Friday Barnes 2 Page 3

  Friday squeezed her way over to the window. ‘And this is where you left your bracelet?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Knox, ‘I always take my jewellery off and put it there. Normally I wouldn’t expect the local police to allow prison escapees to roam around my back garden.’

  ‘He didn’t escape,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘He was released.’

  ‘Well, that is just a sad reflection on the incompetence of the parole board,’ said Mrs Knox.

  Friday looked closely at the windowsill. ‘Did you find any fingerprints?’ she asked.

  ‘Only from Mrs Knox,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘But that is consistent. He wouldn’t need to leave fingerprints to pick up a necklace. Besides, it was cold this morning and he had gloves in his pocket. Maybe he was wearing those.’

  ‘Mrs Knox,’ said Friday, ‘could you describe the bracelet for me, please?’

  ‘It was a sapphire bracelet,’ said Mrs Knox. ‘It had a platinum chain setting and nine brilliant blue sapphires.’

  ‘Hmm, I see,’ said Friday as she looked out across the backyard. ‘Give me a boost, Uncle Bernie.’

  ‘All right,’ said Uncle Bernie, interlacing his fingers and holding them for Friday to step into, then boosting her up so she could clamber onto the window frame.

  ‘Do you mind?!’ exclaimed Mrs Knox, before turning on the sergeant. ‘How dare you bring a pre-teen into my home and allow her to stand on my paintwork!’

  Sergeant Crowley rubbed his forehead. What with the terrorist false alarm and now this, he was not having a good day.

  Friday grabbed hold of the top of the window frame and awkwardly stood up on the windowsill. Because she was taller than the window was high, her head was outside the wall of the house, which meant she was precariously balanced.

  ‘What is she doing now?’ demanded Mrs Knox.

  ‘If you want your bracelet back,’ said Uncle Bernie, ‘you’d best just leave her alone. She’s good at this type of thing.’

  ‘What, irritating people?’ asked Mrs Knox.

  ‘Yes, but also solving mysteries,’ explained Uncle Bernie.

  Friday stood on the windowsill for some time, scanning first left to right, and back again. Then she ducked her head back inside. ‘Mrs Knox, have those acacia bushes behind your pool house been there for long?’

  ‘What, those green bushes? Yes, I suppose so,’ said Mrs Knox. ‘The gardener planted them the year before last.’

  ‘I know where the bracelet is,’ said Friday, with which she leapt out of the window and landed heavily on the damp lawn. ‘Ow!’

  ‘Friday!’ exclaimed Uncle Bernie. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Friday. ‘The ground was just a little bit further away than I thought.’

  ‘Depth perception is not a great strength in her family,’ Uncle Bernie explained to the others.

  Friday hurried down the garden, around the pool, behind the pool house and disappeared into the acacia hedge.

  ‘One forgets how insufferable children are,’ said Mrs Knox. ‘This is precisely why Mr Knox and I decided to have none of our own.’

  Sergeant Crowley, Uncle Bernie, Malcolm and Mrs Knox hurried out of the house, in the more conventional manner, by using the back door.

  When they got down to the acacia bushes, Friday was waiting for them impatiently. ‘Hurry up,’ she said, ‘this is exciting. Like a pirate treasure hunt. Come on.’ She pushed aside two branches and disappeared into the hedge.

  ‘She can’t seriously expect us to follow her,’ said Mrs Knox. ‘What will my hairdresser say if he finds out I have literally been dragging myself through a hedge?’

  ‘I’ve found it!’ called Friday from the far side of the branches.

  With which Mrs Knox leapt into the bushes like a ninja. ‘Where?’ she demanded.

  A moment later they were all crouched on the ground around a circle of dry grass and twigs covered in blue milk-bottle tops, blue clothes pegs, blue pens and one blue sapphire necklace.

  ‘It’s a bowerbird’s nest,’ explained Friday. ‘Bowerbirds collect blue things to decorate their nests, to attract a mate.’

  ‘How sordid,’ said Mrs Knox with a shudder.

  ‘Not unlike the reasons Mr Knox gave the bracelet to you,’ observed Friday.

