Goldwhiskers (17 page)

Oz glanced over at Priscilla Winterbottom. Thanks to a royal reprieve – the Queen was a big fan of Lavinia Levinson's, and therefore willing to give her the benefit of the doubt until proven guilty – the Christmas Eve concert was going forward as planned. Oz and DB and Priscilla, along with Luigi Levinson and a pair of policemen, were seated in the front row at the Royal Opera House watching the two sopranos warm up for the evening's concert.

Oz squirmed in his red velvet seat. Priscilla was looking far too pleased with herself. Oz knew that expression well. He'd seen it on the faces of countless sharks over the years, right before they attacked. She
was definitely up to something. He just wished he knew what it was.

The theft of the Crown Jewels had given her an advantage, of course. She was only too happy to rub his and DB's noses in the fact that they were the prime suspects.

‘Suppose this is the last concert your mum will sing for a while, huh?' gloated Priscilla.

‘Shut up,' said Oz.

Priscilla sneezed. ‘They have special jails over here for kids like you, you know,' she continued, ignoring him. She fished a hankie out of her purse and wiped her nose. ‘Nasty places with spiders and beetles. They don't give you any blankets, and there's nothing but mouldy bread and cheese to eat. You'll never get to see your mum and dad, either.'

Oz's father glanced over at them, and Oz thought he saw a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. But he didn't say anything.

DB scowled. ‘Mind your own business, Slushbutt.'

‘Or what?' taunted Priscilla Winterbottom. ‘Or you'll steal my mother's jewels too?'

She whipped round, ferret-like, as Nigel Henshaw approached. Just as the younger boy reached the aisle seat where she was sitting, Priscilla stuck out her foot.
He tripped and fell, banging his elbow against one of the seat backs. Nigel let out a yowl of pain, and his father threw down his baton in exasperation. The music ground to a halt.

‘Didn't I remind you right before rehearsal to keep quiet?'

‘But she –' the boy protested, pointing at Priscilla, whose hands were folded primly in her lap, the picture of innocence.
Just like a shark
, thought Oz in disgust.

‘I'm sorry, son, but you'll have to stay backstage,' said Mr Henshaw, tapping his baton impatiently on his music stand. ‘We can't have interruptions out here. The musicians need to concentrate. Go to my dressing room and stay there.'

Cradling his wounded elbow, Nigel ducked his head in embarrassment and turned to go. As he passed Priscilla's seat, she discreetly stuck out her tongue. Then she sneezed again.

Prudence Winterbottom stepped forward. She peered over the floodlights, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘Priscilla?' she called, sounding worried. ‘Is that you? You're not coming down with something, are you?'

Priscilla shook her head and blew her nose vigorously into her hankie.

‘Can't have you honking like a goose during the concert, darling,' said her mother. ‘I'll round up some cough syrup for you. There's some in my dressing room.'

‘I hate cough syrup,' Priscilla whined. ‘It makes me sleepy.'

‘That's better than sneezy,' replied her mother.

‘How about Grumpy and Dopey?' whispered Oz to DB, who stifled a giggle.

Prudence Winterbottom took her place onstage again, and the music picked up where it left off. Oz recognized the opening chords to ‘White Christmas'.

‘Cue fog!' the stage manager called out. ‘Cue boxes!'

As if by magic, a pair of enormous boxes gaily wrapped in shiny foil and topped with huge bows rose through the stage floor. Lavinia Levinson took a seat on the red one; Prudence Winterbottom sat down on the silver one. The two sopranos tilted their heads towards each other and began to sing.

‘Bravo!' cheered Luigi Levinson when they finished. The two divas stood up and took a bow, smiling at him. The presents they had been sitting on slowly descended again beneath the stage.

Oz jumped as DB elbowed him in the side. ‘What's Slushbutt up to?' she said.

Oz looked over to see the British soprano's daughter heading towards the lobby.

‘I don't know. Let's see if we can find out,' Oz whispered back. He turned to the policeman beside him. ‘Sir? I need to use the toilet.'

‘Me too,' said DB.

‘I'll take them, Simon,' said the other policeman, rising to his feet. He herded them out to the lobby. Oz caught a flash of blue from Priscilla Winterbottom's dress as she disappeared down a nearby corridor.

‘Be quick about it,' said the policeman, heading towards his colleagues, who were clustered by the entrance to the opera house. ‘And, remember, I've got my eye on you.'

‘This way,' said Oz, pulling DB down the corridor where Priscilla had disappeared. He glanced over his shoulder. The policemen were already deep in conversation. Instead of ducking into the toilets, Oz and DB continued on down the corridor. Way at the end was a door marked
BACKSTAGE
. They watched as Priscilla pushed it open and walked through.

