by Anna Dale
‘Three,’ corrected Trudy. ‘You’re forgetting Mr Zuckermann.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Dawn made an amendment to her letter. Harold Zuckermann had telephoned that morning while she had been at church. He had asked if Trudy could choose a few tasteful statues for his garden – and he had spoken in a distinctive, American drawl. Angela Bradshaw had never said that Murdo Meek had an accent, and Dawn had been content to put a line through Harold’s name.
‘What else are you going to put in your progress report?’ asked Trudy. ‘The fact that you’ve found no clues at all in your hunt for our missing colleague?’
Trying her best to ignore her, Dawn picked up her fountain pen. ‘I’m going to tell Red about the light I saw on the hill last night. I think it was someone with a torch and they were heading for Palethorpe Manor.’
‘That tumbledown old ruin?’ said Trudy. ‘Why would anyone want to poke around up there?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dawn, ‘but I intend to find out.’
‘Tonight?’ said Trudy, gripping the arms of her chair. She seemed a tiny bit concerned. ‘All by yourself?’
‘I thought I might wait until tomorrow,’ said Dawn, surprised by how confident she sounded. ‘There’s a full moon then, you see. Socrates says that torches are far too noticeable. He says it’s always best to find your way by moonlight when you’re snooping about in the dark.’
‘Gone to rack and ruin, that place has. Been derelict for donkey’s years. I wouldn’t go near it if I were you, unless you want half a ton of bricks and masonry falling on your head.’ Seth Lightfoot waved his dustpan and brush warningly at Felix before sweeping up some dusty old chips that someone had dropped in the gutter. ‘Palethorpe’s not for playing in,’ said Seth grimly. ‘You kids had better stay away.’
‘Yes, good idea,’ said Dawn. Then, as discreetly as she could, she kicked Felix in the ankle. ‘Come on, Wayne. We can’t stand here chatting, all morning.’ She seized his hand and managed to drag him past the duck pond and halfway up the Green before he squirmed out of her grasp.
‘You’re awfully violent for a girl,’ said Felix, massaging his wrist. He leaned against a telephone box and examined his ankle. ‘What d’you have to go and kick me for? I’m in excruciating agony here.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ said Dawn. She was very angry indeed. ‘I’m wearing sandals so it can’t have hurt that much. Anyway, you deserved it.’
‘You’re jolly lucky that Halt—I mean, Fred, was looking the other way,’ said Felix, ruffling his dog’s fur, ‘otherwise he would have gone for you.’
‘Hmm,’ said Dawn, casting a doubtful glance at Haltwhistle who had just started to lick her toes. He was such a placid dog that she could not imagine him taking a bite out of anybody. Although he seemed rather fond of barking, his woofs were always accompanied by a happily wagging tail. How, thought Dawn, could someone be so mistaken about his own dog?
‘Ooh,’ said Felix, wincing with pain as he put weight on his ankle.
Dawn began to feel slightly guilty. ‘I wouldn’t have had to kick you,’ she hissed, ‘if you hadn’t struck up a conversation with that man. What in the world made you ask about Palethorpe Manor?’
‘I was curious,’ said Felix. ‘What’s the big deal? I was only making small talk. The chap looked harmless enough.’
‘That was Seth Lightfoot,’ said Dawn. ‘He’s a suspect! And now you’ve put it into his head that we’re interested in Palethorpe.’
‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’ grumbled Felix. ‘How am I supposed to know what not to mention if you never tell me anything?’
Dawn didn’t bother to respond. The last thing she wanted was for Felix to find out about the escapade she had planned for that evening. She did not want to be followed by a meddlesome boy and his idiotic dog when she went on her moonlit walk to Palethorpe Manor. Ignoring his questioning stare, Dawn began to examine the side of the telephone box.
‘Look!’ she said, putting her arm through a small rectangular gap. ‘There’s a pane of glass missing.’
‘So what?’ said Felix grouchily.
‘This is the place where Bob ended up. He was the second agent to come looking for your granny. The missing piece of glass might be a clue to what happened to him. He was found in a bit of a state,’ explained Dawn, ‘and he hasn’t spoken a word since.’
‘Poor guy,’ said Felix. He hobbled into the telephone box and looked around eagerly. ‘I know – let’s see if we can find some more clues.’
