Boy Trouble (20 page)

It’s
late, and Mum and Dave are hardly going to let me out, so I don’t even bother asking. I creep down the stairs and past the living room door, which is slightly ajar. Mum’s asleep on the sofa, snoring gently, her feet resting on Dave’s lap; Dave’s watching a James Bond film with the sound right down, cradling Evie in the crook of his left arm and feeding her a bottle, his eyes glued to the screen.

I sneak into the kitchen and open the back door into the garden. The way I see it, I’m in so much trouble already it doesn’t really matter if I do get caught.

Mills is sitting on the garden bench, waiting. She smiles at me a little shyly. “Hi,” she says, standing up but not moving towards me, her hands hanging limply at her sides. She’s wearing black jeans, a black cardigan and cute blue polka-dot flip-flops which rather ruin the CIA special agent look.

“Hi,” I say back. For a moment we both stare at each other awkwardly.

Then she says, “It was Sophie.”

“
What
was Sophie?”

“Sophie took Piggy’s pearls.” I’d forgotten she’d nicknamed Mrs Piggott, Piggy.

“Sophie? Are you sure?”

She nods. “She has her own, but she wanted to wear a double string like some celeb or other. So she borrowed her mum’s. I don’t know why she bothered – you couldn’t even see them under her hoody. I’m the only person who knows she was wearing them. But she lost them in the garden.”

For a second I don’t know what to say. Then I let rip. “That cow let me take the blame for it! Her mum’s threatening to get me arrested. I hate her!”

“I know,” Mills says quietly. “And I’m so sorry, about everything. She’s not who I thought she was. The only person Sophie Piggott cares about is herself. I should have seen that a long time ago. Can we be friends again, Amy? Please?”

My heart jumps a little, like a stone skimming on the sea. “Yes!” I want to say. “I’ve missed you so much.”

But I don’t. I’m still full of wounded pride. “We’ll see,” I mumble instead.

“Oh.” Mills seems deflated.

“What’s your plan then?” I ask.

“We need to get to Foxrock, and fast. We need evidence. Otherwise it’s her word against mine.”

“Clover!” we both say simultaneously.

*   *   *

“So explain this to me again,” Clover says as we zip towards Foxrock in her Mini. “The pearls are in Sophie’s garden somewhere. How big is this garden exactly?”

“Pretty big,” Mills admits. “The size of a couple of hockey pitches.”

“I hope you’ve brought a sniffer dog,” Clover says. “I’m not scrabbling around in stinky cat pee flower beds.”

“I think I know where to start looking,” Mills says. “Sophie was snogging Mark Delaney in her garden shed.”

“No!” I say. “Really?” I give a snort of laughter. “Clover, remember Annabelle, that girl in the shoe shop?”

“The one who barked for me?”

“Yes.”

Mills squeals. “I heard that story. Nina told everyone at the party after she’d drunk Piggy’s wine. Annabelle nearly had a seizure. They had a huge cat fight. Was that really you pretending to be a casting agent, Clover?” She gazes at Clover in awe.

“Sure was, honey bun,” Clover drawls in her best American accent.

“Mark is only Annabelle’s boyfriend,” I say, getting back to the point.

“The whole gang’s falling apart,” Mills says. “Nina and Annabelle are at each other’s throats. And Annabelle has cut Sophie off completely. Mark told her Sophie hopped on him.”

I laugh again and then something occurs to me. “Is that why you want to be friends now?” I ask her. “Because your gang is imploding?”

“No!” Mills says. “It’s because I miss you, stupid. You’re my best friend, and I trust you. You always tell me the truth, even if it hurts sometimes. That’s why.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

A little later we’re sneaking round the back of Sophie’s house. We’ve come up with a plan. I hope to goodness it works.

First, Clover makes us all pull black tights over our heads. She says bare skin shines in the dark and we don’t want to get caught. But she doesn’t want to wreck good tights, so we leave the legs on and wrap them round our necks like scarves.

“I hope these tights are clean.” Mills giggles as she adjusts the gusset over her ponytail.

Clover also has a torch, borrowed from Gramps’s toolbox under the stairs. She’s like Nancy Drew, only way cooler. She’s taking this very seriously, right down to Gramps’s baggy fishing jacket with huge flappy pockets which are lumpy with spy gear. She’s even borrowed his binoculars, although she left them in the car after Mills pointed out she’d need night goggles, not binoculars.

