Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  ‘Basically, people can’t deal with the fact that he was sex-positive,’ Melanie said. ‘And are trying to conflate that with being a murderer.’

  Uncle Pike shook his head. I snuck away and searched up the meaning of ‘sex-positive’ and wondered what that meant for our case. After several more searches, I came back out. Melanie was leaving in Mum’s pink shower cap.

  She noticed me staring and smiled. ‘See you soon, Chan.’ She waved her phone at us. ‘Thanks, Betty,’ she called out as she left the garage.

  ‘Follow my instructions!’ Uncle Pike yelled after her. ‘I’ll see you back here for your cut.’ He patted the top of the white plastic chair. ‘Right, Tippy Chan, your turn.’

  I sat down and he wrapped the black plastic cape over me. I craned my neck to check Melanie had really gone, then whispered, ‘What did you tell her about the cat?’

  Uncle Pike sprayed my hair. ‘I said, go ask Devon.’ He picked up a comb.

  I giggled then thought about what they had been talking about. I didn’t know how else to say it so I blurted it out. ‘Are you and Devon going to be okay?’

  He rested his huge warm hands on my shoulders. ‘I know how much you mean to him, honey.’

  I nodded. ‘He’s like my sister.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Uncle Pike combed my hair. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.’ He paused and looked at me in the mirror. ‘I promise.’

  I smiled back, but more for his sake. I knew Devon and I were fine, it was Uncle Pike and Devon I was worried about.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Ready for something completely different?’

  I stared at myself in the mirror. I didn’t want to be mistaken for an eight-year-old kid anymore.

  Uncle Pike tilted his head then lifted up a brush with dye on it. ‘Blonde?’ He smiled.

  Mum would absolutely kill me. ‘Yes. Please.’

  My uncle followed the same steps with me as he had with Melanie. I wrinkled my nose at the dye, which stank. We chatted about our favourite Nancy Drew TV series and soon he was covering my hair with a white shower cap. He stood up and took off his plastic gloves, putting them in the wheelie bin. ‘You can walk around if you like.’ He leaned back, stretching out his back. ‘When it’s time, you’ll need to take a shower and wash out the dye. Don’t freak out, but with the colour your hair will look really short.’

  I thought about school. ‘How much does hair grow in a week?’

  ‘Trust me, you’re going to look amazing.’

  ‘Do you think what Melanie said was a clue?’

  Uncle Pike tilted his head. ‘Which part?’

  ‘About Mr Tulips being sex-positive? Does that mean the second bomber could be one of his girlfriends? They could be a couple, like Ross and Audrey Monteith in The Clue in the Old Stage Coach.’

  He was quiet for a minute and I wondered if I had said something bad. ‘It doesn’t not mean that,’ he said eventually. ‘Definitely something we should write on the clue-slash-suspect wall. Good thinking, Tippy. The Monteiths were creepers weren’t they?’

  I went and showered then dried my hair with a towel before checking myself out in the bathroom mirror. I giggled. I’m blonde! I looked completely different and I loved it.

  I dressed quickly and, beaming, ran back out to Uncle Pike. I gave him the hugest hug. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

  ‘You are so welcome, Tippy Chan,’ he rumbled. He swayed me from side to side then got me to sit down. He had turned the mirrored dresser around, ‘So you can’t peek.’ He began cutting my hair.

  I held my hands on my lap, concentrating on the snip, snip sounds of his scissors. Soft wet chunks of hair fell on to my wrists and hands. I could feel him cutting, at times using his fingers as a comb. My hair felt really short. I panicked. What if I hate it?

  ‘Can I look yet?’

  The sound of the scissors stopped and Uncle Pike did his standing up groan. ‘Not just yet, Tippy. I want it to be a surprise.’

  I stared at the wooden back of the dresser as he quickly blow-dried my hair and styled it. ‘It’s a long pixie with an undercut.’ The hairdryer’s hot air felt nice on my face.

  Once he’d finished I got up to look in the mirror.

  ‘Nuh-uh,’ Uncle Pike said, gently pushing me back down. ‘Not finished with you yet.’ He rustled in his bag and handed me a shampoo bottle. ‘I need you to use this once a week. It’ll stop your blonde from going brassy.’

  ‘Okaaaay?’ I said.

