The Mum Mystery Page 8

  ‘I just found this lying on the doormat,’ Dad said, handing the letter to us to read together.

  DEAR MR HARVEY

  I AM WRITING TO LET YOU KNOW THAT IT WAS YOUR SON, MATTHEW, WHO VANDALIZED YOUR NEIGHBOUR’S CAR. I ALSO KNOW THAT HE RECENTLY VANDALIZED THE SCHOOL SIGN AND BROKE THE SCHOOL FENCE. IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME ASK YOUR DAUGHTER . . .

  It was printed in capital letters on plain white paper and it wasn’t signed.

  I looked at my brother in dismay. ‘This must be what Ian meant when he said to expect trouble. He must have come back and posted this through our letter box just now. Jake must have told him everything.’

  ‘Shut up, Esmie,’ Matthew snapped, and I realized at once what I’d done.

  ‘So it’s true then, is it?’ Dad said, fixing his gaze on me.

  ‘Well . . . no . . .’ I flushed. ‘I reckon . . . I reckon this is what detectives call a poison-pen letter . . . and you really shouldn’t believe anything this sort of letter says, should you, Dad?’

  Dad gave me a half-amused kind of look. ‘And what’s your theory about why this letter mentions you then?’

  ‘Esmie hasn’t got anything to do with this, Dad,’ Matthew butted in quickly.

  Our father turned to face him. ‘OK, so you tell me what this is all about then. And if you lie to me again, you’re going to be sorry. Understand?’

  Matthew bit his lip. ‘Jake and me thought it would be a good joke to paint the school sign, that’s all. But we had to stand on the fence to reach it and it broke. That’s how I fell and got that splinter.’

  ‘They changed Mr Thackery and Miss Dumont’s names to Mr Thick and Miss Dumb,’ I added. ‘It was really funny, Dad – everyone thought so.’

  ‘Except Mr Thackery and Miss Dumont, I presume?’ Dad said drily.

  ‘Well . . .’ Matthew flushed.

  ‘So how badly did you damage the fence?’ Dad asked.

  ‘The section next to the gate collapsed,’ Matty told him, ‘but we didn’t mean that to happen, Dad. It was an accident.’

  ‘I see. And what about Frank’s car? Was that an accident too?’

  Matty looked uncomfortable. ‘That was . . . that was meant to be a joke because he was complaining about Hercule . . . it was just paw prints, Dad . . . I didn’t think about them not coming off . . . I . . . I guess we should have used different paint . . .’

  And that’s when Dad lost his temper. ‘You shouldn’t have used ANY paint!’ he yelled. ‘And you tried to put the blame on somebody else!’

  ‘Jake did it too,’ I piped up. ‘It was his idea!’

  Dad rounded on me then. ‘And why did you lie to me earlier, young lady?’

  I gulped. ‘Well . . .’

  ‘You’re grounded for the rest of the day – and as for you, Matthew . . .’ He was looking at my brother as if he was having to concentrate all his energy into not giving him a smack. ‘You’re grounded until I decide otherwise.’

  ‘But I’ve got a date with Jennifer tomorrow,’ Matthew protested. ‘We just arranged it. I can’t let her down when we’ve only just—’ He broke off abruptly as Dad looked like he was about to explode. ‘Sorry,’ he gulped, ‘but, please, Dad, if I could just—’

  ‘You can just call her and tell her you won’t be seeing her tomorrow – that’s what you can just do,’ Dad barked. ‘God, Matthew, I must have done a really bad job bringing you up, if you think you can do something like this and treat it so lightly.’

  ‘I’m not treating it lightly, Dad. I just—’

  ‘Go to your room! When Jake phones back I’m going to speak to his parents about this. Then I’ll decide what to do with you.’

  I watched my brother make a hasty exit, before saying meekly, ‘I don’t have to go to my room too, do I?’

  ‘You can go and help Lizzie in the kitchen. But, Esmie, listen to me . . . your brother is in a lot of trouble and I want you to stay out of it, OK?’

  I nodded obediently, but, of course, what Dad was forgetting was that I have a nose for trouble – and that makes it very difficult for me to stay out of it.

  Lizzie was in the kitchen trying to make a cheese-and-bacon quiche and she asked if I wanted to roll out the pastry.

