal—and if the bull had his way—only minutes to his.

Where was Noah?

I stretched my neck to see how the mastermind of this madness was getting on. Hidden in the foliage of the massive pepper tree beside me, he’d disappeared from view. Not a movement or point of color betrayed him. It was almost like he’d been beamed up by aliens—or borrowed Harry Potter’s cloak of Invisibility.

Suddenly, a fearsome snort from below yanked me back to reality. The bull, his black hide sweating in the sun, had caught sight of a runaway red balloon. With a toss of his massive head he batted the balloon into the air and onto his knife-like horns. I shuddered. Tried to swallow a frog-sized lump in my throat. What if that balloon had been me? Fascinated, I watched him toss his plaything up and down until a loud bang sent a curious magpie scurrying off in fright.

“Barnaby! Heel!”

The command sliced through the air making both the bull and me turn our heads in unison.

Oh-uh!

It was the professor. He was hobbling toward us, leaning heavily on a knobbly brown stick. I peered closer, expecting to see a ferocious giant of a dog called Barnaby. Instead, the big black bull grinned a welcome at the frail old man with the long white beard. He lumbered across and put his huge head on the man’s shoulder.

“Good work, Barnaby,” the professor said giving the big slobbering head a pat. “Better than that useless, no-good, dozy watch-dog of mine.” He looked around and bellowed. “Where are you, Pedro? If you are asleep again I will put pepper on your tail.”

Down the path came a flea-sized Chihuahua looking more like a kid’s wind-up toy than a vicious watch-dog. His ears were pricked, his tail stood straight and his stiff match-stick legs were burning rubber. The look on his face seemed to say, ‘Who me? Sleeping? I’d rather be caught robbing a bank.’

Scooping up the tiny fawn and white dog and depositing it in one of his many voluminous coat pockets, the Professor glared up at me.

“Now,” he growled, banging his walking-stick against the tree-trunk. “What are we going to do with this girl-child, Barnaby?”

Please—don’t ask Barnaby. He might still be thinking of the game he played with the red balloon.

“Do you know the meaning of the words, ‘No Trespassing’, girl?”

“Yes sir.” My voice came out all weak and wobbly. Didn’t sound like my voice at all. I cleared my throat and tried again. “It was just a bit of fun. The dare-box dared me to tie six red balloons to one of your trees.”

I looked across at the pepper tree. Where was Short Dark and Irritating when I needed him to back me up?

Hmm…evidently turned into Scared Pathetic and Silent.

“Dare box?” The professor’s forehead creased into paddock sized furrows.

I nodded without answering. Too complicated.

The strange old man with a bull’s head resting on his shoulder and a toy guard-dog snuggled in his coat pocket looked like something from a wacky cartoon. He wore baggy pants, so old and dirty they’d probably fall to bits if he ever decided to wash them and a long button-less overcoat faded to a shabby shade of grey and done up around the middle with a hunk of green twine. His hair, silvery white and so wild, birds could have nested in there, straggled across his shoulders, while his tangled, barbwire beard finished at his waist. I could even see strands of spaghetti he’d probably spilt in his beard a month ago, still resting in the tangles, together with something green that could have been spinach, broccoli, or even moldy cheese. And what about those boots? They must have been three or four sizes too big because every step he took I could hear plopping, squelchy, thumping noises.

Was Professor Goodenough a crook? Crazy? Or just a big old pussycat?

“Are you going to climb down the tree now or stay there until the police arrive?” he asked.

A big old pussycat? Not.

I threw a glance at Barnaby who snorted and rolled his red-rimmed eyes in evident delight at the professor’s words.

“Er…I think I’ll stay where I am, if that’s okay with you.”

“Are you on your own?”

I thought I saw a slight movement in the pepper-tree. Was Noah going to show his face and come clean at last?

“Well—”

The movement in the pepper-tree stopped. Froze. Seemed to be holding its breath.

Ha. Now we knew who was a wuss…

“Yes,” I said, nodding my head slowly. “Seems like I’m all alone.”

For some reason I thought of my good friend, Jack. If he’d been with me, by now, he’d probably have fallen out of the tree trying to help me, accidentally knocked the professor over and given the bull a bloody nose with his elbow.

As though his fingers didn’t work very well, the Professor picked at the rope around his middle until the knot came loose. He glared up at me again.

“Right, girl. Down you come.” He fashioned the rope into a loop and slipped it over Barnaby’s head. “The bull won’t hurt you. And what is more, you are giving me a crick in the neck with all this tedious looking up.”

“But—”

“Hurry up. I have work to do. I can’t waste time talking to a trespasser.”

“You’re sure about Barnaby?”

