Selby Surfs (2 page)

‘That was the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen!’ the television interviewer cried. ‘You’ve won the championship, Cool! And you did it the hard way with the dog on your board!’

‘No, you don’t understand, man,’ Cool said. ‘That dog is like … ‘

‘Oh, no,’ Selby thought. ‘I’m happy to be alive and I’m glad that the melonboard worked but now Cool Jules is going to give away my secret.’

‘Like what, Cool?’ the interviewer asked.

‘Filthy.’

‘Filthy?’

‘Awesome. Like we’re in there, man, and he’s like, “Grab me! Grab me!” And I’m like, “Whoa, man, what’s happening?” and the board like shoots out
pahtooooooong!
man, like that.’

‘That surf really knocks you around, doesn’t it champ?’

‘B-But like the dog—’

‘I know, he’s a real champion too. Thank you Cool but we have to go to an ad break. Congratulations. This is Rod Morrison at surfside. And now back to the studio.’

As the cameras turned away, Mrs Trifle ran up and took Selby out of Cool Jules’ arms.

‘Is he okay?’ she asked.

‘The grommet? Sure. He’s fantastic! I mean I’m here talking and like I could be — know what I mean
— still out there havin’ a surf nap. But like it’s not like that cuz he’s like, “Hang onto me!” and like … weird man. Double weird. Hey, thanks for the board. It was really filthy, mate.’

‘He’s not a bad guy, Cool,’ Selby thought as Cool Jules walked away shaking his head. ‘I’m just glad he’s a better surfer than he is a talker.’

‘Look how sharp this is!’ Dr Trifle said, stabbing the dagger he’d just made into his workbench.

‘Goodness! That
is
sharp!’ Mrs Trifle said, pouring some new Dry-Mouth Dog Flakes into Selby’s bowl. ‘Here, try some of these, Selby. You seem to like Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits so you should
love
these.’

‘Only I
hate
Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits,’ Selby thought as he stared at the bowl. ‘So I know I’ll
detest
these.’

‘And now watch this,’ Dr Trifle said, pointing the dagger towards himself.

‘Gulp. What’s he doing?’ Selby thought as he looked up from sniffing the Dog Flakes.

‘Please don’t joke,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It makes me nervous when you pretend like that.’

‘So who’s pretending?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I’ve had enough. Goodbye, oh terrible world. Goodbye. Goodbye.’

Selby watched in horror as Dr Trifle stretched his arm out ready to stab himself.

‘Don’t do it!’ Mrs Trifle screamed. ‘I’ll make your favourite lunch! Stop!’

A sad look came to Dr Trifle’s face and then he plunged the knife into his chest before collapsing backwards to the floor. A spot of blood spread outward from the dagger until it covered the front of his shirt.

‘What have you done?!’ Mrs Trifle screamed. ‘Don’t move! I’ll ring an ambulance!’

Selby took a quick breath, nearly inhaling a Dry-Mouth Dog Flake.

‘He’s killed himself!’ Selby squealed to himself. ‘Dr Trifle just stabbed himself in the chest with that dagger! I can’t believe it! This is awful!’

Suddenly Dr Trifle opened his eyes and let out a big laugh.

‘Oh, you,’ Mrs Trifle sighed. ‘You gave me a terrible fright. Don’t ever play that sort of game again, do you hear?’

‘Sorry but it wasn’t a game. I was just testing my newly-invented trick dagger. I had to know if it looks real. I could tell from your face that it did.’

‘So who needs trick daggers?’

‘We do. It will be perfect for
You Know Who,
the murder mystery play that we’re going to act in with the Bogusville Stagestompers.’

‘But there’s blood all over your shirt,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘How did you do that?’

‘It’s only red ink; the oldest trick in the trick dagger book,’ Dr Trifle said, pushing the point of the dagger with his finger. ‘The blade slides up into the handle. It only looks like it’s gone into the victim. When the blade goes up it squeezes a sponge that’s filled with ink and the ink comes squirting out. Don’t worry, it’s the sort of ink that washes out easily.’

