Kisses for Lula (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

‘The body ovens are out of control!’ I whispered.

‘It’s not the crematorium that’s on fire,’ said Ben urgently. ‘It’s somewhere further on.’ And he began to jog forward.

I hurried after him, staring at the orange glow just ahead of us. Ben was right: Cluny’s was quiet and dark – the glow was coming from much further down the road.

I suddenly remembered Mum’s phone call in the restaurant, and Dad having to rush off.

‘My God, it’s my
house
!’ I yelled, frozen in shock.

Yet another car came roaring by and I only just heard Ben say, ‘No! It’s the old people’s home!’

How did he know about the Setting Sun? I pulled my little bag high on my shoulder and put my head down in a full-paced sprint.

I’d passed him after thirty paces and was still going at a hundred miles an hour when I at last caught sight of my home and the Setting Sun. My house was enough of a distance across the road to make me heave a panicked sigh of relief when I saw the blaze of the Sun on the other side. It was truly immense. Every part of it roared and racketed with a ferocious heat. I could see the framework of it, standing like stark black scaffolding within walls of red, gold and
orange. The sound was incredible, like nothing I’d ever heard before – the noise of a monster busily consuming his feast, replete with cracks of bones and thumps and bangs of cutlery on a bowing wooden table. In the shadow of that the emergency services’ flashing lights were puny and insignificant, the scurrying firemen with their thin jets of water completely ineffectual.

I didn’t stop running, just pushed my way through my street, now packed with people pointing and oohing at parts of the fire that were truly momentous. Every one of Hambledon’s sirened vehicles was there. I could see Mum and Dad ushering old people into our house, a lot of them in their night clothes, confused and bewildered, others really upset. Dad held one old lady close to his chest while she struggled and shouted something about her grandson’s pictures. As I got closer I saw that even Blue was awake, standing in the doorway in her fabulous cloak, her hair rumpled from being just asleep. She ran from Great-aunt Phoebe’s hug to clasp the fingers of the desperate old woman trying to do a mortal injury to Dad. Blue called something up to her, tugging relentlessly, and the white head turned to her, her rage disappearing. My little sister led her by the hand, and the old lady went into the house with her, like a child with her friend, and Great-aunt Phoebe followed them in.

I couldn’t stop the thought that had first occurred to me
when I saw the blaze:
Where was Mr Kadinski?

I remembered his earlier phone call. How it had broken off suddenly. I was now in a total panic. Grabbing a police officer I began to shout questions, but he shrugged and pointed me towards another officer with a clipboard who was calling out to the old people crossing the road to our house.

I was about to struggle over to her when someone in dark clothing caught at my sleeve. ‘Tatty. You okay?’

‘Sophie!’ I said. ‘Have you seen an old man with grey-white hair, thin, has a stick . . .’ I stopped. ‘Hey! This is serious!’

‘Take a look at the evacuation,’ said Sophie, still smiling. ‘Who isn’t old, thin, white-haired and carrying a stick? Some of the women could even pass as men. What’s his name?’

‘Mr Kadinski,’ I said, rubbing my forehead where a dull pain was beginning to throb.

‘I don’t know him, but he’ll have to head past Officer Clipboard sooner or later. Why don’t you keep an eye out for him from up here?’ and she hopped up on my huge tree-stump lookout.

I joined her up there for a better view, scanning the crowd for Mr Kadinski’s beaky features. ‘So,’ I began abruptly, ‘Mum said you were working late the night of the office invasion.’ I kept my expression carefully controlled. A polite interest, a little concern.

‘Uh, yeah,’ said Sophie. ‘Mabel’s been keeping me
copying all the original land claims from the 1800s.’ She glanced at me quickly, and I plastered a fake friendly smile on my face. She was encouraged. ‘Quite interesting to see that some families have been here for generations.’ I raised my eyebrows and she carried on babbling. ‘Yeah, your dad’s great-grandmother, your mum’s great-grandmother, the Pilkingtons, the Clunys.’

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘And did the Harrows build all their homes? They’ve been here forever too, haven’t they?’

Sophie’s face shut down. ‘They’re newbies,’ she said in a hard voice. She turned to face me. ‘I didn’t take those documents, Tatty.’

I raised my eyebrows again. ‘Are you still snogging Harrow Jr?’ I asked mildly, examining the crowd for Ben and Mr Kadinski.

She snorted. ‘Not likely. Little turd.’

‘Pardon?’

‘That guy . . .’ She shook her head. ‘He’s really odd. Blows hot and cold.’ Throwing me a sideways look, she said, ‘I couldn’t say whether those disks of your mum’s got in his bag by accident or not, but getting off on the oldest desk in the library was definitely his idea.’

I looked at her face – the set firmness of it – and felt surely that she was telling the truth.

‘Bum,’ I said.

‘Sorry to deprive you of a suspect.’

‘I don’t care about suspects – we need the papers!’

‘Well, if I could offer a clue?’ Sophie’s studded brows were raised. ‘That card of mine stank of garlic when I got it back. Just like stinky Mike Burdon. I know he made off with it. Him or Mabel. He’s wrong – I never lose stuff. I’m very responsible.’ She touched her tongue stud to her lips and I nearly laughed aloud, but then I thought,
Yes, actually. She is organised. And responsible
.

‘Clue two,’ Sophie continued. ‘Vince’s dad can’t take him golfing tomorrow morning. He’s got to pick up some “paperwork” instead. Vince is peed off. His dad’s meeting is at nine a.m. I don’t know where, but you could always follow him?’

‘Could be nothing,’ I said. ‘Could be his tax return.’

‘Dirty Harry wouldn’t blow his precious son off for a tax return. This is something that can’t wait.’

