THE RUBY REDFORT COLLECTION: 1-3: Look into My Eyes; Take Your Last Breath; Catch Your Death. Lauren Child

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      ‘Who by?’

      ‘Someone.’

      ‘I had no idea butlering could be so dangerous. What did you do, break one of the Wellingfords’ Ming vases?’

      ‘There are no Wellingfords.’

      ‘I didn’t think so. Who shot you, then?’

      ‘Trust me kid, you don’t want to know.’

      ‘And why would I trust you?’

      ‘I’ve got an honest face.’

      ‘A pretty one maybe, but I wouldn’t call pretending to be a butler honest.’

      ‘Well, I can assure you it doesn’t feel like pretending to me – feels like hard work. Your parents are kind of pernickety.’

      ‘Maybe you aren’t as good as you think you are. Clancy had a hunch that there was more to you than the whole butler thing.’

      ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

      ‘I wouldn’t – I thought you were a bozo. What normal person travels with his own toaster?’

      ‘Communication device actually – it sends and receives written messages.’

      ‘That figures.’ said Ruby recalling the image of Hitch examining his toast. ‘So how does this whole undercover thing work?’

      ‘Well, your parents, they must never suspect a thing, no one must ever suspect a thing – and that includes your pal Clancy Crew. That’s rule number one: keep it zipped.’

      ‘So I heard,’ said Ruby dryly.

      ‘So you’re clear on this?’

      ‘Yeah, don’t blab, sounds pretty simple to me.’

      ‘No kid, that’s where you’re wrong – that’s the difficult bit. Code breaking and all that other stuff, that’s easy compared to keeping a secret like this.’

       Mrs Digby was beginning to make herself at home. . .

      She had investigated her surroundings and discovered that although she was trapped – nothin’s gonna budge these locks – in what amounted to a giant warehouse, she was at least very comfortable.

      So this is how it feels to be a Redfort, she said to herself as she stretched out in Brant Redfort’s designer lounge chair. She was by now attired in one of Sabina Redfort’s evening gowns – it was a full length silver sequined affair and rather dressy for kicking about an old warehouse but Mrs Digby had always wanted to try it and besides, who was ever going to know?

      Mrs Digby, ever practical – my ancestors were pioneers, they panned for gold, survived eating boiled raccoons and raw berries, sometimes boiled berries and raw raccoons – had managed to find a long extension cord and had powered up the well-stocked refrigerator. She wasn’t going to starve anytime soon, that was something.

      The Digbys have always survived and always will because we’re not afraid of a little hard work and a little discomfort, said Mrs Digby to herself as she arranged Mrs Redfort’s faux mink stole around her shoulders.

       Now, if I could just find a way of getting reception on this TV.

       Chapter 11.

      The eyes followed the hands

      ‘SHE WILL BE IN MIAMI,’ said Brant Redfort.

      ‘Who will be in Miami?’ repeated Sabina.

      ‘Mrs Digby,’ said Brant. ‘Remember that time she got so mad at you for putting us all on that pickle diet? Said it would pickle us from the inside out.’

      ‘Uh huh.’

      ‘Well, what did she do? She took off for Miami, stayed there till you saw sense.’ Brant folded his arms like a man who had just successfully completed the cryptic crossword.

      ‘You know what Brant? You’re a genius!’ She turned to Ruby. ‘Your father’s a genius, Ruby!’

      Ruby thought this unlikely but said nothing.

      ‘Miami! That’s exactly where she is,’ continued Sabina. ‘Playing poker I’ll bet. Thank goodness for that.’ She poured herself another tomato-celery health juice. ‘How she loves to gamble!’ Sabina picked up her magazine, Faces of the Absurdly Rich. ‘Well, this is going to make old Freddie happy, it says here that security has been stepped up to record levels – Twinford City Bank now has the safest bank vaults in the whole of the country.’

      ‘Well I’m relieved to hear it,’ said Brant. ‘I just deposited my latest paycheck! I certainly don’t want to gamble with that!’

      Sabina laughed like he had just cracked the joke of the century.

      Ruby, who despite appearances had actually been paying attention to this conversation, thought about what her father had said – not about the gold, but about Mrs Digby. Gambling in Miami – it was certainly a possibility.

      She was roused from her thoughts by a piece of toast freshly delivered to her plate. It was telling her something:

       ‘Be ready in ten, wear your boots.’

      Mrs Bexenheath, the school secretary, looked up to see what at first glance she imagined must be some Hollywood film star. It was as if he had accidentally strayed off the ‘walk of fame’ and wandered unwittingly into the shabby halls of Twinford Junior High – so entirely out of place was he. However, this handsome man struck up an easy conversation with her and before a minute had passed Mrs Bexenheath had found herself agreeing to excuse Ruby Redfort from all lessons for the foreseeable future. She had concentrated carefully, all the while staring into his Hollywood eyes, wondering were they brown or were they hazel. And although after he had left she couldn’t exactly remember why she had excused Ruby from classes, she did find herself very sympathetic.

      ‘Of course! Of course, she must take all the time she needs,’ she had gushed.

      ‘Just remember, Mrs Bexenheath, keep it hush hush – oh and don’t bother Mr and Mrs Redfort, if you need to ask anything then be sure to bother me.’

      ‘Oh I will, I will,’ said Mrs Bexenheath sincerely.

      Hitch thanked the school secretary for her warmth and kindheartedness, and promised that yes, he would make a point of visiting the school again soon. Then he said goodbye and returned to the car where Ruby was waiting.

      ‘So?’ said Ruby when Hitch got back into the driver’s seat.

      ‘Mrs Bexenheath passed on her warmest wishes and insists you take all the time you need.’

      ‘Really? What did you tell the old crab apple?’ asked Ruby

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