Mystery & Mayhem. Julia Golding

Even though it was a riot of colour, the riot was organised. It was the same at the salon. Bernice was always tidying, sweeping up locks of hair. There was no way she would leave charcoal lying around. Especially not fake charcoal. The charcoal was the thing that didn’t belong! Which meant it had to be a clue.

      Flora moved over to the letter box and pulled up the flap. ‘Imagine you wanted to make the letter box stay open. You might use a stick wedged up like a clothes prop. And, if that stick spent a long time, hours, being heated, then it might get scorched and start to look like charcoal.’

      Minnie stepped closer to the letter box too and peered through the rectangle of light. She could see the dirt road and the footpath outside the lock-ups.

      ‘But what would make a stick that hot?’ Sylvie asked.

      ‘Burning!’ Minnie said suddenly. ‘That’s what I smelt when you first opened the door. It was burnt feathers! They smell as bad as burnt hair. Bernice, if someone directed a heater into the space, and left it on all night long, what would happen to your outfit?’

      Bernice turned to look at the manky creation on the dummy. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘that would happen.’

      ‘So,’ Sylvie said, ‘someone in high heels stood outside the letter box with a heater?’

      Flora shook her head. ‘Not exactly. A really powerful lamp would generate lots of heat, and if you positioned it properly you could focus an intense, boiling-hot spotlight on one place.’

      ‘And,’ Minnie said with a grin, ‘a really powerful lamp left on overnight would attract some really big moths too! That’s why there were moths in Big Phil’s lock-up!’

      ‘But who?’ Sylvie said. ‘Who was the lamp-holder in heels? Do you know?’

      ‘Yes! Because the marks on the ground weren’t high heels at all,’ Flora said. She marched back to the table. Minnie joined her. With half of the fake-charcoal Flora drew six dots on her pad, just like the marks they’d seen outside. She joined three of the dots to form a triangle, then joined the remaining three to form a second triangle.

      ‘A tripod!’ Minnie said. ‘Like the ones we saw by the stage on Marsh Road! Someone with a strong light on a tripod did this! Someone set it up, but wasn’t happy, so they moved it to get just the right angle. They could have left it there for hours without having to do anything else.’

      ‘It was Jasleen,’ Flora said. ‘Her and her boyfriend. He works with the filming crew. They use spotlights all the time.’ Flora rolled the charcoal piece along the workbench. ‘This must have dropped inside the letter box, instead of outside, when the crime was done. Jasleen hoped we wouldn’t notice. I think she came back here to try to get it. Remember her looking at the ground? She was hunting for this!’

      ‘But why did she do it?’ Sylvie asked.

      ‘She’s a costume maker too,’ Bernice said. ‘She isn’t as good as me, but she’s not bad. If she walks at the front of the parade and I’m nowhere to be seen, then everyone will order their costumes from her next year.’ Bernice caught sight of her own sad, sorry costume and gulped back a sob. ‘My reputation will be as ruined as these feathers.’

      ‘But how can we prove it?’ Minnie asked. ‘There won’t be any prints on the charcoal now we’ve touched it. And finding any witnesses will be difficult, if not impossible. Big Phil was worse than useless.’

      ‘Hey!’ a bass voice said. ‘I heard that.’ Big Phil stepped into the room, carrying a huge suitcase.

      ‘Sorry,’ Minnie said, feeling her cheeks redden.

      ‘I heard everything. And I don’t think you need to prove she did it,’ Big Phil said, ‘you just need to prove that it doesn’t matter that she did it. You need to show her that you won’t let anything stop you.’

      ‘But I can’t take part in the parade dressed in that!’ Bernice said, pointing to the wreck on its stand.

      Big Phil smiled shyly. ‘I bought this a little while ago.’ He gestured with the suitcase. ‘I was going to say it belonged to Marilyn Monroe and sell it on at a profit, but I thought it might fit you.’ He opened the case and pulled out a red sequined dress, with a huge spray of ostrich feathers at the shoulder. ‘You can alter it, if you want. I don’t mind.’ Big Phil hugged the dress in his huge hands. ‘You can have it. I think you’ll look beautiful in it.’

      Bernice took a deep breath. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘No one’s going to rain on my parade. I’ll show Jasleen that she can’t stop me, whatever she does. Pass me the frock. Minnie, fetch my scissors. Twins, we’ll need all the lace you can find. I’ve got three hours to make a showstopper. Thank you, Philip!’

      As she took the dress from his hands, she dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. Big Phil blushed redder than the fake Marilyn gown.

      At noon precisely, the steel drums launched into their first tune: crackling bass notes first, then trilling top notes and a surging rhythm that made everyone who could hear it start to bob. Minnie grabbed Flora’s hand and lifted it up and down in time to the beat. ‘It’s starting!’

      Then the parade swung into view. Dancers led the way, stepping forward and to the side, forward and back, repeating the pattern in time to the music. Like butterflies, like flowers, like birds of paradise, the colour and sound moved closer.

      There was Bernice! Looking wonderful in red ostrich feathers reaching to the sky, gold paint on her neck and arms, and a smile spread like warm butter from ear to ear.

      And keeping pace with her in the crowd was Big Phil, looking pleased as punch.

      But where was Jasleen?

      Minnie raised herself on tiptoe.

      There!

      Right at the back of the line. With no one looking at her, or smiling, or dancing at her side.

      ‘I guess everyone has heard what she did,’ Flora said. ‘I don’t suppose anyone will be ordering their costume from Jasleen again.’

      ‘And moany Amber has nothing she can complain about,’ Sylvie said.

      Minnie forced the shadow that Jasleen had tried to create from her mind. ‘Doesn’t Bernice look wonderful?’ she asked.

      ‘Big Phil certainly thinks so,’ Sylvie replied.

      As the drums gave way to a brass ensemble, the pace of the bobbing grew more insistent. Minnie found her feet moving whether she wanted them to or not, her hands clapping. She was dancing in the street, like a proper performer! Other hands joined in. Flora, Sylvie, the people beyond them, all dancing in time.

      And it seemed to Minnie that in that moment everyone in the parade, in the audience, everyone in the whole world maybe, was full of fireworks.

      *

      Read more about Minnie, Flora and Sylvie in the Marsh Road Mysteries series! Available from Bloomsbury now.