by Lavie Tidhar
Before I could react she disappeared back into the smoke. I tried to breathe but there was no air, just the smell of rotten eggs and sewers.
It was horrible. Someone had set off a smoke bomb and mixed it in with a stink bomb or two just for the hell of it. And by someone, I thought, I really meant Sweetcakes Ratchet. Clearly, she and the Sweetie Pies hadn’t intended to leave Bobbie with just a friendly chat.
“Come on!” I said, grabbing Bobbie by the arm. My eyes were watering from the stink. “You’ve got to open the door and let some air in!”
He was coughing. The smoke came blue and green and yellow. I pulled him with me and tried the door back to the shop but it was locked and I heard Sweetcakes laughing somewhere behind me.
“The back door!” Bobbie said. Together, we staggered round the room, bumping into things, feeling our way by touch. It was hard to see. Bobbie kept coughing beside me. Where was the back door? There had to be a door, for deliveries. As far as I remembered it opened on to a small alleyway that was rarely in use.
At last I found it. I pushed the door open and for a moment cool, clean air rushed into the room. Then the rest of the Sweetie Pies shoved me out of the way and ran outside, laughing. Their arms were full of Bobbie Singh’s contraband candy bars. They’d taken the lot.
I fell on the floor and saw Sweetcakes stand over me, laughing behind her bandana. The red and pink polka dots made me think of chewed bubblegum.
“You tell Waffles McKenzie this is going to be my candy store!” she said. “You tell him I said so!” And she laughed uproariously and vanished into the alleyway outside. In moments she was gone.
I sat there as the rest of the kids staggered past me into the clean air, their faces still smudged with chocolate. The air smelled of stink bomb and candy. It was a smell I wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
The Sweetie Pies had made their point.
I went back to Bobbie. He was standing in the middle of the room looking at the mess when Mr Singh came in.
Bobbie cried, “Dad!” and ran to him.
“What is this?” Mr Singh said. He looked bewildered and angry. “Why was there a chair jammed under the door? What were you kids playing in here? What is that smell?”
“Dad, where were you?”
“I got an urgent call,” Mr Singh said. “To go to the hospital. I didn’t want to worry you. But when I got there it turned out to be someone’s idea of a joke.”
Bobbie and I exchanged glances.
Sweetcakes.
“It was just someone pulling a prank,” Bobbie said. “It’s all right. How’s Mom?”
“She’s … fine.” Mr Singh looked awkward. “She’ll get better, Bobbie.” He gave him a quick hug, then let go.
“Well, clean up this mess,” Mr Singh said. “Then, you know … go outside, Bobbie. Play with a ball. Always inside…” He shook his head.
“Bobbie, I still need to talk to you,” I said.
“Not now, Nelle.”
“OK,” I agreed soberly. “Not now.”
I squeezed his shoulder briefly, and turned to go.
I felt shaken. Once outside, I took a deep breath of the warm, fresh air. The sun was setting but it was still light.
My investigation had barely even started and already I found myself in the midst of a turf war between gangs. That the gangsters were twelve years old made no difference. I went to get my bike and saw someone had kicked it savagely, and the spokes on the front wheel were bent. It was Sweetcakes and the Sweetie Pies again, no doubt.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. It had been a long day. A black car was parked across the street and when I looked, the engine started and it glided away into the night. For a moment I had the feeling that I’d seen it before, but it must just have been my imagination.
I took the bike and began wheeling it on the long walk home.
6
When I got home I went straight up to my mom and gave her a big hug. She fussed over me and made me feel better. I told her I’d gone to visit Bobbie and there was a fight. I really wanted to tell her about it, and what I’d found out, and that I was anxious, but I didn’t want to worry her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she said, but I didn’t answer.
Later, she tucked me into bed. I felt queasy from the stink bomb and the smoke. My mind swirled with unanswered questions. Why was the teddy bear taken from Eddie’s playground? Did one of his rivals have it stolen? But, again, it made no sense – why would anyone steal an old teddy bear? And why did it say Farnsworth on it?
It took me a long time to fall asleep.
In the morning, the sun shone through the window and the new day smelled of cut grass and fried eggs. The cut grass was outside. The eggs were in the kitchen, and they were for me.
After breakfast my mom went to work and I was alone. I went outside to my office. As I approached it, I saw that the door was ajar. I was sure I had locked it the previous night, with the rusty padlock my dad used when it was his tool shed. I always did. Not that there was anything worth stealing inside.
Cautiously, I pushed the door open.
My office lay in ruins. Someone had gone through everything, pulling out my files, spreading them across the floor. The desk drawers had been torn out and emptied, and the desk lay on its back with its legs in the air like a wounded animal. Someone had found the box of candy and upended it on the floor and then stepped on the chocolates until they made an icky pool of sweet-smelling goo on the floor.
I stood there, horrified.
Someone had gone through my office, searching. But for what? I had nothing worth stealing, and nothing I could see was missing.
I was shaken. I stood in the doorway and looked at the mess.
Was it connected with Eddie de Menthe’s visit? It must have been.
