by Laura Wood
“I really must find Agatha,” Miss Susan huffed, and she turned and left the room.
“Don’t know what her problem is,” Horatio said after Miss Susan was gone. “Sounds like she could do with a drink.”
Jack Jenkins laughed. “Well, I’d better be off too,” he said cheerfully. “Let me know if you need anything else doing.”
“I will,” said Horatio, “thanks for sorting that out. This whole place is a shambles. It all needs some serious work.”
“Yeah,” Jack agreed, “I guess the Booths will be doing the place up soon with all their inheritance money.”
Horatio chuckled at that. “We’ll see,” he said.
Jack Jenkins left then, and it was just the four of us. I glanced over at Kip who was still well hidden behind the stuffed bear. Ingrid and I were wedged in pretty tight, and my legs were beginning to ache thanks to the awkward position we were squished in. I desperately hoped that Horatio Muggins wouldn’t be hanging around for much longer. Unfortunately, I heard the sound of the phone being picked up and the old-fashioned dial spinning around as Horatio dialled a long phone number. After a couple of seconds someone obviously picked up on the other end.
“It’s me,” Muggins said in a low voice. “Yes, I can talk.” There was a pause then as whoever he was speaking to said something. “No, no, no,” Muggins said, a bit louder now. “That’s not necessary, I have everything under control. You just let me do things my way.” There was another pause. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said with an ominous chuckle, as he took another swig from his glass. “They’ll pay up. I’ll see to that. They’ll pay up in full.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I had to stifle a gasp then, and I saw Kip’s head snap back in surprise. Unfortunately, the movement made the bear he was hiding behind tip ever-so-slightly forward and then back into place again. To my ears the tiny thud that accompanied this sounded like a massive firework going off, leaving a flashing display behind reading KID DETECTIVES ARE HERE. I held my breath as Muggins paused in his conversation.
“Hello?” he called. “Is someone there?” There was a terrible silence that seemed to go on for ever. I felt my heart clattering away like a noisy typewriter, and I expected to see a threatening shadow looming over us at any moment. Instead, Horatio Muggins returned to his conversation. “Sorry,” he said. “Thought I heard something. Anyway, I’m not going anywhere. You just arrange things your end and let me worry about things here. I’ll take care of everything. They’ve got a deadline, and they know the rules, so they’ll have to accept our terms… they don’t have a choice. No one’s been hurt – yet – but they’ve got to take this seriously.” He hung up the phone, and put his empty glass back on the table before leaving the room.
We were alone again. The three of us remained frozen for a while, not wanting to emerge from our hiding places if we were about to find ourselves face-to-face with a dastardly kidnapper. Finally, I poked my head around the side of the trunk. “The coast is clear!” I hissed, unbending myself from the squashed pretzel I had become. Kip and Ingrid followed suit, with Kip pulling away from the giant bear and shaking himself all over.
“That thing smells sooooo bad!” he howled, still wriggling as if he could shake the smell away.
“Phew!” Ingrid exclaimed, pinching her nose, “and now so do you!”
“Never mind about the dead bear smell!” I cried, my eyes shining, the thrill of investigation crackling through me, “we have a prime suspect! Don’t you think?”
“Er, YEAH,” Kip said. “Obviously he’s the prime suspect. We just heard him confess. Mystery solved.”
“Not yet!” I said quickly. “We don’t have any evidence yet and he’s still got Jenny somewhere.”
“At least he said that she hadn’t been hurt, so we know she’s safe,” Kip added.
“For now,” I replied ominously.
“We’d better get out of here, before we have more explaining to do…” Ingrid said wisely.
“And try and find Muggins again,” I said. “See if we can uncover any more evidence of where he’s keeping Jenny.”
We bustled down the corridor until we came to another door, which we threw open, tumbling smack into Mr Grant.
“What are you three up to?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Nothing,” I gasped.
“We got lost,” Ingrid said at the same time.
“SANDWICHES,” Kip yelped. We all turned to look at him. He shrugged. “Er, I mean, we got lost.”
