Riddle Gully Runaway (6 page)

‘It's like they're undercover!' said Will, sliding down beside her. ‘No one thinks of a mean-looking old bird like a raven wanting pretty things.'

‘No,' said Pollo. ‘Not you, not your stepdad, no one in Riddle Gully and, worst of all, not me.'

‘Why so glum?' said Will. ‘It's only a cat's collar. It wasn't going to bring old Terrence back to life or anything.'

Pollo looked at him. ‘What's the bet, Will Hopkins, that if we were to climb that tree over there we'd find everything that's gone missing in the past few weeks, including my grandmother's ring.'

Will exhaled in a long whistle. ‘So you don't think Benson …'

Pollo shook her head.

Off in the distance, the ravens cawed in the last light.
Arp-arp-aaah.

Will pointed to the distant red gum. ‘And that ravens' nest …'

Pollo nodded.

‘It would make sense,' said Will. ‘The randomness of what's been reported — single earrings and stuff. There's probably a lot more junk that's been taken but people only missed the valuables.'

Pollo chewed her bottom lip. ‘I wrote that story so that everyone who knew Benson would think he was the culprit. I as good as told the world he'd been suspended
from school and why. And now he's run away from Riddle Gully in disgrace.'

*

They hurried back across the graveyard, through the long grass damp with evening dew, dragging an irritable Shorn Connery who'd had his eye on several more lush lupins. At Will's place, his mum Angela and his stepfather Sergeant Harry Butt, a.k.a. HB, were sitting at the kitchen table, each with a small glass of beer in front of them. Angela was chopping vegetables while HB went through the mail.

‘Hey Angela, HB! Listen to this!' panted Will. Pollo and Will babbled out the story of Benson hitching a ride out of town, and the raven at the cemetery, and Will standing next to Benson at Maloola, playing Monster Mash, when Pollo's Aunty Giulia's ring went missing.

‘Game Zone!' said Angela. ‘So that's where all your pocket money's been going! Since when have you started going there, Will?'

‘Were you listening at all?'

‘Maybe to the wrong bits,' said Angela, nibbling a slice of parsnip.

Will rolled his eyes at his mother.

‘Hell's bells,' said HB. ‘Only the other day Pollo told
me I should bring Benson in for questioning. Good thing I bided my time, eh?' HB scratched his head. ‘You really believe the loot's up a tree? It's worth looking into, I suppose. First thing Monday, I'll get hold of a fire truck with a long ladder.'

‘Monday?' said Pollo. ‘But it's only Friday night! Meanwhile, Benson goes the whole weekend with everyone thinking he's a criminal!'

Pollo caught Angela and HB swapping glances. Angela bent her head to a vigorous bout of carrot chopping. They may as well have been shouting through megaphones —
Thanks to you!

‘It's not good, I agree,' said HB. ‘But another day or two won't make much difference. For all his problems at school, the lad seems to have his head screwed on right.'

‘But what about him hitching a ride on a sheep truck? He could be anywhere!'

HB pinched his earlobe between thumb and forefinger and stroked it thoughtfully. ‘He's sixteen, lass. He's allowed to go places. He might have even gone back home.'

Angela beheaded a celery stick. ‘What about that raven with the poky-out feather, HB? You should bring the bird in for questioning!'

Will shook his head. ‘We're serious, Mum!'

‘Sorry!' said Angela. ‘The thought of HB taking mug shots of a raven just makes me giggle!' She imitated HB's deep voice. ‘Sir, Ma'am, whatever you are. Please stop squawking and turn side on to the camera.'

HB took a sip of beer and put his glass down carefully. He spread his big hands on the table. ‘Look kids, these are the facts as I see them. This ravens' nest will still be there on Monday. My deputy's gone bush for a few days. And I can't get the volunteer fire service out on a whim — not on the weekend. They'd have my guts for garters.'

‘A whim? This is an emergency!' cried Pollo. ‘Benson was in trouble before. My dumb story might push him over the edge — even if he is back home with his mum. We need to prove to everyone he's innocent!'

‘Now, now,' said HB. ‘Remember we may not even find anything up in that nest.'

‘Just a dead cat's collar,' said Angela.

‘Yes … err … that's right.' HB rose to his feet and rested a hand gently on Pollo's shoulder. ‘Ease up a bit, eh, lass? These things have a way of sorting themselves out.'