  ‘Basically, stops your hair turning orange.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He pulled out his makeup case. ‘Tippy, I want to accent your eyes. Just a little. To make them pop.’

  I pulled back and frowned. He didn’t like my eyes?

  Uncle Pike’s hand hovered with the eyeliner pencil. ‘Relax, I don’t mean pop out literally, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  I dug my fingernail into my thumb. Mean girls at school went on about my ‘Chinese eyes’, telling me ‘I so lucky’ and at other times just pulling faces. Last year, Todd and Sam had my back. Todd would call them arse-clowns, and they would back off. But this year, I was alone and they wouldn’t stop. If anything they had become worse. Now Uncle Pike?

  I cleared my throat. A hard lump was forming. ‘You want to make them rounder?’

  My uncle cocked his head and frowned at me. ‘Are you serious? If I wanted to make them rounder I’d glue on ping pong balls.’

  Cookie Monster’s face came to mind. I relaxed. ‘Okay.’

  He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked at me, serious. ‘You are perfect, Tippy Chan. You know that, right? You got the best from both your parents. Beautiful. And if any fucker ever tells you otherwise, you kick them in the cunt, understand?’

  I burst out laughing and nodded.

  ‘Now hold still.’ Uncle Pike raised the brown eyeliner and pressed it against the skin under my eye. I sat statue still.

  ‘P.S. don’t use that word till you’re older,’ he added. ‘P.P.S. you can interchange it with balls.’ He finger-combed my fringe, parting it to the side so my left eye was peeking through it. ‘Oh, and violence isn’t the answer. You know what I mean.’ When he had finished, he turned the dresser around, scraping it against the garage’s concrete floor.

  I gasped. My fringe and sides were long, but then it was short underneath and at the back. And my makeup … I didn’t look like a kid anymore.

  Uncle Pike leaned down, his head beside mine. He spoke to me in the mirror. ‘You, Tippy Chan, are a rock star.’

  I loved it.

  Mr Jansen’s farm wasn’t far from Dad’s memorial site, on the way to the freezing works. I had spent the drive trying to connect my phone to the ute’s stereo, but even though it had Bluetooth it wouldn’t recognise it. I eventually gave up and fished out The Corrs CD from my backpack, handing it over to Uncle Pike. Devon drove past Dad’s cross. Fresh flowers lay beside it, large white lilies. A flashback from Christmas popped into my head—the white origami lilies left by the killer, covering the Campbells’ bedroom floor. I shuddered.

  ‘You okay, honey?’ Devon asked, checking me in the rear-view mirror.

  I tapped my foot against the back of the passenger seat.‘All good, thanks.’ On the other side of the road, a train headed towards town. Its engine’s lights were on even though it was the middle of the day.

  Devon turned to me. ‘I’m still loving on your new look.’ He turned back to the road and glanced back up at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘You are so cute I can’t even manage it.’

  I grinned.

  ‘Completely unmanageable.’ He lifted both hands off the steering wheel to show me how much.

  Uncle Pike turned around. ‘One thousand percent. Beautiful,’ he said, ‘inside and out.’ Warmth spread through my chest and I played with my hands, not knowing where to look.

  Devon turned off on to a gravel side road and we continued away from the river, green rolling fields on both sides. Uncle Pike fiddled with the s
tereo, pushing The Corrs CD into it, but the CD player kept spitting it back out. He gave the disk one more shove and the stereo finally swallowed it.

  ‘Yay,’ I said.

  But it wouldn’t play, no matter how many times he and Devon jabbed at the play button, actually all the buttons. Devon punched the eject button but it wouldn’t come out. He tried one more time, then sighed and sat back. He tapped his knuckles against his window. ‘This must be like England.’ He sounded so sad.

  I shifted forward in my seat. ‘Is that bad?’

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Uncle Pike said.‘The green’s depressing him.’

  We sped past a brown horse, its head resting on a wire fence. I waved at it. In the next paddock the fencing changed to white wood.

  ‘I remember this,’ my uncle said. ‘Mr Tulips’ farm had all these picket fences around it.’

  Devon slowed down. Up ahead a large faded orange sign had Mr Tulips written on it in fancy black writing. Beside it was a blue mailbox with a yellow flap. Both were at the start of a long driveway edged on one side by tall pine trees, their trunks close together and branches intertwined. What if someone’s there?

