Chapter 1. The robbery
'Elmo! Elmo! Have you already known?' a loud, exciting voice was coming from my phone.
'Who is it?' I enquired in a sleepy voice.
'Are you still sleeping?' the receiver shrilled indignantly.
'Of course I am,' I yawned. 'It's Sunday after all. Liz, is it you?'
'Yes, it's me!' the receiver shrieked into my ear. 'Elmo! Something's happened!'
'What?' I sat up in my bed, rubbing my eyes. 'What's happened?'
'Someone took the painting from the library!' Liz yelled.
'Oh, Liz, it's too early for jokes!' I groaned. 'There are books in the library, not paintings.'
'Oh, Elmo, wake up!' Liz shrieked. 'It's not a joke! I'm telling you about the painting in Raven Hill Library. The painting that had been hanging right in front of the librarian desk. The painting of a mermaid!'
I fell silent for a while, remembering. Then fog in my head cleared a bit and I understood that Liz was talking about a small, pretty painting in a massive, gold-plated frame, which had been hanging in the library since I don't know when. The picture depicted a forest lake. The full moon shone brightly, reflecting in the dark water. A beautiful mermaid with long fair hair and bright green tail was sitting on a rock. Coquettishly smiling, she was beckoning to a young shepherd. Judging by his scared face, you could say that he was doing his best to resist the mermaid's charm. Who would win in this fight? Would the young shepherd be dragged under the water or manage to run away? We could only guess about it.
Though, constant visitors of the library, including me, didn't stare at the picture any more. We perceived this old canvas just like a part of furniture.
'Liz, I don't get it,' I shook my head to shake off remains of sleepiness. 'Since when can people borrow pictures from the libraries like books?'
'Elmo! Have you forgotten English?!" Liz screamed. "They didn't borrow it, they stole it."
"Stole?" I babbled in astonishment. "Who?"
"How would I know who?" Liz replied.
"How did you know about it?" I asked a new question.
"I came to the library to borrow a psychology book," Liz answered. "Do you remember I told you about those psychology books, a friend of mine had advised to read? So, there were so many interesting things that I decided to read the second tome and…"
"Liz, Liz, hang on!" I interrupted her before she began raving about these amazing books. "Let's go back to the point. What's happened with the picture?"
"Well, I came into the library," Liz replied. "Miss Crane, the librarian, was talking with Greta Vortek, and the police was everywhere. I asked what had happened and Greta told me that someone had gotten into the library at night and stolen the old picture."
"It's weird," I said thoughtfully.
"No, the weirder thing," Liz went on, "is that a large sum of money, which Miss Crane had left in the drawer of her desk wasn't touched. I heard Miss Crane telling Greta about it. And old, rare books also were untouched. The thieves took only this old, valueless painting."
"I don't get it," I babbled, shaking my head in astonishment. "Who would want this cheap painting? Listen, Liz, do you know how the thieves got in?"
"They drilled out the lock in the door," Liz answered.
"What?" I exclaimed, surprised even more. Raven Hill Library was one of the oldest buildings in Raven Hill, with thick walls and massive wooden doors. It must have taken no less than two hours for the thief to drill the lock out of this door. And all this hassle just for one cheap picture? Maybe it's a joke? But if it's a joke, it's a very silly joke. Who would spend half the night, drilling the lock out of the door, just for joke?
"Listen, Liz," I said. "Maybe they just didn't find the money?"
"They didn't even try to search the desk or the library," Liz replied. "Greta considers that the thieves weren't interested in money, they needed something else. And they knew exactly where to find it. Oh, by the way, Elmo, Greta asked me to come to the police station today to tell what I saw there. I'm their witness."
"Okay," I jumped out of bed and started to dash around the room, looking for my clothes. Suddenly I realised that it was a great story for the front page of the Pen. And I just couldn't afford myself to lose this chance. "Listen, Liz," I said, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pulled on my jeans. "Tom and Sunny must be in the Glen already. You go there. I'll pick up Nick and Richelle and we'll go there too. We should discuss it before you go to the police."
"Okay," Liz agreed and hung up.
###
Quickly I swallowed my breakfast and sprinted out of the house. Before that I had phoned Nick and told him to finish the cleaning as quickly as possible. Today was the first day of our new job - casual house-cleaning job for a woman called Mrs France. She hired us while her usual cleaner was on sick leave. Nothing very interesting, but of course Liz said that we should take any job we could get. Nick and Richelle were against it as usual, but they were outvoted. And they had to take the first duty.
I crossed Craigend road, rounded a corner at a shop and ran down the street. Finally I found a small, neat house where Mrs France lived, and impatiently pressed the doorbell. The door opened. A very thin, old woman with short grey hair was standing in the doorway, looking gravely at me. It wasn't Mrs France as far as I remembered.
"What do you want, young man?" the woman asked in a lugubrious, wary voice.
"Um…Hello. I've come to meet Nick and Richelle…" I babbled, confused. "They work here today… Er… Cleaning, dusting…" my voice trailed off as she stared at me as if I was an underage thief or hooligan.
"You ought to introduce yourself for a start," the grey-haired woman's eyes were drilling me. I looked down to avoid the eye contact, not able to stand her penetrating eyes any more. To my relief at that moment Nick and Richelle turned up in the hallway.
