Alice-Miranda Shines Bright 8

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Inside, Myrtle Parker was in the middle of dusting. She’d spent all day looking for Reginald, driving up and down the lanes and searching the sheds at the showground. But there had been no sign. She was quite convinced that he had relapsed somewhere in a field. Silly man, whatever had possessed him to get up and leave? And where on earth did he think he was going? At least he’d had the wherewithal to put on some clothes, which Myrtle had discovered when she’d found his blue striped pyjamas in the load of washing Alice-Miranda had put on the day before.

  The old woman looked up at Newton the gnome, who was sitting quietly on the mantelpiece taking it all in.

  ‘Did he say anything to you?’ she asked the concrete creature. ‘Suppose not.’ Myrtle flicked the duster over the gnome’s head and sighed. The sound of the doorbell startled her and she almost sent the little fellow flying. He wobbled and then thudded back into position.

  ‘What is it now?’ Myrtle huffed under her breath. She bustled to the door and wrenched it open.

  ‘Hello Myrtle,’ said Ambrosia. ‘I have some news.’ She closed her umbrella and forced her way inside the front hall.

  Myrtle tutted. She hadn’t even invited the woman in.

  ‘I think you should sit down,’ Ambrosia instructed and ushered Myrtle into the sitting room.

  The old woman pursed her lips. ‘And I think you should take that wet coat off. I don’t need you drip­ping all over my lovely floors.’

  Ambrosia did her best not to roll her eyes, and tugged at the sleeves on her coat.

  The old woman lowered herself onto the sofa. She felt a twinge in her stomach.

  ‘Well, what is it? I haven’t got all night, you know. Some of us have work to do.’ She flicked the feather duster into the air.

  Ambrosia reached out and placed her hand onto Myrtle’s. ‘I’ve just got off the phone with Jacinta and she said that she knows where Reginald is.’

  Myrtle Parker swallowed and looked at the woman. ‘Well, where is he? And how does she know? Did she see him?’

  Ambrosia shook her head. ‘No, I don’t believe so.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me some gobbledegook about the child having telepathic powers are you?’ Myrtle said dubiously. The past few days had been like riding a roller-coaster and she didn’t think she could stand another free fall.

  ‘He’s with some fellow called Stan out in the woods, at a place called Wood End,’ Ambrosia replied.

  Myrtle said nothing but her face turned a horrible shade of grey.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Ambrosia asked. ‘Isn’t it wonderful news? Mr Parker will be home with you in no time.’

  ‘I should have known,’ Myrtle whispered.

  ‘Why should you have known?’ Ambrosia asked. ‘Who is this Stan fellow?’

  Myrtle Parker stood up. She strode into the kitchen and gathered up her handbag and car keys. She then disappeared into the bedroom and jammed her pillbox hat onto her head, then stopped at the hall mirror to check that it was straight.

  ‘Are you coming?’ she called to Ambrosia, who was wondering if Myrtle was having some kind of breakdown. Her behaviour was often curious but this was strange, even for her.

  Ambrosia scurried to the front hall. ‘Are you going to find him?’

  ‘Yes. If it’s the last thing I do,’ Myrtle replied. ‘Now, are you coming with me or do I have to undertake this mission alone?’

  There was no way Ambrosia was going to let Myrtle Parker out on her own. Not in her current state and in this weather.

  ‘Of course,’ Ambrosia replied. For the second time in two days, she found herself heading out with her neighbour. At least this time they knew where they were going.

  ‘Well hurry up. We haven’t got all night.’

  ‘Mr Parker will be so glad to see you,’ Ambrosia said as the two women hopped into Myrtle’s little hatchback.

  But Myrtle didn’t reply. She was thinking about what she would say to Reginald when she found him.

  Constable Derby had called off the search for Mr Parker immediately after he’d hung up on his call with Miss Reedy. He was relieved to hear that the man was alive and well and staying at Wood End with Stanley Frost. He hadn’t been out to that part of the world in years and didn’t know that Stan still lived there, so this was very good news. He was less relieved to learn that Mr Parker didn’t want anyone to tell Mrs Parker where he was just yet. He could only imagine how she’d take it.

