Zaiba raised her finger to her lips and opened the door. They stepped inside, their feet sinking into thick carpet that would silence the heaviest step. Perfect! They ran up the stairs and plunged into their corridor, counting down the door numbers as they passed each hotel room.
“12, 14 … 15! Hold on, what?” Zaiba went back to count again. There was no room number 13. “Wow, Mr Ainsley really doesn’t like the number thirteen.” She shrugged and took the room key from her yellow purse to let them in to the room where she and Poppy were staying. Ali had to sleep on the little cot bed in his parent’s room – much to his dismay. Inside, they switched on the light and—
“Oh no!” Poppy pointed at the hem of Zaiba’s dress.
“What? What’s wrong?” Zaiba swished her shalwar kameez, trying to see. Had a Goliath birdeating spider or a mouse run under her skirts?
“It … it’s your dress!” Poppy stuttered.
Ali sighed. “Oh for goodness sake, Poppy. I thought something awful had happened!”
Zaiba’s hands stilled and she looked more closely at her dress. Now, in addition to the rip that zigzagged along the hem, it was covered in dust and filthy streaks of dirt. She glanced up at her friends. Ali and Poppy’s party clothes didn’t look much better.
Ali’s shirt was hanging out and one of his sleeves was torn, while Poppy had a cobweb sticking to her shoulder and her tulle underskirt was sagging and torn around the edges. Their parents would not be happy!
“Here!” Zaiba went into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel, passing it to Poppy. “Brush yourself down and take off your underskirt.” She ran some water over a facecloth and wrung it out, then began dabbing at her own dress. “We’ll get rid of the worst of it. Ali, tuck your shirt in and dust yourself off. We’re close to finding and identifying that celebrity!” Zaiba knew who the celebrity was from that bright-red hair and lilting voice but she wanted to see what Ali and Poppy thought, without influencing their opinions.
Ali shoved his shirt into his trousers, not looking very happy. “I don’t know why I couldn’t have worn my favourite hoody,” he grumbled. “Then I wouldn’t have had to worry about staying neat and tidy.”
Zaiba rolled her eyes. “Even I know you don’t wear a hoody to a Mehndi party. Follow me.” Zaiba led them over to the room’s large French windows, looking out over a small balcony. She peered round. A trellis wall separated their room from the next-door suite, where there was a matching set of French windows. They must lead into the celebrity’s room!
Ali and Poppy craned to look through the holes of the trellis while Zaiba stood on a chair to try and see over.
“We won’t see anything through this fence,” Poppy sighed, sinking on to a chair.
“We’re still too far away. I bet we could peep through the curtains, if we could just get close enough…” Zaiba paused, looking excited.
Ali’s eyes lit up with understanding. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would,” Zaiba told her little brother.
Zaiba took out her phone. “The time is 17:00 hours,” she whispered into the voice recorder. “We are crossing over on to the target’s balcony.”
A smile spread across Poppy’s face. “Awesome!”
Ali was already rolling up his trouser cuffs.
“No, you stay here as lookout.” Zaiba put a hand on his shoulder. “Warn us if our parents come up.”
“Oh, Zaiba!” His shoulders sagged dramatically.
“Oh, Zaiba, nothing. We NEED a lookout and you’re it.”
Sulkily, Ali stomped over to the hotel door and peered out through the tiny spyhole in the wood. “Newsflash: Nothing.”
“Are you sure it’s not rude to peep on the celebrity?” Poppy asked as they prepared to climb the fence.
“That’s a good question.” Zaiba paused. “I think if the celebrity has left the curtains open, then it’s OK to peep. But if the curtains are closed, then we should respect their privacy.”
“Really?” Ali groaned from the doorway.
“Really.”
One after the other, Zaiba and Poppy scrambled over the fence, using the holes in the trellis like a ladder. It wasn’t too high and they were over in no time.
Zaiba jabbed a finger at the French windows and motioned for Poppy to follow. There was a nook in the corner of the balcony that was far away enough from the window that they wouldn’t be spotted, but close enough to peek in. Huddled together on the floor, the girls peered through the glass. The curtains had been left ajar – success!
