March by Gabrielle Lord Page B

laptop with a camera download cable. I watched as he opened the picture in one of his programs.
    ‘I have a pretty hot photolab program,’ he said, working fast, fingers flying, editing and enhancing the photograph. I sat leaning over him, watching him work.
    He concentrated on the area of creamy paper on the desktop, zooming in and sharpening the contrast, so that the blurry grey letters on the top page of the pile of papers on Oriana’s desk slowly strengthened, defined and took shape.
    ‘Well, what have we got here?’ he said, and I could hear the excitement in his voice. ‘Take a good look, my man.’
    I did. And what I saw gave me a thrill. The page wasn’t quite in the frame, and some of the letters had been cut off, but what Boges had brought up were five unmistakeable letters: I-D-D-L-E.
    We looked at each other.
    ‘What if she’s got it?’ I asked, my heart pounding with excitement. ‘What if Oriana de la Force has the text—the actual words of the Ormond Riddle? She might have one of the rare copies. Someone in her position might have collected it!?’
    ‘That’s what I’m wondering too, dude,’ said Boges, his eyes shining. ‘Whoa! I’m outta here!’ he said, suddenly remembering the time. ‘Mum’ll go ballistic!’
    ‘We’ve gotta get into Oriana de la Force’s place,’ I said as he packed up his gear. ‘I want to get into her study—find that piece of paper.’
    ‘And how do you think you’re going to dothat?’ asked Boges, raising his eyebrows at me as if to say here comes trouble. He slung his laptop into its carry case and over his shoulder.
    ‘I have a plan,’ I said, ‘but … I’m going to need some money.’
    I hated begging like this, especially having to scrounge off my friend. But until I could manage to get some sort of income, I was forced to do it.
    ‘Here,’ said Boges, pulling thirty dollars out of his pocket. ‘I managed to score this for you.’
    ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking it, ‘but I’m thinking I need a lot more than that for what I want to do.’
    ‘Maybe we can both get some contract work from my uncle. Without him knowing about you, of course. He reckons I’m good enough to go out on my own. We could borrow his cleaning gear and I could tell him I’m getting a mate from school to help out with the job.’
    ‘I’ll do anything, anytime,’ I said, pocketing the money.
    I scanned the faces in the library, all of a sudden aware of someone looking our way. Sure enough, one of the librarians was staring intently at me and whispering to her colleague beside her.
    ‘Boges,’ I said quietly and calmly. ‘I think I’ve been spotted. Let’s get outta here.’
    As discreetly as I could, I indicated the two librarians. Boges looked across at them. ‘You’reright. Looks like they’re discussing you. Time we were gone,’ he said.
    Luck was with me for once. One of the librarians was interrupted by a phone call, and the other by a mother and child with a mountain of picture books. Grateful for the distractions, we dashed over to the front door and out.

    We hurried away from the library and Boges took off in one direction, and I in another. Before we separated, he reminded me to try calling Eric Blair—Dad’s old work colleague—again. I pulled my sunglasses on and my hat down low, and cautiously made my way through the heat and noise on the street, hoping that nobody was taking any notice of me.

    ‘Hello, Eric Blair, please,’ I said into the receiver. I’d stopped at a public phone near an oval, to try my luck again with a guy who’d hopefully have some information on Dad’s trip in Ireland.
    ‘I’m afraid Eric’s still off on sick leave,’ the receptionist advised. ‘Would you like me to put you on to Wayne Slattery instead?’
    Eric was still on sick leave? What was wrong with him?
    ‘When will Mr Blair be returning to the office?’ I asked.
    ‘Hopefully soon,’ she replied, dismissively. ‘Wayne is managing Eric’s work at the