Friday Barnes 3 (6 page)

Friday and Melanie were making their way back to their dorm room after a very nice dinner of chicken casserole. Neither girl had any intention of doing her homework. Friday was planning to spend the evening re-reading
A Brief History of Time
and then writing Stephen Hawking a letter about all his errors. Melanie was planning to spend the evening napping so that she would be well-rested for going to bed.

As Friday pushed open the door and flicked on the light she got a nasty shock. There was someone sitting on her bed.

It was Ian.

‘What are you doing here?' said Friday.

‘Waiting for you,' said Ian.

‘Why did you break in?' asked Friday.

‘I wasn't going to wait outside,' said Ian. ‘Someone might see me. That's how rumours start.'

‘But everyone knows about you and Friday,' said Melanie.

‘Only in your mind, Melanie,' said Ian.

‘Why are you sitting in here waiting for me?' asked Friday, trying to get the conversation back on course.

Ian swung his feet off the bed. What he wanted to say apparently needed to be said with a degree of politeness.

‘I was wondering if you would be willing to take tomorrow off school?' said Ian.

‘A date!' exclaimed Melanie. ‘At last! The tension was really exhausting.'

‘Not a date,' said Ian. ‘I want …' He struggled to say the next word.

‘What do you want?' asked Friday.

‘I need some … assistance,' said Ian.

‘Assistance?' asked Friday. ‘With what?'

‘It's a delicate matter,' said Ian.

‘Oh,' said Melanie. ‘A personal medical issue?'

‘No!' exclaimed Ian.

‘Ahuh,' said Melanie. ‘I believe you.'

‘It's my mother,' said Ian.

‘Well, you shouldn't be telling us about her personal medical issues,' said Melanie.

‘No, my mother and father –' Ian swallowed and glanced at his feet ‘– are divorcing.'

‘I'm sorry,' said Friday.

‘Well, you should be,' snapped Ian, ‘since you were the cause of it.'

‘I didn't make your father steal that diamond!' said Friday.

Ian shook his head. ‘I don't want to rehash all that. I need your help because my parents are separating and Mum doesn't have any money. Dad's hidden the assets.'

‘I can't help you with that sort of thing,' said Friday. ‘You need a forensic accountant – someone who can trace bank transactions and track down offshore accounts.'

‘This is my father we're talking about,' said Ian. ‘He doesn't hide money that way. He converted all his cash into jewels: something physical that he really could hide. We know they're somewhere at our house but we can't find them. We've looked everywhere – the freezer, the door panels, the secret safe in the floor of the panic room. Everywhere he normally stashes things. Mum even brought in a clairvoyant to see if she could sense the vibrations of where Dad had hidden them.'

‘So I'm the one you come to when the clairvoyant lets you down,' said Friday.

‘Look, I know you and I have a lot of baggage,' said Ian, ‘but don't think about me. Do it for my mum. If she doesn't find the money to pay the bills, she's going to lose our house.'

‘Why doesn't she get a job?' asked Melanie.

‘She gave up law to be a circus acrobat,' said Ian. ‘That doesn't look terribly good on your resume.'

‘If my dad can hold down a job, anybody can,' said Friday.

‘Are you going to help or not?' asked Ian.

‘Of course we'll help you, and your mother,' said Friday. ‘I am capable of human empathy.'

‘You are?' asked Ian,

‘Even with someone as undeserving as you,' said Friday.

‘Mum hasn't got a car anymore,' said Ian. ‘We'll have to get the bus.'

‘I'll call my Uncle Bernie,' said Friday. ‘He'll drive us to your house. He'll be good to have along. As an insurance investigator, he's used to finding hiding places.'

As Ian got up to go to the door, something slid off Friday's bed. ‘You dropped something.' Friday bent and picked it up.

It was a plain business card. When she turned it over there was a picture of a blue-green flower.

‘Is this yours?' Friday asked.

Ian looked genuinely confused. ‘No. It must have been on your bed when I sat down.'

‘What is it?' asked Melanie. ‘Is that a picture of a flower?'

‘Yes, a particular type of flower,' said Friday. ‘A pimpernel.'

‘This is getting exciting,' said Melanie. ‘We've got our very own Aquamarine Pimpernel!'

‘Is that what you call this colour?' asked Friday. ‘I would've said blue.'

‘No, green,' said Ian, looking over her shoulder.

‘No, definitely aquamarine,' said Melanie happily. ‘It's the calling card of The Aquamarine Pimpernel.'

The next morning at 7 am, before the residential tutor was awake enough to realise what they were up to, Friday, Melanie and Ian snuck down to the front gates of the school where they had arranged to meet Uncle Bernie.

‘Why couldn't Uncle Bernie drive up to the top of the driveway and save us this walk?' asked Melanie.

‘In case someone in the admin building was on the ball and activated the automatic gates,' said Friday.

‘The school has automatic gates?' asked Ian.

