Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  ‘So the murder weapon was a bomb?’ I said.

  He moved towards the window and wrote Murder weapon and under it he drew a lit cherry bomb.

  Uncle Pike read from the Bully. ‘The bomb was made from fertiliser and fuel, it says here.’ He chucked me the paper then pulled at his snowy hair, making it stick out in tufts. ‘Lucky we’re not in a rural setting. And why were they all up at the town hall in the middle of the night?’

  ‘Isn’t that a country thing?’ Devon said. ‘Like a farmers market?’

  ‘Great out-of-the-box thinking, but Riverstone doesn’t have a farmers market,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘But dairy farmers … they get up early.’

  Devon drew another stick figure and wrote Mr Henderson’s name under it. ‘Why was he in his office at four in the morning?’

  ‘Maybe a big case?’ I said.

  ‘Hmm, we need to find that out,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Devon drew a ‘?’ and a clock which read four. ‘Maybe he’s like a twenty-four hour lawyer?’ He drew another stick figure and wrote Raewyn Dalrymple—he gave her love hearts for eyes. It was kind of sad.

  He stopped drawing. ‘You okay, Tippy?’

  They didn’t need to keep asking me, but I smiled to show I was all right. It was just like Christmas again, mixed feelings of sadness, anger and excitement—I wanted to solve the mystery.

  My uncle stared at me. ‘Could Raewyn have done it?’

  I shrugged. Devon stood on his tiptoes and wrote Suspect. He wrote Raewyn Dalrymple’s name under it, then an arrow pointing to her face.

  ‘But maybe she was at the town hall trying to help,’ I suggested, like DS Graham had been doing her job. I pressed my palms into my eyes. If I cried now then they might stop investigating.

  Devon gave me a huge hug. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t do this.’

  I pulled back. ‘No. It’s just all so unfair, that’s all.’ I let out a big breath. Uncle Pike frowned at me. ‘I’m okay,’ I added.

  My uncle raised an eyebrow. ‘You need to let us know when you’re not okay, Tippy. That’s the deal. Okay?’

  I nodded and pointed to the list. ‘There was also Chuck.’

  Uncle Pike put his hands on his hips and stared at me.

  ‘Promise I will let you know,’ I said to him.

  He pointed to his eyes then to mine. I smiled. ‘Harrumph,’ he said, then turned to Devon and the wall. ‘Fire-Truck.’

  ‘A fire truck?’ Devon said.

  ‘Chuck,’ I said. ‘The witness, that’s his nickname.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He wets the bed when he’s drunk,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘What!’ I didn’t know that was why he was called Fire-Truck. I grimaced and felt sorry for Chuck. He probably didn’t mean to.

  Devon chose a red pen and drew Fire-Truck lying down with a bottle. He put plus signs for his eyes and surrounded him with a puddle.

  ‘That’s a bit mean,’ I said.

  My uncle shrugged. ‘We didn’t name him.’

  ‘Can the puddle not be wee?’ I asked Devon.

  ‘I’ll make it a rug.’ He coloured it in and drew a cat beside it. ‘Better?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘It looks like the cat’s drinking his blood.’

  Devon held his chin and nodded.

  ‘We’re not counting Detective Sergeant Graham, are we?’ I said. The police were the good guys. Even in Nancy’s books they might not have been smart, but they were never the villains.

  ‘No,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘I don’t think so. She was just responding to the call, and arrived right at the very end. Bad timing all round.’

  Devon put his pen down and was quiet. I didn’t mean to trigger him, another word my counsellor had taught me. I’d noticed that Devon flinched each time she was mentioned. It must have been really hard to see her so badly hurt. I had everything crossed that the policewoman would recover okay. I went over and put my arm around Devon.

  ‘You okay?’ Uncle Pike asked him. ‘Just like Tippy, we don’t have to do this.’ He was right, but I really hoped Devon wouldn’t back out now.

  Devon half-smiled. ‘It’s okay.’

  Uncle Pike pulled us into a group hug.

  ‘We should send her get well flowers,’ Devon said, his voice vibrating in my ear.

  ‘Great idea,’ I said.

  He pulled back and wiped his eyes, then picked up a red marker and moved beside the door. We watched as he drew a large rectangle box with a padlock on it.

