The Color of Bee Larkham's Murder

by Sarah J. Harris

  “It does feel exactly right. Everyone deserves to be happy, Jasper, even us.” She put an arm around my shoulder. “You know, you’re like the little brother I never had, the little brother I wish I’d had when I was growing up in this house.”

  “This one looks like your little sister,” I said, picking up the dancing lady I’d used as a potential weapon against David Gilbert. She was the centerpiece of the window display, placed in front of the others with the best view of the parakeets. I was glad she hadn’t returned to the box. “She’s pretty. Like you.”

  “Ha!” Her arm dropped back to her side. “That little minx is causing me more trouble than the bloody parakeets!”

  I winced. I loathed the greenish bronze color of minx. It mingled uncomfortably with the orange puke swearword. I didn’t like how close they both were to the parakeets at the end of the sentence. I put down the ornament, careful not to chip it.

  “Make sure you can see her properly from the window,” Bee said, laughing. She pushed the ornament even closer to the edge of the chest of drawers. “There, that’s better. It’s a perfect view, right?”

  “I’ll check when I get home,” I promised. I didn’t think I’d have a problem seeing the ladies from my bedroom window using binoculars.

  We watched, side by side, as a parakeet flew into the hole with twigs in its beak.

  “Look, Jasper! I think they’re nesting. That’s the surprise I wanted to show you. They want to stay on this street, something I’d never thought anyone or anything would ever want to do.”

  I’d realized this fact days ago and had slept little since because I had to paint more and more pictures of their sounds. I’d guessed some were nesting in the eaves too.

  I didn’t know how to pretend to look surprised at Bee Larkham’s news, so I widened my mouth as far as possible into a broad smile as she continued speaking.

  “I think the parakeets are here for good. David said they’re going to start breeding. He made it sound like the worst thing in the world, which of course it isn’t. How can he possibly object to the start of new life? That’s what this street needs. Hope.”

  I moved my head up and down and clapped my hands. That’s what I had too: a tomato-ketchup-colored word, because maybe Bee Larkham would want to stay with her parakeet family on this street too.

  “I knew you’d be excited,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you, you know, when you called around before. The music lessons are using up a lot of my time. That and doing up the house. It’s exhausting.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes or my mind off the parakeets. “They’re not scared of David Gilbert and his shotgun even though he’s a bird killer and an incredibly dangerous man. I told the police those Important Facts when I dialed 999.”

  Bee wrapped hair around her finger. “You’ve reported David Gilbert to the police?”

  She laughed bright blue when I confirmed this was correct.

  “Good for you, Jasper. Maybe I should call the police too.” She walked over to her bed and picked up a small, white padded envelope. I hadn’t noticed it when I walked in. “Something’s come up and I urgently need you to give this to Lucas at school tomorrow.”

  I closed my eyes. I had thought the last letter was a one-off. That had stressed me out enough—finding Lucas’s classroom before morning registration and hoping the form teacher would hand it to him without opening it first.

  Hoping I hadn’t let down Bee Larkham.

  “Please, Jasper. It’s important you give it to him. I told you I can’t ring or email him because of his dad. I want to give him an emergency mobile phone so he can call me if there’s a problem at home.”

  “He could speak to the police,” I said. “If he dials 999.”

  “Yes, he could do that too. You want to help him, don’t you, Jasper? He really appreciated the other note you delivered. I think it made him realize he has our support.”

  So Lucas Drury did get the letter. That still didn’t mean I wanted to try again.

  “Look, I know it’s a pain for you having to look for Lucas between lessons. How about we make a deal?”

  “A deal?”

  “You deliver this for me and you can come round after school for an hour every day this week to look at the parakeets.”

  Every day this week.

  “If I’m not at home or I’m busy with a lesson, you can use the key under the statue to let yourself in,” she continued. “You saw where I put it, right? What do you think? You’d be helping Lucas and keeping watch over the parakeets. Because, you know, I think you’re right about David. He was around here again yesterday, threatening the parakeets with his shotgun. I’m worried about them, Jasper. Terribly worried.”

