Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  ‘Good thinking, Tippy,’ he said, taking the vodka from me. ‘Honey, this is going to—’ He poured it on my uncle’s wound.

  ‘Fuck!’ my uncle roared and yanked his hand away. ‘Owww!’

  ‘Come here,’ Devon said, pulling his arm back.

  Uncle Pike snatched the vodka. ‘Once bitten …’ He put his sore hand over his head, away from Devon.

  Devon gestured for it. ‘Come on. It’s okay.’ He gently pulled down my uncle’s arm and took the vodka from him. Devon poured it on the other bites, my uncle loudly sucking in breaths through his teeth.

  ‘Anywhere else?’ Devon asked. He crouched and checked Uncle Pike’s pants. ‘No puncture wounds I can see.’ He patted him down and I watched from the doorway as my uncle winced.

  ‘Rudolph’s intact,’ Uncle Pike confirmed.

  ‘Gross,’ I said.

  ‘Good.’ Devon nodded and stood up, ripping off another strip from his T-shirt. ‘I’ll bandage this around your arm and hand.’

  ‘I do like your crop top,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘See?’ Devon said.‘It’s not all bad.’ He gently wrapped the injured arm as Uncle Pike took a swig from the bottle with his good hand.

  Uncle Pike balanced the vodka bottle on the sink then rubbed Devon’s back until they started pashing.

  ‘Eeew.’ I cleared my throat as well but they kept on making out. Yuck. Grown-ups were strange. I left them to it and wandered off down the hallway, swinging my arms to warm up. Something about this place made me feel sad. I wondered what would happen to it now.

  On the floor at the end of the hallway was a cream cordless phone handset. I hunted around, looking for the cradle. I found it, along with the cable, near the bedroom doorway.

  I plugged the phone back into the wall. The end of it was pretty damaged but I managed to get a dial tone. I hit redial. An emergency services operator answered.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said in my best kid voice, ‘I dialled the wrong number.’

  ‘Don’t do it again. Do you know how much time’s wasted—’

  I hung up, leaving the phone on the floor.

  Across the hall was another room the same size as the bedroom. Patterned mustard curtains were pulled half-open. Out the window, I could see green rolling paddocks leading to poplars in among the willows along the banks of the river. I hadn’t realised his farm backed onto the Clutha River, though I knew the river did coil and curve back on itself as it made its way to the sea.

  Papers were scattered across a large wooden kitchen table and all over the floor. I assumed this must’ve been Mr Tulips’ home office, using the table as a desk. An old blue office chair with wheels lay on its side. A large wooden wardrobe, the same as across the hall, was the only thing leftover from when this had been a bedroom. I noticed a powerboard was still plugged into the wall, with a printer attached but no computer. The police must have taken that.

  On the cream painted sill a couple of dead blowflies lay on their backs. Outside the sky was filled with fluffy clouds like the back of a giant sheep. At the edge of the garden was a makeshift timber stile over the white picket fence. It led to the paddock in front of the house. A set of muddy tracks curved in the field, close together, like they were made by a quad bike. Probably Mr Tulips’ shortcut when he came home for a quick cup of tea, or lunch, or something.

  A gust of wind rattled the windows and a cool breeze touched my face. I lifted up my tablet and took some pictures of the garden and the fence then crouched down and checked out the printer. A page had been ripped out, some paper still jammed. I pushed the cover and opened it up. Torn edges were on the drum. All those hours spent helping Dad at his office were finally paying off. I pulled the toner out and worked the roller around, wiggling the paper out without ripping it. I uncrumpled it. The bottom quarter of a printed page which appeared to be a legal contract. Behind me floorboards creaked.

  Devon and Uncle Pike poked their heads in. My uncle was back in his black coat, his hand wrapped. Outside, Mr Tulips’ dog started barking.

  ‘Ugh,’ Devon said, squinting out the window. ‘Everything is greener when it’s wet.’

  Uncle Pike put his bandaged hand on Devon’s shoulder. ‘Good to see you’ve built up some intolerance while you’ve been away.’

  I stood up and waved my piece of paper. ‘Clue.’

  Uncle Pike tipped his vodka bottle in my direction. ‘Brava,’ he said, then had a swig.

  Devon came over and studied it. ‘Duncan Nunn.’

