I couldn’t breathe.
He reached into his inside jacket pocket and images of gun shoulder holsters flashed through my mind. There was a faint rustle of clothing and then a barely discernible click before he said softly: ‘Subject has not progressed on mechanical project. Confirm halt in all this activity since programme commenced on March eleventh.’
Another click.
I hadn’t blinked and my eyeballs were starting to hurt, but the next second I squeezed my eyelids shut because the figure moved suddenly and then, thrusting at his jacket pocket, he flicked on one of those mini Maglite thingies that has, like, a floodlight glare from a torch the size of a lentil.
The bright light focused on the workbench and started moving over the body of the car. Any minute now he would see me sitting here like a corpse, and, who knows, maybe that’s how I was going to end up.
And then, then, someone chose that moment to ring my darling sister on her mobile, which was still in my pocket. The sound of ‘Kumbaya’ echoed loudly across the cellar and in a flash Mr Sinister was gone.
The back gate was vaulted with a clatter, then silence.
I rummaged for the phone in a state of shock.
‘Hello?’ I rasped.
‘Pen babe?’ said Fat Angus. ‘You okay?’
Now here’s why I should be a secret agent: even with adrenalin pumping, with white knuckles clenching, I had the presence of mind to take revenge on Pen.
‘Angus,’ I whispered, letting the shakes reach my voice, ‘I think I’m pregnant.’
No reply.
Then Fat Angus said, ‘Tatty Lula? Is that you?’
(Okay, so that didn’t work. Maybe not a secret agent. Maybe a secret agent’s shoe polisher.) Clearly Angus’s mangled ears are damaged only on the outside. And who said a rugby prop had to be a meathead? I was seriously impressed.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘I might tell Pen about this,’ mused Fat Angus.
‘I was just messing around,’ I muttered. ‘Listen, I need your help.’
‘Yeah? This plus my silence on the aforementioned pregnancy thing is going to, like, cost you big.’
I winced. ‘Fat Angus, does your brother still do the odd bit of detecting?’
‘Bludgeon?’
‘Yes. You’ve only got one brother.’
‘You saying I don’t know my relatives?’
‘Sheesh, Angus! Calm down.’
‘What you want?’
I paused. ‘I think someone’s following me around.’
‘Yeah right. Like you’re that hot.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I mean, no offence, you’re fit, but, you know, you’re not your sister. Proper brunette, like. Some guys I know like that beach-babe look, but I’m into au naturel, you know?’
Please. God. Stop me from speaking.
I climbed out of the car, noting that my hand and left foot felt sore but not totally damaged, and shuffled out of the cellar.
‘Angus,’ I said firmly, ‘someone has just opened up my –’
I was going to say workshop door, but news that I liked motor mechanics would not help my snog-a-boy plots. I’d be classed as WEIRD faster than Fat Angus could say ‘I like a good scrum’.
I chose my words carefully as I walked up the back stairs, and explained about last night and the night before. Angus didn’t sound convinced, but said he’d ask Bludgeon if he had any ‘thoughts on the matter’.
Crossing the courtyard, I found Pen waiting impatiently for me outside the annexe.
‘I knew you had it!’ she hissed, snatching the phone from me before I had time to say cheerio to her boyo.
‘Angus? Angus?’ she said, after a quick look at the screen. ‘Did you call me? You do know you’ve been talking to my psycho sister, not me, yes?’
I unlocked the annexe and stepped inside, shoving the door closed behind me, but before I could get the latch on, Pen’s fierce little shoulder had butted against the panelling and sent me staggering into the kitchen counter.
‘Bye-bye, Angus,’ she crooned, and hung up the phone. She backed the door closed behind her with a thud. ‘Right, Lula.’ Pen’s eyes were narrow and slitty. Yeesh. I was ever so slightly fearful. ‘What’s with the strange behaviour?’
Chapter Sixteen
Still Thursday night. Will it ever end?
‘Well?’ said my evil sibling, hip shunted out, foot tapping, like some Victorian chaperone on the rampage. ‘What explanations for your recent madness? Is it drugs?’
‘I don’t have to answer to you!’ I spat back, outraged. Pen took a breath. ‘And don’t even think,’ I hissed, ‘of saying you speak on behalf of your client, Dr Anne Bird, because I have currently lost my sense of humour. And she has lost her mind.’
