I grinned. ‘Good one, Uncle Pike.’ We have a case! Are we the Nancys again? They stayed in the same spot, Uncle Pike’s hands around Devon’s waist. Devon leaned his head back and they kissed. Then it hit me: if Mr Tulips wasn’t alone someone else was out there. The second bomb threat.
‘Hang on,’ Devon said. My uncle sighed and let go of him. ‘There were two people in the van.’
I frowned at Uncle Pike. We had all seen the footage of Mr Tulips and the van. Was Devon okay?
‘On TV, remember?’ my uncle said to Devon. ‘We saw Mr Tulips drive into the carpark and get out of the van?’
I shuddered. ‘What if someone else was in the van when it exploded?’
Uncle Pike put his hands on us both. ‘Now come on—’
‘Driving past us, at your dad’s cross,’ Devon said. ‘There were two people in Mr Tulips’ van.’
My mouth dropped open. Shit, the bomb threat is real. I pictured Mr Tulips’ dirty back windows as he drove away from us that morning.
‘Really?’ Uncle Pike said.
Devon moved away from him. ‘Why don’t you believe me?’
Uncle Pike sighed. ‘Of course I do. Did you see their faces?’
‘No, but there was definitely a front passenger.’
‘Another person’s out there. The bomb threat.’ I pushed aside my image of Mum on the bridge. It might have been inappropriate but suddenly I was excited. ‘So, we have a case for the Nancys?’ I crossed my fingers behind my back.
‘Are we still the Nancys?’ Devon whispered.
‘I am,’ I said. I wasn’t going to miss out on an investigation.
Uncle Pike pulled on his Santa-beard and rocked back on his heels. ‘With all that repair work in town, I guess shopping for this renovation is at a bit of a standstill.’
‘What?’ Devon said, alarmed.
‘Your mother will kill us,’ Uncle Pike said.
‘Why? She didn’t last time,’ Devon said. ‘Hang on, did Nancy Drew get paid?’
‘No, she never took money,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Mind you, her dad’s clients picked up the tab most of the time.’
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘And she was given presents.’
‘Amateur detectives,’ added my uncle.
I crossed my arms. Just because Uncle Pike was rich and didn’t need it, like Nancy with her lawyer dad. To get paid for solving mysteries would be the best. ‘We can just take a look around. Mum wouldn’t need to know. Nancys’ business is nobody’s business,’ I said, ripping off our own family motto of ‘Family business is nobody’s business’.
‘Nice one with the motto, Tippy,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘And that does seem reasonable.’
Suddenly Devon sprang up. ‘OMG!’ He grabbed our hands and dragged us down the hallway.
‘What are you doing?’ Uncle Pike said.
Devon flung open the spare bedroom door and pulled us in. The room was similar to mine next door, with a sash window and a small fireplace. He stood in the middle and spun around. ‘The Nancys’ room,’ he said, then draped himself on the white undercoat walls and rolled around on them. I hoped the paint was fully dry. ‘This whole three-dimensional space is my new visual window.’
‘Brilliant!’ My uncle leaned back, stroking his beard. ‘A war room. I guess the Nancys are back in business.’
‘We’re going to need stationery,’ I said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
We drove back home to get supplies for the Nancys. Before the turn-off to the bridge, we waited in traffic. Five days until the date of the second bomb threat. I watched women and men in hi-vis vests working inside the taped-off area on Main Street. Around them, yellow diggers filled trucks with rubble. The Bully reported the Mayor had decided Main Street would be reopened by the end of the week, and a memorial service held on Sunday, 24 April. The Prime Minister might even visit. Panes of glass were coming from everywhere to replace the street’s broken windows. Staring at the blasted buildings, it was impossible to imagine all that repair work happening in less than a week. One day before the bomb threat. Or that Riverstone could go through another bombing.
Council still didn’t know whether the town hall could be repaired, or if it would have to be demolished and built again. I watched a digger empty its jagged chunks of town hall into one of the trucks. In front of us, the traffic finally moved, then we were on the bridge. I held my breath and counted to nine again until we were off it.
