Kisses for Lula (16 page)

Arns said afterwards that Ben took a step back then, but that’s just mean. I maintain he took a step back at the
next
second when Arnold said, ‘Hi, Ben!’ really loudly as he walked on by.

‘Sooo,’ said Ben as Arns disappeared round the book stacks.

I drank him in. Sun streaming through the high arched
windows turned his hair ski-slope white. He was in his school uniform, immaculate navy blazer, tie perfectly knotted, crisp shirt collar. And, again, very good shoes. Extremely shiny. He shifted, coughed and smiled again. I dragged my eyes from his mouth to meet his gaze, and only just stopped myself from giving a lustful sigh. Gulp.

He looked away. ‘I forgot you said you worked here.’

Then I noticed he had an armload of books –
Addicts Unravelled
and
Families Anonymous
blah blah. I blushed. I mean, I hadn’t said anything, but I’d just assumed he’d come here to say hi to me and how presumptuous was that? The call of the library was stronger than last night’s date. I hated myself ten thousand times more. Was that possible? Yes, infinitely so.

‘I had a nice time last night,’ said Ben, flipping back his blond fringe.

I looked him in the eye and tried to smile.

‘It’s great seeing you here, saves me a phone call.’ He laughed.

I still had my fake smile stuck on.

‘Would you be keen for supper tomorrow night?’ he continued. ‘Just us . . .’

‘Uh,’ I blurted. ‘Th-that w-would be great. Sure. Fine.’

‘Great.’ He laughed again. ‘I’ll see you at the steakhouse again. The Booth. Seven thirty?’

I nodded and he ducked his head to kiss me on the cheek
before hurrying away to the front desk.

I was still standing there, wearing a psycho smile, when my mother came to find me five minutes later.

‘Fancy a sandwich?’

We trundled into the staffroom and found Arns at the tea urn.

‘Dr Bird! A cup of Earl Grey?’

‘You are so lovely,’ she said to him sweetly, and he blushed.

‘Mum,’ I said fiercely. ‘Sandwich.’

She rolled her eyes and handed me a fiver. ‘Shall we all sit over there?’ she asked mildly, pointing to the only free table.

Arns flung himself into a purple chair, Mum found comfort in an orange, so I’d have the remaining poo green. No biggie, I know, but that shade is so –
infectious
. My head cold would be rampant after half an hour. I could still have a blocked nose come tomorrow night. Frik! How does a girl kiss without a secondary air supply?

‘Egg mayo?’ asked the lady at the bar and I nodded yes.

‘And an Earl Grey, and freshly squeezed orange juice, please,’ I asked.

She smiled. ‘You’ll be wanting to kick that cold before the weekend.’

I looked at her blankly.
How could she know about my hot date?

‘Yes, dear. All the schools coming back, the rest of the
students. Frey’s Dam party. New term, Monday.’

‘Oh!’ I nodded vigorously. I had to get a grip. Not everything was about me.

I managed to carry everything back to our seats, and carefully handed Mum her tea. She sighed her thanks, looking worn out. ‘You okay, Mum?’ I asked.

Mum nodded. ‘Just stressed, Lula. Two meetings this afternoon, thanks to that newspaper article. Esme Trooter and her lot are coming in at two. Then Vice Chancellor Gordon. I don’t have any answers for them.’

Arns’s eyebrows went up. ‘Esme Trooter?’

‘She is the town campaigner,’ I explained, rubbing a little VapoRub under my scarf. ‘You haven’t heard of her?’

‘I don’t do much campaigning,’ replied Arns.

‘Neither does she,’ I said darkly, taking a big bite of my sandwich and chewing furiously.

‘Lu . . .’ said Mum in a warning tone.

‘She makes a lot of noise,’ I clarified. ‘About everything from Mr Ranfulshuffer’s new conservatory to what they’re feeding the cats up at the RSPCA.’

Arns looked appalled. ‘What are they feeding the cats at the RSPCA?’

‘The point is, dear,’ said Mum, ‘the pensionable population of this town are going to have my guts for garters. They’re the only ones putting up a decent argument against Harry Harrow’s development, but they’ll get nowhere
without the historical documents. They need them to prove their case.’ She hefted herself out of the chair and collected her bags together. ‘I need to talk to Mike,’ she muttered, and left without saying goodbye.

