“You told me yourself that you’re a man of science. Paleontology is a science, and a thrilling one! Surely you’re a bit intrigued.”
“Anything can be studied scientifically. Pedology is a valid science as well, but I have no interest in staring at dirt. I much prefer to devote my time to the study of pertinent, urgent matters, and to preparation for legitimate potential encounters. The likelihood that I will find myself face-to-face with a dinosaur at any point in my life? Very slim. The likelihood that a secretive little scamp will breach Cordovan’s Shoes again this very night?” He brandished the page at me again. “Nearly absolute.”
Hank laughed heartily and clapped a hand on Jackaby’s shoulder. “Hah! You haven’t changed a bit, my friend. Aw, let the girl have her fun. What d’ya say, Miss Rook? I’m headin’ out to Gadston first thing tomorrow. I got some business in town before I get down to the valley, but I could meet you down there an’ introduce ya to Brisbee. That is . . . if yer grumpy ol’ boss will give ya the time off.” He nudged Jackaby, who rolled his eyes. I liked Hank Hudson even more than I had before.
“That is out of the question,” Jackaby said. “The last time I permitted an assistant to pursue an investigation alone, he came back as waterfowl. I need someone in this house to maintain her opposable digits, or I shall have to do everything myself.”
“Yer gonna be doin’ that anyway if you drive her away.” Hudson gave Jackaby a nudge. “You’ve got those special eyes—take a good look at the kid. Tell me the truth. Is she the type to let go of an adventure when she’s sunk her teeth into it? Ain’t a bad quality in yer line of work.”
I felt my employer’s piercing gaze for several seconds and resisted the urge to shuffle my feet. Jackaby took a deep breath. “Be that as it may, she has yet to finish chewing on our current morsel. As a matter of fact, weren’t you just saying something about another angle on the case, Miss Rook?”
I silently cursed his selective attention. “Right. That. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“You’re better at sorting papers than you are at lying.” Jackaby raised an eyebrow at me.
“I was just having a bit of a think earlier,” I admitted, “and I realized we never asked Mrs. Beaumont where she bought her cat. There might be something in it—but it could just as well be nothing.”
“Or it could be everything.” Jackaby’s eyes narrowed. “It definitely merits further investigation. We will call on her first thing in the morning. I’m sorry, Miss Rook, but we must finish properly insulating New Fiddleham from wild, insidious predators before gallivanting off after a bit of dry bone.”
Hank’s smile remained, but his eyes took on a focused glint. “There somethin’ you forgot to tell me?”
Jackaby turned back to the trapper with a sly smile. “Why do you think we’re building the box?”
Jackaby was rarely forthright with the public about the nature of his cases—possibly owing to the public’s tendency to laugh, jeer, or throw things at him when he did speak his mind—but he held nothing back as he explained the chameleomorphs to Hudson. The trapper’s eyes shone with excitement as he listened. “Wait—that mackerel I snagged for ya was one of yer camel-morphy things? Didn’t look like nothin’—you swear you ain’t just messin’ with me? You know how much I love me a rare breed.”
“Would you like to see her kittens?” Jackaby asked.
“The fish had kittens?”
Three of the little fur balls fit in the palm of Hank’s big hand, and he stroked their ears and fuzzy fins with remarkable gentleness.
“Can I keep one of ’em?” He looked like an enormous toddler, coddling the little things as they played in his arms. “You know me, Jackaby—I’d take real good care.”
“I’m afraid that is out of the question,” Jackaby replied. “As I have been explaining to Miss Rook, they are far too dangerous. I much prefer to manage their handling myself.”