Lula Does the Hula (29 page)

‘. . . important thing is not to panic,’ she was saying. ‘We need residents to think back carefully to the night of Friday the thirtieth of April –’

‘Luckily not the
thirteenth
!’ interrupted Jazz with an inappropriate smile.

Sergeant T did not return the smile. ‘Any unusual occurrence on that night would be worth reporting,’ she said, and, turning to the camera: ‘Please. We need everyone’s help. If Emily is somewhere, without food or water, every hour counts. Call the number on your screen with anything you feel may help us in the search for her.’

Jazz went on to push Sergeant T for the family’s reactions, but Arns’s mum was not about to comment on that, and emphasised again the importance of the community’s support.

‘Maybe I should cancel my meeting,’ frowned Dad.

‘No, Spenser,’ urged Mum, clicking the telly off as Jazz did an eye-batty sign-off. ‘Hilda will find that child, and Hambledon is perfectly safe. Plus you’re really buzzing with ideas right now, and I think your boily heart song has something.’

Dad grinned and kissed Mum on the cheek. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ said Mum, smiling back at him and planting one on his lips. ‘I’m always right. Go wow the musos.’ Another kiss.

‘Ew,’ groaned Pen. ‘Get a room.’

‘She
is
always right,’ said Dad, still beaming. ‘She’s spotted every hit so far.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Mum, dismissing him with a flapping hand. ‘Be off with you. Back by tomorrow morning, soon as, Spenser. We’ve got to get Pen and Lu to the regatta, and you all set up in the party tent. Will you need your pirate shirt?’

‘No!’ yelled Pen and I in unison. ‘Nooooo!’

Great-aunt Phoebe swanned into the kitchen, smelling of J’adore and looking sensational as always. ‘No pirate shirt, Spenser,’ she added. ‘Please.’

‘And no handbag!’ I added.

Dad ducked his chin and narrowed his eyes. ‘Do not leemit my creaaativiteee,’ he said in a heavy French accent.

We all rolled our eyes and finished off our breakfasts, thoughts in turmoil about Emily Saunders and poisoned
birds and murdered people and what on earth was going on. Dad and Great-aunt Phoebe wandered into the sitting room, both of them eating toast, and Pen grabbed Boodle’s lead, ready to head out for a run with her. ‘I might stride past Elsa’s,’ she announced. ‘See if Sergeant T’s dug up anything else since last night.’

Mum winced at Pen’s unfortunate phrasing and grabbed for the chicken claw.

‘Did you just mutter something?’ I demanded. ‘Something spellish?’

Pen, standing in the doorway, looking out, suddenly gasped. ‘Tatty, your duck has crapped all over Boodle. When I get back, you’re going to have to wash my dog.’

‘Yay!’ yelped Blue, clapping her hands. Fake knuckles flew everywhere. ‘Can I help?’

‘No,’ yelled Pen, and, ‘Yes,’ I said at the same time.

‘Yay! Yay!’ said Blue. ‘Mum, where Dad’s gogs? I get them!’ She bounced down from the table and set off at a run.

‘Dad has goggles?’ I asked. ‘He
swims
?’

Mum sighed. ‘Welding goggles. There was a time in your father’s life when he could do useful things around here.’

‘Ooh! Could he be useful before he heads off to London?’ I asked. ‘I’ve only got to lift the engine block in and Oscar could be ready to rumba!’

‘Don’t delay him, Lula, please. It would be so great for
his self-esteem to get another contract, and that won’t be happening if he turns up late all covered in grease. His reputation is shot as it is.’

‘Hmm.’ Alone in the kitchen, I looked my mum in the eye. ‘How’s Dad feeling? Is he okay about performing at the regatta, or is he stressed? Is he . . . I mean . . . He’s been going to all his meetings?’ I flushed. ‘Apart from last night, of course.’

‘Oh, darling, your dad is doing so well. I’m proud of him. And we caught the end of last night’s meeting, Lu, don’t worry. Went out after you got back. Glad to see Jack brought you home safe and sound. You should have brought him in here so you two could have spent some time together.’

My face went scarlet.

‘Right,’ said Mum. ‘I’m off to the library. ‘Are you busy today, Lu? Do you want to earn a bit doing photocopying for me?’

‘Hm.’ I thought for a minute. ‘Actually, I promised to help Alex with her Cleo Cosmetics feature this afternoon. Maybe next weekend?’

‘What about this morning?’ asked Mum.

