Mystery At Riddle Gully (9 page)

Pollo stood astride her bike on a gravel cut-away looking for Shorn Connery, hanging on to the sliver of hope she'd had since talking to Sherri. She was shadowed by a large signboard, erected on Mayor Bullock's insistence, that announced the patch as the Riddle Gully Scenic Lookout. The view consisted mostly of flat farmland reaching to the low, tree-covered hills behind the town and, just below and a little to the right, the sprawling council rubbish tip. Mayor Bullock might have thought twice about the sign if he'd ever got out of his car to look.

Next year, jammed onto the meadow between the cemetery and the forest, would be the mayor's flashy Diamond Jack Experience Tourist Centre with its
grotesque ten-metre statue of Diamond Jack for all the tourists to wonder at. Meanwhile, the rubbish tip would have to do.

That tourist centre was shaping up to be more like a bad theme park, thought Pollo, with its life-sized gallows and virtual executions and the shooting gallery with troopers for targets; not to mention the awful giant statue that, from the sketches, would bear a remarkable resemblance to Mayor Bullock himself. Next thing there'd be poker machines like the ones that had made him rich before he came to Riddle Gully!

Mayor Bullock was always harping on that Riddle Gully was behind the times and wasting its potential. Pollo was pretty sure that wasting potential, in Mayor Bullock's eyes, was worse than stealing from people and shooting troopers like Diamond Jack had done. If the Diamond Jack Experience Tourist Centre was his idea of progress, thought Pollo, he could keep it.

She put Mayor Bullock to the back of her mind and began looking for Shorn Connery, scanning the land all the way to the hills. Maybe there was a pocket of bush she'd overlooked when she was riding around earlier. Maybe she'd spot his lone round figure in a paddock somewhere, staring at a barbed-wire fence, pondering how to get through.

One sweep at a time, her hopes sank. Eventually she swung her bike around to leave. Just then, on the gravel track leading to the tip below, she spotted a familiar figure
approaching fast. He was head down, a blue backpack bobbing from side to side, pedalling a bike at breakneck pace.

The rubbish tip! Of course! It was a brilliant spot for Will to look! The place was chock-a-block with wild lupins. Shorn Connery could chomp away there, hidden by all the junk, and not care whether it was night or day.

Wheeling past Mayor Bullock's fancy sign, she pointed her bike towards a shortcut through the bush. She'd head Will off at the pass.

Will was in a world of his own—one in which police with Taser guns were after him—racing along the track. Even though it was wrapped in newspaper, he could hear the empty spray can inside his backpack clinking madly. It had been fine on the smooth bitumen roads, but out here on the gravel the steel ball-bearing inside the can had started to clang like a church bell. The sooner he got to the tip and ditched it, the better.

Out of the blue, a figure came pelting down the hill straight at him, screeching his name. He wobbled wildly, only just managing to stay upright. He was sprung! He pedalled faster. He couldn't think what else to do.

‘I'd fix that if I were you,' Pollo yelled, pedalling hard
to fall in alongside. ‘Sounds like you've got a bearing loose in your rear hub!'

Will pedalled faster still. Maybe if the wind was rushing in her ears the clinking wouldn't sound so loud. His mind was whirring in time with his bike wheels. Why was he out here? What could he tell her?

‘Wish I'd thought of this earlier!' yelled Pollo, still keeping up.

‘It's not what it looks like!' Will pumped his legs as fast as they'd go.

‘True,' Pollo huffed. ‘A rubbish tip to us but heaven to a sheep! It's brilliant to look for Shorn Connery there! No wonder you're in a hurry!'

They reached the tip's wire fence and skidded to a halt. Will wiped sweat off his face with his arm. ‘Well ... yeah ... I ... err,' he mumbled between puffs. Very carefully, he removed his backpack and placed it on the ground next to his bike. Pollo dropped her bike down next to it.

‘It's the one place I didn't think to look. Thanks, partner,' said Pollo.

They set off among the dead tractor tyres, machinery carcasses and thick lupins, Pollo calling Shorn Connery's name, Will half-expecting police officers to leap out from behind every pile of debris.

It was soon clear that Shorn Connery wasn't around. Pollo sat on an old washing machine and rested her chin on her hands. Will perched on a rotting couch,
steel springs stabbing up either side of him. He picked a sourgrass stalk. How could he get rid of her?

