“I don’t know, Agent Ramdan,” said Shaima. “But we’ve got to stop him.”
Shaima started to run in the direction of her home. Ramzi did a quick tumble-roll and followed.
***
By the time they got to the doorstep of Number Twelve, Ramzi was wheezing. He hated the fist that gripped his chest. Pulling the little blue inhaler out of his pocket, he pressed the puff of air and sucked hard.
“Are you OK?” asked Shaima.
Ramzi held his breath and nodded. Then he breathed out slowly and waited for the ache inside his ribs to go. “Of course I’m OK. What’s the plan?”
“Well,” said Shaima, “I thought I’d just tell them the truth.”
“But they won’t believe you. They think you’ve got ‘exam stress’.”
“That’s why you’re going to do it, Agent Ramadan,” said Shaima.
“What? Oh no, not again.”
“Are you a Black Cat Detective or not?
Ramzi sighed. “OK then. But let’s wait until Rasheed comes out.”
Shaima shook her head and pushed Ramzi into the house. “No. We have to do it now,” she said.
***
“Assalemu aleikum, Mrs Stalk, Nanna Stalk, Aunty Urooj,” shouted Ramzi nervously. The red-and-gold sari had gone.
“Quick, you two, come in. Shut the door,” whispered Aunty Urooj. “He doesn’t know I’m here. He’s in the kitchen discussing honeymoon arrangements!” Her face was flushed with excitement.
They stumbled into the lounge and stared at the wet brown squiggles on Aunty Urooj’s hands and feet. It reminded Ramzi of his Nanna in Algeria. She mixed lumps of brown henna on little saucers and covered her feet until they glowed.
“He mustn’t see me!” giggled Aunty Urooj. “I’ve hidden the sari over there.” She pointed at the bright red silk. “Hey, what’s the matter with you two?”
Ramzi and Shaima had their backs against the door and were blinking like rabbits in the headlights.
“What?” she asked. “Don’t you like it? Oh dear. Perhaps Ammi was right. Maybe stag beetles are too... ?”
“It’s not that,” interrupted Shaima. “The beetles are great. It’s just...” She looked at Ramzi.
Ramzi chewed his lip. It was now or never.
“Well, we’ve kind of been collecting evidence...” he began. “Agent Stalk, where’s the secret casebook?”
“In HQ,” said Shaima. “I’ll get it. Back in a minute.”
Checking no one was following her, Shaima ran off to the shed.
Meanwhile, Ramzi did his best to explain. “We think,” he began, “that Rasheed Khan might try and... do something bad to your beetle collection.”
“What?” said Aunty Urooj in disbelief. “There is no way that Rasheed, or anybody else for that matter, would ever want to damage my beetle collection. It’s one of the best in the world. What a terrible thing to say! It’s unthinkable. Besides, Rasheed loves them just as much as I do!”
Shaima burst in through the French windows, the secret red casebook in her hands. “It’s all true!” she said.
“I heard him,” continued Ramzi. “At the Café Rouge. He said your beetles ‘give him the creeps’. He’s planning to steal your keys and his friend’s going to break into your laboratory when you’re on your honeymoon.”
Aunty Urooj shook her head.
“Look – it’s all in here,” said Shaima. She unlocked The Black Cat Detectives’ Secret Casebook and passed it to Aunty Urooj. “His friend is going to burn them!”
Aunty Urooj’s eyes nearly shot out of their sockets! Reluctantly, she began to flick through the pages. “No, no, no,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve made a mistake. You’re wrong. Rasheed thinks my beetles are amazing.”
“But he was pretending. Just like he pretended to be an orphan,” said Shaima.
Ramzi nodded.
“Look,” said Aunty Urooj, handing the casebook back. “If – and it’s a big if – he hates beetles so much, then why on earth would he want to marry an insectologist? It doesn’t make sense.”
Shaima and Ramzi looked at the carpet. “It’s at the back,” said Ramzi.
“What is?”
“The picture of Aunty Zakiya,” said Shaima, returning the bright red book.
“What’s my sister got to do with it?” asked Aunty Urooj.
“Just look at the newspaper cutting,” said Shaima, pointing to the article she’d sneaked off the cake-trolley.
“You see,” began Ramzi, “he wants your money.” There, he’d said it.