The Professor let his hand caress the bull’s small furry ears. “Barnaby will not be a problem.” He paused, his dark eyes growing darker. “Unless you try running away.”

Carefully I swung my leg over the branch and slid to the ground. Up close, both Barnaby and the Professor looked larger and even more frightening.

“I-I’m sorry. L-look—”

I tried to clear my throat but it felt like a lump of cement was stuck in my windpipe. Holy catfish! What was the matter with me? I was acting like a soggy marshmallow instead of a junior P.I. Straightening my shoulders, I took a deep breath. Now was my chance to ask questions, get some answers and solve the mystery of the threatening signs.

After all…solving mysteries was what I was good at.

First, I put on my Sunday-best, good-girl face and dredged up my most polite and contrite voice.

“I’m really sorry about trespassing, Professor. Truly I am. You see, someone dared me to tie the balloons to one of your trees.”

Then I changed my face to a serious, let’s-get-some-answers-going-here sort of expression.

“Now, tell me,” I said, looking him up and down and wondering again about the green stuff in his beard. “Why do you have all these ‘No Trespassing’ signs on your property? What are you trying to hide?”

Ignoring my questions, the professor leaned on his stick and turned in the direction of the house. “Follow me, girl. You can wait on the porch while I contact your parents.”

Contact my parents? On their honeymoon?

Geez. I could imagine how happy that would make them. Not. Perhaps, I decided, as I trudged along behind the Professor, I should stop practicing my private investigator skills and dig up some cool, Chiana Ryan charm instead.

But how? I didn’t do charm. That was Tayla’s specialty. Me—I rubbed people up the wrong way. If I smiled and batted my eyelashes at the professor, the way Tayla did—he’d scowl, then completely ignore me. If I told him how intelligent he was—he’d scowl, then completely ignore me. If I told him I thought he was a crook—he’d scowl—

It was about then I noticed a baby crocodile running across the professor’s foot.

“That’s a—that’s a—” I spluttered, running backwards until my body crashed against a tree-trunk.

“Oh! Botheration and damn.”

As the tiny leathery creature hissed at a curious Barnaby, the professor tut-tutted impatiently. He dug deep into his coat pocket, pulled out a sleepy, blinking Pedro and set him on the ground.

“Guard the girl,” he ordered, then bent forward and caught the hissing reptile by the back of the neck.

“You! Stay!” he growled, pointing a finger at me like I was a dog and he expected me to sit or roll over. “I will be back in a minute.”

With the baby crocodile still spitting at him, the Professor limped off toward a tumble-down shed built onto the side of the house.

Hmmm…interesting.

Could whatever was hidden inside that shed be the reason for all the ‘No Trespassing’ signs?

I took a hesitant step forward.

Pedro skipped across in front of me and barred his teeth apologetically.

Guard the girl.

“Hi little fellow. Aren’t you cute?”

I knelt down on one knee and tickled the Chihuahua behind the ears. The little dog rolled over on his back, kicked his legs and dribbled dreamily, while I rubbed his stomach. When I stood up he began jumping up and down on my leg like a tennis ball, yapping in delight.

Now for the bull.

In my pocket was a carrot. Kate had told me to give it to Shakespeare when I’d finished brushing him but what with Noah and his stupid double-dare, I’d completely forgotten about it.

Until now.

“Here you go, Barnaby, old buddy.”

Eyes closed, face screwed up in anticipation of losing several fingers, I held the carrot out on the flat of my hand. Please…please let the bull prefer carrots to fingers.

As I felt his warm, leathery sandpapery tongue tickle the palm of my hand, I held my breath. Finally, running out of air, I opened my eyes and checked my hand. Yep! All five fingers still attached and wriggling.

“Good boy, Barnaby.”

He’d not only eaten the carrot but if his goofy face was anything to go by he’d enjoyed the treat.

Now…should I escape or check out the shed?

I knew I should escape while the Professor was busy. Sneak down the path, find my bike, high-tail it back to the stables and get Kate to come back and rescue Noah. But how could I leave without first taking a peek in the shed? My P.I. instincts insisted I find out what the professor was up to.

One eye on Barnaby, I tiptoed past the trees then ran softly in the direction of the rusty galvanized iron shed. Why did the professor object to trespassers sniffing around his property? Was the shed full of illegal crocodiles? Escaped convicts? Dead bodies?

I pressed my nose against the dirty window pane. This was it. Once again, Chiana Ryan, famous junior P.I. was about to solve a baffling and complicated mystery.

At first, I couldn’t see a thing through the dirt-streaked window. And then I blinked in disbelief. The professor’s shed hid no dead bodies—no escaped convicts—no snapping, snarling crocodiles…

Instead…the professor’s shed was full of eggs.