Friday Barnes 3 (7 page)

Moments later they all had their faces pressed to the living room window, watching Rocky out in the garden. Rocky was mindlessly savaging an azalea bush.

‘Look at his collar,' said Friday. ‘Those aren't rhinestones. They're too sparkly. They're real diamonds.'

‘He put millions of dollars' worth of diamonds around his dog's neck?' said Uncle Bernie.

‘It's brilliant,' said Friday. ‘No-one would think of looking there. If they went anywhere near Rocky, he would savagely attack them. He is his own built-in security system. And if Mr Wainscott ever escaped or was released from jail, he could come by and pick up his diamonds without even ringing the doorbell.'

‘That's just a theory,' said Ian sceptically. ‘You won't know for sure until you have the collar in your hand, and how are you going to do that, clever clogs?'

‘I've never understood the origins of that expression,' said Friday. ‘Perhaps it's Dutch. Clogs are usually associated with Holland. But how would calling someone intelligent, hand-carved wooden shoes be an insult?'

‘You're getting off the point, Friday,' said Uncle Bernie.

‘It is a bit odd that your father would strap something so valuable to something so demented, stupid and bloodthirsty,' said Melanie.

‘Rocky is brilliantly trained,' said Ian. ‘Dad knows all about training animals from his time at Circus Skills University. But so that nobody else could order Rocky about, he trained him in Latvian.'

‘Why Latvian?' asked Friday.

‘His childhood nanny was Latvian,' said Ian. ‘Dad's fluent in it.'

‘You speak lots of languages, Friday,' said Melanie. ‘Is Latvian one of them?'

‘No,' said Friday. ‘I speak Russian. Surely it can't be too dissimilar.'

‘The gas-meter reader spoke Russian,' said Ian. ‘He needed seventy-three stiches in his left calf. And he didn't get to read the meter.'

‘Who do we know who might speak Latvian?' asked Friday.

‘Well, actually,' said Uncle Bernie, ‘I do.'

‘Uncle Bernie!' exclaimed Friday. ‘You have a hidden depth.'

‘I was briefly a professional hockey player in the Latvian League,' said Uncle Bernie.

‘I didn't know that!' said Friday.

‘You know how it upsets your mum and dad to hear talk about sport,' said Uncle Bernie. ‘I played for the Riga Raiders for half a season.'

‘What happened?' asked Friday.

‘I got thrown out of the league for fighting on the ice,' said Uncle Bernie.

‘But I thought that's what hockey players do?' said Friday.

‘Yeah, but I accidentally hit the lady who sang the national anthem,' said Uncle Bernie.

‘While she was singing the national anthem?' asked Melanie.

‘No, she burst onto the ice with a bunch of spectators to try to punch our goalkeeper,' said Uncle Bernie. ‘He'd just let in an own goal and they were feeling emotional. Fists started flying and my fist just happened to connect with her nose.'

‘Oh dear,' said Friday.

‘It was a mess,' said Uncle Bernie. ‘They say her high notes never sounded the same again.'

‘Fascinating story,' said Ian, ‘but, in summary, do you know the Latvian words for “sit”, “stay” and “stop biting my arm”?'

‘I think so,' said Uncle Bernie. ‘It has been a couple of decades since I've last tried my Latvian out. You don't often bump into Latvians. Especially not Latvians who don't speak better English than I speak Latvian.'

‘So long as your pronunciation is better than Rocky's, I'm sure you'll be all right,' said Friday.

Two minutes later Uncle Bernie edged out the front door. As a precautionary measure, Ian had helped him gaffer-tape sofa cushions to his arms and legs.

As soon as Rocky sensed movement he spun around and ran full speed at Uncle Bernie.

‘What do I say?!' Uncle Bernie panicked.

‘I don't know,' said Friday from the safety of the other side of the screen door. ‘Try “nice doggie”.'

‘Jauks suns! Jauks suns!' yelled Uncle Bernie.

Rocky skidded to a halt.

‘Awesome,' said Ian. ‘This is actually going to work.'

‘Tell him to sit,' advised Friday.

‘Sédét!' yelled Uncle Bernie.

Rocky obediently placed his rear end on the grass.

‘Now, slowly approach the dog and take the collar,' said Friday

‘Do I have to?' asked Uncle Bernie.

‘Yes!' said Friday and Ian in unison.

Uncle Bernie slowly made his way towards Rocky. ‘Lūdzu nekož mani.'

