Kat Wolfe Investigates Read online

  Nettie pressed a finger to her lips. ‘I disagree,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘If I were to consult my crystal ball, I’d say our new pet-sitter is going to be wearing breeches that err on the baggy side . . .’

  ‘That’s Amazon’s fault,’ whispered Kat. ‘They sent the wrong ones.’

  ‘ . . . muddy long boots, a khaki-green jacket with lots of useful pockets, and a red “THIS GIRL CAN” T-shirt. You might be right about the hair, though. Not the wire-wool bit. My crystal ball tells me that it’s wildfire hair, in serious need of a brush.’

  She beckoned Kat in. Kat left her boots on the doorstep and followed Nettie into the living room in her socks.

  A girl of around her own age lolled in an armchair between the window and the piano. She was staring down at a laptop. Her legs were up on a footstool: the right one in a blue plaster cast that reached her knee, the left in a bright pink ankle cast. She also had a bandaged wrist and a scratch on one cheek.

  She was hemmed in by heaps of books and audiobooks with titles such as Learn Mandarin Chinese, A Latin Primer and The Coder’s Lexicon.

  ‘So what’s your best guess, Nettie?’ she said, without looking up from her computer. ‘Are you right, or am I?’

  Some instinct made her glance round. A beetroot flush spread from the neck of her cream jumper to the roots of her glossy dark hair.

  ‘Oh. Ohhhh.’

  She shut her laptop with a snap. ‘How much did you overhear?’

  ‘Everything from the part where you were wanting to hack into the Pentagon,’ Kat answered truthfully. ‘What does the Pentagon do anyway?’

  ‘It’s the United States Department of Defense in Arlington, Virginia.’

  Kat was shocked. ‘And you could really hack into it?’

  ‘Course she couldn’t,’ snorted Nettie. ‘She likes to torment me, is all. Drawn to mischief the way a bee is to honey, that one.’

  Her twinkling eyes belied her stern tone. ‘Would you like some tea and cake, miss, er . . .’

  ‘Kat. Yes, please – but, if it’s OK with Harper, I’ll take care of Charming Outlaw first.’

  Left alone, the girls sized each other up. Despite their awkward start, Kat warmed to Harper at once. Her round face was open and likeable, and comma-shaped dimples appeared in her cheeks when she smiled. Behind her glasses, her gaze was smart and unwavering.

  ‘Sorry about earlier,’ Harper said. ‘Dad didn’t tell us the new pet-sitter was a local kid. He can be vague like that. Shame it’s not going to work out. As you can tell, I could use a friend.’

  ‘You’re firing me?’

  ‘Good gosh, no. It’s only that I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. Charming Outlaw is an ex-racehorse. On the track, his nickname was the Pocket Rocket. I thought it was a laugh until a rabbit popped out from behind a bush, and he bolted. I’ve always fancied myself a good rider, but it was like being strapped to a comet. We found out later that that’s why his owner sold him for a song, and why our landlady, who tried to train him for polo, gave up on him. When he gets the bit between his teeth, even pro jockeys struggle to stop him. You wouldn’t have a chance. You don’t wanna end up like this, do you?’

  She lifted the pink ankle cast and winced.

  ‘For starters,’ Kat said, ‘I’m not planning to ride him today. Charming Outlaw and I need to get to know each other first. I thought we might play some football.’

  The pink cast thudded on to the chair. ‘Oh dear. You are a crazy pet-sitter after all.’

  ‘Why don’t we let Charming Outlaw decide? One hour is all I need. Your father told me the Pocket Rocket’s depressed because he’s cooped up. I can fix that. Trust me, horse football will help.’

  Harper was unimpressed. ‘Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you.’

  Kat could feel her longed-for dream of galloping along the beach on Charming Outlaw slipping from her grasp. ‘Oh, give me a chance, Harper! I couldn’t bear it if another job went wrong – not after what happened with my first client.’

  ‘And you want me to let you play games with my horse?’ cried the American girl. ‘What became of the other pet? What was it – cat, dog or a more exotic creature?’

  ‘A yellow-crowned Amazon parrot. Bailey’s fine. It’s his owner I’m worried about. I’m convinced something dreadful has happened to him.’

  Harper’s brown eyes widened. ‘Are you talking illness or masked robbers? Did you see something suspicious? Tell me everything.’