  The constable was about to drive around to see Myrtle when a crackly call came through on the radio. There’d been a serious accident on the road between Downsfordvale and Winchesterfield. He’d have to attend that first and then go to see Mrs Parker.

  Constable Derby kissed his wife goodbye, pulled on his raincoat and hurried out into the darkness. A brisk wind had sprung up and the rain was coming in sideways. He hated bleak nights like these. They only ever brought trouble. There was more news of the accident over the radio. A lorry loaded with glass bottles of tomato sauce had overturned on a bend and was now blocking the road in both directions. The driver had escaped with only minor cuts and there were no other vehicles involved, but it sounded like he would be needed there for hours.

  The police car sped through the rain, siren blaring. As he rounded the bend, Constable Derby sighed at the scene in front of him. The truck was wedged between the stone walls that lined the carriageway. They’d need a crane to lift it back onto its wheels and some manpower to clear up the debris before the road was safe to use again. He called over to the Downsfordvale station for backup but it seemed that everyone there was already out on calls too. Apparently a fire had started in one of the local restaurants and there had been another accident in the village. For the moment Constable Derby was on his own and it looked like it would be a very long night.

  Myrtle Parker’s hatchback zoomed on into the darkness, windscreen wipers going full tilt but barely making an impression on the screeds of water washing over the car.

  Ambrosia Headlington-Bear was beginning to think it would have been better to take her convertible, given it was almost brand new and far better equipped than Myrtle’s old banger.

  ‘Myrtle, where is Wood End?’ Ambrosia asked as they passed the showground. ‘And who’s Stan Frost?’

  But Myrtle was concentrating on the road. The little car hit a huge puddle and veered violently to the left. Ambrosia screamed and somehow Myrtle regained control of the vehicle.

  ‘Probably best you focus on the driving,’ said Ambrosia. ‘We can talk about Mr Frost later.’ She smiled nervously at the old woman and wondered if there would be a later.

  Myrtle Parker’s face looked as if it were set in concrete; her steely gaze was fixed on the road and her hands clamped tightly to the steering wheel.

  Further along, Myrtle slowed down and seemed to be looking for a place to turn. Ambrosia couldn’t see anything resembling a road and was stunned when the old woman steered the car into what looked like a thicket of bushes. The little hatchback bumped along the track under a deluge of overhanging branches.

  Ambrosia nibbled nervously on her thumbnail. ‘Are you sure this is the way?’

  Myrtle nodded. ‘Oh yes, I’m quite sure.’

  The thwacking branches clawed at the car as Myrtle planted her foot on the accelerator. The vehicle fishtailed from side to side and bounced along the pitted track.

  ‘Look out!’ Ambrosia’s hands covered her eyes. She peeked just in time to see Myrtle avoid hitting a large branch that came crashing down onto the path behind them.

  ‘Perhaps we should come back tomorrow, when the weather’s cleared,’ Ambrosia said tentatively. But she wondered if they would be able to turn back now anyway.

  Myrtle shook her head. ‘I’m taking Reginald home with me tonight if it’s the last thing I do.’

  Ambrosia was beginning to think that it could very well be th
e last thing that either of them did.

  The path opened up a little. Water was sheeting across the windscreen and visibility was almost nothing. Up ahead, she could just make out what looked like an old bridge.

  ‘Myrtle, stop!’ Ambrosia demanded.

  But the car sped up.

  ‘Stop being such a baby, Ambrosia.’ Myrtle glanced at her, brows furrowed. ‘This bridge is as safe as houses.’

  As the little hatchback’s front wheels hit the structure, it disintegrated beneath them. A wave of water from the swollen stream rose up and swept the car away. The younger woman’s screams filled the vehicle as it spun around and around. Myrtle was silent, her face stony, her hands still gripping the steering wheel.

  The car raced downstream in the torrent of swirling water.

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ Ambrosia wailed. ‘I’ve got Jacinta to think about.’