  Immediately, I agreed to help and took the envelope. Bee Larkham was the only person on this street, apart from me, who realized the parakeets were in huge danger. I had to help save them from David Gilbert while Bee Larkham got to work on another rescue mission.

  “Are you going to save Lucas and Lee Drury from their dad?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” Bee replied. “I think Lucas needs me now more than ever.”

  31

  February 8, 9:13 A.M.

  Finding Blue Teal Ruined by Aluminum Giggles on paper

  I accidentally turned up late on Monday morning to save Lucas Drury because I couldn’t find a clean shirt. I had to scoop one from the bottom of the laundry basket and iron it out with my fists before I left for school. Superheroes never had this kind of problem.

  I’d arrived at Lucas’s classroom after registration—not before, as I’d planned—and the pupils were already at their desks. A man stared at me as I burst in. He sat at a computer, facing the desks, which meant he must be the teacher. Mr. Luther.

  “Well, what is it? Cat got your tongue?”

  Aluminum giggles.

  “I have a letter,” I said finally. “For Lucas Drury.”

  “Well, give it to him before I read out these sports listings.”

  I stayed put.

  “What are you waiting for? Hurry up. I don’t have all day.”

  I couldn’t move. I gripped the envelope tighter. “It’s for Lucas Drury,” I said loudly. “From music teacher Bee Larkham. She wants to see you.”

  “Is that the new supply teacher?” the man at the desk asked. “Come here, Lucas. You’re wanted.”

  More steel-colored titters, elongated globules with pink rims.

  “Coming!” A boy in the third seat from the back slouched towards me. He had tousled blond hair, which didn’t help. He appeared identical to the classmate who sat in front of him. The boy didn’t look at me as he maneuvered around the desks. “I’ll be right back, sir.”

  I followed him outside the classroom. He was going to be disappointed. Bee Larkham wasn’t here. She was probably at home, emptying out cupboards and cleaning up.

  Before I could explain, he grabbed the lapels of my blazer and shoved me against the wall.

  “Don’t come to my classroom again, Binocular Boy,” he hissed. “Don’t talk to me in school. Ever. Unless I say it’s OK. Do you understand?”

  I didn’t understand why he was reluctant to let Bee Larkham and me save him, but I moved my head up and down anyway. Maybe he was afraid. I didn’t think he was grateful. I could have been wrong.

  “Leave any messages for me in the drawers under the periodic table poster in science lab three C,” he said. “No one ever looks there. That’s how we’re going to communicate from now on. Understand?”

  I shifted my head into the correct positions.

  “Good.” He let go of me and ripped open the envelope.

  The corners of his mouth widened; he must have changed his mind about wanting to be saved. He fished out the phone and read the words on a small, dusky blue piece of notepaper.

  “Tell Bee we’re on for Saturday,” he said. “Now beat it before someone sees me talking to you, dweeb.”

  32

  THURSDAY (APPLE GREEN)
/>   Later That Afternoon

  Dad’s disturbing my work, obscuring the vital shades.

  He’s downstairs, shouting putrid rotten-plum words into the telephone. It can’t be the police because Rusty Chrome Orange has left already. It’s not a work call either; he’d probably be fired if he swore at his boss like that. I creep further down the stairs, careful to avoid the squeaky, brownish pink step.

  “I don’t need another bloody social worker. You were no help before, were you? When I actually needed you. Well, we’re doing OK now, thanks for asking. I’m coping fine. It was a freak accident that could have happened to anyone’s sodding son.”

  He needs a clip around the ear and his mouth washed out with soap.

  That’s what Nan used to say whenever he swore in front of her.

  I retreat to the safety of my bedroom. I have to prepare my next canvas and pick out the right tubes of acrylic.

  A few minutes later, I hear dark primrose yellow as Dad runs up the stairs. He stops at my door but doesn’t knock.

  Paler, fluffy-yellow-chick footsteps head to the bathroom.

  The shower’s switched on.

  Blurry dark gray and shiny clear lines.

