Riddle Gully Runaway (2 page)

‘Good idea!' said Will, his face back to its usual pink. ‘I'm hungry all over again now.'

They ambled in the spring sunshine away from the rollercoaster across the Riddle Gully fairground — a stretch of playing fields ringed by tall, dark Norfolk Island Pines that at the end of each winter, as soon as finals were over, was spruced up for the District Fair.

‘My editor needs a report on the fair and I want to do something really special,' said Pollo. Her after-school cadetship as Youth Reporter for the
Coast
regional news network kept Riddle Gully on its toes; it also kept shiny Pollo's dream of becoming a professional investigative journalist like her mum had been. She ran her fingers down the leather thong around her neck to the notepad and pencil tied at the end. ‘I'm going to buttonhole the judges in the Pickles and Chutneys Division and get the
dirt on why Mayor Bullock wins it every year. There's funny business going on there, Will, and my readers would love to know what it is, I'm sure.'

They dodged toddlers in strollers, gooey ice-cream puddles and whirligigs on sticks, Pollo taking photos and jotting notes in her pad. People from all across the farming district milled. Adults ran into old friends and sugar-loaded kids zimmed like flying beetles between their legs. Tinny music pumped from competing portable sound systems and the smell of sizzling onions wafted on the air. Everyone was excited and happy, wandering the gritty trails between stalls and exhibits, their arms loaded with neon-pink stuffed prizes, second-hand treasures, or cling-wrapped trays of lumpy home-baked goodies.

The rollercoaster was new this year. Someone on the organising committee knew someone in the district Chamber of Commerce who had a cousin who had a friend who owed them a favour … and hadn't opened a safety manual since the nineteen-sixties, thought Pollo, remembering those rickety bolts. She jotted a note in her pad to follow it up. There could be a story in it.

Pollo and Will stopped at the fairy floss van and each bought a stick.

‘The guy at the rollercoaster,' said Will. ‘Do you know him?'

‘Who? Mr Wrigley?' said Pollo, lifting a sugary blue wisp and dangling it onto her tongue.

‘No, the helper with the black T-shirt.'

‘Aah! The rollercoaster kid! With the sideways cap! He looks like a breakdancer from the city who's lost his way. I was about to ask if
you
knew him,' said Pollo. ‘I think he was listening in on us earlier. He's shady, if you ask me.'

‘It's weird,' said Will. ‘I've got this feeling I've seen him before. First I thought he came with the crew who put up the rollercoaster 'cos I saw Mayor Bullock yelling at him. Then I saw the logo for that hip-hop group Twisted Lips on his T-shirt and it rang a bell from somewhere. It's a rip-off of a Picasso painting we did at art school called
The Weeping Woman
. Face all over the place. It's probably why I threw up.'

Pollo drummed her fingertips against her chin. ‘Mayor Bullock, you say? I wonder if he could be the nephew, Benson Bragg, who's come to stay with him and old Mrs Bullock. It would figure, from what I've heard about this nephew of his.'

‘No way!' said Will, withdrawing his face from a puff
of purple floss. ‘Mayor Bullock's nephew? The mayor's way too stuffy to be that kid's uncle. And as for inviting him to stay…' He tore off some floss and lowered it into his mouth.

‘Aah, but he didn't, you see. Old Mrs Bullock was in Sherri's second-hand shop the other day and told Sherri all about it. This Benson kid — her grandson, the mayor's nephew — was suspended from school. But then his mother — the mayor's sister — broke her leg and had to go to hospital. And his dad's away on work. So Benson's staying with them and the mayor is spitting chips!'

‘Hah!' Will laughed. ‘Mayor Bullock hates the youth of today, as he calls us — even nerdy kids like you! He's had it coming.' He waited for some people to pass and whispered, ‘Did Mrs Bullock say
why
Benson was suspended?'

Pollo leaned close. ‘Stealing! She let it slip. She thought it would be lovely having her grandson to stay with them, even so. But it's not working out like she hoped. The mayor wants to sort out his nephew with good old-fashioned discipline, as he puts it. Sherri reckons that's rich because the mayor never had any discipline himself, his mum and dad were such softies. I wonder what turns some people so mean?'

‘I reckon sometimes they just don't try hard enough,' said Will. He pushed a hank of fairy floss into his mouth with a finger. ‘It's dead easy to be a grouch, in my book. But getting along with people, even if you've got your own worries and stuff going on — that's heaps more effort.'

