‘Of course not, I wouldn’t need you if it was.’
‘It’s more difficult than I thought.’
‘I thought you were supposed to be brilliant?’
‘I thought you were supposed to be dead, Valerie.’
‘You see? Everything’s possible.’
‘Becoming undead is possible?’
‘It would seem so.’
‘HEY RUBE,’ SAID HER FATHER, LOOKING UP. He was in the living room and looking weary. He was lounging back in his chair, the one he liked to sit in if his day had been tough. Mr Barnaby Cleethorps had obviously been a handful. Hitch was mixing a drink at the bar.
‘Good trip to the dentist?’ asked Brant.
‘Uh?’ said Ruby. ‘The dentist? Umm. . .’
‘That’s OK honey, dumb question. When does one ever want to go to the dentist, right?’
‘When one has a cavity?’ said Ruby.
‘So you had a cavity?’ said her father.
‘False alarm,’ said Ruby, wondering why Hitch hadn’t briefed her about the ‘trip to the dentist’.
‘Hitch was with you the whole time, of course?’ her father asked anxiously.
‘Oh yeah, he was there all right.’ She flashed a look at Hitch. ‘Weasel,’ she mouthed.
Hitch handed Ruby a glass of lemonade, and whispered as he passed, ‘Just keeping you on your toes kid. Keep sharp and stay alive.’
‘What a lovely sentiment, I’ll be sure to write it in your next birthday card,’ hissed Ruby, giving him a death stare.
Brant Redfort looked at his watch. ‘Do you think supper’s ready?’
‘I hope so, I’m starving,’ said Ruby.
‘You didn’t eat lunch?’ Brant asked, alarmed.
‘Yeah, sure I did, I’m just sorta double hungry these days. Probably the healing process; one needs to eat twice as much.’
Brant Redfort looked troubled. ‘I’ll talk to your mother about it; can’t have my girl’s healing process compromised,’ he said, ruffling her hair. She tried not to growl at him – she hated the hair–ruffle thing – but her father looked so tired she didn’t want to give him a hard time.
‘So what else happened today?’ he asked.
‘The doc said I could finally get this lump of plaster sawn off,’ said Ruby, holding her cast up.
‘That’s swell news honey.’
‘I wanna do it as quick as possible,’ said Ruby. ‘Tomorrow would be good, you know what I’m saying?’
‘The Scarlet Pagoda! Absolutely. You’ll want to look your best for tomorrow night’s theatre fundraiser.’
‘That’s right Dad, looking my best is what I live for.’
‘Look, I’ll get onto Doctor Shepherd, I’ll bet he can wriggle you onto his list – get one of his guys to do it. I don’t want just anyone sawing into my Rube’s arm.’ He mussed her hair again and picked up the phone.
‘Hello Frank, Brant here. . . very well thank you! And you? . . .And Wallis? . . .And the kids? . . .And your parents? . . .Your sister Betty? . . .Glad to hear it. The thing is, Ruby needs a plaster cast removed pronto and I was wondering if you could slide her in tomorrow, get one of your best guys to do it? . . .Swell Frank, I appreciate it. I’ll wait to hear from you.’ He hung up. ‘Looks like you’re all set for tomorrow night’s costume shindig. All of fashionable Twinford will be turning out for it. And you know we Redforts have to be there looking a million dollars.’
Ruby did know. Her parents were nice – more than nice, they were very, very likeable, friendly, sociable, popular people. Take this Scarlet Pagoda fundraiser, for example. Mr and Mrs Redfort were right at the top of the invitation list. If they hadn’t been able to make the date then there was a good chance that the date would have been changed to fit with their social schedules. They were fun folk, influential, and they always gave generously.
Their daughter, Ruby, was also popular, but in a totally different way and for totally different reasons. For one thing, she did not go out of her way to be friendly. She was never wilfully unkind nor unfair, but she didn’t feel the need to be liked for the sake of being liked. She felt no motivation to be popular and perhaps for this very reason, she was. Magnetically so.
‘Thanks Dad,’ said Ruby, heading towards the stairs.
‘No problem,’ said Brant. ‘Soon that arm cast will be behind you and you’ll be back playing ping-pong with your pals.’
Brant Redfort was unaware that Ruby had been playing ping-pong with her pals and doing numerous other things she always did – she wasn’t going to let a broken arm cramp her style and she wasn’t afraid of a little pain.
Ruby went on up to her room, closed the door securely behind her and pulled at a wooden slat that concealed a secret compartment where she kept one of her yellow notebooks (the other 624 were hidden under the floorboards and not a living human soul had ever read one word of what she wrote). It was in these that she noted down everything of interest and anything that might one day be of interest. Her RULE 16 being EVEN THE MUNDANE CAN TELL A STORY and her RULE 34 being YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN SOMETHING IS GOING TO COME IN HANDY – this included seemingly useless information.
Picking up a pen, Ruby wrote:
What is the test I have to pass? How can I find out? Need to be prepared.
What were LB and Hitch talking about exactly? Something removed or possibly stolen? From a high-security location?
LB looked edgy, off her game. Why?
Ruby didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, but one thing was for sure – she was going to try to find out. There was no way she was going to put up with this whole grounded deal.
Later, at dinner, Ruby was listening to her parents discussing the proposed renovation of the Scarlet Pagoda. Tomorrow night’s party was in aid of this cause. There would be a high-end raffle and some of the prizes were quite spectacular; Sabina, for example, had her heart set on winning the Ada Borland portrait – Ada Borland being a world-famous photographer who had offered as one of the prizes the extreme honour of photographing the winner or their loved one. Sabina had bought approximately fifty-two raffle tickets to date.
Aside from this highlight, Sabina was in charge of commissioning the famous Twinford sculptor, Louisa Parker, to create a piece of art that might stand in the Japanese Garden in front of the theatre once the restoration work was completed. There had been much discussion between committee members about who the sculpture should represent. No one could agree, most feeling it should be either the person donating the largest sum of money to the theatre fund, or someone of influence in Twinford society, but everyone hoped the resulting sculpture would be a lot more attractive than Mayor Abraham’s recent statue, which loomed down from the Skylark Building and scared the living daylights out of everyone who saw it.
‘It should be a sculpture of someone who performed at the theatre during its heyday,’ said Sabina.
‘How about a