‘Wait!’ said Dawn, following him inside. She opened her purse, which was hanging round her neck, and took out several coins. ‘People might wonder what we’re doing in here. Put a coin in the slot and act like you’re talking on the phone. Then drop some money on the floor and I’ll pretend to be looking for it.’
‘Do I have to?’ said Felix.
‘Yes!’ Dawn told him. ‘Don’t make a fuss – just do it.’
‘Crikey,’ he said, lifting the receiver. He chuckled to himself. ‘When I first met you I thought you were a bit of a wimp – but I’m beginning to change my mind!
‘Where have you been?’ said Trudy, giving Dawn a sour look. She stopped leaning against a moss-covered brick wall and grasped the handles of a wheelbarrow. ‘I told Mr Grahams that we’d be starting work at nine thirty. You’re a quarter of an hour late!’
‘I’m really sorry,’ said Dawn.
‘Well, that’s all right,’ said Trudy, her tone mellowing a little. ‘I expect it was his fault anyway.’ She glared reproachfully at Felix, who had paused at a lamppost a few paces away for Haltwhistle to relieve himself.
‘No,’ said Dawn. ‘Actually, Wayne wasn’t to blame.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I chanced upon a clue – that’s what held me up.’
‘Great,’ said Trudy softly. ‘What did you find?’
‘A missing pane of glass,’ said Dawn. She decided not to mention the other thing that she had found. The grey feather that had been lying on the floor of the telephone box had not looked important enough to be a clue. She had pocketed it, nevertheless, having decided that it would make a pretty bookmark.
‘What’s so special about a missing piece of glass?’ said Trudy.
Dawn hesitated. She had spied somebody walking towards them. ‘Gosh, Mum, what lovely plants,’ she said loudly, turning her attention to the wheelbarrow. It contained several flowering shrubs in brown plastic pots as well as an assortment of gardening tools and a small sack of peat. ‘I bet Mr Grahams will be pleased with these beauties.’
‘Er … yes,’ said Trudy, looking somewhat tense as a man approached with a newspaper tucked under his arm. ‘I picked them up at Scattergood’s Nursery this morning,’ she said to Dawn. ‘Couldn’t decide between the pansies and the chrysanthemums – so I got both.’
‘Nice day for it,’ said the man, smiling pleasantly as he passed. His shoes made crunching sounds with every step as he turned into the gravel drive of the house next door. Dawn recognised his sleek black hair and aquiline nose. It was the bell-ringer whom she had seen at church the day before. She had checked to see if his name was definitely on her list of suspects – and it was. His name was Charles Noble.
‘Where did you find it?’ said Trudy, once Charles Noble’s footsteps could no longer be heard. She nudged Dawn’s elbow. ‘The missing pane of glass!’
‘Telephone box,’ said Felix before Dawn could reply. Haltwhistle had finished with the lamppost and was now sniffing the wheelbarrow’s plump black tyre.
‘The one where Bob was found,’ said Dawn. ‘I’m certain the missing pane of glass must be a clue. I just don’t know exactly what it means yet.’
‘Oh,’ said Trudy. She seemed disappointed. Lifting the handles of the wheelbarrow, she propelled it alongside a wall and stopped when she reached a narrow wooden gate. Beyond the gate was the home of Larry Grahams: a red brick house called ‘Rustlings’.
Obeying a nod from Trudy, Dawn opened the gate to allow her ‘mother’ to pass th
rough with the wheelbarrow. Felix lingered in the road with a hopeful look on his face. He appeared to be waiting for an invitation to join them. Trudy cocked an eyebrow at him.
‘Go home, Wayne,’ she said firmly.
His face fell.
‘And I don’t mean, “Take the most roundabout route possible and get into heaps of trouble on the way,”’ she said. ‘Straight home – and no chatting to anyone.’
Felix adopted a sulky expression, tugged on Haltwhistle’s lead and began to trudge towards the Green.
‘Come on, Fred,’ he mumbled. ‘We know when we’re not wanted.’