‘Yeah, look at you!' said Pollo. ‘Since you got busted for the graffiti last summer and had to do that course on dealing with anger, you haven't blown up once.'

‘Jeepers! I never ever want to dig a hole for myself like that again! It's funny … the longer I go without losing it the easier it gets. It's like I'm getting into the
habit
of being someone who keeps their cool.'

‘Just like Mayor Bullock's in the habit of being a puffed-up pompous grump!' laughed Pollo. She checked her watch. ‘Yikes! Speaking of Mayor Bullock, we'd better walk faster. I need to get my story on him, then get home and spruce up Shorn Connery for the Best Dressed Pet parade.'

‘When is it?' asked Will.

‘Five o'clock. The grand finale! Shorn Connery can't wait.'

Will frowned. ‘How can you tell that a sheep can't wait?'

Pollo tutted. ‘A supersleuth with finely tuned instincts like me just senses these things, blockhead! Besides, Shorn Connery and I have a special connection. You must know that by now!'

‘Yeah, of course I do,' said Will, looking away to hide his smile.

*

They reached the Kitchens Rule tent. Before going in, Pollo aimed her camera at an elderly couple in striped jesters' hats, strolling arm in arm. ‘For the record, whatever it was that Benson Bragg took,' she said from behind the lens, ‘Sherri didn't seem to think it was serious.'

‘But it was still stealing,' said Will.

‘Yeah, I guess so,' said Pollo.

‘Hmm … I wonder …'

Pollo lowered the camera and looked at Will. He carefully scraped the last bits of fairy floss off its stick with his fingernail, walked to a rubbish bin and dropped it in. When he turned back, Pollo's eyes were boring into him and her hands were on her hips.

‘You wonder
what
? Are you going to tell me or not?'

Will looked at the passing parade of happy townspeople and farmers. No one seemed to be paying
them much attention. ‘D'you know when this Benson kid arrived in Riddle Gully?' he asked, his voice low.

‘A week or so ago, I think. Why?'

‘Hmm …'

‘Will Hopkins, you know something, don't you?' Pollo smiled pleasantly at Will. ‘And you also know I'll bust your head in if you don't tell me!'

‘We shouldn't go jumping to conclusions,' said Will.

‘I've told you before,' Pollo hissed. ‘Drawing conclusions and jumping to conclusions are entirely different things! Just give me the facts and I'll make up my own mind. I have good instincts in these matters. I
am
Youth Reporter —'

‘— for the
Coast
news network,' Will finished. ‘I know.'

Pollo huffed. ‘I want justice and equality for all humankind, Will. And for that I need to give my readers the truth!'

‘And juicy news stories,' added Will.

‘Well, yes … that's understood.' Pollo folded her arms and began tapping her foot, glaring at Will.

Will sighed and wished he'd kept his big mouth shut. It was useless. Pollo would bug him until he caved. He may as well get it over with. ‘HB was talking to Angela
last night in the kitchen,' he began. He stopped to wave heartily at a mate from school, hoping he'd veer their way. The boy grinned and waved back but, pointing to the phone at his ear, kept walking. Will turned back to Pollo whose eyes were now steely blades.

‘Police Sergeant Talks to Wife in Kitchen,' she huffed. ‘I can see the headline now! What did he
say
to your mum, Will?'

‘I wasn't meant to be listening,' said Will.

‘Excellent!' said Pollo. ‘Go on!'

‘Well, I overheard HB saying how there'd been a funny spate of little things disappearing lately. Rings and watches and stuff. Some of it had been reported at the station, but then at the tennis club yesterday people were talking. It turns out there's a lot more that hasn't been reported. Seems like Riddle Gully either has a petty thief on the loose, or something is making people very forgetful about where they put things.'

‘A thief!' whispered Pollo.

‘Or a coincidental string of people misplacing things,' cautioned Will. ‘Or things could've gone missing ages ago — and it's only when people hear about the other stuff gone missing that they notice. That's what HB reckons has happened.'

‘That explains it!' said Pollo.

‘Yeah, well, it makes sense,' said Will.

‘No! I mean, that explains Aunty Giulia's missing ring! She put it on a fence-post while she was moving rocks in the garden and it disappeared. It belonged to Grandma di Nozi. Old gold and emerald. Aunty Giulia's devastated.' Pollo stroked an invisible beard. ‘And all these things vanish just as Mayor Bullock's nephew, a notorious purloiner of other people's property, comes to Riddle Gully. It's a pretty big coincidence, wouldn't you say?'

