Clemmy was worried that Pete and Stu would look in the kitchen and find clean, scrubbed surfaces and no sign of cooking. To say nothing of the huge pair of smouldering underpants they might see in the bathroom!
As Stu asked Mrs Mac a few more questions, Pete took the opportunity to speak with Clemmy. ‘Here’s my card. Call me anytime at Kensington Police Station, if you want to talk.’
Taking the card, Clemmy nodded and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans.
Then the two policemen bid them goodbye and left, much to the relief of Mrs Mac.
‘That was close,’ she said, but Clemmy was nowhere to be seen.
‘Clementine, where are you? Come and have something to eat. All this action has made me very peckish ...’
... On the stairs of Mrs Mac’s building ...
‘So you believe them, Stu-san?’ asked Origami Pete as they walked down the stairs.
‘I don’t know, mate. At first I did, but now I think they were hiding something.’
‘What makes you think that?’ asked Pete.
‘As we were leaving, I looked in the kitchen, and there was a rope hanging from the stove.’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t have left Short Stuff-chan with her?’ replied Pete, looking worried.
‘Who?’ asked Stu.
‘The small girl. Clementine.’
‘No, that kid looks like she can take care of herself. And according to that Mrs Mackleberry, her father should be there to pick her up soon, anyway.’
‘Good point, Stu-san.’
Stu spun around. ‘Will you stop being so happy all the time!’
‘I am Japanese. We are a happy race. Come on Stu-san, cheer up. Want an origami duck? Or maybe an origami pigeon. Paper pigeons don’t steal your chips.’
‘Stop it, Pete.’
‘You can’t be sad forever. You know it! You need to move on with your life. Get busy. Maybe take up a hobby, like origami.’
‘I’d be more likely to take up elephant training!’
Stu grabbed the car keys from Pete and headed for the car.
It was only later that Pete realised Clemmy, must know something about those addresses in that phone – particularly as one of the retired spies was her babysitter!
But by the time he made the connection, it would be much too late.
Chapter Seven
Third time lucky
CLEMMY NEEDED TO VISIT ORIGAMI PETE about Natasha’s phone, but this time it wasn’t so easy to lose Mrs Mac. For a start, her father was becoming worried about Mrs Mac’s ability to look after her, especially after the fire alarm situation the other day.
Daddy had turned up just as the fire engines were leaving, and didn’t believe that Mrs Mac was innocent in the whole affair.
‘She’s a loon, Clem,’ he said. ‘You said yourself she has a hard time remembering what day it is.’
‘I said that because I admire the fact that she doesn’t need to know what day it is, Daddy,’ said Clemmy, thinking fast.
She needed to stay around Mrs Mac to discover more clues about Mummy. Besides, chasing spies was much more fun than going to movies or walking in the park. What if Daddy decided to send her to one of those awful holiday camps instead?
‘She is perfectly capable of looking after me.’
‘I don’t know, Clem. She didn’t even bother to get you out of that flat when the fire alarm sounded. The woman happily admitted as much. That’s not the way responsible adults behave, is it?’
‘Pleeeeeease, I love Mrs Mac.’ Clemmy fluttered blue-green eyes at Daddy and bit her bottom lip. Looking sad was usually a successful tactic.
Horatio Bird gave in. ‘One more chance and that’s it! If she puts you in danger again, you will have to go to holiday camp – no arguments.’
‘Yes Daddy.’
Looking more closely, Clemmy noticed there were still bags under his eyes. She felt a bit guilty about arguing with him. He was worried about Mummy and he would do anything for Clemmy, because she didn’t have a mummy anymore.
Clemmy tried not to think about it. It hurt too much. Still, she knew deep down in her heart that Mummy loved them and would come back soon. She just wished that Daddy could believe it as well. Or at least talk about it.
After finally convincing her father to take her to Mrs Mac’s, she found the old woman was being overly cautious, flatly refusing to let Clemmy go anywhere on her own.
‘We must be careful, dear. As you know, those Commonovs may still be lurking about. That young girl is quite insane.’
‘What do they want, Mrs Mac?’ asked Clemmy, knowing full well.