‘Where's she going?' asked DB.

‘Probably thought of another way to make Nigel's life miserable,' said Oz.

‘You don't think she's just getting cough syrup?'

Oz shot her a look. ‘Please. This is Slushbutt we're talking about, remember?' Looking back over his shoulder again – no policemen in sight – Oz darted through the backstage door.

‘How will we ever find her?' said DB as she stared at the maze of corridors and stairwells that made up the behind-the-scenes world of the Royal Opera House.

‘My mother's a diva, remember?' said Oz, steering her confidently along. ‘I grew up backstage. Ha! I knew it. There she is!'

They hung back and watched as Priscilla Winterbottom passed right by the conductor's dressing room and disappeared through another door beyond. Oz frowned.

‘It's not Nigel she's after, then,' said DB. ‘Where does that door go?'

‘Underneath the stage,' replied Oz, sounding puzzled.

‘Why is she going down there?'

‘Beats me.'

They followed, ducking behind a large crate marked
A
IDA
ELEPHANT
when she finally came to a stop. A few yards away in the under-stage gloom,
Priscilla Winterbottom glanced around furtively. Satisfied that no one was watching, she tiptoed over to where the two giant presents that had been onstage just a few moments before were resting on the hydraulic platform that carried them up and down. Priscilla opened a large chest that stood on the floor nearby and took out a small package wrapped in newspaper. Then she slid open the back of the box wrapped in red foil.

‘Isn't that the one your mom was sitting on?' whispered DB.

Oz nodded. He frowned as Priscilla placed the newspaper-wrapped package inside the big box, then slid the back of it closed again. Looking around once more, she ran back towards the stairway. Oz and DB held their breath as she passed their hiding place.

‘What the heck was that all about?' asked DB after she was gone.

Oz stood up and crossed to the chest. It was insulated, just like the one his dad used when he took him on fishing trips. He lifted the lid. His eyes widened. ‘Dry ice,' he said in surprise.

‘Dry what?'

‘Ice. It's used in theatres all the time. It makes fog
onstage. The stage manager must be planning to use it for the finale. To make it look like winter.'

‘Yeah, I heard her say, “Cue fog!” But what would Slushbutt want dry ice for?'

Oz pushed at his glasses. He looked at the ice chest, then at the foil-wrapped present his mother had been sitting on. He reached over and tapped the huge box. It gave a metallic ring. He groaned.

‘I can't believe she'd do this!'

‘Do what?'

‘Don't you get it? This box is made of metal, DB. Dry ice will freeze it in nothing flat. The sequins on my mother's dress will stick to it when she sits down!'

‘Like last week, after the snowstorm, when Jordan and Tank made you lick the metal swing-set pole on the playground?' said DB.

‘Thanks for reminding me,' Oz replied, reddening. ‘But yes, exactly.'

‘And when she goes to stand up at the very end and take her bow…' said DB slowly, putting two and two together.

‘The bottom half of her dress won't come with her,' said Oz. ‘She'll be standing onstage in her underwear. In front of the Queen!'

‘Priscilla Winterbottom is a weasel!' said DB angrily.

‘Shark,' corrected Oz. ‘And a saboteur, to boot.' He opened the back of the present and removed the small newspaper-wrapped package.

‘A what?'

‘Saboteur. Like sabotage, you know? Someone who damages something deliberately, or destroys somebody's efforts. I learned about it at the –'

‘Spy Museum,' finished DB. ‘Should have known.' She placed her hands on her hips. ‘So Slushbutt thought she was going to give your mom a real “winterbottom”, did she? Well, she's got another think coming. I'm going to march right upstairs and tell the police.'

Oz grabbed her arm. ‘No, DB. Wait. We can't let Priscilla know that we discovered her plan. She'll just come up with something else if we do. Something even more horrible. We've got to pretend we're completely clueless.'

DB crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. ‘That's your plan? Just pretend we're clueless?'

Oz gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘Don't worry. I think maybe there's a way to turn the tables.' He dropped the newspaper-wrapped package back into the insulated freezer chest, closed the lid, then pointed to the crate where they'd been hiding. ‘That gave me an idea.'

DB looked over at it. She read the label and sighed. ‘Let me guess,' she snapped. ‘We get to dress up, and I get stuck being the back end of an elephant this time. Forget it, Oz! I've had enough of costumes.'

Oz's smile widened to a grin. ‘Not an elephant, DB, and this time we won't be the ones wearing the costume, I promise. Come on, we have to find Nigel. We're going to need his help.'