Re: Urgent
Aye, aye, captain! I’ll go now!
Over and out …
She was bonkers.
To: Melody Bird
From: Matthew Corbin
Subject: HOLD ON!
Maybe now isn’t the best time!! It’s late and the police are busy there, etc…. Leave it until the morning?
I hit Send but she didn’t reply, and then fifteen minutes later she came out of her house balancing a plate along her forearm. As she crossed the road I could see it was some kind of long sponge cake, and on top she’d randomly stuck loads of chocolate ladyfingers. It looked like a strange, spiky caterpillar. I cringed, wishing I hadn’t said anything.
“Oh Melody,” I whispered to myself.
The policeman on the doorstep was gone, and she struggled to unlock Mr. Charles’s gate with one hand, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on keeping the cake on the plate. As she got to the front door she glanced at my window and gave me a thumbs-up.
I groaned as I sat back down at the desk. I couldn’t bear to watch. Ten minutes later she was sprinting across the close, an empty plate smeared with chocolate in her hand. I waited at the computer.
To: Matthew Corbin
From: Melody Bird
Subject: Casey
The whole cake thing worked (well done you!). He asked me in to say hello to Casey. Boy, that kid is creepy! She just sat in the corner playing with some horrible doll and didn’t even look up! You were right—she certainly doesn’t seem bothered about Teddy at all!
To: Melody Bird
From: Matthew Corbin
Re: Casey
And what about Mr. Charles? Did he seem upset?
To: Matthew Corbin
From: Melody Bird
Re: Casey
Kind of. His eyes were red like he’d been crying. There was one weird thing though. He ate a GIGANTIC slice of cake! Can you believe it? I thought stress killed an appetite?!
Anyway, let me know my next assignment!
Over and out.
Agent Mel x
I went to my room and lay on my bed, my arms beneath my head, staring up at the ceiling.
“Where’s he gone, Lion? Who’s got him?”
The police had turned the lights on in Mr. Charles’s yard, and they made a pattern on my wall. A yellow spotlight circled the Wallpaper Lion high up in his corner. His one puffed-up cheek grinned back at me like a tacky TV game show host.
Soooooo, the question for you, Matthew Corbin, is this: Who exactly is to blame for the mysterious disappearance of Teddy Dawson? Is it:
a) Casey Dawson. This little darling may appear innocent, but she has an unhealthy habit of pushing small children into ponds. Could she have done something to Teddy?
b) Mr. Charles. Grandfatherly love does not come easy to this old man. Could he be responsible for the missing boy?
c) Jake Bishop. He’s a bitter youth who gets kicks out of making others miserable. Could his attention seeking have taken him a step too far?
d) Matthew Corbin. This strange, lonely boy seemed to believe it was okay to leave a fifteen-month-old alone in a front yard in soaring temperatures. And let’s not forget what he did to his baby brother, Callum …
Sooooo, who could it be? The choice is yours.
Our doorbell rang and I woke with a gasp. There was something terrifying about hearing a doorbell late at night.
I looked at my clock. 11:tenplusthree glowed in fluorescent green. Not good. I closed my eyes and held my breath for three sets of seven, listening to a police siren that became louder and then faded as it passed the end of our street. When I opened my eyes, it was 11:14. I breathed out in relief.
I could hear Mr. Charles on our doorstep talking to Dad.
“… going to the hospital for a checkup … probably just something I’ve eaten …”
“… best to get it checked out …”
“… Mum is on a flight right now. Can you have her here tonight?”
“… of course, no problem …”
The door closed and Dad’s voice went all squeaky. I recognized his “talking to small kids” voice.
“We’ll make you up a nice, cozy bed in the spare room, okay? Just across the landing from Matthew. You know Matty, don’t you?”
I stepped out onto the landing. Mum was heading upstairs, her eyes wide.
“Mr. Charles has got chest pains, so the police are running him to the hospital to get checked out. We’ve got Casey here for the night. Isn’t that nice?”
