Lula Does the Hula (13 page)

Aunt Sassy’s not my aunt, she’s Tam’s, but that doesn’t matter. We all call her Aunt Sassy just the same. Her salon: buttery walls, big ornate mirrors in gold gilt, black marble counters, black leather seats. So the seats have their stuffing kind of coming out and the flagstone floor is totally beaten up – it doesn’t really matter. It does the business. If it weren’t for Aunt Sassy, Mum would still be making me have short back and sides instead of letting me look like a girl.

Aunt Sassy does Seniors’ Sunday, a sneaky hour just before church. There’s no better place in town for information-gathering. Tam works there part-time and I was waiting for her to emerge.

But it was Mr K bowling towards me now, looking freshly shorn and very pink about the ears.

‘You untrusting bastard!’ screeched Esme Trooter from inside the salon.

‘Whoa,’ I said as Mr K collapsed on the bench beside me. ‘What have you done to incite wrath on the Lord’s Day? Is she gonna have to confess to that?’

‘I don’t think Esme is a churchgoer,’ muttered Mr K grimly.

‘Kadinski!’ came Esme’s voice again, and seconds later she followed after, slamming through the glass door and coming straight over, thwacking her stick down on the tarmac with every step. ‘Why don’t you believe me about Parcel Brewster?’ she shrilled, bending slightly to eyeball Mr K.

Before he could answer, a Russian-accented voice cut through the still morning air and yet another figure emerged from the salon.

‘Oh, leave him alone,’ called Madame Polanikov. ‘Find another private detective, Esme. My lover’s wrists are wrecked after the last escapade.’ My eyebrows shot up into my scalp, and mine weren’t the only ones, but Madame was not finished: ‘I have told him vitamin E oil is the way to go, but he won’t listen to me. And I’m so good at massage. He needs rubbing three times a day.’

Mr K had gone bright red. I’d never seen him this disconcerted.

‘
Rubbing?
’ I asked quietly.

‘Rubbing,’ he confirmed bitterly. ‘She makes me.’

‘Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.’

Mr Kadinski growled, but that did not deter Esme, who sat down beside him.

‘Three’s a crowd,’ he said to her clearly, looking straight
ahead at Madame Polanikov making her slow and heavy way across the road.

‘Did you go talk to Parcel Brewster, Alfred?’ persisted Esme.

‘I can’t get up there now, can I?’ he replied. ‘They’ve cordoned off the whole area to contain the bird flu.’ He twitched at his fedora irritably.

‘Bird flu . . .’ I mused, my brain whirring. ‘Hmm. Is Parcel Brewster still living in his shack?’ I asked.

‘That is precisely the question!’ chirped Esme. ‘Did you know, Tallulah, how close he was to your grandmother? Did she ever talk of the bird man? Always tending to the geese and the ducks up at Frey’s Dam?’

‘Yep,’ I said, ‘of course.’

‘Well,’ said Esme, ‘no one’s seen Parcel for days. Add Emily Saunders’s disappearance and I bet there’s no bird flu there at all! I bet something else is going on!’

‘Ooh!’ I said. A memory flashed across my mind. Esme on the telly at the appeal on Monday. Jack pressing Jazz for a chat with Esme. And something else . . . ‘Mr K, the note. Could it have been Parcel? He called the police, didn’t he? Asked them to go up there. Was he worried about bird flu there? Did he leave the note for Grandma Bird?’

‘What note?’ asked Esme. ‘What’s going on?’

I was about to explain when Madame Polanikov finally
staggered to a halt at our bench. ‘Whooof!’ she huffed, and I got up hurriedly so she could sit down.

Madame fell gratefully back on to the bench, wedged in tightly next to Esme. She nudged my ankle with her umbrella. ‘What is this note you speak of?’ she enquired. ‘My love pudding is not investigating anything,
da
?
Nyet, nyet!
’

‘Don’t tell us
nyet
!’ said Esme hotly, clearly feeling crowded by Madame.

There was a jangle of keys at the salon door. Aunt Sassy was locking up while Tam came over to our overpopulated bench.

‘
Nyet
, nothing!’ continued Esme, wriggling for more room. ‘There’s a man’s life at stake here!’

