Riddle Gully Runaway Read Online Free Page A

where a breeze was drifting coolly. His eyes widened as his fingers crept to his hairline. He explored his scalp gingerly with his fingertips. Then he began flat-handedly slapping his dome in the search for something lush, soft and shiny — his precious toupée.
    Laughter erupted from the mob. The mayor strode to where Principal Piggott stood watching, her hanky over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. He snatched the daisy-covered hat from her head, plonked it on hisown and dashed as fast as a stout fellow can to the dark privacy of his big black car. He revved the engine, did a three-point turn and
vroomed
away, bumping across the field, sending up sprays of dirt.
    Arp-arp-aaah!
The ravens flapped their glossy black wings and disappeared too, heading for the forest.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Will and Pollo leaned back against the tombstone in the Riddle Gully cemetery, Pollo flipping through her notes from their day at the fair. Beneath them lay the bones of Elspeth Mary Turner, ‘Beloved wife of Henry Thompson Turner’, who’d come into the world in 1812 and departed it in 1899. It was their favourite grave. They figured it must contain someone who’d had a happy outlook on life if she’d lasted eighty-seven years back in those days; plus, the lupins nearby were extra lush. Relieved of his dinner suit, Shorn Connery tore at a patch of the purple weeds a little way off.
    â€˜You’ll have fun with your column in this week’s
Coast
,’ said Will.
    Pollo’s eyes lit up. ‘Best embarrassing photo of Mayor Bullock ever!’ she said. ‘I have my faithful assistantShorn Connery to thank once again!’ She dug out her camera and showed Will the photo she’d taken of the raven and the mayor in a flurry of feathers and fake hair.
    Will pointed to the forest across the meadow from the cemetery. ‘I’d say that toupée’s lining a nest somewhere in there by now,’ he laughed.
    â€˜And look what else I’ve got,’ said Pollo. ‘I didn’t have a chance to show you earlier. I took it on my way to the Pet Parade.’ She scrolled back to the photograph of Benson on his hands and knees peering beneath the back wall of the white elephant stall. ‘You can tell it’s Benson Bragg,’ she said, ‘Who else around here dresses like that?’
    â€˜And likes hip-hop music,’ added Will, taking the camera and zooming in. ‘See this logo on the sleeve? It’s the one I was telling you about. Twisted Lips. It’s on the front of his T-shirt too. I was face-to-face with it when he pulled me out of the rollercoaster car.’ He studied the photo. ‘What d’you think he was up to?’
    â€˜I have a theory,’ said Pollo, lowering her voice, though they were always alone in the cemetery. ‘All the stall-owners kept their valuables at the back of their tents, away from everyone passing by out the front. All Benson had to do was poke his head under the backwall, grab what he wanted and be on his way. He was probably crawling along looking for an opportunity when Shorn Connery and I sprang him.’
    â€˜He might have found one,’ said Will.
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜An opportunity,’ said Will. ‘HB said Mr Crisp who ran the garden stall was missing a wad of money.’
    â€˜That’s it then! It must have been Benson Bragg.’
    â€˜To be fair, it’s happened before. His wife’s paranoid and hides things without telling him. Three years ago, according to HB, the money turned up in the bottom of a plant pot, and last year they found it months later in a coffee thermos — a bit mouldy but okay. Still … It could be …’
    â€˜Even Mrs Crisp couldn’t be that silly a third time, surely!’ said Pollo.
    â€˜You wouldn’t think so,’ said Will.
    Baa-aa-aah!
Shorn Connery had stopped chewing and was looking towards the forest.
    â€˜What’s he