‘They had to get them installed as part of the security arrangements for Princess Ingrid,' said Friday. ‘Uncle Bernie could hardly ring the buzzer and ask to be allowed to drive up and abduct three students.'

‘It's not abduction if we agree to go,' said Ian.

‘No, it's just aiding and abetting truancy,' agreed Friday. ‘Still, not a good look for Uncle Bernie. Whereas, if we're out on the street, that's another matter – he's just giving us a lift.'

When they reached the gates, Friday was skinny enough to squeeze through between two railings and Ian was athletic enough to climb over. Melanie was left standing on the wrong side.

‘Go ahead, I'll have a nap and wait for you here,' said Melanie.

‘No, you won't, you're coming with us,' said Friday. ‘I'm not going to be stuck in a car with Ian and Uncle Bernie for the next two hours.' She rifled in her bag and produced a battery-powered angle grinder and a pair of safety goggles. She put on the goggles. ‘Stand back!'

Two minutes and a lot of sparks later, Melanie was also on the far side of the now irreparably damaged fence.

In the distance a small car and a big plume of black smoke could be seen approaching.

‘I'm assuming that beaten-up old brown sedan belching smog belongs to your relative,' said Ian.

‘Yes, that's Uncle Bernie,' agreed Friday. ‘What he saves on buying a new car he spends on having to replace his oil once a week.'

‘Hi Friday,' called Uncle Bernie as he rolled down his window. ‘Where are we going?'

‘Ian's house,' said Friday. She turned to Ian. ‘Where exactly do you live?'

‘Wellsdown,' said Ian.

‘Ooh fancy,' said Melanie. ‘Even amongst rich people, that's a posh place to live.'

‘It's an expensive place to live when you've got no money,' said Ian.

‘Here, Friday, I got you a birthday present,' said Uncle Bernie, handing Friday a box.

‘But it's not my birthday,' said Friday.

‘Yes, it was. You turned twelve two weeks ago,' said Uncle Bernie.

‘You forgot your own birthday?!' asked Ian.

‘I've been busy,' said Friday as she opened the gift and lifted out a new green pork-pie hat. ‘Thanks,
Uncle Bernie, I love it.' She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Let's get going then,' said Uncle Bernie, blushing.

‘We'll have to make a stop along the way,' said Ian as he climbed into the back seat.

‘Where?' asked Friday. ‘Do you need to pick up some contraband? Electronics? Chocolate? Pre-written essays?'

‘We need to swing by the butcher shop to and pick up a big piece of steak,' said Ian.

The reason for the steak became apparent when they pulled up outside Ian's house and a large, angry Rottweiler with a rhinestone-studded collar started barking and lunging at them from the other side of the fence.

‘That's your dog?' asked Friday. ‘It's almost as friendly as you.'

‘That's Rocky. He's my father's dog,' said Ian.

‘Does he bark like that at your mother?' asked Friday.

‘Yes, and there's nothing she can do about it,' said Ian. ‘When you're negotiating a divorce settlement,
it doesn't look good if you get rid of your husband's dog.' He took the dripping red piece of steak out of the butcher's bag. ‘Here you go, boy.' Ian hurled the meat over the fence to the far side of the garden. ‘Quick, make a dash for the front door.'

The four of them hurried down the front path to the house. The yard had once been a nice ornamental garden before Rocky had been kept in it.

The Wainscott residence was a large modern home. It didn't look too excessively fancy, but you could just tell that there was a tennis court and a pool tucked behind it somewhere.

Friday pressed the doorbell and they waited. They could hear Rocky savaging the steak on the far side of the garden.

‘I wish your mother would hurry up,' said Friday. ‘If that dog comes back I'm the shortest, so my jugular is closest to its mouth level.'

Ian reached across and pressed the doorbell again, three times in a row. But there was still no response. The sound of Rocky snarling stopped, then they could hear his paws thudding across grass.

‘Quick, run for the side gate!' urged Ian.

They all ran around the house. Rocky was racing towards them. Ian flung the gate open so Melanie
and Uncle Bernie could race through. Friday was a few paces behind.

‘Come on, Friday!' yelled Ian.

‘She's not going to make it,' wailed Melanie.

Friday leapt headlong at the open gate. Ian slammed it shut behind her. She did a commando roll into a rosebush and Rocky leapt up against the outside of the fence in futile protest.

‘Wow!' said Ian. ‘That was …'

Friday struggled to her feet then looked at the palm of her hand where she had been pricked by a thorn. There was a drop of blood. She fainted.

‘I was going to say impressive,' said Ian, ‘but fainting kind of negates that.'

Fortunately there was a hosepipe nearby so Uncle Bernie was soon able to spray Friday in the face to revive her and they went in search of Mrs Wainscott.

