Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

“Yes, madam,” the maid said as though she’d simply been asked to make sure there were newspapers on the table every morning. She curtsied. “Is there anything else I can do for you now?”

“No.”

With that, Elspeth left Miss Hunroe to eat her breakfast. Miss Hunroe ate elegantly and hungrily, and finished by wiping her mouth on her blue napkin.

Then there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Miss Oakkton entered. Behind her, uncertain whether to enter or not, cowered Miss Teriyaki and Miss Suzette.

“I said come in,” Miss Hunroe repeated. She picked up her flute, and as though speaking to it, said, “Miss Teriyaki and Miss Suzette! The two idiots who couldn’t follow a taxi. Have you managed to track Mr. Black down now?”

“Erm…well, not yet,” Miss Suzette stammered. “We spent de night outside the casino. We weren’t sure whezair he went there or to his hotel home, or—”

“Then get out of my sight.” Miss Hunroe’s voice was cutting and vicious. She looked up cruelly. “And don’t speak to me again until you know his exact location.”

The two women fled the room.

Miss Hunroe picked up her flute and began to play.

Miss Oakkton sat down. “Ahhhh,” she sighed, taking a pinch of tobacco from her ivory box and putting it in her mouth to chew. Then, as though the music had possessed her, she rose up again. The notes from Miss Hunroe’s flute floated to the roof of the museum, and Miss Oakkton began to dance. “Aah!” she exclaimed, doing a clumsy pirouette, dancing like an absurd cartoon elephant. “Very nice, very pretteee!”

Miss Hunroe stopped playing and clapped her hands crossly. “Do stop dancing around the room in that ridiculous way! You look unhinged! Stop it!”

Molly and Micky flew away from the hotel garden just as Lily Black came out onto her balcony. She peered down at the garden below. Then she started staring at the stone balcony ledge in front of her. “Bugs! So you’ve changed into bugs now, have you, nosy boy and nosy girl? You’re going to wish you never learned to morph!” With a nasty viciousness, she slapped the stone. “There, you’re dead bugs now!”

For a moment she seemed calm. Then, realizing that the dead bugs in front of her might easily be just that—dead bugs—her temper rose again. She threw her angry gaze about the garden.

There were two thrushes now on the lawn. Lily disappeared inside her bedroom and returned with three glass bottles. These she hurled at the innocent birds, laughing as they flew off.

“I’ll get you!” she shouted. She turned to two squirrels in a tree. “And if it’s you, I’ll get you, you Squirrel Nutkins.” Her sharp blue eyes shone nastily. A window nearby opened, and an elderly man leaned out.

“Young lady, would you shut up? Some people are trying to sleep. If you don’t, I’ll complain to the hotel.” Lily narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue.

“Could even be you and your missus, Grandpa,” she muttered. Then, looking up at the heavy, water-laden sky, she went back inside her room.

Molly and Micky as blackbirds found Buckingham Palace easily. They flew higher and higher into the rainy sky and landed on the edge of a skyscraper. From here the London traffic looked like a metallic-colored river, and the twiggy tops of trees seemed the size of footballs. They saw the Thames River and the big wheel, the London Eye, that was for tourists to ride. Micky knew that Buckingham Palace would be fairly near to that, and sure enough, there it was, up a long, wide road.

After a smooth, wet, downhill glide, they arrived at the palace’s grand gardens, landing on one of its gravel paths. Scores of windows on the rear facade of the building flashed in the dull, cloudy morning sunshine. On top of the roof, a flag flew.

“She’s in,” Molly twittered as a low, booming bell chimed a quarter to eleven. At the same time, a flash of lightning lit up the sky.

“Who’s in?” tweeted Micky.

“The queen. That flag flying means that she’s in. She’s somewhere inside, reading the papers or signing royal documents.”

Molly and Micky flew up to the largest of the balconies on the second floor of the palace. Perching on the iron rails there, they peered through the drip-stained window. Inside was an empty room. They fluttered to the next window. Inside this one was an empty hall with richly brocaded walls and old fancy furniture. They hopped along to the next balcony.

Past pale yellow curtains was an old-fashioned sitting room with old, ornate sofas and gilt-legged desks and chairs. Large portraits of past kings and queens, of princes and princesses, hung on the finely papered walls. A crystal chandelier with thousands of droplets of glass was suspended from the ceiling like an eighteenth-century UFO. And underneath it, sitting on a spindly stool, was Theobald Black. He was talking in earnest to a gray-haired lady who sat with her back to the window. A white-gloved butler set down a silver tray bearing teapots and poured the woman a cup of tea.

“Jeepers, that’s her,” Molly whistled.