by J A Mawter
‘There is a doggie in there.’ Tim strode over and dropped to the ground, holding a cupped hand to the gap at the bottom of the door.
A muzzle appeared, whiskers and nose twitching. Clem couldn’t believe it. Snorts and snuffles filled the air. Then, as she moved closer she froze. For there on the snout was the mark shaped like lips. ‘You’ve found her!’ Clem squealed. She got on her hands and knees and peered under the door, telling Tim, ‘You’re a genius.’ She rubbed the snout and was delighted when the dog didn’t pull away. Its pink tongue covered her hand with kisses. ‘She remembers me. See?’
‘But how do you know the dog, Clemmie?’ asked Jonas, now flipping his ball from one hand to the other.
‘From the park.’
‘Oh.’
The dog made little gurgling sounds. ‘Have you got something stuck in your throat?’ asked Clem. ‘Calm down.’ The dog sounded like she was coughing and gasping for breath at the same time. ‘You can’t choke yourself to death. Not when we’ve just found you.’ Drool pooled on the concrete step as Clem said, ‘Shush. You’re okay.’ The dog finished with what sounded like a reverse sneeze.
Clem laughed but just as she was about to call the others again, the man from the reception desk appeared. ‘Clear off! This here’s out of bounds.’
Clem leapt to her feet, her hands waving wildly. ‘You said there was no beagle! You lied! She’s in here.’ She pointed to the storage shed.
Two assistants approached but Clem didn’t see them.
Two hands clamped around her and pulled her away from the shed. ‘Let me go! Let me go!’ she cried.
‘Clemmie!’
‘Jonas! Tim!’ Clem twisted in the vice-like grip. Jonas and Tim were tucked under the other assistant’s arms. Tim started to wail but Jonas wriggled and squirmed, trying to escape and yelling, ‘Let me go. Let me go.’
‘Keep away,’ warned the reception man, shaking his fist at them. ‘Or there’ll be trouble. Big trouble.’
Clem tried to pull free of the assistant but his hands wouldn’t budge. ‘That’s our beagle. I’d know that kiss mark anywhere.’
The reception man growled to his assistants, ‘Show them the exit.’ He jabbed a finger at Clem. ‘I’m warning you. Never come here again. Or…’
Clem matched the man’s glare. ‘Or what?’
‘Or you’ll regret it.’
As the assistants dragged them away, the boys howling and kicking, the man called out, ‘Find the others and get rid of the lot of ’em.’ He took several steps, then stopped. ‘And, Keith, I want you to make that shipment tonight.’
‘Can’t be done till Thursday, boss.’
The man swore. ‘Thursday, then, but any more strife and it’s on your head.’
The assistants pushed Clem, Jonas and Tim through a door into the car park, warning them to ‘Keep out!’ and ‘Stay out!’ if they knew what was good for them.
Five minutes later the others were escorted outside, too, with a ‘Come back and we call the cops’.
‘You do that,’ called Clem to the men’s retreating backs. ‘Then let’s see who’s in trouble!’
Chapter Eleven
‘You’re in big trouble!’ said Mrs Jacobs as she opened the front door late in the afternoon. Her face was pale and hair wisped around her forehead.
‘Bigger than big.’ Mr Jacobs stepped from the study into the hall and stood beside his wife.
‘Dad!’ gasped Clem, her heart flip-flopping as she wondered why he was home already.
Darcy waved. ‘Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad. We can explain.’ I hope, he added silently.
Mr Jacobs gestured to Clem and Darcy. ‘You two, in the study.’ To the little ones he said, ‘Scat!’
Jonas, Bruno and Tim raced into the kitchen. ‘I’m starving,’ said Tim, his voice echoing down the hall as he rubbed his tummy. ‘I feel like cake.’
‘Me, too.’ Jonas flung open the cupboard and reached for the cake tin.
‘And me,’ said Bruno. ‘I’ll get the plastic plates.’
Mr Jacobs strode up the hall to the kitchen. ‘There’ll be no cake for you lot. Only good kids get cake. You can have a carrot.’
‘A carrot.’ Jonas looked at the fridge and pulled a face.
‘Yucky.’
‘Icky.’
‘Take it or leave it.’ Mr Jacobs glared at each of the boys. No-one left it. ‘Darcy, Clem, into the study. Sarah, you too.’ Mr Jacobs swivelled on his heel and headed back down the hall. Carrying the sleeping Drew, Mrs Jacobs followed. Darcy and Clem were several steps behind.