Pen came towards me, wagging her index finger. ‘Tallulah, Mum is seriously worried. She thinks you may need a spell at Fort Norland for drug addiction. She sent me to check on you.’
‘What drug addiction?’
Pen paused. ‘Okay, that’s pushing it, but you’re not far from it, Lu!’
‘Would you please leave?’
‘Not until you tell me what you were bothering F– I mean Angus about.’
‘He didn’t tell you?’
Pen examined the perfect cuticles on her right hand. ‘We didn’t really have time to converse. He had to go.’
‘Hm,’ I said. I was, again, a little impressed by Fat Angus and his discretion. Maybe the guy had hidden depths.
I walked behind the little kitchen counter and yanked open the door of the minuscule empty fridge.
‘You got chocolate?’ Pen leaned over the counter from the other side and tried to look down into my fridge.
‘Why are you still here?’ I asked, pushing the fridge closed with a thud.
Pen paced restlessly. ‘I know you’ve got Maltesers somewhere. What happened to sharing is caring?’
‘Hgrph,’ I snorted. ‘You threw that lesson on its ass the day you poured out all Dad’s booze from The Green Box. Couldn’t you have left him a tipple to keep him happy?’
Pen whirled round, her face outraged. ‘I was trying to help him!’
We stared at each other hotly. This was an issue we’d never truly thrashed out.
I turned the kettle on with a snap of the switch. ‘Dad has to help himself,’ I said to Pen. ‘You meddling just makes it worse!’
‘You doing nothing makes it worse,’ retaliated Pen. ‘You know, I was here to help you too, Tallulah. WELL. You can FORGET IT.’
I felt bad instantly. But what’s a girl to do when an apology can’t come out in the nanosecond it takes for a younger sister to slam out the room? Heaving a heavy, shaky sigh, I headed for the armchair and reached under the heirloom quilt. The bag was fantastically heavy. I sighed again. I’d been doing so well. I pulled the heirloom back in place and collapsed on the chair, taking a hit of five Malteser balls in one go. Soooo good. Munch, crunch, munch, crunch. Mmm. I had another two mouthfuls and stopped only when all the surfaces of my teeth were levelled by impacted honeycomb.
Just as the sugar high was about to kick in, Pen turned the hot tap in the kitchen on full throttle and the pipes went berrrsERK.
WUGGABANGWUGGABANGBANGBANG!
I bit my cheek with the shock of the first WUGGA and the rusty taste of blood killed all the comfort of the chocolate binge.
My hand strayed back for another hit, but I restrained myself and moved to lock the door, then checked all the windows and made sure every curtain and blind was completely closed.
The pipes were quiet now. As my heart slowed I got behind my computer and logged on, simultaneously thumbing out a text:
Goils, I’m online.
I put the phone down within fingers’ reach and ran through my messages. Nothing exciting, sob sob. I keyed in a quick one-liner:
TATTY BIRD: I’m being stalked.
And within seconds I had a reply. But not the one I wanted.
CARRIE: Fantastic!
CARRIE: Who is it?
TATTY BIRD: Dunno. Bludgeon’s going to find out.
CARRIE: You called Bludgeon? You didn’t! Fat Angus’s brother? That guy with no neck?
TATTY BIRD: You should know. He’s no. 3 on The List!
CARRIE: We thought you’d get lucky with that maimed guy long before no. 3!
TATTY BIRD: Well, no, actually. There’s no way I’d kiss Bludgeon. NO WAY. But him helping me now is a good thing.
CARRIE: BLUDGEON? A good thing?! How?!
TATTY BIRD: Hey! He has his finger on the pulse of crime in our town.
CARRIE: Oh ha ha. Finding out that Jessica is snogging Jason Ferman and ratting her out to Dennis Wiseman is not a finger on the pulse. Everyone knows about recent activity in the 000s.
TATTY BIRD: Fine, fine, but he’s my only hope.
I filled them in on what had been happening and demanded their immediate return. I neeeeeded them.
CARRIE: Look, Lula, we’d be back asap, but – hang on. This is going to take too long. Tam says she’s got free minutes on her phone.