Pollo stomped along the track to her back gate, lighting the way with her pocket torch.
Ease up a bit?
That was grown-up talk for sit on your hands and do zip. And, as far as she knew, no one ever changed anything doing that.

Pollo's breath was still misting her bedroom window when Shorn Connery's bleating roused her from a dream in which a tiny Benson Bragg — cap, hi-top sneakers and all — was being carried aloft in the gnarly claws of a raven.

A single thought clanged in her head as she opened her eyes.
Poor Benson!
She frowned at the ceiling, wishing Will wasn't going away this weekend so she could talk over things with him more. Angela and HB might be right. There might be nothing in the ravens' nest but Terrence Schultz's grubby old cat collar … but she might be right too.

She reached for the notepad in which she'd recorded Benson's words at the cemetery. After ten seconds of reading she threw it on the floor. Will was spot on.
Benson hadn't confessed to their accusations at all. He simply hadn't denied them. And he sure hadn't known what he said would end up in a newspaper.

Pollo threw on her clothes and beanie and went into the kitchen to make some toast. On the Vegemite jar was a sticky-note from her dad —
Love you! Have a good day!
She chewed slowly, staring blankly at her science assignment spread on the table from the night before. It just wasn't right! Here she was tucked up in her nice safe home, knowing people loved her, while Benson was out there — who knew where? — copping the blame for things he hadn't done.

She shoved the rest of her toast in her mouth and gathered her things, her cheeks bulging. She headed for the back door where Shorn Connery greeted her, butting her knees.

‘We might have to wait till Monday to prove the real thief was a raven, old buddy,' said Pollo, slipping his rope lead over his ears, ‘but we don't have to wait till then to start clearing his name! Come on, we're going to pay someone a visit!'

She strode down the road towards town, Shorn Connery trotting eagerly ahead. Things might sort themselves out the way HB suspected — but they'd do
it faster with a little boot from her.

*

‘How dare you tie that farm animal to a lamppost, blocking a public byway, and then waltz up to my front door to quiz me about my personal matters!' Mayor Bullock stood on his top step, his temporary toupée perched crookedly on his head, a lump of boiled egg-white shivering on the collar of his woollen dressing gown.

From the hallway the reedy voice of Mrs Bullock drifted beneath his armpit, followed by her snowy-white head. ‘Now Orville, dear. Try to be civil. It's not often we have young folk come to the door.'

‘Something I've strived hard to achieve, Mother. And no —', with his hip Mayor Bullock blocked his mother from joining him on the step, ‘— Miss di Nozi would
not
like a cup of tea.'

Pollo swallowed. ‘Please, can you just tell me if Benson's okay? Do you know where he is? The thing is, I'm almost certain now that Benson —'

‘It would seem, Mother,' interrupted Mayor Bullock, ‘that Miss di Nozi, after bandying our family's dirty laundry to the district, has now come to enquire after Benson's whereabouts and wellbeing.'

‘That's very sweet of you dear,' said Mrs Bullock, pushing her snowy head through the gap between her son's armpit and the doorjamb.

‘No, Mother! It is not sweet. It's impertinent!' spluttered the mayor. He glared at Pollo. ‘Benson went home and is in his mother's care, such as it is. That is all I shall say on the matter.'

‘He went home?' said Pollo. ‘Really?'

‘That is what I believe I indicated,' said the mayor.

‘We got an electric letter,' said Mrs Bullock. ‘It was on the line. That's right, isn't it Orville?' She swivelled her head up to look at her son.

‘It's called an
email
, Mother!' huffed the mayor. He turned to Pollo and pursed his lips. ‘My sister emailed me on Thursday evening informing me she'd been discharged from hospital earlier than expected and my nephew had caught the train home. I trust that settles the matter.'

That was no train Pollo had seen Benson climbing into. ‘The train?' she repeated.

‘Do you intend echoing every word I utter?' snapped the mayor. ‘Yes. The train. A machine that runs on rails. A convenient conveyance for the masses.'

‘Orville was in a lather about it,' said Mrs Bullock.
‘And Benny went off without his little telephone. I'm sure Orville would have let him have it back if he'd known Benny was leaving.'