“Keep to the edges, girls,” she whispers. “Walk slowly and stay in the shadows. If you hear me whistle like this” – she gives two short blasts – “then back to the car pronto.”

“Yes, sir,” Mills says, saluting like she’s in the army.

I giggle.

“Stop messing you two,” Clover says. “This is serious. We want to get Amy out of the
merde
, don’t we?”

“Absolument,”
Mills says firmly.

We creep down the garden towards the shed. Clover glances around furtively and then looks down at the padlock on the door. “I expected as much.” She takes a pair of pliers with a long end, like a bird’s beak, out of her pocket and starts to poke around in the lock.

Click.
It opens.

“Bingo!” she says, sliding the bolt across and pulling open the door. “Follow me, troops.” She flicks on her torch and shines it around the shed. There are cobwebs in all the corners and ivy is growing through the roof. I spot an old pink and white plastic house and a Barbie bike, still with its training wheels on. They must be Sophie’s. Clover shines the torch on the floor, its creamy light making sweeping patterns on the rough wood.

“What’s that?” Mills asks, pointing at something. There’s what looks like a white bead lodged under one of the bike’s wheels.

Clover picks it up and rolls it between her finger and thumb. Then she puts it in her mouth and bites down.
Crunch
.

“Bingo!” She grins. “This, my friends, is a pearl. Amy, this is looking good. On your knees, girls. And gloves on. We’re going pearl fishing.”

We all pull on our thin surgical gloves. Clover uses them to keep fake tan off her hands. She’s thought of everything.

Clover’s right, the floor is littered with pearls and we harvest them, slipping each one into Clover’s generous pockets.

Suddenly lights click on outside the house, beaming through the shed’s small window. We hear footsteps scrunching down the gravel path.

“Hide!” Clover hisses. She doubles over and dives through the door of the plastic Wendy house. Mills follows her.

I crawl behind a rusty green wheelbarrow, my breath ragged and puffy with fright. Seconds later there’s a bang on the door and it swings open.

“I know you’re in there,” Mrs Piggott says, her voice quivering but strong. “I’ve called the guards, they’re on their way.”

“I have my hockey stick,” Sophie shrieks. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Pity you’re so rubbish at hockey then,” Mills says. She pops her head out of the plastic house and then climbs out. She whips the tights off her head, making her hair go all static. “Hello, Sophie, Mrs Piggott.” She lingers on the “Pig” of Piggott. “I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing in your shed. Clover will explain. Won’t you, Clover?”

Clover climbs out of the Wendy house and looks at Mrs Piggott. “My clients have hired me to investigate a wrongful accusation of theft.” She straightens her back, making herself taller. “Sorry, I should explain. I’m Clover Hitchcock. Private investigator. I’m actually a lot older than I look.”

“No, you’re not!” Sophie exclaims. “You’re Amy’s friend from the Sinister Frite Night.”

Clover says smoothly, “I was undercover, working on another case at the time. A very sensitive case to bring down a certain teenage boy who wasn’t behaving himself.”

Sophie stares at Clover with her mouth hanging open in shock.

Mills adds, “And Clover was the American casting agent in the shoe shop in Dundrum. The one who made Annabelle bark. She’s an amazing actress.”

Sophie’s face is getting whiter and whiter by the second. She looks at her mum. “Don’t believe a word they’re saying. I have no idea what they’re doing in here.” She points at me. “But Amy’s the thief.”

“I am not,” I say, glaring at her. “And soon we’ll have proof. Show them, Clover.”

Clover reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handful of pearls. She shines her torch over them and they gleam in the light, like tiny birds’ eggs. “We found these in this shed,” she says.

Mrs Piggott looks at the pearls. “Are they my pearls? Did you break the cord, you stupid girl?” She glares at me, her eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to plant them here to get out of this?”

How dare she! “No!” I say sharply. “Clover, I’ll let you take over.”

Clover whips a small plastic bag filled with talcum powder and a paintbrush out of a pocket. She dips a pearl in the powder and then brushes the excess off with the brush. “Just dusting for fingerprints, Mrs Piggott. We were going to leave this bit to the guards, but seeing as you’re both here… ” She hands the bag with talcum powder in it to Mills and puts the pearl in a clear plastic sandwich bag.

Then she takes an inkpad out of another pocket and opens it. “I’ll need to take some fingerprint samples. You first, Mrs Piggott, to rule yours out. Then Sophie.”

