Fidget said, “I’d let that particular fish off the hook if I were you, my little ducks.”
“You mean, they didn’t come back? Ever?” said Primrose.
“I’m sure they meant to,” said Emily. “But … I found Fidget—or rather, Fidget found me.”
“I want my daddy,” wailed Primrose. “I want to go home!”
Fidget put his paw on Primrose’s arm and handed her a handkerchief.
“I know your dad would never leave you. He’s gotten a bit lost, that’s all. And we’re doing everything we can to find him.”
“What do you mean—lost?” said Primrose, blowing her nose into Fidget’s red-and-white-spotted hankie.
“Er, well…,” said Fidget. Doughnut gazed up at him sadly. “Um … I think we should go and buy some ice cream and build a sand castle. Paddle in the sea, that sort of thing.”
Primrose brightened a little. “When will he be here, my daddy?”
“Soon, very soon—I’m sure of it,” said Fidget. “In less than a twirl of a cat’s whisker.”
Doughnut ran out of the library, the tutu and hat trailing behind him, followed by a slightly more cheerful Primrose.
When they had left, Emily turned to Fidget.
“Do you think that’s what my parents did?” she asked.
“What, my little ducks?”
“Went off to find themselves, like Primrose’s mum?”
“No,” said Fidget. He stood up and gave Emily a big hug.
“So maybe I will never know who they are?”
“Maybe not,” said Fidget. “But you can never tell what’s around the corner.”
Emily took a deep breath and told Fidget what had been worrying her. Since she had drawn back the curtains and found they were no longer in Podgy Bottom, an unsettling thought wouldn’t leave her: that one day the shop might wander off without her, and she would be left all alone in the world.
“That will never, ever happen,” said Fidget. “As long as there are fishes in the sea, I will always be with you. Always.”
Emily felt a tear roll down her face. She wasn’t at all keen on tears. They could be seen as soppy, especially by Buster.
“Now, ice cream all around,” said Fidget, taking her hand in his paw.
They went downstairs.
“Where are you going?” asked Buster, sticking his head out of his bedroom.
“To the beach,” said Emily.
“Oh, goody gumdrops. I’ll come too.”
Emily rather hoped he wouldn’t. Buster was very good at putting a crease in the day. But he followed them down.
“Oh, leave me behind, then,” shouted the magic lamp from the landing. “That’s right! Just go off and have fun while I look after the sick keys.”
“Come with us,” said Emily.
“I can’t. I have a shop to run. Someone has to stay behind while you’re out enjoying yourselves,” said the magic lamp. “I would have expected better of you, dear mistress, than to leave me like this. Have you even thought about the keys?”
“Yes, she has,” said Fidget as he gathered inflatable rings, towels, sunscreen, and hats. “Let’s go. We all need fresh air, and Primrose needs a bit of fun.”
“Is this a good idea?” said Emily. “I mean, we will stand out.”
“My little ducks,” said Fidget firmly, “half the people we bump into don’t believe in magic, and they are not going to change their minds because they see a talking cat and a giant’s daughter. We are off to the beach with Primrose, and that’s the end of it.”
Chapter Ten
Edie left the Mermaid Hotel promising Betty that she would go home and rest. But she couldn’t, not with the police out searching for Morris Flipwinkle. She knew it was silly; nevertheless, she felt somewhat responsible. Morris had come to see her just two weeks before. He had wanted her to look in her crystal ball and tell him if he was going to be famous.
Unlike many in the fortune-telling business, Edie really did have second sight—and she was a fairy to boot. She had been born with the gift of seeing what the future held in her magic crystal ball, and it wasn’t always a pretty picture. She had to be very careful about what she said to her clients. The art was to look on the sunny side of people’s lives, avoiding the shadows.
She had felt a bit of a failure when it came to Morris, for she had indeed looked into her crystal ball as he asked, but the ball had gone all misty. She hadn’t been able to see a blooming thing. That had never happened to her before. It almost hurt her eyes. When she did at last see something, it made no sense. A skeleton, a seagull, and a diamond. Quite what they had to do with Morris she had no idea, and now, with the news of the diamond theft in London and the murder of Johnny Carmichael, she wondered if her powers were failing her.
