Smells Like Dog by Suzanne Selfors
“Homer!” Gwendolyn waved happily. She sat on a bench in front of a penguin display. A package of mint cookies lay on her lap. A single balloon, tied to the bench, floated beside her.
Homer waved back. His sister was actually smiling—a big, happy grin flecked with bits of cookie.
“Would you like a cookie?” Madame asked. She took a small package from her suit pocket and handed it to Homer. They were dinosaur-shaped sugar cookies from the museum’s gift shop. Dinookies.
“Thanks.”
Madame looked at Gwendolyn. “Are you enjoying the party?”
“It’s great,” Gwendolyn said. “It’s the best party ever.”
The best party ever? Homer furrowed his brow. How could this be the best party ever? There were no streamers, just that single balloon. No party hats or music. No punch bowls or chocolate fountains. No piñatas or cakes.
“Make yourself comfortable, Homer. We have much to discuss.” Madame pointed to an empty spot next to Gwendolyn.
Discuss? Yes, Homer had a ton of questions, like Why did you invite me here? and Why aren’t there any more guests? Two people did not add up to a party, in his opinion. Especially if those two people spent every single day together.
But a buzzer sounded overhead and a man’s voice burst from a speaker in the wall. “Madame?”
“What is it?” she asked curtly.
“We have a disturbance outside.”
“Can’t you handle it?”
“You know I can’t be seen here. I’m supposed to be on holiday.”
“Fine!” Madame pursed her lips real tight and clenched her fists. “The things I have to put up with.” Then she gave the Pudding kids a stern look. “Under no circumstances are you to leave this room.” Her high heels clicked and her blunt hair swayed as she hurried from the room.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Gwendolyn asked. “And this place is a million times bigger than it looks in the guidebook. I’ve been here all day. When I told them who I was at the ticket booth, Madame let me in for free. I ate macaroni and cheese in the cafeteria—not goat cheese, by the way. They don’t serve goat cheese here, isn’t that great? I showed Madame all my animals and she liked them. She said I was destined to become a Royal Taxidermist. Maybe one of the greatest Royal Taxidermists ever.” Gwendolyn smiled dreamily. “Ever.”
Homer sat next to his sister. He pushed the bag of Dinookies behind his back, hiding it from Dog because he’d already eaten popcorn, magazines, and pink sprinkle doughnuts, none of which was proper dog food. At some point he’d need to get some proper dog food. “Did you say that Madame liked your animals?”
“Of course she liked them, Homer. Why wouldn’t she like them? She took the entire duffel bag and promised she’d put my animals on exhibit. I’m going to get my own wing. Can you believe it? The Gwendolyn Maybel Pudding Wing!”
But Homer had seen the duffel bag crammed into the garbage can.
Madame la Directeur had lied to Gwendolyn, but why? “Gwendolyn, I think you should know…”
“She’s so nice.” Gwendolyn leaned against the penguin’s glass window. “I want to be just like her when I grow up. She specialized in herpetology at university, which, in case you don’t know, and you probably don’t, is the science of reptiles and amphibians. Then she became a Royal Taxidermist and worked her way up to running the entire museum. We talked for a really long time.”
Dog pressed his black nose against one of the display windows. A low growl vibrated in his throat as he stared into the glass eyes of a stuffed polar bear, lounging on the edge of a fake glacier.
Homer punched the single balloon. “It’s not much of a party. Did Madame tell you why she invited me here?”
“Oh, I asked that right away. I told her that it must have been a mistake because I’m the one who wrote all those letters and she told me that it had definitely been a mistake. She said I was the VIP, not you.” Gwendolyn flipped her hair behind her shoulders. “She said that treasure hunting isn’t as important as taxidermy.”
As Dog waddled around the exhibit, leaving a nose smudge on every glass window, something nipped at the back of Homer’s mind. “You told her I was a treasure hunter?”
“No,” Gwendolyn said, folding her arms. “Because you’re not a treasure hunter, Homer. Reading about treasure hunting isn’t the same as actually doing it.”
“But then how did she know…?”
