Finders Keepers Page 8

  “Yes, they have, Ruby,” Wendy said affectionately. She dropped her arms from Ruby’s shoulders, and smiled. “Be seeing you, then.”

  “OK, love. Soon, let’s hope. I heard Annie Fields was being posted up north soon. We’ve got to find her silly pink bunny before then, haven’t we? Or you’ll be out for keeps. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  “I will,” sighed Wendy. “I will.”

  Suddenly Ruby cocked her head. “Here they are!” she croaked. “And here’s where I leave you. Ta-ta!” Off she bounced down the hill towards the Barrier, her purple dress flapping and her white hair flying.

  “What …?” Patrick stared after her. Then he too heard the siren.

  “It’s the Department of Barrier Works Squad,” said Wendy. “Stand back, love. They don’t stop for anyone, and they’re coming this way.”

  14

  Stitches in Time

  Down the hill towards them roared a red truck, siren blaring. Patrick and Wendy leaped to one side just in time and it swept by them, thundering towards the Barrier.

  Patrick stared after it, open-mouthed. Ladders were fastened to the middle of the truck and clinging to rails on either side, grimly determined, muscles bulging under tight red overalls, were twelve of the toughest-looking women he’d ever seen.

  The truck screeched to a halt beside the Barrier break, scattering Guards and Barrier-combers with equal abandon. Grey hair whipping in the wind under their yellow crash helmets, the red-overalled women sprang from their places, unloaded the ladders and formed a tight half circle around the Barrier breaks. At a shout from the short, chunky woman who had driven the truck, each one reached into the bag she wore strapped round her waist, drew out a huge, shining needle, threaded it, and held it high. “Ready, ma’am!” they shouted in chorus.

  “Bunch of show-offs,” sniffed Wendy Minelli. “As if all that carry-on is necessary. Who do they think they’re impressing?”

  Patrick was very impressed, anyway. Kicking away the objects that were still lying on the ground under the Barrier breaks, and ignoring those still falling around them, the Squad advanced on the black cracks and began sewing furiously, some at ground level, some on ladders higher up. Guards hovered around them, pushing things through the Barrier when they got the chance, in constant danger of being pricked by one of the wicked-looking needles or having themselves sewn into the seam by mistake.

  “They’re so rude, those women,” exclaimed Wendy, with feeling.

  “They’re good at it, though, aren’t they?” Patrick was fascinated. The tears in the Barrier were shrinking fast, and you couldn’t even see where they had been sewn together.

  “Oh, yes, well, they’d want to be, wouldn’t they?” Wendy admitted ungraciously. Then she looked at Patrick in an embarrassed way. “Well, love, I’m not the best person to ask, I suppose. Guards and Barrier Works Squads don’t think much of one another, as a rule.”

  “There’s going to be a lot of stuff left over,” said Patrick anxiously, eyeing the jumble of things still lying at the foot of the Barrier.

  Wendy nodded her curly red head. “It’ll be a bonanza for old Ruby and the others, all right, if Annie Fields doesn’t move a bit faster,” she agreed. “A real bungle, this job is.”

  “You’d have done it better, Wendy,” Patrick said loyally.

  She wrinkled her freckled nose. “Thanks, love, but don’t let’s talk about that. Ruby said too much. I feel like a cheat now. I know you might never get to my Find – you’ve got to get that Eleanor Doon woman’s first, worse luck. But still …”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” said Patrick. “It’s not cheating. I’d already worked out your clue. I wanted to do your Find first, because of that. And,” he added shyly, “because you seemed, sort of, nicer than the others, and I wanted to help you.”

  Wendy looked almost shy herself, and kicked at a clump of grass to hide her feelings. “Well,” she said. “Let’s hope you get the chance to try.”

