Where Everything Seems Double by Penny Freedman (good books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📗

Milo and Eve came out of the police station long after the Magnums were finished and they had played an assortment of word games on their phones, mostly won by Venetia. Milo looked pale and Eve looked rather hot and red, but she sounded cheerful enough when she said, ‘Well they didn’t throw him into a cell, anyway,’ and she handed Milo some money and said that she was going to her studio but he could buy them all fish and chips. ‘But home after that, boys. Your granddad wants some help with moving the hives.’

They watched her go and then, without saying anything, Milo brandished the notes in his hand and led them across the square and down towards the quay, where they joined the queue at the chippy. Nobody said anything as they stood in line, jigging with impatience. Everyone had questions for Milo; everyone knew this wasn’t the place for them; no-one could think of anything else to talk about.

Eventually, juggling their hot bundles, they walked along the lakeside until they found a sort of grassy lump that projected out into the lake.

‘It’s a viewing point,’ Venetia said. ‘People stop here to gawp at the lake, but if we’re here they can’t, can they?’

They spread themselves out on the grass and once the unwrapping of the food was underway Micky asked the first question.

‘So what did they say?’

Milo ate a chip. ‘Not much.’

‘What did they ask then?’

‘What do you think? Why did you have the phone? Why didn’t you tell anyone you had it? What was your relationship with Ruby? All of that.’

‘And what did you say?’ It was Venetia’s question this time.

‘She gave it me to look after. I forgot I had it. Ruby was just a friend.’

He said this in a sing-song voice, like someone reciting something he had learnt.

Venetia said, ‘Well, that’s all true, isn’t it? But you were in there for ages. They must have asked you other stuff too.’

‘They wanted to know about that phone call I took, for Dumitru. You could see they were putting that and me having the phone together and making themselves a little story.’

‘Did they ask about Dumitru?’ Freda asked.

He looked at her directly. He knew what she meant. ‘Not really. They wanted to know who made the call. Went on and on about it. What kind of voice? What kind of accent? Young or old? What exactly did he say? Any background noise? Di-da-di-da.’

‘What did you say?’ Micky had been busy with his fish, and his mouth was still full.

‘It was a man’s voice. Youngish. He said, “Message for Dumitru. He’s wanted back at the hotel right away” – or words to that effect. Who remembers the exact words of a phone call?’

There was a pause while they all ate their chips. Then Venetia bundled up her remaining chips and said, ‘Freda’s granny has asked a policeman to come and stay. He’s a chief inspector and he’s arriving this afternoon.’

Freda knew that she was absolutely scarlet as everyone turned to look at her. She concentrated on bundling up her own uneaten chips. ‘He’s a really old friend,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why he’s coming. They see each other sometimes. I don’t think it’s anything to do with Ruby. He works in London, so I don’t…’

She tailed off, and Venetia went for the kill. ‘He is called David,’ she said, ‘and I’ve just been looking at the Facebook stuff about Milo and Fergus’s grandfather and the girl who was killed in Marlbury. The inspector who arrested him was called David Scott. Coincidence, isn’t it? I just wonder if he’s here to help the local bobbies fit your granddad up for whatever has happened to Ruby.’

Freda dared not look up. She sat, rolling the chip papers into a tighter and tighter roll. Then Milo said, ‘Lay off, Venetia. You watch too much crime stuff on TV.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, Ferg. We’d better get home and sort the hives. We’ll see you guys around, OK?’

Venetia jumped up too. ‘I want to do some shopping. I’ll walk through town with you.’

Freda felt helpless. She wanted to get Milo away from Venetia and explain to him about David, but he had walked away without giving her another look, and there was absolutely nothing to be done but to get the ferry back to the hotel and leave Venetia to keep dropping her poison in his ear. She looked at Micky.

‘Do you know what time the next ferry is?’ she asked.

For answer he pointed a thumb out towards the lake, where she could see the ferry just leaving the quay. ‘Two hours till the next one,’ he said.

She shrugged, trying to look unbothered. ‘Looks like I’ll have to go shopping too,’ she said.

Micky jumped up. ‘I could row you there if you like?’

‘Really? Have you got a boat?’

‘My dad lets out boats off the quay here.’

‘But he’s driving the ferry, isn’t he?’

‘He doesn’t drive the ferry. He captains it.’

Feeling mocked, Freda jumped to her feet, ready to say that she didn’t want to be rowed down the lake and would just wait for the ferry to come round, but Micky was on his feet too, smiling at her.

‘My uncle manages the boat hire. Let’s see what he’s got. Dinghy or canoe – what’s your choice?’

‘Which would you rather row?’

‘Well I would only row a dinghy. I’d be paddling a canoe, wouldn’t I?’

He was grinning again and she could see that he wasn’t really being unkind.

‘OK,’ she said, so I’m a landlubber. We only have a piddling little river where I live, and nobody does anything with it.’

They made their way back to the quay, where Micky called something she couldn’t follow to a man in a slightly official-looking hi-viz jacket, jumped into a small rowing boat and put out a hand to help her in. She sat facing him as he pushed off from the shore and then settled into a steady pull on the