Mystery At Riddle Gully (16 page)

‘Herrr-ugh-hum,' said HB. The crowd hushed. ‘I am afraid this is a matter concerning a juvenile, Your Worship. I am therefore not at liberty to discuss it.'

Will was chewing on his bottom lip. Did that mean HB couldn't talk about it? It sounded like that's what he'd said. Is that what he said?

HB cleared his throat again. ‘However, I can reassure the meeting that the matter is being dealt with by the authorities and that the juvenile in question is unlikely to reoffend. It is my firm opinion that no action on the part of council is required.'

Mayor Bullock pouted like a toddler who had dropped his ice-cream cone.

HB took his seat, staring straight ahead, his fingers splayed across his knees. Will wondered if other people could see the slight trembling in his stepdad's hands.

‘Thank you, Sergeant.' Mayor Bullock pulled in his bottom lip. He dug a humbug from his pocket and rammed it into his mouth. ‘Any general business before we close and get out of here?' he mumbled around the lolly. He banged his stack of papers on the desk and began buttoning his jacket, the humbug bulging from one cheek to the other.

‘Just one thing, if I may.' The voice came from a slim fellow in corduroy trousers and a baggy leather jacket a few chairs away from Pollo. ‘I'm not a ratepayer, Your Worship, so perhaps I shouldn't be speaking. But it occurred to me that some form of commendation to Ms di Nozi and Mr Hopkins is surely in order. Their excellent teamwork in the matter of the Southern Bent-wing Bat could well have averted an ecological disaster. These young people
showed remarkable initiative and citizenship in bringing it to our notice, I think everyone would agree.' The man looked around the room at a sea of vigorously nodding heads.

Mayor Bullock hunched forward on the table and crossed his arms. His eyes turned to slits and his face reddened like a boiling crab. ‘And who the tinker's bell are you, might I ask?'

‘I'm Everett Evers, Your Worship. Editor-in-chief at the Coast news network.'

The mayor gave a sharp, choking cough—then all eyes lifted to follow the arc of his shiny stripy humbug sailing through the air.

It was hard to imagine that the meadow in front of her and much of the forest would have been dug up today if things hadn't worked out. Pollo was leaning against a tombstone on the edge of the cemetery,
Last Slayer IV: The Dark Count
in her lap. A little way off, Shorn Connery browsed peacefully and, nearer the trees, Viktor stalked in circles with his bat detector. Pollo jumped as Will tapped her on the shoulder.

‘Thought I'd find you here,' said Will. ‘Sherri told me the good news. So it's official, eh? The Youth Reporter cadet! So much for Mayor Bullock and his friends in high places!'

Pollo laughed. ‘To think it nearly stopped me!' she said.

Will lowered himself onto a nearby grave. He put his sketchpad beside him and looked at Pollo. ‘Thanks for not dobbing on me.'

Pollo shrugged. ‘It's okay. You'll have to tell me one day why you did it. I've been wondering, though, what's going to happen to you?'

‘HB put in a report to the station,' said Will. ‘I'm on notice, as they put it. If I mess up again I'm in serious trouble. I feel rotten for putting HB in that situation.'

‘That's what he meant at the meeting, then, when he said it was being dealt with by the authorities?'

Will smiled sheepishly. ‘Actually, he was talking about Nan and Pop,' he said. ‘Nan blasted me big time. I have to go to an anger management course. Everyone reckons it helped my mum. And I'm spending a week of the holidays in their retirement village weeding everyone's gardens and doing odd jobs. But I want to do it.'

‘Of course you do! You'll be stuffed full of cake and biscuits all day! You won't want to leave,' said Pollo.

‘I meant the course,' said Will. ‘I want to get on top of my feelings, instead of it being the other way round. I've done dumb stuff before, but this last time...' He huffed and shook his head. ‘It felt good for about five minutes, then it was total manure from then on.'

‘You'll be fine,' said Pollo. ‘I'm sure you will.'

‘One good thing,' said Will, ‘everyone wants me to try out for that art academy in Maloola. I didn't even know they knew about the place. Clive wants to pay for
it ... if I get in.' Will tapped his sketchpad. ‘I need to submit a portfolio.'

‘Will! That's brilliant! You'll get in for sure. Look what your poster did. It was like you'd mesmerised everyone into coming to the meeting!'

Will shrugged his shoulders. ‘I dunno about that.'

‘Well, put it this way—what have you got to lose by applying?'

‘My pride?'