A second later my mobile rang.
‘You think you’ve got problems,’ said Tam in answer to my ‘Hello?’.
‘I know I’ve got problems, babe!’ I exclaimed.
Tam’s hand went over the receiver. ‘She just called me babe,’ she said to everyone with her, clearly concerned.
‘I can hear you, Tam!’ I yelled.
She came back. ‘Sorry.’
‘Forget it. What’s going on there?’
‘I’m going to give you a five-second version of Alex’s latest, okay? Ready?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Alex’s dad took us all out to dinner and Alex snuck out and snogged the dishwasher guy.’
‘Everyone is kissing except me!’ I wailed. ‘Is he hot?’
‘Who?’
‘The dishwasher, Tam, the dishwasher! Geez!’
‘Who cares. Mr Thompson saw them and he’s seriously peed off. We’re grounded.’
‘Ouch,’ I said.
‘Don’t even. Ever try earning a pfennig busking from a second-floor apartment?’
‘Oh. Geez. That bad?’
‘You have no idea! This holiday is a total washout!’
‘It’s not my fault!’ came Alex’s voice over the line.
‘It’s never your fault!’ Tam yelled back. Then nothing.
‘Tam?’ I ventured. There were snuffles on the end of the line. Could have been sobs of frustration. Could have been hysterical laughter. ‘I’m going to go now,’ I continued in a lonely tone. ‘I might call a few people here to see what they think. I’m probably overreacting.’
Tam squeaked goodbye and I quickly keyed through my phone contacts, hitting call when I found the name I was looking for. There’d been something niggling at my subconscious and it was time it got out in the open.
‘Tallulah Bird?’
‘Hi, Jack. Are you really an investigative journalist?’
‘Yep. Need anything exposéed?’ I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Why are you creeping around me and my house?’ I demanded.
I was convinced I was right in my suspicions, but the shock on the other end sounded real enough. ‘Wha–? Wha–? Lula – Wha–?’
Either he’d thought he was deep undercover, or he really didn’t know what I was going on about.
I didn’t give him a chance to explain. Bludgeon would find out the truth, I was sure of it. Hanging up with a hard pelt of thumb to red-receiver button, I deleted his number, thumped my mobile down on the desk and logged off from the computer.
I needed a bath.
Time for Pen to hear dem pipes.
All the lights were out and I was keeping my eyes closed to persuade myself that I was drifting off after a relaxing bath when my mobile rang. I snatched it up.
‘’Lo?’
‘Hi, Tatty, it’s Bludgeon.’
‘Wow. Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Or’ – I checked my watch – ‘so late.’
‘A sniper never sleeps.’
‘Okaaaay.’
‘’Eard you got lurker problems.’
‘Stalker, he’s a stalker. Why won’t anyone believe me?’
‘Oh, I believe you, darlin’. We been followin’ up on somethin’ that’s been goin’ down in your neck o’ the woods. Not high on the pile at the mo cos of other stuff, you know, goin’ down.’
Purlease spare me the Hollywood speak, I thought.
‘That Mr Kaplinsky from the wrinklies over your road –’
‘Mr Kadinski?’
‘That’s ’im. ’E’s been on the blower every five minutes about some bloke ’angin’ about. I ’ad to put my best boy onnit. Yeah?’
‘Ye-es,’ I said slowly. ‘What did your best boy come up with?’
‘Your dad with a ’andbag, for one. I’m gonna keep that one on file, like,’ said Bludgeon with a girly giggle.
Oh, geez. ‘What about Jack de Souza?’ I asked tightly.
Bludgeon laughed. ‘Nah. Not ’im. Mr K saw ’im round yours last night so I checked him out first. Not much gets by you, eh? That Jack’s been in the IT building all night.’
‘All night?’ I asked. ‘You sure?’
‘Got a guy working campus security what told me.’
Great. So there really was a stalker, and it wasn’t Jack. ‘Anyone else?’ I asked, rubbing at an ache behind my eyes.
‘Coupla leads, but I reckon it’s a random crazy from Fort Norland. One of ’em’s escaped, like. You shouldn’t worry.’