‘Whose life?’ asked Tam. She looked at me accusingly. ‘What now?’

I held up my hands, not involved, totally not involved. ‘Don’t look in this direction, Tam. I was just siiiiitting on the bench. Miiiinding my own business.’

‘Oh, please,’ said Esme. ‘No one sits on this bench on a Seniors’ Sunday not looking for info. Now what note are you talking about?’

‘It was just Parcel telling Grandma Bird about the bird flu –’

‘Grandma Bird is dead, though,’ said Tam.

‘Parcel may not have known or remembered that,’ mused Mr K.

‘Alfred!’ barked Madame Polanikov. ‘You do not become involved!
Da?
’

‘Oi!’ shrieked Esme. ‘There’s been traffic up the mountain! All hours of the night! Something’s going on! Talk to Parcel, Alfred! Talk to him!’

‘Alfred is not going to put himself in any danger,’ said Madame Polanikov. She waved her bejewelled fingers about dramatically. ‘
I’m
looking after this fine figure of a man now.’

‘Maria Polony-baloney!’ yelled Esme Trooter. ‘You’re going to turn this man into a namby-pamby! He needs to get back in the game. Things keep happening in this town, and no one takes any notice! If it wasn’t for me, the whole place would be cemented over with property developers living in Barbados all year round off the proceeds and we’d have no one left here at all! People disappearing willy-nilly! Birds dying!’

I shot a look over at Mr K. He was watching me out of the corner of his eye.

The birds will die!
I mouthed at him. He nodded.

‘Parcel Brewster . . .’ I murmured.

‘Yes,’ said Mr K. ‘Your house is the closest to the mountain from his shack, and he knew all about you lot from your grandma. He probably felt he could trust you to do something, left the note and took off until everything dies down. He would have noticed the birds
starting to get ill before anybody else realised anything was amiss at all.’

It all made sense. Though I hadn’t felt particularly worried about the note, I still had a wave of relief wash over me. I hoped Parcel was okay being a hermit somewhere else for a bit.

Mr K was chewing his lip, thinking, but didn’t get a chance. Esme was already elbowing him and squeaking, ‘Alfred? Alfred? Don’t ignore me, old man!’

I tried to placate our town campaigner. ‘Mr K has other things on his plate right now, Esme,’ I said, thinking guiltily of Jack. ‘Maybe he could check on Parcel when this whole bird flu thing is over.’

‘No!’ said Esme. ‘No! No! No!’ She looked feistier than ever. ‘Someone’s got to go up to Frey’s, see what’s actually going on up there. See if Parcel’s okay. Must I do it myself?’

Mr K sighed heavily and the general Sunday morning buzz around the green seemed suddenly to still. The chairs outside Big Mama’s were empty, the cinema doors still firmly closed, the salon clients all disappearing into the cathedral. For a minute there was total silence.

But there wasn’t silence in my head. A part of me couldn’t help feeling she was right. What if Parcel
was
still around, being freaked out by the authorities crawling all over the place? Esme had turned her attention from Mr K to me. She arched an eyebrow and I nodded, very slightly. I leaned
forward to help her up off the bench and murmured, ‘I’ll go up there tonight, Esme, okay?’

I was sure I’d spoken too softly for Mr K to hear, but he gave me a certain kind of look, regardless. Previous experience had taught my old and wrinkly friend that I had a tendency to
get involved
. If there was something going on, I’d be in it up to my neck, that’s for sure.
Tallulah Bird, supersleuthy supersleuth!
. . .

Or, um, not.

Yet even if Mr K had wanted to say something to me he had no chance. Madame Polanikov had her ringed fingers on him, and he was going to have to behave himself.

Unlike me.

Tam and I had spent a day catching up, mooching about town, lunch at hers, over to Carrie’s, and now we were back on the bench at the small green outside the cathedral. The sun was already sinking, and the breeze was chilly. Jack surely should have been back in town by now, but I’d heard nothing from him, and I couldn’t bear to leave more than one voicemail for him. (Okay, two . . . but that’s
all
, I promise.)

‘How did we end up back here?’ I asked.

‘Ohh,’ sighed Tam, ‘dunno.’ But her eyes slid sideways across the grass to that small coffee shop called Big Mama’s.