At home, we left Devon outside, rolling on our concrete driveway with the Brown’s cat, Bunny Whiskers. I went to my bedroom and grabbed my pencilcase and filled my backpack with all the stationery I could find: Devon’s marker pens from Christmas, my blue plastic snail cellotape dispenser and some blank paper. I hugged myself. We have a case! Tired but happy, I joined my uncle in the living room. He had Mum’s vodka and a bag of salt and vinegar chips, and the binoculars around his neck.
‘All the essentials,’ he said, lifting up the vodka and chips. ‘We are on the case!’
I laughed until, out the window, I saw the blast area behind him. Uncle Pike gave me an awkward side hug with his hands full. ‘It’s going to be okay, Tippy. We’ll get to the bottom of who did this.’
‘And make them pay,’ I said.
His voice rumbled against my ear. ‘And make them pay.’
On our way back to Number Four, we grabbed some chicken rolls from the Rata Street Bakery, before stopping back at the Airbnb for more supplies. It still stank. My roll was delicious and the bread soft. Uncle Pike swallowed his in two bites while Devon picked away at his, nibbling on grated carrot and basically eating the filling but not the roll. He sighed, staring at the bookcase and tugging on his cape-blanket. ‘I hate this place.’
‘Finally,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you that since last year.’ He grabbed him from behind. ‘Sexy emergency call.’
Devon leaned his head back and kissed Uncle Pike on the lips. ‘Mmm,’ he moaned. I did a gross throaty cough to make them to stop.
After lunch we escaped our Airbnb and headed up the hill to Number Four. In the new Nancys room I unpacked the rest of our supplies, which, as we didn’t have any furniture, meant creating a pile in the corner. Devon and I stood in the middle watching Uncle Pike by the fireplace. ‘I call this meeting of the Nancys to order,’ he said. It was a bit echoey.
‘What, no banging on anything?’ Devon said.
‘Not in my house,’ Uncle Pike replied.
I rolled my eyes. At Christmas, Uncle Pike had munted Mum’s table with his meeting openings. ‘Should we grab some chairs?’ I suggested.
‘Standing meetings are more efficient,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Better group productivity and increased collaboration.’
‘So corporate,’ Devon whispered to me. He fished out his black lensless glasses. ‘You should get some of these.’ In a loud voice, Devon said, ‘First order of business.’ He opened his gym bag in the corner.
‘How have you had time to design new Nancys T-shirts?’ I asked. It seemed impossible but I hoped that was what Devon was going to pull out of the bag.
Instead, Bunny Whiskers shot out. ‘Welcome to Number Four, puss-puss!’ Devon said.
‘You can’t steal that mad woman’s cat,’ Uncle Pike said.
‘B.W. wanted a site visit,’ he said. I smiled at Bunny Whiskers walking around the edge of the room sniffing the floor and walls.
My uncle shrugged. ‘Fine. It seems happy enough, but you have to clean up any cat toilet.’
‘Eeew! I hadn’t thought of that,’ Devon said. ‘Tippy?’
‘No way, don’t look at me,’ I said. I was pretty sure that wasn’t part of a P.A.’s job description.
Bunny Whiskers looked up at Devon and meowed.
I emptied out my backpack, and coloured whiteboard markers scattered on the floor.
‘My pens!’ Devon said. He grabbed them. ‘Now we’re in business.’
‘Speaking of …’ I said, and pointed to Bunny Whiskers piddling in the
corner.
‘Devon!’ Uncle Pike said. ‘That’s going to stink.’
‘Bad puss!’ Devon picked her up. ‘It’s not your fault, but it is your fault. You know what I mean?’
Bunny Whiskers licked her nose.
‘How about putting her in the bathroom?’ I said. ‘Just for now, until we get kitty litter.’
My uncle clenched his fists. ‘We are not getting kitty—’
‘Great idea, Tippy,’ Devon said, leaving with Bunny Whiskers tucked under his arm.
I wrinkled my nose as the hot ammonia stench of cat pee wafted through the room. I clamped my mouth shut and held my breath as I tried to quickly open the window. It was stuck. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep from breathing-slash-smelling when my uncle leaned over and shoved the window open.
I stuck my head out and sucked in fresh air. ‘Do we have anything to clean this up?’ I asked.
Uncle Pike poked his head outside, too. ‘Devon can do that,’ he said. ‘He brought that cat here.’
‘At least it didn’t poo,’ I replied.