  Myrtle glanced at her hysterical friend. ‘I am sorry, dear. I didn’t mean for this to happen.’

  The next moment, the world turned black for both of them.

  Millie and Alice-Miranda lined up at the servery in the dining room. They had walked over from the house with Miss Reedy, who said that Constable Derby had been delighted to hear that Mr Parker had been found. He had agreed not to tell Mrs Parker of her husband’s whereabouts just yet either. The teacher and girls decided it would be best to keep the good news to themselves until Constable Derby had been out to Wood End.

  Millie raised her nose in the air. ‘I think Mrs Smith has outdone herself tonight. I love lamb korma.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Alice-Miranda as she dropped an extra dollop of yoghurt onto her meal.

  Jacinta was sitting in the corner with Sloane.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ said Alice-Miranda as she set her plate down beside Jacinta’s.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said the girl.

  ‘What did you talk to Miss Grimm about after we left?’ Sloane asked Alice-Miranda.

  ‘I can’t say. I’m sorry, but I promised I wouldn’t tell. Miss Grimm said that we shouldn’t get anyone’s hopes up.’

  Millie had meant to ask Alice-Miranda about that too, but in all the excitement of finding Mr Parker, she’d completely forgotten. Now she pulled a pleading face at her friend. ‘Come on, Alice-Miranda, we’re your best friends.’

  ‘I know you are and that’s why I can’t tell. Not yet,’ Alice-Miranda said. She looked at her plate pointedly and took a bite of her meal. ‘Mrs Smith’s a genius with curry, isn’t she?’

  Millie got the hint. ‘She’s got a lot better this year. This tastes like something we had at your place, Alice-Miranda.’

  The girl nodded. ‘I think it’s another one of Mrs Oliver’s recipes.’

  Sloane shovelled a forkful into her mouth. ‘It’s pretty good. My mother is the worst cook in the world. I’m going to starve this summer. I bet she’ll be on some new diet that she’ll inflict on the rest of us. Last year it was disgusting cabbage soup morning, noon and night.’

  ‘Oh, that’s seriously gross,’ Millie agreed. ‘Cab­bage makes me windier than a summer storm.’

  The other girls giggled.

  Sloane grimaced. ‘There were some smells in our house that no one should ever be subjected to.’

  ‘It’s sad that we’ll all be split up for the holidays,’ said Alice-Miranda, frowning. ‘What does everyone have planned?’

  Millie piped up first. ‘We’re going to stay in the caravan by the beach. Mummy said that you can all come, as long as you don’t mind sleeping on camp beds and roughing it a bit.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘But I’ll have to check what Mummy and Daddy have planned. I think I might be staying with Granny for a little while too.’

  Sloane, however, had been shaking her head in horror. ‘No way. I’m allergic to camping.’

  ‘You can’t be allergic to camping,’ Millie protested.

  ‘Well, I am,’ Sloane insisted. ‘Just the thought of sleeping in a tent can give me hives, and with skin as delicate as mine I can’t afford to risk it.’

  ‘You’re so pathetic.’ Millie wrinkled her nose at Sloane, whose tongue shot out at her.

  Jacinta stayed quiet.

  ‘What about you, Jacinta?’ Millie asked.

  The girl shrugged. Her dark mood seemed to have returned.

  ‘Come on, Jacinta, it’s only camping. It wouldn’t kill you,’ said Millie.

  ‘I don’t care what I do for the holidays. When my father finds out what’s happened, he’ll probably send me to some boot camp for brats in the middle of nowhere so I can’t get into any more trouble.’

  ‘Oh, Jacinta, I’m sure that won’t happen,’ Alice-Miranda told her friend.

  ‘Stop being so nice to me. I don’t deserve it.’ Jacinta pushed her chair out, picked up her plate and walked over to deposit it on the servery.

  Alice-Miranda wondered what else to say, because at the moment nothing seemed right at all.

  Silas Wiley sat at his kitchen table reading through the paperwork. He couldn’t believe how easy it was to register the claim. Thankfully, the fees could be paid by credit card, although he’d had to use his mayoral expense account, which he’d reimburse as soon as he could. It wasn’t ideal but Ursula would know how to work things out at the end of the month. She was a clever girl.

