A sweet smell of carrots, honey and cinnamon filled the rabbit hole's cosy kitchen. Knotty pine cabinets, with little ceramic carrot handles lined every wall, their shelves heavy with jams, spices, and canned vegetables. Carrot print curtains hung beside the window. And a painting of carrots by the great artist Jack Rabbit graced the dishwasher door. Two baskets full of carrots sat on the center island beside the flat screen computer monitor which displayed a selection of carrot art in a Computer Assisted Design program. Jennifer Rabbit had heated up one of her husband's carrot cakes. She would need to eat dozens of them before she could design a new advertising campaign to make her husband's Orange Bunny Rabbit Carrot Cake the most popular cake in the world.
The Orange Bunny Rabbit cut himself a slice as he headed for the door. His motorcycle helmet was already strapped onto his head and he had to lift the faceplate to put the delicious, mouth-watering spicy cake in his mouth. Mrs. Rabbit knew the Orange Bunny Rabbit from the days he was an ordinary gray rabbit. That was before he became a carrot farmer and refused to eat anything he hadn't grown himself.
"Mmm, Jennifer," said the Orange Bunny Rabbit. He kissed her before lowering his face plate again. Then he licked his lips to get the last of the carrot cake crumbs off his whiskers. "Eat as many of these cakes as you like. The more you eat, the sweeter your advertising words will be."
The Orange Bunny Rabbit hugged his wife. Then he went out the kitchen door of his rabbit hole, and kick-started his racing motorcycle.
"Come on Robes Pierre," he called. His faithful dog jumped on the back seat, inside a basket. It was early in the morning and the farmers were just getting started with the irrigation. The motorcycle roared across the misty carrot fields. Mr. OBR showed up unexpectedly sometimes to check on his workers and to pick some fresh carrots.
"Stop Mr. Rabbit," said Robes Pierre. "I smell something"
"You are always smelling things nobody else can smell," growled the Orange Bunny Rabbit. "Is this something good or something bad?"
"I smell people but I don't see anybody1/4.there in the meteor fields," barked Robes Pierre. Robes' parents had just named him Pierre, but he was always curling up in the Orange Bunny Rabbit's robe, so the Orange Bunny Rabbit gave him the nickname Robes Pierre.
"I don't see anybody either, so why stop?" shouted the Orange Bunny Rabbit, over the roar of his motorcycle.
"Because they might be thieves"
"Nonsense, there are no thieves here"
"I smell humans in the warehouse and they are not farmers."
"We are not stopping," said the Orange Bunny Rabbit. "Last time we stopped when you thought you smelled somebody in that warehouse, it was empty. You just made us late to open our shop."
"No, it wasn't empty," barked Robes Pierre. "We didn't see any people, but we did see crates of carrots--and not as many as there should have been."
OBR ignored Robes Pierre and headed towards town, like a furry orange ball zooming across the fields, down the roads and up a hill towards his office and warehouse. His perfectly ironed suit flapped behind him, and Robes Pierre held on tightly to his basket.
"You will listen to me one day," growled Robes Pierre. His tail curled under the seat. He refused to wear the faceplate on his helmet because it covered his nose and prevented him from smelling.
A line of orange trucks with the OBR logo were already waiting for them to open the warehouse. As soon as he parked his motorcycle, Robes Pierre ran off to the airport to oversee the packing of OBR's daily shipments. And the Orange Bunny Rabbit loped over to his warehouse.
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The Orange Forest Rabbit's successful carrot business looks doomed when his customers start disappearing. His carrots start disappearing. And then the Orange Forest Rabbit himself disappears. But his faithful dog, Robes Pierre, can still smell him. And together, they solve the mystery.