‘What does your mother have in the bags?’ asked Arns. ‘Is she one of those ladies who just, you know, has
bags
?’

Nodding my head, I rolled my eyes, my mouth too full to speak.

Mum’s office is not altogether private. It’s in the middle of the historical library section, and while it’s got lots of lovely dark wood panelling, complemented by an enormous antique desk, the rest of it is miles of clear glass, barely single glazed. There are about eight permanent librarians, and often part-timers like me too. We could all hear Mum perfectly as her voice rose ever so slightly.

‘Detective Sergeant Trenchard has confirmed that your fingerprints numbered among those on Sophie Wenger’s access card. And you were here Saturday morning. Do you have any idea how that looks, Mike?’

I tried to look busy with some filing near Tweedy Mabel’s desk. She was as mesmerised as I was, and the twitches had escalated. Her arms creaked up and down restlessly, fingers tapping against the spectacles, adjusting the gold chain behind them, fluffing her minimal hair. The rest of the staff had the decency to move to a ten-metre perimeter.

Stinky Mike laughed. ‘God, Anne! I just came to get my jacket! You saw me leave – I didn’t take anything else with me!’

Mum stared at him, her expression inscrutable. ‘Mike, Security find it suspicious that Sophie’s card was swiped in, not yours, and that yours was swiped out, not hers.’

Sweat was glistening on Mike’s sloping forehead. He wiped the back of his hand against it and trailed it dry on his trousers, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while he shook his head vehemently.

‘I came in with that gaggle of guests through the front door. This is outrageous. Anne, I –’

Mum held up a hand. ‘I know, I know. I hadn’t realised you came in with the historians. I thought you were already here.’

‘You’re mistaken!’ Mike’s face was getting flushed.

I glanced at Mabel to find her looking at me. She glanced away quickly.

‘Would you tell Security to cross me off their list of suspects?’ Mike continued. ‘We’ve all picked up that girl’s card at some stage. She’s always leaving it lying around.’

Mum sagged into her chair. ‘You were never really a suspect, Mike. I told them it was ridiculous.’

They spoke more quietly, then Mum got up and saw Mike to the door.

‘We’re still at square one,’ she said clearly, her voice
carrying right across the office. ‘I’m going to call Security and CCTV footage will need to be checked to see if we can find out who took Sophie’s card,’ she added.

Arns came to stand nearby. ‘Wow. Didn’t know there were cameras in here, Dr Bird.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Mum, pointing to a small lens mounted in the far corner of her office.

Mabel and I gaped openly at the office now.

‘Good idea,’ said Mike. ‘We need to get to the bottom of this.’

‘I’ll call you back in when I’ve had some answers from Security,’ said Mum.

Mike turned to go, his mouth set in a narrow line.

Then Mum’s phone bleeped and she picked it up. ‘Hello? Yes, I’m expecting her.
Ten
colleagues? No, there’s simply not enough’ – she held the receiver away from her ear then listened again – ‘Oh, all right. Bring them up to my office, please.’

Five minutes later Security trooped our town campaigner extraordinaire into Mum’s office. Esme Trooter had brought along ten OAPs, our over-the-road neighbour Mr Kadinski, predictably, being one of them. He gave me a small finger wave, and I gave him one back. It looked like the pensioners at the Setting Sun had one last mission left in them. If Mum weren’t so stressed about it all, and if I weren’t so worried
about what was going to happen to my favourite place in all of Hambledon, I would have found it quite funny.

But, even without Esme Trooter shrieking at Mum in front of everyone, it was very, very unfunny indeed.

And that was
before
Vice Chancellor Gordon arrived.

Chapter Fourteen

Vice Chancellor Gordon is a huge and hairy man. Very dark, brooding eyebrows, upright posture, sharp eyes – all befitting of The Boss Of All Hambledon University. He is frightening, unapproachable, unforgiving, but highly regarded by everyone. Whatever he does, he does well. And what he did this Thursday afternoon, once he’d got rid of the pensioners from Mum’s office, was Tell Her Off. From what I could see, she didn’t say much. Just nodded a lot. But then, at one point, Mum shrugged her shoulders and he went slightly mad at that. He started pointing and wagging his finger and I didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

Before I could think about what I was doing I was marching over, thudding on the glass of the office door and barging in.

