Losing Your Head
Page 8
Chapter 5
“Where to?” asked James.
When I told him the address he turned to me and said, “The Martins’ house? Are you insane? Do you have a death wish? Oh wait, I’m talking to the girl who once broke fourteen bones in two weeks. I forgot you were such a masochist.”
“Lea’s moving in with me, not that it’s any of your business. She’s a good friend of mine.” Cough. “And why are you helping me? Not trying to suck up, are you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I want to get my car home and I can’t do it with you blocking all exits.”
When we pulled up out the front of the Ferret Cage (Jeremy Martin’s lair), I asked James how he was planning to get back to his car.
“I’ll just jog,” he answered. “It’s not that far.” Not that far? If I ran that distance it would probably be enough to send me into cardiac arrest.
He left and I walked up to the front door. It was thrown open before I even got there and Lea came bounding out. “Is it OK? Am I allowed to come?”
I laughed at her enthusiasm. “Yeah, sure. Calm down!”
She hugged me for the second time that day. Both her and McKenzie were being nice to me – nicer than I would expect, anyway. What was this? International Befriend The Enemy Day or something?
Lea and I carried her stuff out to the Nissan. For the first time since, um, ever, I was glad it was such a big car. Lea’s luggage never would have fitted in, for example, Dad’s vintage Jaguar. Then again, I never would have been allowed to drive Dad’s Jag. Even Mum wasn’t allowed to. It didn’t have a bull bar like the Nissan and I guess he didn’t want to risk Mum’s safety. Or, more likely, he didn’t want to risk getting dints on it.
It wasn’t just Mum and me – Dad didn’t let anyone drive his car. He kept it locked at all times, even when he was inside it. Mum had to park in the driveway so the Jag could have the garage. I suppose that made sense. No one in their right mind would steal a Nissan Patrol. People would consider taking a Jag. I know I would. But I guess that could be because I have always been a little inclined towards criminal activities. (Just minor stuff, you know – it’s not like I kidnap people or use illegal guns.)
(Very often.)
When we finished putting her suitcases and duffel bags in the car, I looked over at Lea. She was pretty, with wild, shoulder length, reddish-brown hair (blonde highlights) that made her blue eyes really stand out. Actually, it was probably more the masses of mascara that made her eyes stand out rather than her hair, but I’m sure the hair helped. She had so much going for her. How did she ever end up marrying Jeremy? I suppose we all make mistakes. She seemed a lot happier now.
“Um, Lea,” I began awkwardly, “you wouldn’t mind driving the car back to Elm Avenue, would you? That’s where I live.”
“OK,” she said. She frowned. “Um… Why do I have to drive? Where are you going?”
“With you.” I paused, thinking of what to tell her. I didn’t want to come across as an idiot. (I don’t know why I cared – she’d already seen me fall down the stairs today. How much more stupid could I make myself seem?) Still, if I was her, knowing how clumsy I am, I’d probably rather be driving. I told her the truth. “I just prefer being a passenger in this car.”
Basically the truth.
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t ask.”
Mum and I helped Lea bring in her luggage. When she went upstairs to unpack, I was left alone in the kitchen with Mum. The argument started straight away. I think it was possibly the first time I’d ever had an entire argument in whispers.
“I thought you said it wasn’t Lea Martin!” she hissed at me. “I asked specifically, and you said ‘no.’ Am I correct here? Or am I remembering this wrong?”
“Well, you’re right, but –”
“No buts! You lied to me!”
“Well, I didn’t really –”
“You said you didn’t know her last name!”
“I don’t! She’s getting divorced, Mum, and I don’t know her maiden name. And don’t look at me like that. I think I’m being the mature adult in this situation.”
“You? Mature? Get real! And how could you possibly forget her last name? You still call her mother ‘Mrs Walsh’ every time you see her. I mean come on, that is just dumb. Even dumber than you not being able to walk in high heels.”
“At least I don’t resort to cheap insults like that. That is immature.”
“Oh, la-di-da. Look who’s just become Little Miss Stuck Up.”
