Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

“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.

AH2 stepped out of the Cork Street Police Station and zipped up his parka against the cold. He fished his small tracking device from his pocket and extended its antenna.

A policeman watched from his office window. “Alien hunter indeed,” he said, polishing the metal button on the top of his bell-shaped police helmet. “Fruit-and-nut case, more like.”

AH2 read the gadget’s screen and converted it to map form to see where the Moon alien was. He squinted at the results.

“I don’t believe it.”

Setting off at a firm pace, he began walking toward Green Park.

On the pavement opposite, two women—one with a walking stick and in a red shiny raincoat, the other, tubbier and in a frilly dress—who were pretending to be consulting a map, watched him go. As he strode off down the gallery-lined street, the women turned to walk down it, too. One limped, the other waddled. Miss Teriyaki’s stick kept slipping on the wet pavement, while Miss Suzette’s voluptuous, frilly scarf kept blowing across her face. This crazy man seemed to know how to find Molly Moon. And Molly Moon, they had both decided, would probably be very near Mr. Black and the hypnotism book.

Miss Hunroe was furious with them for not keeping up with Mr. Black the night before, so they were determined to get things right now. “Oh, do hurry, you snail!” Miss Suzette tutted as they hurried through a covered arcade full of chocolatiers and fancy shops that sold leather gloves and luxurious items like mustache combs. “Try to limp faster, or we’ll lose him. Like we lost that cab last night. It was all your fault. If you’d been less lazy and more alert we would have seen what Black was up to.”

Miss Teriyaki flashed an angry glare at Miss Suzette. “You’re not exactly an Olympic runner yourself, you frog,” she panted, hurrying as fast as she could past an expensive underwear shop. “Your frilly dress is cooler than my red patent-leather coat. It’s easier for you. And you haven’t sprained your ankle. Let me remind you that tomorrow or the next day I will be back to my normal fit self. But you have never been fit.” Grunting as she picked up the pace, she added, “Oh, I love these shops! They remind me of Paris. When I own Paris, I’ll spend all my time in the shops!”

Miss Suzette stopped suddenly and turned with a furious look on her face. “What are you talking about, when you own Paris?”

“Exactly what I say,” Miss Teriyaki replied smugly. “When I own Paris. Miss Hunroe has promised me Paris! Which city has she said you can have?”

“You foolish woman,” Miss Suzette replied scathingly. “Do you really think she would give Paris to you? She gave it to me months ago. I was born there! Paris is in my blood. There must be some mistake.” A sly look crossed her face. “You do know, Miss Teriyaki, there is also a place called Paris in Texas, America? She was probably offering you that.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Yes, she was.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Of course she was. You know Miss Hunroe far prefers me to you. She never would have offered you the real Paris in France!”

“You old witch!” Miss Teriyaki cried, her feelings visibly hurt. Then her face changed. She thrust her hand at Miss Suzette. “I don’t expect Miss Hunroe gave you a ring like this. She didn’t, did she? Hah. Favorite indeed. Miss Hunroe loves me. There you go!”

“Oh, shut up and hurry up, you slug,” huffed Miss Suzette. “If we don’t get Mr. Black now, she’ll hate us both, and then neither of us will get Paris or Venice or anything.”

Clip, clip, clip went their shoes and the walking stick on the marble passage floor. Then they were out of the arcade onto the busy street beyond it, just in time to see AH2 disappear through the open gates of the entrance of Green Park. A rain was spitting down, and the skies above were growing grayer.

“I’m sure I heard him say Buckingham Palace,” Miss Teriyaki exclaimed breathlessly. “Perhaps we should hail a cab.”

“Don’t be so lazy, Teriyaki!” Miss Suzette wheezed, wiping some dribble from the corner of her mouth with a lace hanky. She put up her frilly-rimmed umbrella and set off through the park.

Outside high railings in front of Buckingham Palace, a handful of tourists stood watching the changing of the guards. A bearskin-hatted sergeant shouted commands, and three serious red-uniformed soldiers, also in tall black furry hats, took it in turns to march up and down the palace forecourt.

Miss Teriyaki and Miss Suzette crossed the road to stand by the railings fifty yards from where AH2 had joined the tourist throng. Miss Teriyaki reached into her handbag for her cell phone.

“I’m going to alert Miss Hunroe,” she said, beginning to text a message. “I have a feeling she ought to be here.”