The mayor grunted. ‘If the rapscallion had stayed here I'd have knocked some self-discipline into him. Going about his pilfering ways right under my nose … compromising my reputation and my authority in Riddle Gully!'

‘But that's the thing!' blurted Pollo. ‘I don't think Benson
did
any pilfering! Not here in Riddle Gully. There's a pair of ravens building a nest in the forest and —'

‘But you said he had, yourself, dear,' said Mrs Bullock gently. ‘You wrote it in the newspaper — more or less.'

‘Well I wish I hadn't,' said Pollo. ‘The raven did it! The one with a sticky-out feather!'

‘Keh-heh-heh!' Mayor Bullock's laugh rasped like a shoe scuffing on pavement. ‘You're back-pedalling now, eh? “The raven did it” indeed! That's what I call a desperate measure.'

Pollo pulled herself up as tall as she could. ‘It's what I call having the courage to admit I was wrong.'

‘The youth of today!' scoffed Mayor Bullock. ‘No backbone! Too soft. And no stomach for good, hard
discipline when it's needed!'

‘Orville! Where are your manners? You were young once too, as I recall, and —'

‘I was never any such thing!' snorted the mayor, ‘And I would appreciate it, Mother, if you didn't interrupt me only to criticise me!' He turned to glare at Pollo. ‘My wayward nephew is, alas, beyond my control and no bizarre ornithological fantasy story will change that. Whatever misfortune befalls him from now on, he'll have only himself and his lily-livered mother to blame. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back to my breakfast. I suggest you, Miss di Nozi, go home and play with your dollies.'

Mayor Bullock hustled his mother away and shut the door firmly in Pollo's face. Pollo stood on the step, the doorbell a millimetre from the tip of her nose.
Play with her dollies?
How about her
chainsaw
? She turned and stomped down the footpath where she began untying Shorn Connery, muttering furiously.

‘Caught the train home, did he?' She plucked at Shorn Connery's rope. ‘So why was he hitching a ride on a sheep truck then — a sheep truck headed in the wrong direction? Tell me that, eh!'

Baa-aa-aah!

‘Exactly!' fumed Pollo. ‘The mayor has cornflakes for brains and clearing Benson's name is going to be even harder than we thought. Benson's on the loose out there, probably thinking the world's against him. And that kind of thinking brings trouble and big, deep holes. We have to find Benson, old buddy, before he gets into real strife.'

Pollo freed Shorn Connery from the lamppost and began marching toward the train station. She'd check the timetables and work out a plan — one she'd have to execute alone. Of all the weekends for Will to go to visit his dad, why did he have to pick this one?

Benson Bragg poked his head from the run-down caretaker's shed behind the Royal Arms hotel. It didn't sound like there was anyone around but you had to be careful. He stretched and rubbed where the concrete floor had made him numb. Hugging himself against the damp ocean wind that never seemed to stop, he walked across the yard to the tap, dodging old bits of machinery and broken bottles. The sick-sweet smell from the abattoir drifted down to him, even from three kilometres away. Or was it the dumpster at the pub's back door? He unscrewed the hose and, between slurps, rubbed water on his face and neck. It was stinging-cold but it helped clear the grit of the night. He replaced the hose as he'd found it, covering his tracks. The shed was as good a place to stay as he could hope for right now
and he didn't want to blow it.

He patted his pocket out of habit, and wished he had his phone so he could check in with Kal. But his uncle had locked it away somewhere when he saw Benson texting during one of his lectures. He probably had about twenty unread messages from Kal by now, wondering what was going on. Benson felt weird without a phone. Kind of naked. Hey! Like in the dream he just remembered! He was at school wearing only his boxers, and they'd kept getting smaller and smaller. What was
that
about?

His second morning in Princeville and already he, too, hated the place. It seemed like everyone he talked to was on their way somewhere else or was stuck here and bitter about it. The guys at the abattoir entertained themselves in petty, nasty ways — especially the ones who'd been there a while. He hadn't seen a smile since he'd arrived — not that he'd lit up the place himself.

But he'd keep his head down and stick it out because payday wasn't till Tuesday and he'd left himself short of options. In one way, he'd be better off hitching back to the city the same way he'd hitched here from Riddle Gully. On the other hand, what was the rush? He might be a fish out of water here in Princeville — but at home,
just like in Riddle Gully, people called him a thief.