‘What's he saying?' asked Melanie.

‘Knowing Uncle Bernie,' said Friday, ‘probably something like please don't bite me.'

‘I hope your uncle isn't brutally mauled,' said Mrs Wainscott as she joined them at the door. ‘He seems like such a nice man. And he knows his veggies.'

Uncle Bernie now had his hand on Rocky's collar. ‘Labs suns, labs suns,' he crooned.

Uncle Bernie unclipped the collar, patted Rocky and started making his way back towards the house. ‘I've got it!' he yelled in English.

As soon as the English words were out of his mouth, Rocky snapped to attention, as if awoken from a trance, and launched himself at Uncle Bernie's bottom.

‘Ow!' yelped Uncle Bernie.

‘Don't worry, I'll save him!' yelled Mrs Wainscott as she ran to the kitchen and grabbed a dozen rashers of home-cured bacon. ‘Take that, you vicious dog!' Mrs Wainscott hurled the bacon over Uncle Bernie. Rocky's head whipped up and he chased after the rashers, giving Ian and Friday a chance to drag Uncle Bernie inside.

‘Did he hurt you?' asked Mrs Wainscott.

‘Only my pride,' said Uncle Bernie.

‘And your bottom,' said Friday. ‘Look, you're bleeding.'

‘Never fear, I've been teaching myself how to sew,' said Mrs Wainscott. ‘I'll soon stitch that up.'

‘Maybe I should see a doctor,' said Uncle Bernie.

‘It wouldn't be worth the risk of walking past Rocky while you smelled of fresh blood,' warned Mrs Wainscott. ‘Don't worry, you'll soon be right as rain. Although you might not enjoy sitting down for a while.' She went to get her first-aid kit.

Friday took out her jeweller's eyepiece and closely inspected the studs in Rocky's collar.

‘Are they the real deal?' asked Ian.

‘Please say they are,' said Uncle Bernie. ‘I'd hate to be having the worst day of my life for nothing.'

‘They're diamonds, all right,' said Friday. ‘Fifteen stones. All of them at least two carats. They're worth over $50,000 each.'

‘$750,000!' exclaimed Mrs Wainscott as she returned. ‘Why, that means that after we pay off the first and second mortgage, the car loan, the personal loans, the credit cards and your father's dry-cleaning bill we'll be …'

‘Rich?' asked Ian hopefully.

‘Modestly comfortable,' said Mrs Wainscott. ‘If we mainly eat vegetables and the council lets us keep using the pig manure generator.'

‘So I don't have to quit school and get a job,' said Ian.

‘Which is a relief,' said Friday, ‘because it's hard getting around those child labour laws. I know, I tried getting a job as a professional gambler once and the police took a dim view of the whole idea.'

‘That and the card counting,' added Uncle Bernie.

‘Yes, that too,' said Friday.

‘Thank you,' said Ian.

‘You're welcome,' said Friday. ‘I know that's hard for you to say because of your irrationally overblown sense of pride.'

‘I wasn't talking to
you
,' said Ian. ‘I was talking to your uncle. He's the one who got bitten on the bum getting the diamonds away from the dog.'

‘Friday may have the brains,' said Uncle Bernie, ‘but I've got the butt.'

When they returned to school, things were different between Friday and Ian. They weren't nice to each other. They didn't even speak. But if Friday stumbled and fell, dropping her books all over the corridor, Ian no longer stopped to laugh. And if Ian put up his hand and answered a question in class, Friday no longer put up her hand and corrected his grammar.

Without her feud with Ian, school was almost relaxing. Friday only had to worry about avoiding her father. She had a hard enough time with the rest of the student body thinking she was a weirdo, she didn't want to be seen with her father and take on extra weirdness by association. So, to avoid walking past Dr Barnes' classroom, Friday and Melanie took the long way round to get to English class, cutting through the ornamental garden, taking their shoes off and wading through the fish pond.

‘You've been getting on very well with Ian since you rescued his mother from poverty,' observed Melanie.

‘I know,' agreed Friday. ‘It's nice, isn't it?'

‘No, it isn't,' said Melanie. ‘I had such high hopes for you two as a couple. If he's being nice to you, that can only mean one thing.'

‘He likes me?' guessed Friday.

‘No, that he's in love with someone else,' said Melanie.

‘Who?' asked Friday. She was surprised.

‘I don't know,' said Melanie.

