From the Cutting Room of Barney Kettle (13 page)

‘Don’t you even think of it, Miss Tabby,’ said Ren. She had knelt beside the cat and kneaded behind her ears, and the tabby had purred loudly. She was a friendly cat.

In fact, Miss Tabby had ingratiated herself with most of the Street. She was more or less a permanent resident now, though with no fixed abode. There were food bowls in a number of the shops and she roamed happily between them. There were water bowls, too, said Deirdre, but – they had all compared notes – it appeared Miss Tabby liked running water best. A moment later the tabby had demonstrated this very preference. Emerging from the back room, she had jumped up into one of the basins and lapped delicately at water from the dribbling hose.

No one in the Street claimed ownership of the cat.

Izzy had sketched her portrait for a poster and The Unpublished Poet had written a small verse, entitled: ‘Are You my Owner?’

Far from home

Moving through crowds but

Alone.

Are you missing

Me? Pick up your

Phone,

Dial

3556 353.

They had glued the poster to lampposts throughout the South City Precinct. Did this mean The Unpublished Poet was now The
Published Poet? No one had addressed this matter.

And no owner appeared.

‘Speak of the devil,’ said Albert Anderson, pouring the last dribble from his teapot.

The tabby turned the corner of the narrow passage between Forget-me-Knot and Comic Strip and ambled now towards Albert and Barney.

Barney swallowed his sixth Chocolate Wheaten and vowed it would be the last. He felt a bit sick. His eye was sometimes bigger than his stomach. It was a fact.

‘The new Queen of the Street,’ said Albert, appreciatively. ‘She deserves a better name than Miss Tabby.’

‘Brown Betty,’ said Barney, instantly. The tabby’s coat was a swirl of dark and rusty browns. Much like the topping of the prison pudding; Fern had once made Brown Betty for a Street party.

‘Oh, very good,’ said Albert. ‘Heard it here first.’

Brown Betty stood beside the table assessing the possibilities, apparently unbothered by the great hulk of dog nearby.

‘The very definition of insouciance,’ said Albert.

Brown Betty jumped with liquid grace into Barney’s lap and settled herself for sleep.

‘She likes me,’ said Barney. ‘Who knows why, but it’s a fact. I’ve never been liked by a cat before.’

There had been any number of strays on the Street over the years. Most had come and gone in the way cats did, some had been taken in by residents. One had delivered kittens in Comic Strip’s reading nook, under the Girls Annuals shelves. Phil and Pete had taken two of the kittens to their nut orchard in the country. Coralie had taken one for the café – it was always good to have a mouser. Suit and Mireille took the fourth, along with the mother. They were all grown now and flourishing.

There had been a great variety of other Street pets, too. Dogs
of course. A procession of budgies at Edward and Henrietta’s. Benjamin’s ant farm and his two gerbils, Thompson and Thompson. Jack’s extremely friendly Caspian Pond Turtle, Marco Polo, who, sadly, had died of respiratory disease. The fish at Coralie’s, who belonged to the entire Street, occasionally died too, though it was harder to feel sad about them unless they had asserted their personality, as the Upside Down Cat Fish had. Street life could be a little hazardous for a cat, as well, despite the 25 k speed limit. There had been several fatalities.

‘Betty here’s smart, though,’ said Albert. ‘She knows her road code. I swear the other day I saw her look right and left and then right again before she crossed.’

The Comic Shop bell pealed, signalling a customer.

‘Ah, the afternoon rush,’ said Albert, stretching lazily. He stood and collected up the cups and biscuits. ‘Hate to say it but you’d better lock the door if you come back inside.’

‘Check,’ said Barney. ‘We’ll stand guard till then.’ He kneaded Brown Betty’s neck. ‘Won’t we, Art?’ He nudged the dog with his foot. Art gave a small sleepy moan.

‘Ferocious,’ said Albert, mockingly. ‘Shame we have to do this.’

‘What. Is. Our. Street. Coming. To?’ said Barney, in passable imitation of Dick Scully.

The really big Street event of the last week had been the semi-urgent High Street Retailers and Residents meeting, called by Dick and drawing a near-full attendance.

