Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  ‘Who?’ Devon asked, clipping his cape-blanket back on.

  I sighed. ‘Lorraine.’

  ‘We need to see the footage,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘That animation doesn’t give us enough details. It only shows the order they arrived.’

  Out on our street the detour was still in place and a steady stream of logging trucks, sheep trucks and cars trundled past. I scuffed my gumboots on the wet footpath, trying to kick leaves into the gutter. I stopped and looked at my uncle and Devon. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t see her? You two go.’

  Uncle Pike frowned. ‘Why? Seriously, don’t worry about it. She’ll get over it.’

  ‘I am serious,’ I said. ‘She might give you more information if I’m not there.’

  ‘Lorraine may be many things, but I trust her,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘It’ll be okay.’

  I noticed Devon hadn’t said a word.

  We walked the half block to the newspaper’s office and up the concrete steps.

  ‘Hold on,’ Uncle Pike said, putting his hands out to stop us. ‘Remember your corporate training?’

  We nodded. After Christmas, Uncle Pike had made us watch boring business YouTube videos as part of our Nancys training. Devon and I had sneakily played noughts and crosses instead.

  ‘Show time!’ Devon said. I took a deep breath and we entered the reception area.

  Uncle Pike asked the woman behind the desk for Lorraine. I spied her blonde boy-hair at the back of the office. The receptionist picked up a phone and called her. Lorraine rose up like an angry meerkat and snarled when she spotted us.

  She barged her way through the office and shooed us into a small meeting room with a round table and blue padded office chairs. Last time I sat in this room with Lorraine, she had shown me a video of my friend Todd falling off the Riverstone Bridge, a fall which had nearly killed him.

  ‘We’re really sorry, Lorraine,’ Uncle Pike said, before we’d even sat down.

  She glared at me.

  ‘Yeah, we had no idea. Sorry,’ Devon said.

  ‘Well, that makes three of us,’ she said.

  Heat rushed to my face. ‘I said I’m sor—’

  ‘Huh,’ Lorraine said to the top of my head then turned away from me. She nodded at Devon. ‘Nimrod. Heard you did a good job out there. Must say I’m surprised.’

  ‘You haven’t changed,’ Devon said, disappointed. He stared at her green pants. ‘Why are you wearing asparagus?’

  Lorraine’s nose wrinkled and she smacked him with a newspaper. She sat back in her chair and smirked at Uncle Pike.‘Thought they were joking when they said you’d bought the murder house.’

  Uncle Pike fake-smiled, showing lots of teeth. ‘Excellent,’ he said.

  She returned his fake-smile. ‘I’ve got a deadline. What do you want?’

  My uncle raised his hands. ‘We have some questions about the bombing. Did someone help Jansen? I mean, why were they so quick to finger him?’

  Lorraine ignored his questions. ‘What happened to your hand?’

  ‘Dog.’

  ‘Poor dog,’ Lorraine said.

  ‘Is there a second bomber?’ I asked, unable to stop myself. ‘Who is it?’

  Lorraine chuckled, but not in a fun way, and kept looking at Uncle Pike. She hooked her thumb at me. ‘Another one of Chan’s “cases”, is it?’ She turned in her chair and slapped her hands on the table, giving me a fright. ‘Before you go wrecking other people’s lives, let me fill you in on something: there is no second bomber, get it?’

  No one spoke. This was part of the corporate Nancys training my uncle had drilled into Devon and me—the importance of silence as an interview technique.

  Lorraine tapped her fingers then shot me a filthy look.

  ‘Don’t be shy, spit it out,’ my uncle said to Lorraine.

  ‘Inapprops!’ Devon said.

  I had no idea what they were on about. I opened my mouth to ask Lorraine how they knew that there was no second bomber when she crossed her arms.

  ‘Chatham House Rule,’ Uncle Pike said to her. ‘Whatever you say here, stays here.’

  Devon’s eyebrows were all scrunched up. I bet he had no idea where Chatham House was either.

  ‘Really? You’re in my office.’ She studied us. ‘Fine.’ Lorraine craned her neck to scan the area outside the meeting room then pursed her lips. ‘Security-cam footage from four cameras and the emergency call. Jansen called in the bomb threat. No suspicious purchases of bomb materials from anyone else. Open and shut case.’