‘Nothing dear. They are just a little confused, that’s all. I am sure that nice policeman and his odd partner will sort it out.’
‘But you didn’t tell them anything,’ replied Clemmy, ‘how can they?’ Mrs Mac was more than a little forgetful today. She must be hungry.
‘I need permission from the Retired Spies Network to reveal such secrets, Clementine. Those policemen might not have the correct clearance.’
‘Oh,’ said Clemmy. Mrs Mac seemed more confused than the Commonovs. Perhaps she didn’t want to answer sticky questions about that shirt?
Mrs Mac refused to catch a bus, plus she walked really slowly because of her foot lumps, so it was an hour later when they arrived at the shops.
Usually, they headed straight for the Marks & Spencer cafe, where Mrs Mac ordered a hot chocolate and an extra large slice of Victoria sponge cake.
But today they stayed on the left of High Street, across the road from Marks & Spencer and walked in the opposite direction.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Clemmy worriedly. She planned to sneak away while Mrs Mac was scoffing her cake.
They were now heading up a side street by the bank – near where Natasha had accosted her.
‘I have a meeting,’ replied Mrs Mac.
Great, thought Clemmy, how will I get to see Origami Pete if Mrs Mac takes us miles away?
Luckily, the meeting turned out to be in a tiny Italian cafe just around the corner.
Inside, Clemmy could see the old spies: Ludwig pontificating, a snoring Marisol propped up in a chair, and Lucinda feeding the revolting Ratcat something that looked suspiciously like a bug!
Looking at Mrs Mac’s friends, something suddenly occurred to Clemmy. There were four of them. And there were four stars on Mummy’s poem – right under the words ‘Careful Little Elves’. Maybe the stars referred to people? People who lived in house with the ‘Elves’ sign. The old spies!
But why did Mummy want her to find them? Was it just a coincidence that Mrs Mackleberry was her babysitter? Maybe Daddy knew something he wasn’t telling her? No. Given Daddy’s dislike for Mrs Mac, that was unlikely. Wasn’t it?
With so many unanswered questions, Clemmy wondered if she should stay and eavesdrop? No, at this stage she probably had more chance of finding Mummy by visiting Origami Pete and getting hold of Natasha’s phone.
‘Can I go to the toy shop, Mrs Mac?’
Mrs Mac was gazing through the cafe window at the cake display. ‘Pardon?’ she murmured, eyes fixed on a particularly plump muffin.
‘The toy shop. Can I go?’
Mrs Mac adjusted her gaze, tipping her crazy glasses in Clemmy’s direction. ‘The one all the way down the road, near the church?’
Clemmy nodded.
‘That’s an awful long way, dear. Marks & Spencer has toys. Why not go there?’
The toy shop was near Kensington Police Station. And Kensington Police Station was where Origami Pete was.
‘They don’t have kooky cool stuff there,’ she said. ‘Plus, there’s nowhere for me to play. But don’t worry,’ she added slyly, ‘I will just stay here and listen to you and your friends talk.’
Mrs Mac twitched uncomfortably. ‘No, no, don’t do that. Go to the toy shop, but be careful. And don’t be long.’
‘Here,’ she scrabbled about in her teeny, shiny, black bag and pressed some cash into Clemmy’
s hand. ‘Here’s five pounds. Buy something nice.’
Clemmy looked down. There was fifty pounds in her hand. Wow. That was a lot of money!
‘Wait, Mrs Mac …’
But Mrs Mac was already inside the cafe, waving hello to her friends and gesturing at the cake display.
Oh well. Clemmy pushed the money deep into the pocket of her jeans. She would return it to Mrs Mac later.
… In a limo on the way to Bayswater …
‘CAN’T YOU GO ANY FASTER?’ NATASHA asked Hench in their native tongue.
Hench grabbed the steering wheel and pulled himself up to check the rear vision mirror. Next time he had better bring a cushion. This car was obviously designed for giants. Not ordinary men like Hench.
‘Da, Miss Natasha, but there is a police behind us.’
‘A police car, you imbecile. And be careful. The last thing I need is for you to be arrested.’
