Fidget straightened his jacket and looked none too pleased at having his fur pulled the wrong way.
“I have, if you must know, a medical condition,” he said.
“Purrrr,” said Theo Callous. “Just purrfect. Now, sweetheart, what’s your name?” he said, looking up at Primrose. Her height alone was enough to guarantee a TV audience numbering in the millions.
“Primrose.”
“Beautiful. Well, flower, what can you do?”
“Sing,” said Primrose.
And she did, her voice filling the Starburst Ballroom—with ratings gold, as far as Theo Callous was concerned.
“That is the voice of an angel!” he cried, throwing his arms in the air.
Primrose giggled.
“That’s what Daddy calls me.”
Chapter Thirteen
This, Emily decided, was perhaps the stupidest thing they had ever done. She’d had a feeling all along that building sand castles on the beach with a giant’s daughter and a man-size cat wasn’t the best of ideas. And then Primrose had started to sing. Almost straightaway a crowd of people had gathered around them. At first it had been a relief to be saved by the talent scout, but now some silly presenter was talking about making Primrose a star. The last thing they needed to do was draw attention to themselves. Emily walked onto the dance floor.
“Excuse me,” she said to Theo Callous. “We have to leave.”
“Spot on the fishcake,” said Fidget.
“No, no, NO!” said Theo Callous. “Not so fast.” He looked down at Emily and Doughnut. “You go, by all means. And take that shark on four legs.”
“He’s a miniature dachshund,” said Emily. “Come along, Primrose.”
She took Primrose’s hand.
“I don’t want to leave,” said Primrose. “I want to stay here and sing. I feel happy when I sing.”
“You can sing at Wings & Co.,” said Emily.
“I like this place,” Primrose said. “It’s so shiny and pretty, and it’s the right size for me.”
“There, that settles it. Primrose and the cat stay. Don’t let me keep you,” said Theo Callous, pushing Emily toward the door. Doughnut barked at him wildly. “Dogs aren’t allowed in here.”
“But—” said Emily.
“And I can see,” said Theo Callous, “that you have no talent whatsoever.”
And before Emily could say another word, she and Doughnut found themselves in the foyer outside the ballroom.
“Good-bye, dearie,” called Theo Callous.
Emily was not going to be put down so easily by a man who looked like a sparkly orange. She stood in the foyer, wondering what to do. She felt sure that Fidget would untangle himself and Primrose before too long. Should she wait or should she go? It was Doughnut who made the decision. A sign by the stairs said TO THE GALLERY, and Doughnut ran up them, ears flapping. Emily called him back, but it was hopeless. There was nothing to do but follow.
The stairs led to an empty, unlit balcony above the ballroom. Below she could see Primrose and Fidget on the dance floor.
“Doughnut,” called Emily quietly into the darkness. Where was that dog? “Doughnut, come back here. What are you doing?”
But Doughnut didn’t appear.
“Oh dear,” said Emily to herself. “Now what?”
Suddenly she glimpsed a shadowy figure behind a pillar. In the darkness glittered a fairy wing.
“Hello,” she whispered. “I’m Emily Vole from Wings & Co. Who are you?”
A voice from the dark said, “Wings & Co.? Oh, thank goodness! Please help me.”
“You could start by telling me your name,” said Emily.
“I’m Morris Flipwinkle.”
“Morris Flipwinkle? You … you … you’re wanted by the police for the murder of Johnny Carmichael,” said Emily. She wondered if she shouldn’t make a run for the nearest phone and call James.
“Yes,” said Morris. “But I didn’t do it. Please believe me—I’m innocent. I wouldn’t hurt a wombat.”
He emerged from the shadows carrying Doughnut. There was no doubt that he was in a sorry state, all crumpled and tired looking. He wasn’t the least bit threatening, and Emily couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She made a snap decision. She would take him back to Wings & Co. for questioning. But, oh dear—how? She couldn’t very well just walk out of the Starburst Ballroom and down the promenade in broad daylight with the most wanted man in Puddliepool-on-Sea.
