Half Moon Investigations - Eoin Colfer [73]
‘Or tip her off,’ mumbled Red.
I ignored the comment. I couldn’t deal with the possibility that May could be behind this. I liked her.
Emotion is the enemy of truth.
Bernstein again. But I couldn’t peel off my feelings like a plaster. I was a real person, not a collection of words on a page.
Genie tossed me one plastic shopping bag, and another to Red.
‘Put these costumes on. We’re supposed to be performing.’
I was about to object. There was no time for costumes, but I realized that I wouldn’t be of any use to May if every adult in authority stopped me to ask what I was doing backstage.
We ducked behind a wishing well constructed from cardboard boxes. Red’s costume was from Elvis’s Vegas period: a white jumpsuit complete with silver cummerbund and cloak. My own clothes were from the movie Jailhouse Rock and consisted of a black linen suit and striped shirt. They were tailored to fit Red, and so I had to turn up the legs and sleeves.
Red twirled the silk-lined cloak over his shoulders. ‘You look ridiculous,’ he smirked.
In spite of the situation, I couldn’t hold back a smile. We were conspirators on an adventure. Life was dangerous; you took your smiles when you could. And they meant more when there could be a madman lurking around every corner.
I threw a punch at Red’s shoulder. He allowed it to land, though he could have dodged it easily.
‘You big bully, Half Moon. I’d have our lawyer on you, if we had one.’
I wasn’t a bit surprised to hear that there was no Sharkey family lawyer. ‘So who was that on the phone?’
‘Papa. He does a great posh accent, picked it up in university. He has a first from Trinity in philosophy.’
Now that was a surprise. I was learning fast not to underestimate the Sharkeys in any field.
‘I’ll meet you back here,’ I said. ‘After “Love Me Tender”.’
Red pulled the tape from stick-on sideburns, pasting them to his cheeks.
‘OK. Be careful. I know you think May is the victim, but in the movies it’s always the last one you suspect.’
‘This is real life. And in real life, the most obvious suspect is usually guilty.’
I hurried away before Red could point out that he and I were the most obvious suspects. I shouldered my way through throngs of people. Every one of them knew me, and most were on the lookout for me. But I held my head high, wearing my disguise confidently. I was a Sharkey now, and people could sneer behind my back but no one would challenge me.
May was not making herself easy to find. I found magicians with half-dead pigeons stuffed in their vests, a country and western band shedding sequins from their waistcoats with every step and two jugglers who kept knocking each other over with throwing skittles. But no Irish dancers.
I was beginning to despair when I heard May’s hard shoes banging out an irregular beat on the wooden floor. It had to be her. Nobody else could have that startling lack of rhythm.
I followed the noise. There she was, in the shadow of an enormous bunch of balloon grapes. She was dressed in a new black and silver dancing dress, her blonde hair draped across her shoulders. A shaft of light from an overhead window caught her tiara and split into a thousand rainbows. I stopped dead. She looked perfect. Too perfect to ever commit a crime, however petty. There must be something wrong.
I studied her face for a sign of malice, but there was nothing. Just a slight frustrated pout because her feet repeatedly refused to perform as commanded. Time and time again the click kick eluded her. She scissored her legs well enough, but she could never click her heels on the way down.
Something stirred in the deep shadows by the wall. Something darker than the shadows themselves. I peered into the darkness, zoning out the surrounding confusion. Someone was there, dressed from head to toe in black, sliding along the wall towards May. A tall figure moving with curiously exaggerated movements. I couldn’t think of an innocent explanation for this behaviour. This person was obviously the criminal mastermind zeroing