  I glanced at my uncle to see if he knew what it meant. He shrugged. ‘Is that the clue box?’

  Devon shook his head and pointed to the ground. He wrote on the box Do not open. It took me a second to realise what it was. My skin crawled. It was the old deep-freezer from the garage. I gently took the pen from him and held his hand. Uncle Pike put an arm around his waist. ‘Shall we have a break?’

  ‘Better out than in,’ Devon said, patting his head. I wasn’t sure that was true, but if it made him feel better that was the main thing. I definitely would not be hanging out by that part of the wall.

  ‘What’s next?’ Devon asked, as if nothing had happened. Uncle Pike frowned. ‘Oh, I know …’ He moved to the middle of the wall and reached up high to write, Clues. He drew a giant magnifying glass around it.

  ‘Only if you’re sure?’ Uncle Pike checked in with him again.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Devon waved him away.

  ‘The security-camera footage?’ I said.

  ‘Excellent,’ my uncle said.

  Devon wrote this down and drew an old TV with a ‘?’ inside it.

  ‘The bomb hoax note for 25 April,’ I continued. ‘The emergency call.’

  He hurried to keep up.

  ‘Fire-Truck?’ I said. ‘He’s the only witness.’

  ‘Well done, Tippy Chan,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘You are very good at this.’ I took a bow.

  Under this list Devon drew an eye then a loopy arrow all the way to stick figure Chuck and his cat. ‘I know!’ Devon jumped up and down on the spot. Alongside Clues he drew a large open book. At the top of the left ‘page’ he wrote Bomb cookbook and underneath, Bomb ingredients, he listed fertiliser and fuel.

  ‘Genius,’ Uncle Pike said. I agreed as I drew a butterfly, thinking about how you would start to make a bomb.

  ‘How was Mr Jansen supposed to make the bomb if he wasn’t any good at science?’ I asked, finishing colouring in the butterfly’s wings.

  ‘Maybe Jansen’s dad showed him how to use explosives?’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘But why would they need to blow things up on his farm?’

  ‘Sometimes to clear tree stumps,’ Uncle Pike said.

  I frowned, an image of the splintered founding tree in my head.

  ‘But it doesn’t explain an explosion that huge.’ He pulled at his bushy eyebrows. ‘And it’s a big leap to go from the occasional stick of dynamite to that.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about farms. Ooh!’ Devon grabbed a blue pen and beside Mr Tulips he drew a figure in an overcoat clutching another lit cherry bomb, its fuse extra-sparkling. Devon gave it a ‘V’ for angry eyebrows, tiny dots for eyes and fangs. He then gave it a curly moustache.

  ‘That’s sexist,’ I said. ‘The other bomber could be female.’

  He drew some hoop earrings and a bee-hive hairdo.

  ‘Still looks like a man,’ I said.

  ‘Can we all start being a bit more fluid and intersectional?’ Uncle Pike asked.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘I guess it fits with Nancy’s villains. They were usually ugly and rude, with terrible clothes and bad makeup.’

  Uncle Pike and Devon looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

  ‘What?’

  Devon snorted and covered his mouth.

  ‘Nothing,’ my uncle said. He snickered. ‘Guess we won’t find anyone like that here.’

  Devon bent over laughing.

  I punched Uncle Pike on the arm. ‘Mean!’

  ‘Ow!’ My un
cle pulled himself together. ‘Sorry.’ He chuckled, wiping his eyes. ‘So, Tippy,’ he said in his serious Santa voice, ‘that means Mr Brown is the bomber.’

  ‘Case solved,’ Devon said, and they burst into hysterics again.

  I shook my head. ‘He doesn’t wear makeup.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Uncle Pike waved his hand at Devon. ‘Shh,’ he managed to say between short breaths, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Mr Brown should,’ Devon yelped, then pulled up his T-shirt and stuffed it in his mouth, still sniggering.

  I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms with what I hoped was a disappointed school teacher expression on my face.

  ‘I can’t look at you,’ Devon said to Uncle Pike then glanced at him and giggled again. Uncle Pike slapped him on the butt. Devon kissed him on the cheek, then with a big exhaling ‘Ahhhhh’ breath, he turned back to the wall.