Chapter Fourteen
The Sandal Snatcher
To Dawn’s eyes, the back garden at Rustlings resembled a wildlife haven. Everywhere she looked there were fluttering wings, darting insects and glimpses of furry creatures in the trees. She counted three bird feeders which swayed and shook as they were visited by little birds with short, slim beaks. Dozens of boisterous starlings with greasy-looking black feathers descended on the stone birdbath in the centre of the lawn. They dipped their heads under the water and wiggled their bodies, surrounding themselves with plumes of sparkling droplets.
Larry Grahams was proud of his garden. Dawn could tell by the way his eyes gleamed when he talked about it. He was particularly pleased with his vegetable plot. However, as he explained to Trudy, he wasn’t as young as he used to be. His knees were inclined to seize up if he knelt on the hard ground for too long, which meant that he had neglected to do any weeding in recent months. When he had seen her notice in the post office window, he had finally admitted to himself that it was time to ask for a helping hand.
While Trudy set to work pulling up weeds and dropping them in a tin pail, Dawn flitted about the garden with a trowel, prodding the soil for appearances’ sake, keeping an eye open for Larry.
Their employer seemed to be a kind, if rather dreamy, man. Dawn guessed that he was a year or two younger than her grandfather. He was a lithe fellow who chose to dress in rich, earthy colours. His white beard was neatly trimmed and he wore a tweed cap and a neckerchief. Once Trudy and Dawn had started to busy themselves in the garden, Larry disappeared inside his house.
An abundance of trees and mature shrubs meant that Dawn could easily slip out of sight and have a jolly good snoop. She found a compost heap that reeked of rotting vegetables and a dark shed full of cobwebs. Her most interesting discovery was a tortoise, which she found dozing under a clump of lavender. As she stretched out a finger to stroke its rough, bumpy shell, she saw Larry coming towards her. He was holding a tray.
‘Ah, there you are! I see you’ve found Pilliwinks,’ he said, smiling at his sleeping pet. ‘Isn’t she a treasure? She’s a Greek tortoise, you know. I had half a mind to let my friend Rex Hutton take her with him when he emigrated out there. Thought it might be nice to return the old girl to her homeland. When it came to the crunch I couldn’t part with her, though. She’s far too dear to me.’
‘Your friend has moved to Greece?’ said Dawn, trying not to appear too curious. Rex Hutton’s name was on the five of diamonds.
‘Yes,’ said Larry. ‘Upped sticks and left a month and a half ago. Said he wanted to spend his twilight years in a place with a nice, hot climate.’
‘I see,’ said Dawn, managing to stay perfectly calm. If Rex had relocated to Greece in June that meant that he could not be Murdo Meek. So far, she had eliminated six out of the eleven suspects on her list.
Only a few more names to cross off, thought Dawn as she accepted the glass of lime cordial and the custard cream that Larry offered her.
‘Do you think you and your mum will be all right if I pop down to the pond and feed the ducks?’ asked Larry. ‘It’s part of my morning routine. I know it’s a bit silly at my age, but I’m very fond of my feathered friends.’
‘Did they ever find the one that went missing?’ said Dawn, remembering the conversation that she’d overheard between Diana Flinch and Bess Arbuthnot in the post office.
‘Sadly, no,’ said Larry, and Dawn was dismayed to see a tear slip down his cheek. ‘Poor old Bernard.’
‘Bernard?’ said Dawn.
‘That’s the name I gave him. He was the pond’s most senior resident; feathers were starting to lose their sheen and he was getting a bit doddery. It’s a shame that he’s gone. I do miss the old boy.’ Another tear began to well in Larry’s eye, and Dawn changed the subject hurriedly.
‘Where would you like your pansies planted?’ she asked. ‘Mum and I were wondering.’
‘Oh, anywhere,’ said Larry in a faraway voice. He gave the tray to Dawn. ‘Would you oblige me by handing out the rest of the refreshments? I really must shoot off. My ducks will be wondering where I’ve got to.’
‘Sure, Mr Grahams. No problem,’ she said, smiling to herself.
With Larry Grahams safely out of the way, Dawn seized her opportunity to explore inside his home. Conveniently, he had left the back door unlocked. Dawn removed her sandals before entering the house so that she did not leave any tell-tale traces of mud on the carpets within. Clutching the tray (which she planned to set down in the kitchen, giving herself a reason to be indoors should Larry return to find her there), Dawn stepped over the threshold.
