Mystery At Riddle Gully (3 page)

It was late morning by the time Pollo could escape her father's veterinary clinic and get to Sherri's shop—the Riddle Gully Second-Hand Emporium, Specialising in Maps, Curios and Local History.

She leaned her bike on the wall and pushed through the door to the familiar
ding!
of the old brass ship's bell. Sherri was at the back of the shop, her feet on the desk, chuckling behind Pollo's latest edition of the
Riddle Gully Gazette,
only the top storey of her pile of crimson curls visible. As Pollo wove her way towards her, Sherri's budgie Bublé, behind bars on the desk, began dancing on his perch.

‘Why, Bublé!' said Sherri, lowering the paper. ‘It's the supersleuth herself. You've outdone yourself this week,
kiddo!
Mayor Bullock Hides Secret Under Rug!
What a cracker! Listen to this, Bublé:

Sherri looked at Pollo and beamed. ‘It's wonderful, Pollo! How on earth did you do it?'

‘Dad and I went to Maloola for an early-morning swim,' said Pollo. ‘I spotted Mayor Bullock wearing that terrible disguise and so I just had to follow him. I was tucked in behind the sunglasses stand when he started talking to the chemist about his little problem. I nearly knocked over the whole display when I heard him!'

‘Lucky you had your camera with you,' laughed Sherri.

‘You bet! Anyway, Sherri, I need to ask you something. The man in the long black coat yesterday—'

‘And this piece on Principal Piggott and her dog! I know it's only a little fellow, but she still needs to pick up after it. She should go on litter duty for a week.'

‘Totally! She'll have it in for me now too, I suppose. Aah well, it's the price I pay for reporting the truth. Now then, you know that stranger—'

‘Speaking of dogs,' said Sherri, ‘how's Joe? He's a lovely man, your dad. A customer the other day was saying what a gem he was when her old mutt swallowed a chop bone. We both think you should do an article on him.'

Pollo smiled. ‘It's not exactly cutting-edge reporting though, is it? An article on how great my dad is?'

‘I don't know,' said Sherri with a shrug. ‘That kind of thing has its place. So anyway, which stranger were you talking about?'

‘That creepy guy who barged in after closing time yesterday,' said Pollo. ‘What did you find out about him?'

‘Creepy guy? Barged in? Find out?' Sherri flushed. ‘What on earth do you mean?'

‘Sorry,' said Pollo. ‘It came out wrong. I mean, what can you tell me about your customer last thing yesterday?'

‘That's more like it,' said Sherri, leaning back in her chair. ‘I admit I'm curious too. It's funny, but I feel I know him from somewhere. He had the same feeling. I
can
tell you that he has delightful old-fashioned manners and that his name is Viktor...' She riffled through some invoices on a metal spike, carefully tore off one and read it. ‘...Viktor-with-a-K von Albericht.'

‘Von what?' gasped Pollo.

‘Albericht,' repeated Sherri. ‘It's a doozy of a name, isn't it?'

Pollo grabbed the invoice from Sherri and stared. Albericht, with an ‘i'. Only one letter different from the Last Slayer's evil uncle.

‘He's staying out at the old ranger's hut,' said Sherri.

‘The old ranger's hut!' Pollo yelped. ‘On Diamond Jack's Trail? What's he up to out there in the middle of the forest?'

‘Settle down, Pollo! Don't let this scoop on the mayor go to your head. Viktor seems like a very nice person.' Sherri's eyes twinkled. ‘Very nice indeed. He had a perfectly good reason for being at the ranger's hut. What was it now?' She twirled an earring then chuckled. ‘I have to admit, I had trouble concentrating. He has the most
deliriously deep brown eyes!'

‘Urgh!' said Pollo, rolling her own.

‘I remember,' said Sherri. ‘He's with the environmental something-or-other. He's looking for bats.'

Pollo went cold all over. A shiver ran down the back of her neck and she sank onto Sherri's desk. Everything about this von Albericht pointed to it. But there weren't any in Australia, were there? In the twenty-first century? They were only in books, weren't they? Books like the one she was reading now...

Sherri was looking at her strangely. ‘You've gone all glassy, kiddo,' she said. ‘Is anything wrong?'

From a tiny kitchen tucked behind an oriental screen, the telephone rang and Sherri sprang to answer it. Pollo was straining to overhear when the ship's bell clanged wildly and the black shape of Mayor Bullock filled the doorway. He spotted Pollo. ‘There you are, you gutter rat!' he boomed, striding towards her.

As Pollo reeled, Sherri bustled back into the shop, pointing the receiver like a laser sword. ‘Sir, please watch your manners while you're in my shop or you'll be out on your ear!'

Mayor Bullock looked aghast. ‘You misunderstand, madam,' he said. ‘Butter fat! I was warning the young lady here not to eat too much butter fat!'

Sherri shook her head and steered the mayor by the
elbow to a hard narrow chair. She placed a hand on top of his now-famous head and sat him down. ‘I take it you'd like a word with my visitor.'

Mayor Bullock checked his hairline with manicured fingers. ‘If I may,' he said. With the starched yellow handkerchief from his breast pocket, he dabbed at the corners of his mouth. He straightened the sleeves of his jacket with two tugs, and allotted a smile to Sherri. ‘As you would both be aware, I regard the youth of Riddle Gully as its lifeblood. Not only do I embody youth and forward vision myself, but since taking office it has been my mission to support our youngsters in every wholesome endeavour.'

‘Huh! Like closing down the skate park because it woke you up on weekends?' said Pollo.

