Lula Does the Hula (19 page)

‘Look,’ I said desperately. ‘Something’s up with Jack. Bludgeon knows something. Could you call him for me? His number’s on my phone in my bag.’

Pen said nothing, but she sat down on the bed next to me and began to read from the afternoon edition of the
Guardian
. It was a short piece questioning the evidence of an outbreak of bird flu at Frey’s Dam and noting that a man was presumed dead. A short piece by Jack de Souza and Jazz Delaney.

‘Jack de Souza and Jazz Delaney,’ I murmured, my eyes filling with tears.

Pen was staring at the paper. ‘Mm,’ she observed. ‘Jack de Souza and Jazz Delaney. They sound like a celebrity couple.’

‘You finished your breakfast?’ called Mum, slamming into the annexe. ‘I’ve got to hurry scurry today, Lula – you would not believe how much I’ve got to get through before Friday. Next week is stocktaking –’

I groaned in sympathy. ‘I’m so glad I’m not helping out with that. So so glad.’

‘– and the whole historical division is locking down to go over and help the main library count books. We’re going to lose a week’s work. A week’s work!’

‘What’s the stress?’ I asked. ‘It’s not like any material is going out of date, or you have any massive deadlines or anything. Everything in your department is already ancient.’

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.
We’re
not ancient. Where’s your plate?’ she asked. ‘Oh, there it is. Right, I’m taking these pillows out and you need to be flat on your back till lunch.’

‘Please, no,’ I begged. ‘Leave a pillow. Just so I can read comfortably, or eat some more.’

‘Your spine needs to stay straight,’ said Mum.

‘I’m so bored! And hungry!’

‘Boredom is the sign of a simple mind.’ Mum sniffed imperiously and picked up my plate. ‘And you can’t possibly be hungry after all that toast.’

‘Maybe it’s a chocolate craving,’ I suggested. ‘Maybe just one little Malteser ball will keep me going till lunch.’

‘Tallulah! It’s eight in the morning! You are not having chocolate at eight in the morning. Your teeth will rot in your head!’

‘Cup of hot chocolate?’ I begged. ‘Pain au chocolat?’ Mum was shaking her head. ‘Please! Something! Give me something!’

‘This family is a bunch of addicts,’ proclaimed Mum. ‘Time for you to go cold turkey, young lady. And as for that duckling of yours . . . You’re jolly lucky it doesn’t have bird flu! I can’t believe Phoebe called the vet – the vet! – and let me tell you, Lula, if it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have bothered with vet’s fees!’ She pulled my pillow away, leaving me staring at the ceiling, and hustled out with my plate, slamming the door of the annexe behind her.

I blew my fringe out of my eyes.

It was going to be a long day.

‘T-Bird!’ yelled Dad, bashing the door to the annexe open. ‘You need to hear some lyrics!’

Now, usually I protest. Usually I say no way, because what generally ends up happening is I laugh out loud at him, he gets offended and we all get cranky with each other.

This time, desperate with boredom and my arms aching from holding my Silhouette Romance in the air so I could read it, I said: ‘Bring it on, Dad.’

He bounced up the steps to my bedroom and flung his arms wide, his chest all swelled up.

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Another ballad.’

He ignored me and gave it full throttle.

At which point I shrieked with laughter. Dad ignored me and his left leg started jumping to a beat that was all in his head.

I shrieked again.

‘Stop!’ I yelled. ‘You’ve got to stop! It’s so bad!’

Dad ground to a halt, his leg gradually slowing down till he was standing with arms crossed, legs astride and a stern expression on his face.

There was something cherubic about my father. All that wavy brown hair, maybe, or the clear complexion, the pot belly definitely, even though he was a big strong figure of a man. All that big bulkiness with the cherub thing going on made Dad’s poetry students like him straight away because he was the easy professor to read. His vulnerable side was out there for all to see. And he was getting better at telling people how he felt about things.