  “I will,” said Patrick, and meant it. No matter what the dangers, he’d decided in that moment that Wendy wasn’t going to lose her chance for happiness because of him. He was going to go on with the game. He was going to find Eleanor Doon’s object, and then he was going to find Annie Fields’ stuffed toy so Wendy could get her job back. Lucky and Boopie and Max would think they’d tricked him into it. Well, let them. At least he knew that he was going into this with his eyes wide open. And when it was all over he’d tell them what he thought of them. If all went well …

  He glanced quickly at his hands. Was it his imagination, or did they look a little paler than before? His heart gave a terrific thump. “Wendy,” he croaked.

  She looked up. “Gosh, you look a bit tired,” she said. “A bit too much excitement, maybe. Come on, let’s go back to the cafeteria and I’ll buy you a drink.”

  The girl behind the cafeteria counter took notice of Wendy, anyway, and she bought them both a lemonade. Patrick felt much better after sitting down for a while. He stole another look at his hands. Were they paler, or not? Well, there was no use worrying about it. Nothing could be done until the computer was fixed. He turned anxiously to the door, and jumped. Boopie Cupid stood there, beckoning furiously, scattering yellow feathers in every direction. He and Wendy hurried over to her and she turned on her heel and took off down the corridor as fast as she could go.

  “You shouldn’t be talking to each other, you two!” she whispered, click-clacking along on her spiky-heeled shoes. “Just don’t tell anyone, OK? Now, Wendy, could you find your way back to the studio? I have to get Patrick kitted up and off. We’ve got to hurry!”

  Wendy left them with a friendly wave, and Boopie and Patrick went on. Boopie walked fast, her forehead creased in a little frown. “Here we are,” she said tightly, as they reached Max’s door.

  “I’m sorry if we upset you,” said Patrick very politely. “But we’re not dishonest, you know.” He put a little extra emphasis on the “we”. He still felt very angry with her for not telling him about the risks he was running by playing the game.

  She looked at him, puzzled, for a moment, then smiled and gave him a little hug. Her feathers tickled his nose, and he struggled not to sneeze. “Oh, sweetie-pie, you haven’t done anything wrong,” she cried. “It’s me. I’m … I’ve got a few worries at the moment, that’s all.” She sounded so sincere that Patrick felt a pang of doubt. Could he possibly be wrong about her? Maybe she did care about him. Maybe she couldn’t tell him about the danger, but was worried to death by it.

  Boopie put her hand on the doorknob. “It’ll all be OK,” she said softly. “It has to be. Now …”

  She flung open the door. Max was sitting hunched up over the computer. He jumped up anxiously as they came in.

  “Here we are, Maxie,” Boopie announced brightly. “Ready when you are!”

  “Let’s get on with it, then,” snapped Max. “The quicker the better.” He took the old beeper-brooch from Patrick, and began pinning another to his T-shirt.

  “Got your clue, Patrick?” asked Boopie. “Got everything, sugar-plum? Remember – same clothes, same TV set, Saturday, ten o’clock, like before?”

  Patrick nodded. His heart was beating violently. He could hardly breathe. Suddenly everything was happening very fast, and he didn’t feel ready.

  “Watch the TV!” ordered Max grimly. “Don’t move, for heaven’s sake. Don’t move a muscle. Right! Go!”

  “Good Finding!” Boopie’s voice echoed in Patrick’s head, as the familiar blackness closed in around him. “We’ll be waiting!”

  Patrick was kneeling by the TV set with his head in his hands when Estelle found him.

  “Patrick! Oh, Patrick, what’s the matter?” Her concerned face loomed over him, her hands fluttered on his shoulders.

  “Oh – nothing,” he mumbled. “I’m OK. I’m OK, Estelle.” He scrambled awkwardly to his feet. “I … I must have tripped on something.”

  “Dear oh dear,” moaned Estelle. “You shouldn’t
have been running like that, dear heart, you really shouldn’t. What am I going to say to your mother?”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” Patrick tried to grin, despite the wobbly feeling in his knees and the pounding in his head. “I just tripped. I’m fine now. Let’s go and do your shopping now, Estelle. We’d better. It’s getting late.”

  She looked at him doubtfully. “Well, if you’re sure,” she said.