‘I saw Sherri earlier,' said Pollo. ‘She had explanations for everything.'

Will snapped his head towards Pollo. ‘What sort of everything?'

‘About von Albericht and Shorn Connery, of course,' said Pollo.

‘Oh! 'Course!' Will exhaled as quietly as he could.

She brought him up to speed with what Sherri had said. ‘So,' she finished, ‘Sherri doesn't believe what we both did after seeing von Albericht in his hut this morning.' She frowned and looked at Will. ‘Come to think of it, how come you rode all the way out here looking for Shorn Connery? I mean, you didn't know he'd escaped.'

‘Aah yeah ... that,' said Will. ‘Well, I had an idea that you ... that is, we ... might have been jumping to ... well, you know ... conclusions. So I thought I'd ... have another ... you know ... look around ... kind of thing.'

That went all right, he congratulated himself. And the first bit was even true. Von Albericht asleep had reminded him of his old housemaster at boarding school. He hadn't looked half as evil up close as Will had expected.

‘What Sherri says doesn't prove anything, of course,' said Pollo, biting her thumbnail.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, von Albericht could easily have got hold of
Shorn Connery after Sherri left. Sherri's only going on what von Albericht has told her. He could be sucking her in. You know, softening her up before making her his victim. By the look on her face when she talks about him, he's doing a pretty good job.'

Pollo suddenly banged the washing machine with a fist. ‘He's taking her on a picnic, would you believe? At dusk! At the old railway bridge!' She drummed the hollow metal with her heels. ‘It's where people go to get all lovey-dovey.'

Will wriggled the sourgrass stalk so that its flower did circles in front of his nose. ‘Has Sherri ever gone for a picnic with your dad?'

‘No,' said Pollo. ‘She hasn't.'

‘Oh.' Will did figure-eights with his flower.

‘Sherri wants me to come tonight and see von Albericht at work,' said Pollo after a while.

‘Yeah?' said Will. ‘That would be kind of spooky, wouldn't it? Are you going?'

Pollo looked at Will. ‘She thinks you should come too.'

Will sprang off the couch. ‘Hang on a minute! I've kept my part of our deal. Going back to the hut with you today was extra.'

‘But I didn't know then that Sherri was meeting him tonight!' said Pollo.

‘That's your problem, not mine,' said Will.

‘Don't you listen? Von Albericht could have been
telling her anything! Sherri's been taken in by him! I thought you didn't trust him either. Otherwise why did you come with me today?'

‘Huh!' Will kicked the couch. ‘You didn't give me much choice, rocking up at my fence out of the blue with HB right next to me! You'd have dobbed on me if I didn't do what you said.'

‘I never had any intention—'

‘And anyway,' said Will, ‘I didn't mind all that much then I s'pose. We were looking for Shorn Connery. But this is different. I've got enough problems already. Why would I want to start chasing von Albericht?'

He had a whole town after him, a backpack clinking with criminal evidence, a dad who'd forgotten he existed and a mum who was going to wish he didn't. He glared at Pollo. ‘You wouldn't care so much if you didn't want a big story to get that newspaper job.'

‘That's not true! This isn't about the cadetship at all!' As she said it, Pollo felt a twinge of guilt. It was maybe a teensy bit true. Headlines about von Albericht had been popping into her head ever since Friday night. She didn't ask them to come—they just did!

She jumped off the washing machine and began stalking back and forth. ‘We need to protect Sherri, don't we? Her life could be in danger.'

‘Will you quit saying “we”?' said Will. ‘Von Albericht's got nothing to do with me. Besides, Sherri's old enough to look after herself.'

‘But you know what adults are like!' cried Pollo. ‘Sherri can't see past his “old-fashioned manners” and his “deliriously deep brown eyes”!'

‘And you can't see past the fact that he comes from Transylvania and dresses and talks weird,' said Will. ‘Maybe he's not even a vampire! Come to think of it, the way he dresses isn't all that different from you—all that black you both like. Maybe Sherri should be scared of you!'

He stomped off towards the bikes.