Zaiba caught a glimpse of someone inside the room. She saw … a lock of glossy hair, a silk blouse, perfectly painted red lips, smiling. It was … it was…
“It’s Maysoon! From Swing Sing!” Poppy gushed, trying to keep her voice to a whisper. “This was definitely worth getting my dress ruined for.” Immediately, Poppy began humming a song. “Do you recognize it? It’s Maysoon’s hit single. It’s number one in the charts!”
“I do, but shh,” Zaiba warned. “We’re still on the mission, remember?”
Concentrating hard, Zaiba scanned the room, trying to remember every detail. An agent’s information is only as good as their memory, Eden Lockett had written in The Case of the Golden Egg.
A crowd of people filled the suite. In the centre of it all Maysoon perched on a chair, spotlights trained on her. It must have been hot beneath their glare and the singer’s cheeks seemed a little flushed. She was fiddling with her necklace as she answered questions from a journalist. The journalist had short clipped hair and very thick black arched eyebrows. Zaiba thought he looked like he was perpetually shocked. Roberto sat at Maysoon’s feet and his glossy flanks gave a huge sigh as he settled his nose on his paws. That dog looks really bored, Zaiba thought.
Now that two detectives had identified Maysoon, Zaiba focused on the other activity in the room. She watched as a chef brought in a trolley covered in plates of food and bottles of water. The woman with the blond hair in a bun that they had seen earlier subtly handed the man a crisp fifty-pound note. That’s strange, Zaiba thought. I thought celebrities didn’t have to pay for anything.
“And how are you really feeling about this next chapter in your career?” asked the journalist, staring hard at Maysoon from behind a pair of thick black glasses. “Don’t you think it’s a risk? After all, you’re a TV judge and singer, not an actor.”
Maysoon let out an exasperated sigh, tapping the glass face of her designer watch. “I said only six questions.” She raised herself up on the stool to peer past the journalist. “Aren’t we finished yet, Georgia?”
The blond woman looked up. So she is the PA! Zaiba noticed her twitch with alarm and glance around the room. She seems nervous, Zaiba noted.
The journalist furrowed his brows and held the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger.
“Either the journalist isn’t happy with Maysoon or he has a bad headache,” Zaiba whispered to Poppy.
Georgia the PA clapped her hands together. “Right! Everyone. Let’s give Maysoon a break and some fresh air. Now, please!” She pushed through the crowd and began to head towards…
“Oh no! She’s coming to open the French windows!” Zaiba jerked back and grabbed Poppy’s hand. “Quickly! If they find us, we’ll probably get kicked out of the hotel and ruin Sam’s Mehndi party!”
The girls scrambled from their hiding place and headed for the fence, Zaiba helping Poppy across before clambering over herself.
“Quick, Zaiba, come on!” Poppy beckoned Zaiba through the open French windows and they threw themselves into their room just before they heard Maysoon’s door open.
Poppy collapsed on the bed, panting.
“Well, who is it?” Ali looked from Poppy to a red-faced Zaiba.
“Who was what?” came a voice from the door.
“Ali, I told you to keep watch!” Zaiba hissed.
Mariam had poked her head round the door that Ali had left ajar and now came sliding in, observing the scene before her.
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br /> “Why are your cheeks all red? Only guilty people blush when they’ve been caught making trouble.” Mariam jabbed a finger at Poppy’s face.
“Stop following us! Don’t you have anything better to do?” Ali pouted.
“Actually I do.” Mariam lifted her chin and looked at Zaiba. “It’s time for the family to feed Sam the sweets and she was sad you weren’t there. So I offered to come and get you.” Mariam smiled an angelic smile – but it wasn’t fooling Zaiba.
“I bet she wouldn’t have been so sad if you hadn’t pointed it out.” But Zaiba couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in her tummy. “OK, team,” she said, turning to Poppy and Ali. “Let’s head back to the party.”