  I saw the same indistinct hues the night of Bee Larkham’s party, but I’m not going to paint them now.

  Instead, I must mix the color of multiple, interwoven threats.

  33

  February 12, 7:39 P.M.

  Glittering Neon Tubes Harassed by Scratchy Red on canvas

  Dad spent exactly fourteen minutes in the shower before the party. He came out of the bathroom humming and smelling of sharp citrus fruits. He said making an effort for ladies was important, because they appreciate small gestures. That’s why he put on his best blue shirt.

  “I don’t think you’ll enjoy tonight,” he said, fastening the buttons in the bedroom mirror. “It’ll be boring for a kid with grown-ups standing around, talking and drinking. You could stay at home and I’ll keep coming across the road to check on you.”

  “Can I use your night vision goggles?” I asked.

  “What? At home?”

  “At the party. Bee said tonight wasn’t for you. It’s not for any of the neighbors. She’s only doing it because people are on her back.”

  “That’s what she told you?”

  “She said I could stay up in her bedroom and keep watch on the oak tree. I need to protect the parakeets.”

  “I guess you can borrow them,” he said, sighing. “If you must.”

  I confirmed I had to. It was imperative. Bee Larkham had told me about David Gilbert’s multiple death threats. I had to stay on guard all evening because he could use the party invitation to launch a covert attack. He’d be in camouflage behind enemy lines.

  “Did Bee really say that about the party?” Dad asked as we walked out of the house.

  “She doesn’t want to be kicked around by anyone,” I replied. “She won’t be quiet. She wants to make a lot of noise.”

  “Anything else?”

  Quite a lot, actually—none of which I’d tell him.

  After I’d relayed Lucas’s message on Monday evening, she’d given me a hug and I’d watched the parakeets from her bedroom window for fifteen minutes and twenty-three seconds longer than we’d agreed. She’d also explained the qualities of the stones placed among the china ladies: amethyst to cleanse the room of negative energies and black tourmaline for protection.

  “Bee Larkham says she’s looking forward to tomorrow night a lot more than this dull party,” I said finally.

  “Why? Has she got a boyfriend? Does she have a pre–Valentine’s Day date?”

  “Oh no. Nothing like that.” Dad had got completely the wrong idea as usual, but I couldn’t tell him anything about Lucas Drury.

  I knew Bee Larkham wouldn’t like that. He was our secret.

  • • •

  David Gilbert had set up camp in Bee Larkham’s sitting room. I suspected she’d only invited him to pump him for information about his plans for the parakeets. He was on his third glass of red wine and hadn’t discussed shooting them. That’s what Dad said when he flicked on the light in the bedroom at 9:43 P.M. I asked him to turn it off again because it affected the night vision goggles, but he couldn’t see where he was going.

  Even though the light was on, he had trouble walking in a straight line and bumped into the drawers by the window.

  “Careful,” I said, pointing to the ornaments. Bee Larkham had placed my chair by the window to give the best view of the oak tree. “Bee wants me to see the china ladies from the window. She likes them a lot.”

  “I can see that,” he said. “It’s quite a collection—if you like that sort of thing.”

  “Are you going to dance, like the china ladies?”

  “What?”

  “To the music downstairs,” I replied. Sparkling electric green and violet. “It’s loud, the way Bee likes it.”

  “You could say that,” Dad murmured. “Can you feel the floor vibrating?”

  “I’ve taken off my shoes.” The neon colors sent pleasurable shivers along the soles of my feet.

  “I’ve no idea who most of the people are, to be honest. I’ll go back down if you’re sure you’re OK?”

  I didn’t need Dad. He was distracting me on my watch.

  “I want to catch Ollie,” he continued. “He’s called in to speak to David. He’s in a terrible state. This music probably doesn’t help. It’s hard being a carer at the end, particularly at his age.”

  I examined the night vision goggles, willing him to leave.

  “Jasper? Did you hear what I said?”

  “It’s hard at the end. You can dance downstairs, like the china ladies. I don’t mind. Bee likes dancing as much as her ornaments.”