  ‘Why should I trust you?’ demanded Kat. ‘I don’t even know you.’

  Harper grinned. ‘Touché. That’s French for “you’ve got me there”, in case you were wondering.’

  Kat smiled back. ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘There’s an easy way to settle this,’ said Harper. ‘Do you believe that animals are good judges of character?’

  ‘The best,’ answered Kat, recalling Ramon’s comment on the honesty of parrots.

  ‘Then let’s allow Charming Outlaw to decide, like you suggested. You can see if he trusts me, and I can see if he trusts you. Deal?’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘If you help me into my wheelchair, I’ll come with you. Ohmigod, I can’t believe I’m saying that. It’s like I’m ninety.’

  ‘Special Olympians don’t think that way,’ Kat pointed out. ‘They use their wheelchairs as chariots for superhuman feats.’

  Harper brightened. ‘That’s true! My chariot only has to get me to the yard.’

  12

  Wolfe & Lamb, Inc.

  ‘When I got out of bed today, Paradise House was draped in apocalyptic fog,’ said Harper as Kat pushed her wheelchair through the cherry blossoms. ‘It was as if there’d been a nuclear disaster, and me, Dad, Nettie and Charming Outlaw were the only survivors.’

  Kat had a flashback to her own perilous journey to visit the parrot. ‘That’s how I felt when I was climbing the cliff path to Avalon Heights this morning,’ she said, momentarily forgetting their bargain. ‘In places, the sea mist was so thick it was hard to know which way was up and which was down.’

  The wheelchair braked sharply. ‘Avalon Heights? The house that looks as if it’s owned by a movie star or a Bond villain? What happened? Tell me, tell me.’

  Kat refused to be drawn. ‘Later.’

  She was tense about meeting the Pocket Rocket, but trying not to be. Few animals were as sensitive to emotional turmoil as horses. It wasn’t Charming Outlaw’s reputation that scared her. Mainly, she was afraid that Harper would send her away before she’d been able to spend time with him.

  For Kat, horses had always been as necessary as breathing. Between the ages of five and nine, she and her mum had lived on London’s Isle of Dogs, close to a riding school. Riding came so naturally to Kat that the woman who ran the local Pony Club had asked Kat to join the team. But after winning a couple of showjumping rosettes, Kat had quit. She had no interest in competing. She wanted to be with horses and to understand them, nothing more.

  Moving to the other side of London had put an end to all but the occasional ride. However, she had done an online natural horsemanship course with her mum. Now that she had a chance to test it out on an actual horse, she didn’t want to blow it.

  They’d reached a neat stableyard with two stalls. One was filled with hay. The other just barely contained a chestnut thoroughbred with a white blaze. When he saw Harper, he whickered with pleasure. But, after a quick hello, he let out a full-throated whinny and resumed pacing his stable, stamping and snorting.

  ‘See what I mean?’ Harper said anxiously. ‘He’s so explosive that I doubt you’d even manage to groom him. Nettie’s been doing it since my accident, and she’s frazzled. You can quit now if you like. I won’t hold it against you.’

  But Kat was already walking up to the stable. Inside, the horse rushed in circles, coat flashing like a fire-juggler’s torch. He barged the door, ears pinned to his head.

  Kat dipped her right shoulder and half turned away, but she stood her ground. Curi
osity got the better of Charming Outlaw. He remembered his charming side. His ears pricked and he stretched over the stable door, breathing her in. When at last she laid her hand on his cheek, he shut his eyes and gave a great sigh.

  For Harper, watching, it was like intruding on a private moment. There was an exchange between Kat and the horse. They spoke the same language.

  However, as soon as Kat let him out of the stable, Charming Outlaw forgot his manners. He tore around the yard and down to the field with Kat clinging to his lead rope as if she were the tail of his racehorse kite. To Harper’s astonishment, Kat was unfazed. She was endlessly patient, firm and sure of herself.

  Over the next hour, Harper watched as Kat transformed Charming Outlaw from a frantic, sweating barrel of frustration to a happy, shiny horse. He was full of beans and far from perfect, but it was a good beginning. They left him in the field, rugged-up and playing with his new ball.

  ‘What are you – an animal psychic?’ asked Harper over a cup of tea and a slice of home-baked chocolate and raspberry sponge.