  ‘No thanks,’ I replied, slumping down on the nearest seat. Normally I’d have jumped at the chance to do any sort of baking with Lizzie, but right now I had other things on my mind. The business with Matty was bad enough, but I was also worried about Nevada and whether or not I could trust her.

  As I watched Lizzie roll out the pastry herself, I decided to ask her what she thought about psychics.

  ‘That’s a strange question,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘I don’t think it’s the sort of thing children should get involved with, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It just isn’t.’

  ‘Dad thinks it’s just a load of rubbish,’ I said.

  ‘A lot of it probably is, Esmie, but I’ve never had any wish to dabble in it.’

  ‘Is that because it scares you?’

  ‘I suppose it does a bit – yes.’

  ‘Is that because you believe psychics really can make contact with the dead?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then why do you find it scary?’

  ‘I just do, Esmie, OK?’ Lizzie was clearly floundering on the logic front now. (And on the pastry front too, judging by the way it kept breaking up every time she tried to roll it out.)

  Dad came into the kitchen to tell us he had spoken to Jake’s mother on the phone and he was taking Matthew round to Jake’s house. ‘After that we’re going to see Frank.’ He sighed loudly. ‘That should be fun.’

  ‘Is Jake going too?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes. Now remember, Esmie,’ he told me, ‘you’re grounded today. Any nonsense and Lizzie will send you straight to your room.’

  ‘OK, Dad,’ I said, giving him my most angelic smile.

  He was gone by the time the doorbell rang ten minutes later.

  ‘Hello, Nevada,’ I heard Lizzie say when she went to answer it. ‘Yes, Esmie is in, but I’m afraid . . .’

  I raced out into the hall before she could inform Nevada that I was grounded and therefore not allowed to receive visitors.

  ‘It’s OK for friends to visit me, Lizzie,’ I told her, ‘just so long as I don’t visit them.’ And before Lizzie could question the rules of being grounded (which she isn’t totally familiar with yet, thank goodness), I had whisked Nevada up to my room.

  ‘There’s no message inside,’ I told Nevada, trying not to sound too resentful as I handed the jewellery box to her. ‘It’s completely empty.’

  She frowned, taking it from me. ‘You’ve looked really carefully?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Let me try something. But you’ll need to close the curtains and stay quiet so I can concentrate.’

  She sat on my bed in the darkened room, holding the box on her lap. ‘I’ll need something else,’ she said. ‘That photo should do.’

  I gave her my mother’s picture and she held it in one hand while she touched the lid of the jewellery box with the other. ‘I’m going to close my eyes and see if I can conjure up that dream again in my mind.’ She screwed up her brow as if she was concentrating really hard and sat like that for several minutes until finally she started to speak in a slow, monotonous voice. ‘The box is upside down . . . I’m pressing down on the bottom of it . . . There’s something important about the centre . . .’ She opened her eyes and said in her normal voice, ‘That’s all I can see.’

  We both sat and looked at the box for a minute or two.

  ‘Go on then,’ I finally said. ‘Try it.’ But I still felt sceptical.

  I watched as she turned the box upside down and pressed down firmly on the exact centre of its base – and suddenly there was a clicking sound as if a catch had been released.

  My head felt like it was spinning as I watched her lift the bottom right off.

>   ‘Look!’ she exclaimed. She had found a shallow compartment, inside which was a folded piece of paper. She took it out and handed it to me, looking excited. On the front of the paper, printed in capital letters, were the words TOP SECRET.

  My hands felt shaky as I took the paper from her and unfolded it. It appeared to be some sort of handwritten document.

  MEMBERSHIP CERTIFICATE

  This is to certify that Claire Harris is an official member of The Mysterious Four Club

  Members: Claire, Kirsten, Amanda, Rusty

  Our mission: To solve mysteries and be best friends forever

  Our meeting place: The Palace Pier

  Our special date: 21st November

  Our secret sign: Holding a whirly ice cream

  Our secret password: ESMERELDA

  ‘Is it your mother’s?’ Nevada asked in a hushed voice.

  I nodded. Claire Harris had been my mother’s name before she’d got married to my dad. ‘Look!’ I exclaimed, showing it to her. ‘My name is the secret password!’