‘You are not being very nice, Tallulah,’ he said, sounding a bit sulky. ‘I’m not pretending this is poetry. Song lyrics these days need to be punchy and catchy and easy for the youth of today to remember.’

‘The youth of today,’ I pointed out, ‘are not brain dead.’

Dad glowered at me.

‘But the youth of today,’ I continued, ‘
could
be brain dead. If they listened to those lyrics long enough.’

He gasped dramatically. I could see a part of him wasn’t so thrilled by my reaction, but mostly he knew it for himself and his outrage at my brutality was funny.

‘I’ve had six number-one hits! Countless top tens! I’m the best independent songwriter there is in this country!’

‘Go on,’ I said, relenting. ‘Gimme some more about the boiling la-ay-ay-dy.’

Dad laughed. ‘Don’t mock me. You’ll drive me to drink.’ He turned and headed outside.

‘Well, we definitely don’t want that!’ I yelled.

Baron von Sturenhopf and Petronella were all a-quiver, but not as all a-quiver as my arms. My arms could not hold the book up above my head an instant longer. I dropped the book, stared at the ceiling and groaned.

With no Baron and Petronella to occupy my mind Jack was there in my head. I didn’t want him in my head. Jack in my head hurt my heart. I sighed and closed my eyes. Maybe now was time for a siesta, though Mum had promised me lunch. The sound of a car stopping outside the front of the main house had me wide awake. It wasn’t Mum’s car, but it sounded familiar. I heard the front gate open and shut, and a heavy tread come down the path.

By the time a dark shadow crossed the living-room window, reaching right up the steps to my room, I’d worked out where I’d heard that vehicle before, and I was frozen in fright.

It was the car that had dropped Parcel Brewster’s dead body at Cluny’s Crematorium.

Frik!

And whoever had driven the car was now knocking on my door!

Prickly frik!

I lay motionless, barely breathing, watching the shadow
just to the left of the living-room window that I could see through the bedroom doorway.

Another knock.

My eyes shot to the phone and I reached out to pick up the receiver. I punched in Mum’s work number, wincing at the tiny click each button made.

Come on, Mum!
I remembered my door was unlocked.
Pick up! Pick up!

The handle turned. The door creaked open.

I was about to disconnect and hit 999 when Jack de Souza appeared.

I was so relieved and astonished and angry that I got seriously shouty.

‘You!’ I yelled, hanging up. ‘You dropped the body!’

His jaw dropped. ‘Wha–? Wh–How? No! No –’ But one look at my savage outraged face had him admitting: ‘Weell, not me exactly.’

‘You drove the vehicle!’ I continued. ‘I just heard it! Don’t try to deny it! I just nearly died of fright! I thought that a bad man was about to walk into my room.’

‘I’ve brought you lunch,’ said Jack, holding up a sandwich. ‘But it seems to me you need something to settle you down.’ He came in and put the sandwich on my bedside table.

‘Where did you find the body? Why did you drop it at Cluny’s? Are you nuts? Are you seriously deranged?
I have been answering questions from the police!’

‘A lot of settling down.’ Jack looked down at the length of me under the thin coverlet. ‘Is your back still sore?’

‘Yes! No! What do you care?’ I bellowed. ‘Tell me what’s going on!’

Jack’s floppy fringe fell forward over his eyes. It looked like he was trying not to laugh at me. He bent over me, leaning a hand on either side of my shoulders.

‘What are you doing?’ I squeaked. ‘Just what the frik do you think you’re doing?’

‘Settling you down,’ he said, and lowered his body over mine. His face was close, so close, and his lips kissed my lips very lightly and very carefully. ‘You look way too tense.’

‘Oh boy,’ I whispered. ‘I do not feel settled.’

‘Okay, so here’s the thing,’ he said, leaning back to trace my collarbone with his forefinger. ‘On Sunday night when I went back for the bird-food sample, I thought I saw a body in the water.’