  I frowned and turned it over.

  ‘What?’ My uncle joined us. ‘Oh, yeah.’ He tapped the paper. ‘Like the contract we signed for the house.’

  ‘Maybe Mr Tulips was buying a place?’ Devon suggested.

  ‘Or selling by the look of this depressing mess,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Good work, Tippy.’

  I leaned against the windowsill, avoiding the dead flies. ‘What if Mr Tulips is a Nathan Gomber?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Uncle Pike asked, pulling at his bandage with his teeth.

  ‘Remember at the beginning of The Hidden Staircase, Nathan said he was cheated out of money for his land?’

  Devon frowned while my uncle nodded and took another sip.

  ‘What if he was right?’ I said. ‘What if he was telling the truth?’

  Devon scratched his head.

  ‘Still doesn’t explain the homoerotic dungeon play when he kidnapped Nancy’s dad,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘What’s homoerotic?’

  ‘Is this the one you told me about with the gimp mask and drugs?’ Devon asked Uncle Pike. ‘I really need to read these books.’

  ‘No, that’s a different one,’ my uncle said. ‘The Clue of the Velvet Mask. And it was a black velvet hood.’

  ‘Wow, sounds hot, and definitely on theme,’ Devon said. ‘I think “Nancy’s Dungeon” is the name of my next collection.’ He went to reach for my uncle’s bandaged hand. ‘We need to get you to a doctor.’

  Uncle Pike moved it away. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘When I got bitten—’

  ‘Happens all the time,’ he said. ‘The salon is over-run with bitey dogs.’

  ‘And Karen Chisholm’s ferret,’ Devon said.

  ‘King Brammy? The white one? He’s a sweetheart,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘No, that brown one Karen brings when she’s getting a blowout.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ My uncle nodded. ‘Stella-Jo, the silky assassin.’

  Devon squinted. ‘That’s her. Vicious …’

  I had never seen a real ferret before, let alone one in a hairdresser. ‘Can you send me a pic next time?’ They both nodded. I smiled and looked at all the clues on the floor. I didn’t want to leave any behind. ‘How about we grab a bag and take all these papers?’

  ‘Genius,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘We can examine them back at the lab,’ Devon said. ‘How exciting!’

  In the kitchen, everything had been swept off the bench, and the floor was scattered with broken old-fashioned scales, a smashed microwave and various utensils. I stepped through the mess and found a roll of black rubbish bags in one of the open drawers. I took them back to the office and we stuffed all the papers in one of the bags. Devon looked at me strangely as I put the printer in one. ‘Just in case,’ I said. I wasn’t sure if we would find out anything else from it, but it was worth taking.

  My uncle shrugged. ‘The more clues the better.’

  We moved across into Mr Tulips’ bedroom. Its floral wallpaper shared the same yellow tinge as the hallway. It looked old, maybe from when they first built the house, along with the swirly patterned grey carpet. I took out my tablet and started taking photos.

  ‘Sad,’ Devon said, stepping over the piles of clothes.

  ‘Let’s search the bedside tables,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Devon checked the other side of the bed, near the slashed mattress slumped against the wall.

  ‘Careful, Tippy,’ Uncle Pike said, pointing t
o two broken wineglasses and an empty wine bottle at the head of the bed. I took a photo and a close up of the bedside table beside us. Its drawer lay on the floor surrounded by condoms, a bottle of oil and scrunched up tissues. My uncle lifted the small table. ‘Looks like Melanie’s socials were right.’ He peered underneath for clues.

  I put my tablet down and checked the bottom of the little drawer, but there were no hidden false bottoms, or secret documents taped under either of them.

  Uncle Pike nudged the balled-up tissues with his boot. ‘We should get one of those UV lights.’

  ‘Look!’ Devon waved a pink plastic cucumber.

  ‘I can’t believe you touched that,’ Uncle Pike said.

  I sighed and picked up my tablet. ‘Your fingerprints are on it now.’

  ‘Eeew!’ Devon threw it against the wall and it disappeared among Mr Tulips’ clothes. ‘Good point.’ He wiped his hand on the mattress.

  ‘Again,’ my uncle said, ‘I can’t believe you touched that. Maybe let’s not get the UV light.’

