Pompomberry House (10 page)

“He’s still alive, right?” asked Rafe.

Montgomery held Biff’s firm, young wrist in his saggy, old
hand and searched desperately for a pulse. He shook his head, sadly. No, this
couldn’t be right! Montgomery’s hands must have been too chubby to detect a
pulse! There must have been some sort of mistake!

Rafe sprang into action.

“Where are you going?” cried Annabel.

“Whoever did this can’t have gone far,” he shouted. I heard
the back door open.

Rafe had a good point. The tide was coming in and the
causeway was blocked. If the killer was leaving by boat, or wading across the
causeway, we would be able to catch him or her.

It didn’t seem to matter. It wouldn’t bring back Biff. Who
would want to kill a handyman, and such a lovely one at that?

Actually, I found that it did matter. Moments later, I was
sprinting out the front door, hoping with all my heart that I would find Rafe
apprehending a murderer at the crossing.

How could Biff be dead? Only half an hour ago I’d watched
him in the garden, stretching to saw a branch off a tree, revealing a stomach
that was toned, tanned and very much alive. Only last night, we’d spent hours
talking. How could he be dead? He’d only just come into my life. Why would such
a great character get merely a walk-on role in my life? It was like casting Ian
McKellen to play Nemo’s mum.

Then I remembered something: “Dee, I’m sorry,” he had said. Had
he been in some kind of trouble? My mind was whirring.

Something else burst into my mind like an unwelcome cricket
ball smacked through a beautiful vintage glass window. ‘I die tomorrow’ read
the message in the hat, the one that hadn’t been written using any of our pens.
There was only one person on Pompomberry Island who hadn’t shown us his pen —
Biff. He wasn’t part of the game, so it hadn’t occurred to me that the note
might relate to him. Now, given his deathly departure, it was clear that it
did. But who had written it? Was it the killer? Or Biff himself? What had Biff been
involved in?

I got to the crossing, wondering if I would come face to
face with a killer, but instead I saw Rafe darting around on his athletic legs,
looking determined but bamboozled.

But there was something else out there besides Rafe — a
seagull. A giant, fat, revolting, cackling seagull. I studied it, looking for
blood. I knew that I was being ridiculous — the injuries to Biff must have been
inflicted with a large knife or similar — yet still I felt that the gulls were
somehow to blame. I scowled at it. Was it my imagination, or did it dance a
little jig on its skinny yellow legs? I turned away, revolted.

“Have you seen anybody?” I yelled to Rafe.

“No!” he bellowed. “He must still be inside.”

I ran back in through the front door. “Call the police!” I
shouted. “The killer is still on the island!”

Up the stairs I sprinted, opening every cupboard and looking
behind every curtain as I darted from room to room.

“Where are you, you jackbag?” I yelled.

Dozens of minutes must have passed, with me tearing at
furniture, scrambling under beds, even looking in drawers. There was no sign of
anybody besides the writers, and I knew none of them had murdered Biff because
I’d been with them when it happened.

Eventually, I felt a pair of strong, long arms around me. “Dee,
stop.” It was Rafe. There was genuine emotion in his eyes, rather than his
usual, smug facade. He was concerned about me.

“But the killer must be here somewhere!”

“We’ve looked in all the obvious places.”

“Then he or she must be somewhere unobvious! A place like
this is probably littered with secret hidey-holes and tunnels! What if the
killer left through a tunnel?”

“This isn’t the Famous Five, Dee.”

“This is mining country. There could be dozens of tunnels.”

“Come and sit down,” said Rafe.

“Have they called the police yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, they must. They have to call the police!”

I broke free of his grip and made a dash for the living
room, where I knew there would be a phone.

Montgomery stepped into my path, like a giant granite brick wall.

“What are you doing? I need to call the police.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Do you?”

“What are you talking about? Of course we have to call them.
Somebody has murdered ...” I felt myself choking up. I could hardly get
the words out. “Somebody has murdered Biff.”

“Exactly,” said Dawn, rising, to stand beside Montgomery,
like a bouncy castle inflating.

“So call the police!” I told them.