But I didn’t understand why. I still had no answers. I felt angry and confused that someone would do this. What were they looking for? There was nothing important in my office. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down, and got to work.
I spent the morning trying to sort out the damage. I cleaned the floor and put the desk back up and straightened the hatstand and put away the files, in order. It made me feel better.
Whoever had broken in had even taken down the photo of my dad I kept on the wall by the bookcase. They’d taken a knife to the back of it, searching to see if something was hidden inside the frame. I carefully took out the picture and was relieved it hadn’t been damaged.
My books lay about everywhere. They had even turned them upside-down to see if I’d hidden anything inside the pages. Bookmarks and pressed leaves, a postcard from an aunt I didn’t remember receiving, and a foreign note in a currency I didn’t recognize. Each one could have been a clue but wasn’t. It was just stuff.
As I stacked up the books again, I wondered what I had let myself in for, agreeing to help Eddie de Menthe. It was clear he hadn’t been honest with me. He had made it sound like a simple case of a missing teddy, but it was obviously something more. Someone really wanted to find that bear, but I still had no idea why anyone would care about it, or who would want to steal one. Either way, I needed to question Eddie again.
When I stepped outside I saw a small curly-haired head pop over the fence and then quickly disappear.
“Cody?” I said. “Is that you?”
The head reappeared. Two solemn eyes regarded me over the fence.
“Hello, Nelle,” he said shyly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Cody, I’m fine.”
He worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. “It’s only that…” he said, and stopped.
“It’s OK, Cody. You can tell me.”
“It’s only that they came last night,” he said. “I saw them come in through the gate. They were quiet. They opened the door and went inside, so I thought it was all right. I thought they must be friends of yours.”
“I’m sure they were,” I said reassuringly. “Did you get a good look at them?”
“No, it was dark. I only saw shadows.”
“How many of them were there?”
“Two,” he said. He thought about it. “Just two.”
“Boys? Girls?”
He thought about it some more. He was a serious kid. He liked to give each question the consideration it deserved.
“I couldn’t see,” he said at last, and I felt disappointment, but I didn’t want to show it. “It was too dark. I’m sorry, Nelle.”
“That’s OK, Cody.”
“It was weird, though,” he said. “Are you sure they were friends of yours, Nelle?”
“Why do you ask that, Cody?”
“It’s only, they were grown-ups.”
“What?”
“They were grown-ups,” he repeated. “I don’t know why they came to your office, Nelle.”
“I don’t either, Cody,” I said. I felt hollow inside.
Grown-ups?
That couldn’t be right.
Could it?
“Do you have any candy, Nelle?” he asked. Still numb from the shock, I put my hand in my pocket. My fingers closed on something round and hard. I pulled it out.
It was a mint.
I had no idea what it was doing there.
“Here.”
He looked at it dubiously, then his hand darted out and took it from my palm. His fingers were hot and sticky. “Thanks, Nelle,” he said, without enthusiasm.
“Lay off the sweets, Cody.”
He smiled at that. “But I like them, Nelle. Well, see you.”
“See you, Cody.”
His head disappeared. I leaned against the fence, breathing hard. I didn’t see how anything added up. A missing teddy, rival gangs selling illegal candy, and now someone had ransacked my office, except they weren’t kids, they were adults.
What were they looking for?
I was scared, but that didn’t mean I was going to back off. My dad used to say I was stubborn, and he didn’t always mean it in a positive way. But I knew it was a good thing I was stubborn. I wasn’t going to drop the case. Not this quickly.
First things first, Eddie de Menthe and I needed to have a serious talk.
I left the house on foot. It was a hot day, the sort of day when you crave an ice cream, but that just wasn’t an option. It’d been three long years since I’d heard an ice cream van go past, blaring its tune.
I was headed back to the abandoned schoolyard on Malloy Road where Eddie had his base of operations, but I didn’t make it.
Maybe it was the heat, or still being upset about my office, but I didn’t see them until they were almost on top of me, and by then it was too late.
7
“You Nelle Faulkner?”
“Depends,” I said. “Who wants to know?”
There were two of them, boys I didn’t recognize, a year or two older than me.
The one on the left looked like he’d always had too much chocolate. The one on the right, by contrast, looked like he always ate all of his greens.
The one on the left looked at his nails. “She’s got a smart mouth,” he complained, seemingly to no one.
“You the gumshoe?” the skinny one said. “The private eye?”
They didn’t scare me, but it paid to be cautious.
“What do you want?” I said.
“We’re looking for Nelle Faulkner,” the thin one said.
“The detective,” the big one said.
“Never heard of her,” I said.
The big one nodded with that same slow sadness. “Only you look a lot like her,” he said.
“Who are you?” I said.
“I’m Ronny,” the thin one said.
“I’m Gordon,” the big one said.
“Well, it was very nice to meet you,” I said, taking a step back. “But I really gotta run.”
Somehow, Gordon stayed ahead while Ronny snuck up behind me. I was trapped between them.
“What’s your hurry?”
“Get back!” I shouted.
“Whoa, whoa,” Gordon said, raising his hands. “You got us all wrong, Nelle. We just wanted to invite you.”
“To come with us,” Ronny said.
