The Mum Mystery Read online

‘Well, I hope so, because I’d hate this to be a repeat of when you first started going out with Jennifer.’ (When my brother and Jennifer had first started dating, Jennifer’s dad had done everything he could to stop them – but that’s a story for another time.)

  ‘Look, Dad, I’m not going out with Carys, OK?’ Matty said. ‘I’m just taking her for a burger. Or pizza,’ he added swiftly.

  ‘Well, I think that’s a very sensible attitude. And I think it’s great that you’re getting yourself back out there.’ Dad patted him on the back approvingly.

  ‘Get off, Dad,’ Matty said, squirming away. ‘God, you’re so embarrassing sometimes.’

  And he headed back upstairs and shut himself in his room again.

  I was still up when my brother came home that evening, so I followed him into his room and demanded to know all about his date.

  ‘Was Jennifer there? Did you speak to her?’ I blurted excitedly, hurling myself on to his bed and getting ready to grab hold of the headboard if he tried to eject me.

  Matty was looking tired and I guessed he didn’t have the energy to argue. ‘Yes, she was there. But so was Ian. He kept going over and talking to her when she wasn’t serving anyone. And when she gave him his burger he gave her a kiss.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah – and Carys wants to go out to the cinema with me next week, so now I’ve got to deal with that as well.’

  ‘Did Carys see Jennifer?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah – but she didn’t know who she was. Look, Esmie, I want to go to bed now, OK?’

  I looked at my watch. Matty had come home well before his curfew and it still wasn’t all that late. ‘You don’t have to pretend you’re going to bed, just to get me to leave your room, you know.’

  ‘I’m not pretending,’ Matthew said. ‘Just get out, will you?’

  Suddenly I noticed something. ‘Where’s your photo?’ I asked him.

  Matty has a photo of our mother in his bedroom, just like I do, and usually he keeps it on top of his desk.

  ‘I put it away.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just did. Now get out Esmie or I’m fetching Dad.’

  I figured my brother must be seriously exhausted if he needed Dad’s help to get me out of his room, so I decided to leave him to it.

  The next morning I went downstairs to find Matty and Lizzie arguing in the kitchen. Lizzie was telling Matty not to drink straight out of the orange-juice carton.

  ‘You’re not my mother,’ Matty said between glugs. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’

  Lizzie sounded impatient. ‘I know I’m not your mother, but that doesn’t mean I want your saliva in my orange juice.’

  I walked into the kitchen and asked, ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘In the shower,’ Lizzie answered without moving her gaze from my brother, who was still taking defiant swigs just to annoy her. And suddenly I couldn’t help thinking about our real mother, and wondering what she would have done in this situation. (Juliette, our au pair, once told me that dead mothers always deal with everything perfectly because they only have to do it in your imagination – and that it’s much harder to be a live one. And as I watched Lizzie glaring at my brother, I reckoned it must be especially hard to be a live one that’s taking the place of a dead one.)

  Lizzie got up abruptly and said she was going to eat her breakfast somewhere else if Matthew was going to be so revolting, and after she’d gone I hissed, ‘Matty – if you still want Lizzie to be our new mum, then you’d better stop being so horrible to her.’

  ‘Stepmum,’ he corrected me, putting the juice back in the fridge. ‘We’ve already got a mum. She just happens to be pretty useless, since she’s dead.’

  I gasped. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say!’

  I made myself some toast and made a point of taking it into the living room to eat with Lizzie. ‘Sorry about Matty,’ I told her. ‘He can be a real pig sometimes.’

  She gave me a weak smile. ‘Well, there’s a lot going on for him right now, Esmie, what with me moving in and Jennifer breaking up with him.’

  ‘It’s not just you he’s angry with,’ I told her. ‘He’s put our mother’s photograph away as well, and he says she’s useless because she’s dead.’ (Somehow I really wanted to get that off my chest – plus I thought it would be good for Lizzie to know that she wasn’t the only target for my brother’s stroppiness.)

  ‘Really?’ Lizzie sounded even more concerned.