  Mrs Knox took out a lace handkerchief and used it to pick up the necklace. ‘I will take this straight to the jeweller to have it cleaned.’

  ‘Are you going to thank Friday?’ asked Uncle Bernie.

  ‘What?’ said Mrs Knox. ‘It’s all right,’ said Friday. ‘The reward money will be thanks enough.’

  ‘You don’t think you’re going to get the reward money just for looking in a bird’s nest, do you?’ asked Mrs Knox.

  ‘The reward was offered for giving police information that leads to the retrieval of the bracelet,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘But it was just a bird that took it,’ protested Mrs Knox.

  ‘There were no anti-bird clauses in the reward offer,’ countered Sergeant Crowley. Mrs Knox had been rude and mean to him all day. He was enjoying himself now. ‘I suppose you could get a lawyer to help you wriggle out of your commitment, but that wouldn’t look very good in the papers, would it? Wealthy woman too mean to reward an eleven-year-old.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Mrs Knox, ‘Harold will just have to run up a few more billable hours, I suppose.’

  A few minutes later Friday, Uncle Bernie, Malcolm and Sergeant Crowley were walking back to their car. Friday had a $10,000 cheque in her pocket.

  ‘Do you need a lift anywhere?’ Sergeant Crowley asked Malcolm.

  ‘I’d rather part ways now,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘Here,’ said Friday, holding out the reward cheque, ‘you should take this.’

  ‘What?’ said Malcolm, looking at the slip in her hand.

  ‘You need it more than me,’ said Friday. ‘My school fees are paid up to the end of semester already.’

  ‘I can’t take your money,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘Sure you can,’ said Friday. ‘I’ve only had it for two minutes. I’m not emotionally attached to it yet.’

  ‘I said no!’ growled Malcolm before stomping off.

  Sergeant Crowley shook his head. ‘Vagrants are always such complex characters.’

  A short time later Sergeant Crowley, Uncle Bernie and Friday were driving back to the police station.

  ‘How did you figure it out?’ asked Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘It was obvious that Malcolm didn’t take it,’ said Friday.

  ‘It was?’ asked Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘Yes, because he never said he didn’t,’ said Friday. ‘If he had taken the bracelet and cleverly hidden it, then he would have been loudly protesting his innocence, demanding a lawyer and causing trouble. But the fact that he didn’t complain, and just accepted the unfairness of the situation, shows that he saw the accusation as so patently false that it was futile to complain.’

  ‘Huh?’ said Sergeant Crowley. He was getting confused.

  ‘If Malcolm didn’t take it, what were the alternatives?’ asked Friday. ‘Who else was in that empty field at 7 o’clock in the morning? Nobody but the birds. Add to that the fact that sapphires are blue and there is a large population of satin bowerbirds in this area. The solution was obvious. I just needed to look for a large acacia bush, the preferred home of bowerbirds.’

  Chapter 5

  The Prodigal Detective Returns

  When Friday and Uncle Bernie drove up the long swooping driveway towards Highcrest Academy, it was getting dark. Friday checked her watch. ‘Everyone will be having dinner.’

  ‘Then you’d better hurry along, you haven’t eaten all day,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Friday. ‘I had seven doughnuts at the police station. That is one cliché I rather enjoyed discovering was true.’

  Friday pushed open the heavy oak doors leading into the dining room. Even though intellectually she knew it was irratio
nal to be anxious about walking into a room full of school students, she still was. The 70 per cent increase in her pulse rate, the sheen of perspiration on her forehead as well as the overwhelming urge to turn and run away screaming were all evidence of that. She braced herself for the inevitable stares and the mean jibes of her peers.

  As Friday stepped into the room and the doors swung shut loudly behind her, a lot of people turned to see who it was. They registered it was Friday then went back to their meals. There was no staring or whispering.

  This naturally made Friday suspicious that she was being set up for a cruel joke. She had watched enough high school horror movies to know that teenagers could come up with imaginative pranks involving vast quantities of toilet paper or cold custard. Friday carefully walked over to the food line and received her serving of shepherd’s pie and banoffee pudding, then spotted Melanie on her own in the far corner staring absently into the distance. Friday walked over and slid onto the bench alongside her.