Aunty Urooj blinked. “Money?” She couldn’t take it all in.
“Your money – from the sale of the vase,” said Shaima.
Aunty Urooj blinked again.
“Aunty Zakiya’s just sold a Quainlong Vase. It made a total fortune and she’s going to give loads to you,” explained Shaima.
“Yeh – like millions,” said Ramzi. “We saw him laughing about it when we were spying on him. It’s all in the book.”
“When you were what?” exclaimed Aunty Urooj.
Shaima fiddled with her glasses nervously. “We were worried about you, Aunty Urooj. That’s why we set up The Black Cat Detective Agency. We followed him. We saw him reading about Aunty Zakiya. It was in the local newspaper. He knows you’re going to be rich. That’s why he wants to marry you. I’m so sorry.”
“But...” stammered Aunty Urooj. “He knew I was an insectologist when he met me!”
Shaima looked guilty. “It’s all my fault,” she said. “I didn’t mention the beetles on your profile. I just said you were a doctor.”
“I see,” said Aunty Urooj. “And I thought... well... I thought...” She looked at her feet. “I’d better go and wash this off,” she said. Then she disappeared upstairs.
Ramzi and Shaima looked at each other. Being a detective was tough.
When Aunty Urooj came downstairs, she looked like an Indian princess. Her sleeves were rolled back down, but her feet and hands were bare. The dark henna had been washed away, leaving a beautiful deep orange stain. But her face was flushed with anger.
“I need to talk to Rasheed,” she said, storming towards the kitchen.
***
Mrs Stalk, Nanna Stalk, Mr Stalk and Rasheed were sitting round the table. They were looking at a glossy holiday brochure while Iqbal was playing by the fridge.
The kitchen door burst open.
“Rasheed Khan,” said Aunty Urooj, “answer me this. Why exactly do you want to marry me?”
Nanna Stalk jumped up. “Urooj, what are you doing? You shouldn’t let him see you until the wedding!”
“No. I’m sorry. This can’t wait. Answer the question please.”
“I was just saying,” smiled Rasheed, “Mauritius would be perfect. I’ve found us a beautiful hotel.” He pointed to a gleaming white building with a turquoise pool spilling into the sea.
“I don’t care about hotels and pools. Why do you want to marry me?”
Rasheed twitched awkwardly. “Because of your great beauty and intellect, my diamond.”
“Beauty and intellect?” said Aunty Urooj, softening. “So, it’s got nothing to do with anything else?”
“No, no, no,” smiled Rasheed. “Of course not.” He turned to Mr Stalk. “I don’t even know how much money those vases are worth, anyway.”
Mr Stalk looked at Aunty Urooj. Her mouth was hanging open in disbelief. Suddenly, Rasheed Khan realised what he’d said!
“Of c... c... course...” he stuttered, “money is of no consequence. Who needs money when they have, erm, love...”
Aunty Urooj narrowed her eyes.
“But just think,” he continued, digging himself in deeper, “we’d be able to buy a big house with security gates... and have a private cinema... and my mother could come and live with us.”
“Your mother? But I thought you said you were an orphan!”
Rasheed began to panic – he could almost see the crisp, new bank notes slipping from
his hands. “But, Urooj, my treasure... my mother has quite a bad cold, so I might be an orphan soon, and besides...”
“Besides? Let me tell you something, Rasheed Khan,” said Aunty Urooj, fixing him with her steely glare. “If my sister gives me any money, I intend to donate half of it to the Beetle Benevolent Fund. The rest I will use to help my research. It will not go to you, Rasheed Khan.”
“But my dearest diamond, my jewel,” said Rasheed. “Why would you want to dirty your pretty little hands with those disgusting bugs? When we’re married and rolling in money, there’ll be no need for you to work.”
Aunty Urooj gasped in horror. “So it’s all true! You hate insects. And my laboratory? You were planning to burn it down!” Her voice became a breathless whisper.
Mr Stalk got up and stood by her side. “Now, now Urooj. We need some time to think about all this.”
“No, Mustafa. Ramzi and Shaima were right about everything – they showed me their secret casebook. Rasheed Khan is a sham.”
Everyone looked at Rasheed, waiting for an answer. But he couldn’t speak.
“I think you’d better leave,” said Mr Stalk.