She started to walk a little faster as she passed the big Ferris wheel on the pier, heading toward her booth. She would have another good look in her crystal ball to see if she could sort out this mess.
Overhead, seagulls wheeled and squealed. Edie wasn’t fond of the birds. They were very loud, and they seemed to be getting larger and fatter as the years went by. Only two days before, one of them had swooped down and stolen her sandwich. A liability, that’s what they were.
At the end of the South Pier was Edie’s booth. She unlocked the door. The booth had a warming scent of rose petals to it and was draped with star-covered cloth so it looked like the inside of an Aladdin’s cave. There wasn’t much furniture—just a table and two chairs. The main feature of the room was Edie’s magnificent crystal ball, covered with a velvet cloth.
Edie took off her raincoat and hung it on a hook, then wrapped an enormous shawl around her shoulders to cover her one wing. She sat down and gazed into the ball. Who killed Johnny Carmichael? Who is Blinky Belvale? And why did I get only one wing back?
* * *
Outside, the seagulls flew along the promenade. Not far away, Fidget, Primrose, Doughnut the dog, Emily, and Buster were crossing the road, avoiding the horse-drawn carriages and trams. It was only when Buster looked over the rail at the beach below that he remembered why he didn’t like sand.
The last time he had become involved with the stuff, possibly in the Sahara Desert, it had gotten between his toes and made his shoes gritty and his socks impossible.
“Fidget,” said Buster as Emily and Primrose ran down the steps to the beach, Doughnut at their heels, “I think I’ll have a look around.”
“All right, my old sprat,” said Fidget, whose mind was on seafood and fish.
Buster wandered off, taking in his surroundings. Wings & Co. had plunked itself down in a row of brightly colored shops. The eyes that had stared at Buster through his bedroom window that morning were painted on the shop wall next door, he discovered. It was a sweets shop. Beneath the eyes was an advertisement for an exciting new attraction in the ghost train. MUST BE SEEN TO BE BELIEVED, it said. Above the shops rose the steel net of the roller coaster. This was nearly too much for Buster. It was very hard being grounded, he thought miserably. He longed to go on the roller coaster again, but he had promised James he wouldn’t. James was his oldest friend, after all. And a promise is a promise.
Then Buster saw the big Ferris wheel. It was turning slowly, around and around, on the pier that stretched out into the sea.
“I could go on that,” Buster said to himself. “I mean, it isn’t a roller coaster. And if I just sit there and don’t fly off, then nothing can possibly go wrong.”
He felt himself being drawn toward the big wheel by a magnetic force. Buster decided that he hadn’t any choice in the matter. It wasn’t his fault; his wings were itching something rotten. As long as I just go on the big wheel, he thought, and stay in my seat, it isn’t the same thing as flying. In fact, I doubt if you could say that the two activities were in any way related.
“Two tickets, please,” said Buster to the lady in the booth who was taking money for the ride.
“Two? Who’s going with you?” she asked.
<
br /> “Me, and me again,” said Buster.
Just as he was about to climb into the gondola that would take him up to the glorious heights above Puddliepool-on-Sea, he heard someone calling for help. Buster stopped.
“Well, Sonny Jim, are you going on the ride or not?” said the man who operated the big Ferris wheel.
“Yes,” said Buster.
Buddleia. There it was again. A very high-pitched sound, indeed.
Buster sighed.
“No,” he said.
It was a sound that no fairy can ignore. It was the sound of another fairy in big trouble.
Chapter Eleven
“Make up your mind,” said the Ferris wheel operator. “Are you coming or are you going?”