“No, not really.”
She ignored me and walked into the nursery and began dragging the boxes of baby stuff out onto the landing. The elephant mobile was dumped on top, its strings still tangled. Five long years of dangling in limbo and she’d gotten rid of it, just like that.
“Brian! Get Casey a little glass of milk, would you?”
I peeked over the banister and there she was, standing on our doormat wearing a long, old-fashioned-looking nightdress and hugging the bedraggled doll. As she followed Dad to the kitchen she glanced up at me, her eyes narrowing.
“Chest pains?” I said. “It’s probably indigestion! What’s he going to the hospital for?!”
Mum frowned at me. “When did you become the medical expert?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
I shrugged. A big slab of that cake Melody delivered was enough to give anyone chest pains.
“Can’t she sleep downstairs on the sofa?”
Mum exhaled as she dumped the final box and a tiny puff of dust dispersed into the air.
“What are you talking about, Matthew? You really do say the strangest things sometimes. How can I let a small child sleep downstairs on her own, especially after her little brother has gone missing?”
She wiped her forehead.
“Where’s that foam mattress gone? That will do …”
She wandered off to her room as I paced around on the landing. I could hear Dad squeaking away to Casey downstairs about the devil cat.
“Isn’t he a silly Nigel, eh, Casey? Whoever heard of a cat who likes to sleep on a pool table! Would you like a cookie? Oh no, actually, you’d better not since you’ve probably brushed your teeth already. Sheila? You done yet?”
Mum reappeared dragging our dusty, old foam bed, which had seen better days. I danced around her, trying to block her way without actually touching anything as she left a trail of yellow foam behind her.
“She doesn’t even know us!” I whispered. “How can Mr. Charles leave her with a family she doesn’t know? Shouldn’t social services be involved?”
Mum shuffled the bed into the room and positioned it in the corner near the computer desk.
“Her mum’s on a flight now, so she’ll be here within hours and anyway, Mr. Charles was the one who suggested she stay, and we’re not going to let down one of our neighbors at a time like this, are we? Get a couple of sheets and a pillow, would you?”
I hesitated, then used my top to pull open the door to the linen closet. Sheets, duvet covers, towels, and pillowcases were stacked up to the ceiling.
Dad delivered Casey to the top of the stairs.
“Here we are! One little girl, ready for bed. I’ll leave you to it then, Sheila, okay? Looks like you’ve got it all under control …” He went back down humming to himself.
Casey had her head tucked low with her doll clutched under her chin.
“Nearly done, Casey, love. Pass me the sheets then, Matthew. Don’t just stand there!”
I didn’t move.
“I don’t know which ones,” I said.
Mum huffed and grabbed what she needed.
“Would you like a glass of water for the night, Casey?” said Mum as she got on her hands and knees to make up the bed.
“Yes, please,” said Casey.
“Wow, she’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?” said Mum, pointing to the doll, which clearly wasn’t a pretty thing at all after its dunking in the pond and wading pool.
“Has she got a name?”
Casey shrugged, then looked straight at me and smiled.
“Goldie,” she whispered.
“Goldie. Ah, that must be because of her, erm, beautiful hair. Right, you wait here with Matthew while I go and get your water.”
As soon as Mum left, Casey stared at me and made an O shape with her mouth and smacked her lips together.
“Is that your tank, Goldfish Boy?” she said, looking over my shoulder into my bedroom.
Smack, smack, smack.
“Doesn’t it get boring swimming around in there all day? Up and down, up and down.”
My eyes were stinging. “How’s it any of your business?”
Smack, smack, smack.
She followed me to my door.
“Have you got one of those little treasure chests in there that open and close with all the bubbles? Hmmm, little fishy?”
She tried to look past me and into my room, but I stood in her way. Tilting her head to one side, she screwed her eyes up at me.
“How can you still breathe when you’re out of your tank, Goldfish Boy? Why don’t you die?”