“Think about it, Dee. We’re alone on an island, and the
handyman gets killed. Who do you think the police will blame?” said Montgomery,
grimly.

“Well, we’re obviously not alone, are we?” I protested.

“But we’ve looked everywhere.”

“We can’t have done.”

“Dee, we can’t call the police. They’ll arrest all of us.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not, Dee. What
is
stupid is a bunch of suspects
turning themselves into the police.”

“But we didn’t do anything!” I pleaded.

“Dee’s right,” said Rafe. “We didn’t do anything.”

“We didn’t do anything,” echoed Annabel, walking in behind
him and grabbing hold of his arm in a territorial fashion. Why didn’t she just
wee on him and have done with it?

“We’re on an island. The only way on and off the island is
by boat or through the water. There were no boats at sea and Rafe didn’t catch
anybody swimming. What are the police going to think?” asked Dawn.

“I agree with Dawn. We can’t call the police,” said
Montgomery, stretching his braces.

“I’ve already booked my tickets to Spain ...” whined
Dawn.

“Who knows what liberties we could be robbed of if we called
the police!” mused Montgomery, sucking in gallons of air as he pulled a
frustrated face.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” I demanded.

“I vote we hide the body!” commanded Montgomery.

“Now wait a minute ...” objected Rafe.

“What else can we do?” yelled Dawn. There was that uvula
again; it made me want to shrink, just so that I could climb in there and swing
a few punches.

“Be honest!” I cried. “Let’s see where that gets us.”

“We have all got alibis,” said Danger. “We have all got each
other.” Where did he come from, and how did he always manage to join
conversations without me noticing him come in?

“Exactly,” I said. “If we stick together, they’ll have to
believe us.”

“If we all have alibis, then they’ll suspect us all!”
reasoned Montgomery.

“They won’t think that all
six
of us are killers!” I
cried.

“I’m not so sure,” stuttered Annabel.

I turned to her and looked at her giant brown eyes, covered
in a glassy film. “Don’t tell me you agree with them?” I demanded.

She shrugged.

“Rafe!” I cried, “Tell her! Tell her this is stupid.”

“Hiding the body
is
a foolhardy plan,” he admitted.

“Statistically speaking,” began Danger, “Montgomery is
right.”

“What?”

“No matter how slim the chance that six people would be
accessories to the same murder, it’s still more likely than a murder being
committed by a killer who doesn’t exist.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” I shouted, and stormed out of the
room.

“Where are you going?” demanded Dawn. “Where is she going? Somebody
go and find out where she’s going.”

I stormed upstairs. If they wouldn’t let me use the phone in
the living room, I’d use my mobile. There was no way that I was going to allow
them to stand between me and the call I knew I needed to make.

I rummaged through my things, throwing t-shirts, pens and my
bike lights onto the bed. Where was my phone?

Eventually, I found it.
That’s odd.
It was off. I
knew that we’d been told to turn our phones off, but I hadn’t done it. Hang on,
something else wasn’t right. It was far too light. The battery was gone!

Somebody had nobbled my phone!

My heart boomed in my chest like a cannon. I didn’t know
what I was going to do in the long run, but one thing I knew for sure was that
I had to get off the island, and I had to get off it now.

* * *

Throwing my things into my case and running as fast as I
could was not the way that I had expected to leave Pompomberry Island.
Nevertheless, with a phone battery thief, a tyre vandal and a killer in our
midst, I felt I had no other choice. And don’t get me started on Dawn and
Montgomery with their ludicrous plan. I’d always known Annabel was stupid, but
I hadn’t known she was dense enough to think that covering up a murder was a
good idea.

I thought about going back for Rafe, the only person who
could see how ridiculous it was to conceal a murder. However, he was a grown man
— a very well-grown man — capable of looking after himself. I could afford to
waste no more time.

On reaching the mainland, I would walk to Strawberry Meadow
and ask to use somebody’s phone. Then I’d call the police and send them straight
to Pompomberry Island.
We
might not be able to find the killer, but a
team of sniffer dogs might. At the very least, Biff’s body would get a proper
burial. God only knows what Dawn had in mind for him.

