Kristin Butcher... has novel ideas

Ten-year-old twins, Zach and Zoe Gallagher, live next door to Mr. Dotty, a very nice, albeit eccentric middle-aged man. Mr. Dotty's main goal in life is to live harmoniously with nature. Consequently, his whole yard is a garden, he owns no car, and he is a devoted recycler.

Mr. Dotty is also a big collector, keeping the things he collects in the old garage at the back of his property. Fascinated with all Mr. Dotty's stuff, the twins visit the garage regularly ... until one day they go to visit and the garage is locked! There's a secret inside. But what is it?

Zach and Zoe are determined to find out.

(Excerpt from Chapter 1)

"Field glasses," Mr. Dotty called out.

As Zoe and I ran around gathering the items we needed for our trip to the marsh, Mr. Dotty stood in the middle of his garage, checking them off his list.

Zoe hopped over a box of rocks, swerved past a giant stack of newspapers, and slithered between two concrete lions that used to sit at the bottom of a neighbour's driveway. Then she dragged a stool over to the back wall of the garage, climbed onto it, and lifted a pair of dusty binoculars down from a hook.

"Check," she said as she handed them to Mr. Dotty.

"Good," he nodded, slipping them around his neck and ticking them off his list. Then he shouted, "Cameras!" and Zoe and I scurried over to a shelf on the side wall.

"I get the one that folds up like an accordion," Zoe put in her dibs as she tried to elbow me out of the way.

We might be twins, but I'm still bigger -- and stronger. I stepped in front of her and scooped up the accordion camera. Not that I wanted it. It's just that Zoe can be pretty bossy sometimes, and every now and then I need to let her know she doesn't own the world.

"Zach!" she complained. "I wanted that one!"

"Too bad," I said, holding the camera out of her reach. "I got it first."

"That's not fair," she pouted and stamped her foot.

I made a big deal of sighing and rolling my eyes. "Sometimes you are such a baby. If you're going to cry, just take it." I shoved the camera into her hands and reached for the shiny black one with the silver flash. Since that was the one I'd wanted all along, it was hard not to smile.

"Check," I said, waving the camera in the air.

"That just leaves our headgear," Mr. Dotty announced as he made his way to the hat pole.

Zoe and I were right behind him. The hat pole is our favorite part of Mr. Dotty's garage. That and the big wicker basket of masks.

Most people keep cars, lawnmowers, and garbage cans in their garages. But not our backyard neighbour, Mr. Dotty. For one thing, he doesn't own a car. Mr. Dotty says cars destroy the ozone, and he doesn't want any part of that. He doesn't own a lawn mower either. But then he doesn't have any grass. From his front gate to his back fence, Mr. Dotty's yard is one big garden -- nothing but pumpkins, corn, beans, strawberries, and potatoes. The sunflowers are as tall as his house. He doesn't own a garbage can either. What he can't recycle ends up as compost on his garden.

That means Mr. Dotty can put anything he wants in his garage. And he does. It's like a huge treasure chest. Zoe and I visit Mr. Dotty two or three times a week, and we still haven't seen everything in his garage.

'As far as garages go, Mr. Dotty's is pretty small. It's also pretty old. The paint is peeling and there's moss on the roof. It doesn't have electricity, so the only light is what comes through a small window. Except when the big wooden doors are open, that is. Then the garage is flooded with light.

It was like that this afternoon. Laser sunbeams were shooting through the shadows, making the sequins on a floppy red hat glitter like diamonds. Zoe went straight for it and plopped it on her head. It was so big her whole face practically disappeared.

"This is the one I'm wearing," she declared from under the hat's brim.

I circled the pole a few times, trying to decide which hat I was going to choose. There were so many -- a top hat, a bright yellow sou'wester, a fire helmet, a fur cap with ear flaps, a sombrero, two cowboy hats, and even a crown! I settled on a soft brown hat like the olden days' detectives used to wear. Mr. Dotty said it was called a fedora.

"Which one are you going to pick, Mr. Dotty?" Zoe asked.

"Hmmm," he murmured, walking round and round the pole and squinting up and down. "Let me see." He went around the pole a couple more times. Finally he pulled down a hat, plunked it on his head, and buckled the strap under his chin. It was a safari hat. It even had a mesh veil to keep away the bugs.

"Well, that should about do it," Mr. Dotty beamed. "Backpacks at the ready?"

"Check," Zoe and I chorused as we dragged our packs off an old chest of drawers and pulled them onto our shoulders.

Two white envelopes came with them and fluttered to the floor. Zoe picked them up. "What are these?"

Mr. Dotty glanced at the envelopes and shrugged. "Birthday cards," he said.

"Is it your birthday?" Zoe and I asked at the same time.

Mr. Dotty shook his head. "Not any more, but it was yesterday."

"Happy Birthday, Mr. Dotty," I said. "You should have told us. We would have given you a card too. Maybe even a present."

"So who are the cards from?" Zoe asked. Trust her to be nosy.

"Zoe!" I muttered through my teeth. I glared at her too, but she was too busy trying to see through the envelopes to notice.

"That's quite all right," Mr. Dotty chuckled. "One of them is from my boss, and the other is from my sister in Edmonton. Go ahead and look at them if you'd like."

So we did.

The card from the bank where Mr. Dotty works wasn't very personal. The manager's name was just stamped on it. But the card from Mr. Dotty's sister made up for it. It was signed seven times! Four times by Madge -- I figured that was Mr. Dotty's sister -- and three times by Stan. That's Mr. Dotty.

I must have had a puzzled look on my face, because Mr. Dotty said, "Recycling runs in the family. My sister and I have been sending the same card back and forth for years."

I nodded and looked at the other things inside the card -- a lottery ticket and a photograph of the strangest-looking animal I had ever seen.

I turned the picture around and around. "What is it?"

"Let me see," Zoe pushed in, making a grab for the photo.

"It's my sister's dog," Mr. Dotty explained. "Madge and I have a difference of opinion about which are better -- dogs or cats. So, on my birthday, she sends me a snapshot of Hortense, and on her birthday I send her one of Mila."

Just then, Mr. Dotty's cross-eyed Siamese jumped up onto the chest of drawers and meowed. Mr. Dotty scratched her ear. "No need to be jealous, Mila, my princess," he told her. "You are much more beautiful than any dog could ever hope to be." Then with a final scratch under Mila's chin, he cleared his throat and declared, "And now off to the marsh." He gave his hat a tap and pointed toward the street. "Company forward!"