I snatched the doll from her arms and she gasped.
“I can breathe a lot better than your brother could when you pushed him in the pond, you evil little witch.”
“Give her back!”
She tried to grab the doll, but I held it high out of her reach. Germs scurried down my arm.
“What have you done to him, eh? Where’s Teddy? What have you done to your brother?”
The little girl went scarlet as her feet beat on the carpet.
“I want her back! Give her to me, now!”
I could hear Mum starting up the stairs.
“Is everything all right?”
I gripped the doll’s head and twisted it until it made an awful cracking noise and flopped to one side, and then I thrust it into her chest and slammed my door.
I woke, sweating, at 2:18 a.m. I needed to wash again. I could still feel the doll’s matted hair in my hand, brittle like dried-up seaweed.
The house was silent and I quietly opened my door and crept onto the landing, peeking in on Casey. She had both her arms stretched high above her head. Her mouth was open and dried, and chalky saliva trailed down the side of her cheek as she snored gently. The broken doll was dangling off the side of the bed, its half-decapitated head resting on the carpet. Her eyes suddenly opened and I jumped.
“Goldfish Boy?” she whispered.
I ignored her and turned toward the bathroom, but she carried on.
“The old lady’s got him, Goldfish Boy.”
I stepped into the room
“What do you mean? What old lady?”
Her face was blank, her eyes closed again. She looked like she was asleep.
“Casey,” I whispered. “Do you know who took Teddy?”
She frowned in her sleep, and then holding the doll to her chest, she rolled over and turned her back to me.
Through the open curtain I looked down at Old Nina’s house. It looked darker than usual. Something was different. I was just about to turn away when I realized what it was. The yellow lamp—the one that glowed all day and all night in the front room window—wasn’t glowing anymore.
It had been switched off.
“Maybe we should have canceled it, Brian. It doesn’t feel right going out now. We should be helping with the searches.”
We were all in the car in the driveway waiting to back out, but a white van was blocking the way.
“They’ve got hundreds of people helping, Sheila. That policeman said we can help when we get back.” He nodded his head toward Officer Campen, who was standing by Mr. Charles’s gate. Dad had spoken to him about moving the van so that we could get going.
“… so sorry to bother you now, but we’ve got to get to an appointment for my son. We’re seeing a specialist …”
I felt sick and my knees were trembling. I just wanted to go back inside.
“I don’t mind going another day. Perhaps it would be better to wait,” I said. Mum looked over at Dad, but they both ignored me and Mum changed the subject.
“That poor Casey. Imagine being dragged out of bed this morning like that. She could have waited until she’d woken up, surely?”
Casey and Teddy’s mum, Melissa Dawson, had come straight from the airport and picked her daughter up at 5 a.m. I’d slept through the whole thing.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a child hugged quite like that before. I thought she was going to suffocate her!” Mum said. “At least it’s good news about Mr. Charles.”
Mr. Charles had gotten back from the hospital at 6:30 a.m. I had been right—it was indigestion.
Dad turned the engine on as if that would speed things up a bit.
Out my window I saw Melody, black cardigan on, arms folded, as she headed to the alleyway next to Old Nina’s house. She looked up at me and nodded and I nodded back. I’d quickly emailed her first thing this morning.
To: Melody Bird
From: Matthew Corbin
Subject: Next Assignment—The Rectory
See what you can find out about Old Nina? Take a look around!
Matthew
I twisted around to take a look at the old Victorian house. The lamp was still off.
“I wonder where Casey and Teddy’s dad is? You’d have thought he’d be around, wouldn’t you?” said Mum. She pulled her sun visor down and checked her reflection in the mirror. “Penny was on the news this morning. Only for about four seconds; she wasn’t on for as long as you were, Matthew.”
I cringed.