“Hmmmmm.” Mr Grant didn’t look convinced.
“Have you seen Horatio Muggins?” I asked breathlessly.
“No,” Mr Grant said, looking confused. “Why?”
“No reason,” I said.
“We found his hat,” Ingrid explained.
“SANDWICHES,” Kip yelped again.
There was a pause and Mr Grant looked at us very carefully, as if weighing up how much trouble we were getting ourselves into. Finally, he said, “OK.” Then he turned towards me. “And Poppy, I have something for you – it came in the post this morning.” He handed me a large brown envelope. I recognized the handwriting immediately.
“It’s from Pym!” I cried, snatching it from Mr Grant’s hand.
“But your postcard can’t possibly have got there yet,” Ingrid said, bewildered. “Why would she write to you now?”
“No, but that’s just like her” – I smiled a slightly watery smile – “replying to a letter you haven’t even written yet.” After all the sadness and anger of the last twenty-four hours I clung to the letter, imagining Pym and the rest of my family’s loving faces and feeling a warm glow wrap itself around my heart like a cosy woollen jumper.
“Well you’ve got a few minutes before dinner if you want to read it,” Mr Grant said with a smile.
I was torn. I desperately wanted to read the letter, to feel connected to my family, but I also knew that we needed to track down Horatio Muggins. After all, mystery solving waits for no one! Luckily, I didn’t have to make the decision. Ingrid squeezed my arm. “Go and read your letter,” she said, and then in a softer voice she added, “We can talk about Muggins later. After all, he said he’s not going anywhere.”
I flashed her a grateful smile and ran out of the door to find somewhere private to read outside. This was easier said than done as there were lots of students around enjoying their free time in the sunshine and not worrying about solving complicated, mind-bending mysteries, but finally, after locating a quiet spot in the garden, I tore eagerly into the envelope. Inside was a letter, and I recoiled for a moment because it had a rather overpowering smell like the bottom of a slimy pond.
I folded the letter up carefully, holding it well away from my nose. It had given me a lot to think about, and not just the fact that I missed my crazy circus family. Pym’s vision of the old-fashioned pistol was interesting. Was it connected to Moira Booth? After all, Luigi did say she was supposed to be an excellent shot. And how come Luigi knew anything about Moira in the first place? Was it possible that he knew more about the smuggler’s disappearance? If Luigi had more information, I knew that I needed to get in touch with him, but first there was the small matter of rescuing poor, kidnapped Jenny, catching the despicable Horatio Muggins, and generally saving the day. Not to mention the potential ghost, the tunnels, and the mystery that we had originally been looking into – the disappearance of Henry Redshank. It was, I had to admit, an awful lot to take on – even for a super detective like me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Unfortunately my inspiring to-do list was interrupted by the dinner gong. (You know things are serious when that is an unfortunate event!) I joined the stream of students scampering in for dinner and met up with Kip and Ingrid. Over plates of burnt sausages, greasy chips and some nuclear green mush masquerading as peas, I filled them in on the contents of the letter.
“So Luigi might know something about Henry Redshank!” Kip exclaimed.
“And what abou
t Pym’s vision?” Ingrid asked. “What do you think that was all about? Something to do with the Redshanks?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed, frustrated. “Anyway, I think our priority has to be finding Jenny.”
“How are we going to do that?” Kip asked, biting into his fourth Cajun-style sausage. “If her mum and dad couldn’t find her, how can we?”
“Because we’re ace detectives!” I cried. “We need to examine the scene of the crime and look for clues that they’ve missed. I’m sure we will spot something.”
“You mean—” Ingrid began.
“Yes.” I nodded firmly. “We need to sneak into Jenny’s room. We can do it tomorrow, first thing.”
“Or…” Ingrid said tentatively. “We talk to Miss Susan again, or Mr Grant. We could tell them what we heard Horatio Muggins saying on the phone.”