‘Your pride?' laughed Pollo. ‘It's buried in bat poop on the floor of that cave!'

Pollo ducked as a clod of grass hit the tombstone behind her. Will yanked out some more, ready to pitch it.

‘Stop!' yelled Pollo. ‘There was something in that!' She scrabbled in the grass and fished out a tiny object. Her eyes widened as she brushed off the dirt.

‘What is it?' said Will.

‘I bet it's from that woman at the meeting,' whispered Pollo. ‘The one who was wearing all the military gear.'

‘The one who asked about the wildlife?' said Will. ‘It wasn't military gear. It was hiking gear.'

‘She had this weird look on her face all night. I'm telling you, she was dodgy.'

‘She wasn't dodgy,' said Will, picking up his sketchpad and getting to his feet. ‘And you were sitting with your back to her. How would you know what look she had on her face?'

‘And now this!' said Pollo, her eyes glued to the thing in her hand.

‘Is that what I think it is?' said Will.

Pollo raised the object between her thumb and forefinger. ‘A bullet casing!' she said. ‘Twenty-two calibre. The suspect must have dropped it!'

‘Suspect?' said Will, backing away. ‘What suspect? Someone's been out hunting rabbits or feral cats or something.'

‘You said it, Will! “Or something.” Something bigger,' said Pollo. ‘I haven't seen...' Pollo narrowed her eyes. ‘Well, I can't think of who off the top of my head, but I bet there's someone I haven't seen lately. That woman was suspicious, Will! Wait till the editor-in-chief hears about this!'

‘Stop it, Pollo!' said Will. ‘You're doing it again!'

‘Doing what?'

‘Seeing what you want to see. Jumping to conclusions.'

‘Drawing
conclusions, Will,' said Pollo. ‘Entirely different from jumping to them. You could ask your stepdad if anyone's gone missing!'

Will was heading for the track behind the houses. He called over his shoulder, ‘Nuh-uh! No! I couldn't!'

‘Just one tiny favour?' shouted Pollo. ‘Why not?'

‘Because people find bullet casings all the time!' Will shouted back. ‘It doesn't mean someone's up to no good!' He was marching doggedly away from her.

‘But how do we know for sure?' Pollo yelled.

Will didn't hear. His sketchpad tucked under his arm, he was singing at the top of his voice—
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!
—index fingers jammed in both ears.

Pollo grunted in disgust. Some people had no nose for news. She put the casing in her pocket and marked the tombstone with a limestone rock. She pulled out her notepad and jotted down the time and location of her find.

Will's silhouette was diminishing across the field of graves. But even at that distance she could see a spring in his step. A smile snuck onto Pollo's face. She had to be honest—it was for the best. Will's heart really wasn't in this investigating business. He was an artist. And now that she was Youth Reporter for the region she couldn't have him holding her back.

Real supersleuths worked better alone...

Baa-aa-aah!

...or with only an utterly faithful assistant.

Many texts, websites and even real people were consulted in writing this book. Special thanks go to Van Ikin of the University of WA for his ongoing encouragement and advice; to Meredith Chesterton for her insightful critique; to Greg Keighery of WA's Department of Environment and Conservation for casting a knowledgeable eye over science-based elements; to Gail Spiers for devising vibrant, curriculum-linked teaching notes; and to the team at Fremantle Press for its support, in particular, Cate Sutherland, my astute, tactful publisher.

For successive reads, her love of language and her unabashed, biased enthusiasm, I am lucky to have my mother, Margaret Everingham. For day-to-day affinity, ‘robust exchange of opinion' and pure delight there are Dennis, Sally and Rebecca.

At the time of going to print, the Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act (1999) lists 444 species of threatened Australian fauna, of which 55 are extinct. For flora the figures are 1341 and 42. A wise man, Robert G. Ingersoll, once said, ‘In nature there are neither rewards nor punishments; there are consequences.' Something to ponder.

Jen Banyard grew up by (largely in) the Canning River in Perth, Western Australia, the youngest of four. These days, she lives near the Indian Ocean and Bold Park bushland, her two daughters and husband quietly anchoring her life.

Mystery at Riddle Gully
is Jen's second novel. Her first,
Spider Lies,
was published by Fremantle Press in 2009. Jen is currently pegging away at a PhD, tutoring and working on her next book.

She has never met a vampire ... as far as she knows.

Connor's little white lies have spawned a monster! It's hairy, it's scary and it's lurking outside his bedroom window. Connor is home alone, and now he's got nobody to turn to when his very existence is threatened.