“Come with you where?” I said.
“To a birthday party,” Gordon said – as if it were obvious.
“There’ll be ice cream and cake,” Ronny said.
“And waffles.”
“Wait,” I said. “You work for Waffles?”
“Boss wants to see you.”
“Boss wants to have a chat.”
“He sent you an invite,” Gordon said, with a sour expression. He reached into his suit pocket and brought out a card and handed it to me.
“I didn’t get a card,” Ronny said. He sounded disappointed.
I looked at the card. It was heavy cream paper, and the lettering was done by hand. It said:
“Elmore?” I said. “Waffles’s name is Elmore?”
“You gotta problem with that?” Gordon said.
“But Elmore?”
“Boss doesn’t like people making fun of his name.”
I waved the invitation. “He wants me to come to his party?”
“His birthday party.”
“And we’re gonna be late.”
“There’s going to be cake,” Gordon said. His big moist eyes seemed to beg me not to argue.
“Chocolate cake,” Ronny said. “With sprinkles and frosting and icing and cream and, like, walnuts.”
“All right, enough!” I said. They were giving me a headache.
“So you’ll come?”
“Is it far?”
“He lives on Sternwood Drive,” Ronny said.
I whistled. “Up on the hill?”
“Sure.”
I made up my mind. I had been planning to see Waffles, anyway. He had simply jumped to the front of the queue.
“Lead the way, boys,” I said.
And so, accompanied by Waffles’s two goons, I went to a party.
8
Sternwood Drive twisted its way up the hillside like a long string of liquorice. On a clear day you could see out as far as Bay City. The sea below was blue and calm and in the sky above clouds floated like candyfloss. Beyond, the city sprawled, but what dominated the view and drew the eye was the hulking outline of the chocolate factory, standing proud and alone on Farnsworth Drive on the opposite hill. I stared at it as we walked up to the gates of the McKenzie mansion. Up here on Sternwood Drive, all the houses were mansions.
The gates to the house were open. Balloons decorated the driveway, though there was no one in sight. We walked up to the doors and they were opened, softly and efficiently, by a butler. I had never seen a butler in real life before and so I looked at him with great interest.
He was a tall, thin, balding man, in a black peaked hat and black coat and tie, and a white shirt. He looked very formal and he had large, sad eyes. He looked at us gravely.
“Yes?” he said.
Behind me, Ronny and Gordon shuffled their feet. I took out my invitation and handed it to the butler shyly. He took it from me and looked at it and nodded.
“Would the young lady care to follow me, please?” he said. “The young master is relaxing by the swimming pool.”
“Yeah,” Ronny said. “You go, Nelle.”
“Yeah,” Gordon said. “We know the way. We’ll be over in a minute.”
The butler ignored them. So did I. I trailed after him him into the dark cool interior of the mansion. The butler glided along and I followed with somewhat less glide in my step. It was like he barely touched the ground. Maybe it was something you had to learn in butler school. I wondered what sort of person you had to be to become a butler.
Soft carpets covered the hallway, and on the walls hung oil paintings of elderly McKenzies, all dressed in their finest clothes (though somewhat out of fashion now) and all glaring down at me as though wondering why the butler hadn’t thrown me out. I glared back at them defiantly but their stares battered m
e until I looked down and concentrated on following the butler’s polished black shoes. The house smelled of furniture polish and pine, and the carpets were so thick you could get lost in them. Finally, after what felt like hours, we emerged out of the gloom on to the mansion’s backyard. The McKenzies had a pool the size of a small country. Palm trees were arranged artfully around it and their fronds moved softly in the breeze. The pool was a warm blue colour and the water looked equally warm and inviting. Tables laden with food were lined along one edge of the grass. There were balloons everywhere. I could smell cake and it made my mouth water.
But, weirdly, I didn’t see any other guests.
Sitting alone on a lawn chair on the grass, surrounded by the buffet tables, was Waffles McKenzie. True to his name, he was eating a waffle. I stared in fascination and revulsion at the monstrosity on his plate. It was a waffle the size of a saucer, spongy and warm. On it were roasted, caramelized almonds, half-melted chocolate chips, three scoops of vanilla ice cream, two scoops of thick cream, and criss-crossing rivers of chocolate sauce that decorated it like a wobbly spider’s web. On top of each scoop sat a sweet red cherry. Waffles wielded a spoon sticky with sauce. Ice cream and crumbs stuck to the corners of his mouth as the spoon moved rhythmically, empty on the way down, full on the way up. Down and up, into his mouth, which moved without stopping. His eyes had a fixed, glazed expression.
“Happy birthday, Waffles,” I said.
He nibbled on an almond, then put down the spoon with a sigh. His plate was empty.
“It’s Mr McKenzie to you, snoops.”
I stared at him. You’d think after eating all of those sweets he’d be fat, but he wasn’t. He was ordinary-looking, with a slightly too-big head that sat awkwardly on his narrow frame. It was as if everything he ate had just gone straight to his head and made it bigger and bigger, like a balloon, while the rest of him stayed the same. He wore a suit despite the heat, as though someone had dressed him, and his black hair was slicked back with gel.