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Darcy, and he gently squeezed Clem’s shoulder.
‘So,’ said Mr Jacobs. He leaned against his desk with his arms crossed, his lips a thin line. ‘What have you two got to say for yourselves?’
Clem and Darcy hovered close to the door. ‘We were trying…’ began Clem but Darcy spoke at the same time, ‘We’ve been to…’
‘Stop!’ Mr Jacobs held up his hand like a traffic policeman. ‘One at a time. Darcy, you first. Where’ve you been for the last two and a half hours?’
Two and a half hours, thought Darcy. Has it really been that long? He turned to face his father then waited as his mum headed for the chair. When she was settled, Darcy asked, ‘How’s Drew, Mum? Is he all right?’
‘He will be.’
‘No thanks to you.’ Darcy and Clem lowered their eyes. ‘Your mother arrives home at four to find you all missing. No note. Nothing. She tries your phone and guess what?’ He leaned towards them forcing Clem to take a half-step back. ‘There’s no answer. But your mother has to get Drew back to the doctors’, he needs a jab of penicillin urgently, so what does she do?’
Darcy and Clem glanced up at their father but very quickly their eyes dropped again.
‘She calls me!’ Mr Jacobs wheezed on the ‘me’ then continued, ‘And I had no choice but to cancel my afternoon appointments and come home to search for you kids. That’s a lot of money to kiss goodbye.’ By now, Mr Jacobs’ face was the colour of ketchup.
Darcy glanced at his father then looked away. His father’s right eye was twitching and his lips looked like they’d been suctioned out. ‘Sorry, Dad,’ he mumbled.
‘Sorry.’ Clem slumped against a bookshelf, wishing this was all over.
‘Sorry isn’t good enough! Now, out with it. Where have you been?’
‘At the Braxxby Animal Shelter.’ Finally, Darcy could look his father in the eye.
‘We went by train and then bike,’ added Clem. ‘We dinked the little kids. They wore helmets.’
‘There’s this dog, see…’
‘…whose owner treats it really badly…’
‘So bad that he dumped her at a pound. We’ve been trying to find her.’
‘And we did!’ Clem grew taller as she got more confident.
‘At Braxxby. But there’s one little problem…’
‘Mum. Dad. It needs a home. Can we have it, please? Huh?’ Clem held out clasped hands as if begging. ‘Pretty please? You know how much I want a dog.’
Mrs Jacobs sighed. ‘We’ve got eight mouths to feed, Clemmie. Isn’t that enough?’
Mr Jacobs nodded. ‘More than enough.’
‘But, Dad.’
‘Enough, I said.’ Mr Jacobs strode out the door but two seconds later he strode back to hold a finger in front of Darcy. ‘You’re mowing the lawn.’ Then he pointed to Clem, ‘And you’re washing the car, every week for the next month’. Clem opened her mouth to say something. ‘Any whingeing and I’ll make it two.’ Clem’s mouth snapped shut.
Mr Jacobs grabbed his keys and headed for the front door. ‘If you want me, I’ll be at work.’
He marched out, slamming the door so hard it woke Drew, who gave a little grizzle before snuggling back into his mother’s shoulder.
‘That’s so unfair!’ said Darcy, slamming his hand on the desk. ‘You asked us to mind the boys and we did.’
‘We did as we were told.’ Clem glared at her
mother, but as she took in the furrowed brow, the pinched lips and the restless hand stroking Drew’s forehead, she sagged. Walking over she leaned down and gave her a hug. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. But we did what we thought was best.’
‘We never meant to worry you,’ said Darcy with an apologetic shrug. ‘We’re sorry.’
‘I know you are,’ said Mrs Jacobs and she leaned over and stroked each on the arm. ‘I’m sorry to have to rely on you so much but that’s the way it has to be.’ Her voice softened. ‘Next time, call or leave me a note, huh?’
Later that night Clem and Darcy talked to Mio and Bryce in a four-way chat.
‘Hard luck,’ said Bryce when the twins explained about their punishment.
‘Hard?’ scoffed Mio. ‘In my house my parents would put me on lawn mowing for a whole year!
Or, then again, maybe they’d just skin me alive and pickle me.’
The others laughed.
‘I’m not kidding! They’re so strict.’