“She knows all about you. She’s very smart. She said she even knew Uncle Drake. She asked if he’d left you anything special. I told her about your droopy dog. She asked if he’d left you anything else. And then I remembered that coin.”
The room felt chillier. Homer jumped to his feet. “You told her about the coin?”
“Is there a problem?”
The situation was like a map with missing pieces. What he now knew was that the invitation had not been wrongly addressed. Madame had sent the invitation to Homer because she had wanted to talk to him. If she had cared one ounce about Gwendolyn, she wouldn’t have thrown away the duffel. Would she try to take the coin? Like Ajitabh, would she do anything to get it? And if Homer refused to give her the coin, would his parents ever see him again? Would he become a part of the prehistoric man exhibit? Look Agnes, that’s the fattest stuffed cave boy I’ve ever seen.
“Gwendolyn, I think we’re in trouble.” Homer grabbed his sister’s arm. “We need to get out of here.”
She pulled her arm free. “Are you crazy? I’m not leaving.”
Homer tiptoed out of Life on the Edge, then peered over the second-floor railing. The Grand Hall stood empty. Except for Dog, who was growling at a stuffed walrus, all was quiet.
“You’re not supposed to leave the room,” Gwendolyn whispered from behind Homer. She stood in the entry to Life on the Edge.
“No one’s down there,” Homer told her. “We can make a run for it. Come on.”
Gwendolyn put her hands on her hips. “And why would I want to make a run for it?”
Homer didn’t get the chance to explain because a siren wailed outside. A blue light shone through the Grand Hall’s windows and pulsed across T. rex’s legs. Homer ran down the grand staircase and across the hall to the row of windows that faced the street. He pressed his nose against a pane of cold glass.
A police car had pulled up to the sidewalk. Madame la Directeur stood talking to a police officer. Next to her, under a streetlight, stood a man in a cap and overalls.
“It’s Dad!” Homer cried.
20
The Cave of Brilliance
Though Homer couldn’t hear what was being said, he could tell his dad was hollering by the way he was shaking his fist. Madame stood very still, her gloved hands clasped behind her wide hips.
“What did you say?” Gwendolyn called from the balcony.
“Dad’s outside.”
“Oh, crud!” Gwendolyn ran down the stairs and pressed her face next to Homer’s. “He’s going to take us back home. I don’t want to go home. He can’t make me. I’m staying!” The glass fogged up, so Homer wiped it with his jacket sleeve.
Homer wanted to run outside, for surely Madame wouldn’t try to take the coin in Mr. Pudding’s presence. But hiding behind his father’s broad back wouldn’t solve anything and it wouldn’t be something a true treasure hunter would do. He still hadn’t solved the mystery of the coin and he still hadn’t found his uncle’s belongings. And Ajitabh was out there, somewhere, probably sharpening his sword. Madame knew Homer’s address, and Ajitabh had visited the farm, so they would easily find Homer once he returned to Milkydale. And if he ran outside, his father would take him home for sure.
Home. Back to that black smoky hole where the library had once stood. Back to the empty bedroom. Back to everybody telling him he was weird and that he’d never be a real treasure hunter.
But worse than all those things, Dog would be returned to the Snootys.
“I’m going to tell Dad to stop yelling at Madame la Directeur,” Gwendolyn said
“Gwendolyn, wait!”
But there was no stopping his sister once she set her mind. She ran past the ticket booth and pushed open the entry door. Homer wiped the window again and watched as she rushed down the museum stairs, past a pair of lion statues, and down the walkway. Just as she reached Mr. Pudding, another car pulled up and a large man in a blue pinstriped suit stepped out. Homer recognized him from the elevator ride. Fishing through his crowded pockets, he found the business card. MR. DILL, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, SPECIALIZING IN PERSONAL INJURY AND UNWANTED PARTY GUESTS. Madame spoke to Mr. Dill, who then spoke to the police officer. She pointed at Mr. Pudding.
Was it really against the law to be an unwanted party guest?
Mr. Pudding didn’t notice Gwendolyn because he was hollering at the police officer. Gwendolyn tugged on her father’s sleeve. He swept her into a hug, then held her at arm’s length, hollering some more. Homer grimaced. He and Gwendolyn were in big trouble, no doubt about it. Their punishment would be the longest chore list in history. News reporters would travel to Milkydale to interview the children who never stopped doing chores.