‘Lula’s going to lure Dan over with her broken-down heap of a car,’ scorned Pen, still hovering in the doorway.

‘I am not!’ I was outraged. ‘I’ll take any help I can get! I was going to ask Dad, but –’

Pen grinned and stuck out her tongue at me. ‘Don’t lie! I heard you going all’ – she made a coy, flirty face – ‘
Oh, okaaay, Daaan!
Don’t you think you should finish with Jack before you start making moves on the neighbours?’

‘Your dog can stay crusty,’ I growled. ‘Crusty with poo.’

‘Finish with Jack?’ Mum was hoisting an assembly of plastic bags up her arms. She threw her handbag over her shoulder, ready to go. ‘What do you mean
finish with Jack
? He was just here last night! What’s going on?’

‘He prefers his sexy student journo flatmate Jazz,’ said Pen bluntly.

I bit my lip. Though I’d never admit it, I kind of liked the banter between me and Pen, but sometimes she could go a bit too far.

‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,’ cried Mum, coming over and squeezing me into a hug.‘That Jazz is so small and dark and mean-looking!’

A wobbly smile crept over my face. ‘She is, isn’t she.’

Mum left just as the phone burst to life. I snatched it up. ‘Hello?’

‘Lula, it’s Tam.’

I sighed. ‘Has the rumour-mill been working?’

Tam groaned. ‘I was so sure you’d be the hero in all this!’

‘Please.’ I glanced at Pen, who was leaving her bowl and
spoon on the counter to go all hard and horrible instead of putting it in the dishwasher. ‘I’m always going to be the bad-lucked, jinxed-to-hell, weirdy witch girl.’ My eyes flew to the chicken claw, dangling above me. ‘What’s Billy Diggle saying?’

Pen was about to leave, Boodle’s lead firmly in her hand, but she stopped and turned, her arms crossed over her chest.

Tam laughed. ‘Okay, this bit you
are
going to like!’

‘I’m listening,’ I said.

‘Put it on speaker!’ hissed Pen.

‘Only if you help with Boodle!’ I whispered back.

‘Lula?’ asked Tam. ‘You want me to ring back?’

‘No, Pen wants to hear too.’

‘Well, this is good, and we’re the first to hear, so get a favour.’

I looked at Pen and narrowed my eyes. ‘I’ll put it on speaker if you let me ride up front with you on the bus to the regatta tomorrow,’ I said. Oh man. That was pathetic. Why couldn’t I get my own prime spot on the bus? I was SO pathetic.

Pen held my gaze. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But that’s not a permanent arrangement.’

I hit speaker before she could change her mind. ‘Okay, Tam,’ I said.

Tam laughed. ‘So the game guard goes back to get Jason
Ferman and Billy Diggle and finds the two of them up the tree at the boathouse door, freaked out about the leopard. Well, the
thought
of the leopard.’

‘Like a leopard can’t climb trees,’ scoffed Pen.

‘Exactly, so the guard goes up close on his motorbike with the sidecar and tells the two of them to get down, that he’s taking them to the gate – only Jason has his pants down, his butt hanging out over a branch, still doing toilet business because of Jessica’s brew, and it goes all over the game guard!’

‘Nooooo!’ howled Pen and I, horrified, but totally delighted too.

Tam was laughing now, and it was hard to hear what she was saying. ‘The game guard has to go for a swim in the dam to clean up and he makes Billy and Jason sit in the sidecar, Jason piled on top of Billy’ – Tam wheezed for breath – ‘and by the time they get to the gate’ – more wheezing – ‘Billy Diggle is
covered
’ – wheeze, wheeze – ‘Billy Diggle is a potty!’

Pen and I shrieked and laughed and guffawed until the tears ran. I felt all the strings of tension that laced me up slowly start to loosen.

‘But how has that got anything to do with Lula?’ asked Pen at last.

‘Jason is saying Jessica got the brew from Tatty,’ said Tam, sobering up.

‘Well, that’s just not true!’ I said. ‘No way is that true!’

‘We’ll stick up for you,’ said Tam stoutly. ‘Won’t we, Pen? And Jess will fess up.’

‘Better get Alex micro-managing,’ replied Pen. ‘But this really isn’t a big deal.’

‘Okay, well, that’s not all,’ muttered Tam. ‘The boys are saying there’s never, ever, been a collision on the Pond; Tallulah Bird starts rowing and within a fortnight there’s a fractured skull.’

Pen and I were silent.

‘It doesn’t help that last night was full moon,’ added Tam.

