Read Online Emmy and the Home For Troubled Girls by Lynne Jonell - Free Book Online Page A

cool!” Thomas said. “My ears are still ringing!”
    Emmy glanced past the bakery, the tattoo parlor, the candy store, to the grand blue house on the corner and its sign: “Peter Peebles, Attorney at Law.” She winced, wishing she could forget her humiliating plunge off his boat.
    But it was the narrow building next door to the Peebles place that worried her most. Weeks ago, Emmy had discovered that the odd people who lived above the ground-floor shoe shop were actually Miss Barmy’s parents. And though Mr. Peebles had said the “Home for Troubled Girls” sign was a joke, it was toward this building that Miss Barmy and Cheswick had run when they had been turned into rats.
    Emmy shuddered lightly and turned away, steering Thomas toward a shop of vine-covered brick with a painted sign swinging over the doorway. “So Raston is at your house—alone?”
    Thomas looked up at the sign. “The Ant—” he began, sounding out the tall spidery letters beneath the painted gray rat.
    â€œThe Antique Rat,” Emmy finished, impatient. “So what did you do with Ratty?”
    Thomas looked at her calmly. “I made him chocolate milk—I’m not allowed to use the stove for hot cocoa—and turned on the TV. Then I came to meet you for my next mission.” He paused, waiting.
    â€œEmmy!” cried a big, jovial, white-bearded man, throwing open the door with a jangling of bells. “And you’ve brought a friend—what a very pleasant surprise!”
    Â 
    Professor Capybara leaned back in his swivel chair, placed his fingertips together, and smiled kindly over his glasses. “But, my dear Emmy, I don’t think any of this needs to worry you. After all, how much harm can Miss Barmy do now? She’s only a rat.”
    â€œWell, yes,” said Emmy. “But she’s a very mean rat.”
    â€œStill, I can’t see that there’s anything to be done. You’ve heard no real plans, I take it? Just some rambling talk of revenge.” The professor’s face took on an austere expression. “Cheswick Vole was never very reliable, not even when he was my laboratory assistant back in Schenectady.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do? I have my research—I can’t just run about after rodents, tryingto catch them doing something wrong. It’s beneath anyone’s dignity.”
    Emmy gazed around the room, wishing she could put her feelings into words. The afternoon sun streamed in through polished windows, highlighting the tables and chairs, each with its carved or painted decoration of rats, which gave the store its name. “But don’t you think,” she said slowly, “that if someone says she wants to harm you, you should pay attention?”
    â€œCertainly, certainly.” The professor’s glance strayed to the other end of the shop, where the antiques had been moved to one side to make room for a laboratory. “But just now, I’d like to check on an experiment, if you don’t mind. I’m still trying to find a cure for the Snoozer virus.” He pushed back his chair. “If only I hadn’t taken that trip to Palm Desert! The Bushy-Tailed Snoozer Rats were everywhere, and I didn’t take proper precautions …”
    Emmy sighed inwardly, and wandered after him to the cluttered counter where a bubbling retort competed for space with rows of vials, trays of glass slides, and innumerable pieces of paper covered with calculations and handwritten notes.
    Over to one side was an odd-looking microscope that Emmy had used before. It was Professor Capybara’s own invention, and although it was no good at showing ordinary things like red blood cells and bacteria, it was surprisingly good at showing other things.
    â€œBrian!” called the professor as he hunched over a petri dish. “He was supposed to check on this regularly,” he muttered.