  ‘Hedge has grown,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Devon pulled over by the mailbox in front of a cattle stop, wound down his window and leaned out, opening its flap. He reached in and fished around. ‘Bingo.’ He pulled out a fistful of mail and handed the stack to Uncle Pike.

  ‘Isn’t that illegal?’ I asked.

  My uncle shrugged.

  ‘Clues,’ Devon and I said at the same time.

  ‘Jinx,’ I added. I held out my pinkie to Devon, who tried to give me a high five.

  ‘What are your rules?’ Uncle Pike asked.

  I dropped my hand. ‘Ugh, fine but now I’ve spoken after saying “jinx” we can’t make a pinkie wish,’ I said. ‘Devon can’t talk for two minutes, unless I say un-jinx, or you say his name.’

  ‘Perfect,’ my uncle said. He turned and gave me a wink as Devon drove up the long straight gravel drive towards the house. In the middle of the drive grew clumps of long cocksfoot grass, which brushed underneath the ute.

  I crossed my fingers and hoped no one was home. To distract myself, I continued, ‘But if Devon says “double jinx” straight after, then I wouldn’t be able to talk, or if he said “under a roof”.’

  My uncle’s eyes glazed over. ‘I don’t remember all those rules from when I was a kid, when did it get so complicated?’

  I laughed. ‘It really isn’t.’ I could tell I would have to explain it again.

  Devon pointed to his mouth.

  ‘Un-jinx,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Devon said. We bumped around as he drove through a pothole.

  But what if the second bomber is actually at the house? I gripped hard on the back of Uncle Pike’s seat and strained to see through the branches.

  Past the pines, at the top of the driveway, I relaxed. No vehicles were parked outside the square single-storey brick house, or in the open double garage. The place looked deserted, like no one had lived here for years. A raised garden bed surrounded the house, covered in gravel and weeds: clumps of long cocksfoot in-between the stones, matching the same grass growing out of the gutters, among all the pine needles on the faded pink corrugated-iron roof. Next to the garage, also covered in overgrown weeds, were a couple of rundown dog kennels.

  Devon slowed the ute to a crawl as we took it all in. Suddenly, out the corner of my eye, a dark streak shot towards us. A black and tan dog jumped up on the passenger side of the truck, barking its head off. Its claws scratched on the door. My heart hammered in my chest.

  Devon hit the brake and stopped. ‘What are we going to do about Cujo?’

  ‘Hope he’s friendly?’ Uncle Pike said. ‘I’ll get out first and put him in his kennel.’

  ‘That wasn’t how that movie went,’ I told him, unclicking my seatbelt and shifting into the middle of the back seat. As scared as I was, I didn’t want to leave without searching Mr Tulips’ house for clues. The dog jumped up again on Uncle Pike’s door.

  My uncle pressed his forehead to his window. He watched the dog, it nails scrabbling against the metal of the truck. ‘And their car wasn’t a rental.’

  Devon pulled up beside a small porch. White-and-blue police tape criss-crossed the front door, which was ajar, the painted cream wood splintered around its handle like it had been smashed in. Devon turned and looked at me and Uncle Pike. ‘None of this looks safe. Let’s just go home.’

  Before I could say no, Uncle Pike said, ‘We can’t leave the dog roaming around like this. Poor thing must be wondering where his owner is.’

  Devon sighed. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful?’

  ‘Of course!’ Uncle Pike said in his most cheery Santa voice.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Devon said. He leaned over and kissed my uncle on the lips. ‘Protect your penis.’

  ‘Eeew,’ I said.

  ‘Sorry, Tippy,’ Devon said, as he held the sides of Uncle Pike’s beard. ‘“Rudolph”—is that better?’

  I hit the back of his seat. ‘No! Yuck. Stop talking.’

  They burst out laughing. ‘I promise,’ Uncle Pike said to Devon.

  ‘Okay, let me distract him,’ Devon said. He wound down his window. ‘Here, Cujo. Here, fella.’

  The scratching noise stopped and the dog disappeared from the passenger side. I grabbed the back of Devon’s seat and pulled myself up, peering out the windscreen, but couldn’t see the dog. Uncle Pike opened his door and slipped out, slamming it shut. The dog flashed back around the front of the ute and jumped up on Uncle Pike. I shrieked as he stumbled back then pushed the animal off.