Natasha sat back and tried to remain calm. It was taking far too long to get the evidence she needed to save her poor father.
Having managed to search the apartments of three of the spies and found nothing, Natasha had concluded that the fat old woman, Mrs Mackleberry, must have it.
Her last unsuccessful encounter with the old bag was playing on her mind. Why that fire alarm sounded was still a mystery. Never mind. It was time to pay Mrs Mac another visit – one that she would never forget.
And if that busy little body Clementine Bird was there, all the better.
‘We have arr-iv-ia-ted, Miss Natasha,’ Hench’s poor pronunciation of Slakistanian brought her back to the present. What a fool. He could hardly speak their own language, let alone English. Henchmen weren’t supposed to be geniuses, but really! Hench was to stupid what ice cream was to dessert.
‘Have you got your gun?’ she asked.
‘Da,’ he patted the hip pocket of his jumpsuit. ‘A nice big one.’
Natasha looked at him disapprovingly. ‘Don’t you have any other clothes? You’ve been wearing that same jumpsuit for days. You stink.’
‘This is a fresh one, Miss Natasha. It’s just the same colour.’
‘Hench?’
‘Da Miss Natasha?’
‘Does your entire wardrobe consist of silver jumpsuits?’
‘Da Miss Natasha.’ said Hench proudly. ‘Created just for me by dearest Mumsie. She says they suit me. She says they are nought couture.’
Natasha rolled her eyes. ‘Well, Mumsie sure got that right. You really are one big zero.’
Thinking she had paid him a compliment, Hench marched, head held high, towards the mansion block, the loose folds of his jumpsuit flapping in the wind.
Natasha sucked in her breath. When Igor finally answered his phone, he was in big trouble for sending her such a sartorially-challenged fool.
… At Kensington police station ...
Clemmy was looking for her Japanese policeman friend. She checked the counter, but no luck. There were loads of depressed-looking people hanging about, but only one police person, sitting at the front desk. Maybe she should ask? Would she get into trouble if she did?
Courage, Clemmy reminded herself, and marched up to the counter. Should she use his translated name? Probably best.
‘Excuse me? Would Pete Talksalot be here?’
The sullen policewoman looked down at her. ‘You must mean Pete Oshaberi? No, he’s not here. Can anyone else help you?’
Clemmy shook her head. ‘He’s my friend.’
The woman yawned. ‘Well, try again later, kid. Or call his mobile.’
‘Can I call from here?’ asked Clemmy, spying a phone on the counter.
‘Sorry, that’s not a public phone. You’ll have to use your own.’
‘I don’t have one,’ Clemmy pouted, but the young woman behind the counter wasn’t having any of it. She was clearly used to dealing with far more miserable creatures than Clemmy. Such as the strange wheezing man with one eye now standing behind her, talking to himself in gobbledygook.
‘Well, write him a note then, and when he gets back, he can call you.’
Turning away, Clemmy took out Pete’s card.
There was a mobile number for him, but she needed a phone to call him. Rats! Why couldn’t she convince her father that she needed a mobile? All the girls at school had one. And they didn’t need one like she did!
A scary looking girl – with a skirt that probably should have been a belt, and strands of long blonde hair that desperately needed to be introduced to a shower – was sitting alone in the corner of the room. Maybe she had a phone?
‘Excuse me?’ said Clemmy politely.
‘Nick off, kid,’ said the girl, turning away.
Nice! Oh well. Clemmy had no choice but to go back to Mrs Mac. Turning to leave, she was almost to the door when she heard a familiar voice.
‘Ah, Short Stuff-chan!’
She swung around. ‘Origami Pete! They said you were out.’
He held up a paper bag. ‘Sushi! Policemen must eat well to think well.’
Clemmy decided a little small talk was necessary before she launched into her request.
‘Why do you call me chan?’
He grinned. ‘That’s is what we call little girls in Japan. It’s san for adults, chan for little girls.’
Then Clemmy tried to ask about Natasha’s mobile phone, but Pete was more interested in what she was doing at Mrs Mac’s flat. ‘Do you know who she is?’
‘Of course I do, silly. She’s my babysitter.’ Clemmy grinned. ‘And she doesn’t usually spy while minding me.’