  ‘Ugh!’ Devon jumped up and down, shaking his hands. ‘Why didn’t I use my elbows?’ He chased my uncle around the room, trying to wipe his hands on him.

  Uncle Pike jumped up on the bedframe, avoiding Devon’s hand. The springs sagged and there was a loud crack as the corner leg broke. The bed tilted, thumping to the floor. ‘Whoops,’ my uncle said.

  Devon backed up and wiped his hands on the floral curtains which were so old they ripped. He clenched his teeth and stepped away.

  ‘But what was that?’ I asked them. ‘It looked like a creepy baby-doll’s leg.’

  My uncle sprayed a mouthful of vodka everywhere, laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Ask your mum.’ He swigged his vodka.

  ‘Really?’ Devon snatched the vodka and poured some over his hands.

  ‘Why?’ I couldn’t anyway, she had no idea what we were doing and would lose it if she found out.

  Uncle Pike ignored my question and grabbed the bottle back off Devon. ‘Come on, let’s check the kitchen on the way out.’

  As we went down the hallway, I went back to the phone and put the cream handset and cradle in a new black plastic bag.

  ‘You’re stealing the phone?’ Devon said.

  I shrugged. ‘It’s evidence. His last call was to emergency services.’

  ‘You redialled?’ Uncle Pike asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Clever.’ He pointed the bottle at me. ‘So no other calls made on it after that. Interesting.’

  We didn’t find any clues in the kitchen, but I took photos anyway and the same in the living room. As I ducked under the remaining strand of police tape and stepped outside, my nose wrinkled. A foul, rotten meat smell was in the air.

  ‘Poo!’ we all said at the same time.

  Devon pinched his nose with his fingers and waved his hand in front of his face. ‘What is that?’ he asked, his voice sounding funny.

  ‘Rendering plant, part of the freezing works,’ Uncle Pike told him. ‘It must be working today.’ I pulled my T-shirt collar over my nose and mouth and tried not to breathe.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘All the animal carcasses, blood and offal,’ my uncle said. ‘They cook it, melting the meat from the bones—’

  Devon put his hand over Uncle Pike’s mouth then gagged and held his sleeve over his nose.

  I walked to the double garage, empty except for an old tyre, a grease pump and some rusty shears. On its dirty concrete floor were the muddy tyre tracks of two vehicles, one set in each bay. I took a photo of them. Mr Tulips had driven his van. Where was the other vehicle?

  Uncle Pike and Devon stood outside and argued about taking the dog home with us.

  ‘You know I’m a cat person,’ Devon said.

  I had hoped the garage might tell us something about the van but so far nothing. I crouched down, taking a closer look at the tyre tracks. A small glass bottle lay beside the old tyre. I took a photo of that and close-ups of the tyre tracks.

  Devon finally agreed to drop Mr Tulips’ dog off at the vet.

  ‘Tippy, are you ready?’ Uncle Pike asked. He somehow managed to get the dog onto the back of the ute, and tie him up, without getting bitten again. ‘Well, just a little nip,’ he said, back in the truck, rubbing his calf.

  We stopped off at the vet, which was on Main Street at the top of the hill, on the way out of town past Number Four. The woman at the counter smiled as we all piled in with Uncle Pike keeping a close hold on the bitey dog. She asked if she could help.

  Behind her, a door with a Consulting room sign opened and a woman in a white coat with curly ginger hair came out, followed by two teenage girls I didn’t recognise from school, one carrying a small black cat in a pet carrier. The girls gave us and the dog a wide berth, the cat hissing and banging around the back of its cage.

  Devon stage whispered to us, pointing behind his hand, ‘The vet’s got Nicole’s Dead Calm hair.’ He waved at her and then the cat until the dog barked and lunged at it, dragging Uncle Pike along. The girls screamed and ran out of the clinic while the vet hurried over to my uncle with a leash and clipped it on the dog’s collar.

  Taking the lead and holding it tight, she walked the dog back towards the consulting room’s door. The vet promised us he would be well cared for until they found a home for him. We left Devon to fill in paperwork at the counter and followed her, through the consulting room to another door which led to a small operating theatre.

