WHEN I GET BACK TO MY CUBBYHOLE, Mr Mollusc is standing there.
“Where have you…?” he begins. Then he notices the too-big borrowed coat, my seaweedy trousers and the fact that my Lost-and-Founder’s cap is a soggy mess on my head. And I’m still carrying Mrs Fossil’s bucket of stinking beach-findings, which is dribbling a trail of seawater on the polished marble floor behind me.
The vein on his temple starts to throb.
“What…? How in…? Why…?”
“Have you lost a question, sir?” I say, sliding past him.
I flip the sign on my counter from CLOSED to PLEASE RING FOR ASSISTANCE.
“I’ll just pop downstairs and see if someone has handed one in.”
Then I descend to my cellar, leaving the hotel manager spluttering behind me.
Violet has already climbed in through the window, and is sitting in my big armchair.
“What just happened, Herbie?” she says.
I scratch my head. As is often the case in Eerie-on-Sea, that’s not a question that’s easy to answer. I take my coat off and drape it over a chair beside my wood burner. Fortunately, a small glow is still winking at us in the stove window.
“First thing is to get warm and dry,” I say, chucking in a couple of logs. “The legends and monsters can wait.”
“I don’t believe in the malamander,” says Violet. “I don’t know what we saw just now, but I’m not ready to believe in sea monsters. Yet what did we see?”
I wring out my cap into Mrs F’s bucket.
“We saw a shadow in the mist, that’s all. And the Boathook Man attacked you.”
Violet shudders. “Do you think the Boathook Man attacked poor Mrs Fossil, too?”
“He looks like he’s capable of anything,” I say. “But one thing is sure: he seems to have a thing about you. And what did he mean by I will be free?”
Violet pulls a blanket over to the chair and wraps herself in it, staring into the window of the wood burner, where a new flame is just flickering into life.
“Violet?” I say, because her silence seems a bit odd. “Surely you must have some idea why he’s chasing you? What did you do?”
She shrugs. “I just bumped into him. Yesterday, when I arrived in town. That’s all.”
Can that really be all? But with someone as freaky as Boathook Man, maybe there are no good reasons for anything.
Violet is watching me from under the blanket. “I came here to find my parents, Herbie,” she says. “But I seem to have found a different mystery instead.”
I rummage about in my clothes box until I find another Lost-and-Founder’s cap.
“Unless the two mysteries are connected somehow,” I say.
Violet frowns at me. “How can they be connected?”
I’m about to reply that of course they must be connected, when there’s a sharp, scratchy sound on the window. We both turn. Something white is pawing at the glass.
“Ah, it’s only Erwin,” I say, getting up to let the cat in. “He often visits. Especially if he’s caught in bad weather.”
“The cat from the Eerie Book Dispensary?” says Violet. Erwin hears her voice and pads over to her. He lets her stroke him for a moment before jumping up onto a shelf above the wood burner and settling down in a pile of lost scarves.
“Where I got the book,” Violet continues, as if to herself. “Where I got the book about the malamander. I only went there because of the card around my neck – the one from my parents, that came from the dispensary. Oh, Herbie, maybe these things are connected.”
Violet reaches across to her drying coat and fishes the slim green book out of the pocket. “But how?”
“The best way to find out what’s in a book is to read it,” says Erwin.
“She hasn’t had a chance yet,” I reply absent-mindedly, brushing the last of the sand from my trousers. “But you’ll have time now, Vi. I need to get some work done, or Mollusc will have me stewed and served up as today’s special. I’ll be back soon, though, to see what you’ve found out.”
Violet is holding the book to her face, her wide eyes staring over it at Erwin. “That … that cat just spoke!”
I glance sharply at Erwin. He peers back through narrow blue eyes, as if challenging me.
I give an awkward shrug. “Maybe your ears are still full of sea mist,” I manage to say. “Everyone knows cats can’t talk.”
And I give Erwin a hard stare, which he ignores as he purrs down to sleep.
“Anyway, now would be a good time to read your book, Violet,” I say as I head for the stairs. “And when I get back, maybe you’ll have some answers.”
Back up in my cubbyhole, I look both ways to make sure there’s no sign of Mr Mollusc in Reception. When I see that there isn’t, I stroll over to Amber Griss again. And again she watches my approach over her spectacles.
“Herbie,” she says, “if you’re going to tell me you’ve seen the croissant thief again…”
“No,” I say. “Not a sign. But I’ll keep my eyes open, I promise.”
“What have you done to get Mr Mollusc so worked up today?” says Amber. “He’s fuming.”
“I’m just returning these.” I put the keys to Room 407 on the counter. “They were lost, and I – er – I found them. It’s my job, after all. I don’t know what old Mollusc Breath is on about.”
“Now, now!” says Amber, suppressing a laugh as she takes the keys. Then she adds, “I wonder how these got lost.”
I give her one of my most innocent faces. “Who knows? Anyway, as part of my official duties as Lost-and-Founder, I need to look at the booking records,” I say, adjusting my cap and trying to look important. “I need to trace some guests.”
“I see.” Amber raises one eyebrow. “Do you know which room they stayed in?”
“Room 407, as it happens,” I reply, checking my fingernails.
“Really?” The eyebrow creeps even higher. “What a coincidence.”
Amber takes a large volume down from a shelf behind her, and opens it on the counter.
“They stayed here twelve years ago,” I say. “Maybe it would be better if I had a look?”
Amber stops flicking pages and gives me another over-the-spectacles glance. Then she turns the book round and pushes it over. It only takes a moment to find the entry for Violet’s missing parents, marked with the single word: Parma.
Vi’s dad’s name was Peter Parma. But Violet seems to know nothing at all about her mum, not even her name.
“Is there some way to find out more?” I ask Amber.
“People don’t need to give their shoe size to book a room here, Herbie,” she replies.
“But what about this phone number?” I say, tapping a column on the opposite page.
“We always take a phone number, for every booking. This looks like a London number. Why…?”
“Amber, it’s really vitally important that I use the hotel telephone.”
Amber Griss puts her hands on her hips. “Can you look me in the eye, Herbie Lemon, and swear that you’re not doing anything else to annoy Mr Mollusc?”
I put my hand over my heart. “Amber, I swear to you, on my honour as Lost-and-Founder, that I will never, ever, pass up the chance to annoy that whiny old whinge-bag Mollusc. And I think you already know that.”
Amber laughs and points to the old black and brass telephone. “Just one call. I’ll keep a lookout for the whinge-bag.”
I pick up the heavy receiver and dial the number from the booking record. I hear the purr of the dialling tone, and then a voice answers.
“Exotic Erratics. What name, please?”
“Um…” I say, because I wasn’t actually expecting an answer, let alone one as strange as this.
“Ah, good morning,” says the voice, sounding slightly more formal now. “You’re through to the Natural History Museum, Department of Cryptozoology and Exotic Erratics. How may I help you?”
“My name is Herbert Lemon,” I say slowly, putting on the posh voice because – well, because Natural History Museum! “I am the Lost-and-Founder at the Grand Nautilus Hotel, and I am calling because I believe you have lost something? Or rather, someone.”
“Who is this?” The voice sounds annoyed now. “How did you get this number?”
“This would have been twelve years ago,” I continue, before they can hang up. “Did someone in your department go missing?”
I hear a faint intake of breath on the other end of the line.
Then the voice tells me a name.