“I’m sure I could learn to love beetles, if you really want me to,” he pleaded.
Aunty Urooj followed him to the door. “You are nothing but a lowly fraud,” she said. “I should have listened to Ramzi and Shaima all along. The only thing you will ever love is yourself. Now, get out of this house!” She pointed to the door with her henna-tattooed hand.
“B...b...but,” stammered Rasheed.
“Out. Now,” said Mr Stalk, grabbing Rasheed’s arm.
Though both very small, Nanna Stalk and Shaima – who felt jointly responsible for this whole catastrophe – helped Mr Stalk push Rasheed through the hall. He stumbled into Cinnamon Grove and out of their lives forever.
At least, that’s what Shaima wrote in The Black Cat Detectives’ secret casebook.
***
“You were awesome, Aunty Urooj,” said Shaima, glowing with pride.
“Yeh,” nodded Ramzi. “You totally showed him.”
Aunty Urooj forced a smile.
“I think,” said Nanna Stalk, staring at the laptop suspiciously, “that he might have been some sort of computer virus.”
Shaima tried to explain that computer viruses don’t walk about in white suede shoes, but Nanna Stalk’s mind was fixed. “I’ve been around a lot longer than you,” she said. “Now – I think we all need some tea – with extra sugar.” This was Nanna Stalk’s remedy for every trouble in life. She patted Aunty Urooj on the shoulder and went to put the kettle on.
Aunty Urooj looked at the clock. “I need to go,” she said. Then she noticed the red-and-gold sari hanging behind the curtain and sighed.
“Why do you have to go?” asked Shaima.
“A beetle’s about to emerge. And he’s late,” said Aunty Urooj.
Nanna Stalk looked worried. “You shouldn’t be on your own. Not now. You’ve had a terrible shock. Why don’t you take Shaima and Ramzi with you?”
“To the laboratory?” asked Shaima. She tried her best not to sound excited.
Aunty Urooj shrugged. “S’pose,” she said, grabbing her carpet bag. But her voice was empty and hollow.
“The beetles – they’re not, like, loose are they?” asked Ramzi, as they headed for the door.
“They might be,” grinned Shaima mischievously.
A Beetle is Born
The smell of dank earth and musty leaves filled their nostrils as the door pushed open.
“Wow!” exclaimed Shaima. She’d never been into Aunty Urooj’s laboratory before and stood on tiptoe trying to peer into one of the glass containers.
“Which one is it?” asked Ramzi, moving away from a clump of dark green branches.
“Not that one!” said Aunty Urooj. “He’s over here.” She was pointing at an enormous glass container with a bright light hanging overhead. Shaima ran over to look. Ramzi walked as if gravity were working against him.
“Subhan’Allah!” cried Aunty Urooj. “We’re only just in time!”
There, on the warm brown soil, was a large white maggoty thing! Very slowly, it started to wriggle. Then, the larger end started to bulge. Something dark was pushing through its slimy surface! Ramzi felt the muscles in his legs tighten. Would they notice if he slipped out of the door? He started to edge away from the glass.
“Hold this!” said Aunty Urooj, throwing her clipboard at Ramzi’s chest. Ramzi clutched it tight, like a shield.
“This is awesome!” said Shaima. She was drawing sketches of the maggoty thing’s changing shape when suddenly, it stopped.
“Is it dead?” asked Ramzi.
“Of course it’s not dead!” said Aunty Urooj.
They waited in silence. The huge white lump quivered. Then it wriggled down into the mud and disappeared.
“Oh no! Where’s it going?” exclaimed Shaima.
“Don’t worry. This is all to be expected. It’s typical behaviour of a Rhinoceros Beetle,” said Aunty Urooj. “It’ll come back up. You can trust me on that.”
They waited with bated breath. The minutes passed.
“Are you sure it’s not dead?” asked Ramzi.
Aunty Urooj glared at him.
“Look!” said Shaima.
The tip of the fat white worm reappeared – shining under the light.
SHLURK. They all gasped as a sharp black horn pierced the surface like a knife. Legs and antennae unravelled and there he was – the long-awaited Rhinoceros Beetle!
“It’s awesome!” squealed Shaima again.
Ramzi was speechless. And slightly sick.
Aunty Urooj smiled happily. “As he’s from South America, I shall call him Salvador. He’ll get much bigger, you know. Some grow as big as my hand.”