‘Hn,’ I said, trying not to smile.

‘What you doing tonight?’ asked Tam.

‘Depends.’

Tam groaned. ‘You’re going to turn into one of those creatures that dumps her mates when she’s got a boyfriend. Like Alex with that Gavin. We haven’t seen her all day.’

‘As if!’ I took a breath to argue furiously, but Tam just laughed.

‘I’m only winding you up. I’ve got supper tonight with Mum and the Carusos.’ She blushed a little.

‘Really?’ I was surprised. ‘I didn’t know your mum was matey with the Carusos.’

‘Not so much,’ said Tam. ‘They got talking a couple of weeks ago about polenta pizza bases and next thing you know . . .’ She shrugged.

‘Next thing you know’ – I made my voice dark and forboding – ‘arranged marriage between Tam and Gianni. Tam becomes Italian mama like no other. Bearing twelve children and making the best gnocchi in town.’

‘Lula!’ yelped Tam. She punched me in the shoulder. It didn’t hurt.

‘It is what it is,’ I said. ‘You thinking about kids and all.’

‘Like,
not
. Don’t be ridiculous, Lula Bird!’

She sat back and fiddled with the strap on her bag, muttering insults at me.

‘If you and Gianni –’ I started.

‘Never!’

‘Well, if you did, I wouldn’t mind. I swear.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. I was never into him, you know. Just wanted that kiss to be done and dusted.’

‘You
were
desperate,’ remembered Tam.

‘So desperate.’

We sighed in sync, then grinned and hugged. I stood and stretched, ready to head home. ‘I wouldn’t have made it through half-term without you guys.’

Her hazel eyes grinned back at me. ‘We love you, Lula, even though you’re a little unhinged.’ She stood too and after another glance at Big Mama’s swung off in the other direction. ‘Ring Arns,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘He can find out from Mona where Jack is.’

‘Genius!’ I muttered. I blew her a kiss and pulled my phone out.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

‘Hey!’ yelled Pen from outside. ‘Let me in!’

‘Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!’ I yelled back. I was reading a Silhouette Romance and Petronella was about to be ravished by Baron von Sturenhopf. Some things cannot be interrupted.

Then I heard Boodle whining and relented. Tucking the book under my pillow, I got up and opened the door. ‘What do you want?’ I asked Pen. ‘Hey, Boodleyboo.’

Pen looked like she had to ask me something she didn’t want to.

‘What?’ I said again.

She sighed. ‘Can you walk Boodle tonight? Angus is coming over here to watch England play Pakistan, and we won’t have time.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But can’t Mum and Dad do it? They’ve been big into their romantic strolls.’

Pen came in uninvited and looked for chocolate in my usual hiding place under the quilt on my chair. No chocolate. She sighed again. ‘They’re going to an AA meeting tonight.’

‘Oh.’ I felt instantly uncomfortable. I was glad Dad was still off the booze, and getting better, but it still felt strange thinking of him as having a real-life drinking problem.

Boodle the Poodle came up to me and sat down. She whined.

‘We’ll go walking, Boodle, no problem. In a minute, okay? Jack will be here at eight.’

‘He’s coming round?’

‘Yep.’ My smile stretched over all my face.

‘Where’s he been? I haven’t seen him since Friday night. And really, Lula, you’re going to be called a slut if you carry on like you were in Big Mama’s.’

‘Yeah, yeah. That’s for Alex to deal with.’ Pen rolled her eyes. I pulled out a bag of Maltesers from a cupboard in the tiny kitchen and threw one to her and one to Boodle. ‘Jack’s been away at his granny’s with Mona. He’s coming here as soon as he’s back.’ I crammed five chocolate balls in my mouth at once.

‘You are such a pig,’ announced Pen.

‘Who’smgwrshafter you?’

‘Great-aunt Phoebe is staying in, not actually
looking after me
. I’m old enough to look after myself.’

I flicked my eyebrows up and shrugged, throwing her and Boodle another ball each.

‘Who were you talking to for so long this afternoon?’ asked Pen. ‘Angus couldn’t get through for, like, hours.’

I swallowed, considered how much I’d eaten and put the bag away. ‘Forest,’ I replied. ‘And Arns. Mostly Arns.’