But Buster was now well down the wood-slatted pier, heading toward the source of the sound. It seemed to be coming from inside a fortune-teller’s booth. Buster pushed the door. It wasn’t locked, and it swung open. The booth was dark, but in the light from the doorway he was able to see two figures. One was large and wearing a Day-Glo tank top; the other was a wiry fellow holding a mallet. Red light flickered in the fragments of glass that lay scattered on the floor. Under the table, her wing shining, crouched a terrified-looking lady. She was stuffing pieces of broken glass into her handbag.
Buster didn’t waste a moment. He knew a fairy when he saw one. He pushed past the two thugs and grabbed her by the hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said the lady.
“Buster Ignatius Spicer, at your service,” said Buster as they sprinted down the pier. “What’s your name?”
“E … E … Edie … Eeee— Love, I’m so out of breath. I don’t think I can run anymore.”
They had just reached the Ferris wheel when Buster looked back to see the two villains hard on their heels. Edie, he could tell, was in no state to go any farther. He had to do something, or they would both end up like the crystal ball—in pieces.
“I’ll go on the ride now,” he said to the Ferris wheel operator.
“Are you sure?” said the operator. “You don’t want to think about it a bit longer?”
“I have two tickets,” said Buster as he and Edie climbed into the gondola. The operator closed the little door behind them.
“Hey, you!” shouted the thug wearing the Day-Glo tank top. “Wait—I want to go in that one too.”
“You can’t,” said the operator. “You have to buy a ticket first.”
At that moment, to Buster’s relief, the gondola started to rock and rose slowly into the cloudless sky. The higher Buster and Edie went, the smaller the thugs became, but Buster knew they would be waiting to pounce the minute the Ferris wheel returned them to earth.
“Can you fly?” asked Buster as their gondola reached its highest point.
“No, love, not with only the one wing. And I am so out of practice.”
“Buddleia,” said Buster.
The gondola reached the top of its circle and began to descend. The two villains very quickly started to look bigger again.
“We have no choice,” said Buster. “We will have to make a flying leap.”
“Oh, love, I don’t know,” said Edie. “I mean, I haven’t used my wings since … since Queen Victoria was a little girl.”
“Where’s your fairy spirit?” said Buster, and he stood up.
Suddenly, an alarm rang and the big wheel stopped turning.
“Sit down immediately!” shouted the ride operator. “It’s not safe to stand.”
“Are you ready?” asked Buster.
“As ready as I’ll ever be—with one wing,” said Edie.
She took Buster’s hand, and they jumped out of the gondola. For one terrible moment, it seemed as if they would crash onto the pier below. Buster did his best not to let go of Edie, who clung limpet-tight to her handbag. Then, after what felt like an age, Edie started to use her wing, and they soared up into the air.
It was not a graceful flight, but it was sensational enough that all who saw it stared openmouthed in wonder. Buster was confident that he hadn’t broken the Fairy Code. You were allowed to break every rule in the book if another fairy was in trouble.
They landed at—or rather, flew smack into—the tram stop across from the promenade.
“Oh no, look!” said Edie.
A crowd of people were rushing off the South Pier, pointing at Buster and Edie. Among them Buster glimpsed an orange Day-Glo tank top. They were still being followed. Just then, a tram whizzed to a halt, and he and Edie jumped aboard.
“Fares, passes, excuses,” shouted the conductor.
“Excuses,” said Buster.
“What excuse do you have?” said the conductor.
“We’re both fairies,” said Buster.
The conductor nearly fell down laughing.
“I’ve had a few, but never one as good as that,” he said.
“Here,” said Edie, rummaging in her handbag. “Here’s my pass and the lad’s fare.”
“Are you trying out for the talent contest, then? You’ll be needing another wing if your act is to TAKE OFF!”
The conductor laughed like a drain at his own joke.
Buster turned to look out the window. On the promenade, the two villains were fast disappearing in the distance as they failed to catch up with the tram. Buster grinned to himself. This is more like it, he thought. This is a proper investigation.
“So, Edie,” he said. “What’s this all about, then?”
Chapter Twelve
Mr. Trickett looked worn out, the shine of his permanent smile wearing thin. He wasn’t having a good day—in that, Blinky Belvale had been right.