‘You're mad because of that fire you were covering up yesterday!' Pollo shouted. ‘All that stuff you told your mum and stepdad!' She was coming after him. ‘You can tell me what's wrong, Will,' she said more softly. ‘I won't turn it into a story. I promise.'

He walked on.

‘Won't you even help me look for Shorn Connery?'

‘I've got things to do,' said Will, reaching the fence and turning to face her. ‘I'm going to make a veggie garden for my mum, like I said I would. If you want to go so much tonight, go by yourself—unless you're as chicken as your name!'

Pollo's jaw dropped. ‘Don't
you
act all high and mighty!' she said. ‘You're only making that silly garden because you cornered yourself into it! You're not a good son—you're just a liar!'

Will felt the fire whoosh up in his chest. He recognised the feeling from the day before when he'd charged
off to the school. He wanted to yell something or throw something or kick something. He looked at Pollo's bike lying on the ground. It was asking for it. It'd be easy...

He clenched his fists and held still. He forced himself to take three deep breaths. Then, yanking his pack onto his shoulders, not caring what noise it made, he snatched up his bike and rode off in a skid of stones and dust.

The trouble was, he thought, squinting against the dry wind and pricking tears, Pollo was right. Everything he said was just noise—no better than that stupid ballbearing clanging in its empty can.

Pollo stood in her bedroom eating a carrot and rechecking the equipment set out on the floor. Her insides felt like a bucket of slugs. She could hardly bear to think about what Shorn Connery might be going through ... or already had. And now she had to face going alone into the bush on the edge of night to meet von Albericht—neither Will nor her faithful assistant around to help.

She took a bite. Ever since last night, she'd somehow pictured Will alongside her—or perhaps in front—when the time came to confront von Albericht face to face. They'd made a pretty good team. Who'd have thought he'd turn so mean?

Maybe he was right about one thing. Maybe she was chicken. How else could she explain deep down hoping
that her dad wouldn't let her go out? But the next day was a pupil-free day, so instead it had been, ‘Say gedday to Sherri for me! Have a nice time!' Couldn't he be unreasonable just once?

At least she was prepared. And she had to admire her weaponry. There was the pocket mirror (to check for reflections—or lack of them) and her pen-knife (it would only take a tiny nick to see if he healed spontaneously). If she had to fend him off, she had cloves of garlic from the pantry, Sherri's crucifix and, if worst came to worst, a sturdy wooden stake (from Aunty Giulia's veggie patch) with which to pierce him through the heart.

And there was one more item—her most precious. After the tip, she'd gone to the cemetery, removed the old flowers from a jam-jar vase at one of the graves and, nursing the container of murky water, paid Father Perry a visit. She'd held the jar up to him and, as he'd leaned over to look at it, let fly with the gluggiest sneeze she could fake. ‘Bless you!' the old priest had cried. And with those words, there being no one around to split hairs over how the blessing was intended, Pollo held in her hands the most powerful weapon in an anti-vampire arsenal. Holy water! A mere drop could kill! Back at home she'd decanted it into a sturdy plastic water bottle. This now rested alongside the stake, crucifix, garlic, pen-knife and mirror.

With everything in order, she opened her laptop and checked her log entries of the last two days, searching
again for something she might have missed. She clicked on the draft of the amazing special edition of her gazette. Its front page was still blank. Turning to the pile of old newspapers that Sherri had dropped off, she flicked through the pages, jotting a few things in her notepad, keeping one eye on the clock. She could see nothing worth doing a follow-up on. There was way too much of Mayor Bullock—claiming credit for this, having his say on that. Unless she could get a scoop on von Albericht, or possibly the Graffiti Kid, in the little time remaining, the final edition of the
Riddle Gully Gazette
was going to be as exciting as a wet firecracker.

It was time to go. She wrote the time and her destination on a sheet of paper and propped it on her pillow. After all, it might be the last anyone ever heard of her. She wrapped her black scarf around her neck, pulled on her beanie and gathered up the rest of her equipment. Having no spare pocket, she took a huge bite of carrot and jammed the remainder into the pen jar. She left the room, her cheeks bulging.

At the back gate she hesitated. The sky and treetops were blurring to a soft golden light. It was hard to imagine how creepy it would all become once the sun went down. She sucked in a deep breath and, before she could change her mind, ran through the gate into the dying afternoon.