said, affecting a matesy drawl. ‘It is Adrian, right? I’m Toby.’
Adrian Featherstone regarded him with cold eyes. ‘I’m off to a board meeting,’ he said to Bee. ‘If you have any questions, or if there’s something you’d like to talk about,’ – he paused rather tackily for effect – ‘I’ll be back after lunch.’
He left the room.
‘Is he on the list?’ asked Toby. ‘Because that man is the very definition of the word suspect .’
Bee nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘He’s on the list. I think we need to poke around his office a bit.’
They waited until midmorning, when Bee was sure Adrian Featherstone would be in his board meeting. Then they made their way over to the Conservation Department, where they were stopped by a pregnant conservator with very straight blonde hair and a cold smile.
‘He’s not here,’ she said. ‘Can I help you with anything?’ Her tone suggested that it was unlikely.
‘There’s a folder we need to collect from Adrian’s office,’ said Toby with a smile. ‘He said he’d leave it on his desk for us.’
The conservator raised her eyebrows. ‘He didn’t say anything to me about—’
‘We’ll only be a minute,’ said Toby. ‘By the way, I really like that blouse.’
The conservator gave him a flat, unimpressed look, but waved them towards one of the offices. ‘Good luck finding anything in there,’ she said disapprovingly as she went to the handwashing station.
The office was small and very untidy in comparison with the rest of Conservation. Books and folders and papers were piled against every wall, and Bee could barely distinguish the desk. She appraised the room, noticing:
• Three apple cores, in various stages of decomposition
• One dead cockroach
• Five used coffee cups, two of them containing unpleasant mould specimens
• One green Natural History Museum hoodie, tangled in the wheels of Featherstone’s desk chair
• A small pile of nail clippings on the edge of the desk
• A bottle of cheap whisky, badly hidden on top of the bookshelf
• A book entitled Secret Weapons: Defenses of Insects, Spiders, Scorpions and Other Many-Legged Creatures with seven watermelon-coloured Post-its stuck in between various pages.
‘Wow,’ said Toby. ‘It’s like a homeless person lives here. Without the smell of stale urine.’
Bee spotted a crumpled bath towel in a corner. ‘It looks like he sleeps here sometimes,’ she said.
‘Hmm,’ said Toby. ‘I don’t need a spider sense to figure out that this guy is as dodgy as hell. So what are we looking for?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Bee. ‘Anything that gives us clues about him or what his connection was to Gus.’
She gazed around the room, feeling a little overwhelmed. What was she looking for?
Toby nodded towards a framed case of butterflies on the wall.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘A Monarch. These little guys fly over six thousand kilometres in a year – from Canada down to the Gulf of Mexico and back again.’
‘Fascinating.’ Bee rifled through the contents of Adrian Featherstone’s desk drawers, then turned her attention to his in-tray.
‘It is fascinating,’ Toby said, pressing a finger against the case. ‘My grandfather used to collect butterflies. They’re always chasing the warm weather. They can’t fly if their body temperature is less than thirty degrees Celsius. That’s why the butterfly house at the zoo is so warm.’
Bee sighed. She’d found nothing. She went to examine the pinboard on the wall.
‘Did you know that butterflies taste with their hind feet? Incredible creatures.’
Bee moved closer to the pinboard, then removed a small square of newspaper.
‘Bee?’
Bee ran her eyes over the cutting, her heart hammering. She felt as though every single hair on her body was standing erect.
‘Bee?’ Toby touched her arm, making her head snap around.
‘We have to get out of here,’ she said. ‘Something very strange is going on.’
Before
Adrian Featherstone regarded him with cold eyes. ‘I’m off to a board meeting,’ he said to Bee. ‘If you have any questions, or if there’s something you’d like to talk about,’ – he paused rather tackily for effect – ‘I’ll be back after lunch.’
He left the room.
‘Is he on the list?’ asked Toby. ‘Because that man is the very definition of the word suspect .’
Bee nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘He’s on the list. I think we need to poke around his office a bit.’
They waited until midmorning, when Bee was sure Adrian Featherstone would be in his board meeting. Then they made their way over to the Conservation Department, where they were stopped by a pregnant conservator with very straight blonde hair and a cold smile.
‘He’s not here,’ she said. ‘Can I help you with anything?’ Her tone suggested that it was unlikely.
‘There’s a folder we need to collect from Adrian’s office,’ said Toby with a smile. ‘He said he’d leave it on his desk for us.’
The conservator raised her eyebrows. ‘He didn’t say anything to me about—’
‘We’ll only be a minute,’ said Toby. ‘By the way, I really like that blouse.’
The conservator gave him a flat, unimpressed look, but waved them towards one of the offices. ‘Good luck finding anything in there,’ she said disapprovingly as she went to the handwashing station.
The office was small and very untidy in comparison with the rest of Conservation. Books and folders and papers were piled against every wall, and Bee could barely distinguish the desk. She appraised the room, noticing:
• Three apple cores, in various stages of decomposition
• One dead cockroach
• Five used coffee cups, two of them containing unpleasant mould specimens
• One green Natural History Museum hoodie, tangled in the wheels of Featherstone’s desk chair
• A small pile of nail clippings on the edge of the desk
• A bottle of cheap whisky, badly hidden on top of the bookshelf
• A book entitled Secret Weapons: Defenses of Insects, Spiders, Scorpions and Other Many-Legged Creatures with seven watermelon-coloured Post-its stuck in between various pages.
‘Wow,’ said Toby. ‘It’s like a homeless person lives here. Without the smell of stale urine.’
Bee spotted a crumpled bath towel in a corner. ‘It looks like he sleeps here sometimes,’ she said.
‘Hmm,’ said Toby. ‘I don’t need a spider sense to figure out that this guy is as dodgy as hell. So what are we looking for?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Bee. ‘Anything that gives us clues about him or what his connection was to Gus.’
She gazed around the room, feeling a little overwhelmed. What was she looking for?
Toby nodded towards a framed case of butterflies on the wall.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘A Monarch. These little guys fly over six thousand kilometres in a year – from Canada down to the Gulf of Mexico and back again.’
‘Fascinating.’ Bee rifled through the contents of Adrian Featherstone’s desk drawers, then turned her attention to his in-tray.
‘It is fascinating,’ Toby said, pressing a finger against the case. ‘My grandfather used to collect butterflies. They’re always chasing the warm weather. They can’t fly if their body temperature is less than thirty degrees Celsius. That’s why the butterfly house at the zoo is so warm.’
Bee sighed. She’d found nothing. She went to examine the pinboard on the wall.
‘Did you know that butterflies taste with their hind feet? Incredible creatures.’
Bee moved closer to the pinboard, then removed a small square of newspaper.
‘Bee?’
Bee ran her eyes over the cutting, her heart hammering. She felt as though every single hair on her body was standing erect.
‘Bee?’ Toby touched her arm, making her head snap around.
‘We have to get out of here,’ she said. ‘Something very strange is going on.’
Before
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