  I held off telling her about our emergency call theory, that someone else was there, and also our visit to Mr Tulips’ house. I wanted to see what she other information she had first. ‘What about the bomb threat note?’ I said. ‘Can we see that?’

  Lorraine pinched her nose and ignored me.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘A copy of that note and the security-cam videos in return for a carton of cigerettes?’

  She was silent for a minute then stood up. ‘Riverstone Security are contracted to monitor the security cameras; those recordings and the note are with the police.’

  ‘Since when did that stop you?’ I blurted out. Not last Christmas when she had shown me security-camera footage on her laptop. ‘You don’t have copies?’

  ‘A bottle of single malt as well,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Lorraine opened the door. ‘Police aren’t sharing, Hornblower’s channel has the exclusive rights.’ She went to leave. ‘Keep me posted, boys.’

  I kicked my uncle in the shin. Lorraine was getting away.

  ‘Ow! What the—?’ He bent down to rub his leg. ‘As hard as it is to understand, Tippy, we did all see Mr Tulips do it.’

  Devon gasped. ‘Unless … he was hypnotised.’

  Lorraine sighed but stayed, using her bum to keep the door open.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.‘Like George in The Clue of the Velvet Mask.’ Although the chances Mr Tulips had been hypnotised to blow up the town hall did seem highly unlikely, I was not going to lose this case.

  ‘Who’s he?’ Devon asked.

  ‘George Fayne—she is one of Nancy’s besties,’ Uncle Pike said. He turned to me. ‘And she was drugged at the time.’

  Lorraine leaned over and snatched the newspaper off the table and waved it at us. ‘Everything I know I’ve reported: the type of bomb, the fact the police believe it was a lone wolf attack. All those facts are correct.’ She threw the paper at Devon, who flinched. ‘You have nothing,’ she said. ‘And no hypnotists have claimed responsibility.’

  I stood up. ‘But why, then? Why did he do it?’ I could feel my tears coming and I didn’t want Lorraine to see me cry.

  ‘Why?’ she sneered at me. ‘Why is the sky blue?’

  ‘It’s been every shade of grey since I’ve been here,’ Devon said sadly.

  ‘Listen, wasters,’ Lorraine said. ‘No one else is involved, police have confirmed that. Nothing on my back channels either. If you find something, which you won’t, then keep me posted.’ She stalked out of the room, the door slowly closing behind her as we sat there.

  Uncle Pike rubbed my arm. ‘That went well.’

  ‘Didn’t it,’ I agreed. And as happy as I was that there wasn’t another bomber out there, and Mum and the town were safe, I was sad our case was over.

  Lorraine barged back in, holding her phone. ‘Carton of cigarettes and a single malt?’

  My uncle nodded. ‘As promised.’

  ‘Councillor Dalrymple has attempted suicide.’ We all gasped. Uncle Pike grabbed my hand with his good one.

  Lorraine continued, ‘I know what you clowns are like. Do not go talking to him.’ She stared at us until we all nodded. ‘Leave him alone.’

  ‘Got it, and that’s awful,’ Uncle Pike said. He squeezed my hand. ‘But, just saying, our interview technique has improved since Claire Bates’s public meltdown.’

  ‘Why would anyone do that?’ I asked Lorraine.

  She looked at me like I was deranged. ‘Really, Chan?’ Then
her expression changed to one I had never seen on her before—concern? It didn’t last though. She sniggered. ‘And another thing,’ she said to Uncle Pike, nodding in my direction, ‘tell mini-me to get her own hairstyle.’

  My mouth dropped open as I saw the similarity to Lorraine’s. No. Way. I yanked my hand out of my uncle’s.

  ‘Ah,’ Devon said. ‘I thought it looked familiar.’

  Lorraine screwed up her nose at Devon. ‘And your blanket stinks.’ She left without looking back, leaving us both horrified.

  On the footpath Devon ran on the spot, struggling to unpin his man-brooch. Finally he unfastened it and tore off the blanket, dumping it into the gutter. He frantically brushed himself off and looked at me like he was about to cry. ‘Tippy, you promised,’ he said. ‘Remember? To tell me if I ever smelled like that place?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I thought you liked it.’

  He gawped at me like I was weird.

  I stamped my foot at him. ‘What about my hair?’

  Devon shrieked and ran away down Hope Street to our Airbnb.

