Ruby looked at the desk, covered in batches of tapes.
‘What are they?’ she asked.
‘You have to listen to them.’
‘What are they?’ said Ruby again.
‘Tapes – of radio shows, the kind of shows that people with very little musical taste might tune into.’
Ruby considered this for a moment. Was he talking about what she thought he was talking about?
‘I guess you’re referring to Chime Melody?’
Froghorn wrinkled his nose, evidently surprised that she was aware of the Chime situation. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, no insult intended,’ he said, not the merest hint of apology in his voice. ‘Apparently, you’re a listener?’
‘Sure, I listen,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s important to have an open mind, otherwise one walks around like one knows it all when one is actually a total potato head, no insult intended.’
Froghorn’s mouth went very small, but he chose to ignore Ruby’s jibe.
‘There seems to have been some interference of some kind, highbrow music playing on a lowbrow show – it could be accidental, just two radio frequencies clashing. However, due to all the other unusual activity, LB assigned me the job of listening to each and every tape just to make sure there isn’t some underlying voice message or communication.’
‘She assigned you? So what am I doing here?’ said Ruby.
‘You’re here because I’ve delegated to a junior agent.’
‘Are you palming this work off on me Froghorn?’ she said. It was clear he thought it was a dead-end job.
‘Not at all, it’s just the kind of chore a less able person should be doing, and your name came to mind. All you have to do is listen, though I realise this is not something you’re skilled at.’
‘Jeepers Froghorn, did your mommy not love you enough? You got some serious ego issues man.’
Froghorn pursed his lips so his mouth went even smaller. He didn’t like this Ruby Redfort girl undermining him. Who did she think she was marching in with her big mouth, mocking him, making him feel stupid?
‘Next time, don’t be late.’ The door slammed as he left.
‘That’s the best you got? Don’t be late? You need to brush up on your insults potato head,’ said Ruby to no one but herself.
She stared at the piles of tapes.
She felt not unlike one of those fairy-tale characters who ends up left with some impossible task – to weave straw into gold or peel 1,500 carrots before dinner time.
Might as well knuckle down. She inserted the first tape in the machine, put on the headphones and sat back in the chair.
It was going to be a long, long night.
THE DOOR TO RUBY’S BEDROOM FLUNG OPEN.
‘Child, get yourself up and at it; your parent-folks will be arriving home today and I want to get your room looking like a room before your mother has me fired and run out of town.’
Ruby lifted her head from the pillow and rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted from her long night of listening to Chime Melody’s peculiar sounds.
Mrs Digby, who of course knew nothing about that, was standing in the doorway, pink rubber gloves up to her elbows, detergent in hand. Through the blur that was Ruby’s eyesight she looked like some kind of gunslinger.
Ruby groped for the clock. ‘Mrs Digby, it’s only 5.59 in the am, what are you doing?’
‘That’s right, plenty of time to do a little spring-cleaning, now up and at it!’ said the housekeeper, marching straight into Ruby’s closet. ‘I’ll start here; you can pick the debris from off of the floor.’
Ruby muttered under her breath, but she got up all the same. ‘You know you’re turning out to be a lot like Consuela.’
Mrs Digby snorted – she did not like to be compared to the Redforts’ ex-chef. Consuela was a woman she did not care for and she was glad to see the back of her and she didn’t make any bones about saying it.
However, not everyone felt the same. Consuela was an incredible chef and Brant and Sabina would pay double what the Stanwicks were paying if only she would come back.
Ruby did as she was told – it really wasn’t worth the argument. By the time she left for school her room was looking like it belonged to one of those perfect kids you saw in the commercials, those ones that smiled all the time. Ruby, dressed in a T-shirt emblazoned with the words dying of boredom here, looked about as far from being a ‘commercial kid’ as any kid could.
At the same time that Ruby was cleaning her room, Hitch got out of his car and looked out to sea. He could make out the Humberts’ cruise yacht, the Golden Albatross, coming in from the west. As it got nearer, he couldn’t help noticing that the vessel was looking less than shipshape – a little battered, a little worse for wear, a little war-torn.
Hitch had been casually leaning against the car, arms folded, drinking in the sun, but now he was suddenly alert. As the boat moved into the harbour, he could make out the faces of those aboard and no one was looking very happy. He cast his eyes over all the passengers, but could not see the faces of Brant and Sabina. He began to walk towards the yacht, picking up the pace with each step – by the time he got to the quayside, he was flat-out running.
He watched as Freddie and Marjorie Humbert wearily disembarked.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
Marjorie Humbert looked at him. ‘Pirates,’ she uttered.
Hitch scanned her face. ‘Is everyone OK?’
The Humberts looked at each other.
‘The Redforts?’ asked Hitch.
Freddie turned to him, his eyes welling up. ‘They didn’t…’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘They didn’t make it,’ he stammered.
‘What do you mean, “didn’t make it”?’ said Hitch, a sudden fear shooting through him. ‘You’re saying they’re not with you?’
‘Sabina was pitched overboard. Brant dove in to save her, but then…’ Poor Freddie, he couldn’t find the words.
‘The pirates shot them,’ said Marjorie, her voice barely audible. ‘Right there in the water. They didn’t stand a chance.’
‘You saw them get shot?’ asked Hitch.
Marjorie looked at him with her kind eyes. ‘No, we did not see that, and I’m grateful we didn’t.’ She was ashen-faced and looked close to collapse.
But Hitch needed more; he needed to know for sure. ‘But you didn’t see them, see their bodies I mean; you never saw them dead?’
Marjorie winced, but bravely held his gaze. Freddie looked away. ‘No,’ she said in a whisper. ‘We never saw them dead, but we never saw them again. I want to tell you something good Hitch, something hopeful. But I can’t.’
Freddie nodded, took her by the arm, guided her down the gangplank and together they staggered safely to shore.
Hitch didn’t miss a beat: before he had got five feet from the quayside he had radioed in to Spectrum and was put through to LB. He explained the situation and then put in his request.
‘We need to conduct a search,’ he said.
‘I’ll get someone to contact the