‘So you know she was a spy?’
Clemmy tapped her nose. ‘I know lots of things, Origami Pete.’
‘How old are you, anyway. Four?’
Clemmy was offended. ‘Hey, I’m nine.’
‘Short for an nine-year-old.’
‘Yeah, but there’s a big brain in this little body.’
Pete burst out laughing. ‘You leally are a piece of work.’
‘Speaking of work, Pete, where’s my phone?’
Origami Pete frowned.
‘Not your phone, Short Stuff-chan.’
‘Okay, the mobile phone then. Where is the diamond-encrusted mobile phone?’
‘At Scotland Yard,’ Pete said.
‘Why?’ Clemmy’s bottom lip fell.
‘I’m sorry, kid. It had evidence of crimes on it. I had to hand it in. What if I make you an origami sushi to make up for it?’
Ignoring the offer of origami, Clemmy asked what sort of crimes.
Pete knelt down and whispered in her ear: ‘Burglaries and bombs.’
Clemmy was disappointed. ‘Oh, is that all? I thought there might be something important on that phone.’
‘What do you mean, is that all? Isn’t that bad enough? You are very cheeky, Short Stuff-chan.’
Clemmy rolled her eyes. ‘The victims were all old spies, right?’
‘How did you know that … Oh I get it,’ Origami Pete nodded. ‘Your babysitter thinks you’re too young to listen to adult talk.’
‘Works for me. It’s amazing what you can find out when adults think you’re not listening.’
Pete cupped his hand against his mouth. ‘Do you want to hear something else?’
Clemmy moved closer. ‘Yes?’
‘Mind your own business and go play in the park. Otherwise, you might get hurt.’
Clemmy pushed him playfully and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I won’t get hurt Pete. As you said, no one notices a kid.’
‘Well, Short Stuff-chan, I have work to do, so stop wollying about that girl and her phone, and go and do what nine-year-olds do.’
‘This is what nine-year-olds do!’ objected Clemmy.
‘Japanese are very wise, and I know that is not true.’
So Clemmy had no choice but to go back to Mrs Mac.
By the time she returned to the cafe, all the old spies had left, and Mrs Mac had eaten a large portion of the cake display. There was no more information, or eleve
nses for that matter, to be had!
Things were not going well!
And Clemmy was so annoyed at not having that phone she totally forgot she had Mrs Mac’s fifty pounds in the pocket of her jeans.
Chapter Eight
Another lucky escape
NATASHA WAS CREATING A HUGE MESS IN her search for the shirt, but it was nowhere to be found. She pulled Hench into the second bedroom and pointed upwards. ‘See zat hole in ze ceiling?’ she said in English. Hench was less talkative if she spoke to him in a language he could barely understand.
‘Da, Miss Natasha.’
‘Get up there and see if ze old woman has hidden something in it.’
Hench got a chair and pulled his measly bulk onto it. On tippy toes, he pushed at the square shape, trying to move it.
‘It’s in a stuck,’ said Hench.
Natasha shoved him. ‘Just stuck, you weakling! Push harder’.
Hench pushed harder, and harder, and harder, and finally the cover gave way and fell inwards, revealing a black hole and dusty cobwebs in the ceiling space.
‘Stick your head up there Hench.’
‘What if zere are spiders, Miss Natasha?’
‘Then zey will bite you on ze nose and your nose will go black and drop off. JUST DO IT!’
‘Da, Miss Natasha.’ Closing his eyes tightly, Hench stuck his head into the space.
‘Can you see anything?’ asked Natasha.
‘No.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘Not with my eyes closed.’
Incensed by his stupidity, Natasha smacked her hand against her forehead. ‘Hench, do you want me to arrange a tragic accident for you?’
‘No, Miss Natasha.’
‘Zen open your eyes and look for zat shirt.’
A moment later, Hench was back down off the chair.
‘Well?’ asked Natasha impatiently.
But before he could answer, there was a noise at the front door.
‘Oh no!’ said Natasha. ‘Ze old woman is home.’
They hid in the wardrobe and listened.
The Littlest Detective in London Page 7