I’d arrived to show her fourteen new paintings of the colors of the parakeets from her bedroom window. I’d stayed up until 2:14 A.M. to finish them, picking the highest, most colorful notes of their squabbles. I’d wanted to get them exactly right, because I was sure that would make her like my cool blue again after my rudeness.
“I knew you were grateful for watching the parakeets,” she continued. “It’s the least I could do anyway, considering what a help you’ve been to me already. You’re by far the nicest person on this street. Not that it’s much of a contest.”
My mouth widened into a broad slit. I thought she was the nicest person I’d ever met, apart from Mum, of course. That was no contest.
“Why don’t you come inside for a minute?” she said. “I hoped you’d pay me a visit today. I wanted to ask another small favor.”
Uh-oh.
“I don’t have to give out more flyers, do I?”
“No, it’s not that. I think I’ve given out enough. Why don’t we have a drink in the kitchen?”
“I don’t drink beer,” I said, remembering the night before. “I’m not allowed.” To be honest, I didn’t think I’d like it much even if Dad let me try alcohol.
Bee pushed her hair back from her shoulders to show me the silver swallows in her ears. “I was actually thinking more along the lines of a can of Coke or something like that?”
I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t allowed fizzy cans either. I kept quiet. She led me past a single cardboard box into the kitchen, which had a large wooden table and chairs and a dresser stacked with cookbooks. I checked the walls, but I couldn’t see any marks of the cross. It was totally Jesus-free, probably because he’d been driven out by the smell of grease and old food.
“My mum was big into buying cookbooks and not actually making anything from them. She liked looking at the pictures. I guess she couldn’t do much with her cruddy oven.” She stopped by the dresser and ran her finger over the books. “I love to cook and couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. Well, not yet anyway. I need to go through them all and see which ones are worth keeping.”
“My mum loved to cook too,” I said. “She used to make cakes for me all the time. My favorites were her raisin scones.”
“Lucky boy.” Her hand dropped from the shelf. She walked to the fridge and grabbed a can of Coke.
I knew I wasn’t lucky, because I never ate homemade cakes or scones anymore. Just shop-bought stuff. Mum’s baking was a long time ago. Dad never kept her tins or pans; he said there was no point. He didn’t know how to bake cakes—Dad claimed that was women’s stuff. I told him that was stupid, but he still threw the cake tins away.
I didn’t want to think about Mum’s cooking or the sparky yellow color she used to make as she banged the oven door shut.
“This is you, Bee Larkham,” I said, handing her my prized painting as we sat down at the table.
Bee stared at the piece of paper, sipping from her can. She looked back at me. Her face was blank and I couldn’t read it.
“Don’t you like it?” I asked.
“I love the colors, but . . . Don’t be offended by this, Jasper, but it looks nothing like me. I can’t even see my features. You know, a mouth and lips. Did you forget to add them in?”
“I don’t paint faces or objects,” I told her. “Only voices and other sounds. This is a painting of your beautiful voice. It’s a perfect shade of sky blue.”
“My voice is sky blue? You see that?”
I moved my head up and down to signal yes. “I see the color of sounds and music. I can see the color of a person’s voice, like yours, sky blue, and focus in on the colors of the words in a sentence. So voice is peach sorbet, for example.”
“Wow!”
I wanted to show her what else I could do. “I see the colors of letters and the days of the week. So today, Thursday, is apple green. My numbers have colors and personalities too. I like dusky pink and friendly number six.”
“Wow! That’s so cool. And the other pictures?”
She spent fourteen minutes gazing at all my paintings and asking questions about what colors I saw for the parakeets and the high notes and crescendos of her piano playing. I told her my favorite color was Mum’s cobalt blue, but hers was a close second.
“This has been a treat for me,” she said, standing up. “I had no idea you were so talented, Jasper. You’ve got a real gift. Can I keep these two?” She held up my favorite parakeet canvases. Their colors were the deepest, the most meaningful. She could see that too.