But before Homer could imagine all the horrid things his father would add to the chore list, the scene outside turned ugly. The officer pulled out a billy club and waved it at Mr. Pudding. Mr. Pudding shook both his fists and his cap flew off his head. The officer grabbed Mr. Pudding’s arm and shoved him into the patrol car. Gwendolyn kicked the officer, who then shoved Gwendolyn into the patrol car and closed the door.
And all the while, Madame la Directeur calmly stood by, not moving a finger.
“Stop! Wait!” Homer ran to the ticket booth and was about to push open the museum door when he remembered something. “Dog?” he called. Where was he? “DOG!”
The patrol car sped away. Madame shook Mr. Dill’s hand. Then she picked up Mr. Pudding’s cap and threw it into the bushes. As she headed back toward the museum, a sinister smile spread across her face. Homer knew, without an inkling of doubt, that danger was heading his way—a high-heeled force that would come between him and his quest. No way was he going to hand over the coin.
He ran back through the Grand Hall. Frantically, he opened his museum map. Lorelei had said that the coin collection was on the third floor. His eyes scanned the index. Cave of Brilliance, third floor. Clutching the map, he charged back up the carpeted stairs. “Come on!” he yelled as he ran past Life on the Edge.
Dog, who’d been engaged in a staring contest with a stuffed narwhal, slid across the glassy floor and followed Homer down the hall. Far below, a door slammed shut and heels clicked across the Grand Hall’s marble floor.
Homer found the door to the stairwell. Not in a million years would he take another elevator. Halfway up, Dog started huffing and puffing so Homer looped his arms under Dog’s middle and heaved him up the last steps. “You gotta stop eating so much,” he grumbled. Then, grabbing Dog’s leash, he stumbled onto the third floor. Homer froze, holding his breath. The elevator stood silent. No clicking heels approached. “Come on,” he whispered.
Charging down the hall, they passed a giant stuffed praying mantis that guarded the entry to World of Insects. Dog whimpered and picked up his pace. A stuffed ostrich stood outside World of Birds. “There it is,” Homer whispered. At the end of the hall, twinkling light beckoned from the mouth of a gigantic cave. Just inside the cave, Homer and Dog skidded to a stop.
It was the stuff of stories and dreams. Row after row of little treasures, each set neatly on black velvet, each protected beneath a lighted glass case. Rubies, sapphires, diamonds, turquoise, amber, and jade. What pirates set sail for, what treasure hunters left home for—glittering, shiny miracles, grown deep in the earth. But there was no time to ogle. A tingling feeling shot up Homer’s legs as he spotted the display at the back of the cave. He led Dog past a wall of geodes and pressed his hands against the back case, his eyes skimming each section—Roman coins, Egyptian coins, and Celtic coins. Come on, come on. Where is it? Greek, Persian, and Mayan coins. Disappointment swept over him. Not a single coin was engraved with a treasure chest or the letters L.O.S.T. “It’s got to be here.”
Dog growled. Homer spun around.
Madame la Directeur stood in the cave’s entry. “You won’t find it in there,” she said coldly, gemstone light bouncing off her dark eyes.
“Uh, find what?” Homer asked, moving away from the coins. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His heart skipped a beat as he realized that there was no other way out of the cave.
“You don’t need to pretend, Homer. I know about the coin.”
“What coin?” Homer felt as trapped as a fossil in a rock.
Madame took a step into the cave. “The coin that your uncle cleverly sent to you. I don’t suppose you’d like to give it to me, as a thank-you for inviting you to our little party?”
Homer pressed his lips real tight, not saying a word. Was she insane? Even if the party had been an actual party, he wouldn’t give her the coin. No way.
“I can show you where the coin came from.” She raised her eyebrows and took another step. “Isn’t that why you’re here? Wouldn’t you like me to show you?”
Homer thought hard and furious about his choices. He could try to escape but where would he go? He’d come to The City to solve this mystery and so far he’d found a great big nothing. This woman could clearly not be trusted. She’d lied to Gwendolyn, she’d had his father and sister arrested, but she knew what he wanted to know.
