The Case of the Missing Dinosaur Egg (10 page)

“We’ll only stay for five minutes. Come on Tayla. It’s important. I really need to check on little Pedro.”

Tayla backed away as though I’d suddenly come down with rabies. “Watch my lips, Cha. N. O. You’d have to tie me up and drag me all the way to get me to come with you.”

She must have sensed I was considering her suggestion because she dropped onto the bed as though her legs wouldn’t hold her up any more.

“Come on, Tayla,” I persisted before deciding to change tactics. After all, I
was
desperate. “You owe me one.”

“Owe you? What for?”

“If my mum and Ken hadn’t gone on their honeymoon, where would you be right now?’

“Huh?” Tayla’s eyes seemed to glaze over in confusion.

“You’d be at home. Bored out of your brain. That’s where you’d be. Probably listening to your latest CD for the seven hundredth time.”

Tayla twisted Angel’s straw hat until one of the daisies fell off onto the floor.

“Instead of that,’ I continued, giving her my best hurt-friend look. “You’ve spent these holidays riding the sweetest pony at
Treehaven
.”

Ahaa…hit a nerve there.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” I continued relentlessly. “Admit it. So the least you can do in return is come with me while I take some black jellybeans to poor little Pedro and make sure he’s okay. Five minutes of your time. That’s not too much to ask of a friend, is it?”

“But—”

“And as for being afraid of the professor—why, he’s just a sweet old man who’s setting up a sanctuary for orphaned animals.”

“Er…well…”

Mission accomplished
.

However, ten minutes later, when Tayla sighted the rolls of razor wire and realized I expected her to wriggle underneath, I had an even bigger battle on my hands.

“Me? Wriggle under there? You’ve got to be kidding,” she said eyeballing me in disbelief. “Isn’t there a bell or a buzzer or something we can ring?”

“Look, it’s easy,” I said throwing myself flat on the ground. “Just pretend you’re a snake.”

“I’m scared of snakes!”

“Okay, a river flowing under a bridge.”

Honestly, Tayla could be
such
hard work.

By the time we’d ‘flowed’ under the fence Barnaby had wandered over to nose in my pocket for carrots.

“Meet my new friend, Barnaby,” I said, introducing the bull to a bug-eyed Tayla. “And Barnaby, this is my best friend in the whole world, Tayla.”

Barnaby smiled and drooled and munched his way through the carrot he’d found in my pocket. That is, after spitting out my mobile which he’d grabbed by mistake.

Tayla choked. “Holy catfish! Who sharpened the points on that bull’s horns?”

“Barnaby’s okay,” I said. “As long as you feed him carrots and never
ever
run.”

As we came closer, I could see the Professor’s sprawling old house with the veranda running along the front. Scarred wooden posts, overflowing with dark green ferns, stood each side of the veranda steps.

“Is that the professor?” whispered Tayla grabbing my arm. “That old man with the gross beard arguing with a young guy near the shed?”

“Yes, that’s him,” I whispered back. Don’t know why we bothered whispering because both men were arguing so loudly they wouldn’t have heard us if we’d driven up in a tractor.

“We have to get that egg. Today. Before it is too late,” the professor shouted.

“That’s impossible. It’s too dangerous, Gramps.”

Gramps?

I tugged Tayla behind some bushes for cover. There was something familiar about the man in faded jeans and leather jacket. I’d seen him somewhere before. But where?

“Tayla,” I said. “Does that young guy look familiar to you?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at me, eyes dark and fearful, breath coming in short quick gulps. And then she nodded.

“Well…who is it?”

When she spoke, her voice sounded croaky, hard to get out. “I-It’s the greasy-haired guy who bumped into you at the museum—just before the dinosaur egg disappeared.”

This time it was my turn to stare and gulp.

Oh…My…God! Of course!

And the greasy-haired guy had just called the professor Gramps!

FOURTEEN

Professor Goodenough had lied to us.

Not only had he stolen the native eggs in the shed but he must have master-minded the theft of the fossilized baby
Therizinosaur
as well. I’d been taken in by his gooey, smiley, honey-sweet face when he’d watched the baby platypus hatching. Huh! And all the time he’d been silently counting the dollars the new baby would add to his bank account after he’d smuggled it out of the country.

