Days Left to Save the Earth: 9
‘Find it’? Easy to say, but where to start? It feels odd to be investigating without our third head. Porter’s been missing for two whole days. If it was term time we’d at least see him at school, but the holidays have started so he could be anywhere. It’s yet another thing to worry about and we’re in danger of losing focus. The brain ray can’t be our main concern; neither can Porter. Not when we only have nine days left to find the missing Moon(ish) Rock and save the Earth from lunar loonies and exploding brains.
Speaking of loonies, Holly is prancing around the living room in her designer sunglasses, which arrived this morning, less than forty-eight hours after she called the Lost Property Muppet to say they were missing.
“I should ring and thank him.”
“Wouldn’t bother,” I grunt. “He was rude.”
“Not to me.” Holly skips to the telephone.
I have no interest in what the Lost Property Muppet has to say, but I tune in when Holly asks, “Why? What’s wrong with them?”
I move closer. “What’s wrong with who?”
“Security guys from ‘Exploring Space’,” Holly mouths.
“What is wrong with them?”
Holly covers the bottom of her phone. “They’re in intensive care. It may be Space Rock related. One guard was so sick in front of a school tour group yesterday that the kids fled the building, terrified by all those news reports into thinking that his head was about to blow up. My Lost Property friend is complaining they left their toys behind.”
I nod. Then I stop nodding. What kind of kid takes a toy on a school trip? And if they’re that crazy about their toy, they’re not going to leave it behind just because of a bit of projectile vomiting, are they?
I grab the phone. “Did any of these toys look like a space gun? Kind of plastic and turquoise-coloured?”
“Oh. It’s you,” Lost Property Muppet says without enthusiasm.
“Can you just answer the question?”
Holly snatches the phone back. “Sorry about my sister . . .”
“Oi! Don’t apologise for me.” I’m getting fed up with ‘nice’ Holly.
“ . . . But we are interested in turquoise space gun toys.” Holly flutters her eyelashes. At the phone! I mean, seriously? “I know it’s a silly question, but did anyone hand in something like that?” She raises her eyebrows. “They did?”
“Fibonacci! Is this guy completely stupid? I asked him about brain rays the other day. Why didn’t he call us?”
Holly covers the phone speaker and glares at me. “You. Are. Not. Helping.” She removes her hand and continues all nicey nicey. “I don’t suppose we could pop in and see it? What . . . ? You’ve already sent it to someone?” She kicks the wall.
That’s more like it. Bye bye Mrs Nice Holly.
“Address,” I hiss. “We need the address he sent it to.”
Holly grabs a pen and my New Scientist magazine. “He’s not just going to give me someone’s address for no reason,” she hisses back.
“Then come up with a reason. Fast. And don’t even think of writing on my magazine.”
Holly scowls, but starts talking. “You’ve already sent it? Well, that’s a relief. My aunt must have called you after our cousin lost his toy space gun. Can I check the address you’ve sent it to, just to make sure? Ah. You want me to give you her address so you can see if it’s the same?” Holly gives a high-pitched laugh and then grabs my arm and mouths, “Help!”
I start thinking. If we believe the brain ray was posted to Ms Grimm and we think Porter’s with her, then she can’t be far away.
“Ask if it’s in Lindon,” I whisper.
“Lindon?” Holly says to Lost Property Muppet. “Did my aunt ask you to send it to her Lindon address? . . . She did? Brilliant!”
I cough.
Holly gives me an apologetic grimace. “I mean, yes, of course, that makes sense. You want the road name? Um, did she give you her Castle Road address? She didn’t. Then it must have been the other house. The one on . . . um . . . Bla– . . . no, Dar– . . . no, Arl– . . . Albion Road? Yes, that’s what I was saying. Because that’s where she lives. At number . . . t – f – s – seven you say? Yes. 7 Albion Road. That’ll be it. Thank you very much.”
If my suspicions are right, Ms Grimm bought this new place after her rooms at LOSERS were damaged in the fire. She’d have needed somewhere to hide from the police while they investigated the kidnapping and brainwashing accusations against her.
“Right. Let’s call PC Eric,” Holly says.
“Porter will hate us for doing it,” I point out. “We should try and get more proof first.”
Holly nods “Yes, you’re right. Time to check out 7 Albion Road.”
“What?” I stare at her in alarm. “That’s not what I meant!”
“Well it should have been. It’s a great idea. Come on.”
Uh-oh.