‘The moon wasn’t up yet, and if it had been we wouldn’t have seen it,’ argued Pen. ‘That’s the whole point! That’s why we had the accident in the first place! We couldn’t see a thing!’

‘Well, I’ll say that to any rumour-mongers that cross my path,’ said Tam. ‘Now don’t worry, Tatty Lula, it’s all going to be okay, yeah?’

‘Yeah . . .’ I said, but I really didn’t believe it.

‘I’ll call the girls right now so we can start nipping stories in the bud. First person I’m ringing is Alex – I can’t believe I’m going to be telling her
something she doesn’t know already
!’

I grinned at Tam’s glee. ‘So glad I could have been of some use,’ I said drily, and after several
mwah-mwah
s and
optimistic promises that everything was going to be all right, I hung up.

‘You are so screwed,’ said Pen, leaving me alone in the kitchen. ‘I’d help to distract you from your terrible fate, but I’ve got calories to burn . . .’

I wasn’t totally freaked out by the rumours that would soon start to fly around Hambledon, mainly because the distraction I settled on was my not-so-secret interest in motor mechanics. I was up to my armpits in engine oil. Dad had taken the family snotmobile so the drive at the back was free, and Dan came over to push Oscar out of the cellar.

Pen got back from her run just in time, and even she was impressed by how my car was looking.

‘Wow, Lula!’ she exclaimed, poking her head into the driver’s seat window. ‘It’s gorgeous in here!’

‘Where did you get the interior leather?’ asked Dan, propping the bonnet of the car up.

‘Rukshana found a supplier for me, from a lady that makes her bags.’

‘Who’s Rukshana?’

‘She owns the dress shop on the high street that does loud stripes for old people. Are you saying you’ve never been in there?’

‘Ha!’ scoffed Dan in an
as if
tone of voice. ‘Are you
saying I’d look great in a zigzaggy pants suit?’ He ducked into the cellar and began wheeling out the trolley with the engine block on.

‘Don’t joke,’ I replied. ‘Esme Trooter made Jeremiah Coldstock, the oldest man in Hambledon, get a white Lycra Elvis-stylie shirt from in there, and Aunt Sassy saw him in it at bingo last week. Are we going to need a winch or something for the engine? How’re we going to get it in?’

Dan explained what we had to do, and even Pen helped. At 10.30 a.m. Dan held out two ancient-looking bolt nuts. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ he said, ‘but I can’t see where these go back.’

‘You’re joking, right?’ I said, my eyebrows well into my hairline. ‘I’ll just be driving along and next thing you know my engine will drop out!’

Dan laughed. ‘Your engine’s going nowhere,’ he said, in a way that made me wonder what kind of engine he was talking about. ‘In the old days they often put two nuts on to a bolt for extra strength, but there’s really no need. Hang on to them in case, though.’

I took the nuts from him. They were heavy and clinked comfortably in the palm of my hand. I unhooked the plain silver chain from round my neck and looped them on.

‘Hey,’ said Dan. ‘That’s a good look for you. Though people may find out you like to fix cars. You might get called grease monkey or something.’

‘Believe me,’ I said. ‘There are worse things.’

‘Like witch girl,’ said Pen.

Dan held out the key to my car. ‘Got your driver’s licence?’ he teased.

I heaved a deep breath and took the key. ‘Dad should be here for this historic moment,’ I said. ‘He helped me with most of this.’ I patted Oscar on the fender.

‘Go on!’ laughed Dan. ‘Just rev her up!’

‘Him,’ corrected Pen, as I slid into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. In went the clutch, my right foot hovering over the accelerator. I turned the key.

Clunk-a-chunk-a-clunk-a-chunk
.

‘Give it just a little juice,’ suggested Dan, coming over to my side of the car and bending down.

I did as he said, less hesitant this time, and after a few goes the engine roared to life.

Pen laughed and clapped, while I squealed like a child.

‘Let it run for a minute,’ called Dan over the noise of the motor, grinning at me.

I eased off the accelerator and Oscar continued mumbling along, whereupon I leapt out of the car with a shriek of triumph.

‘
Yeeehaaaa!
’

Dan threw his arms wide and I jumped in for a triumphant hug. He whirled me round and round till I was dizzy, Oscar still throttling away happily behind us. I
planted a big kiss on his gorgeous lips, about to say thank you, when a figure appeared at the back gate.

Oscar puttered and died, the whisper of petrol in his tank probably gone.