“Ha ha. I can hardly breathe for fits of laughter.” She had reminded me I had news, so I changed the subject. “Oh, and speaking of people who are stuck up, Mum, I saw James McKenzie today.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he still alive?” she asked.
“Mum,” I warned.
“I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“Anyway, I saw him and –”
“Just casually clipped him with the bull bar? Sorry, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
I sighed.
“Sorry,” Mum said again. “Go on. What happened?”
“Well, I was talking to him and –”
“Please don’t tell me you fell in love with him.”
I gave her a horrified look. “Mum!”
“Sorry,” she said for the third time in, like, a minute. “He is very good looking. I support your decision to run away with my best friend’s murderous son wholeheartedly. Has he asked you to live with him?”
“Mum! No!” I thought about it. Well, actually he had offered me a house. “I made a bet with him.”
“What does he want from you if he wins?”
Um, nothing… as far as I was aware.
“He won’t win.”
“What’s the bet?” she asked. Simple question, but saying the answer aloud I was going to feel like a fool.
I took a deep breath and bit the bullet. “That I can find out who killed Frank before anyone else.”
Mum just looked at me.
“He’ll give me twenty grand.”
More looking.
“And a house.”
A look-filled pause and then:
“Are you serious?”
She didn’t look overly enthusiastic.
“Yes.”
Nothing.
“I will not be deterred by your apathy,” I told her.
“Guess you won’t want to find a house with me anymore, then,” came Lea’s voice from the doorway, sounding kind of put out. I hadn’t even known she was standing there – what was with all the people sneaking up on me these days?
“Well,” I said, “we won’t have to find a house anymore. We’ve got one. We just need to find out who killed Frank so I can win the bet.”
“We?” she squealed excitedly. “You mean I can help? That is so cool! I’ve always thought I’d make a good detective! When do we start?”
Wow. That sudden enthusiasm was a little unexpected.
“Um, right away, I guess.”
I glanced at Mum. She was looking a tad sceptical.
She spoke. “You didn’t tell me what James gets if he wins.” She started to look worried. “Please tell me he doesn’t get this house.”
“No, Mum,” I laughed. “He doesn’t get the house. Like he needs another one. I don’t know what he gets. Probably just a laugh at my expense.”
“Alright,” she said. “He’s pretty much guaranteed that.”
After that, Mum left to go and see Violet. And probably compare her Nissan’s latest off-road top speed with the Prado’s.
I was starting to get a bit hungry. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Holy crap – it was twenty to four! I suppose, I had finished breakfast at half past one. Guess it was probably time for lunch.
“You hungry?” I asked Lea.
“Starving.”
I found some leftover mushroom pasta and reheated a plate for each of us. I did an OK job (apart from
the edges getting a bit crunchy), but the microwave heated them a bit too well and I had to wipe the film of pasta sauce from its interior afterwards.
When we finished our carbs and fungi, we decided to start work on the murder case. But deciding that was about as far as we got.
“Um, how about we… Um…” That was Lea’s very helpful suggestion.
“Well, we could, yeah…” And that was mine, of pretty much the same amount of usefulness.
Doing well. At this rate, the bet was sure to end in our favour. We thought for a moment longer.
“I’ve got an idea,” Lea said a little reluctantly. “It’s pretty stupid, though.”
“Hey, it’s gotta be better than doing nothing.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“It’s better than anything I’ve got.”
“We could watch crime shows on TV to give us an idea of what we’re supposed to do. I told you it was a bad idea.”
I shrugged. “And people say that TV teaches us nothing.”
She flicked through the TV guide to see if there were any shows on. “There’s one in an hour that doesn’t sound completely tacky. What are we going to do in the meantime?”
“Maybe we could start a file of all the newspaper articles and stuff. And then we can add other info we find out as we go along.”
“Why didn’t you say that before? That could actually be useful. It’s heaps better than my idea. Like watching TV’s going to help us.”
“My idea came from a TV show.”
I retrieved a manila folder from my room. It was one that Jo had given me once to try and encourage me to spend more time with her on weekends. Unsurprisingly, it had never been used. There was writing in the middle, which read:
Snapshots of James McKenzie