Salvador was the most enormous beetle Ramzi had ever seen! Much bigger than Gulliver. In fact, he didn’t really look like a beetle. He looked more like a mini-beast ready for war.
“What does he eat?” asked Ramzi nervously.
Aunty Urooj laughed. “Just rotting fruit and stuff. He won’t hurt you.”
“Can I hold him?” asked Shaima.
“Sure,” said Aunty Urooj, lifting the lid. She picked up the enormous beetle and placed it carefully on the back of Shaima’s arm. Shaima grinned. Salvador’s black silhouette trembled against her turquoise salwar kameez.
“Wow!” giggled Shaima. “He’s incredible!”
Aunty Urooj smiled with pride. “Ramzi – do you want to hold him?”
She turned round. But Ramzi was nowhere to be seen.
Aunty Urooj’s Secret
The arrival of Salvador cheered Aunty Urooj up. But not for long. The fading henna was a constant reminder of dastardly Rasheed Khan.
“I’ll never trust a man again,” she sighed, staring at her beetle-print hands.
Everyone tried their best to make her feel better. Nanna Stalk knitted her a laboratory coat, Ramzi told her some of his best jokes and Shaima let her win at chess. But nothing worked. Aunty Urooj remained glum.
“Look what I’ve made you,” said Mrs Stalk, carrying a steaming dish into the lounge. “It’s your favourite – lamb and spinach curry.”
“Not hungry,” said Aunty Urooj.
“Have you heard the one about the doctor and the curtains?” asked Ramzi.
“Yes,” said Aunty Urooj.
Ramzi looked at Shaima. She wasn’t even trying to help. Her head was buried in a prospectus from Greystone’s Academy! Ramzi went over and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Agent Stalk,” he whispered. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
Shaima grinned and threw the prospectus on the table. “Aunty Urooj,” she said, “Why don’t you come with us to collect Amin? He’s coming home tomorrow.”
Aunty Urooj shook her head. “No point,” she sighed.
“Well, you can’t just waste your life sitting in your laboratory, staring at a insects,” said Nanna
Stalk.
“What Nanna means,” Shaima interupted, “is that Greystone’s Academy is such an old building that it might be the perfect hiding place for Long-Horned Capricorn Beetles.” She took Aunty Urooj’s hand. “After all, you must be missing him.”
Aunty Urooj looked up – small tears gathered in her eyes. At last, someone had named the sadness. It was true. Gulliver was no more. He’d died only last week but Aunty Urooj had kept it to herself. Trust Shaima to work it out. Suddenly, everything made sense. So that was the ache in her heart – the loss of Gulliver – not the loss of Rasheed Khan.
Aunty Urooj smiled. She remembered Rasheed’s silly cotton suit, his ridiculous smile and those awful white suede shoes! What had she been thinking? What a lucky escape! Thank heavens the wedding was off.
“You’re right!” she exclaimed. “Rasheed was an absolute numpty. I see it now. And Gulliver can’t have been the only one left. There must be more.”
Ramzi smiled at Shaima. True. She was tiny and she was a girl. But she was definitely the best partner any Black Cat Detective could have. Of course, Long-Horned Capricorn Beetles have a short life expectancy – how could he have forgotten? No wonder Aunty Urooj was sad.
“Is it OK if I come too?” asked Ramzi. A trip to Greystone’s Academy would be fun. After all, he’d won a balloon ride last time.
“Of course,” smiled Mrs Stalk. She ladled the dark green curry on to plastic plates.
“That looks great,” said Aunty Urooj. “I’m starving.”
Dusty Corners
They didn’t find a Long-Horned Capricorn Beetle at Greystone’s Academy. Not that summer, anyway. But they did find something else. Or rather, someone else. It all happened underneath the staircase that spiralled into the Great Hall.
Ramzi and Shaima were peering through their Black Cat Detective magnifying glasses, helping Aunty Urooj search amongst the cobwebs. She was very excited. After all, it was the perfect habitat for Gulliver’s kind. Dusty and old. But Ramzi wasn’t looking very hard. His brief encounter with Salvador had made him wary. Perhaps that’s why he was the first to turn round when Professor Entwistle coughed.
The Black Cat Detectives Page 7