  Now it was just a matter of waiting for the official documentation and then he could bring in the workers – although he needed to figure out who those workers would be. This wasn’t going to be any amateur prospecting outfit. Silas envisaged a full-scale mining operation. And he wanted one of those giant trucks and a processing plant too, where he could watch all that beautiful molten gold being poured into bars. Registering the claim was one thing; now he had to find people who knew what to do with it.

  He went to the dresser where his parents had always kept the telephone books. He didn’t have a computer at home and this couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Surely he could find someone who would assist him with his mission – although mine managers were probably a little thin on the ground. There was the small issue of money too. Until the mine was showing a profit, Silas would have to cut someone in on the deal, because there was no money for up-front payments.

  He tapped his pen on a blank piece of paper and thought about who might need to be involved in a mining venture.

  Surveyors. He’d need to get a survey. Flipping through the pages, Silas found what he was looking for and wrote down a couple of numbers. He picked up the telephone and dialled.

  Constable Derby finally returned to the station at quarter to four the next morning. The accident had taken hours to clear up and it was now far too late to go and see Mrs Parker. His visit would have to wait a little while; at least until he had a shower and a couple of hours’ sleep. The rain was still coming down, but it was nothing like the tempest that had made the night so wretched.

  Several hours later, he struggled out of bed and drove around to Rosebud Lane. It was just after seven o’clock when he rang Myrtle Parker’s doorbell. To his astonishment, the front door was ajar. He poked his head inside.

  ‘Mrs Parker, are you here?’ The young man edged inside and scanned the front hall. It didn’t look as if anything was missing. He walked into the sitting room and thought it was much as he remembered it.

  A quick sweep of the house revealed nothing, although he couldn’t see Mrs Parker’s handbag or keys anywhere and the little hatchback was missing from its usual spot on the driveway. It was certainly curious.

  The constable decided to see if Mrs Headlington-Bear knew where Myrtle might be. He approached the pretty white cottage and knocked on the door. Nothing. On his way to try the back door, he peered in through one of the windows. The room clearly belonged to Ambrosia, but the bed was made and there was no sign of anyone.

  The constable got back into
his car, threw his sodden hat onto the passenger seat and turned the ignition. There would be no point heading for Wood End just yet – the stream would be flooded for sure. Livinia Reedy and her charges were next on his list. Alice-Miranda and Millie had found Mr Parker, so it was important to interview them – and at least he knew exactly where to find them.

  Alice-Miranda and Millie were on their way to breakfast, trying to keep dry under their umbrellas, when they spotted the police car coming up the driveway.

  ‘Good morning, constable,’ Alice-Miranda called as the policeman hopped out of the vehicle and headed towards them.

  ‘Morning girls, I was hoping to catch you before school.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Millie said urgently and pointed at his jacket sleeve. It was covered in what looked like thick red blood.

  Constable Derby glanced at his arm. He raised it and sniffed, then wiped a smidge of the substance onto his finger and licked it. ‘Just the leftovers from last night’s accident.’

  Alice-Miranda and Millie’s jaws dropped.

  ‘Ewww, gross,’ Millie gulped.

  Constable Derby grinned. ‘It’s tomato sauce, girls. I thought you would have heard about the lorry crash.’

  ‘We did,’ Millie replied. ‘But we didn’t know what it was carrying and you’ve got to admit, that does look a lot like blood.’

  ‘Sorry to scare you. It must be the lack of sleep,’ the man smiled.

  Alice-Miranda giggled.

  ‘Could we talk somewhere private?’ the con­stable asked.

  Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘We could go to Mrs Derby’s office. She’s not in yet, is she?’

  ‘No, when I left home she was still in bed. Poor woman has had to put up with me coming and going at all hours, so I was pleased not to wake her.’

  The trio scooted across the courtyard and into the school reception. Jacinta had spied the group too. She followed them to the main building and hid herself in the alcove just outside Mrs Derby’s office door.