  She must have been worried enough to tell Dad everything, because later he went upstairs to speak to my brother, and since I was upstairs too, I decided to listen in.

  ‘Matthew, you’re going to wear yourself out – and the rest of us – if you carry on like this,’ I heard Dad say as I crouched down outside the door.

  ‘Carry on like what?’ my brother grunted.

  ‘You know what.’

  Matty didn’t answer, so Dad continued, ‘Look, I know it feels like the end of the world right now, but Jennifer was your first girlfriend and you’re only sixteen. I reckon you’ll go out with a lot more girls before you find the right one.’

  ‘I don’t want to go out with any other girls,’ Matty said.

  ‘Just give yourself some time. Time does heal, you know. It’s the biggest cliché in the book, but it’s true.’

  There was an awkward-sounding pause, as if Matty wasn’t buying that any more than when I’d said it to him.

  After a bit, Dad asked, ‘What have you done with your mother’s photograph?’

  ‘It’s in the drawer,’ Matthew said. He sounded angry as he added, ‘It’s not as if a picture makes a difference.’

  Dad sighed. ‘Matty, your mother would have given anything not to have had to leave you. She loved you very much.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘What do you mean, so?’ Dad sounded like he was the one who was getting cross now. ‘Matthew, your mother was thirty-one years old when she died. She had everything to live for. She never even got to see Esmie. There’s no “so?” about it!’

  Matty murmured something that I couldn’t hear and it was at that moment that the doorbell rang and I was forced to abandon my position.

  I quickly went downstairs to see who it was and, as Lizzie opened the door and invited our visitor inside, I saw to my amazement that it was Jennifer.

  ‘Hi, Jen,’ Matty mumbled. He had come downstairs to greet her in the hall and I could tell he was really nervous.

  Jennifer looked nervous too. ‘Hi, Matthew. Listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t speak to you properly last night.’ She glanced over to where I had sat myself down on the bottom stair to listen (whereas Dad and Lizzie had tactfully removed themselves to the kitchen). ‘Matty, I really need to speak to you in private. Can we go outside?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Dad must have been listening too, because as soon as they’d shut the front door behind them, he came out into the hall and said, ‘I thought he went out with Carys last night.’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘So what did Jennifer mean about not getting the chance to speak to him?’

  I decided the best thing to do was plead ignorance, so I just shrugged and said I was going up to my room.

  Ten minutes later I heard Matty come bursting in through the front door, and he was whooping with delight as he charged up the stairs.

  ‘Well?’ I demanded, going to meet him on the landing. ‘Does she want you back?’

  ‘Yeah! She says that seeing me with Carys last night made her realize how stupid she’d been!’

  ‘Matty, that’s brilliant!’ I felt like dancing with excitement. ‘Can I go across the road and tell Nevada?’

  He nodded. ‘There’s just one problem though.’

  ‘Is it Carys?’ I asked.

  ‘No – it’s Ian. Apparently he got really mad when Jennifer phoned him this morning to let him know she wanted to get back with me. He told her he was going to come round here and sort me out.’

  I instantl
y stopped feeling so good. ‘We’d better tell Dad.’

  ‘No way are we telling Dad! Look, Ian’s probably all mouth – but if he shows up, I’ll deal with him, OK?’

  ‘But, Matthew—’

  ‘It’ll be all right, Ez, I promise. Just please don’t mention this to Dad.’

  So I promised I wouldn’t, although I was still pretty worried.

  I went over to Nevada’s house to tell her the news, and this time her aunt answered the door to me. ‘Hello, Esmie. Nevada’s upstairs. Go up if you want.’

  So I went up and found Nevada sitting cross-legged on her bed, looking through a photograph album. She was looking sad so I guessed she might be looking at photos of her mum and dad, but she cheered up when she saw me and closed the album with a bang. ‘So?’ she asked. ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered triumphantly. ‘Jennifer just came round and she wants to get back with Matty. He’s really happy.’

  She smiled. ‘That’s great. It’s a shame Carys likes him so much, but I can just tell her he got back with his old girlfriend. She’ll get over it.’