  Uncle Pike tried not to laugh as he fished the blanket out of the gutter. He bent down to my eye level. ‘Your hair is nothing like hers, I promise.’

  I clenched my fists. ‘She doesn’t think so. As soon as we get back I’m putting my beanie on for the rest of the year.’ I was so mad. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway, our case is over.’ Worst day ever.

  Uncle Pike stayed crouched in front of me and waved at me until I looked him in the eye. ‘If Mr Tulips is guilty then this isn’t a whodunit, but a whydunit.’

  ‘A whydunit?’ I squealed and hugged him. The Nancys still had a case.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When we got back to the Airbnb, Devon was already in the shower. I found my beanie and flopped on the sofa while Uncle Pike stuffed the stinky cape-blanket into the nearest kitchen cupboard. He washed his hands in the sink. Devon screamed out from the bathroom as the water temperature dropped.

  ‘Whoops,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Sorry!’ he called out and turned the taps off.

  Suicide. I thought about what Mr Dalrymple had tried to do. Imagine if he had kids? It made me so angry. So selfish. Who would do that? I didn’t feel sorry for him, I hated him. I didn’t care how sad he was feeling, you never did that. I picked up the Bully from the sofa.

  I hoped Mr Tulips and Mr Dalrymple weren’t the start of a suicide cluster. Todd had told me and Sam about those last year. Another thing to be afraid of, except it was invisible. At least with killer bees you could see them. My head itched under the beanie. I stared at Lorraine’s by-line photo on the front page and my blood boiled.

  Devon came out of the bathroom as I snatched my beanie off and shoved the Bully at Uncle Pike. ‘Why did you do this to me?’

  Devon plucked the paper from him and held it up, his eyes flicking between me and Lorraine. ‘Right …’ He frowned. ‘Wow. It really is …’ He grimaced.

  My uncle shook his head, trying not to laugh but failing.

  ‘It’s not funny!’ I said. ‘I don’t want to look like a boy.’

  Devon nodded sympathetically. ‘Better than looking like Lorraine, though.’

  I screamed and stomped out of the room, feeling like a toddler, slamming my bedroom door. I picked up the stinky pillow and yelled into it. Then, clutching it hard to my tummy, I lay on my bed covering my eyes with my forearm, fighting off the urge to cry. The mean girls would destroy me when they saw my hair.

  After a couple of minutes, there was a tap on my door. Before I could yell, ‘Go away,’ Uncle Pike opened it.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘You already are,’ I said, wishing for at least one piece of furniture I could hide behind.

  ‘Technically, most of me is still in the living room.’

  I didn’t look up from my bed. ‘Promise you won’t laugh at me?’

  ‘I won’t.’ He came into the room and sat on the edge of my bed. ‘Firstly, how dare Lorraine claim my work for herself and, secondly, you don’t look like a boy, unless that’s something you want to look like? You are you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And, finally, your hair is ferosh. Sometimes a place is stuck in a time warp and accidentally comes into fashion again.’

  ‘Accidental fashion is mine,’ Devon called out. ‘And you can’t have it.’

  ‘What if I don’t like it anymore?’ I asked.

  ‘Then we change it,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘You always have choices, Tippy. Always.’

  I nodded. I wanted to tell him about the mean girls, but I also knew it wasn’t something he could fix and I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t handle myself.

  ‘Hug?’ he asked.

  I sat up and hugged him.‘I’m going to wear my beanie for a while.’

  ‘Your hair, your head, your choice.’ He pulled back. ‘But I want you to remember how you felt when you first saw yourself in the mirror. Remember?’

  ‘Like a rock star,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘Try and remember that feeling, because that—’ he circled his bandaged paw in front my face ‘—is what this is all about.’ In his good hand he held the Bully and tapped his thumb beside the photo of Lorraine. ‘And not this.’

  I rubbed my nose on the towel covering my pillow. ‘Can you teach me makeup?’

  Uncle Pike gasped and his hands went to his throat. He blinked a lot. ‘Yes.’ He shot up. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ He punched the air in a salute. ‘I have been waiting your whole life for that question, Tippy Chan.’

  Devon rushed into my room and jumped up and down. ‘Yay!’ They started dancing which morphed into the Macarena.