As they walked around to the back garden, what they saw was a total surprise. Most houses in the neighbourhood had immaculate gardens with pristine lawns and beautiful flowerbeds, all maintained by teams of well-paid gardeners. The Wainscott garden was nothing like that. It still had the rolling contours of a formally designed landscape, but every inch of it
had been transformed into a market garden. Where once there had been lawn there were now rows of every variety of vegetables. The tennis court had been planted with an orchard. The swimming pool was full of trout and water chestnuts. Amongst it all roamed very self-entitled chickens helping themselves to snails and slugs from the vegetable garden.

‘This isn't what I expected,' said Friday.

‘Money has been tight,' said Ian. ‘Mother has taken up self-sufficiency. She grows all her own food.'

‘Sausage? Is that you?'

A woman who looked like an 18th-century peasant stood up in the middle of the cabbage patch. They hadn't noticed her before because her clothes were vegetable-coloured and covered in dirt.

‘Yes, Mum, it's me,' said Ian.

‘Your mother calls you “Sausage”?' said Friday. ‘I'm so glad we came. This is better than being paid in money.'

Mrs Wainscott came over and wrapped Ian in a big hug. ‘I'm so glad you're here. You must see my eggplants – I'm going to have a bumper crop.'

‘Mum, I brought a friend from school,' said Ian. ‘She's a detective and she's going to help look for
Father's diamonds. Her uncle is an investigator. He's going to help too.'

‘Hello Mrs Wainscott,' said Uncle Bernie, holding out his hand. ‘It's a pleasure to meet you. You've got a fantastic crop of just about everything here. Your zucchinis are amazing.' He nodded towards a patch of lush, large-leafed plants.

‘I know,' said Mrs Wainscott. ‘Growing things gives me such pleasure. I was a bad mother to my poor Sausage, always out at functions, wining and dining. But I hope in some way I can make up for all that by being a good mother to my veggies.' Mrs Wainscott looked fondly out at the expanse of her impressive vegetable garden.

‘I don't think you can,' said Melanie.

Friday stood on her foot.

‘Ow!' said Melanie.

‘Shhh,' said Friday.

‘What?' asked Melanie. ‘No amount of home-grown tomatoes makes up for a neglected childhood.'

‘We're not here about that,' said Friday. ‘We're here about the diamonds.'

‘Is it all right if Friday and Bernie take a look around?' asked Ian.

‘Of course, dear,' said Mrs Wainscott. ‘But be careful of the lettuce patch. I put down fresh pig muck this morning and it's smelling a bit ripe.'

Friday and Uncle Bernie searched everywhere on the Wainscott property – all the places that people think are secret but are actually commonly used by everyone else trying to hide things. They checked the freezer, the flour jar, cavities in the tops of doors, under the carpet, and inside sofa cushions. Uncle Bernie even used a radio-imaging detector he had borrowed from work to search all the walls and ceiling spaces.

They found lots of stuff – eleven dollars and forty-one cents in loose change, Mrs Wainscott's spare car keys, a photo of Ian with a mullet haircut, which Friday regarded as priceless – but no diamonds.

‘They've got to be here somewhere,' said Friday. ‘Do you have any lollipops?'

‘Why?' asked Ian. ‘Do you think Dad hid the diamonds inside candy?'

‘No,' said Friday. ‘Lollipops help me think. It's the calorie boost. The sugar stimulates cognitive activity.'

‘They've got ice-cream,' said Uncle Bernie. ‘I saw it when I was searching through the frozen peas packet.'

So Ian, Friday, Uncle Bernie and Melanie sat down and had a bowl of ice-cream each while they considered the problem.

‘It could be a purloined letter scenario,' said Friday.

‘What's that?' asked Melanie.

‘A literary reference to Edgar Allan Poe,' said Uncle Bernie.

‘It's a story about a man who hid a letter in a letter rack because it was so obvious that no-one would think of looking there,' said Friday.

‘But where is somewhere so obvious you wouldn't think of looking for a diamond?' asked Melanie. ‘You don't have a diamond rack, do you?'

‘No,' said Ian.

‘Maybe the chandelier,' said Uncle Bernie. ‘You could hang the stones amongst the cut glass and no-one would notice them.'

‘That's a good idea,' said Melanie.

‘Except we don't have a chandelier,' said Ian.

‘We have to try to think like Mr Wainscott,' said Friday.

‘You think you can mind-meld with a forty-nine-year-old convicted jewel thief?' asked Ian.

‘Your father thinks he is cleverer than everyone else,' said Friday.

‘To be fair,' said Ian, ‘most of the time, he's right.'

‘He's also got a sense of humour and a flair for dramatic gestures,' said Friday to herself now, muttering a series of rhetorical questions. ‘The last I saw him he hid a massive diamond in his shoe. Now, where would he hide a series of small diamonds? People refer to diamonds as glass, but they also refer to them as rocks …'

Friday leapt to her feet.

‘What is it?' said Ian.

‘Rocky!' said Friday.

‘Huh?' asked Ian.

‘He hid his rocks with Rocky,' said Friday. ‘The pun would have been impossible for him to resist!'