  Uncle Pike crouched in front of me. ‘We will need to have a chat with Lorraine about Mr Tulips’ beef with the council. And get copies of that security-cam footage.’

  I kicked at the skirting board. I wished we could do this without having to see her.

  Devon pulled out the ute keys as my uncle stood back up.

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘One more thing before we go.’ I held up The Know-how Book of Detection.

  ‘Are the Nancys going forensic?’ Devon ran out of the room.

  My uncle sighed. ‘Don’t forget the cat,’ he called after him.

  Devon came back in pulling on disposable gloves.

  ‘Where did you get those?’ Uncle Pike asked.

  Devon snapped a glove in my uncle’s face. He picked up a pen and wrote CSI above the fireplace. ‘This wall is our CSI lab.’

  ‘Yes!’ I said. We all stopped and looked around the room, the walls already covered with our multi-coloured investigation notes and drawings and our Nancys motto above the door. I loved it.

  ‘Great work, team,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘That’s a massive graffiti brain dump.’

  Devon slapped his arm. ‘How dare you call my mind a dump.’

  ‘Maybe don’t lick this ink pen,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Devon jutted out his hip and held the red pen up close to his face. ‘Mmm.’ He stuck out his tongue and pretended to lick it like an ice cream. ‘Yummy.’

  I giggled.

  My uncle ignored him.

  ‘After our last case …’ I opened the The Know-how Book of Detection.

  ‘The case of the missing head,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Devon glanced at his deep-freezer drawing.

  ‘I’ve done some research,’ I said louder to get his attention back and waved the book. ‘And made us a witness statement, a list of questions to ask our suspects.’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘It also might stop so many of them screaming.’

  I nodded. ‘Hopefully.’ We really needed to work on our interviewing techniques. After our last case, we had left Claire Bates shrieking and disturbed like she was covered in spiders …

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Devon bit his lip. ‘I forgot about that.’

  ‘Making them scream?’ my uncle said, chuckling.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Let’s investigate Mr Tulips’ farm and talk to Lorraine tomorrow morning.’

  My stomach dropped at the sound of her name. I knew my uncle was right, but I was not looking forward to seeing her again.

  He continued, ‘Right now we have to make your mum dinner and get rid of that fucking cat.’

  Devon stopped licking the red pen. ‘I think I’ve got some ink on my tongue.’ He poked it out, keeping his mouth wide open. It was extra red. Uncle Pike rolled his eyes.

  I picked up Devon’s gym bag and gagged. ‘I think Bunny Whiskers has pooed in it.’

  ‘Really?’ Devon cried. I passed it to him, trying to hold my breath.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Despite wanting to dry-retch from the stink, and the drama with Lorraine, I grinned. The Nancys were back together again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  First thing I thought when I woke up early the next morning, besides how many dead flies were in the lamb-poo shag-pile carpet below me, was the Nancys have a case. Outside, the Airbnb’s graveyard garden was covered in frost and the sky was a clear pale blue. I shivered as I filled the jug up for my Milo. Devon took ages to get ready, so by the time we left the Airbnb and drove across to home, the sky was an overcast grey and Mum had already left for the medical centre. I was worried she was working too much again, like she had for all those months after Dad died.

  From our living room window the bright blue of the tarpaulin covering the town hall popped against the grey of the surrounding concrete. The colour reminded me of the blue police forensic tent that had been at my teacher’s crime scene.

  This morning, Uncle Pike was fixing Melanie’s hair and then we were going to Mr Tulips’ farm to investigate. I helped him turn the garage into a hair salon, like we had last holidays. Devon dragged out my mirrored dressing table and my uncle even found the old TV tray he’d covered with tinfoil and set it up beside him, laying out his hairdressing equipment on it. As Devon headed off for a run, Melanie arrived in her muddy black gumboots, wearing an old baggy jersey and black jeans. I grinned. Just like Christmas all over again.

  She sat down in a white plastic chair in front of the mirror and dropped a pair of clunky beige shoes on the floor. ‘Brought them like you asked.’

  Uncle Pike pulled up a chair behind her. ‘I don’t know how you’ve managed to keep your crown with this disgrace.’ He sprayed her hair with a plastic plant-watering bottle.