‘But I saw that dagger stick into your workbench.’

‘Ahah! That’s the second oldest trick in the trick dagger book. Do you see this little knob on the handle? If it’s in this position, the blade
slides in. If it’s in this position, it locks and can’t slide into the handle.’

‘That’s marvellous,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Which character gets stabbed in the play? I haven’t even got round to reading the script yet.’

‘The murderer does. At the end of the play, the detective — that’s me — discovers who the murderer is. The murderer then grabs the murder weapon — the dagger — and tries to kill the detective.’

‘That sounds awful.’

‘It’s a comedy, really. It’s all just fun. Anyway, the detective manages to grab the murderer’s arm and turn the dagger around and, well, the baddie gets it.’

‘So who plays the part of the murderer?’

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘You Know Who
is one of those plays that has a surprise ending.’

‘A surprise ending?’

‘Yes, there’s a different murderer every night.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Towards the end of the play, the detective stops the show and asks the audience who they want the murderer to be. They vote by putting
up their hands. Let’s say they choose Postie Paterson. Then the detective points to Postie and says, “I know you’re the one who committed this terrible crime. You gave yourself away when you said such and such.” And then I list all the other clues. The murder weapon is there, sticking into the kitchen table. Postie then grabs the dagger and has a go at me.’

‘I see,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘So you have to remember lots of different clues because the audience might choose Postie one night and Melanie Mildew the next night.’

‘Or Mrs Poppycock,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Which is you.’

‘Since I’m the mayor they’ll probably choose me every night just for fun. Please make sure you grease the blade of that dagger well. If it doesn’t slide up into the handle Bogusville will be looking for a new mayor.’

‘Don’t you worry about a thing. Hmmm, the handle’s coming apart,’ Dr Trifle said. He took the two sides of the handle off. Then, grabbing a can of
Glu-It-All
glue from the shelf over his workbench, he glued them back together.

‘There, now it’s perfect,’ he said.

*  *  *

For the next two weeks, whenever they had time, Dr and Mrs Trifle paced around the house practising their lines. And so they did right up to the day the play opened.

‘It had to be you, Mrs Poppycock,’ Dr Trifle said, pointing his finger at Mrs Trifle. ‘All the evidence points to you. You gave yourself away when you said that you’d taken the four o’clock train to Adelaide. There’s a three-twenty train and a four-fifteen train but no four o’clock train. There’s never been a four o’clock train to Adelaide.’

‘Okay, you’ve found me out, Inspector Wembley,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘But she deserved everything she got. She never should have said all those terrible things about me. And now it’s your turn!’

With this, Mrs Trifle grabbed the dagger and she and Dr Trifle wrestled with it until it plunged into Mrs Trifle’s chest.

‘Okay, okay,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I think we’re ready for tonight’s performance. But before that, I’ve got a council meeting. Want to come along?’

‘I’d love to,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘If I keep rehearsing I’ll only make myself more nervous.’

‘That Dr Trifle is so clever,’ Selby thought when the Trifles were safely out of the house.

Selby crept into Dr Trifle’s workroom and had a good old play with the dagger. He stabbed it into the workbench and then flipped the knob to the other position.

‘Goodbye cruel world,’ he said, holding the dagger over his chest. ‘I’ve eaten my last Dry-Mouth Dog Flake.’

With this he stabbed himself in the chest.

‘Ouch! That hurt!’ he said, inspecting the blade. ‘It didn’t slide into the handle as easily as it should have. I think it needs some grease.’

Selby grabbed the can of
Grease-It-All
grease from the shelf and dropped some drops of it on the knife blade before sliding it in and out again.

‘That slides more easily,’ he said. ‘Now no one can get hurt. Oh, I wish I could see the play tonight.’

Selby was in luck. After the council meeting Dr and Mrs Trifle picked him up, took him to the theatre and left him backstage with a bowl of Dry-Mouth Dog Flakes.