  ‘Oh, you’re back,’ said Melanie. ‘I’m so pleased. School is a lot harder when you’re not here. I was half an hour into third-period physics before I realised I don’t study physics and I’m not in Year 10. Then I couldn’t remember where I should be and I got in trouble for taking a nap in the memorial rose garden.’

  ‘I’m pleased to be back too,’ said Friday. ‘It was fun being taken in and questioned. But I would have been very cross if they’d kept me so long that I missed out on Mrs Marigold’s banoffee pudding.’

  ‘It’s a particularly good one today,’ said Melanie. ‘She went heavy on the toffee and light on the banana.’

  ‘I must say,’ said Friday, ‘I’m surprised there isn’t more of a fuss over my return. I was arrested and taken away on terrorism charges this morning.’

  ‘That was all the buzz for a bit,’ said Melanie. ‘But your arrest is only the second most interesting thing to occur here today.’

  ‘What was the other thing?’ asked Friday.

  ‘We’ve got a new Year 10 boy,’ explained Melanie.

  ‘And that’s a bigger deal than my being arrested?’ said Friday.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Melanie. ‘You know how superficial people are. Plus, you do insist on wearing those ugly brown cardigans and that weird green hat, so being dragged off to face a counterterrorism task force seemed to make complete sense. The only surprise was that it hadn’t happened earlier.’

  ‘I see,’ said Friday.

  ‘Whereas,’ continued Melanie, ‘the new boy is dishy.’

  ‘Dishy?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Totally,’ qualified Melanie.

  ‘Dishier than …’ began Friday.

  ‘Your boyfriend, Ian? Yes,’ stated Melanie.

  ‘Ian isn’t my boyfriend,’ argued Friday.

  ‘No, of course not,’ agreed Melanie. ‘Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘In fact I am very angry with Ian,’ said Friday.

  ‘Oh good,’ said Melanie. ‘A row is a fun way to spice up a relationship.’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Friday.

  Melanie did not get a chance to answer.

  ‘Friday.’ Ian was standing behind her.

  Friday stood up, which was hard because she was sitting on a bench, so the table was in the way and she couldn’t really stand up straight.

  Ian smiled, which only made him look even more handsome. This irritated Friday. It’s hard to be cross with someone who is distractingly good-looking. She stepped out from behind the bench so she could regain some dignity, then glowered at Ian. Although it’s hard to glower effectively at someone who is ten inches taller than you.

  But Ian just smiled again. This time it was his rueful smile, which was arguably in his top three handsomest smiles, even above his ‘Aren’t I charming?’ smile and his ‘You’ll forgive me, won’t you?’ smile.

  Friday realised she really must stop categorising his smiles. It was almost as if Melanie’s constant talk of her being in a relationship with Ian was making her subconsciously think it was true.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Do what?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Don’t beat about the bush with me,’ said Friday.

  ‘I thought you liked intrigue,’ said Ian.

  ‘Why did you set me up and dob me in to the police?’ asked Friday.

  ‘He framed you?’ asked Melanie. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Who else would go to the trouble of hollowing out the handle of my hockey stick and filling it with beans that look like they make ricin but actually make a delicious burrito filling?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I would have thought there were quite a few possibilities,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Like who?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Lots of people dislike you,’ said Melanie.

  ‘They do?’ asked Friday, trying not to feel hurt.

  ‘The Headmaster might have done it,’ suggested Ian, ‘to get rid of you because you’re a huge thorn in his side.’

  ‘Or the Vice Principal might have done it,’ added Melanie. ‘Because he thinks you’re morally dangerous and a blight on the school.’

  ‘Or Mrs Marigold may have done it,’ added Ian, ‘because you wrote a formal letter to the school council expressing your concern that the kidneys in her kidney pie were contaminated industrial waste.’

  ‘But as far as pranks go,’ continued Melanie, ‘this one sounds unusually labour-intensive and imaginative. Just the type of thing Ian would do, what with him being secretly in love with you.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Friday.