I crept closer so I could hear the professor and Greasy-Hair’s plans. By the look on Tayla’s face, she’d rather be taking off in the other direction. I guess the only thing that stopped her was the thought of Barnaby and no carrots.

She grabbed my jacket and pulled. “Cha, we’ve got to go tell Kate. Get her to ring the police.”

“And what will we tell them? That we saw Greasy-Hair at the museum the day the egg disappeared? Hey, we saw hundreds of people at the museum that day. We have to get more evidence. More proof. We have to find out where they’ve hidden the dinosaur egg.”

“I knew it!” Tayla hid her face in her hands. I watched her rock herself back and forward then sit on the ground and curl her arms around her chest. “I knew this would happen if I came with you. I just knew it!”

The professor locked the shed door and turned to his grandson.

“We’ll bring the egg back here and hide it in amongst the other eggs. It will be safe with me.”

“But will
you
be safe, Gramps?”

Professor Goodenough put his hand in his pocket and, like a magician producing a white rabbit, pulled out Pedro.

“Barnaby and Pedro will look after me. No-one sets foot on this property without them letting me know. And by that time I will have my trusty shotgun loaded and ready to fire.”

Pedro, his back leg still bandaged, blinked his eyes sleepily, yawned and looked around. Suddenly his little black eyes lit up and his tail went into spasms of joy. Oh no!
Please, Pedro, don’t come over here and give us away
.

“Pedro!” barked the professor. “Sit! Guard the shed. Stay!”

The little dog’s ears and tail drooped and he gave me one last mournful glance before slinking back and sitting down in front of the shed door.

“Whether you help me or not, I’m getting the
Therizinosaur
egg.” The professor opened the car door and eased himself onto the seat. “Well—are you coming with me—or am I going on my own?”

“Man, if you weren’t so old and skinny, I’d string you up and use you for target practice, you cantankerous old buzzard.” Greasy-Hair, fists clenched, his face red, stormed over to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and slammed it so hard behind him the hinges jiggled up and down. “If you go putting your nose where it’s not wanted—I’m warning you—you’ll be a dead man.”

“He’s talking bodies. I’m going to be sick.” Tayla buried herself further into the middle of the bush as the ute rumbled and farted into life.

“Here’s my last carrot,” I whispered, eyes on the crooks’ vehicle. “Use it to get past Barnaby then go back and tell the others. Tell Jack to have his mobile switched on. If I get into trouble I’ll ring.”

“What? Cha! No!”

I waited until the ute chugged past then ducked out from behind the bush and swung up onto the back, praying neither Greasy-Hair nor the Professor could see me in the rear-view mirror. I was in luck—they were too busy quarrelling.

Two bales of straw lay in the back of the ute so I curled up between them and pulled a scratchy hessian bag over my body. The last I saw of Tayla was her chalky face and her wide open mouth.

Hey! If the professor and his grumpy grandson were off to pick up the stolen dinosaur egg, so was I. If I could catch them ‘at it’—that’s all the proof I’d need.

FIFTEEN

About ten minutes later, I felt the ute come to a clanking halt. I had truck size bruises on one arm—an egg-shaped lump on my head from a loose hammer that crashed from one side to the other each time the car lumbered around a corner—and I smelt of old birds. No wonder. The sack I’d hidden under was covered in dried feathers and chicken poo.

Where were we?

Cautiously I poked my head out from under the smelly sack. The professor had parked over the road from a large galvanized iron warehouse with ‘Simpson’s Importers & Exporters’ printed in bold black lettering across the front of the building. Underneath was their slogan, printed in red: ‘At Simpson’s we export/import—anything—anywhere’.

Did that mean they were smugglers?

Before I could escape from the back of the ute, Greasy-Hair started yelling at his grandfather. “You stay here, Gramps, and don’t move. Got it? Otherwise,” he went on, climbing out of the car and slamming the door behind him, “you’ll end up as crocodile bait. Fingers and Meathead almost caught you last time you tried to get in.”

“But—” began the professor.