‘
What?
Why didn’t you
tell
me?’

‘We were running away from that old guy’s henchman, remember?’

I nodded. My heart was not thundering so much, though I still felt shaky all over.

Jack’s finger traced my lips. ‘And I wasn’t sure that’s what I’d seen, so I didn’t want to freak you out for nothing. I went back later with Forest.’

‘But what about the henchman?’

Jack grimaced and shifted so he was lying alongside me. ‘You’re not going to like this bit.’

‘I’m not?’

‘I had his keys –’

‘You didn’t leave them? Like I asked you?
Jack!
’

‘So we drove in as far as we could, then I hid while Forest went and started his truck. That got him out of his hiding place in a flash.’

‘Frik!’ I said. ‘You . . . you . . .’

‘Forest drove the vehicle up the west dirt road, parked it in the top clearing and doubled back through the woods.’

‘Frikking frik!’

‘He drove slowly enough to lure the guy up there, but he took the keys with him when he jumped. By the time Forest made it back to the dam, I’d found what I was looking for.’

‘Parcel Brewster.’

‘Parcel Brewster,’ Jack confirmed.

‘
You disturbed a crime scene
,’ I said hotly. ‘You are in a whole mess of trouble, Jack!’

Jack shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Well, yes, but the police wouldn’t take me seriously, would they? They were
laughing
at me on the phone. I had to make them see for themselves! The longer a body is left in the water, the less evidence is available for a coroner to determine cause of death. I’ve done the police department a favour. If they’d left it till the bird-flu scare was over, or until someone was willing to take things seriously, there’d have been nothing left of Parcel Brewster.’

I closed my eyes. ‘I don’t want to know this,’ I said. ‘I just don’t want to know.’

‘It doesn’t matter now.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Sergeant Trenchard has already questioned you, hasn’t
she? You’ve given your statement, not knowing anything. It’s all good.’

I studied his face. Could he be right? Could it all be okay? ‘What about the evidence we collected?’ I asked. ‘Has Forest tested it yet?’

‘Yesterday,’ said Jack. ‘No bird flu.’

‘Wow. So the birds
were
poisoned?’

Jack nodded. ‘Lots of chemicals in the water. Parabens, ethanol, mercury. Forest has everything bagged and labelled and witnessed by Professor Conyngham.’

‘Geez!’ I blurted. ‘Someone
else
knows about this?’

‘We had to. Otherwise the evidence wouldn’t be allowed. Jazz knows too, of course.’

‘Of course,’ I said, and wanted to scream. Really loudly.

Jack continued, oblivious. ‘Prof. Conyngham says he’ll stand by us. He’ll say we went up there to collect samples for an eco-viability study, and we’ll get a slapped wrist for continuing with our research without due regard for the bird-flu restrictions.’ He smiled and kissed me lightly again, but I was feeling hot and cross about Jazz and didn’t kiss him back.

Jack smiled tentatively. ‘Not many mums would allow a boy into their daughter’s bedroom all alone. She’s very trusting.’

‘I can be trusted,’ I said tightly.

He looked at me, and his smile faded. ‘Here, let me
help you sit a little,’ he said, and eased me forward while he tucked pillows in behind me.

‘Maybe you should go,’ I said, not looking at Jack, feeling all crowded and irritated and strange.

‘Lula . . .’ Jack stopped pulling pillows around and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at me over his shoulder. ‘I’m getting mixed signals from you. Sometimes you’re all happy and warm; sometimes I feel like you don’t want me around. What’s going on?’

I wanted to say I did like him, that I liked him desperately, but I couldn’t think how to explain that I didn’t like him
with Jazz
. I didn’t want to say that and feel mean-minded and jealous. I didn’t want him to think I was mean-minded and jealous, because I was pretty sure I wasn’t. Jazz was just souring what I had with Jack. She was everywhere, it seemed, while I was nowhere.

‘Lula?’ asked Jack. ‘Will you answer me?’