  Ian raised an eyebrow. ‘I mean “exactly” to everything except the secretly-in-love part,’ said Friday.

  ‘But if he wasn’t secretly in love with you, he wouldn’t bother,’ said Melanie. ‘He’d just put itching powder in your gym shorts and be done with it.’

  ‘Melanie,’ said Ian with a smile, ‘I would never put itching powder in Friday’s gym shorts. I know she never attends gym class, so that would be pointless.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Melanie. ‘You really do know each other so well. You’re the perfect couple.’

  ‘But to report me to the counterterrorism task force!’ said Friday. ‘That’s just vindictive.’

  ‘I thought you said you enjoyed being arrested,’ said Melanie. ‘You found it very interesting.’

  ‘That’s not the point!’ said Friday. ‘He wasn’t to know that. And besides, I got lucky. They never took me further than the local police station. If Jorge from the taco shop hadn’t been able to verify my identification of the beans, I would have been transferred to central office in the back of a paddy wagon and locked up for days before it was sorted out.’

  ‘Maybe that was the idea,’ said Ian.

  ‘You wanted to scare the daylights out of me, letting me think I was going to jail for life?’ said Friday. ‘I thought …’ She had to stop speaking partly because she could feel herself on the verge of crying, and partly because she didn’t know what she thought about her strange relationship with Ian. He had a disconcerting effect on her endocrine (hormone) system.

  ‘You thought what?’ asked Ian.

  Friday took a steadying breath. ‘I thought we were getting along better. To do this, it’s just … it’s just, plain hateful.’

  Ian shrugged, but there did appear to be a small touch of shame to his demeanour. ‘Perhaps it was nothing personal,’ he said.

  ‘Is that an apology?’ asked Friday. ‘If so, it’s the lamest one I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘It’s because he’s attracted to you but doesn’t want to be,’ said Melanie.

  ‘I am not!’ said Ian.

  ‘Also, he resents the fact that you’re smarter than him,’ said Melanie.

  ‘She is not,’ protested Ian.

  ‘You see how conflicted you make him?’ said Melanie. ‘Ian lashes out with cruel practical jokes because his feelings for you make him hate himself.’

  ‘What?!’ exclaimed Friday and Ian in unison.


  Melanie sighed happily. ‘It’s like you’re made for each other.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Friday. ‘I’ve been detained, cross-examined, solved a robbery and cleared an innocent man’s name today. My brain has already taken in an excess of data. I can’t deal with anything else.’ She turned and marched towards the main doors.

  ‘Can I have your banoffee pudding?’ Ian called after her.

  Friday looked over her shoulder to glare at him, but as she did so her foot got caught in the strap of a backpack that was lying on the floor. A more coordinated youth would have hopped on the other foot and shaken it off. But Friday was not coordinated. With her head turned one way, her body moving the other and her foot caught in the backpack, she was unable to remedy the situation. Friday soon found herself travelling at alarming speed, face first towards the floorboards. She closed her eyes and braced for impact.

  But there was none. At least not with the floor. She landed in the firm, strong grasp of a pair of arms. Friday opened her eyes and found herself looking into merry brown eyes only centimetres away from her own.

  ‘It’s okay, you can breathe now,’ said the smiling boy.

  Friday sighed. She had not realised she was holding her breath.

  The boy helped her to her feet. ‘I’m terribly sorry my bag tripped you up.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Friday. She was still staring at the boy. He was only a couple of inches taller than Friday but he looked wiry and strong. He had brown curly hair, a strand of which hung just over his right eye, almost calling to her to reach out and brush it off her forehead.

  ‘My name is Christopher,’ said the boy. ‘I’m new here.’

  ‘Friday,’ said Friday.

  ‘I think it’s Tuesday,’ said the boy, confused.

  ‘No, my name is Friday,’ explained Friday.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ said Christopher. Then he smiled a disarmingly warm and genuine smile, and shook her hand.

  Friday found herself holding his hand for a moment too long. She looked down at it wondering why she wasn’t letting it go, but instead found herself observing his strong, sinewy fingers and the five evenly spaced dots, like a five on a dice, near the base of his thumb.