The bank manager had just phoned to say that no further loans would be forthcoming while the Johnny Carmichael murder was being investigated. Mr. Trickett was beginning to wonder how much longer he could stay in business. But over his dead body would he sell his beloved ballroom to Blinky Belvale. And if that weren’t gloomy enough, there was now this problem with Theo Callous, the presenter of The Me Moment.
The Me Moment was a talent contest that was to be filmed in the Starburst Ballroom. It had been quite a feather in Mr. Trickett’s cap to have persuaded the producers to put on the show in his ballroom. He had guaranteed them he would find some class acts. And so far, he hadn’t. Now Theo Callous was threatening to take his show elsewhere—and with it, much-needed income.
So far Mr. Trickett’s scouts had only managed to come up with a three-legged dancing dog with a one-legged owner, and a girl who could balance on a ball while holding her pet hamster. And a boy with a singing fish.
“They’re not going to rock the world, are they?” said Theo Callous to Mr. Trickett. “Honestly, I expected better. Is that really all you can drag up from the murky depths of this place? You promised me a spectacle, and I have come all this way for … what?”
“I do have wonderful dancers,” said Mr. Trickett. “Shall I show you some videos?”
But Theo wasn’t listening. He was studying his handsome features in the dressing-room mirror. Straight nose, sculpted lips, a cliff of a jutting jaw, thick golden hair, and skin the color of burnished bronze—and just as shiny. His face possessed only two expressions: one, pleased with a dazzling white smile; the second, cross without the dazzling white smile. All others had been lost under a cosmetic surgeon’s knife.
“What I need is a bit of sparkle, jazz, razzmatazz,” said Theo Callous, tearing himself away from the mirror. “A three-legged dancing dog is not exactly the ‘me moment’ I’m looking for. Neither, for that matter, is a murder.”
“No,” said Mr. Trickett, feeling rather hot under the collar. “It’s most unfortunate about Johnny Carmichael.”
“You can say that again. A murderer is on the loose. No one will turn up to see me if they think they might be killed while watching the show. Upset is a word that does little to describe the way I am feeling right now. I turned down Las Vegas to come to this dump.”
“It will be all right on the night, trust me,” said Mr. Trickett. “The murderer will be found soon. Puddliepool police are on it.”
“If they are anything like your talent scouts, then I won’t hold my breath,” said Theo, adding more bronze dust to his sparkling face. He stopped to answer his cell phone.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, they sound more like it. Quite honestly, I would listen to a singing horse if it was any good—I am that desperate. Bring them here. Let me see for myself.” He turned to Mr. Trickett. “Seems one of your talent scouts spotted a giant girl and a man in a cat costume. Now that’s the kind of tinsel we’re looking for. That has more of a Me Moment feel to it. I’ll need Morris to play the Wurlitzer.”
“That’s a problem,” said Mr. Trickett, though he felt like adding, one of many. “Morris has vanished.”
Explaining that Morris was wanted by the police for questioning wasn’t easy. But luckily, any conversation that didn’t have Theo Callous’s name at the beginning, middle, or end wasn’t a conversation in which Theo Callous had much interest.
He interrupted Mr. Trickett. “Tell me—what’s the Me Moment catchphrase?” he said.
Mr. Trickett said quickly, “ME, ME, what about ME? It’s ME that matters most.”
“Exactamente. Close the door behind you.”
Mr. Trickett went to leave. As he opened the dressing-room door, a song drifted down the corridor.
“Hold on, what’s that?” said Theo Callous.
* * *
When he and Theo reached the ballroom, Mr. Trickett couldn’t believe his eyes. There stood the tallest little girl either of them had ever seen. She had fair, braided hair and dimples and looked as sweet as an iced cupcake. A giant iced cupcake. And as for the man she was with, his cat costume was most realistic. Over it he was wearing a cream linen suit and a straw boater hat. He carried several buckets and shovels.
“Are you for real?” Theo Callous said, tugging at Fidget’s fur.
The Vanishing of Billy Buckle Page 4