‘Right,’ I said, meeting her eye. Something was niggling away at the back of my mind. Something obvious. But I couldn’t
think
with all this noise and chaos. Sophie gave me the Harrows’ home address and hopped to the ground from the tree stump, her pupils going small in the bright light of the fire. Just then another huge crash came from the Sun. The crowd stepped back in a wave, oohing again at the sparks that flew, the flames that leapt higher still. I felt the rush of heat from the disintegrating building and watched glowing cinders land on our ancient picket fence.

I jumped down as the Sun’s roof came down with a whoosh, and came face to well-formed chest with Ben.

‘You run like a greyhound,’ he said abruptly, and grabbed me by the elbows.

Does it make me a bad person that for that instant with his arms around me, Coven’s Quarter and Mr Kadinski just kind of faded away? I think it does. It only lasted a second, and wasn’t that comfortable, to be honest, because he had something really hard in his breast pocket that connected sharply with my collarbone, clicking and whirring. It hurt when he squeezed me, so in my defence there was no choice but to push away. I laughed. ‘Ow! What is that in there? Your gun, Agent Latter?’

Not funny, I know. I must learn that not everyone is a
24
fan. That my interest in the secret service is not universal.

I had ruined the moment.

Ben rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a pen. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

I raised my eyebrows. A pen does not wound a collarbone. How intriguing! But worry for Mr Kadinski prodded away my curiosity. I glanced towards the policewoman with the clipboard.

‘I’d better get going,’ said Ben.

What? NO! What was happening here? My knight wanted to scarper. I grabbed at his arm in shock.

‘I’m really busy this weekend,’ Ben continued, ‘so no can
do for another date’ – he flashed a placatory smile – ‘but would you mind dropping that questionnaire off at St Alban’s for me tomorrow? It’s really urgent.’

‘Uh – wait,’ I said, confused.

‘In the morning?’

‘Pardon?’

‘The questionnaire,’ he said impatiently. ‘Could you drop it off in the morning?’ I was too stunned to respond right away. He smiled encouragingly. ‘I had a great time tonight, Tallulah. Pity about all this’ – waving a hand at the pyre – ‘maybe next time, hm?’ and pecked me on the cheek before hurrying away.

‘Wait!’ I yelled, suddenly galvanised into action.

This was my last chance!

And with true love, no less!

He would not, COULD NOT, walk away from me now!

Then I felt someone grip my shoulder and I understood Ben’s hasty retreat.

Dad.

I narrowed my eyes.

‘Oh no you don’t, Tallulah. Let him go. We need to have a conversation about that young man,’ said Dad. I looked him in the eye. He met my gaze. ‘I’m back,’ he said grimly, holding my hand firmly.

I looked past him, my throat tight with anger and dismay.

Ben had vanished.

I tried to shake Dad off, but he looked at me warningly and dragged me with him to the nearest police officer.

He dropped my hand to explain to the officer about the troop of oldies in the house. I watched him for a minute, wondering at what he’d said.
I’m back
. What did that mean? Back from what? His affair? Was he telling me he was back in the family, committed again? Well, what if we didn’t want him back?

My throat got even tighter. I was having trouble breathing and it had nothing to do with the smoke.

And then the west wing of the Sun came down with a roar. Dad grabbed hold of a tottery ancient and yelled at me to follow him back to the house.

Yeah, right.

With my dreams of being a normal kissed person now in ruins I had other fish to fry. I latched on to the officer.

‘I’m looking for Mr Kadinski,’ I yelled.

I could see she was about to brush me off, so I added, ‘I’m his . . . step-granddaughter.’

‘Miss Kadinski?’ she said, her face suddenly concerned.

‘Bird, Miss Bird,’ I said. ‘My mother’s side.’

‘Right. Where are your parents? Any adult next of kin here tonight?’

‘Uh, in my house.’ I gestured over the road. ‘Anne and Spenser Bird.’

‘Oh, okay. We didn’t know they were related to Mr
Kadinski. They’ve already been informed that we received a distress call from the Setting Sun at around seven p.m. and came right over. There was no sign of any problem at the home, so we left, but twenty minutes later one of the carers called to say Mr Kadinski’s room was on fire.’

I must have made some sort of sound then, because the police officer reached out to hold my arm. ‘Would you like to sit down?’ she asked.

I shook my head, nose prickling, eyes stinging with tears and smoke and flying ash.

‘Look,’ said the officer, ‘the fire brigade got here as soon as possible, and there was no sign of any, uh, human remains in that room, and no sign of Mr Kadinski in any other part of the house during evacuation. We’re hoping he was out at the time. You sure you’re okay?’

I didn’t feel okay. I felt
desperate
. But, ‘Absolutely,’ I said, and a random thought of Ben occurred as I stumbled towards my house.

What a night. Tallulah Bird now formally jinxed for life, a listed building burning before my eyes and one seriously senior citizen missing.

Chapter Twenty-two

You’d expect the air around a fire like that to be thick with smoke, but a breeze was blowing it all into the woods. It seemed less busy out on the street now; people were looking at their watches, shaking their heads and piling into cars to go home. They’d be back for sure tomorrow, I thought, just to see the full horror in the light of day.

If I’d been less fraught about Mr Kadinski I would have laughed at Boodle gently shepherding the last old people towards our gate with little nudges of her nose. She seemed to know who needed taking care of, and who needed to move out of the way. She turned and loped back over the road towards me just as a left-hand-drive Datsun ’79 screeched to a halt an inch from my kneecaps. The car missed Boodle by a nose hair, but she was too far into her stride to stop. With a little spring from her back legs she simply leapt on to the bonnet, skittered over the paintwork and lolloped off the other side, forelegs on my shoulders.