  Devon banged on the ute’s roof as the dog lunged at my uncle again. I wound my window down and hit the metal roof as hard as I could. Devon tooted the horn and the dog stopped and looked back at the ute, confused. Uncle Pike snatched the dog’s collar. It squirmed then charged into him and he fell to the ground, dragging the dog down with him.

  ‘Stay here,’ Devon said, leaving me alone in the ute. He raced over to Uncle Pike, wrestling with the dog, trying to help.

  I had to get out. I opened my door and jumped down, bolting to Mr Tulips’ front door not looking back. My uncle was yelling but I didn’t turn around. As I ran up the steps to the busted door, I expected the dog to lunge at me. I ducked under the police tape but felt a strand break off on my shoulder as I pushed the front door open. I ran inside and turned, using the door as a shield.

  Uncle Pike yelled at Devon, ‘Go to Tippy.’ Devon hesitated, but my uncle urged him as he writhed on the ground, holding the barking dog at arm’s length. The dog wriggled and craned its neck, biting at Uncle Pike’s arm. I wondered if I should try and help. My uncle grunted and winced each time the dog nipped him but he kept hold of its collar.

  Devon ran over and joined me inside the door. ‘Why didn’t you stay in the ute?’

  I shrugged. ‘I just had to get out.’

  Uncle Pike managed to get on his knees. He patted the dog’s head and muttered something to it. He looked up at us, his face red. ‘All good,’ he called out. ‘I’ll tie him up.’ We waited until he got up and watched as he walked slowly, crouching low by the dog, pulling it towards the kennels.

  Devon hugged me. ‘At least you’re safe.’

  I hugged him back. ‘Maybe I’ve seen too many horror movies where they didn’t run?’

  After the noise of the dog, Mr Tulips’ house seemed deathly quiet, except for Devon breathing beside me and the occasional rattle of window frames when a gust of wind hit them. Strewn down the short hallway were clothes and papers, erupting out of doorways that opened onto it. Flowery wallpaper was tinged yellow and the house stank of stale cigarette smoke.

  Devon’s voice gave me a fright. ‘Doesn’t look like anything’s changed from when his parents lived here in the ’50s.’

  ‘Until the police searched the house.’ I stared at the mess. Why did they have
to trash it? I tiptoed through the rubbish to the end of the hallway. My plan was to work backwards.

  ‘Love, love your hair,’ Devon whispered. ‘It reminds me of someone but I can’t think who.’ He grinned at me. ‘It’ll come back to me.’

  I poked my head around a door. An old blue mattress had been ripped off a double bed and slashed, grey stuffing bleeding out of it. Drawers of clothes had been dumped on the swirly grey carpet, along with bedding and everything from the wardrobe in the corner, its doors wide open and empty inside. Among the clothes and sheets, a landscape painting and a large mirror had been smashed. It must have taken some force to do that.

  I heard Uncle Pike come inside and I went back up the hallway. He held his right arm gently—his hand was bleeding.

  Devon rushed up to him and took hold of his wrist. ‘Baby!’

  ‘It’s fine. Poor thing’s scared and alone,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘I gave him some water and dog biscuits from the garage.’

  I blew up my cheeks and pushed the air out. My heart broke for the orphan dog. Why didn’t Mr Tulips think of him before being a total selfish monster?

  Devon ripped off a band at the bottom of his T-shirt. ‘Come on. We need to clean this wound up straight away.’

  I followed them down the hallway, passing the living room, until we found a small bathroom decorated in dusty pink. Devon helped my uncle out of his black coat. I gasped at the bite marks on his forearm, and those were only the ones I could see among his tattoos. His hand had the worst bite, though. Devon ran some cold water and dabbed my uncle’s wound clean with the strip of fabric. I gritted my teeth. The dog had chomped down pretty deep into his hand. My uncle clenched his jaw and stared up at the ceiling.

  I ran back to the living room, looking for vodka. Mum had told me a story once about using it to clean a wound at a party. I made my way through bits of a sofa, over tipped out drawers and smashed paintings. The police had gone through everything. I found a liquor cabinet, its oak door half off its hinges. Surely the police wouldn’t be this violent? Among fancy liqueurs and a dark green bottle in a half straw basket was a nearly full bottle of vodka. I grabbed it and ran back to Devon.