The Lornea Island Detective Club Read online

  That makes my head jerk up. “I thought you said you could borrow it?”

  "I didn't say we could borrow it, I said we can use it."

  So after that we hurry outside and she unlocks an old Toyota Corolla that's parked on the driveway. I keep looking around anxiously, expecting to see her mom turn up and start shouting at us, but there’s no one around. Amber fires the motor clumsily, and backs off the drive.

  "I put the address in my phone." Amber steers with one hand as she opens the maps app on her cell phone. She stares at the screen as she pulls off down the street. A van is coming towards us, I can see the driver frowning as we slowly drift into its path.

  "Erm, Amber..." I begin, but I'm interrupted by the van honking its horn.

  "Fucking hell!” Amber looks up just in time to swerve out the way. Then she tosses the phone to me. “Hey can you find it for me?"

  I quickly realize that Amber’s not a very good driver, which kind of helps me not to think about where we’re going, and what we’re doing. I read out the directions and we take the road that goes towards the west side of the island. I don't know it well, only that there are no beaches here – it's all tall, craggy cliffs and a long drop down to the sea, which makes Amber's driving even more scary, especially when the road goes near to the edge. But even so I can’t shake a feeling we shouldn't be doing this. A couple of school kids pretending to be private detectives. As if we really have any idea how to find this poor woman's husband. But I don't say anything. It wouldn't be safe to distract her.

  Eventually we make it down to the southern tip of Lornea Island. There's no town here, just a few houses dotted around. One of them is bigger than the others.

  "Wow!" Amber whistles as she stops at the address marked on the phone. "Check that out!"

  I see what she means. Mrs. Jacobs' house is enormous. It's set back from the top of the cliff, and there's a gravel driveway leading up to it. It looks like the kind of place you'd expect to be met by a butler.

  Amber pulls forward again, and as she does so, Amber starts humming to herself. I realize she's nervous. I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.

  "You know, I really don't think this is such a good idea," I say.

  "Mmmm. Me either," Amber replies. But when she's stopped the car and pulled on the parking brake she looks across at me. Her eyes are shining with excitement.

  "But we're here now aren't we?"

  She gets out, and after a moment I do too. I figure that Mrs. Jacobs is probably going to take one look at us and tell us to go away. And at least that'll be the end of it.

  By the time I get to the front door. Amber's already pressed the bell.

  Twelve

  I hear the buzzing noise from deep inside the house. Then, moments later a voice too. A distant 'I'm coming', and then a long silence. Eventually we hear the shuffling of feet as someone comes to the door. Then it opens, just as far as the chain allows.

  "Yes?" The voice is sharp. Angry.

  "Hello, Mrs. Jacobs? It’s Amber. From the detective agency?"

  I can see an old woman through the slot in the door, screwing up her face, like she's trying to hear better.

  "The what did you say?”

  "The detective agency.” Amber repeats it louder. “We're here about your husband."

  “My husband?” The voice changes now, incredulous. “I don’t have a husband. Not had one of those for years.”

  Amber turns to look at me, a goofy look on her face. But then she tries again.

  “I know. You contacted us about finding him. You emailed us.” She pauses. “Do you remember?”

  The old lady snaps back at once. “Of course I remember, I’m not senile, if that’s what you’re implying?”

  The door suddenly slams shut, and we hear the fumbling of the chain. A moment later it opens again, properly this time.

  “Is that what you’re implying, young lady?”

  Amber takes a step back. “No, I just…”

  “Good, because if you were we wouldn’t be getting off on the right foot. Not at all.” Mrs. Jacobs glares at Amber, who looks like she wants to run away. I take the chance to examine Mrs. Jacobs. She’s tall and thin, but kind of elegant. Except she seems to be wearing two blouses, and she’s got the buttons mixed up so they’re all in the wrong holes.

  “Who’s this, your little companion here?”

  She turns on me so quickly it makes me jump, and I’m not able to reply before Amber talks over me.

