Celia looks at me like she wants to boil me in a test tube. ‘Nothing, now buzz off’.
‘No, seriously - I am pushing on the door as Celia pushes it from the other side, trying to close it - I want renumberation!’
‘It’s re-MU-neration doofus and not in your wildest dreams’.
I let go of the door and pelt downstairs hollering ‘muuuuum, I’ve got something really juicy to tell you!’ I can hear Celia stumble out off the bathroom after me and jump down the stairs three at a time.
‘Shut your face you ugly little worm, you say anything and I’ll chuck you in the cellar and throw away the key!’
My mum comes out of the kitchen with a ‘don’t mess with me’ look on her face to see her two daughters facing off in the wood panelled dining room. One with pink cream all over her face and the other with bed hair and her tongue out blowing the hugest raspberry you’ve ever seen (or heard).
‘Right. We need a family conference’.
Celia and I groan as mum takes us by the shoulders one by one and sits us at the table. Celia is death staring me, hoping that she can Jedi mind trick me into keeping my mouth shut. No chance.
‘Mum I have some shocking ne…’ I start, but mum cuts me off by raising a hand.
‘Don’t want to know Valoura, don’t need to know’, Celia relaxes a little but still has her eyes locked on me. ‘And you,’ mum turns to her beetroot coloured child, ‘I really don’t think language like that, towards your sister of all people, is an effective or kind way to communicate your feelings, do you?’
‘No mother’, Celia mumbles into her shoulder and as she turns away I see her stick her finger in her mouth like our mums’ parenting methods make her gag. I giggle.
Mum turns on me. ‘You are coming with me to get Gilbert, yes?’ I nod. ‘And Celia, do you have to wash that out?’ Beattie points at Celia’s head, ‘because your face is the colour of a Barbie play house’.
‘Ahh!’ Celia screams as she runs back upstairs to de-pink herself.
‘I don’t wanna change outta my pyjamas’, I whine, cross my arms and with a sullen look dare my mother to counter my statement.
‘Fine, let’s go’.
After I slip on some thongs and mum grabs her bag we jump in our canary coloured car and head to Gimbly which is a bigger-ish town about thirty minutes drive away. Our town is too small for some things, like in Gimbly they have an ice skating rink, movie theatres and a shopping mall. Doctor Haru’s veterinary surgery is across the bridge on the leafy side of town.
As mum turns off the engine, she puts her hand gently on my chest to stop me getting out of the car. ‘Celia is growing up kitten and she needs some space, do you reckon you could give her some?’
I look at my mum with a hint of desperation, ‘yeah, but, mum, you know, she has secrets, like BIG secrets!’
‘OK, that’s fine, but they are hers to keep or to tell, you shouldn’t force anyone to open up their private thoughts to you, it’s like an alien invasion in their mind’, she taps me on the head.
I roll my eyes, ‘yeah, but I still think she shouldn’t keep this one, what if she gets herself into trouble. It’s not like her, it’s making her gaga.’ I do rings around my ear with my finger to represent Celia’s madness then wipe my nose on my sleeve. Sometimes I get hay fever.
‘That’s her problem and if anything bad happens we will deal with it’.
‘Yeah, but, what if she ends up dead!’ I shout dramatically. A bit over the top Valoura, sheesh.
‘Do you think that’s likely?’ Mum gazes out over the tall oak trees towards the blue coloured hills in the distance.
‘No. I just worry, I guess.’ I go to wipe my nose on my sleeve again and mum passes me a hanky from her sleeve. ‘Ew gross!’
‘It’s clean’, she protests, waving it under my nose. ‘Look, Loo, it’s not as bad as you think it is. Just let it play itself out and see what happens. Relax for goodness sake! You’re only eleven!’
I hate it when adults say ‘you’re only [insert your age]’. It makes young people feel insignificant.
‘OK mummy-o, mum’s the word’.
****
Gilbert is all tail thumping and sloppy kisses when we collect him from the vets. We are given instructions to keep him inside for a week and feed him fresh food that will be gentle on his tummy. This is no problem because Gilbert will eat anything, even my peas (I hate peas).
Mum wants to go to the craft store to pick up some yarn to crochet Gilbert a jumper. My mum’s a nut. So we drive into the big mall and park on Red level in space J.