  Kat found it hard to take her eyes off a model of a dinosaur that took up the whole of the dining room table. She supposed that the professor and Harper ate on their laps. ‘I listen to animals, that’s all. Anyone can do it.’

  ‘No,’ Harper said. ‘They couldn’t. If you still want to be our pet-sitter after I insulted you and nearly fired you, I’d love you to do it. Charming Outlaw trusts you, and that’s good enough for me.’

  ‘Yes, please!’ Kat grinned. ‘By the way, you’ve passed the Charming Outlaw trust test too.’

  ‘Ooh, goody. Now will you tell me the secret of Avalon Heights?’

  A hard knot balled in Kat’s stomach. She knew she’d never forget her flight from the house – the cold, slippery guard rail beneath her fingers, and the wind trying to suck her off the cliff into oblivion.

  It was a relief to talk to someone about it. When she’d returned, shaken, to Bluebell Bay Animal Clinic, her mum had been operating and couldn’t be disturbed. Kat had installed Bailey in the aviary for sick birds, petted Hero and gone home for a sandwich.

  Oddly, it was Tiny who’d comforted her. He’d been perched on top of the kitchen cabinet, tail swishing. His fierce green gaze made her feel safe again. She knew that nothing and no one would get past him. She’d told him about the strange events at Avalon Heights, but had decided not to tell her mum until she knew for certain Ramon was gone. It might all be in her mind. Talking to Harper made everything vividly, scarily real again.

  ‘You’re awfully courageous,’ the American girl said admiringly. ‘I’d have been so creeped out after finding the suitcase I’d have run away and left behind the parrot and the parcel. Five stars for being quick-thinking enough to take both.’

  Unused to praise from her peers, Kat speared a raspberry to hide a sudden attack of shyness.

  ‘So what’s your opinion, Harper? Is something criminal going on, or is it a misunderstanding? Maybe I got the date wrong. Ramon could be on the phone to the police at this very minute, telling them his pet-sitter’s stolen his parrot.’

  Harper took a yellow-lined pad and a black pen from a basket beside her armchair. ‘I think we both know that Ramon is not at Avalon Heights. Something – or someone – interrupted him last night or first thing this morning as he packed his bags. We need to find him. His life could be at stake.’

  She wrote ‘MISSING PERSONS REPORT’ at the top of the pad and underlined it three times. ‘Let’s start with what we know.’

  NAME: Ramon Corazón

  AGE: 50-ish

  ADDRESS: Avalon Heights, Bluebell Bay, Dorset

  JOB: Bird artist

  LAST CONTACT: Called Kat at 8.16 p.m. on Wednesday from unlisted number

  PLANS: Said he was leaving at the ‘crack of dawn’ on Thursday on urgent business trip to Paraguay

  REASON FOR TRIP: ???

  SUSPECTS: 0

  SUSPICIOUS THINGS:

  1) door open when Kat arrived at about 10.45 a.m. on Thursday

  2) half-packed suitcase

  3) phone number not working

  4) suspicious package

  ‘Lots of parcels have “Private and Confidential” written on them, especially business ones,’ said Kat. ‘Doesn’t mean they’re suspicious.’

  ‘Yes, but they’re not all addressed to people who’ve vanished, leaving their special security door unlocked and their luggage scattered across their bedroom floor,’ said Harper. ‘I’d also like to know why Ramon password-protected Option Thirteen on his high-tech kitchen iPad. He wouldn’t have bothered securing it if there was nothing to hide.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ said Kat. ‘When I got there, Bailey was cowering in his cage. I thought he was pining for Ramon, but now I’m not so sure. He kept gabbling, “Tell Kat! Tell Kat!” and some other words I didn’t understand. Ramon speaks Spanish, so it could have been that.’

  ‘If he says it again, try recording him on your phone. I’m half Cuban, so I can translate. In case you were wondering, my mom was an archaeologist who got pneumonia on a dig and passed away when I was knee-high to a gnat. All I have of her is pictures. She was born in Miami, but her parents were doctors from Havana. Granddad’s gone, but Grandma’s still around, living in the Florida Keys. She and Dad made sure I grew up speaking Spanish.’

  Harper’s tone was breezy when she spoke about her mother, but Kat knew from experience that just because painful things became easier to say with time it didn’t mean they didn’t hurt.