  I’ve always known I was named after my mother’s aunt, so the password was clearly in honour of her rather than me, but still . . .

  Nevada held the piece of paper flat on the palms of her hands, as if she was holding some ancient precious parchment that might disintegrate into dust if it wasn’t treated with due reverence.

  ‘This is definitely a message to you from your mother,’ she declared in an awed voice.

  I nodded, only half listening. ‘Grandma said my mum and her friends had a secret club when she stayed in Brighton, so this must be it.’

  ‘Is the Palace Pier in Brighton then?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not called that any more. It’s called Brighton Pier now, because it’s the only pier left.’ Dad had taken Matty and me to Brighton a number of times, because it only takes a couple of hours to get there from where we live, and he had told us that there used to be two piers in Brighton – the West Pier and the Palace Pier. The West Pier had become derelict years ago and so the remaining pier – which had masses of great rides and other amusements on it – had been renamed.

  ‘There are loads of places to buy whirly ice creams at the seaside,’ I went on excitedly, ‘so that explains their special sign. But what about their special date?’

  ‘November the twenty-first is next week,’ Nevada pointed out.

  ‘I know – but I can’t think what’s special about it.’

  Nevada was looking thoughtful. ‘You know, even though your mother didn’t originally write this as a message for you, there must be some reason why she wants you to find it now.’

  I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, otherwise she wouldn’t be using me to guide you to it, would she?’

  ‘Are you saying that my mother made you dream about the secret compartment?’ I asked in disbelief.

  ‘Your mother’s spirit – yes. Think about it, Esmie. We’re only a few days away from the special date. That can’t be a coincidence.’

  I felt a bit shivery. ‘This is all really weird.’

  ‘Do you want to stop?’ she asked quickly. ‘We can stop any time, you know.’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s just . . .’ I trailed off. Part of me was terrified at the prospect of the mother I had always thought was sadly (but safely) dead, coming back to life in some ghostlike form. But on the other hand I had longed to meet her for so long . . . ‘I suppose I could phone my grandma and ask her if she knows what the date means,’ I offered.

  ‘There’s no need,’ Nevada said quickly. ‘I’ll be able to work out what your mum’s trying to tell you, as long as I spend some more time with you. I’ll call in for you on the way to school tomorrow, OK?’ As I nodded she added, ‘By the way, you mustn’t tell anyone else about this – especially not Holly.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Holly won’t tell anyone else if I make her promise not to, and she’s really good at working out puzzles and riddles and stuff.’ I really wanted to tell Holly about my mother’s message – not least because I was sure my news would make her forget all about falling out with me.

  ‘The spirit world doesn’t like being gossiped about,’ Nevada said firmly. ‘They might stop sending us messages if we don’t keep this just between the two of us. Anyway, Holly will make fun of everything.’

  ‘No she won’t. She’ll—’

  ‘If you tell her, then I’m not helping you any more, OK?’

  So I knew I had no choice but to drop the subject of Holly.

  But there was still my grandma in Chicago, and after Nevada had gone I decided to call her. It would be quite early in the morning there, but not so early that I’d wake my grandmother up.

  I crept into Dad’s bedroom to use the phone where Lizzie wouldn’t hear me.

  ‘Esmie!’ Grandma exclaimed when she heard my voice. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘It’s fine, Grandma. It’s just a quick call this time because I need to ask you something. It’s about that club you told me my mum belonged to in Brighton. Was it called the Mysterious Four Club?’

  ‘That was it! How did you find out?’

  ‘And did they use the Palace Pier as their meeting place?’

  ‘That’s right. They’d hold their meetings right at the very end of it, no matter what the weather was like.’

  ‘And did my mother eat a lot of whirly ice creams?’

  ‘She certainly did! She liked ones with strawberry sauce on top.’

  ‘And was there anything special about November the twenty-first?’ I crossed my fingers for luck as I asked that.

  ‘How do you mean?’ Grandma sounded puzzled now.

  ‘Well, did anything happen on that date that would have been special to my mum or to the Mysterious Four Club?’

  ‘What a strange question! I can’t think of anything. We always went to Brighton in the summer, not in November. Oh . . . but wait a minute . . . the very first time we went there was in November – it must have been, because it was just after Esmerelda bought the place, and she had us all down there for a big birthday party. Her birthday was in November, you see – but the eighth, not the twenty-first. That was the year she was forty.’ Grandma sighed. ‘Esmerelda died young like your mother, I’m afraid. She was only forty-nine.’