My throat closed up. I moved my head up and down.
“Thank you, Jasper. It means a lot to me.” She walked over to the dresser and pulled out a white envelope. “Now about that favor I mentioned. I need you to deliver this to Lucas Drury at school tomorrow. It’s urgent.”
“W-what?”
Lucas was the tall boy with the attractive-colored voice who’d held up the wall in the sitting room last night.
“Do you like the color of the parakeets better than his blue teal?” I asked, holding up my painting.
“This isn’t anything to worry about.” Bee’s sky blue voice was clipped and pointy. It ignored my question. “All you have to do is find Lucas at school tomorrow and hand him this envelope. It’s nothing major. Anyone could do it, but I’ve chosen you, Jasper.”
I didn’t want to admit this wasn’t simple for someone like me. It was the hardest thing in the world, because I’d never be able to find Lucas Drury. It’d be impossible.
“Can’t I do another favor for you?” I asked. “Like hand out the flyers outside school?”
I hated that too, but it wouldn’t be as difficult as Bee Larkham’s latest task: locating one boy among hundreds.
Tears welled up in her eyes because I’d upset her with my stupidity. Maybe she’d guessed my inability to recognize faces or someone on the street had told her about my ineptness.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know it’s my fault. I can’t help it. Please don’t cry. I’d do anything to stop you from crying.”
“Deliver this note for me.” She pressed the envelope firmly into my hand. I looked down at it. The words Lucas Drury were printed on the front in blue ink, along with Form: Claythorne.
I felt a pang of jealousy, a wishy-washy pickled onion word. She already knew the name of his class but had never asked about mine.
“Dorset,” I clarified.
“What?”
My class.
“Didn’t you ask Lucas for his telephone number?” I pressed. “That would be the correct thing to do. You could ring the number and ask his brother to book another music lesson with you. It’s a big school. I may miss Lucas tomorrow or not be able to find him.”
“It’s not about lessons. It’s important his dad doesn’t know I’ve sent the letter. I wouldn’t ask you unless I was desperate, Jasper, but Lucas says his dad confiscated his mobile and vets his emails. I’ve no way of reaching him without going through his dad first.”
Her body shook and she wrapped her arms around herself.
“Why do you need to?” I continued. “Why do you need to talk to Lucas Drury?”
I hoped he wouldn’t come back. He’d get in the way of Bee and me watching the parakeets together.
She took a deep breath. “Can I trust you, Jasper?”
“I’m a trustworthy person,” I confirmed, “but I often get confused. Dad always says that. I have to concentrate. Try harder than normal kids because things are more difficult for someone like me.”
“Well, it’s like this, Jasper. I’m worried about Lucas—Lee too—after things the boys let slip last night. I think their dad has a temper, like my mum had.” She brushed the tears out of her right eye. “I know how bad it can be growing up in a house like that. I want Lucas to feel safe and understand I’m here if he ever wants to talk.”
Her shoulders shook as she cried harder. “I want to help those poor boys because no one ever helped me when I was growing up. I never had
anyone I could turn to, someone who would support me without wanting something in return. Promise me you’ll find Lucas and give him the note in person?”
My fingers curled around the envelope. “I won’t let you down, Bee Larkham. I’d never want to do that. I’ll always help you if you’re in trouble. You can count on me. I promise.”
• • •
I didn’t exactly break my promise to Bee Larkham, but I didn’t exactly keep it either. I couldn’t face attempting to hunt down Lucas Drury between lessons. I had no hope of finding him or his brother without somehow persuading the school office to read out their names on the Tannoy to ask them to pick up the note, which of course I couldn’t do.
I couldn’t tell Bee about my problems with faces either. How could I? She’d change her opinion of me; I’d become less useful. She’d think I was a freak, like Dad did.
Instead, I left for school earlier than usual the next morning. I found Lucas’s form room, Claythorne, unlocked and left the envelope on Mr. Luther’s desk. He’d give Lucas the letter at registration. He’d be able to find him a lot easier than I could. It was almost like giving Lucas the note in person.