I dragged my turquoise, polka-dot case down the windy path and
onto the sand. My laptop rucksack strained my shoulders. If I hadn’t packed it
myself, I would have sworn it was loaded with lead.

The waves were more turbulent than when we arrived, but
nothing I couldn’t handle. After all, the causeway was only fifteen metres
long.

“That’s odd,” I muttered. The dinghy was half way across the
crossing. It sat, empty, tossing in the waves. Earlier on, it had been tied up at
the Pompomberry end.

I hurried over to grab the wire. To my horror, it had been
padlocked to the mooring. Somebody wanted us to stay on the island. Somebody
was determined that nobody should leave. “Why?” I wondered, aloud. So that he
or she could kill us all?

That was absurd. Why would anybody want to kill a bunch of
indie writers? I mean, sure, we averaged more typos than traditionally published
writers, but the Guardian writers were a more obvious target for a grammar
Nazi.

What was going on in my head? This was life and death, not
apostrophes and semicolons. Besides which, Biff wasn’t even a writer. Why would
anybody want to kill Biff? It was only then that I realised that I knew
virtually nothing about him.

Still, this wasn’t the time for working out
why
, it
was a time for fleeing. But, with the boat inaccessible, what could I do?

I thought about going back to the house. Perhaps Rafe would
help me. No, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face going back inside, having
another blazing row with the rest of them and risking coming face-to-face with
a killer. How could they think that self-preservation meant covering up the
murder, when clearly the safest thing to do was escape this godforsaken place,
and call the police?

Before I’d really decided what I was going to do, I began tearing
off my shoes and socks. Then, lifting my suitcase above my head, I edged
tentatively towards the sea.

When the water hit my toes, they stung so much that I looked
down, supposing that the waves had hurled stones at them. No, it really was
just the cold. Could I get across safely if the water was this icy?

As I took a further step, I felt as though my feet were in a
vice, being gradually tightened.

However, the next step was not as bad. My shins didn’t seem
to mind the cold as much as my feet did. Bravely, I took another step. The
water soaked into my jeans, making them heavy and saggy.
Brr!

The causeway was gently shelving, and I walked almost half
way, without any fear of drenching my laptop. Then, suddenly, the path dipped.
Smeg!
I tapped the bottom of the rucksack. It seemed to be dry. However, I couldn’t
take any chances. I took a few steps back, slipped off the straps and balanced
the rucksack on top of the case above my head.

Now my luggage was far too heavy to carry above my head. I
held it awkwardly, obscuring my vision.

I veered off the causeway. The water rose above my crotch. I
shivered and yelped. I knew I had to keep going. Even if I dropped my case
and
my laptop. I still had to get off the island.

Unexpectedly, I heard a cry. “Hey! Who’s there? Monty! There’s
someone there.” I recognised Dawn’s penetrating voice.

“
Dee?
Dawn, it’s Dee,” replied Montgomery’s orotund
voice.

“Dee? Where are you going? Dee, don’t be stupid. There are
currents around the island!”

“Dee! Come back! It’s not safe!”

Nothing in the world could incite me back. I wobbled and
stumbled. A wave wafted ice-cold water over my chest. I felt sure that the
bottom of my case was wet.

“Dee! The owner warned me about the currents! Come back.”

It was no good, my arms could no longer support the weight
of the case and the rucksack.
Fark!
The rucksack slipped and slid. I
resigned myself to the fact that my laptop was going to feed the fishes, but
congratulated myself for being somebody who regularly backs up their work. At
least my memory card was safely tucked inside my suitcase.

I felt a deep sadness as I heard the bag hit the sea. It felt
not dissimilar to having my right arm sawn off. Nevertheless, this was about
survival. Essential items only. My laptop or my freedom — it was an easy call.

Thankfully, with another step, the water got considerably
shallower. I was almost there.

“Dee! What are you doing?”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Dee, she’s wading to the mainland.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

My legs felt light as I climbed out of the water, but not as
light as my spirits. The relief momentarily blotted out the memory that Biff
was dead. I’d made it; I was off the island! As I heard Annabel call out my
name, I felt bad for leaving them all there, alone with the killer. However, I
reminded myself that I planned to call the police as soon as possible, and that
helped to ease my conscience.