  He sighed mists of light brown ocher. “I’ll come and get you soon.”

  The door clicked wheat-colored blobs behind him. I didn’t put my goggles down when it opened again four minutes later. The light never flickered on, but footsteps painted dark yellow stripes over the floorboards. The colors stopped near the china ladies and crystals.

  “Sorry. Thought this was the bathroom.” A low, scratchy red voice with a fine Sahara mist.

  “You’re wrong. Please leave.”

  I didn’t bother turning around because the stripy steps retreated. They didn’t go to the bathroom either. I never saw the color of the toilet flush from across the hallway. The person must have gone back downstairs to join the party.

  I could smell cigarette smoke. It had traveled up the stairs, along with the neon green tubes. It didn’t want to leave me alone in Bee Larkham’s bedroom; the vapors thought I wanted company and clung to the peeling, unloved wallpaper.

  Mum never smoked and she still died of lung cancer.

  Life’s unfair, Nan had said. Terrible things can happen to the best people.

  She was right, as usual. Every single day I wish she wasn’t.

  • • •

  Dad never came to get me; I had to find him among dozens of strangers. It was 11:43 P.M. My eyelids hurt, but I didn’t want to take a nap on Bee Larkham’s bed. That would be rude.

  I hadn’t seen the parakeets all night, obviously, but keeping guard was important. The birds were safe in their nests, far away from David Gilbert. No one had walked up to the oak tree, although five people had walked straight past it, down the path. They entered doors up and down the street: 25, 24, 17, and 13. I figured the party was close to ending; the music wouldn’t pump out electric neon colors for much longer.

  A man I didn’t recognize lunged towards me in the hallway.

  “Sorry,” I said automatically.

  He smelt of cigarettes and beer. He said “hello, you” and “goodbye” and I repeated the words back in the same order as he lurched out the front door, in case we knew each other. I doubted it. He had scuffed white trainers and a scratchy reddish voice.

  I called for Dad in the kitchen. Two men turned around from a group of six,
but nobody walked towards me. I figured he wasn’t there. The sitting room, which created all the musical colors, was a better bet.

  A woman with long blond hair danced in the center of the room, holding a glass of yellow liquid. She wore a short black dress, which wasn’t much help—females dressed in black were dotted around the room. I studied the dancer’s silver swallow earrings. This had to be Bee Larkham unless she’d loaned her jewelry to someone else. A woman with short red hair and a green dress shimmied around her, holding her hand.

  The room smelled of smoke and had spawned a large royal blue sofa and chairs. It must have been another delivery when I was at school because I hadn’t noticed the colors of the truck’s arrival. Men and women sprawled over the furniture and held up the walls with their backs, but they didn’t look at me. They stared at the dancing women and sucked on cancer-causing cigarettes.

  “Bee Larkham,” I shouted above the music, towards the woman who was most likely my neighbor and friend. “Have you seen my dad?”

  “Eddie’s there.” The blond dancing woman pointed, laughing. “You walked straight past him, sleepyhead!”

  I followed the direction of her finger. A man with a blue shirt slumped over the sofa, a can of beer balancing in the crotch of his jeans.

  “Jasper!” He tried to stand up but fell back down onto the cushions again. His shirt looked like the one Dad had spent three minutes admiring in the mirror before we left the house, except this one had a wet patch where liquid had spilt down it.

  “Someone’s worse for wear.” A deep, murky claret voice chuckled. It came from the man who sat opposite, holding a glass of wine. His dark navy sweater had diamond patterns.

  “I should take Jasper home,” the man on the sofa said. His voice was muddy ocher. “It’s late. Are you ready to go, Son?”

  I rolled the strap around his night vision goggles the way Dad liked, as a thank-you for helping confirm his identity without embarrassing me.

  “He looks beat. I should be going home too, Ed. I’ve stayed longer than I meant to. I’ll walk out with you both, if I may.” Diamond Sweater Man stood up unsteadily. “Whoops. I think I might have had a few too many. The alcohol’s certainly been flowing tonight.”