  ‘That’s not that young,’ I pointed out.

  Grandma let out an indignant snort. ‘How dare you, young lady! Now what’s all this about?’

  ‘I found my mum’s membership certificate for the Mysterious Four Club,’ I explained. ‘It was with her things that were in the attic.’ I decided it was safest not to tell my grandmother about the secret compartment in the jewellery box or about Nevada’s psychic predictions.

  ‘Really? She must have kept it an awfully long time. You must show me when I see you at Christmas. Now, where’s your father? I wouldn’t mind a quick word with him.’

  ‘He’s out with Matty,’ I said. ‘Matty’s in trouble again and Dad’s probably going to ground him for the rest of his life.’ I didn’t add that I was temporarily grounded too. ‘I’d better go now, Grandma.’

  We said our goodbyes and as I came off the phone, I thought about how the twenty-first of November was less than a week away. And I still had no idea what was so special about it.

  When Dad and Matthew eventually came home, my brother was looking miserable.

  ‘But the school sign was just a prank, Dad,’ Matty was saying as they came in the door. ‘Even Jake’s dad thought that was funny. Surely we don’t have to tell the school it was us. I mean, what if we get suspended? I’ll do really badly in my exams if I miss too many classes.’

  ‘You should have thought about that sooner then, shouldn’t you?’ Dad retorted. ‘Prank or no prank, you still destroyed school property, which is why we’re going to speak to Mr Thackery tomorrow.’

  They had just been to see Mr Stevens, and apparently our dad and Jake’s dad had agreed to pay for the damage to his car. Matty and Jake were going to pay them
back over the next few months – which in Matty’s case meant giving up the money he had saved from his summer job, having his allowance cut right back and washing Dad’s car every week until the debt was paid off. Dad had also volunteered Matty to wash Mr Stevens’s car every week for free, but luckily for my brother Mr Stevens had declined, saying that he didn’t trust anyone else to clean his car the way he liked it.

  ‘Is Mr Stevens going to tell the police?’ I asked anxiously. ‘Is Matty going to get arrested?’

  ‘I’m going to take Matthew and Jake down to the police station myself tonight,’ Dad said. ‘They’ll get a talking-to, but I don’t think they’ll get arrested.’

  ‘Can’t you just give them a talking-to, Dad?’ I asked. ‘Or does it have to be a policeman who’s in charge of vandalism rather than murders?’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Esmie,’ Matthew grunted.

  ‘OK, Matthew, get upstairs,’ Dad told him sternly. ‘You can write a letter of apology to Frank and then you can write one to Mr Thackery and Miss Dumont.’

  ‘Jake isn’t having to write any letters,’ my brother said sulkily.

  ‘Yes, well, if Jake was my son, he would be. Now move it.’

  Later that evening while Dad was at the police station with Matty and Jake, and Lizzie was downstairs watching television, I decided to phone Holly. ‘I’m sorry I upset you, Holly,’ I said, ‘but I didn’t think you’d mind me telling Nevada you fancied Matty.’

  ‘Of course I mind! I don’t go around telling everyone who you fancy, do I?’

  ‘No, but that’s only because I don’t fancy anyone,’ I said. ‘But I’m sorry, OK?’

  ‘Yeah, well I just don’t like being left out of things, that’s all,’ Holly said sharply.

  ‘How do you mean?’ I asked, thinking for a moment that she had somehow found out about my mother’s message.

  ‘Just because I wouldn’t agree to help get Matthew and Jennifer back together, you went off and got Nevada to help you instead.’

  ‘Oh, that!’ I immediately saw my opportunity to make things better. ‘Holly, you were so right about Matty and Jennifer. We shouldn’t have interfered.’ I filled her in on Matthew’s date with Carys – and how it had seemed to work at first, because Jennifer had wanted to go out with my brother again. ‘But now Ian is really angry and he’s put a note through our door telling Dad it was Matty who painted the school sign and our neighbour’s car – and Dad’s grounded Matty, so he won’t be able to see Jennifer again for ages anyhow.’