  I nodded, feeling a momentary pang of remorse for involving Carys in our scheme – but then Carys was so beautiful that she could easily do a lot better than my brother (who really does have an incredibly spotty back).

  ‘Esmie, I had a dream about your mother’s jewellery box last night,’ Nevada said. ‘It was as if your mother was trying to tell me something.’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not sure exactly, but in the dream the box had something hidden inside it.’

  ‘Like a piece of jewellery, you mean?’

  ‘No, it looked like a piece of paper . . . maybe a message.’

  ‘A message?’ I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.

  ‘I think so. Maybe you’d better have another look in that box.’

  ‘But people can dream anything,’ I pointed out. ‘I mean, I dream weird stuff all the time and it doesn’t mean it’s true.’

  ‘Psychic people are different,’ Nevada said firmly, and she fixed me with her most piercingly intense gaze, as if she could read not only my mind but the minds of all my dead ancestors as well.

  As I left Nevada’s house I started to feel excited about what she’d told me. Was it possible that the jewellery box really did contain some sort of message from my mother?

  I remembered how, when I was much younger, I used to imagine that the picture frame that holds my mother’s photograph – the one that’s been in my bedroom for as long as I can remember – might have some sort of message inside. I had even opened it up once to look behind the photo, but of course there hadn’t been anything there.

  ‘Hey, you!’ someone shouted as I crossed the road.

  I looked up to see Ian perched on his bicycle in front of our house. I hadn’t seen him in a while, but I recognized him easily because of his hair.

  He must have noticed that I looked alarmed, because he grinned and said, ‘Don’t worry. I don’t hurt little girls. Just give your brother a message from me. Tell him to expect trouble. OK?’

  ‘My dad’s a policeman and if you hurt Matthew he’ll have you arrested,’ I told him defiantly.

  Ian just laughed. ‘I don’t think so, sweetheart.’ And he turned his bike round and left.

  I watched to make sure he cycled right out of our road, then I ran up the drive to our front door.

  But as soon as I stepped inside the house I knew something was wrong. I could hear Dad shouting at my brother in the living room, and as I shut the front door behind me, Lizzie came out from the kitchen.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I asked her.

  ‘Your dad just found a can of spray-paint in the outside bin,’ she told me, sounding very worried. ‘And it’s the same colour that was used on Mr Stevens’s car.’

  Matty was denying everything, which probably meant that Dad’s interrogation was still in its early stages. (I’ve never known our father not to succeed in getting to the truth eventually whenever Matty’s done something wrong.)

  ‘Esmie, do you know anything about this?’ Dad pointed to the aerosol can of red spray-paint that was sitting on the coffee table.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Strangely enough, neither does your brother.’ Dad turned back to Matthew, fixing him with an icy look.

  ‘I don’t see why you have to assume it’s mine,’ Matty grunted.

  ‘Well, if it doesn’t belong to me or Lizzie, and Esmie doesn’t know anything about it, then that only leaves you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘So how come just cos Esmie says it’s not hers, you believe her straight away?’ Matthew demanded.

  ‘Call it my policeman’s intuition,’ Dad said. ‘And the fact that you’ve never been any good at lying ever since you were a little boy.’

  Matty flushed and looked like he was about to cave in, even though I knew Dad was bluffing. (Detectives do that a lot to try and get their suspects to confess and I could tell Matty was about to fall straight for it.)

  That’s when I had my brainwave. (Like I said before, I have a real weakness for wanting to help Matty when he’s in major trouble with Dad.)

  ‘I bet I know who put it there!’ I announced.

  Dad and Matthew both stared at me.

  ‘I just met Ian outside! You know, Dad – the ginger-haired guy who Matty got into that fight with last year. Anyway, Jennifer’s just dumped him to get back with Matty. He told me to warn Matty to expect trouble. Well, this must be it! What if he planted that can in our bin? I mean he had motive and opportunity, didn’t he?’ (Our wheelie bin stands at the side of our house and it’s easy enough for anyone to walk up our drive to it.)