“Do we get some of the sweets too?” Poppy asked, smoothing down her skirt as best she could.
Zaiba ignored her and turned back to Mariam. “You go first.”
With her chin held high Mariam headed back out in the hallway humming a self-satisfied little tune to herself.
“But who’s the celebrity—” Ali began to whisper.
“We’ll tell you on the way,” Zaiba said in a low voice as they headed out of the room and into the corridor. They had to be there in time for Sam’s special moment!
The sound of bhangra music grew louder as the trio hurried through the gardens of the hotel towards the patio doors of the function hall. Mariam had already disappeared back inside as Zaiba hung back for a debrief with Poppy and Ali.
“I can’t believe Maysoon is staying at the same place as us!” Poppy said, racing along behind Zaiba. “And Sam said it was last minute because they couldn’t find another hotel – we’re so lucky!”
“How exactly are they going to make a Swing Sing movie?” Ali was doing his best to keep up with the girls, who were two paces ahead of him. They’d told him everything they’d heard as they’d run down the stairs.
“Maybe it’ll be like the show, where the contestants sing in front of judges sitting on giant swings.” Zaiba reached out her arms, miming being on an imaginary swing.
“And then when one of the judge likes the singing, they flyyyyyyy through the air and sprinkle confetti down on the contestant.” Poppy jumped up and pretended to throw confetti on Ali’s head.
“Lucky contestant,” the girls boomed together like a Swing Sing judge. “You’re through to the next round!” Then they burst into fits of laughter.
But Zaiba’s detective brain hadn’t stopped working. “I wonder why this is the only hotel in town taking bookings?” She was still pondering this when they reached the annexe. But before they could even reach the patio doors, they burst open.
“There you are!” Jessica said, sounding relieved.
She was standing with a huge plate of samosas, which she handed to Ali. Rookie mistake. Didn’t she know Ali held the school record for eating the most samosas in under a minute? “I thought all your exploring would have made you hung—” She suddenly stopped speaking as she stared at Zaiba’s dress, and the look on her face was enough to kill any appetite Zaiba might have had.
“What on earth happened to your new clothes?” Jessica’s smile had disappeared. “Have you any idea how much they cost? Didn’t your dad tell you to behave yourself?”
She grabbed a napkin from her purse and began to scrub at their dirty dresses. “There’s no way you’re going back to the party looking like this. Let’s go clean you up.”
“But we want to feed Sam the sweets and pastries. We can’t miss it!” Zaiba protested.
“Then you’d better stop talking and start walking!”
Glumly, they all trooped back into the main building.
“Your dad will be so—” A muffled bark sliced through Jessica’s words. Almost immediately there was the sound of claws scrabbling down the main stairwell and then a little furry head appeared round the corner. It was the pedigree pup!
Roberto’s little legs scrambled on the shiny marble stairs but nevertheless he came bounding towards them in the lobby. Ali quickly dropped the plate of samosas on the floor and lunged to grab Roberto, but his arms closed around thin air as the dog slipped past him, his tiny pink mouth plucking a samosa from the plate as he did. He bounded joyfully off one of the leather couches in the lobby and carried the stolen samosa out through the open door into the hotel drive, where he paused to gobble up the flaky pastry.
Jessica looked from Roberto to Zaiba and back again. “What … who … did a dog just steal one of our samosas?”
Before anyone could answer, a screech came from the top of the stairwell. “Oh my gosh! Roberto’s escaped!” There was a blur of fur as the dog disappeared out of the main door.
Suddenly Maysoon’s entourage was storming down the stairs, most of them in clothes that looked very fashionable but not at all suited to running.
Jessica blinked once, very carefully as though she didn’t trust herself to do anything else. She took a long, juddering breath. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your messy clothes, does it?”
Zaiba swallowed hard. What would Eden Lockett do right now? There was no way she could explain how important that pup was without admitting they’d gone too far in their mission to find out who the celebrity was, and spied on Maysoon. There was only one thing for it – go after the dog!
She grabbed Poppy and Ali’s hands and dragged them out of the hotel’s main entrance.