She moved carefully through each room, her eyes goggling at the paintings on the walls, the overcrowded bookshelves, the outmoded furniture and the numerous porcelain animals which seemed to be displayed everywhere. It was obvious to Dawn that Larry was a tidy person. All his possessions were neatly arranged and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen. Taking great care not to disturb anything, she lifted lids, opened drawers and peered into cupboards but, to her disappointment, she did not find a scrap of evidence to suggest that Larry Grahams was anything other than a harmless old man.
Sensing that Larry could be back at any moment, Dawn trod softly through the house and opened the back door, intending to put on her sandals as quickly as possible.
‘Oh, flip,’ said Dawn. Her forehead wrinkled in bewilderment.
Where there had been two sandals sitting on a flag-stone outside the door – now there was only one.
Dawn’s heart fluttered like a moth’s wings against a light bulb. Although she was finding it awkward to walk around the garden wearing only one sandal, that wasn’t what was bothering her. Neither was she fussed about the grass stains or lumps of dirt on the underside of her left foot. It was the identity of the person who had taken her sandal which was making her worry.
Trudy wasn’t responsible. Dawn had asked her straight away.
‘In case you hadn’t noticed,’ Trudy had said, wiping a gloved hand across her sweating brow, ‘I happen to be quite busy working. Anyway, what on earth would I want with one of your smelly sandals?’
When Dawn had asked her if she had seen anyone else in the garden, she had shaken her head and hurled a handful of dandelions into her pail.
Ignoring the scowl on Trudy’s face, Dawn had pressed on with another question. ‘What about Larry?’ she’d said. ‘Has he come back yet?’
‘Not to my knowledge,’ Trudy had muttered acidly, ‘but I wasn’t aware that it was my job to keep watch. I’m just the gardener. You’re the one who’s supposed to be the spy.’
Dawn had searched the lawn and flowerbeds. She had poked about in the compost heap, scoured the vegetable plot and even had another peek in the spider-infested shed. Her sandal was nowhere to be found. She stood in a secluded corner of the garden and glanced edgily around her. Was it possible that Larry had returned, unseen, and witnessed Dawn searching through his belongings? But, if so, why hadn’t he confronted her? What reason could he have had for stealing her sandal? And if Larry hadn’t been the culprit, then who had? Sandals didn’t walk off by themselves.
Dawn’s eyes stopped darting about, and fixed upon a broken twig in the hedge next to her. She examined it earnestly. At the breakage, the wood was pale and moist as if it had been snapped in two a matter of moments ago. Then something else
caught her attention. Lying on the ground were three or four tiny sprigs of hawthorn leaves and, as Dawn crouched beside them, she spotted a strand of blackish hair tangled around a slender stem. She remembered reading in Keeping to the Shadows that tiny signs like these could turn out to be big clues when a spy was attempting to follow the tracks of his quarry.
Somebody’s been through here, thought Dawn. I’m certain of it. Glancing over her shoulder to check that she wasn’t being observed, she squeezed through the hedge by wriggling on her stomach and emerged in the garden next door.
The lawn was as spick and span as a recently vacuumed carpet. Its grass had been mown in such a way that stripes of light green alternated with those of a slightly darker hue. There was a rockery, and a pond with an ornamental fish in its centre, spewing a long stream of water from its mouth. Dawn took refuge behind a tall conifer tree and peered cautiously around it.
The house at the end of the garden seemed to be a strange sort of hybrid. The lower half looked ordinary enough if rather ancient. It was made of flame-coloured bricks and had small, latticed windows. The roof, however, was an unusual conical shape with an octagonal window at the top, which reminded Dawn of the highest storey of a lighthouse. Crowning this was a weather vane with a jade-green dragon twisting and turning in the wind. Despite its freakish appearance, she had a hunch that only a very wealthy person would be able to afford to live in it.
Dawn saw Charles Noble’s face at one of the ground-floor windows and swiftly flattened herself against the tree. Could he have stolen her sandal? The colour of his hair certainly matched the strand that she had found on the hawthorn sprig. She started to entertain the possibility that Charles Noble could be Murdo Meek. What would he do to her if he found her in his garden? She hurriedly dreamt up a story about a wild rabbit with a distressing limp, and practised her most anguished facial expression. This changed to a look of open-mouthed horror when she happened to glance at the fountain.