  Dad looked sceptical. ‘Why would Ian want to spray-paint Frank’s car? He doesn’t even know him.’

  ‘But he knows Matty knows him,’ I pointed out. ‘And he knows Matty would get the blame.’

  Dad was frowning. ‘There was a boy with red hair hanging about in the street when I went out to the bin just now.’ He turned to look at my brother. ‘Do you think this could be true – that Ian painted Frank’s car?’

  Matty looked bewildered. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘When did Jennifer tell Ian she was ditching him and getting back with you?’

  ‘Last night,’ Matty said.

  ‘You mean Friday night, Matty,’ I corrected him swiftly, seeing where this was leading, ‘which is why, on Friday night Ian must have painted Mr Stevens’s car, knowing you would get the blame. And this morning Ian must have planted that paint can in our bin, to make sure you did.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ my brother agreed, though he still looked like he hadn’t totally caught up with me.

  Dad’s face was unreadable as he asked, ‘Does either of you know this Ian’s address?’

  Matty looked alarmed. ‘Why do you want to know his address?’

  ‘Because I want to speak to him.’

  ‘Dad, this isn’t some police case you have to investigate,’ Matty protested.

  ‘No, but I want the person who spray-painted Mr Stevens’s car to face the consequences,’ Dad replied crisply. ‘And from where I’m standing, if it wasn’t Ian, it was you. So is there anything else you want to tell me?’

  Matty shook his head, looking very pale all of a sudden. ‘Jake’ll know his address,’ he said in a small voice.

  ‘Good. Well, call him now, please.’

  Luckily for my brother, Jake’s phone was engaged, so Matthew had to leave a message on the voicemail asking him to phone back. In the meantime, I went up to my bedroom and closed the door. What with all this fuss about the paint can, I hadn’t had the chance yet to find out if what Nevada had said about my mother’s jewellery box was true. It seemed so unlikely that I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but still . . .

  Taking a deep breath, I picked up the jewellery box, sat down on my bed with it and opened it up. First I lifted out the upper tray and checked underneath that, just in case there was a pie
ce of paper or something stuck to the bottom that I hadn’t noticed before. There wasn’t, so I carefully inspected the lower section of the box. There didn’t seem to be anything hidden under the material that lined the floor, and nothing rattled when I turned the whole box upside down and shook it.

  I sat for a few minutes, trying to think what to do next. Whenever detectives on television are searching for a secret compartment (if there’s a dead body hidden behind a wall for instance) they always tap on the wall to see if it’s hollow anywhere. I turned the box over again and rapped on the base of it with my knuckle. It did sound hollow, but then boxes are hollow, so that didn’t help much either.

  I spent a bit more time shaking the box from every angle, tapping the wood repeatedly and trying in vain to find any holes in the lining. But in the end I found nothing, and I could only conclude that, this time, Nevada had been mistaken. There was no secret message from my mother. And to my surprise I suddenly felt quite angry with Nevada for leading me to believe that there might be.

  There was no time to feel too upset however, because a few minutes later Dad shouted up the stairs, ‘Matthew! Esmie! Come down here!’

  I met my brother on the landing.

  ‘Why did you dump that paint can in our bin?’ I hissed at him. ‘Honestly, Matty – you’d make a rubbish criminal!’ (I reckon if my brother murdered someone he’d leave the murder weapon covered in blood on his own front doorstep.)

  ‘Yeah, well I didn’t think Dad would go nosing around in there, did I?’ he hissed back.

  We stared at each other then, both thinking the same thing. Why had Dad gone looking inside our wheelie bin – unless he hadn’t completely believed Matthew’s story all along?

  Suddenly Dad yelled up the stairs again, sounding angrier this time, ‘Matthew! Esmie! Get down here, now!’

  ‘He must have found more evidence,’ I exclaimed. ‘What else have you and Jake left lying about, Matthew?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Matty said, but he sounded pretty worried.

  When we got downstairs, Dad was standing in the hall holding a letter in his hand, looking stern. (Lizzie was still in the kitchen, keeping out of the way – which is always a bad sign.)