“Stay here,” said Emily to Morris. “I’m going to see if I can find a disguise for you.”
“Like what?” asked Morris, clinging to Doughnut as if his freedom depended on him. “Crikey, don’t be long.”
Emily wasn’t sure what she was looking for. There must, she supposed, be a cupboard with cleaning things in it, and if there was such a cupboard, there might be overalls or a scarf or something inside.
But when she found the cupboard, all she could see was a black trash bag stuffed in the corner. She was about to close the cupboard when she saw something poking out of the bag. It was a curly wig. Quickly she pulled it out, and then a hat, a colorful scarf, a pair of sunglasses, a fluffy coat, and some horrible, ugly shoes. Emily gathered up everything and went back to where she had left Morris and Doughnut.
“Put these on,” she said to Morris.
“Crikey,” said Morris again. “They must have belonged to someone’s granny.”
Emily helped Morris put on the wig and hat. He tied the scarf around his neck and buttoned up the coat. At Emily’s suggestion, he rolled up his pants, revealing his skinny legs. Finally, he put on the shoes, amazed to find that they fit him.
“All I can say is, with shoes this big, she must have been a very large granny,” said Morris.
A voice called from the landing below.
“Hello—who’s up there?’
“Crikey crickets,” said Morris. “I’ve been caught! It’s all over.”
“Don’t panic,” said Emily. “Here—put on the dark glasses and start acting as if you’re my grandma.”
A security guard came panting and puffing up the stairs.
“You shouldn’t be here, little girl,” he said.
Thinking quickly, Emily explained that Granny had been desperate for the toilet and they had become somewhat lost. Morris kept his head down, doing his best to hide his unshaven chin in the scarf. Doughnut put on his most lost expression.
“We have a granny and her granddaughter up here,” said the security guard into his walkie-talkie. “The old lady is a bit wobbly on her pins. Over.” He listened to the voice crackling on the other end and then said, “Roger. I’ll send them out by the nearest exit.” He turned to Emily. “Just go down the stairs and keep going until you reach the ground floor. And please hold on to the handrail—for health and safety.”
Chapter Fourteen
Buster arrived back at Wings & Co. with Edie, both of them flushed and out of breath. Buster had constantly checked that no one was following them. All he had seen on the promenade outside the shop was an odd-looking seagull eating scraps of fish and chips in the gutter. It had the strangest bulgy eyes. Buster felt pretty sure seagulls weren’t meant to look like that. It was only when he was inside Wings & Co. with the front door closed behind them that he felt safe.
Edie didn’t. The sight of the magic lamp was enough to worry any fairy. She edged away from it. That lamp didn’t have a good history, that was for sure.
“We’re all doomed,” said the lamp. “Doomed, I tell you.”
“Yes, but where is everybody?” asked Buster.
“Don’t ask me. I’m a nobody around here,” replied the magic lamp. “You all went off to the beach—hours ago—leaving me to look after the sick keys. We’re doomed, I tell you.”
“Oh, put a cork in it,” said Buster.
“Ah, love, I feel a bit faint,” said Edie.
Buster helped her to a chair, and Edie sat there looking miserable.
“Are you sure that lamp isn’t going to do any
thing nasty?”
“Don’t worry,” said Buster. “It did once work for the wicked witch Harpella, but since Emily Vole took out the dragon’s tooth, it’s turned over a new leaf. As for Harpella, she’s now a purple rabbit—and long may she stay that way.”
“I heard about that. Still, it’s hard to believe the lamp’s harmless,” said Edie, “when you think of all the damage it’s done.”
“It wasn’t my fault; don’t go blaming me,” said the magic lamp. “It was all Harpella’s doing.” It flounced up the stairs.
“What’s gone wrong?” said Edie sadly. “I should have seen all this coming. I mean, I see most things in my crystal ball. I should have known what was going to happen to Morris Flipwinkle. After all, he came and asked me what his future held. As for getting my wings back, that should have been like looking into a window. It’s almost as if I’ve been foggled.”