We laughed and hung out the window. My uncle used the binoculars to stare at the next-door neighbour’s cream-coloured weatherboard wall. ‘These will be brilliant for the living room,’ he said, and passed them back to me. ‘Good thinking, Tippy Chan.’
I smiled and leaned against him; he was always warm.
Devon came back in with a black rag and cleaned up the pee.
‘Where did you get that from?’ Uncle Pike said.
Devon looked sheepish. ‘It may have been something from your wardrobe that I hate.’
‘Not my rockabilly T-shirt.’
‘I’m sorry, it made me feel sad.’
‘Wow …’ Uncle Pike said.
Devon finished cleaning and went to wash his hands.
My uncle’s face was bright red and his nostrils flared.
‘Breathe,’ I said.
Uncle Pike nodded, gripping the windowsill tightly. Finally, he let out a big breath. Devon came back into the room and Uncle Pike turned around with a creepy smile on his face. ‘Right,’ he said, through clenched teeth. ‘Where do we begin? A mystery second bomber? A good man turned evil … Why?’ He tapped his chin and walked over to the fireplace. ‘Three rural next-door neighbours happen to be in the middle of town, in the dead of night, and all die in an explosion?’ He spun around like Hornblower had on TV. ‘Coincidence?’
‘No such thing as coincidences,’ I said.
‘Bravo.’ Devon clapped and I joined in. ‘So dramatic,’ he said.
My uncle bowed. ‘Thank you, moving that old armchair gave me Sherlockian vibes.’
Devon flapped his smelly blue and white blanket-cape. ‘Inspiration from furnishings, I can totally relate.’ He kissed my uncle on the cheek.
Mr Tulips, Raewyn Dalrymple, Angus Henderson.
A pang hit me. Mr Henderson had been so nice. I hated this bombing so much. I held up the latest Bully. Inside was a two-page spread on the blast—an aerial photo-map of Main Street with location details. I taped it to the wall.
Devon was on his tiptoes beside the door, his blue marker squeaking as he pressed it against the freshly painted wall.
Uncle Pike shook his head. ‘We’re not putting up paper to write on?’
‘Why?’ Devon said. ‘Jack can paint it again afterwards.’
My uncle sighed.
I studied the two-page spread on the wall. On the aerial photo, I pointed to the streets off Main Street, past the pub. ‘How come they’re so sure another bomber wasn’t there?’
‘Footage from security cameras?’ Uncle Pike scratched his beard. ‘The sooner we see that the better.’
Devon had written in large fancy olde letters our motto, Everyone’s a suspect, in a curve above the door.
I clapped then hugged his arm.
‘Did Nancy ever have to deal with bombs?’ Devon asked.
‘Nothing like this,’ I said. ‘Though that one in her mailbox in The Clue of the Whistling Bagpipes could have killed her.’
‘Or blinded her, for sure. I couldn’t believe she picked it up,’ Uncle Pike said.
Devon’s eyes were wide. ‘What?’
‘And the ticking bomb in her car,’ I said to my uncle.
‘Right. Which she stopped by switching off the alarm clock.’ He tapped his finger against his bottom lip. ‘Maybe that car bomb in The Haunted Showboat is the closest one to this?’
I agreed. Devon puffed out his cheeks and put his hands on his head.
‘It’s okay,’ I said to him. ‘Nancy is okay.’
He nodded but didn’t look so sure.
‘Alright, let’s brainstorm.’ Uncle Pike paced the room. ‘Clues for a second bomber: we have the emergency call—’
Devon slapped my uncle on the butt and leaned into him. ‘We should role-play it again.’
Uncle Pike bit his bottom lip and grinned at Devon until he noticed me glaring.
I crossed my arms. ‘Inapprops.’
My uncle patted Devon on the chest and moved away.‘Obviously, not right now, Tippy.’
I kept glaring.
‘Speaking of angry eyes,’ Uncle Pike said to me. ‘What’s up with you and Lorraine? The other night she seemed extra angry, even for Lorraine. I know it was an emergency, but she looked ready to blow you up.’
I sighed. ‘I had to tell her something and she didn’t like it.’
‘Really? I thought she knew everything.’
I twisted my fingers. ‘I didn’t want to, but I kind of had to.’
Uncle Pike leaned on the fireplace mantel. ‘Go on.’