“They asked her how the neighbors were feeling and she said, ‘We’re all praying for little Teddy.’ That was nice, wasn’t it? She was wearing that cream blouse she wore to her niece’s wedding last year. And she’d put lipstick on. Bright pink. I don’t think that was appropriate. A touch of gloss would have been better.”
We were all quiet for a moment.
Dad fiddled with the air-conditioning and a cold blast of air hit my forehead. I was just going to ask if I could go back inside to wash my hands when two people appeared from around the side of Mr. Charles’s house wearing white jumpsuits.
“Forensic scientists,” I whispered. I recognized them from TV.
I watched as one of the forensic team peeled off a pair of latex gloves and pushed his white hood back as he walked to the van. If I had access to that kind of clothing I’d be fine. Cocooned in a protective layer—it looked perfect to me. The van moved out of the way and my stomach flipped as we slowly reversed out onto the road.
I was using my notebook again. The one I have in my head, not my pocket.
Tuesday, July 29th. 10:00 a.m. Dr. Rhodes’s office.
Number of people in office = 4
Number of people happy to be in office = 1 (and that’s only because she’s being paid)
Number of leaflets relating to mental health = 16
Number of leaflets with photographs of teenagers rubbing their foreheads = 3
Dr. Rhodes wasn’t what I was expecting. She was tiny, and her hair was fire-truck red and piled up high on top of her head (possibly to make herself appear taller), and her nose was pierced with a small diamond that glinted when she moved. She sat on a high-backed chair with a writing pad on her lap. Her feet barely reached the floor.
Dad, Mum, and I were all enveloped in a squishy, brown leather sofa the same shade as Mum’s spray-tanned legs. Dad kept coughing like he was clearing his throat to make some kind of joke, which thankfully never arrived. Mum talked constantly about Teddy going missing and how we really didn’t feel right being here at a time like this. Her posh voice was in fine form.
“We were going to cancel, weren’t we, Brian? We didn’t know what to do. I said it didn’t seem right, just carrying on as normal. Not that this is normal. But, well—you know what I mean …”
Dad rubbed his forehead and groaned quietly, but I don’t think Mum heard hi
m.
Dr. Rhodes agreed that this was indeed a terrible situation and managed to reassure Mum that being here wasn’t being disrespectful in any way. Mum breathed a sigh of relief having been given the all clear from a professional.
On my knees rested a black, highly dangerous clipboard that had a “checklist” that she said we’d complete together in a minute. The pen kept rolling down the paper, and I pressed one latex-gloved fingertip against it to keep it still. (I couldn’t cope without wearing a glove on both hands for this, so now I had none left at all. Latex gloves = 0.)
My secret was out.
“Can I just ask who has been providing your son with gloves?” Dr. Rhodes asked with a smile.
Dad coughed again and glanced over at Mum. I quickly looked down at the form and pretended to be absorbed in the questions. One asked if any of my obsessions were accompanied by “magical thinking,” and I wondered if that had anything to do with card tricks.
“Well, doctor. I can tell you that I certainly didn’t know that my wife was supplying our son with gloves. And if I had known, I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to it.”
Every time he stressed a word he dipped his head forward like a bird pecking at a feeder.
“Brian, you’re making it sound like I was doing something criminal! It was only to protect his poor skin.”
Dr. Rhodes opened her mouth to chime in, but they were off.
“Protect him? How is that going to protect him? It’s only going to make things worse.”
“But you didn’t see the state of his hands—they were blistering from the bleach!”
Mum screeched the word bleach, and to be honest, she sounded a little bit crazy.
“But giving him gloves is only going to make him do it more, isn’t it? It’s not rocket science …”
“They were blistered, Brian,” said Mum, her face turning scarlet beneath her fake tan. “Blistered!”
She made it sound like a swearword. I sank down farther into the sofa, trying desperately to avoid the stray globules of saliva that were flying around. Dr. Rhodes put both her hands up to calm them down, and amazingly it had an effect. Maybe she knew how to use some of that “magical thinking.”
The Goldfish Boy Page 9