  Melanie shrugged. ‘I usually wear a cap and put it in a ponytail.’

  ‘So no functions then?’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘Nah, just lots of school visits and hanging out with the elderly. The memorial service this week is my first public appearance. At least I don’t have to make a speech.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ He dragged a comb through her hair, stopping to spray it with a detangler.

  ‘Does Claire Bates hang out with you?’ I asked. She had been one of the show queen contestants with Melanie last year.

  She laughed. ‘Good one, Chan.’

  ‘Have you stopped smoking?’ Uncle Pike asked.

  Melanie pulled out a packet. ‘Only in public.’

  ‘Well, that’s a start I suppose,’ he said.

  She lit a cigarette. ‘So, genius, what are you going to do with this?’ Melanie gestured to her unevenly hacked hair.

  ‘It will take a genius,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘How do you feel about going back to your roots?’

  ‘Red?’ She blew smoke out the side of her mouth towards the floor.

  ‘Not ginger,’ he said. ‘Strawberry blonde, with a hint of pink.’

  Melanie flicked her ash. ‘Bring it on,’ she said. ‘Give the public what they want.’

  ‘Can I have a look at the shoes you’re planning to wear?’ Uncle Pike asked, waggling his fingers.

  Melanie handed them over.

  He hurled them at the green wheelie bin. They bounced off the garage wall and landed next to the broom.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Melanie asked.

  ‘What are you doing?’ my uncle said. ‘Disgusting.’

  Melanie rolled her eyes and took a drag of her smoke.

  ‘I must say I am very disappointed.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s like you’ve become a fashion terrorist. Tippy, I’m going to need whisky.’

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked Melanie.

  ‘Vodka, thanks,’ she said. ‘Hey, do you know what happened to my cat? Bunny Whiskers was covered in shit last night.’

  My stomach dropped and I shrugged, not looking at her.

  Uncle Pike pulled on plastic gloves and I ran inside to get the drinks, hoping he would deflect her cat questions. I poured vodka into a glass for Melanie and topped it up with water, then grabbed the whisky bottle and a glass out of the liquor cabinet.

  When I re
turned to the garage, Uncle Pike had back-combed Melanie’s hair. Her eyes seemed larger with her hair swept back—and even in her farm clothes she looked famous.

  ‘With the cut we are going to go short,’ he said, applying dye to her hair with a brush. ‘Well, shoulder length, and slicked back. Think Princess Diana in New York, 1995.’

  Melanie dropped her cigarette and stomped on it with her gumboot. She searched on her phone and showed me a picture.

  ‘Beautiful,’ I said, glad Bunny Whiskers was no longer part of the conversation. I poured Uncle Pike a drink, leaving the bottle beside him.

  ‘Good work, Tippy,’ he said.

  Melanie smelled her glass. She glanced up at me and smiled. ‘Let’s do this.’ She sculled her drink. Her eyes watered and she blinked with her mouth open.

  ‘Do you want some more water?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she croaked. ‘It went down the wrong way.’ She lit up another cigarette.

  As soon as I left the garage I overheard Melanie say, ‘So things still rough with you and Lucy Loose-Unit?’

  I hung by the door and listened.

  My uncle sighed. ‘Like flying in the mountains on a cloudy day.’

  There was silence, then Uncle Pike continued. ‘His jealousy’s worse. I don’t know if the bombing’s triggered him, but it’s not good.’

  I wondered again about Devon being at Ronsdale Place after what had happened there. I thought of his drawing of the deep-freezer yesterday, ‘Do not open’. Maybe that’s making him extra sad? Whatever it was, I really hoped they wouldn’t break up.

  I went and refilled Melanie’s drink. When I came back out, they were quiet.

  ‘Did I miss something?’

  ‘Melanie said Claire Bates is a Shatty-Patty,’ Uncle Pike said, picking up a smaller brush.

  She laughed. ‘Fuck, you’re awful. Speaking of …’ She held up her phone again. ‘Socials are going off, calling Willem Jansen “Riverstone Root-Rat”. I’m pretty sure Phyllis lost her v-card to him, not that she’ll tell me directly.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘I know what a “v-card” is.’ Why did I say that? I felt my cheeks burn as I blushed, which annoyed me even more.