  "This is Billy. Billy Wheatley. He works for the agency too. He's one of our junior investigators." She glances over and mouths that I should go along with this, so I do. But then, when I look back at Mrs. Jacobs something weird has happened. It’s like there’s suddenly a different figure standing there. Or maybe I just notice more about her now. She suddenly seems much more stooped over and frail now. Her face changes too. It looks more lined, more sad. She doesn’t say anything for a while. But when she does it’s like we’re starting all over again.

  “I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”

  So Amber tells her a second time. But now she nods.

  “Amber. Mr Billy. From the detective agency. Yes of course. Please, won’t you come in? I’ve been expecting you.”

  It’s weird. It’s like we’ve just met two completely different people in the same body.

  We go inside a huge hallway. It’s decorated like a museum, with portraits on the walls of men in suits. One is on horseback. The floor is made of marble and above us is a huge chandelier. I look around, and notice Amber is doing the same.

  "I was in the garden enjoying this lovely sunshine. Perhaps we could talk out there?"

  We follow Mrs. Jacobs’ curved back through several other dark rooms, all with the drapes closed. It seems to take forever, and at one point I think I see a stuffed fox’s head hanging up, but I can’t be sure. Finally we come to a patio door and step back out into a large garden enclosed by a high wall. It’s nice enough, with flowerbeds everywhere and a big lawn, but I can’t help notice we can’t get out easily if we need to.

  "Would you like some iced tea?"

  She has a tray of it ready, on a wrought-iron table. We sit down.

  "Thank you," Amber says, and Mrs. Jacobs pours us each a glass. Her hands shake as she lifts the jug.

  "It's so lovely of you to come and see me," she says, her voice frail again. "It's been such a long time."

  I'm not sure what to say to this, so I just smile and look at Amber, who raises her eyebrows just a tiny bit. She turns back to the old lady.

  “We’re here from the detective agency Mrs. Jacobs. You contacted us about your husband?"

  For a second Mrs. Jacobs’ face fills with a strange look. She continues to pour the tea into her own glass, but doesn’t stop even when it’s full, so that it pours all over the table and then flows over the edge and onto the ground below. It takes her ages to notice and stop pouring, but eventually she does. Then she sets the jug down.

  “Yes, of course. Excuse me. I forgot for a moment.”

  She smiles. It’s a sad smile, she looks lost.

  “Yes. That is quite the mystery."

  "Could you tell us exactly what happened?" Amber asks. She pulls out a notebook and balances it on her knees.

  But Mrs Jacobs doesn’t seem to hear. She looks at me instead. “I should have baked some cookies or something. I had no idea you’d both be so young”

  “We’re actually older than we look…” Amber begins, and I stiffen. This is the moment I’ve feared and I hope Amber’s not going to try her idea of saying we’ve got an older boss who doesn’t want to reveal his identity. That’s such a stupid idea.

  “Oh don’t worry about it dear. I expect it’s like policeman.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Private detectives are like policemen. They get younger all the time.”

  Mrs. Jacobs gives me a smile, and I realize Amber was somehow right. Our age isn’t an issue, because Mrs. Jacobs i
s completely crazy.

  “I’m sorry, this is all rather difficult for me. I’ve been a long time thinking about this.”

  “That’s OK Mrs. Jacobs,” Amber says. “If you could just tell us what happened, in your own words.”

  It sounds to me as if Amber spent all of last night practicing lines like that, but it seems to work because Mrs. Jacobs nods. She takes a moment to compose herself, then she begins.

  "It was December 8th. 1979. I remember we'd just put the tree up and all the decorations and the children were so excited, they were still young enough to believe in Santa and all the magic of presents." She smiles at me for a moment, almost like she’s not sure if she needs to pretend Santa’s real – for my sake. Then her face turns serious again.

  "It was evening time, the children were in bed and Henry said he was going to the store, up in Newlea. I usually bought the groceries, but what with Christmas coming up we’d run out of a few things. So he got into his car and he drove away. And that was the last anybody ever heard of him."

  She looks at me again, and shrugs as if that’s all there is to it. Amber’s busy writing down what she said, so I ask the next question.