‘Have you seen him being mean to someone else?' asked Friday.

‘He'll never be mean to another girl the way he was with you,' said Melanie. ‘That sort of thing only happens when there is true love, which only comes along once in a lifetime.'

‘Well, have you seen him being nice to another girl?' asked Friday.

‘No,' admitted Melanie. ‘But then, I haven't been paying attention. Plus he's really sneaky, so even if I were paying attention I might not notice. I bet he's The Pimpernel. He's elusive enough.'

‘Don't be silly,' said Friday. ‘Next you'll be saying Debbie's The Pimpernel.'

‘She could be,' said Melanie. ‘It would explain why she wears those glasses.'

‘Surely she wears them to improve her eyesight,' said Friday.

‘Barnes!' A year 7 boy hurried over to where the girls were sitting.

‘My first name is Friday,' said Friday.

‘I know,' said the boy. ‘I feel a bit strange saying it though, what with it being a day of the week.'

‘What do you want?' asked Friday.

‘The Headmaster sent me to fetch you,' said the boy.

‘But I haven't done anything,' protested Friday.

‘I think he's got a problem,' said the boy. ‘When he was yelling at me to fetch you, his face was a very dark shade of reddish purple. My granddad's face goes that colour when he's really angry, or he's about to have a heart attack.'

‘Come on, then,' Friday said to Melanie. ‘Let's see which it is.'

‘Oh goodie,' said Melanie. ‘I like being told off by the Headmaster.'

‘You do?' asked Friday.

‘The leather armchair in his office is so comfortable,' said Melanie. ‘I start to drift off and don't hear a word he says once I'm sitting in it.'

‘Did you have anything to do with this!?' demanded the Headmaster.

Friday and Melanie's interview with the Headmaster was not as relaxed as they might have hoped. He was clearly incredibly angry and was waving around what appeared to be a women's magazine.

‘Hold it still,' said Friday, ‘I can't see what you're flapping at us.'

‘Look, look!' he demanded.

Friday took the magazine and studied the page the Headmaster was referring to. The headline on the page read ‘Secret Snogging Sessions at Elite School' and had a grainy black and white photograph of Princess Ingrid kissing a boy.

‘Who is that?' asked Friday.

‘Princess Ingrid,' yelled the Headmaster.

‘I know it's her,' said Friday. ‘I mean, who is the boy?'

‘It's on the next page,' said the Headmaster.

Friday turned the page and there was a full-page blow-up of the same photo that clearly revealed who Princess Ingrid was kissing.

‘Ian!' exclaimed Friday.

‘That rat!' said Melanie. ‘How dare he kiss another girl just because she is beautiful, rich and royalty.'

‘I'm not here to discuss the inner workings of your adolescent love life,' said the Headmaster. ‘I want to know how this happened.'

‘Well, when a boy and a girl like each other very much –' began Melanie.

‘Not that!' yelled the Headmaster. ‘I want to know how. Electronics, especially cameras, are strictly banned. How did this photograph get taken and how did it get out to the magazine?'

‘Hmm,' said Friday as she stared at the photo. ‘It's surprising how low-tech a functioning camera can be. All you need is a light-proof chamber and a tiny hole, then some photographic paper. It's just a question of capturing light.'

‘There's no way a member of the paparazzi has snuck onto the school grounds,' said the Headmaster. ‘If the electronically monitored fence and security patrols weren't enough to deter them, then the law would. The courts are very severe with people who sneak into schools and take photographs of children without permission. No photographer would risk it. They would do serious jail time. This was done by a student. I want to know who and how.'

‘So you want me to investigate?' asked Friday.

‘No, I want to know – was it you?' asked the Headmaster.

‘No!' protested Friday.

‘Really?' said the Headmaster. ‘I know you've got a thing for this boy. If you admit it now, I won't
expel you. I'll just make your life so miserable you'd wish you had never been born.'

‘It wasn't me,' said Friday.

‘Do you have any idea how many times a day I hear those words?' asked the Headmaster.

‘Why?' asked Friday. ‘Do you spend all day accusing students of crimes they didn't commit?'

The Headmaster slumped in his chair. He looked like he really wanted to expel Friday, if for no other reason than to cheer himself up. ‘All right, I do want you to investigate,' said the Headmaster.

‘What's the fee?' asked Friday.

‘What do you mean “fee”?' blustered the Headmaster. ‘Isn't it enough to be doing it for the good of the school?'