“Why me?” Sophie asks quickly.

“Because you’re a suspect,” Clover says calmly. “You were spotted in this shed with a certain Mark Del—”

“Stop!” Sophie says.

But it’s too late. Mrs Piggott is staring at her. “You were in here with a
boy
, Sophie?”

Sophie stares down at the floor. “No! She’s lying.”

“Look at me, young lady. Is that why your neck was all red after the party? Answer me!”

Sophie gives a dramatic sigh. “OK, so I was kissing a boy. Big deal! But it doesn’t mean anything, Mum. Amy still took your pearls.”

“Sophie,” Mills says, shaking her head. “Just tell the truth. Amy doesn’t deserve this. It’s not fair.”

“Oh, you just keep out of it,
Amelia
!” Sophie snaps. “What would you know?”

Mills looks at Sophie in disgust. She hates her real name. Then she says, “Mrs Piggott, Sophie took your pearls and then tried to frame Amy. I’m so sorry I didn’t say something earlier. But Sophie threatened me and—”

“Sophie Piggott,” Mrs Piggott cuts in, her voice icy. “Is this true? Did you take my pearls?”

Sophie’s face goes chalk white and then flushes bright red. “No!”

But Mrs Piggott clearly doesn’t believe her. “You did, didn’t you? You’ve always been a terrible liar. I’ll kill you! I’ve warned you before about taking my things and not putting them back. To your room now, before I smack your spoilt little bottom.”

Sophie scuttles away and runs towards the house.

Mrs Piggott says, “I guess I owe you an apology, Amy.”

“I guess you do. But you’d better talk to the guards first.” Police sirens are blaring down the road and two squad cars with flashing lights pull up outside the house, sending the gravel flying.

Mrs Piggott tut-tuts. “Oh dear, I’m in my dressing gown.” She tightens the belt round her waist and touches her hair.

“I’d say that’s the least of her worries,” Clover whispers to me. “They hate false alarms. Let’s split.”

Mum must have heard Clover’s car because when I try to slip in the back door she’s standing there waiting for me, her arms crossed. She looks furious.

“Amy Green! It’s nearly eleven. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been so worried. I went up to check on you earlier but you weren’t in your room. I thought you’d run away. You’d better have a darned good explanation.”

Oops. I should have done the old pillows under the duvet trick. “Sorry, Mum. I was with Clover and Mills. We were at the Piggotts’ house. Proving my innocence.”

Mum shakes her head. “Oh, Amy, you weren’t.”

“It’s OK; it worked. Clover pretended to be a private investigator and caught Sophie out. It was her all along.”

Mum clutches at the back of a chair. “I think I’d better sit down.”

When she’s sitting at the kitchen table I tell her the whole story.

Afterwards, Mum says, “Poor Antonia. She must have felt a right fool.”

“Poor Antonia, my bum. She wanted to ship me off to prison.”

Mum smiles. “Anyway, I’m glad it’s all ended happily. And you and Mills are obviously friends again?”

I nod. “Speaking of Mills, can she stay the night?” Mills told her mum she was staying the night in Sophie’s house. Otherwise she would never have been let out so late. Her overnight bag has been sitting under the garden seat all this time.

“Now?”

I nod again. “She’s in the back garden waiting for the all clear.”

“What are you like, Amy? Oh, go on, bring her in. But don’t stay up all night gossiping.”

“I have something to tell you,” Mills says at twenty past twelve. “And you might not like it.”

We’re both lying in my bed. We can’t stop talking. We have a lot of catching up to do.

“Look,” she says, “I’m just going to say this: I fancy Seth. At least I did.”

“What?” I say, genuinely shocked. I stare at her to see if she’s joking. But she’s not smiling.

She bites her lower lip and I can see her teeth glowing in the dark. “That’s why I was so annoyed with you. I want to tell you everything, be totally honest, so we can start again.”

“Seriously?” I ask. “But you said he was a weirdo.”

She shrugs and then nods. “I was jealous. Sophie likes him too. She thinks he looks like Johnny Depp.”

“No!” I give a laugh. “Ha! This is unbelievable. Wait till I tell him.”

“You can’t. I’d die.”

“Can I at least tell him about Sophie? Please? Seeing as you’re not friends with her any more?”

She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Does that mean we’re friends again?”

“I guess so.”

“Thanks, Amy.”

“For what? Without you and Clover I’d be banged up in the slammer by now. Because of you I’m a free woman.”