Buster looked up sharply. “What did you see?” he asked.
“That’s the trouble, love. I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. Each picture I saw seemed to come from a different story.”
“I don’t understand,” said Buster.
“Neither do I,” said Edie, opening her handbag. “Here, have a look for yourself. I gathered up three pieces of my crystal ball while those hooligans were wrecking my booth. The images are frozen on them.”
She handed the large fragments of glass to Buster. He took them carefully to the light to study. In one piece he saw a skeleton, in another he saw a diamond, and in the third, a seagull.
“The only thing I can think of is that the diamond is connected to that robbery in London,” said Edie.
“The skeleton looks like something out of a ghost train. But maybe it’s got something to do with the murder,” said Buster.
But before Edie could answer, the doorbell rang.
“Oh no,” she said. “They’ve found us!”
The lamp came bustling down the stairs.
“What is wrong with you? There’s someone wanting to come in. Am I expected to do everything around here?”
“Wait,” said Buster. “Let me check who it is.”
Buster went to the door. He was relieved to see that the two thugs hadn’t found them. It was Emily and Doughnut, although with them was an old woman he didn’t recognize.
“Where are Fidget and Primrose?” asked Buster as he let them in, checking the street in both directions again before he closed the door.
Emily explained about the talent contest and how Fidget and Primrose had come to be at the Starburst Ballroom.
“And that was when I found…” She stopped and looked at Edie. “Excuse me … Buster, are you going to introduce me to this lady?”
“Oh, this is Edie Girdle, a fairy with one wing,” said Buster.
“A pleasure to meet you,” said Edie.
“And are you going to introduce me to this lady?” said Buster.
“It’s not a lady,” said Emily.
Morris took off the wig and stood there looking foolish.
“Morris Flipwinkle! Well, blow my socks off,” said Edie.
“Emily—he’s wanted in connection with a murder!” said Buster. “You should have told the police, not brought him here. We’re a fairy detective agency. We aren’t involved in that case.”
“I think we might be,” said Emily.
“How so?” asked Buster.
“Doomed! We’re all doomed,” cried the magic lamp.
“Take off the coat, Morris,” said Emily.
Morris did as he was told and unfolded his wing.
“Buddleia,” said Buster. “But just because he’s a fairy doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Johnny Carmichael.”
“That’s why I brought him here for questioning,” said Emily. She was somewhat put out by Buster’s reaction. He would have been so pleased with himself if he’d brought a suspected murderer in for questioning. “Anyway, I don’t think he is the murderer.”
“Hold on,” said Edie. “Let’s see if I still have any of my magic powers left. Morris, give me your hand, love.”
Edie Girdle studied Morris’s palm. Emily’s eyes widened as something amazing happened. Edie Girdle seemed to light up from inside and, glowing, she slowly rose from her chair before clattering down with a bang.
“Well, that sorted that out,” she said. “I’m glad to know I haven’t lost all my talents.”
“What did you see?” asked Emily.
“That Morris definitely didn’t kill Johnny Carmichael.”
“How can you be sure?”
“It isn’t in his nature or in the palm of his hand,” said Edie.
“Did you see who the murderer was?”
“Unfortunately, I didn’t, love. I wish I had.” Edie smiled at Morris. “I always thought you might be a fairy, but I wasn’t sure.”
“I just wish that I had both my wings,” said Morris. “Then I would fly away from all this mess.”
“Doomed, I tell you, doomed!” said the lamp.
Emily turned to the lamp. “Would you please make some tea for our guests?”
“Run here, run there, run, run. Am I no more than a servant?”
“You are not a servant,” said Emily firmly. “But can’t you see we have a lot going on? I would have thought a lamp of your brainage would have worked that out by now. But no, all we have had from you is a pantomime of dramas.”
“Oh, sweet mistress, forgive me! I didn’t mean—”
“Tea,” said Emily. “And not another word from your spout.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cheryl Spike was confused. She had no idea where her boss, Blinky Belvale, had gone. When she and the Toad had returned from their fruitless search for the fortune-teller, he had been sitting at his desk. A few minutes later, she’d poked her head into his office and he wasn’t there. The window was open, but the office was on the second floor. He couldn’t have gone out that way.