‘It looks incriminating, I admit,' said Will.

‘Incriminating! Hah! When you put together what you know and what I know, it's virtual proof Benson Bragg is at the bottom of all this. And if some pasty nephew of Mayor Bullock thinks he can waltz into Riddle Gully and start helping himself to people's valuables, he's got another think coming!'

‘Keep your voice down, will you?' said Will, his head pivoting. ‘Everyone can hear — and you haven't got a crumb of proof.'

Pollo put her face close to Will's and grinned. ‘That's where you come in!'

‘Don't look at me!' protested Will. ‘I've told you enough already!'

Pollo ignored him. ‘You just need to wheedle a teeny-tiny bit more info out of HB and we can put the squeeze on Benson Bragg. If he's anything like his uncle, he'll turn to jelly under pressure.'

‘Oh no, Pollo!' The sick feeling from the rollercoaster began to squirm in Will all over again.

‘Oh yes, Will! I'm going to turn you into an assistant supersleuth if it kills me!' She clapped her friend on the shoulder. ‘I can feel a story coming on!'

Will slumped. ‘I was afraid you'd say that.'

The flaking paint and rust of the fairground stalls had turned a soft gold in the mellowing light. Pollo, stomping along the main thoroughfare, didn't notice. Not only had she failed to get her story on the mayor and his chutney-swindle but she was late for the Best Dressed Pet parade. They had to get across to the far side of the fairground and her not-so-faithful assistant Shorn Connery was stopping every two seconds to snuffle at each gooey lolly and squashed chip along the grassy path. Hurrying him was futile. It was like he was
trying
to thwart her.

‘You're going to bust out of that jacket if you don't stop eating!' Pollo tugged on his lead. The handsome costume she and Sherri had made for him — the top
half of the dinner suit favoured by his namesake Sean Connery in his famous role as James Bond, Secret Agent 007 — was covered in flecks of dead grass and dobs of Shorn Connery's sticky spittle. She needed more time, not less, before the parade to clean him up and snaffle that first-prize cheque.

She tugged on the lead again. But Shorn Connery had found half a corn-dog this time and wasn't going anywhere. He flicked his stiff, white lashes and glared at Pollo.
Baa-aa-aah!

Pollo was pretty sure that was ram-talk for ‘The more you hurry me, the longer I'll take.'

Just then she had a brainwave. As soon as Shorn Connery was done with the corn-dog, she'd steer him off the main path to the back way — further to walk but quicker for sure.

Two minutes later Pollo and Shorn Connery were making good progress behind the tents and vans. They had just rounded a bend when Pollo spotted a lanky figure on his hands and knees, the toes of his hi-tops digging into the grass. He was peering beneath the canvas back wall of a tent — the white elephant stall if Pollo wasn't mistaken. The rollercoaster kid! Benson Bragg! Pollo glowered. Most of the stall owners kept
their money up against the back wall of their tent — and here was the nephew of Riddle Gully's self-righteous mayor helping himself to it!

She whipped her camera from her pocket and took a photo. At the beep of the shutter, Benson swung around. He saw Pollo and with a quick twist flopped down on his backside — as though he was just a worker taking a break in the shade. He plugged in his earphone buds and began bobbing his head in time to the music.

Pollo kept her eyes fixed on him as she and Shorn Connery passed. Benson swivelled his cap around and tugged it low over his eyes. It's too late for that, thought Pollo, her eyes narrowed. She had Benson Bragg digitally nicked.

*

As they neared the marshalling yard for the Best Dressed Pet parade, Pollo saw the mob gathered. She tried to ignore the tightening sensation in her throat. There were heaps of people — three or four deep behind the rope fence with its little orange flags. Some of the adults had spent a little too long at the wine-tasting tent, by the look of them. Would Shorn Connery behave himself? He was strong, even for a ram … and he wasn't used to crowds.

Two ravens shuffled on the lip of a rubbish bin, their glossy greenish-black throat hackles ruffling in the breeze. One with a small feather angling from its shoulder clamped a fragment of frayed rope in its beak, perhaps for a nest. The other gave a loud, flat caw as they passed.
Arp-arp-aaah!
The cry was almost pitying, thought Pollo, as though Shorn Connery had come last already.