  Patrick looked at her kind, worried face and suddenly felt a rush of affection for her. He put his arms awkwardly around her waist. “Thanks very much for bringing me, Estelle,” he said gruffly. “I’m sorry I took up your time.”

  A faint pink colour stole across her cheeks, and she patted his shoulder. “I’ve got all the time in the world, dear heart,” she said softly. “And I’m only too glad to spend some of it with you.”

  At home that afternoon, Patrick locked himself in his room and worried over Eleanor Doon’s clue. He couldn’t make head or tail of it.

  “My first is in fur, but not in fun …” My first what? He’d thought Clyde O’Brien’s rhyme was hard, but really this was worse. Claire was in her room next door and he thought about asking her if she could help. But she was always so cranky and impatient. Dad was out, and Mum was working in the front room and wouldn’t take kindly to being disturbed. And as for Danny – he’d be worse than useless. He punched his bedcover in frustration. He felt very alone.

  Then there was a knock on the door. “Patrick,” called Claire. “Are you in there? Can I come in?”

  “Yes,” he answered in surprise.

  Claire wandered into the room and sat on the desk, staring out the window. “You should get a window box, Patrick,” she said. “Why don’t you ask Mum? It’d give you a bit of a view. It’d be nice.”

  Patrick nodded, and looked at her curiously. It had been a long time since Claire had talked to him in a normal sort of way. Usually she ignored him, or teased him, or made smart remarks.

  “What are you doing?” Claire asked. “You always seem to be stuck in your room these days. I never see you.”

  He shrugged.

  “Patrick, is anything wrong?” Claire jumped down from the desk and came to sit beside him on the bed.

  He shrugged again. “What do you care, anyway?” he mumbled, and then regretted it. Now she would go away in a huff, he thought, and it gave him a nice feeling to have her there being friendly. It reminded him of when he was smaller, and Claire was the big sister who played with him and helped him do things, like she did for Danny now.

  But Claire didn’t go away in a huff. She sat still and looked at her shoes. “I’m your sister,” she said slowly. “I care about you. It’s just – I’ve got my own problems, you know, and sometimes it’s hard … really hard … to …”

  Patrick looked at her in amazement. She had tears in her eyes. Her face was soft, and she looked younger – more like she used to look before she went to high school. He fidgeted uneasily. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never really considered that Claire might have her own problems, with friends and schoolwork and everything, like he did. She always seemed so in control of things, and so grown-up.

  “Do your problems make you cranky?” he said, trying to understand.

  She laughed, with the tears still in her eyes. “I suppose so,” she said, and wiped her face with the backs of her hands.

  There was a short silence.

  “Claire,” said Patrick.

  “Yes?”

  “If you saw a poem that said, ‘My first is in fur, but not in fun, My second means just me alone,’ and stuff like that, what do you reckon ‘first’ and ‘second’ would mean?” Patrick held his breath.

  “That’d be a riddle, not a poem,” said Claire carelessly. “They’re easy, that sort. They spell out a word. ‘First’ means the first letter of the word. ‘Second’ is the second letter of the word, and so on. So in yours – what was it?”

  “‘My first is in fur, but not in fun,’” Patrick repeated.

  “Well, see, what’s the only letter that is in ‘fur’, but isn’t in ‘fun’?”

  Patrick thought about it. “R,” he said.

  “Right! So ‘R’ is the first letter of the word you have to get. And you just go on like that until the word spells out. Easy!”

  “Yeah!” Patrick bounced excitedly on the bed. “Thanks, Claire.”

  “That’s OK.” Claire got up and drifted to the door.

  “Thanks, Claire,” Patrick said again.

  She turned around. “Sure you’re all right?” she asked seriously. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  She gave him a long look, and quietly left the room. Patrick stared after her for a moment, then went and sat down at his desk to work out Eleanor Doon’s clue. Soon he would know what she was seeking so desperately. And then the search for Find number two could begin.

  15

  The Second Find

  It didn’t take Patrick long to work out Eleanor Doon’s riddle, thanks to Claire.

  “My first is in fur, but not in fun.” That was “R”.

