A Pocketful of Eyes (11 page)

Cranston’s smile made Bee’s heart break a little. ‘I think he was only happy when he was working,’ he said. ‘Neither of us had any family left. And taxidermy was always his hobby. We used to joke about it – I spent my whole career taking creatures apart to study their workings, and Gregory put them back together again.’

‘And you don’t have any idea why he might have wanted to kill himself?’

William Cranston shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I just don’t know.’ He stood up. ‘I’m very sorry I couldn’t help you more, but I must be leaving.’

‘Just one more thing before you go,’ Bee said. ‘Does the name Adrian Featherstone mean anything to you?’

A dark cloud passed over William Cranston’s face. ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘The name means nothing.’

He tucked his paper under his arm and hurried away. Bee watched him go. Had he told her the truth about anything at all?

IF BEE WERE TO MAKE
a list of the ten things that made her the most uncomfortable, they would have included:

1. Luna Park.

2. Rides where she had to go upside down.

3. Seeing her mother goggle dopily at a scrawny, pudding-bowl-haired guy (who moonlighted as a Celestial Badger) as though he was Robert Downey Jnr.

4. Watching the aforementioned Celestial Badger attempt to throw balls in the mouths of clowns in order to win a stuffed animal for her mother, and fail miserably.

5. The feeling of a slightly undercooked hotdog, hard and rocklike, in her belly.

6. The combination of an upside-down ride and an undercooked hotdog, with the addition of a large blue milkshake.

7. Being sick in a public toilet.

8. Trying to hide the fact that she was nauseous from her mother, because she didn’t want to spoil Angela’s Fun Happy Family Outing.

9. Having tomato sauce smeared on her by a feral screaming child.

10. The dentist.

The day’s entertainment had so far ticked boxes 1–9, and, judging by the amount of sugar in the large blue milkshake, a visit to the dentist was certainly on the cards.

‘So,’ said Angela, plonking herself onto the seat beside Bee. ‘What ride shall we go on next?’ She grinned at the Celestial Badger, who pulled something lumpy out of his pocket. Bee tried to look enthusiastic as Angela tossed the twenty-sided die carefully onto the ground.

‘Fourteen,’ said Angela, looking at her map of Luna Park. ‘That’s the G-Force.’

Bee shuddered at the thought of being violently spun around.

‘But it’s minus three because we just had those milkshakes,’ said the Badger. ‘So it’s eleven.’

Angela screwed up her nose. ‘But we’ve already been on the Pharaoh’s Curse twice.’

‘Then let’s add two because we gained XP on the Shock Drop. Then it’s the Scenic Railway.’ The Badger looked pleased. ‘That’s the biggest ride here, so we should get extra XP for it.’

Angela nodded. ‘But let’s get popcorn first.’ She grinned. ‘Initiative check!’

She rolled the die and got a three. ‘Awesome. And my dexterity modifier of plus three still only makes a six.’

Bee shook her head through a haze of nausea and blue milkshake. ‘Don’t you want it to be higher?’

‘Usually,’ said Angela. ‘But we’re deciding who has to get the popcorn.’

The Celestial Badger rolled the die and got a five.

‘Hah!’ said Angela. ‘You have a dexterity modifier of
two
, so it’s popcorn time for you!’

‘But I’m flat-footed,’ he replied with a grin. ‘So I don’t get any dexterity modifier. That means I’m just a five. You win.’

‘You are
not
flat-footed,’ said Angela. ‘And even if you were, that’s only for when you’re surprised in combat.’

The Celestial Badger looked over at the popcorn stand. ‘I expect that there will be some combat over there,’ he said. ‘Did you see that kid with the shaved head?’

‘Even if there is combat,’ said Angela, ‘you still have to get over there. And you have the travel domain, so you won’t be affected by spells that impede movement. And
my
movement has been affected by that hotdog I had before.’

‘Ah,’ said the Badger, ‘but you’re a Rogue Elf, which means you have uncanny dodge, and are more likely to withstand a surprise attack from shaven-headed-kid.’

Bee stood up and her stomach lurched again. ‘I’ll get the popcorn.’

‘Thanks, love,’ said Angela.

‘Don’t forget to check for traps,’ said the Celestial Badger, suddenly very serious. ‘And maybe detect magic if anything looks strange.’