‘However,' Mayor Bullock pressed on, ‘in light of your abuse of the privilege granted you by my ... err ... the town council and your lack of integrity, Miss di Nozi, I have no option but to put a stop to this nonsense of yours, once and for all.'

‘Nonsense? Lack of integrity?' Pollo jumped off the desk. ‘It's all true and you know it!'

The mayor raised his finger. ‘Aah, but therein lies the lesson, young lady! Truth and the public interest—not always the best of friends.' He smiled sideways at Sherri. ‘It's something one learns with experience.' Fishing a black-and-white-striped humbug from his trouser pocket, he popped it triumphantly into his mouth.

‘But it
is
in the public interest if you're going around pretending to be a lot younger than you really are, and telling everyone that you'll steer Riddle Gully into the future!'

Mayor Bullock levered himself from his chair and, his back to Sherri, leaned so close to Pollo that she could smell the peppermint humbug on his breath. ‘That's enough,' he snarled. ‘I'm allowing you one last issue, its purpose being a full apology for the scurrilous report on today's front page.'

Pollo gasped. Only one more issue? He couldn't do that to her! She had the backing of the town council. She opened her mouth to protest but Mayor Bullock, standing to his full height, got in first.

‘And don't think you can go running off to the council to object. I'm not a man to let a little red tape get in the way of what's good for Riddle Gully!' He started for the door, but paused. ‘I have friends in high places,' he added, ‘the editor-in-chief of the Coast news network among them. I hear you're thinking about that Youth Reporter cadetship. I want a full apology, Miss di Nozi, or I'll see to it that the editor-in-chief runs a mile at the mention of your name.'

Pollo's throat was clamped like a clam.

Mayor Bullock wrapped a hand around the doorknob. ‘While you're at it, you can do something useful and discover who is responsible for the graffiti at the school this morning. The Graffiti Kid, they're calling the
perpetrator, as though the scoundrel is some kind of hero. The youth of this town! Humph! Ungrateful layabouts the lot of you. I've half a mind to have a word with the editor-in-chief whether you print that apology or not.'

He pasted on a smile and turned to Sherri. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, madam. I'm sure you appreciate, it sometimes takes a strong hand to rein in a wild horse. Good day to you. It's always a pleasure catching up with my townsfolk.'

Mayor Bullock clanged through the door and out onto the footpath, bumping into old Mr McNutty, who was shuffling home with his shopping. As the elderly gentleman's fruit and vegetables rolled towards the gutter, the mayor dug a humbug from his pocket. Lifting his polished shoe to let an onion pass, he pressed the lolly into Mr McNutty's hand, patted him on the back and strode towards his glossy black car.

Sherri dashed out to help Mr McNutty. When she returned Pollo was hunched on the desk, staring at the floor, Bublé, on his perch, doing the same. ‘Come on you two,' said Sherri. ‘It's not the end of the world.' She sat down next to Pollo.

Pollo looked up. ‘I'm onto a really good story, Sherri. If I get to the bottom of it and put out a brilliant early edition it might be enough to win me that cadetship he was talking about. But now I have to waste my last ever
Riddle Gully Gazette
on a stupid apology he doesn't deserve and that'll make me look like I've done something wrong.'

Sherri put her arm around Pollo's shoulders. ‘Do your big story anyway,' she said. ‘People won't notice a boring old apology if the rest of the edition is a ripper. And, on the bright side, you've got another couple of leads to follow up now.'

‘There's that graffiti,' said Pollo. ‘What's the other one? You're not thinking of Sergeant Butt's stepson, I hope. I know I mentioned him the other day, but—'

Sherri laughed. ‘No! Not him! Though it must be hard for the kid starting a new school halfway through term. No, I was thinking of what Mayor Bullock said.' She took Bublé from his cage and raised him to eye-level. ‘How did that nasty old mayor put it, boy? “I'm not a man to let a little red tape get in the way.” Something like that, wasn't it?'

‘Red tape,' said Pollo. ‘That's all the boring stuff the authorities make people do, right?'

‘All the checks and regulations, yes,' said Sherri. ‘But it's easy to forget that they're mostly there for a good reason.'

‘And Mayor Bullock thinks he's above it all?'

‘Said so himself.'

Pollo pulled out her notepad and made a few halfhearted notes. ‘But even if I did manage to bring out a good edition,' she sighed, ‘he's just as likely to rubbish me to the editor-in-chief anyway. I'm never going to get that cadetship. There's no point in even trying.'

Sherri smoothed the feathers on Bublé's back. ‘What
would your mum have said to that?'

Pollo nibbled her thumbnail. It wasn't just any old story that she was onto with this Viktor von Albericht. It could not only get her the job with a real newspaper—but it could make her famous! She looked up at Sherri and grinned. ‘I guess I'll let the editor-in-chief make up his own mind about me.'

‘That's the spirit, kiddo,' said Sherri, giving Pollo a squeeze. She returned Bublé to his cage. ‘I don't know about you, but I'd kill for a cup of tea. Shall I make one for both of us and we can talk about something nice?' She went to put the kettle on.

Pollo sat thinking. Maybe she should ask Sherri over for dinner tonight? No, better to wait for a day when her dad had done something heroic with a sick animal. Besides, she had a certain stranger to tail.

From the kitchen, Pollo heard Sherri humming a slow, smoochy song—something from her cruise-ship repertoire, she guessed. Sherri suddenly popped her head around the screen. ‘I know what we can talk about!' she said with a giggle. ‘Viktor von Albericht! That was him on the telephone earlier. You can tell me why you're so interested in him. I know he's way too old for you, but he's a bit of a dish, don't you think?'