R&R meetings were Adults Only. Sally disapproved of this and at least once a year tabled a proposal that proceedings be opened to all ages. After all, she argued, anything that happened on the Street inevitably affected the children. But Sally’s motions were always voted down, though Mum and Dad would not be drawn on how each individual voted. Certain people were staunchly pro-children – Sally, obviously. And Albert, of course. Barney and Ren
had made an educated guess at the rest: Coralie, Suit, Mireille, Li Mai and Ping. Willy Edwards. Mariko. Hana. Probably Phil and Pete. After that, who knew? Even perfectly decent adults could be strange about children’s rights. Mum and Dad, for instance. Barney and Ren harboured considerable suspicion about Mum and Dad’s voting.

Dick Scully had called the meeting on his discovery of serious pilfering. In the storeroom at His Lordship’s a dozen packets of spicy bratwurst had disappeared from the chest freezer, a large carton of salt and vinegar crisp packets had been virtually emptied, and the ginger beer stock was down by eight half-dozen.

Dick had relayed this sorry story to Battista while he ate a salsiccia pizza at the Mediterranean. This had prompted Battista to recall the two Milano panettone and several boxes of Baci that had been nicked from the post-Christmas discount display at the entrance to the store.

Dick then remembered the vinyl cushions and merino rugs, pinched from His Lordship’s some time around Christmas. He resolved to check with other residents, beginning on the east side of the Street. By the time he reached Busby’s, Dick had collected a litany of curious losses – and one gain.

While Edward’s family had been away, and the Sacred Fig closed for three weeks, someone had carefully removed the glass slats in the window of the restaurant’s toilet and entered the premises: perhaps more than once. A complete setting for two had been taken (chopsticks, soup spoons, rice bowls, table mats and napkins); also a china teapot, cups and an array of sauce bottles.

The mixed nut and dried fruit shelves had been raided at the Nut House.

Ping’s had been relieved of a broadcloth dress shirt, a silk dressing gown, and two pairs of slippers from the footwear section.

A small metal watering can had vanished from Forget-me-Knot; also, the two remaining potted Christmas poinsettias.

Albert Anderson – who could remember the positions of chess pieces on three different boards at once and the placement of most of the comics in his shop – was quite certain nothing had been taken from Comic Strip. But, he confessed, he
was
puzzled by the reappearance of the glass bowl in which he had last seen his wasabi potato salad on the afternoon of the High Street Christmas Party. The bowl had been on his back step, washed clean, when he returned from holiday.

At this point in Dick’s recital Dad had smacked his head and relayed the peculiar business of the salt-and-pepper merry-go-round. Dad, Dick, Barney and Ren trooped in convoy down to the Emporium to look at the salt-and-pepper cabinet.

‘When I did the January stocktake three were missing. You knew that.’

‘I didn’t,’ said Barney. He had paid no attention to anything except
The Untold Story
and Orange Boy for the last two weeks.

‘I did,’ said Ren. She paid attention to everything.

‘Then this week two were back but another two had gone: the Burlesque Legs and the Dachshund One-Piece.’

‘No!’ cried Ren. The Dachshund One-Piece was their favourite. It gave salt from the head and pepper from the dog’s behind.

‘Thing is,’ said Dad, ‘this cabinet is always locked. And the lock hasn’t been forced. And we’ve got the convex mirror.’

They all looked up at the convex mirror and observed their faces looking back, bulging and grotesque.

‘But you can’t see everything. Who knows which day the switch was made?’

‘How
interesting
,’ said Barney.

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Dad. ‘I paid a whack for that Dachshund One-Piece.’

‘He might do another swap,’ said Dick.

‘He?’ said Ren.

The R&R meeting concluded that the thefts were incredibly odd. These very words had been written in the Minutes by Marie Scully, the indefatigable R&R secretary.

‘A penetrating insight,’ said Mum, witheringly. She found Street meetings a great trial. They simply gave a platform to the bossy people in the Street, she said, by which she meant Dick, Clifford and Mia.

The Minutes would also show that there were varying opinions about the thief. Or thieves. An opportunist visitor perhaps? Someone stealing to order? A gang?

‘Someone hungry,’ said Ren. ‘It’s mostly food.’

Bambi’s dubious Carob and Ginger Health Bars had been cleaned out. Packets of Jaffas and Chocolate Fish at Toto’s had been expertly scooped up (these were displayed right beside the counter). Kazimierz’s organic vegetable tray, left at the door each Tuesday, had vanished before Kazimierz could claim it. Twice, Claude’s lunchtime bento box had been lifted from the small fridge out the back of Brummel’s.