‘No, Bludgeon. The guy in my cellar sounded like he knew me. He . . . mentioned my . . . uh . . . hobbies that not many people know about. He was taking notes of what I’ve been doing since the eleventh of March.’
‘You sound freaked out.’
‘I am freaked out, Bludgeon!’
‘That’s why you called me. I can ’elp, love. Leave it in my in tray. Now, let’s talk payment . . .’
I nipped that in the bud with a quick reference to how we were virtually brother and sister, what with Pen and Fat Angus moving in on each other. It worked.
I was asleep in minutes, with strange dreams of Mr Kadinski sprinting down the road, his clothes on fire, at twice his usual height and yelling obscenities at creeping shadows in the dark.
Chapter Seventeen
Friday five a.m. Last day of being fifteen
Waking up was unexpectedly effortless and by the time the room was filled with a faint pink light I was raring to go. I wiggled my fingers. Hand okay! I tested my ankle. Perfect! I inhaled nervously through my nose. Clear!
Whoohoo!
Pulling on my running gear I felt my quads bulge as I flexed out in the bare minimum of a warm up. I stretched again to tie the annexe key to my shoelace, sighing happily at how limber I felt, then moved quietly out of the door, pulling it closed noiselessly behind me.
The main Bird residence was still, silent, and there wasn’t a sound in the air except for peepings from birds and the scurrying of a blue tit on a housing mission. Taking a deep breath of cold air, I padded round the house to the front gate and jumped it to prevent its telltale squeak. Superfit action woman! I thought, and headed up the hill at a slow walk. Lifting my eyes to the dawn sky as I crested the rise, I caught sight of a twitching curtain from a Setting Sun window. Could only be Mr Kadinski, I thought with a grin. Did the man never sleep? I twisted my body round to the left and right, arms outstretched, and thought about which way to go. Past St Alban’s was my favourite route, but with boys there it was a no go. Exhibiting flabby bits at full wobble capacity to potential snoggers was not an option. At this time of day, though . . . I’d just turned in that direction when I heard a door slam hard, cracking through the silence like a pistol shot.
‘Wherrff!’ I squeaked, jumping a mile high before squinting back at home.
Hang on. It must be Mr Ka– I ten
sed to start running straight away but too late.
‘Tallulah? Please come here,’ he called.
Damn the aged!
Groaning under my breath, I stomped through the retirement home’s front gate and up the garden steps, towards the house.
‘Hi, Mr Kadinski,’ I muttered.
‘Tallulah, I’ve been trying to talk to you all week. Can you give me a hand down?’
‘Sure,’ I muttered again, and shoved my forearm under his.
‘That’s what I love about the youth,’ he said, smiling. ‘Such gracious respect for the elderly.’
I sighed. ‘Sorry, sir,’ I said. ‘Just a bit tired,’ though that was a lie.
‘Yes, I remember the teen years being particularly wearying.’ He smiled again and I saw how bright his grey eyes were. They twinkled out from beneath his thick white hair, topped with a charcoal fedora, no specs required. We started down the stairs and I said, ‘Hey,’ before I could stop myself.
‘Yes, young lady?’
‘You don’t need my help on the stairs.’
Mr Kadinski laughed. ‘I’m an ex-marine, you know. Special Forces. We have bodies of fine tempered steel.’
‘Wow,’ I said, thinking, Special Forces, suuuure.
We’d already got to the bottom of the steps, the grass of the lawn wetting my trainers and darkening the suede of his old-man shoes.
‘My fine physique is not my only asset,’ he said. His face was serious. I looked closely for some sign of humour. There was none. ‘My mind is one of the finest in Britain.’
I bit my cheeks to stop myself from unseemly guffaws. Finest mind in Britain, wha ha ha!
‘Go on, laugh,’ he said bitterly. ‘Then talk to me when Bludgeon McGraw comes up with a vast array of dead ends.’
‘Wha–?’
‘The old-man shoes are just a cover, you know. Your grandmother trusted me to take care of things for you, Tallulah.’ He tipped his hat at me and began walking slowly in the direction of town. ‘I’m off to the police station now to check on something I left with them on Tuesday. Come by this afternoon for some answers to your problems.’
He’d gone several metres before my whirling brain could take in what he’d said. How on earth had he known I had problems?
Kisses for Lula Page 14