Alice-Miranda Shines Bright 8 (18 page)

 

C
onstable Derby had called off the search for Mr Parker immediately after he'd hung up on his call with Miss Reedy. He was relieved to hear that the man was alive and well and staying at Wood End with Stanley Frost. He hadn't been out to that part of the world in years and didn't know that Stan still lived there, so this was very good news. He was less relieved to learn that Mr Parker didn't want anyone to tell Mrs Parker where he was just yet. He could only imagine how she'd take it.

The constable was about to drive around to see Myrtle when a crackly call came through on the radio. There'd been a serious accident on the road between Downsfordvale and Winchesterfield. He'd have to attend that first and then go to see Mrs Parker.

Constable Derby kissed his wife goodbye, pulled on his raincoat and hurried out into the darkness. A brisk wind had sprung up and the rain was coming in sideways. He hated bleak nights like these. They only ever brought trouble. There was more news of the accident over the radio. A lorry loaded with glass bottles of tomato sauce had overturned on a bend and was now blocking the road in both directions. The driver had escaped with only minor cuts and there were no other vehicles involved, but it sounded like he would be needed there for hours.

The police car sped through the rain, siren blaring. As he rounded the bend, Constable Derby sighed at the scene in front of him. The truck was wedged between the stone walls that lined the carriageway. They'd need a crane to lift it back onto its wheels and some manpower to clear up the debris before the road was safe to use again. He called over to the Downsfordvale station for backup but it seemed that everyone there was already out on calls too. Apparently a fire had started in one of the local restaurants and there had been another accident in the village. For the moment Constable Derby was on his own and it looked like it would be a very long night.

 

Myrtle Parker's hatchback zoomed on into the darkness, windscreen wipers going full tilt but barely making an impression on the screeds of water washing over the car.

Ambrosia Headlington-Bear was beginning to think it would have been better to take her convertible, given it was almost brand new and far better equipped than Myrtle's old banger.

‘Myrtle, where is Wood End?' Ambrosia asked as they passed the showground. ‘And who's Stan Frost?'

But Myrtle was concentrating on the road. The little car hit a huge puddle and veered violently to the left. Ambrosia screamed and somehow Myrtle regained control of the vehicle.

‘Probably best you focus on the driving,' said Ambrosia. ‘We can talk about Mr Frost later.' She smiled nervously at the old woman and wondered if there would be a later.

Myrtle Parker's face looked as if it were set in concrete; her steely gaze was fixed on the road and her hands clamped tightly to the steering wheel.

Further along, Myrtle slowed down and seemed to be looking for a place to turn. Ambrosia couldn't see anything resembling a road and was stunned when the old woman steered the car into what looked like a thicket of bushes. The little hatchback bumped along the track under a deluge of overhanging branches.

Ambrosia nibbled nervously on her thumbnail. ‘Are you sure this is the way?'

Myrtle nodded. ‘Oh yes, I'm quite sure.'

The thwacking branches clawed at the car as Myrtle planted her foot on the accelerator. The vehicle fishtailed from side to side and bounced along the pitted track.

‘Look out!' Ambrosia's hands covered her eyes. She peeked just in time to see Myrtle avoid hitting a large branch that came crashing down onto the path behind them.

‘Perhaps we should come back tomorrow, when the weather's cleared,' Ambrosia said tentatively. But she wondered if they would be able to turn back now anyway.

Myrtle shook her head. ‘I'm taking Reginald home with me tonight if it's the last thing I do.'

Ambrosia was beginning to think that it could very well be the last thing that either of them did.

The path opened up a little. Water was sheeting across the windscreen and visibility was almost nothing. Up ahead, she could just make out what looked like an old bridge.

‘Myrtle, stop!' Ambrosia demanded.

But the car sped up.

‘Stop being such a baby, Ambrosia.' Myrtle glanced at her, brows furrowed. ‘This bridge is as safe as houses.'

As the little hatchback's front wheels hit the structure, it disintegrated beneath them. A wave of water from the swollen stream rose up and swept the car away. The younger woman's screams filled the vehicle as it spun around and around. Myrtle was silent, her face stony, her hands still gripping the steering wheel.

The car raced downstream in the torrent of swirling water.

‘I don't want to die,' Ambrosia wailed. ‘I've got Jacinta to think about.'

Myrtle glanced at her hysterical friend. ‘I am sorry, dear. I didn't mean for this to happen.'

The next moment, the world turned black for both of them.

 

 

M
illie and Alice-Miranda lined up at the servery in the dining room. They had walked over from the house with Miss Reedy, who said that Constable Derby had been delighted to hear that Mr Parker had been found. He had agreed not to tell Mrs Parker of her husband's whereabouts just yet either. The teacher and girls decided it would be best to keep the good news to themselves until Constable Derby had been out to Wood End.

