Mystery & Mayhem. Julia Golding

woman with straight-as-a-die black hair and soft brown skin skipped inside. Her hands gestured wildly as she spoke.

      Bernice sighed. ‘Yes, Jasleen, it’s true.’

      Jasleen gasped. Then she saw the costume and gasped again. ‘It’s hideous!’ she said.

      Jasleen sounded like she was the same sort of friend as Sylvie.

      ‘Thanks, Jasleen,’ Bernice said softly.

      ‘You can’t walk the parade in that!’

      ‘I know.’

      Jasleen circled towards the dummy, her lip curled softly. ‘Carol wondered what you’re going to do. She said I should take your place at the front of the line, but I couldn’t do it without seeing you first.’ Jasleen looked down and took a few paces, as though she was thinking carefully about what to say next. She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Listen, I still have the costume I made for myself last year, if you’d like to wear it? I know I’m not such a well-known costume maker as you, but lots of people admired it.’

      ‘Your costume? I can’t wear someone else’s work, you know that. A designer who’s wearing someone else’s design? No one would ever employ me again. I would ruin my career. I’d rather not walk than wear a costume I didn’t make.’

      Jasleen prickled. ‘Suit yourself. I was only trying to help.’ She dusted some imaginary flecks off her blouse. ‘Right, I can’t stay. My boyfriend is filming the parade for television and if I’m going to be at the front, I want to look my best. Oh, sorry. That was very insensitive. Give me a call if you change your mind about the spare costume.’

      Before she walked out of the door, Flora held out her hand to stop her. ‘Jasleen, do you ever wear high heels?’

      Jasleen gave a little laugh. ‘Honey pie, I’m six foot two. Of course I never wear high heels.’ Then she was gone.

      Flora laid her notebook on the workbench. The details of the crime were written down: Bernice left the lock-up securely padlocked last night. Sometime between then and eight o’clock this morning, someone had broken in, somehow, and ruined the costume. Someone in high heels.

      ‘What about the moths?’ Minnie asked. ‘The moths that frightened Big Phil.’

      ‘What about them?’

      ‘Bernice, didn’t you say that insects damage costumes?’ Minnie asked.

      Bernice nodded vigorously. ‘Oh, yes, moths can do terrible damage to clothes. Especially silk and wool and feathers. They eat them!’

      ‘But,’ Sylvie said, ‘someone would have to get a whole load of moths in here, and then get them back out again without leaving a trace. Bernice, I don’t suppose you were sent a mysterious package yesterday that you left in here unopened, did you?’

      ‘No,’ Bernice said. ‘There was nothing out of the ordinary.’

      Flora wrote: ‘MOTHS??’ in big letters. Then, in smaller letters, ‘Trained moths?’ Then, in even smaller letters, ‘Trained clothes moths???’ Then, with a sigh, she scribbled it all out. ‘Clothes moths are tiny, not like the ones Phil saw. You definitely couldn’t train them. And my pen’s running out,’ she said in a very despondent voice.

      Sylvie bent down and handed Flora a stray stick of charcoal. ‘Here.’

      Three sharp raps came from the doorway. All four heads inside the lock-up turned to look. An anxious-looking white woman poked her head inside.

      ‘Amber?’ Bernice said. ‘What are you doing here? Come in. Girls, Amber works for the council. She’s their Community Liaison Officer. Amber, these girls were supposed to be my wardrobe assistants – Minnie, Flora and Sylvie.’

      Amber squeaked a hello. ‘I had to come as soon as I heard,’ she said in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper.

      ‘That’s kind of you.’

      ‘It’s no problem. Are you all right?’

      Bernice gave a tight shrug and gestured towards the ruined costume.

      ‘I see,’ Amber said, suddenly sounding brighter. ‘I wondered whether you wanted to lodge an official complaint?’

      ‘Against who?’

      Amber opened her briefcase and pulled out a blue sheet of paper. ‘Against the Carnival. Any disturbances associated with the Carnival have to be recorded. They are used to determine whether it should be allowed to continue.’

      ‘Well, of course it should be allowed to continue!’ Bernice said indignantly.

      ‘Of course!’ Minnie agreed. She was getting a bad feeling about Amber.

      Amber slid the blue form along the workbench. ‘I agree, if the Carnival runs smoothly. But if there are unpleasantnesses, like the terrible vandalism that happened during last year’s parade, then it should be reduced in scale, or stopped altogether.’

      ‘That wasn’t vandalism! Those trees were yarn bombed with knitted bunting!’

      ‘Fabric dyes can be very toxic to plants,’ Amber said. ‘It’s getting more and more difficult to control that sort of thing. If there were enough complaints, then the council would have to take my concerns seriously.’

      Minnie glanced down at Amber’s feet. She was wearing sensible black shoes, with the laces tied in a double-knot. ‘Do you ever wear high heels?’ Minnie asked.

      Amber frowned. ‘No. I don’t know how anyone can walk in them. I wear these, or my vegan boots. Why?’

      ‘No reason,’ Minnie replied.

      Amber tapped the blue form that lay on the workbench. ‘Can I count on your support?’

      Bernice didn’t pick it up.

      ‘I’ll be reporting this incident anyway,’ Amber said. ‘Even without your testimony the council will have to realise that the Carnival brings out the worst in people.’

      Bernice glared at Amber. ‘I think you’d better go, don’t you?’

      Amber shrugged and tucked the form back in her briefcase. ‘You know where I am if you change your mind.’

      They watched her leave in silence.

      Well, all except Sylvie. ‘That woman is a witch!’ she said loudly. ‘She turns up here looking all sweet and shy but really she wants to stop Carnival just because she thinks people are having too much fun! Oh! You don’t think she would have ruined your costume, do you? To give Carnival a bad reputation?’

      They all looked at the dummy.

      ‘She is vegan,’ Minnie said. ‘Maybe she hates feathers. When they’re not on birds, I mean.’

      ‘And she’s always going on about the litter and the noise pollution,’ Bernice said softly.

      Flora wrote Amber’s name in her notebook. As she pressed, the charcoal stick snapped in two. A dark line scored its way across the page. ‘Rats!’

      Then Flora tilted her head. ‘That’s weird,’ she said. ‘Look at this.’ She held one half of the charcoal and tilted it so that the others could see. The very centre of the charcoal stick was pale wood. It wasn’t singed all the way through, the way that charcoal was supposed to be.

      ‘It isn’t real charcoal!’ Minnie said. ‘Otherwise it would be burnt all the way through.’

      Flora tapped her notebook a few times and watched the dark flakes fall. Then she grinned.

      ‘I think I know how the costume was ruined,’ she said.

      ‘How?’ Bernice asked.

      ‘Sylvie, where did you find this charcoal?’

      Sylvie waved vaguely towards the ground. ‘Just there.’