‘I’m so nervous,’ Mrs Trifle said before the curtain went up. ‘I’m afraid I’ll forget my lines. And I’m a little frightened of that dagger too.’

‘It’s fine,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You worry too much.’

Selby watched the play quietly from backstage. ‘This is great!’ he thought. ‘I wonder who the audience is going to choose to be the murderer tonight!’

At the end of the play, Dr Trifle gathered all the suspects together and then turned to the audience.

‘Now it’s your turn,’ he said. ‘Who do you think was the murderer? I’ll bet that
you know who.
‘

‘Oh, this is sooooo tense!’ Selby thought as he took another mouthful of Dog Flakes. ‘I can’t stand it!’

Suddenly the audience chanted loudly ‘Mrs Poppycock. Mrs Poppycock. Mrs Trifle! Mrs Trifle!’

‘And Mrs Poppycock it is!’ cried Dr Trifle. ‘You guessed it.’

‘Okay, you’ve found me out, Inspector Wembley,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘But she deserved
everything she got. She never should have said all those terrible things about me.’

Mrs Trifle pulled the dagger from the table.

‘And now it’s your turn, Inspector!’ Mrs Trifle screamed.

Dr and Mrs Trifle wrestled for the dagger.

‘This is sooooo scary!’ Selby squealed in his brain. ‘It’s like the real thing! Their acting is soooooooo good. They’re like proper actors.’

All four hands gripped the dagger and slowly it turned away from Dr Trifle and poised above Mrs Trifle’s chest.

‘Oh, no! Now she’s about to be stabbed,’ Selby thought. ‘It’s only pretend. It’s only pretend. It’s only pretend.’

Just then, a terrible thought started making its way through Selby’s brain.

‘Uh-oh! What if I put
Glu-It-All
glue in the dagger instead of
Grease-It-All
grease?! What if I took the wrong can without noticing? I was in a hurry and the names are almost the same. They were right together on the shelf! What if the blade won’t slide in? No, I
couldn’t have made such a stupid mistake. But maybe I did. No, I couldn’t have. But what if I did? Couldn’t have. Could have. Couldn’t have. Could have.’

The thought went round and round in Selby’s brain like a toy train on a track to nowhere. Finally it burst out the other end.

‘I can’t take the chance!’ he squealed to himself. ‘If anything happens to Mrs Trifle it will be all my fault! It’ll be on my conscience forever! I have to stop them and there’s only one way to do it! Who cares if everyone (gulp) finds out my secret?!’

Selby leapt onto the stage and jumped between the Trifles, pushing them apart. He was about to cry ‘Stop! Don’t do it!’ in plain English when suddenly a Dry-Mouth Dog Flake caught in his windpipe. He began coughing and wheezing, trying to get the words out. In a minute he was clutching his throat and his whole face turned bright red.

The audience burst into laughter at the sight of the coughing dog.

‘The dog did it!’ someone screamed.

For a moment, Dr Trifle and the cast just stood there wondering what to do. Finally it was too much and the Trifles, along with the rest of the cast, started laughing along with the audience. Then someone lowered the curtain.

‘This is a disaster!’ Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle.

‘I know. What do you suppose got into Selby?’

‘He thought we were really fighting, poor dear,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Dogs get upset when they think their owners are fighting.’

When the curtain went up again the actors bowed to wild applause.

‘They loved it!’ Mrs Trifle whispered. ‘It was a success after all!’

‘We certainly gave them a surprise ending,’ Dr Trifle said. As he held Selby up to cheers and even wilder applause, he accidentally dropped the dagger.

‘My goodness!’ Mrs Trifle gasped, as she saw the dagger stick firmly into the floor where it had fallen. ‘The blade didn’t slide! It looks like it was almost a surprise ending for me! That silly invention of yours would have killed me if it hadn’t been for Selby! It would have stuck right into me!’

‘And luckily for me,’ Selby thought, suddenly happy that he’d held the Trifles apart. ‘I was stuck too — only I was stuck for words.’