Millie raised her nose in the air. ‘I think Mrs Smith has outdone herself tonight. I love lamb korma.'

‘Me too,' said Alice-Miranda as she dropped an extra dollop of yoghurt onto her meal.

Jacinta was sitting in the corner with Sloane.

‘How are you feeling?' said Alice-Miranda as she set her plate down beside Jacinta's.

‘I'm fine,' said the girl.

‘What did you talk to Miss Grimm about after we left?' Sloane asked Alice-Miranda.

‘I can't say. I'm sorry, but I promised I wouldn't tell. Miss Grimm said that we shouldn't get anyone's hopes up.'

Millie had meant to ask Alice-Miranda about that too, but in all the excitement of finding Mr Parker, she'd completely forgotten. Now she pulled a pleading face at her friend. ‘Come on, Alice-Miranda, we're your best friends.'

‘I know you are and that's why I can't tell. Not yet,' Alice-Miranda said. She looked at her plate pointedly and took a bite of her meal. ‘Mrs Smith's a genius with curry, isn't she?'

Millie got the hint. ‘She's got a lot better this year. This tastes like something we had at your place, Alice-Miranda.'

The girl nodded. ‘I think it's another one of Mrs Oliver's recipes.'

Sloane shovelled a forkful into her mouth. ‘It's pretty good. My mother is the worst cook in the world. I'm going to starve this summer. I bet she'll be on some new diet that she'll inflict on the rest of us. Last year it was disgusting cabbage soup morning, noon and night.'

‘Oh, that's seriously gross,' Millie agreed. ‘Cab­bage makes me windier than a summer storm.'

The other girls giggled.

Sloane grimaced. ‘There were some smells in our house that no one should ever be subjected to.'

‘It's sad that we'll all be split up for the holidays,' said Alice-Miranda, frowning. ‘What does everyone have planned?'

Millie piped up first. ‘We're going to stay in the caravan by the beach. Mummy said that you can all come, as long as you don't mind sleeping on camp beds and roughing it a bit.'

‘I'd love to,' said Alice-Miranda. ‘But I'll have to check what Mummy and Daddy have planned. I think I might be staying with Granny for a little while too.'

Sloane, however, had been shaking her head in horror. ‘No way. I'm allergic to camping.'

‘You can't be
allergic
to camping,' Millie protested.

‘Well, I am,' Sloane insisted. ‘Just the thought of sleeping in a tent can give me hives, and with skin as delicate as mine I can't afford to risk it.'

‘You're so pathetic.' Millie wrinkled her nose at Sloane, whose tongue shot out at her.

Jacinta stayed quiet.

‘What about you, Jacinta?' Millie asked.

The girl shrugged. Her dark mood seemed to have returned.

‘Come on, Jacinta, it's only camping. It wouldn't kill you,' said Millie.

‘I don't care what I do for the holidays. When my father finds out what's happened, he'll probably send me to some boot camp for brats in the middle of nowhere so I can't get into any more trouble.'

‘Oh, Jacinta, I'm sure that won't happen,' Alice-Miranda told her friend.

‘Stop being so nice to me. I don't deserve it.' Jacinta pushed her chair out, picked up her plate and walked over to deposit it on the servery.

Alice-Miranda wondered what else to say, because at the moment nothing seemed right at all.

 

Silas Wiley sat at his kitchen table reading through the paperwork. He couldn't believe how easy it was to register the claim. Thankfully, the fees could be paid by credit card, although he'd had to use his mayoral expense account, which he'd reimburse as soon as he could. It wasn't ideal but Ursula would know how to work things out at the end of the month. She was a clever girl.

Now it was just a matter of waiting for the official documentation and then he could bring in the workers – although he needed to figure out who those workers would be. This wasn't going to be any amateur prospecting outfit. Silas envisaged a full-scale mining operation. And he wanted one of those giant trucks and a processing plant too, where he could watch all that beautiful molten gold being poured into bars. Registering the claim was one thing; now he had to find people who knew what to do with it.

He went to the dresser where his parents had always kept the telephone books. He didn't have a computer at home and this couldn't wait until tomorrow. Surely he could find someone who would assist him with his mission – although mine managers were probably a little thin on the ground. There was the small issue of money too. Until the mine was showing a profit, Silas would have to cut someone in on the deal, because there was no money for up-front payments.

He tapped his pen on a blank piece of paper and thought about who might need to be involved in a mining venture.

Surveyors. He'd need to get a survey. Flipping through the pages, Silas found what he was looking for and wrote down a couple of numbers. He picked up the telephone and dialled.