  “Maybe he had an accident? Did you check the hospitals?"

  "Well no." Suddenly she gives me a really big smile. "That's a very astute question Mr. Billy. I can see why you're a detective. No. We checked all the hospitals and he wasn't in any of them."

  I'm quite pleased to be told I'm astute, so I try again.

  “Did you ever find the car?"

  "Another excellent question. Yes. The car came back. But Henry didn't."

  Amber seems to have decided she's going to be the one who writes things down, so I keep asking questions.

  "How do you mean?"

  "Like I say. The car came back from the store. Or at least – I went to bed, thinking that perhaps Henry had stopped off for a drink somewhere and wouldn't be back until late - he did that sometimes. But when I woke in the morning, the car was back, but no groceries, and no Henry."

  "Well perhaps he came back, and then went away again, but not in his car?"

  "I suppose that's possible. But the fact remains, that no one's ever seen or heard of him since."

  She watches me closely, a bit too closely, it makes me feel awkward while I try to think of another question.

  “Did you go to the police? What did they say?"

  I look over to Amber to make sure she's writing all this down, but then when I look back at Mrs. Jacobs, she seems changed again. Her posture is more slumped. She looks frail. It's like a cloud has slid over the sun.

  "Mrs. Jacobs? What did the police say?"

  She doesn't reply.

  I look over at Amber and frown again. I don't understand what's happening here at all.

  "Mrs. Jacobs, did you go to the police about your husband?"

  "When did we last see each other?" Mrs. Jacobs asked suddenly. "I think it's slipped my mind."

  Amber and I look at each other, totally confused.

  "We didn’t. We haven't actually met before," I tell her in the end.

  "Really?" She peers at both of us, like she's struggling to recognize who were are.

  "And who are you again?"

  Amber steps in again, but this time her voice is different now, less confident. "We're from the detective agency," she says again. "You asked us to find out what happened to your husband."

  Then Mrs. Jacobs screws up her face, like she's desperately trying to make sense of this, before she finally says.

  "Yes, of course." She puts a hand to her head and leaves it there, pressing against her temple. I slide my eyes again to Amber.

  "I'm so sorry. I must seem rather… muddled. You see I get so forgetful these days. I do want to know what happened, but I just... forget."

  "That's OK Mrs. Jacobs," Amber says. "You were telling us whether you went to the police? What did they say?"

  Mrs. Jacobs looks like she’s thinking for a long time. But when she finally speaks she shakes her head.

  "I'm sorry. I don't... I just can't bring it back. It's like, it's all in here, but I just can't get at it. It's so frustrating. It's why I thought you might be able to help. A professional agency like yourselves."

  I look at Amber. Trying to send her the message we really shouldn’t be here, since we’re not really a detective agency at all.

  "Coconuts!" Mrs. Jacobs says suddenly.

  "What?" Amber asks.

  "Coconuts. I remember something about coconuts."

  "What about them?"

  "I don't know. They were important. In some way."

  “In what way?”

  There’s a pause. “I don’t know. Palm trees maybe… It’s difficult to remember…” Mrs. Jacobs stops. She looks frustrated.

  Amber tries again. “Did you say you can't remember if you went to the police, or you can't remember what they said?"

  "There was snow on the ground. Not much, not enough to go tobogganing. Do you like to toboggan Mr. Billy?"

  I have no idea what to say to this so I stay quiet.

  "More iced tea?" Now she pours more drink into my glass. It’s already full so that it overflows like before, and runs all over the table a second time.

  I've seen enough at this point. Mrs. Jacobs is completely mad, and there's no way I'm getting involved investigating a mad lady's case. I don't have time for things like that.

  "Mrs. Jacobs,” I begin. “The actual reason we came today was to tell you we're not able to take on the case.” I feel Amber’s eyes shooting towards me, but I don't care.

  "We can recommend the agency on the mainland, but we're too..."

  "Oh no." Mrs. Jacobs interrupts me, and there’s something about her voice that makes me stop.