‘No,' said Friday. ‘I like this school, but I don't like it
that
much.'

‘Fine. Name your price,' said the Headmaster.

Friday looked across at her friend. ‘I've already got my fees paid up to the end of next semester, so what do I want?'

‘Kidney pie,' said Melanie.

‘I hate kidney pie,' said Friday.

‘Exactly,' said Melanie. ‘We all do. Make him take it off the menu and you'll be a hero.'

‘Okay,' said Friday. ‘I want kidney pie to be replaced with pepperoni pizza on Tuesdays.'

‘No anchovies,' added Melanie.

‘That's pepperoni pizza with no anchovies,' stipulated Friday.

‘Mrs Marigold is not going to like that,' said the Headmaster. ‘You know how much she likes her kidneys.'

‘Those are my terms,' said Friday.

‘All right, deal,' said the Headmaster.

A short while later Friday and Melanie were sitting on the bench in the rose garden outside the Headmaster's office, studying the magazine photo.

‘The first thing we've got to figure out,' said Friday, ‘is where the photos were taken.'

‘At the school,' said Melanie.

‘Yes, obviously,' said Friday. ‘But where at the school? It's hard to work out because the photos are black and white and the background is fuzzy.'

‘Plus you're in love with Ian,' said Melanie. ‘So you can't take your eyes off his lips.'

‘I am not in love with Ian,' said Friday.

‘Ahuh,' said Melanie. ‘And yet here you are, staring at photos of him.'

‘I'm looking at the background!' said Friday.

‘Of course you are,' said Melanie. ‘Maybe you should look at his hair.'

‘I'm not obsessed with his hair,' said Friday.

‘No, I mean the angle of it,' said Melanie. ‘It's strange.'

‘Maybe Ingrid ran her hand through his hair,' said Friday. ‘I believe that is something kissing people are known to do.'

‘How would you know?' asked Melanie.

‘We didn't only have physics books in our house growing up,' said Friday. ‘My mother had a few romance novels hidden behind her quantum mechanics section.'

‘Still,' said Melanie. ‘His hair seems to be defying gravity.'

Friday looked at Ian's hair. ‘You're right.'

‘I am?' said Melanie. ‘That's a nice change.'

Friday tilted her head. ‘This photograph is at the wrong angle.' She turned the magazine around. ‘They aren't standing up. They're horizontal.'

‘Ew,' said Melanie. ‘Too much information.'

‘We need to talk to the victims,' said Friday.

‘My eyeballs?' asked Melanie.

‘No, Ian and Ingrid,' said Friday.

‘You're not meant to go within fifty metres of Princess Ingrid,' said Melanie.

‘I know,' said Friday. ‘I don't suppose she'd be happy about me standing fifty metres away and yelling my questions at her, either. I'll just have to talk to Ian first.'

Friday and Melanie found Ian at the school stables rubbing down a polo pony. Debbie was there too, cleaning tack.

‘Doesn't the school have grooms to do that?' asked Friday. ‘I'd like to think our exorbitant fees go towards something constructive.'

‘They do,' said Ian. ‘But grooming a horse is an important part of building trust between a rider and his mount.'

‘You're both working as grooms for money, aren't you?' asked Friday.

Ian glared at Friday.

Debbie nodded happily. ‘That's right.'

‘If you tell anyone,' said Ian, ‘I'll take your stupid pork-pie hat and run it through Mrs Marigold's food processor.'

‘Who would I tell?' asked Friday. ‘No-one likes to be seen talking to me.'

‘Except me,' said Melanie. ‘And if she told me, I'd probably forget.'

‘You already know, because you're here too,' said Friday.

‘I suppose so,' conceded Melanie. ‘But that's just a technicality.'

‘Anyway, I don't really care about your relationship with a horse and whether it's personal or professional,' said Friday. ‘I'm here to investigate this photograph.' She showed Ian the magazine.

Ian's face went bright red. ‘Who took that?!' he demanded.

‘That's what I'm trying to find out,' said Friday. ‘Before the Headmaster has some sort of aneurysm.'

‘And why were you kissing her when we all know you're in love with Friday?' asked Melanie.

‘That's not part of this investigation!' snapped Friday.

‘So you admit it's true,' said Melanie.

‘I do not!' yelled Friday. ‘We are here to find out who took this photograph, and to do so we need to know where it was taken.'