‘After Christmas, we stayed in contact, said hi to each other down the street … you know. I’d ask Lorraine what she was working on and she’d ask me if I had spotted anything suspicious.’ My chest tightened. I swallowed and took a deep breath in, then continued. ‘But every time I saw her engagement ring it gnawed away at me.’
Uncle Pike frowned.
I licked my lips, suddenly thirsty and wishing I didn’t have to repeat the damage I had caused. ‘Anyway, one day I asked her to meet me for a coffee.’
Devon smacked the lid back on his pen. ‘You’re drinking coffee now?’
‘No.’ I rubbed my forehead. ‘I ordered a milkshake.’
I told Uncle Pike and Devon the whole story.
I had arrived early at Skinny Genies, the new cafe on Main Street, and sat at a table near the door, nervous, twisting up paper serviettes. I needed to burn off my jitters so I got up and went to the counter and ordered Lorraine’s usual, a mugachino, and an orange milkshake for me. On the way back to the table with our drinks, Lorraine had barged into the café, nodded at me and sat down. She seemed unusually happy for Lorraine. My heart was beating fast. I had never done anything like this before. With my old friends Sam and Todd, we’d never had any dramas, except for me accusing Sam’s parents of murder. Part of me was saying don’t do this, but I sat back down anyway.
Lorraine held her mug in both hands and took a gulp. Her smile faded as she read my face. ‘Chan, what is it?’
I played with my milkshake straw, stirring it. I sucked in my lips and looked down at her ring finger hoping it would be bare, but it gave a tiny twinkle.
‘Spill, Chan,’ Lorraine said, business as usual.
So I told her about her fiancé, Barry the policeman. About him telling us he was gay at Christmas.
Her face went from red to white and I thought she was going to be sick.
I told Lorraine we didn’t know at the time that he was engaged to her. And then I sat back, wanting to help her but not knowing what to do.
Lorraine stared out the window.
My milkshake sat in front of me but I wasn’t thirsty. I put my hands under my thighs. ‘I just thought you sho—’
‘Go,’ she said. It may even have been a whisper. She put her hand across her face, the tiny engagement ring sparkling on her spread fingers.
I stood up, not really sure if
she wanted me to leave.
‘Go!’ she hissed at me. As I headed out the door, I heard a groan then Lorraine Ashton started crying.
After I finished the story, Uncle Pike and Devon stared at me in silence, then my uncle gave me a hug. ‘That was a very brave and kind thing you did, Tippy Chan. Politics of outing aside, which we will need to talk about later, it now makes sense why she hates you.’
Devon held his bottom lip and nodded at the floor.
I pressed a marker pen hard into my palm. I wish Devon would look at me. ‘Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?’
‘You told her the truth,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘But outing Barry, on the other hand—that was not your story to tell.’
‘Sometimes people can’t get over that,’ Devon said as he turned his back and went to the window.
My eyes widened and I gulped. What had I done?
Uncle Pike glared at the back of Devon’s head. ‘But in this case I’m sure it will be quick.’
‘It’s been nearly four months,’ I said. Devon didn’t turn around.
‘Well … then soon,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Have you apologised to Barry?’
‘I’ve tried.’ Barry kept avoiding me. It made me sick in the guts. I didn’t like people out there hating me. At least with Sam, he and his parents didn’t live in Riverstone anymore.
Devon let out a big sigh and finally turned around to face me, rubbing his eyes. ‘Next time you see Lorraine, imagine her on the toilet.’
‘I thought it was naked?’ Uncle Pike said.
Devon gagged. ‘Eeew, pervert.’
I giggled, happy Devon didn’t hate me too.
Uncle Pike shook his head. ‘I can’t believe Barry asked her to marry him. When did this happen?’
‘Just before Christmas,’ I said.
‘After we met him?’ Devon said.
I nodded. ‘While you were here.’
Devon shook his head. ‘Maybe he’s bi and they were open?’
My uncle clapped his hands. ‘Right, back to the investigation.’
Part of me was relieved I had told them, but mostly I still felt the same yucky heavy feeling whenever I thought of Lorraine and Barry hating me.
Devon drew a stick figure on the wall with a bunch of flowers in its hand. Under it he wrote Willem Jansen, and above its head he drew Mr Tulips’ sign, the same as what had been on the van with the tulip for an ‘i’.
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