‘Someone hungry who is also expanding their wardrobe,’ said Dad. Clothing had been taken not only from Ping’s but from Brummel’s, too – along with Claude’s famed West India Lime Soap and a box of white jacquard handkerchiefs.

‘Someone with expensive taste,’ said Barney. Hankies were a dependable Christmas present for South Island Granpa but the jacquard ones had been well beyond Barney’s pocket. What
was
jacquard?

‘Or,’ said Mum, ‘someone setting up house.’ She counted off on her fingers. ‘Food, clothing, soap, dishes, blankets, pot plants …’

The meeting had also concluded that the thefts had been occurring for some time – perhaps as far back as the first week of November when Gene had noticed significant gaps in the Animals, Archaeology and Biography shelves at Montgomery’s.

At this, Albert Anderson had suggested the thief – or thieves –
might have an alphabetical bias and someone should perhaps lie in wait in the Cooking or Crafts sections.

The meeting’s final conclusion was that there would be no lying in wait – that wasn’t Street style at all.

Rather, it was agreed that everyone must be more security conscious: lock their back entrances; be attentive to anything unusual; be alert to customers who were potential shoplifters; generally keep an eye out.

As was customary at the end of every R&R meeting, Izzy passed Mum the sketch she had completed during proceedings. It was entitled ‘Keeping an eye on the Street’ and showed a large, jellied eye with spidery legs and arms, wearing an Ushanka hat, as Clifford did in the winter. The Eye peered around the side of His Lordship’s, its pupil dilated, its spidery fingers trembling.

Izzy’s sketches were the real reason Mum went to Street meetings. They made the tedium completely worth it, said Mum. The sketches were pinned in the Kettles’ loo where their subjects were unlikely to see them.

Barney and Ren found the prospect of their very own Street Thief – or Thieves – intriguing, even exciting. Their taste for mystery had been well stoked by
Orange Boy
and it was growing by the day.

They did not share this view with anyone else, however. They felt sure it would not be welcome. Well, stealing was wrong. Of course. As was burglary. A lot of the residents were upset at the thought of their businesses or homes being broken into. The thefts had been reported to the police. In due course Sergeant Taiaroa, from the South Precinct Community Police, would be interviewing the residents and retailers. Statements would be taken. Reports would be filed. Maybe the thief – or thieves – would be arrested. This was all very proper, Barney and Ren knew. They just didn’t
feel
it.

‘Thing is,’ said Barney, ‘this isn’t your average thief – or thieves. What kind of thief returns things?’

‘Nice thieves,’ said Ren. ‘Or confused thieves.’

‘He’s a
random
thief,’ said Barney. ‘The things he steals are
molto
random: books? Pot plants? Potato salad?’

‘Who says the thief is a he?’

Barney ignored this. He was too busy admiring the thief.

‘He’s so
clever
. Think about it. No one has noticed him even though he must have done most of it during the day. And he’s spread it around, the stealing. So it took everyone ages to realise how
much
stealing had actually happened. He’s kind of artful.’

‘I like how they’re not greedy,’ said Ren. ‘They only took two settings of bowls and utensils. They could have taken thirty. They could have taken two lots of soap and hankies, but they just took one.’

‘Are you saying there’s two?’

‘Not exactly. I’m just saying girls can be thieves.

‘If they want to,’ Ren added, fish-eyeing Barney.

‘Whatever.’ Barney didn’t really care whether the thief was male or female. ‘But if this was a film, we’d definitely want the thief to win. Boy or girl.’

‘Win what?’

Barney had tried to picture the thief. Or thieves. He couldn’t summon anything specific. Just a general feeling that this thief, singular or plural, was certainly not malevolent. He – or she – was, well, practically
considerate
.

‘Win what?’ repeated Ren.

‘It’s not clear yet,’ said Barney, gesturing mysteriously.

Barney scanned Luna Square once more. He had to squint: his eyes watered. Once again he’d lost his sunglasses. Also the cheapo extra pairs Mum put in his Christmas stocking. It happened every summer. It was possible they were somewhere on his bedroom floor.

No sign of Ren. She was to meet him at 4 p.m. in Comic Strip. They had decided that whoever was sleuthing would carefully case
the Square and the Street – in an inconspicuous way, of course – stopping in different places, going into shops, filming, making notes where necessary, watching, watching. At least two circuits, they agreed, three if there was time.