Bee ignored this advice, and made her way woozily to one of the food stands, weaving through the crowds and trying not to inhale the smell from the hotdog cart. She was a little lightheaded; the noise and clamour pressed in on her, all spinning rides and flashing lights and whistles.

She wondered what Toby was doing. Was he finding information about Featherstone? Was he thinking about her? She went to check her phone for messages, but realised she’d left it on her bedside table. A mistake that Poirot never would have made.

The tacky glitz of the amusement park seemed so completely normal, Bee found it hard to imagine that her days in the cool taxidermy lab had really happened. Could Gus be dead? Surely that kind of thing didn’t happen in real life. Bee walked unheedingly past a toddler throwing a major tantrum. The sun was strong and hot, and the top of Bee’s head felt tight with sunburn.

The woman in front of Bee in the queue for popcorn looked a bit like Akiko Kobayashi. Bee wondered just how far Kobayashi would go to save her museum. Would she resort to murder?

A piercing cry startled Bee out of her thoughts, but it was coming from the direction of the Circus of Screams, so it was probably nothing to be concerned about.

She remembered visiting Luna Park with Fletch and Maddy last year. Fletch had insisted they go into the Circus of Screams, and Bee had wondered if it was because he wanted an opportunity to grope her in the darkness. But he hadn’t even held her hand. At the time Bee had been glad – she’d liked how Fletch kept public displays of affection to an absolute minimum. Now she wondered if he’d been holding Maddy’s hand instead. She imagined coming here with Toby, on a date. It might be quite nice to hold his hand in the Circus of Screams. And maybe steal a kiss or two . . .

Bee reached for the jumbo-sized popcorn and tasted blue milkshake in the back of her throat. The popcorn wobbled before her, and for a moment it looked like a cardboard container full of shining glass lizard eyes.

What was Featherstone up to?

Angela and the Celestial Badger weren’t sitting on the bench when Bee returned. She looked around, and spotted a blob of red crushed velvet over by the Fun House.

Bee traipsed over to them. The Celestial Badger was in front of one of the wacky mirrors, which made him look all shrunken and tiny and wasted, while Angela’s reflection bulged and stretched. They were both pointing and laughing so hard that tears were streaming down Angela’s face. Bee rather uncharitably thought she couldn’t see much difference between the reflections and the real thing.

She caught sight of her own reflection, all wavy and wobbly and insubstantial. Her distorted face was very pale, and her hair was a mess. Stupid Luna Park. Stupid undercooked hotdog. As Bee passed another mirror, her reflection disappeared entirely. Invisibility would be good. Then she could sneak into Featherstone’s office and eavesdrop. She sighed. Maybe Featherstone had the ability to turn invisible. Maybe that’s how he’d killed Gus.

‘The wandering adventurer returns triumphant!’ said the Celestial Badger, as Bee handed Angela the popcorn.

Bee ground her teeth and didn’t reply. The Celestial Badger’s over-friendly schtick was starting to grate on her.

Angela laughed and pointed at the mirror in front of Bee. It was a confusing warped one that crossed over with the mirror next to it, so it seemed as if the Celestial Badger’s head was on Bee’s body, and Bee’s head was on the Badger’s body. Bee made a face.

‘Wow, I guess makeovers
can
work miracles!’ said the Badger with a giggle. ‘I feel like a whole new person! Hey Bee, I love your new haircut. It totally suits you.’

Bee said nothing. She was in a nightmare.

‘Hey, you don’t look so good,’ said the Badger, suddenly serious. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I
was
fine,’ snapped Bee, ‘until you came along and stuck your head on mine.’

‘Bee,’ said Angela in a warning voice. ‘Please don’t speak to Neal with that tone.’

‘Fine, I’ll go back to not speaking to him at all.’

There was an uncomfortable pause. Angela glared.

‘Bee, I’d like you to apologise to Neal.’

‘Angela, it’s fine—’ the Badger started, but Angela shook her head.

‘No, I want to hear you apologise, Bee. You’re acting like a spoilt child and I know you’re more mature than this.’

Bee felt sick and weary. All she wanted was to curl up in her bed away from Badgers and mirrors and glass eyes and murderers.

‘I’m sorry, Neal,’ she said, meeting his eye. ‘I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m just finding it hard to adjust to my mum having a boyfriend. It won’t happen again.’

The Celestial Badger blushed. Angela nodded briskly.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘It must be time for us to ride the Scenic Railway.’

When they arrived home that evening, Angela suggested a game of Star Wars Monopoly and a pizza.

