Mystery & Mayhem. Julia Golding

glanced around, taking in the dummy, the clean workbench, the perfectly arranged shelves of bright material. ‘No,’ she said finally, ‘nothing.’ Her voice shook as she spoke. Minnie was horrified to see tears glistening in her eyes.

      Bernice turned away and faced the wall. ‘I’m just . . . going to call . . . I have to let people know . . . officials, maybe . . .’

      Minnie felt a hand on her arm. It was Flora. ‘She needs a minute,’ Flora said. ‘She’s probably in shock. Let’s help the best way we can, by finding out what happened.’

      Minnie knew Flora was right.

      Minnie left Bernice to make her calls. She had to concentrate on the clues. Clues could be anything: anything that disrupted the pattern, anything that looked out of place.

      Who or what could have ruined a costume inside a vault-like room?

      Minnie examined the walls, while Flora looked at the costume on the dummy. Sylvie wandered outside. Had she lost interest already? Typical.

      Right. Ignore Sylvie too. Clues.

      The walls of the lock-up were filled to the rafters with carefully arranged colour and texture: silks and sequins, taffeta and tulle, in reds and greens and blues and purples. There were ribbons, glitter, tissue paper, craft paper, crepe paper and tracing paper – if it was paper, then Bernice had some, as well as jars of feathers and lace and fringe, arranged according to the colours of the rainbow. Minnie let her eyes wander over it all. Was any of this technicolor craft equipment a clue? It all looked like it belonged.

      Flora had moved away from the dummy to look for entrances and exits. She scanned the ceiling, looking for vents, she clattered the letter box to see if she could fit more than her hand through (she couldn’t) and she searched the floor for a trapdoor. ‘The door is definitely the only way in,’ she said finally.

      ‘What about the costume? Any clues there?’ Minnie asked.

      ‘I’m not sure. Only the feathers have been affected. But then, the costume is ninety per cent feathers. Bernice has already given us a good idea of the things that damage feathers – insects, mice, chemicals, heat and light.’ She scribbled something in her notebook. ‘Let’s see what Sylvie’s got.’

      Sylvie was outside, crouched with her back against the lock-up doors, staring at the ground.

      She glanced their way as they climbed out of the doorway. ‘There you are. Have either of you found a clue?’

      Flora shook her head.

      ‘Well, it’s a good job I came along today then. Look at this.’ Sylvie spread her arms to point at the ground at her feet. ‘Careful – don’t stand on them.’

      All Minnie could see was dirt. She bent lower.

      ‘There!’

      Minnie could see them now. Tiny square-ish dimples in the dirt. Heel prints? She counted six of them, in a pattern, as though someone in high-heeled shoes had stood still, but changed position a few times.

      Rats.

      Sylvie had found the first clue.

      And her smug smile was infuriating.

      Sylvie pulled out her phone and snapped photos.

      Just then a huge man with arms and legs like logs lumbered past. He paused, noticing Sylvie taking snapshots of mud. He stopped. Minnie knew him – it was Big Phil. He had a lock-up a few doors down. She managed a smile, but she felt a bit embarrassed. She still remembered the time they’d had him down as a suspect in one of their cases. It had been understandable – after all, he sold fake designer perfumes that smelt of hamster wee, and diet pills that did absolutely nothing, and he wore a leather jacket and an air of menace. But they’d found out that underneath his macho exterior, Big Phil was a teddy bear.

      ‘Morning,’ he said in a deep voice. ‘Bernice all ready for Carnival, is she?’

      ‘Not really,’ Sylvie said. ‘Her costume looks like a toddler made it in the middle of a tantrum.’

      ‘But her costumes are always great,’ Big Phil said, confused. ‘Best in the whole parade. She’s the best designer in town.’

      ‘Not this time. Something happened to her costume and now it’s ruined. I don’t suppose you know anything about it? Were you here last night?’ Sylvie asked.

      Big Phil raised one end of his monobrow. ‘Ruined? Oh, poor Bernice. Is she all right? Is there anything I can do to help?’

      ‘Yes,’ Sylvie snapped. ‘You can answer the question. Were you here last night? Did you see anything suspicious?’

      Big Phil’s face reddened. ‘I was here, as it happens. In my lock-up. I can be there any time I like – there’s no law against it.’

      ‘Did you see anything? Or hear anything strange?’ Flora asked.

      ‘Nothing suspicious. But there was something a bit strange. I was bothered by three of the biggest moths you’ve ever seen. No idea how they got in.’ He gave an involuntary shiver. ‘Horrible things. You know they get stuck in your hair?’

      Big Phil was entirely bald.

      Sylvie rolled her eyes. ‘Moths? Is that it? You didn’t hear any strange sounds? Or notice any unusual visitors?’

      Big Phil shrugged. ‘No. Sorry. I had the radio on – I couldn’t hear anything over Soft Rock Classics. Love that show, I do.’ His eyes went a little misty. Then he seemed to remember himself. He squared his shoulders. ‘Well. I can’t stand here talking about sparkly frocks. Tell Bernice I say hello.’ He wandered off in the general direction of his lock-up.

      Sylvie put her phone away. ‘Might he be involved? He had the opportunity – he was here last night.’

      Flora shrugged. ‘What’s his motive, though? Why would he want to hurt Bernice or her costume? I don’t think he can be a suspect really.’

      ‘And there are these marks,’ Minnie added. ‘It was probably a woman, don’t you think? Was she standing here in high heels trying to pick the padlock?’

      ‘Maybe,’ Flora said. ‘But she didn’t succeed.’ Flora tilted the padlock that hung clipped to the door frame and examined it. ‘You can’t pick a lock without scratching the metal, and this lock is clean.’

      They went back inside and shut the door behind them. Bernice was off the phone and had made herself a mug of tea. They watched as she spooned in three sugars.

      ‘It’s not for the shock,’ Minnie whispered. ‘She just likes three sugars.’ Then, a little louder, ‘Do you want me to call my mum, Bernice? She might know what to do about your costume.’

      ‘There’s nothing that can be done. Someone has ruined it. I won’t walk in the parade. The saboteur has got what they wanted.’ Bernice had stopped looking upset and was looking angry instead.

      ‘We found some footprints outside,’ Flora said.

      ‘I found some footprints,’ Sylvie corrected.

      ‘Yes, Sylvie found them,’ Flora continued. ‘They look like someone in high heels stood outside the door. Do you wear high heels? Or have you had a visitor who does?’

      Bernice shook her head. ‘I come here to build. Sensible shoes only until parade day. And no one has visited either – I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for the people watching the parade.’

      Minnie caught Flora’s eye. Who was it who’d been standing outside in heels, if it wasn’t Bernice?

      ‘Do you have any enemies, Bernice?’ Sylvie asked abruptly.

      Bernice stirred her tea, clinking the teaspoon hard against the sides of the china. ‘Enemies? Why would I have enemies? I’m not James Bond, I’m a hairdresser and costume maker! I’d been hoping this would