‘Excuse me, Dr Bird,’ I said with dignity as Dr Gordon stopped in mid roar, ‘I’ve got the Prince of Wales on the phone and he can’t hold on much longer.’

Mum nodded calmly at me, her hand going to the phone on her desk. ‘Is it about the Highgrove papers? Or Camilla’s family tree?’

‘The press is pressuring the palace for feedback on
the Highgrove issue,’ I said importantly.

The multiple-coronary purple was receding from Dr Gordon’s face. I could see him collect himself:
I’m yelling at a valued member of staff in front of everyone
, was the thought I saw flit through his mind.

I shut the office door behind me and went to the nearest desk to ring Mum’s extension. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dr Gordon put a hand to his forehead and mumble something.

Mum nodded and then I saw her gesture at the camera mounted high on the office wall. Dr Gordon looked relieved. He said some more stuff, shook her hand and left, giving me a nod on the way out.

I reached for my pot of VapoRub and took a hit. This much stress required clear sinuses.

Mum picked up the phone. ‘Thanks, Lula. I couldn’t have lasted another second.’

‘Are you okay?’ I said into my receiver.

‘No,’ she replied. She sat down and stared blankly at her in trays.

‘What’s with the camera?’ I asked.

‘Dad’s old Polaroid,’ she said quietly. ‘I put it up this morning, hoping it would scare someone in this office. The Security guys are convinced the theft is an inside job.’ Our eyes met across the office.

‘Cunning,’ I said.

‘Desperate,’ she countered. ‘Mike is my friend. There’s no chance he’s got any connection with the developers. And he didn’t turn a hair at my camera ruse. Dr Gordon’s right. I’m clutching at straws. There’s no way Mike took those papers. Maybe I should rethink Sophie Wenger. Maybe her dentist-appointment alibi is a sham.’

‘What’s the deadline for supplying the council with the documents? When will it be too late?’

‘Monday morning, ten a.m.’

I kept quiet, then, ‘Check Sophie’s personnel records,’ I whispered. ‘And cross-reference them with the planning application. Maybe . . . maybe there’ll be some connection to Harrow Construction? Maybe her dad is Harrow’s plumber or accountant . . . or . . . I don’t know . . .’

Mum blew out a frustrated sigh. ‘Hardly, Lu, but I suppose we’ve nothing to lose. Actually, I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve. Are you ready to see me in action?’

I raised my eyebrows as Mum hung up with a quiet click and got her bags together. She locked her office door behind her, and cleared her throat loudly.

Everyone in the office stopped what they were doing and looked up.

She bent her head to acknowledge their attention. ‘Thank you, everyone, for your help in trying to find the Coven’s Quarter documents. I’d like you all to continue with your usual projects from this point because Security
has confirmed that the surveillance disks I have locked in my desk drawers are sure to have information with regard to the missing papers.’

A small cheer went up.

Mum smiled, and before anyone could ask further questions, she said, ‘I’ll be examining the disks with the vice chancellor and the head of Security tomorrow. Could I ask you all to ensure my office door stays locked as an extra measure?’

‘All our access cards open your door, Mum,’ I said, not following her logic.

‘Yes, but only ours. And the perpetrator is hardly one of us! The locked door is a good extra measure,’ she concluded blithely.

‘And no better safeguard than that camera you’ve got there, Anne.’ Mabel’s high-pitched voice was as clear as a bell.

Mum grimaced. ‘I’m afraid it’s not working right now, Mabel,’ she answered. ‘But it’s a good thing it was recording when we really needed it. I’ll see you all tomorrow.’ And she was off.

I heaved a sigh, staring into Mum’s office. This was not a very sophisticated trap. And, without any method of surveillance, all totally pointless. I looked around. Everyone knew Mum kept her drawer keys in her pen pot, but nobody seemed interested in the security of the disks.
They were already focused on catching up with their usual projects.