"It's our friend!" Richelle said politely to the woman.
The grey-haired woman reluctantly stepped aside, letting them out. "Polite people introduce themselves before speaking to an unknown person," she pointed out, turning away.
"Elmo Zimmer," I satisfied her curiosity, but the grey-haired woman slammed the door without bothering to glance at me. As soon as the door closed behind her, Nick and Richelle burst out laughing like mad.
"Who is this hag?" I asked them as we walked along the road to the Glen.
"It's Howshedied," Nick giggled.
"Who?"
"Howshedied," Richelle repeated clearly.
"Is she from Egypt?" I asked a new question.
Nick glanced at me. "No," he said, puzzled. "She's from Sydney."
"Okay. But all the same she must be Egyptian or Arabian," I suggested.
"Why do you think so?" they both stared at me in bewilderment.
"Well, her surname is so… weird," I stared back at them. "Or it's her husband's surname?"
"Husband's?" Richelle opened her eyes wide. "She has never been married."
"Why does she have such a weird surname then?" I shook my head.
"First of all it's not a surname, it's a name," Richelle replied, looking at me pityingly, as if she couldn't understand why I didn't know such obvious things.
"Nickname, to be more exact," Nick added. "How-she-died," he pronounced slowly.
"Yeah, now I see, it's not an Arabian name," I laughed. "But why do you call her like that? Was she really dying?"
"No, she wasn't yet." Richelle muttered with a sort of pity in her voice.
"But she likes it very much," Nick added.
"Likes to die?" I grinned.
"No, not die. She likes to tell anyone who listens to her how her friends or relatives or just people she knew were dying," Nick explained. "It's not a woman, it's a whole funeral service."
"It was awful," Richelle complained. "All what Nick and I heard today was: "Annie, do you remember how he was dy-ying?! Remember her dy-ying?" she mimicked the lugubrious, lyrical intonation of the grey-haired woman.
"As if you spent a lot of time there," I grinned.
"Well, tomorrow you'll hear how someone was dying in agony," Richelle wrinkled her nose.
"He's so-o yello-owish, cheeks are su-unken," Nick drawled in a sepulchral-lugubrious voice. "He doe-esn't mo-ove any more. But what a bra-aveness!"
"Shut up! I beg you!" Richelle howled, digging him in the ribs. "I can't hear it any more!"
"What's her real name?" I asked, grinning.
"Matilda Geraldine."
"Good name for such a person," I approved. "But How-she-died sounds better."
Talking, we reached the Glen and walked down the narrow, winding path that led to the clearing where we usually gathered. Tom and Sunny were there. They were sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree trunk and passionately kissing.
"Hi, guys!" Richelle called them.
Sunny immediately pushed Tom away, but noticing that Liz wasn't with us, she calmed down. Even though we knew about their relationship, they still tried not to show their feelings in front of us. Especially if Liz was with us.
"Where have you been?" Tom muttered accusingly, as though he had spent wearying hours waiting for us.
"Listen," I said excitedly. "Something happened. Raven Hill Library was burgled. Liz was there. She'll tell everything when she comes."
"I'm here," Liz shouted, pounding down the track towards us. She struggled through the last bush and threw herself down on the ground beside us, gasping for breath.
"What was stolen?" Tom demanded impatiently, as if Liz was at least one of the thieves.
"The painting," Liz panted, clutching her side.
"The painting?" Tom's jaw dropped. "Were there paintings in that library?"
"There was one. With a mermaid," Richelle said.
"Oh, this one," Nick snorted. "Do you really think that someone would decide to steal this childish caricature?"
"What do you know about art?!" Tom immediately objected. "This picture was very interesting. It's not childish!"
"Oh, sure!" Nick rolled his eyes. "How could I forget that you, Moysten, are an expert in rubbish paintings?"
"Maybe they wanted to steal something else and stole the picture just for distraction?" Sunny suggested, ignoring them.
"Well maybe. But they didn't take the money from the librarian desk," Liz said.
"It was a nutcase then," Tom announced without any shadow of a doubt. "To take the mermaid and leave the money. If I were them, I would take the money and leave the mermaid."
"You still have the chance, Tom," Nick jeered. "The money is still in the drawer."
"Shut up, you both," Sunny said before these two began arguing again. "Let Liz explain."
"There's no time to explain," Liz stood up. "Miss Vortek asked me to come to her office as soon as possible. I'm their witness. Come on. I'll tell you everything on the way there."
We went out of the Glen and headed for the police station. As we walked Liz told the others what she'd already told me. As it turned out Liz didn't notice anything unusual. Except for the stolen picture, everything was in perfect order in the library.
In the police station we went straight into Greta's office and settled down on the chairs.
"So," Miss Vortek turned to Liz. "I'm listening to you. What did you see?"
Hardly had Liz finished telling how she'd come to the library to borrow a book and seen that the door was broken, when a small, funny-looking old man stormed in. I knew this man. His name was Paul Palmer and he was a former scientist or researcher. I knew him because he was a close friend of my grandfather's and still often visited the Pen, sharing gossips with old reporters. His son, Samuel Palmer owned a chain of shops in the city, and often published advertisements in the Pen.
"Miss Vortek, dear!" the old man yelled. "Disaster! Terrible disaster! We've found a drowned man!"