  “My second means just me alone.” That stumped him for a little while, but finally he realised that “I” means “me alone”, and wrote that down next to “R”. Now he had “RI”.

  “My third is third as well in run.” The third letter in “run” was “N”. It went beside “R” and “I”. “RIN …”

  “My fourth begins my saddest groan.” “G” began the word “groan”, so that must be it.

  “RING” – Eleanor Doon was looking for a ring. Patrick thought of all the other rings he’d seen jammed on her fingers, and made a face. You wouldn’t think one more or less would make any difference. He bent over the paper again.

  “I have three hearts of deepest red, In shining gold they make their bed.” It sounded as though the ring had three red stones in it, maybe shaped like hearts, and that it was made of gold.

  Patrick almost cheered. No chance this time of mistaking what the missing object was. The clue was very clear. All he had to do was track the ring down. He thought about it carefully. It wouldn’t be in the ordinary sort of jewellery shop, because it wasn’t new. It could be in an antique shop or secondhand shop, though. He wrote “Chestnut Tree Village Antiques” on the paper before him, and after some thought added “Red Cross shop near hospital”. The ring sounded rather valuable for the Red Cross shop, but he’d better check every possibility.

  Of course, the ring could belong to someone, and not be in a shop at all. He wrote down “Wear beeper-brooch everywhere” on his list. That wasn’t very helpful, but it was all he could think of. He had a week – a little less than a week – to track the ring down.

  “I’ve done it before, and I can do it again,” Patrick thought, chewing his thumb nervously. “I won’t panic, like I did last time. I’ll go slowly and steadily, and I’ll find it. Even if it takes all week.”

  But, as it happened, it didn’t take very long at all.

  On Monday, Patrick walked home by a very long way, so that he could cover as much ground as possible. He planned to take a different walk every morning and every afternoon. He’d persuaded Paul to take him bike-riding in the park beside the hospital on Sunday, and had checked out the Red Cross secondhand shop then. But, as he’d expected, the beeper-brooch had stayed silent under his T-shirt. Tomorrow, Tuesday, Judith was taking him to Chestnut Tree Village after school. He’d try the antique shop then. He had great hopes of the antique shop. After all, Clyde O’Brien’s book had been there. It was the obvious place to find valuable secondhand things, and near to the clock, too.

  Patrick walked along slowly, enjoying the sun on his face, and feeling well-organised and confident. He reached his own front gate.

  And the beeper-brooch began to sound.

  Shocked, he grabbed at it. It went on beeping shrilly through his fingers. Two women with babies in prams passed by and l
ooked at him curiously. Still clutching at his chest, he flung open the gate, rushed down the path to the front door, and rang the bell furiously. Then he realised that one of the women might have had the ring on her finger, and ran back to the gate again.

  The women had crossed the road and were moving off down the hill. One of them looked back and saw him gaping at them over the gate. She said something to her friend and they both laughed. Blushing, Patrick backed away down the path, out of sight. The beeper-brooch was still peeping away, louder than ever.

  And then Estelle opened the door and it went crazy.

  “Hello, dear heart,” she said, from the dimness of the hall. “What are you doing out there? Come in.” She stopped and put her head on one side to listen. “Another car alarm going off! Aren’t they a menace?”

  Patrick crept closer. The beeper-brooch was jumping against his skin. What was he going to do? He pressed his hand firmly against it, took a deep breath, and rushed through the doorway.

  “Hi, Estelle! Back in a minute. Bathroom!” he gabbled, and brushed by her, making for the stairs.

  “Patrick’s home!” carolled Danny, wandering out into the hall a second too late. “Oh – where’s Patrick?”

  Patrick was in the bathroom trying to gag his complaining beeper-brooch with a towel. Patrick was sitting on the edge of the bath, thinking furiously. The glimpse of Estelle’s right hand as he rushed past her had been enough to confirm his worst fear. Estelle’s ring, the ring she’d forgotten to put on on Saturday morning and had worried about so much, the only piece of jewellery she had, was Eleanor Doon’s missing object, and his second Find. What on earth was he going to do now?