Free Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! by Polly Horvath

suspect someone. I consider that half the battle.”
    â€œWhom do you suspect?” asked Mrs. Bunny.
    â€œThe butler.”
    â€œHow so?” asked Mrs. Bunny. “I thought it was foxes who were to blame.”
    â€œNo doubt they have co-opted the butler,” said Mr. Bunny.
    â€œBut then they would know where the uncle was,” said Mrs. Bunny reasonably. “They wouldn’t need to kidnap Madeline’s parents.”
    â€œAnd yet I feel we must still suspect him in some capacity. In every detective novel, is it not the butler who did it? They always announce it out of the blue at the end. But here’s where we have the jump on them. We are suspecting him from the first!”
    Mrs. Bunny sighed. When Mr. Bunny got ahold of an idea, he did not like to let go of it. And even when he did let go of it, he pretended he hadn’t. This whole idea of the butler was completely ridiculous, and now she would have to hear about him until the end of the case. She sighed again.
    â€œAnd I think we’d better get Madeline to stay with us,” continuedMr. Bunny. “She may be in danger even at the manor house if her parents suddenly remember where her uncle lives.”
    â€œBut the foxes won’t care about Madeline at that point. It’s the uncle and his decoding skills they want.”
    â€œUnless they go on a fox rampage. You know how horrible that can be.”
    Mrs. Bunny shuddered. “I hadn’t thought of that. But where will she sleep?”
    â€œTomorrow when you’re at your meeting, I shall bring her back to the hutch and we will build her a guest cottage just her size.”
    Mrs. Bunny nodded. “I’ll leave out some beet salad sandwiches for you. And cupcakes. Children love cupcakes.”
    â€œMr. Bunny loves cupcakes,” Mr. Bunny reminded her, and then stepped on the gas, causing Mrs. Bunny to clamp her paws back over her eyes, which Mr. Bunny thought very unsporting of her. Until he realized that it gave him an excellent opportunity to give her the two swift pokes he owed her.

 THE CODED MESSAGE 
    W ith a good day’s detecting work under their belts, the Bunnys were enjoying their nightly routine in their new hutch. Mr. Bunny had found an armchair and reading lamp by the living room fireplace that he declared an excellent fit. The old owners’ subscription to
The Scientific Bunny
hadn’t been canceled, and Mr. Bunny enjoyed reading choice nuggets of it to Mrs. Bunny while she knitted. He informed her of archaeological digs in search of ancient rabbit life, and the latest in genome phenomena (Mrs. Bunny usually tuned him out and thought about the garden during this), and now he was happily settled reading a very long article on new things that exploded.
    â€œWhat, invented just to explode?” asked Mrs. Bunny. “That seems very wasteful to me. Why would you want to invent something to explode?”
    â€œScience marches on, my dear,” said Mr. Bunny. “Sometimes a man just wants an exploding item around. And the things that exploded last year are old news. Listen to what they have developed to explode in just the last month: phenohepteroids—”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œIt’s an alkaloid of some kind,” said Mr. Bunny knowledgeably.
    â€œThe things you know, Mr. Bunny!”
    â€œI like to keep up,” said Mr. Bunny. “Books with the word
pfeffernüusse
in the title.”
    â€œThey explode?”
    â€œExploding all over the place, apparently.”
    â€œDo they warn people?”
    â€œDoesn’t say. They’ve developed an exploding variety of prune plums.
That’s
a shame. I like prune plums …” Mr. Bunny would have gone on reading the list, but there was a knock on the door.
    â€œA visitor! Our first visitor, Mrs. Bunny. I hope he brought cake!”
    Mrs. Bunny opened the door. It was Mrs. Treaclebunny from across the way. She was