  "Oh no, it has to be you."

  There's silence.

  "Why?"

  "Because I have a feeling." She taps her nose, like this makes perfect sense, which of course it doesn't. "I had it when I found your lovely website. I had it when your colleague here arranged this meeting, and I have it now. A feeling, that you're the only one who can help me."

  I've no idea what to say to this, so I don't say anything.

  "And I won't take no for an answer."

  I swallow. "Yeah well that's really nice and everything, but..."

  "And if it's about the money Mr. Billy. As you can see I'm quite comfortably off."

  "It's not..."

  "Mr. Billy, I've read the terms and conditions on your website very carefully. I understand there's no guarantee of success, but I'm prepared to take that risk. Here..." She reaches down beside her chair and there's a purse I hadn't noticed before. She pulls it onto her lap and brings out a checkbook in a leather case. She tears off the top check and holds it out to me.

  "Five thousand dollars. That should be enough to get you started. Obviously there'll be more when you find out what happened." She smiles, and wafts the check in front of me, close enough that I can read her spidery handwriting. I swallow again.

  “Here. Take it.”

  I don’t mean to, but I do what she says. It’s five thousand dollars after all. More money than I’ve ever seen before.

  "Now, I do tire easily, so I'd like to take a rest now, if you don't mind?"

  I open my mouth to tell her again that we can't take the case. But no words comes out. I can’t stop thinking, obviously I shouldn't take the money - the old lady is very clearly insane. But five thousand dollars? And all we have to do is find this lady's husband. But then how on earth are we going to do that? Anything could have happened, and it was forty years ago.

  “You know I do sometimes wonder if whatever happened to Henry has just slipped my mind.” Mrs Jacobs interrupts my thoughts.

  I stare at her, and then move my eyes across to Amber, who’s grinning in delight.

  “Now if you don’t mind, I must take my afternoon nap.”

  Thirteen

  As we step out the front door and crunch back across the g
ravel, I feel Mrs. Jacobs eyes on me. When she’s in the car Amber starts laughing, but I wish she wouldn't.

  "Do you like to toboggan Mr. Billy!" Amber says as she starts the engine.

  "She’s fucking insane. That was hilarious." She turns the car around, and I ignore her. I lock eyes with Mrs. Jacobs again, standing on the doorstep, and for my last view I feel really sorry for her. She looks really sad and lonely so I don't feel like laughing.

  "So? What do you make of her?" Amber asks, when we’re back on the road. Thankfully she's driving much slower this time.

  "I think she's a bit mad," I say.

  "A bit mad? She's fucking batshit crazy."

  "Yeah," I say after a while. Since that probably isn't an unfair description.

  "What do you think about her husband though?"

  I just shrug.

  "It's weird though isn't it?"

  "What is?"

  "That he just walked out and disappeared? I mean how can that happen?"

  I think about this for a while before answering. "We don't exactly know that he did walk out and disappear. He could have just died normally. Or he could still be living with her, and she just hasn't noticed."

  Amber thinks for a moment. She laughs again, then stops.

  "Well either way, we have to find out," she goes on.

  I look across at her.

  "But she's mad. We can't take money from a mad person." But even as I say it, I think again what I could do with that money. How it could change Dad's life.

  "Why the hell not? What's five thousand dollars to someone with a house like that?" Amber turns to me, so that she's not looking at the road anymore.

  "It's not how much she's got," I say, more firmly than I actually feel. "It's whether it’s right to take it when she's mad. Whether it's ethical, I mean."

  Amber says nothing for a while. Then she repeats the word 'ethical' in a funny voice.

  "What exactly is ethical?"

  I don't answer her.

  "Look Billy," Amber tries again. "I'm not suggesting we don't look for him. We'll do the work we're being paid for. And like I said, it might be easy. If she's just forgotten what happened to him, or if nothing ever did, and she's just a bit mad, then it might be easy to solve. We'll tell her what happened and she can – I dunno – write it on a post-it note and stick it next to her bed. That way she can read the truth every morning when she wakes up."