  ‘I’m sorry about your mum. My father’s gone too. He was lost at sea before I was even born.’

  ‘That’s tough. Was your dad a sailor?’

  ‘A surfer. But I don’t call him Dad, because he kind of wasn’t one, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I know exactly.’

  For a minute, they ate their cake in silence.

  Harper took the cap off her pen. ‘Let’s get back to work. We have a missing man to find. What are the chances that Señor Corazón fell off the cliff in the fog?’

  ‘It’s possible, but I’m hoping there’s another explanation. Suppose Ramon was in debt, and the bailiffs came calling? He might have spotted them on his CCTV, escaped to the airport with only his passport and the clothes he was wearing, and flown away to Paraguay.’

  Harper jotted down some notes on the yellow pad.

  ‘Excellent theory. We’ll add it to our list of possibilities. If Ramon hasn’t turned up or called by tomorrow morning, I’d say we’re looking at three options. One: he’s sick or had an accident leaning out over a precipice in pursuit of a rare bird. Two: he’s on the run because he’s done something wicked. Or three: foul play.’

  ‘But why would anyone want to harm a twitcher?’ asked Kat. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘What in the world is a twitcher?’

  ‘A bird watcher. That’s what they call themselves.’

  ‘That figures, I’ve always thought at least sixty-five per cent of twitchers are completely bonkers and this proves it.’

  ‘You said pet-sitters were mad too,’ Kat reminded her. ‘And here I am.’

  Harper had the grace to look ashamed. ‘Fair point.’

  ‘Ramon adored Bailey, which is usually a good sign. He told me that the difference between a person and a parrot is that a parrot never lies.’

  ‘He said that?’ Harper noted it down. ‘Curiouser and curiouser.’

  ‘Plus he’s a Way of the Mongoose student like me.’

  ‘Way of the what?’

  ‘Mongoose. It’s a martial art that takes the best bits from wing chun, Krav Maga and Brazilian jiu-jitsu. I’ve only been doing it for a few weeks. Ramon told me to learn Move 58. He said it’s handy for life-and-death situations.’

  Harper chewed her pen thoughtfully. ‘Why would a bird artist need to be an expert on life-and-death situations? Come to think of it, what urgent business could a bird artist have in Paraguay? This whole situation stinks.’

>   ‘We should call the police,’ said Kat.

  ‘The cops won’t lift a finger until an adult’s been gone for at least twenty-four hours.’

  ‘So what’s our plan?’

  The word ‘our’ fell so easily from Kat’s lips that she had to remind herself that she and Harper had only just met. Everything was happening so fast. A couple of hours earlier, they’d been strangers. Now they were a team: Wolfe & Lamb, Incorporated.

  Harper brimmed with energy and ideas. ‘There’s only one thing for it: we need to return to Avalon Heights.’

  ‘You have two broken legs!’

  ‘When I say we, I mean you,’ Harper clarified. ‘You have to go back. If Ramon’s been kidnapped, or worse, there’ll be evidence. Footprints, a threatening letter, bloodstains . . .’

  Kat stared at her. ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘About which part?’

  ‘Why do I have to do it? Earlier, you told me that you’d have been scared out of your wits if you’d seen what I saw at Avalon Heights. You said you’d have run away.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not a black belt in Mongoose kung fu or whatever it is you do. You’re brave.’

  ‘Not that brave!’ cried Kat. ‘And I’m only a Mongoose apprentice.’

  Harper considered. ‘OK, how about this: if Ramon hasn’t texted you or shown up by morning, ask Sergeant Singh to go with you to Avalon Heights. He’ll be over the moon to have a missing-person mystery in Bluebell Bay. Beats hunting for stolen pumpkins. Nettie says that’s the only crime they’ve ever had around here. Just don’t give away our best clues. And, whatever you do, don’t tell him about the parcel. That’s our secret.’

  ‘What will you be doing?’ Kat asked. ‘You know, while I’m crawling around Ramon’s carpet looking for bloodstains.’ She paled. ‘Oh Lord, I hope there are none. He’s such a nice man.’

  Harper softened. ‘There won’t be. My guess is he’s taken a tumble in the mist and has amnesia. He’ll be wandering around a nearby village like a zombie, unable to remember his own name. I’ll check the local papers for news.’