“You cantankerous old fool…” Greasy-Hair banged his fist down on the roof of the cabin and spat from the side of his mouth. “Didn’t you hear me? If you’re caught snooping around inside the warehouse you’ll get us
both
killed. I’ll nick the egg for you—but only if you do as I say. Wait for fifteen minutes and if I’m not back by then—get the hell outta here. Right?”

The stomp of his boots bit into the bitumen as he crossed the road toward the warehouse. Once again I lifted my head from under the sack and wriggled across the hard metal floor to the edge of the tray. The moment Greasy-Hair disappeared inside the building, I swung off the edge and hunched down behind the car.

A minute later I poked my head around the back tire and eyed the driver’s side door. What would the professor do? Would he ‘stay put’ or risk becoming ‘crocodile bait’?

And what about me?

Could I follow Greasy-Hair without the professor noticing me?

Music, slow and wailing, drifted from the window of the car. Good. The professor was staying put.

Now was a good time to let my assistants know my whereabouts. That’s more P.I. talk. While the professor’s slow, sad music covered any noise I might make, I pulled out my mobile and pressed Jack’s number. Immediately a voice answered—

“Noah?” I squeaked. “What are
you
doing with Jack’s mobile?”

“Mum’s got Jack helping her with the computer. He gave me his phone and told me to stand by for your call. What’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m at Simpson’s warehouse.”

“I know Simpson’s. It’s this side of Gawler,” said Noah. “Now, what’s happening? Are you in any trouble?”

“Only if I get caught. There’s a couple of mean-sounding guys called Fingers and Meathead inside the warehouse. I could be in trouble if
they
see me.”

“How will they see you if you’re outside Simpsons?” growled Noah.

“’Cos I’m going in.”

“No, Cha. Wait till
we
get there. The horses are saddled and waiting and as soon as we rescue Jack—we’re on our way.” Noah sounded as though he was enjoying this cloak and dagger stuff. Hey, he might make a good P.I. assistant after all. And then he spoiled the image by opening his mouth one more time. “So…don’t do anything stupid before we get there!”

The phone went dead. I couldn’t believe it.
Short Dark and Irritating
had hung up on me.

From behind the ute I peered across at Simpson’s warehouse. A truck and four powerful-looking motorbikes were parked on the road outside. I could see a delivery man loading boxes into the back of the truck. When he finished he waved to a guy dressed in khaki overalls who’d been helping him, then he drove off. Seemed like any other warehouse to look at, but what was happening inside? Was Simpson using his business as a smuggling cover-up? Or were Greasy-Hair and his mates using the export-import company as a cover, stealing native eggs and smuggling them overseas without the owner knowing?

Should I go in? Or should I wait for back-up? If I waited—it might be too late. Greasy-Hair said he’d be out in fifteen minutes.

I tugged at a loose piece of nail with my teeth. What would Rebecca Turnbull do if she were in my shoes?

Rebecca Turnbull came to a screeching halt outside the warehouse. She had two loaded guns in the pocket of her apricot trench coat and a knife tucked in the top of her brown suede boot. Putting on her tinted sunnies with diamonds set in each corner, she swung herself over the car door. With a mighty leap, her trained-to-kill Doberman, Fang, leaped to the footpath and stood beside her. Teeth set in a snarl, the dog led the way into the warehouse.

*

Fingers was the first to go down. Fang had him pinned to the ground within seconds; his jagged teeth playing a tune on the thug’s throat. When Meathead took a swing at Rebecca, she caught his fist like it was a soccer ball and bounced him against the wall. Greasy-Hair ran screaming back to his Grandpa…

*

Yep! That’s what Rebecca Turnbull would do.

I let out a sigh.

But not Chiana Ryan
…

Getting inside the warehouse was easy enough. No scary guy grabbed me. No-one said, ‘Get lost, kid, or I’ll use your head for a dart-board.’ In fact, everyone was too busy working to notice me. Men and women dressed in khaki overalls scurried around like ants at a picnic, packing shredded paper into boxes, banging nails into wooden boxes, pasting addresses on the side of boxes or lifting and carrying boxes on bright yellow fork-lifts.

I spotted Greasy-Hair turning into a passageway off the main warehouse and followed him, P.I. style. That is, I pulled the collar up on my jacket, tugged my imaginary hat down over my eyes and darted quick looks first over one shoulder then the other, before scurrying after him.