  Above me was a shelf labelled Saws, Bonecutters, Gigli wire. I glanced at Uncle Pike in panic. He missed my look and the vet continued to lead the dog to large chain mesh kennels out the back. She glanced over her shoulder at me then whispered to Uncle Pike, ‘If no one wants him, then we’ll have to put him to sleep.’

  ‘Will that happen?’ I asked.

  Uncle Pike took my hand and squeezed it.

  She cringed then smiled brightly at me. ‘Hopefully not.’ She let the dog into a large cage and locked it. ‘We’ll try our best.’

  I nodded but I didn’t believe her.

  Uncle Pike crouched down in front of the kennel and, through the wire, gave the dog a scratch behind the ear, whispering something to him. The dog cocked his head, listening, then wagged his tail and licked my uncle’s face.

  We followed the vet back the way we had come. Devon was waiting for us at the counter. He pointed to the wall beside it: a large photo of Raewyn Dalrymple, with the words In memoriam written above it. Underneath was a collection jar raising funds for the RSPCA. ‘She worked here,’ he told us.

  The woman behind the counter nodded with a sad smile. Devon gave me a fifty-dollar note to put in the jar. I folded it in half and put it in the slot.

  ‘Thank you so much. We miss having her around. Every day I keep expecting her to turn up for her shift.’ Behind her, the vet raised an eyebrow. She noticed me staring at her and turned away, returning through the consulting room door.

  Uncle Pike and Devon gave their condolences and I nodded. I didn’t know what to say. I stared at the smiling woman in the photo, laugh lines around her eyes, and clenched my fists, upset for Raewyn Dalrymple. Upset the media was always calling her the ‘Councillor’s wife’, when she had been her own person, with her own life that wasn’t being spoken about.

  On our way back to the ute, I asked Uncle Pike, ‘What did you say to the dog at the kennel?’

  ‘You’re a good dog. You’re not alone. It’s going to be okay.’

  My throat tightened and I hugged his arm. Another victim. We had to find the second bomber before any more people died, any more pets were orphaned and any more lives were ruined, but so far we didn’t have many clues—a mystery van passenger, Mr Tulips’ emergency call, a ripped property contract, and evidence that he had lots of sex with women.

  Maybe the security-camera footage or the bomb threat could give us a new lead, or the break we needed. I rubbed the back of my neck. Time was ticking. Four days le
ft to solve the case and stop the bomber, or Riverstone Bridge would explode and kill everyone on it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Back at the Airbnb, I brought in our evidence bags from Mr Tulips’ and put them in the corner of the living room beside the bookcase. Devon pulled off his ripped crop top. ‘I’m totally keeping this BTW.’

  Uncle Pike made a woofing noise from the couch as Devon twirled the crop top above his head and went into their bedroom. He came back out wearing a Stranger Friends T-shirt which had stick men playing in a forest. He sat down with Uncle Pike to redo the dressing on his hand using the first-aid kit. He unwound the ripped T-shirt bandage. Underneath was nasty, Uncle Pike’s palm was bruised purpley-red and oozing blood. You could make out the shape of the dog’s bite and the tooth punctures in his skin. Devon grimaced as he cleaned the bite. ‘You really need to get this checked out. You could have rabies.’

  I agreed.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Uncle Pike ignored his hand, staring out the window instead. He bit his lip and hummed as Devon put some antiseptic cream on the wound, then a white pad, and covered it with tape.

  ‘Promise?’ Devon held my uncle’s hand while he rummaged in the kit, pulling out a large roll of bandages.

  Uncle Pike raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that necessary? There’s no rabies in New Zealand.’

  Devon glared at him and yanked my uncle’s sore hand closer.

  ‘Ow!’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Fine. I promise.’ He kissed Devon on the cheek.

  Devon wrapped the white bandage around and around Uncle Pike’s hand. Once the bandage ran out, Devon bound tape around it. Sitting there with his fingers poking out of a huge white bundle, Uncle Pike weirdly reminded me of a teddy bear with a sore paw.

  He stood up and waved his paw. ‘Excellent work, darling. You should be a surgeon.’ He went to clap his hands but stopped at the last second. ‘Right, we have a case to solve.’ He put his good hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but we’re going to have to see you-know-who.’

  I pressed my lips together and shrugged off Uncle Pike’s hand. I knew he was right, but I still didn’t want to see Lorraine. She was never going to forgive me.