Lucas must have received it because a woman who looked like Bee Larkham stood at the front window of 20 Vincent Gardens when I came home from school later that afternoon. She waved and blew a kiss—a thank-you for successfully completing her first mission.
She must have guessed I’d helped her.
I hadn’t let her down by my inability to distinguish Lucas Drury from other boys.
Well, not yet anyway. I’m getting ahead of the colors. That happened later.
29
THURSDAY (APPLE GREEN)
Still That Afternoon
“What’s happened, Son?” The man’s panting a shade of dark ocher. It’s Dad, but his voice sounds different when he’s been running. “What are you doing in a police car?” His T-shirt sticks to his chest and sweat drips down his face as he grips the door. “What have you done now?”
He tries to help me out, but I shrug him off, walk over to our front wall, and sit down. I close my eyes as he follows me because I don’t want to remember his face. I put the blanket back over my head to screen out the sunlight too.
“The swallow tried to escape but couldn’t. The bird wanted to get away from Lucas Drury’s dad. He’s a violent man. He may have been to Bee Larkham’s house before. I remember his color. He’s smashed the glass in her back door.”
“What? He’s been here today? At Bee’s house?”
Beneath the blanket, I see a small red dot in my palm. It’s where I squeezed the earring tightly, a painful reminder Bee Larkham’s still with me. She won’t leave. Her ghost’s watching the police officers open and shut her front door. She’s trying to find out what’s going on.
She wants to know if I’m telling the truth about what I did.
Whether I’m going to make things right and let her rest in peace.
A car pulls up and the door opens and shuts in an oval of brownish gray.
“Oh Jesus,” Dad says. “That’s all we need.”
I squeeze my fingers over my eyes. The Second Coming arrives with large black rectangles. Footsteps.
“Hello again,” Dad’s muddy ocher voice says. “Can you please tell me what the hell’s going on? What’s this about Lucas Drury’s dad?”
“Jasper’s had a fright,” a rusty chrome orange voice replies. “Perhaps we could go inside, Mr. Wishart? We should talk in private.”
Rusty Chrome Orange.
Richard Chamberlain, like the actor, is back.
That’s all we need.
“What? Yes. Come this way. You’ll have to excuse me.” Dad stops talking and starts again. “I need a shower. I’ve been for a run. I only slipped out for twenty minutes or so.”
“Yes, I was told you weren’t around in the last half hour. Jasper became involved in a serious incident.”
“What happened? I didn’t leave him for long. Hardly any time at all.” Dad’s talking in short bursts. “He was asleep in bed. I needed some air. It’s been one hell of a week. I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Let’s do this inside, shall we?”
Dad’s hands press through the blanket, steering me away from Bee Larkham’s house towards ours, guiding me further and further away from the truth. His fingers dig into my shoulders, controlling me.
Say nothing.
Don’t tell the police what you did to Bee Larkham.
Don’t tell the police about the knife.
I can’t tell Rusty Chrome Orange where it’s hidden because Dad hasn’t confided in me. He doesn’t trust me enough. He thinks I could betray him.
His hands push me through the front door and to the foot of the stairs. “Go back to bed, Jasper. I’ll come up and see you in a minute when I’m done down here.”
“I understand he’s shaken up and wants to rest,” Rusty Chrome Orange says, “but I’ll need to speak to Jasper later. We need to clear up a few things. Let’s talk in here, shall we, Mr. Wishart?”
“Go upstairs,” Dad orders.
I climb the stairs, counting to fifty, and sit down on the top step, underneath the blanket. I hear the sitting room door close, but it does little to block out the sounds and colors.
Rusty Chrome Orange tells Dad about Lucas Drury’s dad being arrested for assaulting David Gilbert, shaking me, breaking into Bee Larkham’s house, and threatening to kill a police officer. I didn’t hear that, so it must have happened when he was put in the police car.