‘Red level, space J, Red level, space J’’, mum repeats this over and over because she will totes forget in like a minute flat. We leave Gilbert snuggled on his fave blanket with some water and plenty of air from the gaps in all windows. It is very important to not leave animals in hot cars with no air or water because sadly they can die.
I want to go to the food court because I am starvation-ary from lack of breakfast. Mum gives me some money, more than I need which is awesome because I want to buy stuff. As I am ordering a breakfast muffin and a large raspberry smoothie from Mr Muffo’s Muffin Stop I just happen to spy Mrs Tremlow in the café across the square. It is very noisy and there are people everywhere, but I think she is with Mrs Vanmanthy. How could she, the traitor! Mrs Tremlow is like our family enemy. She hates us Karuna’s. How can Mrs V. spend even a second with that loony?
I take my breakfast over to the benches just right of the café’s outside tables. I can very slightly just hear Mrs V and Mrs Tremlow chatting away about stuff and things. You know, old people talk:
‘Then Ms Smiley said that I need to realise that people swear nowadays, I mean really, the nerve. I told her, I said, ‘yes but you know, she is very uncouth and not at all suitable for the CWA and that in my time as president I would have found a way to get rid of her’ and Smiley told me that I can not dictate the CWA’s policies nor am I president anymore. What nerve!’
‘Yes’, replies Mrs V, ‘but you know Maggie, you can not just leave someone out because they say the S word, it is not very open-minded’. I can tell Mrs V. is a bit fed up with Mrs Tremlow’s ranting.
‘Well, I don’t know what it’s like in your country dear but we had manners once, of course that’s all going to pot now isn’t it’.
I snort in my smoothie, manners! That woman wouldn’t know manners if they bit her in the face.
‘Why don’t you tell me about that lovely pullover you are wearing is it new?’ Good on you Mrs V. change the subject!
‘Oh yes, delightful isn’t it. I bought it in that little boutique on the mezzanine.’ The old woman’s voice hushes in a dramatic whisper, ‘it cost me ninety dollars!’
‘Well, that is a lot of money’, Mrs V. plays into Tremlow’s theatrics.
‘Yes, I can afford it at the moment. Had a bit of luck come my way.’
‘Oh yes, come into some money?’ Mrs V. asks with obvious curiosity.
‘Well, you could say that’, and I see Mrs Tremlow tap her nose as if to say ‘keep it on the Q.T.
The two ladies continue to rabbit on about the poor quality coffee at the café and I am like a stunned mullet. Why didn’t I remember that I had Mrs Tremlow on my list of suspects!
She has money, motive and means. A scary combination, I wouldn’t put anything past that lady. Rumour has it she once kidnapped her neighbours’ dog because she didn’t like its barking and tried to sell it to the pet shop! Luckily the pet shop guy knew who owned it and returned it. Of course Tremlow denied everything.
I notice that it is now time I head off to meet mum, but not before I go to the DVD shop, I want the new series of Nasty Past. I am reeling from the thoughts now buzzing in my brain so I am only vaguely aware of the high school boys sniggering at me near the cinema entrance. I assume it’s because I have my Space Cats PJ’s on. I don’t care. I am in the detective zone piecing together how I could now see Mrs Tremlow as my new ‘Suspecto Numero Uno’.
(That’s Suspect Number One in Spanish btw).
Chapter 8
When we get home Bas is eating leftovers on the sofa in his underwear. Mum gives him the third degree about where his clothes are and he admits that he fell in the creek while looking for tadpoles. He has to go put them in the wash this minute – the clothes not the tadpoles! I ask him where Cee Cee is, but he looks at me blankly, shrugs and shuffles off – and he calls me a zombie!
Gilbert is settling in on my bed. I give him at least half an hour of cuddles and love. He is soaking up all the attention and when I go to leave he rolls on his back, paws at the air and whimpers in an adorable way. I just have to go back and snuggle with him some more.
Eventually I tear myself away. I haven’t forgotten that I want to investigate Mrs Tremlow, but I am at a loss for how I will transport myself about town, now I am bikeless. I start complaining about it to mum over a quick lunch of macnotcheese (that’s macaroni and cheese without the cheese but with other yummy stuff) about my lack of transport.