‘Lucky they work such long hours, then,’ said Darcy. ‘Or we’d find you served up on a plate, with soy sauce and wasabi.’
Mio laughed but in her heart she knew he was not that far off the mark. Each afternoon, her mother rang to make sure she was at her desk, and she must still be there when her mother came home. Dinner was a quiet affair with very little small talk. Mio knew her mum and dad loved her, but sometimes she longed for the buzz of the Jacobs’ place.
Clem’s voice was breathless as she butted in. ‘The man said something about a shipment. I’ll bet he’s talking about our beagle.’
‘But where’d they be shipping her to?’ asked Bryce.
‘Who knows.’
‘And why?’
‘Dunno.’ Clem cleared her throat then said, ‘But we have to act quick. We’ve only got two days, three at the most. The assistant said it’d happen Thursday.’
‘What about the warning?’ asked Bryce.
‘Yeah.’ Darcy’s voice grew more urgent. ‘We were told never to show up there again or there’d be big trouble.’
‘But we have to go back,’ cried Clem. ‘We just have to.’
‘Those guys are pretty mean,’ said Bryce. ‘I don’t think we should.’
Mio’s voice piped up, ‘Me either.’
Her voice shrill, Clem interrupted, ‘But we can’t just leave her there!’
There was a pause before Mio spoke. ‘Let’s meet at The Van straight after school to work out a rescue plan. I’ll let Mum know so she won’t worry. Sound good?’
‘I guess.’
‘Okay.’
‘Sure.’
The next day Bryce was the first to arrive at The Van. He climbed through the door then stopped. Someone had put a jar on top of the TV and in the jar were…
‘Flowers.’ Mio smiled as she arrived. ‘You shouldn’t have.’
Bryce pulled a face, saying, ‘I didn’t.’
‘Well, who did?’ asked Clem as she and Darcy slipped inside.
Bryce shrugged. ‘Who knows? Flowers 4 U? Or maybe our intruder?’
Mio leaned closer to inspect the flowers and whistled under her breath. ‘What?’ asked Darcy.
Mio peered at the flowers from every angle. She whistled louder.
‘What?’ asked Clem.
‘Whoever left these…’ Mio looked around The Van, ‘…knew ikebana, the Japanese art of flower arranging.’
Clem glared at the vase. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This is the rikka style,’ Mio gestured towards the jar, ‘seven branches arranged in a formal way. It is how Buddhists express nature—valleys, hills, waterfalls, that sort of thing.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Bryce, squinting at the arrangement. ‘Like that 3-D illusion art.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Darcy pretended to inspect the flowers. ‘I can see a dinosaur. Or is it a car? No, it’s a castle!’
He grinned at Mio who calmly told him, ‘Look closely. Each flower is carefully chosen and placed in a special way.’ She scrunched her nose as she lifted the jar. ‘This vase is not nice, though. Choosing a beautiful container is part of the art.’
‘So, who did it?’ asked Darcy with a scowl. ‘You’re the only Japanese person we know.’
Mio put the jar back down. ‘It doesn’t have to be someone from Japan. Lots of people know ikebana.’
‘It’s gotta be the intruder,’ said Bryce.
‘I agree. Whoever this intruder is they’re pretty crafty,’ said Darcy, with a grin.
Clem moaned. ‘You have my permission to hit him.’
Bryce pretended to clonk Darcy on the head, at the same time saying, ‘So, Mio. Who d’you think did it?’
‘Good question.’
‘But more importantly, what do they want?’ asked Darcy.
‘I don’t know.’ Clem pushed back her shoulders and declared, ‘But I intend to find out.’
Chapter Twelve
The kids decided to visit Mr Lark to see if he could shed some light on things. He was in the kitchen, peeling apples, when they arrived. Their tangy sweetness filled the air. ‘Hoped you’d be along shortly. You’re just in time to help me make my world-famous apple pie.’
‘Apple pie.’ Bryce got a drooby look on his face. ‘My favourite!’ He ducked as Mio threw a tea towel at him.
Mr Lark tossed a peeler at Bryce and another at Mio, then dumped a bag of green apples in front of them. ‘You two get on with these. Clem, Darcy, you’re on pastry.’ He placed a bag of flour, some sugar and a slab of butter on the table, then, grabbing a recipe book from the shelf, he opened it to a well-worn page. ‘So, what’s been happening? Any news?’
With that the floodgates opened.