“No,” I barked, not wanting to hear Miss Susan’s name or think about her at all. “It’s our word against Horatio Muggins’s that we overheard him on the phone, and you know they won’t take us seriously.” I thought back once more to my conversation with Miss Susan and felt the familiar wave of anger crashing over me.
“Are you sure you’re OK, Poppy?” Ingrid asked quietly. “Did something happen with Miss Susan? You’ve been a bit different lately – even before we came to Crumley. We’re both worried about you.” Kip nodded in agreement at this.
I so desperately wanted to tell my friends about Miss Susan, but I didn’t know how. Especially not now, when Miss Susan had denied that I was her daughter at all.
“I’m fine!” I said, but my voice was coming out all snappy and angry again.
“Sorry, Poppy,” Ingrid said. “We’re just worried, you seem—”
“I really am fine,” I said, trying to change the subject. “And we have a mystery to solve.” I waved my arms. “They think we’re just kids, they think we can’t work things out for ourselves, they treat us like we’re idiots, but we can show them! We can prove that we are cleverer than them. We can solve this mystery, and we can rescue Jenny ourselves.” My speech was so passionate that it ended with me banging my fist on the table in front of me. Kip and Ingrid still looked a bit worried, but I could tell my stirring speech was winning them round.
“OK,” Ingrid said finally. “If you’re sure…” I nodded my head. “Then,” she continued, “how do we find out where Jenny’s room is?”
“We ask Mrs Crockton,” I said, spotting her emerging from the kitchen and waving to her.
“Do you need something, duck?” Mrs Crockton asked when she reached us.
“No thanks, Mrs C!” Kip piped up. “Just wanted to say thank you for another top dinner – although, actually if there are one or two sausages going spare, I could probably help out.” He peered over Mrs Crockton’s shoulder.
“Ahem.” I coughed, trying to snap him out of his hungry daze.
Mrs Crockton laughed. “What an appetite you’ve got!” she said, and Kip looked surprised. “I’ll have to watch out for you! Although I have started locking the larder up now.” She patted a set of keys that were tied to her apron.
“Not because of me? I wouldn’t STEAL food!” Kip was horrified. “I’d just ask for it. Really nicely.”
“Oh, duck!” said Mrs Crockton. “I’m sorry, I was only teasing! I know you wouldn’t steal food, but someone was helping themselves to the larder just before you all arrived. Caused me a lot of bother it did with half my ingredients missing, so I had to start locking it up. Now, what can I do to cheer you up? A nice jam split fresh from the bakery perhaps? With some clotted cream?”
“I suppose that MIGHT help,” Kip said sadly. “Although probably two would be more effective.”
My ears had perked up at this, though. Someone had been stealing food? Was it the same person who was storing tins of food at the beach? But why would anyone be doing such a thing? My mind turned back to the matter of Jenny’s room. “Mrs Crockton,” I said, interrupting Kip, “I had a question about the castle.”
“Yes, dear?” She turned to face me.
“I’m a bit confused about my map,” I said, pulling the crumpled sheet from my pocket. “We’re doing a bit of research into the buildings history, but it doesn’t say how many floors there are. Is it four?”
“That’s right,” Mrs Crockton nodded. “But most of the rooms are in such a state of disrepair that the family only use the rooms on the first two floors; the second floor for guests, and the rooms on the first floor for the Booths.”
“Oh, right,” I said, casually.
“Now, shall I go and get those splits for you?” she asked.
“Yes, please!” we chorused.
After all we had a busy day ahead of us the next day and mystery solving was hard work. Best to start stocking up on energizing treats as soon as possible.
The next morning we woke up early, while the others were still all snug in their sleeping bags, so that we could put our plan into motion. The sun was barely up, and the sky was a sleepy golden colour. Ingrid and I met Kip on the castle steps just as he was yawning the biggest yawn in human history.
“Why do we have to do this so eeeearly?” he moaned, stifling a yawn. “I was having the most amazing dream about living in a house made out of chocolate cake…” He trailed off, beaming greedily.
“We have to do it early so that no one will spot us, of course,” I said.