‘Nothing I can do honey, we’re a bit broke at the moment. Perhaps you can borrow Celia’s scooter, she never uses it’.
I sigh into my pasta. Scooters are useless, especially on dirt roads.
I decide to clear my head by playing a game online. I love this MMORPG game (that’s massively multiplayer online roleplaying game for you noobs), called Den of Eden. It has a fantasy theme with witches, wizards, dragons – you know, the usual. I am right in the middle of battling some pesky brownies when the phone rings. No one picks it up.
‘Argh! Why do I always have to answer the phone?’ I yell, obviously to no one. ‘Hello?’ I answer, impatiently.
‘Hello, this is Mrs Bilberry, I am looking for my son William.’
‘Huh? Oh you mean Billy, wouldn’t he be in school now Mrs Bilberry?’ I am itching to get back to my game.
‘No, indeed he is not. The school called and told me he was not in attendance today, is he with Bastian?’ She sounds a bit moody, terrifically annoyed even.
‘I have no idea actually’, I hold the receiver to my chest and yell out for Bas – no answer. ‘No Mrs B. looks like no one’s here but if they turn up I’ll get him to call you.’
‘Thank you very much’. And she hangs up.
After about two hours of gaming distraction I pull out my detective hand book. It is called ‘How to Snare Your Culprit’ by Hanna Delgado. I am hoping for some inspiration. I get up to the bit about surveillance and camouflage when the phone rings again.
‘Yes?’ I say rather rudely, well, I’m reading for crying out loud!
‘Valoura, it’s Jacinta, you busy?’
‘Nup, sorry Jas, I’m just sick of having to answer the phone, what’s up?’
‘Well, have I got a story for you!’
Jacinta launches into an apparently epic tale of how she followed Emmerllee Lamb around all day. It seems that she has some money because she bought a cola and some candy at the canteen and she’s sporting a new charm bracelet, however she is telling everyone she got the bracelet from Biffo Polson who goes to Groaning Grammar. Then she got kicked out of Geography for talking too loud and Sandra Chu said that Emmerllee was talking about how she’s going to the Triple U concert and is going by limo! Then apparently she was given detention and was picking up rubbish in the courtyard when someone tipped lemonade on her and she went mental, screaming about how she would kill whoever did it by feeding them to Biffo Polsons’ dog.
‘Wow, so do you reckon she stole the money?’ I ask Jacinta, although I think I already know.
‘Yep, no doubt. She’s a hard case that one’.
After Jacinta and I chat for about an hour about the Lambs, Celia and other random stuff, I hear Bas stumbling around in the kitchen. I quickly thank Jacinta for helping me out and say goodbye and then slide into the kitchen where Bas and Billy are raiding the fridge.
‘Don’t ya have anything good?’
‘There was chocolate and macadamia cake but I think my Aunt took it to work with her’.
‘Typical’.
‘Where on earth have you guys been, your mother called looking for you Billy and what is that!’ I recoil in horror at the sight greeting me on the table. It looks like half a mango wrapped in seaweed and moulded into the shape of a three fingered fist.
‘Der, it’s a weapon for fighting zombies’, is my brothers lame reply.
‘So Billy, call your mother already!’ I shove him towards the telephone and he skulks off slowly. I turn on Bas, ‘was he with you today, because his mother said he wagged school and if he wagged it with you, you are in major trouble.
‘Nah, I was here, then creek, then I went to town to get Zombie Apocalypse Four from the video shop, then I went to the park to scooter at the skate park, then I saw Billy, he was up the tree by the fountain. I said did he want to come and watch the DVD with me and he said yes. That’s it’. He looks at me with messy hair and grotty face and a ‘so there’ look in his eye.
And I realise I don’t really care. I have my own problems. How can I get to town? Then a thought hits me like a thunderbolt in Frankenstein’s lair, I remember that Aunt Bossy britches has a bike! Yes, a totally over the top chrome and a million gears racing bike. She bought it ages ago and went on and on about how she was going to ride everywhere to get fit and used it like three times. She even bought a weird racing helmet which is flat at the front and pointy at the end, and stupid flouro green bike shorts. She looked well silly!
Could I use her bike? She would never know, she’s in the city til Friday. If I could get it back in the garage by the time my mum gets back then there would be no harm in borrowing it, right? I have convinced myself this is the only option. I need to get into town. Snoop around, see what Tremlow and the Lambs are up to. I might even grill Mrs V. about her involvement with one of my suspects.