‘So, she’s your beagle now?’ Mr Lark gave a throaty chuckle as he pulled a bowl from the cupboard. He checked to make sure it was clean, then wiped an imaginary speck from the bottom before putting it on the table.
‘Not exactly,’ said Darcy, measuring two cups of flour into the bowl.
‘But she soon will be,’ said Clem. ‘As soon as we get our hands on her.’ She plopped the softened butter into the bowl and started to knead it through the flour. ‘Thing is, we’ve been thrown out of the place…’
‘…and told never to come back.’
‘We still want to rescue the beagle,’ said Clem. ‘But we…’
‘…don’t know how.’
Bryce stopped peeling, looked up, and grinned as he sang, ‘Everybody’s got their problems…’ Clem rolled her eyes.
‘Hit a snag, huh?’ Mr Lark laughed as he looked at the sea of frustrated faces.
‘That’s not all we’ve hit,’ said Bryce, picking up the peeler again. ‘Our intruder’s been back to The Van. Someone’s meddling with it and we don’t know who.’
‘Vandals?’ asked Mr Lark.
‘Nuh, uh,’ said Clem. She stopped kneading now that the mixture looked like breadcrumbs and looked up. ‘They left flowers.’
‘A Japanese flower arrangement,’ said Mio.
Mr Lark frowned as he carefully added cold water, one teaspoon at a time, to the mixture. ‘That’s not the first time you’ve had a visit, is it?’
‘No,’ said Mio, watching as Darcy worked the mixture into a stiff dough using a round-bladed knife. ‘They’ve been before. When they managed to undo my knot.’
‘Whoever our visitor is,’ said Bryce, reaching for another apple, ‘they know an awful lot about Japan.’
‘Maybe it’s the original owner of the dog?’ suggested Mr Lark.
Clem got a flashback: thick, fat fingers striking a blow at the dog. She thought of the intricate flower arrangement and pulled a face. ‘No way! Pretty gifts aren’t his style. He’s more likely to leave poisoned bait!’ She lifted the dough cleanly from the bowl and tore it in half as she asked, ‘Where’s the rolling pin?’
Mr Lark opened a drawer, rummaged around, then handed her an old wooden one.
In silence they went back to their jobs, Mio and Bryce peeling and Clem rolling out
the pastry to line the dish. Darcy tore off some greaseproof paper, rolled up the remaining dough, then put it in the fridge.
‘What about other kids?’ suggested Mr Lark. ‘I’m sure there’s plenty who’d want to join the Freewheelers.’
The kids looked at each other as they mulled over this idea.
‘Don’t know of any.’
‘They’ve all got their own groups.’
‘Besides, kids don’t leave flowers and pretty knots.’
Clem grabbed a cloth to wipe down the table then Darcy dried it with a tea towel.
‘What’s their motive, then?’ asked Mr Lark as he went through cupboard after cupboard looking for a shallow pie dish. ‘Ah, here it is.’
‘Not sure,’ said Mio. She placed the last peeled apple in the bowl and dropped the peeler into the sink with a clatter.
Bryce joined her and, washing his hands, he said, ‘We’re not sure if they’re friendly or they’re trying to suck us in. You know, lull us into a false sense of security.’
Apples were sliced, then cooked in the microwave, their sweet fragrance flooding the warm kitchen.
Mr Lark went to the fridge and got out the second lot of dough while Clem sprinkled a circle of flour onto the table. She placed this dough in the middle and started to roll it out, large enough to cover the pie.
Darcy reached over and pulled off a chunk of dough, then popped it in his mouth before Clem could grab it back. ‘Darcy! There won’t be enough.’ She swiped at him with the rolling pin but missed.
‘Stop it,’ said Mr Lark, stepping between them. ‘You’re acting like two year olds.’
Darcy hrrmmphed, then went to the cutlery drawer to grab a fork. He made a pattern of pricks in the pastry lining the dish, then set the dish aside. Clem continued rolling out the rest.
‘And last but not least, sultanas.’ Mr Lark’s eyes crinkled as he threw a handful into the apples and stirred them through. Then, he tipped the mixture into the baking dish and sprinkled it with sugar. Next, Clem sealed it with a blanket of pastry and, once more, Darcy pricked it. He grinned as he stood back to admire his handiwork.
‘You didn’t!’ Clem looked at the letters in the pie crust. ‘You did, you idiot!’