He tightened his grip on Dog’s leash. “Okay. Show me.”
21
The Realm of Reptiles
Gwendolyn was right, Homer thought as he followed Madame from the Cave of Brilliance. Madame la Directeur was beautiful. But it wasn’t a warm kind of beauty like Mrs. Pudding’s—the kind that flows from a smiling face and covers everyone like a warm quilt. Madame’s beauty came from an awful lot of makeup and from fancy clothes and jewelry. It was the kind of beauty that is meant to impress upon first glance. Homer wasn’t impressed.
“All that sparkles is not splendid,” Uncle Drake had often said. “Remember that fool’s gold might look like treasure, but it’s just a worthless chunk of rock.”
At the end of the hall, Madame pushed the elevator button. Homer shook his head and Dog backed away. “We don’t like elevators.”
“We’re going to the first floor,” she said. “So get in.”
“No.” Homer held his chin up and looked her straight in the eye. “We’ll take the stairs.”
Madame clenched her jaw. Her neck and cheeks flushed. “Fine! We’ll take the stairs.”
Upon reaching the first floor, Homer and Dog followed Madame into the Realm of Reptiles. Hot, heavy air greeted them with a smothering hug. A path of Astroturf wound between fake tropical trees. Stuffed pythons, boa constrictors, and cobras dangled from branches, their glass slit eyes watching hungrily. Dog’s coarse back hairs stiffened and a low growl rose in the depths of his throat. “Keep that mongrel away from the exhibits,” Madame said as she led them into the heart of the jungle. “This room is my pride and joy.” She stopped in front of a wall of glass.
Keeping a safe distance between himself and Madame, Homer looked past his own reflection into the frozen eyes of a man dressed in safari gear. That’s the kind of outfit I need, he thought, admiring the multipocketed khaki shorts and the crisp khaki shirt. Uncle Drake used to dress like that. Homer ran a hand over his corduroy jacket. Too bad they didn’t carry safari clothes at Walker’s Department Store.
He continued to gaze with envy. The man’s hat was waterproof with a wide brim for sun protection. His trekking boots and extra-thick wool socks provided leech and snake protection. He clutched a pair of Extra Strong Borington Binoculars. Behind the man, a shotgun and rucksack leaned against a field tent. Books and maps were scattered on a small field desk, along with a camera. “Who is he?” Homer asked.
“That is a replica of Dr. Lionel Wortworthy,”
“Oh. You mean he studied reptiles and amphibians?”
“Precisely. Dr. Wortworthy caught and stuffed every specimen in this room.”
“All of them?” There had to be hundreds of creatures in there, from the tiniest neon red frog to a tree trunk–size yellow anaconda.
“Do you mind?” Madame pointed to the window where Homer had pressed his fingers. Then she removed a handkerchief from her suit pocket and wiped away his fingerprints. From the corner of his eye, Homer saw Dog lift his leg on a stuffed iguana. “I have spent a great deal of time on this exhibit. Everything you see is authentic. Those are Dr. Wortworthy’s actual clothes, that’s his actual tent, and that was his favorite camera. It’s all real. Except for Dr. Wortworthy, of course. But it’s his true likeness.”
“Who are those guys?” Homer asked, pointing to two faces, half-hidden behind some shrubs at the back of Wortworthy’s exhibit. While pointing, he accidentally dropped Dog’s leash. Dog took off to explore the room.
“Those guys are cannibals. That’s how Dr. Wortworthy met his unfortunate demise.”
“Oh.” A terrible image of the doctor sitting in a stewpot filled Homer’s mind.
Madame tossed the handkerchief at a corner garbage can, but missed. Grumbling, she picked it up and stuffed it into the can. Then she gave the can a kick. Then another kick. After a deep breath, she turned back to Homer. “Where was I? Oh yes. Dr. Wortworthy was my father. He spent his life searching for rare and unknown species of reptiles and amphibians. Between expeditions, he’d stop here at the museum and drop off his specimens. Because he was such a prolific collector, his wife, Wilma von Weiner, had a special present made for him.”