Billy startles me out of my reverie as he stomps back into the kitchen, ‘I gotta go’. He mumbles, grabs his school bag and shuffles out the door.
‘I wouldn’t wanna be him right now,’ my brother empathises, shaking his head and swilling juice from the bottle.
*****
The clock says it is 4:30pm and the sky has that ‘about to grow dark’ look as I sneak the superdooper Speed Master 3000 out of our triple garage. We need a triple garage because of all the insane stuff we collect; Celia’s inventions, Bastian’s four wheeler, surfboards (which is stupid considering the ocean is like three hundred kilometres away), tools, toys etc.
I am not sure what I will actually do when I get to town, just ride round I suppose. Hopefully one of my suspects will do something stupid and give themselves away, but I don’t know how.
The Mopoke owls are starting to warble, their lilting hoot clear in the early evening stillness. Peach and cherry blossoms scent the air, and even though it’s only been one day, it’s awesome to be out riding again. I ride Aunt Stacey’s bike past the poplars, they are still standing tall and watchful, but little buds are starting to appear on their thin spindly branches.
This stupid bike! I am wibbling and wobbling all over the place. Its thin tyres are more suited to riding around a velodrome than ratty country roads! And the gears, how stupidly complicated are they? First, then second, then – what’s this twelfth? Then what? Third? I don’t even know. When I FINALLY make it to town I stop in front of the bowling club with its clean lawns and aged figures rolling balls about in the fading light. I need to figure out the breaks and I think I have the hang of it, but the bike is still swaying from side to side.
Then I hear a familiar whirring, it’s Tremlow! I can see her trundling up to the bowls club on her scooter. What luck! I quickly push the bike and myself against the chain fence surrounding the building and watch as the once-tall, thin woman walks into the club. I wonder what she is up to.
Stealth is the name of the game here I feel, I leave the bike where it lay and tiptoe to the front entrance, making sure I don’t tip off my quarry. Mrs Tremlow is bent over lookin
g for her members card, so I slip through the glass doors and conceal myself behind a tall pot plant. The man at the reception desk looks at the vacant doors with a confused expression.
‘Anyone with you tonight Mrs Tremlow?’
‘No Bert, just myself, thought I’d come and play a bit of bingo’.
‘Well, good luck love, the big prize is a meat tray tonight’.
‘Oh lovely, I love a good chop’.
‘Me too darlin’, me too.’
Mrs Tremlow is moving into the main hall so I have to find a way of sneaking in after her – not only am I not a member of the bowls club, I am underage and without a parent or guardian so I’d be out on my….ummm….ear in no time. My eyes dart around the room looking for a way in and eventually move over a sign that says ‘Cloak Room’. But the only way across the foyer and into the clock room is past the reception desk and Bert doesn’t seem to want to budge from his position. He is slowly flipping the pages of the greyhound racing form and snorts occasionally at something funny he sees there.
The automatic doors open and a delivery guy walks through backwards wheeling a trolley full of boxes. He and Bert get into a long discussion about how deliveries are supposed to go around the back and what would a bowling club need with golf balls anyway…blah blah blah. As Bert heaves himself up and goes to show ‘the new guy’ where to deliver stuff I sneak past their turned backs and into the cloak room.
It’s a mess! Actually it looks a lot like Bas’s room. Rather than placing people’s belongings away in an orderly manner, Bert has just chucked them here there and everywhere. Hats are squashed under hard colourful lawn bowls balls, uniforms, jackets – even a dark red wig - all draped, placed and plonked on the five wooden shelves lining the walls. There is also a big cardboard box with lost and found written on it and this too is overflowing with junk.
I throw on the first coat I find: a man’s duffle coat which reaches to my ankles. It stinks of cigarette smoke, what I think may be port and wet dog but turning up the large collar seems to hide most of my face. I am still wary of being caught so I plonk the red wig on my head too. Peeking out, I see that Bert is back at his desk, deeply involved in a phone conversation about whether or not Juniper Juice looks good for the seventh. I dart out of the cloak room and through the double doors into the main hall area; Bert looks up just in time to see a midget in a duffle coat going into bingo and goes back to placing bets.