“Where are you going now?” Jessica called after them.
Zaiba paused at the open door. “To make everything better – you’ll see! Trust me.” She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping her stepmum would have faith in them.
Jessica shook her head. “Trust you to do what? Oh … go on then.”
“Yes!” Ali punched the air and the three of them bounded out on to the drive, one after the other. “What is it we’re going to do exactly?”
“Grab a greyhound, with any luck. Follow me!” said Zaiba.
There was a shout from the lobby behind them. Without breaking speed, they swerved round the side of the hotel and immediately spotted another crowd of people, this time all hotel staff, racing after a small glossy fast thing on four legs.
Mr Ainsley lunged for the pup but Roberto gracefully dived through his arms, as though the hotel manager was holding out an agility hoop for him to jump through. His little pink tongue lolled out the side of his mouth as he ran, scattering samosa crumbs.
“Catch that dog!” Mr Ainsley wailed. More and more people joined the chase, with Zaiba and her friends bringing up the rear. Roberto bounded into the fountain, splashing happily for a moment before heading towards the annexe, where the Mehndi party was still in full swing.
Zaiba felt a prickle travel down her arms as she saw a glimpse of the future. She dreaded what was going to happen next, but she guessed it would involve a dog, a Mehndi party and Sam. Sam, who was absolutely terrified of dogs.
“Someone get my baby!” she heard Maysoon cry, as she came round the corner. Her entourage flooded past her as she stood with her hands on her hips and stared out on to the drive. “Georgia, organize the search party! What do I hire you all for?”
By her side, Georgia the PA barked instructions.
“I think I saw him by the shrubbery!”
“We need him back! His pedicure is at six!”
“Was that a lamb samosa? He’s vegetarian!”
But Zaiba knew that something much worse than Roberto breaking his diet was about to happen. If Sam even caught a glimpse of a dog’s tail, she would be a wreck. And Zaiba had promised her cousin that she would make sure nothing bad happened at her party. She couldn’t break her promise.
She had to catch that dog before something truly awful took place!
Zaiba counted quickly as she watched a stream of people running towards the annexe. Five hotel staff, seven entourage members, the journalist and more photographers than she could count. All chasing after one little dog! The greyhound yapped and barked with delight, as though this was the best game ever.
“H
e’s just getting more excited,” Zaiba said. “We need to calm him down!”
But no one was listening to her as they continued to chase Roberto – straight towards the doors of the function hall.
“No!” yelled Zaiba. “Sam is afraid of dogs!”
“Did you know that’s called cynophobia?” Ali panted as he struggled to keep up.
“Not now!” said Zaiba.
Roberto was already closing in on the doors to the function hall. Faster and faster, Zaiba and her friends raced between the crowd of people, but just then the patio door began to swing open – the door opening out on to the garden, which Zaiba had noticed earlier. Perfect for a dog to leap through.
“No, stop!” Zaiba cried, but it was too late. A large hand smattered with hair grasped the brass door handle and a face emerged – a face she recognized. Her dad!
“Ah, Zaiba, you’ll never guess what Auntie Sabeen just— OH!”
Roberto threw himself against Zaiba’s dad then dashed between his legs, throwing him off balance as he raced away.
“Woah!” Time seemed to slow down as Zaiba watched her dad topple, tremble, sway and lean, until with a crash he tumbled to the floor. Zaiba leaped over his body, quickly glancing down at his wide eyes and open mouth as Ali and Poppy did the same.
“Coming through!” cried Ali.
“No time to stop!” explained Poppy.
“Sorry, Dad! Puppy pandemonium!” Zaiba panted, racing ahead. Where was Roberto?
A horrified shriek came from the direction of the small stage. It was too late. Sam had caught sight of the greyhound and her whole body was trembling. Just as one of her aunties was about to feed her a sugary pastry, Sam jumped up on to the ornate sofa, her newly decorated hands waving frantically. Icing sugar flew everywhere, covering her sari in a fine white dusting.
The Missing Diamonds Page 4