“It’s not natural,” she said to the Toad. “It gives me the creeps.”
The Toad was pacing up and down.
“We should call it a day,” he said, blowing a huge bubble from his mouth.
“No. Not yet,” replied Cheryl. “You need to stay calm.” She pulled a plan of the Starburst Ballroom out of her Day-Glo tank top. “Where’ve you looked so far?”
The Toad stared at the plan. “I told you. Blooming everywhere under the stage.”
“Then maybe,” said Cheryl, “we need to look in the ghost train.”
“I’m not going down there. It’s spooky. That new waxwork scares me rotten,” said the Toad. “Anyway, it’s not safe. Not with the police snooping around.”
He popped a huge bubble.
“CHERYL!” bellowed the unmistakable voice of Blinky Belvale, making them both jump out of their skins.
Cheryl and the Toad looked at each other nervously. Cheryl opened Blinky Belvale’s office door. Her boss was sitting behind his desk, eating fish and chips out of newspaper. Where had he come from?
“Didn’t see you come in, Mr. B.,” said Cheryl. “Never saw you go out, either.”
Blinky looked up at her, his eyes bulging from his head.
“Did you do what I asked?” he said, stuffing yet more french fries into his mouth.
“Yes, Mr. B.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Blinky, spitting out bits of food. “You let the flying boy and the dancing fortune-teller escape.”
How he knew that, Cheryl had no idea. She was beginning to think her boss had eyes in the back of that porkpie hat of his.
“Do I have to do everything around here?” he said. “I give you a simple task, and what do you do? You bungle it!”
“You only told us to smash the crystal ball. You didn’t say anything about the old girl with the wing. Or a flying boy.”
Blinky stood up.
“Are you telling me that the dancing fortune-teller has a wing?”
“Ye-eah,” said Cheryl uncertainly. She was not given to much imagination, and for
a moment she wondered if she’d been right about the wing.
Blinky pushed back his chair.
“Another unwanted can of worms,” he muttered to himself. “An infestation of interfering fairies.”
“Sorry, Mr. B.—what did you say?” said Cheryl.
She noticed there was a feather on the carpet and what looked like bird droppings. She was about to ask if a bird had flown in through the window when she caught the look on Blinky Belvale’s face. It was a look that made her think twice.
“Has Trickett found any talent for his contest yet?” asked Blinky.
“Don’t know,” said Cheryl.
“Find out. Give them a call,” said Blinky.
Cheryl padded back to her desk and picked up the phone.
“Yeah. Nah. Yeah,” she said, and hung up.
“What’s going on?” asked Blinky.
“They’re auditioning a man in a cat costume and a giant little girl who can sing,” said Cheryl, reading from her notes.
Blinky Belvale knew of only one man-size cat, and he didn’t like what he knew.
“Come on,” he said.
Cheryl followed her boss out of his office, down the stairs, and onto the promenade.
“Where’re we going?” she asked.
“Where do you think?” said Blinky.
“I try not to, Mr. B.,” replied Cheryl.
“The Starburst Ballroom,” growled Blinky Belvale.
* * *
The security guard working for The Me Moment tried to stop Blinky Belvale and his personal assistant from entering.
“Auditions are in progress,” he said.
“The boss needs to have another look at the ballroom,” said Cheryl as the boss pushed past the security guard.
Before anyone could stop them, Blinky Belvale and Cheryl muscled their way onto the dance floor. A giant girl was singing about rosebushes.
“Well, well,” muttered Blinky to himself, “look who it is.”
Then, under the gallery, sitting at a table, Blinky saw Fidget the cat.
“Cheryl, I don’t trust that cat. Phone the Toad and tell him to get down to the ghost train and keep an eye on my waxwork.”
“Now, Mr. B.?”
The Vanishing of Billy Buckle Page 5