‘I’m tired,’ said Bee. ‘And I ate too much at Luna Park, so if it’s okay I might just go to bed.’

Angela looked concerned. ‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘It’s only seven-thirty.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Bee. ‘Just really tired. Work has been busy. You guys have a good night.’

‘Sleep well,’ said the Celestial Badger with a wave.

Bee grabbed a packet of antacid tablets from the bathroom, and kicked off her shoes. She didn’t bother getting undressed, just crawled into bed and pulled the blankets over her head. Her stomach was still churning from the hotdog-milkshake-upside-down combination. She wondered absently if Toby’d had any luck finding anything on Featherstone, but couldn’t quite bring herself to check her phone for messages. She closed her eyes and tried to think of clear lakes and gentle breezes until eventually she drifted off to sleep.

Her phone rattled on her bedside table, startling her into wakefulness. It was nearly eleven, and the house was quiet.

She answered it groggily. It was Toby.

‘Where have you been all day?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been trying to call you.’

Bee made a squeaking groaning noise. ‘Luna Park. I left my phone at home.’

‘Whatever,’ said Toby. ‘Meet me at that all-night café on Park Street in half an hour?’

‘What?’ said Bee, fumbling for her bedside light. ‘Can’t you just tell me over the phone? Or wait until Monday?’

‘Come on, Bee!’ said Toby. ‘What kind of investigator are you? We need to exchange information in a seedy diner late at night.’

‘It’s not a seedy diner,’ said Bee. ‘It’s an art gallery café that has occasional live folk music.’

‘Whatever. Just be there.’

The phone clicked as Toby hung up, and Bee swung her legs over the side of her bed and tried to locate her shoes.

Toby was already there when Bee stumbled through the café door, blinking at the sudden light. She grimaced when she saw he was drinking a spearmint milkshake.

‘Did you know,’ said Toby, apropos of nothing, ‘that people don’t actually drop to the ground because of the mechanics of being shot?’

‘What?’

The waitress came over and Bee queasily ordered a plain mineral water.

‘It’s psychological.’ Toby slurped at his milkshake. ‘It takes ten to twelve seconds to pass out from blood loss, so physically, you’re able to stand for that long. It’s your brain going
Oh no! I’ve been shot! I’d better drop to the ground
. When animals get shot, they just keep running. Except for dogs, who clearly watch too much
CSI
.’

‘Dogs aren’t the only ones.’

‘Are you okay?’ Toby asked, peering at Bee. ‘You look dreadful.’

‘Thanks. Now tell me what you found out.’

‘Adrian Alice Featherstone,’ said Toby. ‘I can’t tell you why he has a girl’s middle name, but I can tell you that he is forty-nine years old. He was born in Jersey, England, boarded at Tonbridge School in Kent, and studied biology and chemistry at Cambridge University. He then went on to work for a variety of independent science laboratories, specialising in molecular biology. In 1986 he was working for BioFresh, a company that did freelance research and labwork for other scientists. Bookmark that for later. He has marmalade on toast for breakfast.’

Bee blinked. ‘What? How did you find all this out?’

Toby leaned forward over the table. ‘I had an interesting conversation last night with my anatomy professor, and he gave me the name of a UK database which is a directory of scientists. There’s a copy of the database in the Science Library at uni. I went in today and looked up Featherstone. There was a brief bio attached to his reference.’

‘Well done,’ said Bee. ‘And how did you find out what he eats for breakfast?’

Toby grinned. ‘I made that bit up. I figure he’s English, so marmalade’s an educated guess.’

‘So he’s a molecular biologist,’ said Bee. ‘I wonder if that’s his connection to Cranston.’

‘I am
so
far ahead of you,’ said Toby. ‘After I found that, I did a search in all the science journals we have online at uni for William Cranston and BioFresh. And I found that he outsourced some of his research to them. In 1986.’

‘What kind of research?’ asked Bee.

‘Horseshoe crabs.’

Bee swallowed.

‘So I went back to my lecturer, and asked him for more info about the whole horseshoe crab thing. And he remembered this rumour that had been going round at the time. About why Cranston didn’t get his Nobel Prize.’

Toby paused for dramatic emphasis, and Bee kicked him under the table. ‘Get on with it.’

‘Just before the Nobel nominations were announced, a pharmaceuticals company announced they’d made a breakthrough: a new way to test for bacteria in pharmaceuticals using haemoglobins from . . .’