“And a chocolate cake house would be completely impractical,” Ingrid added.
“When you turned on the taps, chocolate milk came out.” Kip’s eyes were starry.
“I think we’re getting distracted.” I said, in my professional detective voice (which I suppose is quite booming and forceful, and left Kip and Ingrid looking a little surprised). “Let’s crack on with the case!”
A few minutes later we had crept upstairs to the first floor and were wandering along the long corridor, peeking our heads around as many open doors as we could find.
“Narrowing it down to the first floor was all very well,” I grumbled, “but how are we supposed to know which room is Jenny’s? This corridor just seems to go on for ever.”
“I reckon it’s this one,” Kip said, coming to a standstill.
“Why?” I asked, making my way over to him.
“Who can say?” Kip said, squinting and stroking an imaginary beard. “But I think this sign saying ‘Jenny’s Room’ was my first clue.”
Kip was right, there was a sign on Jenny’s door, and underneath it was another one in big red letters. It read KEEP OUT and then underneath that in smaller letters someone had written: THAT MEANS YOU.
“Do you think she knew we were coming?” Kip said, pointing at the sign.
“I’m sure that’s for her mum and dad,” Ingrid said. “Parents can be so annoying – coming into your room, leaving books about the history of stamp collecting open on your bedside table, putting up posters of rare stamps, changing your alarm clock so that it wakes you up by singing a song of their own composition about the history of perforation and postage stamp separation…” Ingrid’s cheeks turned a bit pink. Obviously I didn’t really have normal parents, but I think these problems were still fairly specific to Ingrid and her mad stamp-collecting parents. (They were bitterly disappointed that Ingrid hadn’t followed in their philatelist footsteps.) My assumption was supported by Kip’s face, which was looking at Ingrid in total bemusement. “And they try and tidy things up,” Ingrid added, and here Kip nodded sagely.
“So if she wasn’t talking to us, then what are we waiting for?” I asked. “We know it’s not locked because Agatha said they had to break the lock to get in.”
The others nodded. Slowly, Kip reached out and turned the door handle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The door swung open and we stepped into Jenny’s room. It looked exactly like you might imagine a seventeen-year-old’s room to look. And by that I mean it looked as if a clothes shop had exploded. There were clothes and shoes everywhere. A small table with an
oval mirror attached to it was littered with make-up and perfume and jewellery. In one corner her bed was rumpled and unmade. The walls were covered in posters of handsome boys and bands with names like Love Connection and BOYCRUSH, whose members all seemed to have floppy hair and big white teeth. There were magazines scattered around and a radio with big speakers stood next to a large wooden wardrobe.
The three of us looked around in silent horror. “Where do we even start looking for clues?” I asked.
“Oh wow, I wish my parents could see this room!” Kip exclaimed. “They’re always saying I’m so messy and I keep telling them it could be soooo much worse.”
“OK,” I said, stepping gingerly around the mess. “We haven’t got any time to waste. Let’s just do our best and see what we can find.”
Ingrid and Kip started rummaging, but I stood and cast my eye around critically, trying to slip into top detective mode. My eyes ran along the walls, and then along the floor.
“Does that floorboard look right to you?” I asked, pointing next to Jenny’s bed. The board in question was a slightly different colour to the others as if someone had mended a gap in the floor a long time ago. I ran over and tapped on it with my foot. The board wobbled. I pushed down harder with my foot on one end, and the other end lifted up into the air. Grabbing on to this, I gently lifted the board away. Underneath it was a small, dark gap.
“What is it?” Kip hollered, stumbling over and throwing himself down, his head over the hole.
“I can’t see,” I said. “There’s a big melon head in the way.”
“I do NOT have a melon head,” Kip cried hotly, said melon head snapping up so that he could glare at me.
“You’ve got a very nice head,” Ingrid said soothingly. “It’s not like a melon at all. More like … a football.” Kip still didn’t look impressed. “A perfectly proportioned football,” she added hastily and Kip looked slightly happier.