“Jasper was a witness to the initial assault because he was hiding in Miss Larkham’s back garden, according to your neighbor Mr. Gilbert. Do you have any idea what he was doing there?”
Dad mutters darkish orange ribbons.
“He made some startling claims in the presence of police officers,” Rusty Chrome Orange continues. “He claims Miss Larkham is, in fact, dead, not away somewhere as we’d believed initially. He also claims she’s pregnant. Have you heard him suggest this before?”
The chair squeaks deep plum as Dad shuffles.
“This morning, Jasper said that Bee was pregnant. Lucas Drury told him at school yesterday, a conversation that made him go haywire. That’s why he left school without permission. It’s why he was in such a state when he dialed 999 to report Ollie being kidnapped.”
I shuffle down the stairs to hear Rusty Chrome Orange better.
“You didn’t think this could be relevant to our investigation into the relationship between Miss Larkham and Lucas Drury? You didn’t think to report an alleged pregnancy with a minor?”
“Today was the first I’d heard about it from Jasper,” Dad says. “I didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, anyway. I thought Jasper had misunderstood what Lucas told him. Often, he doesn’t have a good grasp on what people say to him.”
“I see. And his allegation that Miss Larkham is dead? He repeated the statement over and over again to the officers. He said that was why she couldn’t be found, because she died on Friday night.”
“Jasper gets terribly confused. He’s been upset by your investigation and the fact that Bee’s left the parakeets unfed. I’ve tried to reassure him, but as you say, he seems to have got it into his head that she’s dead, which is absurd. She obviously did a runner when she realized she was in hot water with you lot about Lucas.”
“That’s what we believed,” Rusty Chrome Orange says. “It seemed to make the most sense, but we’re beginning to think we should look at this from a different angle.”
“How do you mean?”
“Miss Larkham has now been officially reported missing. She failed to turn up to a hen weekend on Saturday. She’d timed her return from Australia to coincide with it. Her friends have repeatedly tried to contact her and the messages have gone straight to voice mail. Incidentally, we found her mobile inside the house along with her handbag and purse.”
“I had no idea,” Dad says. “No idea at all.”
“There
have been no sightings of Miss Larkham since Friday, despite her details being circulated to police forces nationwide. She hasn’t attempted to book a train or get a flight to leave the country. She hasn’t touched her bank account since last week.”
“You think something has actually happened to Bee?” Dad asks. “Something bad?”
“At this stage it’s a missing person’s inquiry, which we’re running alongside our initial investigation into her alleged relationship with a minor.”
“Jesus. This isn’t going to go away, is it?”
No, it’s not, Dad.
“It gets worse and worse,” Dad continues. “Is it possible she’s topped herself? You know, taken the easy way out before she’s arrested for the kiddie stuff? Not that it’s an easy way out, to kill yourself, of course. You know what I mean.”
“We don’t know what’s happened to her,” Rusty Chrome Orange admits. “I’m curious about the statements your son has made. We have a recording of him making the 999 call yesterday, alleging a murder had taken place on this street, as well as a kidnapping.”
“It wasn’t a kidnapping, you know that already. As I said, Jasper got confused. He was upset after the pregnancy rumor. I’m sure he’s got mixed up about the other thing too. There hasn’t been a murder on this street. Not to my knowledge anyway.”
“I’ve reviewed the tapes from our first interview. Jasper specifically referred to a murder. I remember he was clear about that fact.”
“He meant the parakeets,” Dad insists. “He’s obsessed with the parakeets and afraid David Gilbert wants to harm them. He was distraught after a baby parakeet died and believes another dozen have been killed.”
“So you say. We’re back to the dead parakeets.”
“You don’t believe me? Is that what this is all about?”
“Not at all,” Rusty Chrome Orange replies. “I’m wondering whether Jasper knows what he’s talking about and it’s us who have misunderstood him, not the other way around. Do you think that’s a possibility? That we’re the ones who’ve got the wrong end of the stick?”
The Color of Bee Larkham's Murder Page 17