  I rolled my eyes and laughed. They took my hands and dragged me out of bed to join in. I put my hands on my head and then followed them putting my hands on my hips. When we jumped the bookcase in the living room rattled against the wall, reminding me of the explosion. Why would anyone build a bomb?

  We finished dancing and went into the living room. Uncle Pike lit the fire while I grabbed the evidence bags and tipped them onto Devon’s mortal enemy, the weird stripey mat.

  The rubbish from Mr Tulips’ office appeared to be bills. I spotted bank statements and a credit card statement. I flattened them out and snapped pictures of them. He was in major debt. For the second time today, helping out Dad at his office was proving useful. All Mr Tulips’ accounts were overdrawn and no money had been deposited for months. A clue? I put them in a pile.

  Uncle Pike shuffled off to the bathroom with Devon, asking him to check for any other bite wounds ‘downstairs’.

  I grimaced; at least they didn’t mention ‘Rudolph’. I focused on my clues. The last piece of paper was a nasty pink letter from a debt collector. It was on behalf of the council, threatening to take him to court if he didn’t pay his overdue rates immediately. I took a picture of this, too. In the background were low voices from the bathroom and the sound of the shower.

  Next I opened Mr Tulips’ mail. The first was a telephone bill for a landline and fax number. By the looks of it he didn’t use his phone to make any calls, and no local calls were listed. The next two letters were for vehicle registration renewals. One was for the white van and the other for a red car. I thought about his empty garage. What happened to the red car?

  Uncle Pike came out, his face flushed and a faded beach towel barely covering him. Devon followed behind him, slapping him on the butt.

  ‘I’ve got something,’ I told them. My uncle nodded and went to get dressed.

  I collected all the papers and waited until he came back dressed in black jeans and a massive pale-blue woollen jersey. He sat on the couch and I gave him the pile, tapping on the debt collection letter.

  ‘Is this why he was angry with the council?’ I said.

  Uncle Pike grunted and shuffled one-handed through the papers. I sat beside him. His jersey was soft and he smelled nice, all soapy and shampooie, except for his bandage which just reeked of damp. He tugged on his Santa beard.
‘These rates do seem pretty high.’

  I leaned against him. What kind of person could kill that many people and themselves and do this to Riverstone? ‘How do the police know he did it alone?’ I asked, clutching my tummy which suddenly felt sore. Nowhere is safe.

  ‘Hey.’ Uncle Pike gave me a squeeze. ‘We’d never let anything happen to you.’

  ‘They’d have to kill us first,’ Devon said from the bedroom door. My mouth dropped and he looked alarmed. ‘No, no, no,’ he added quickly. ‘That’s not going to happen!’

  ‘Anyway—’ my uncle glared at Devon ‘—what your mad sister is trying to say is that it looks like the bomber really was Mr Tulips.’

  Devon frowned. ‘I didn’t say that, mansplainer.’ Then his face lit up and he pointed his finger in the air like a disco move. ‘But let’s prove it for sure.’

  Uncle Pike slapped his thigh with his good hand. ‘That’s right, let’s try and find out why he did it, Tippy.’

  ‘Come on,’ Devon said to me. ‘Let’s promenade.’

  I glanced at my uncle who smiled.

  Devon searched my bedroom wardrobe. He pulled out two blankets and chucked one at me. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said when he saw my surprised look. ‘I’ve learned my lesson, these capes are for home use only.’

  On the sofa, Uncle Pike had stretched out and closed his eyes. Devon opened the balcony door and I chucked on my gumboots before he dragged me outside.

  We stood there in the freezing cold, looking over the sad back garden, wrapping our funky-smelling blankets around our shoulders to keep warm, though I suspected Devon’s new one was actually a rug. We pretended to smoke with our steamy breath, listening to trucks trundle past. By now we could tell the difference between the sounds of a logging truck versus a sheep truck, which had rattly crates on its back and a trailer, before they went past the house.

  ‘Why would Mr Tulips make a bomb?’ I asked, blowing my ‘smoke’ up in the air. ‘And then call it in?’

  Devon took a big drag on his imaginary cigarette and shrugged. ‘Maybe he didn’t want it to go off?’

  It didn’t make sense. I went to the fungi corner. If he didn’t want it to go off then why make a bomb in the first place? A truck went past, changing gears. ‘Maybe he wanted to get the police there?’