The Case of the Exploding Brains (5 page)

“Why so chummy?” I narrow my eyes at Dad as Hell Raizah gives him another moon-man wave and the Neanderthug at Table Two gives a cheery thumbs-up. “They’re treating you
like . . .” I pause for a millisecond.

Vigil-Aunty leaps in to fill the gap. “Like the winner of a criminal
X-Factor
competition.”

Dad rolls his eyes “Wasn’t ‘Introduce Similes Into Your Life Week’ last week, Vera?”

“It was.” Vigil-Aunty nods. “But I’m struggling with ‘Embrace Onomatopoeia Week’.”

“BANG!” Dad slams his hand on the table.

“For goodness’ sake, Brian,” Vigil-Aunty protests as the guards look over.

“Just demonstrating onomatopoeia,” Dad says. “WHAM!” he slaps his hand down again.

I giggle at the expression on Vigil-Aunty’s face, but I know Dad’s trying to change the subject and I won’t let him.

“So, Dad,
why
are they being so nice to you?”

Dad shrugs. “Probably because I’ve been teaching them a bit of English.”

“But they
are
English,” I remind him.

“Not so you’d notice,” Dad mutters. “I may have taught them a bit of ICT too.”

“ICT? What are you talking about?” Vigil-Aunty nostrils flare. “You are not allowed access to a computer or any other technology in here, Brian. The judge said so.”

Dad gives me a wink. I have no idea why. Probably best that way. I don’t want to become an accessory (as in ‘a person who assists with crime’ not ‘a human hair
scrunchie’). Plus, I have other, more important, things to find out.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your research at the Science Museum?” I ask.

“Never came up,” Dad mumbles.

“Research? What research?” Vigil-Aunty screeches. “This better not have anything to do with those brain rays, Brian. Not after they caused all that trouble last
time.”

“All three brain rays were destroyed,” I begin . . . and then I remember Smokin’ Joe’s nosebleed. “At least that’s what Dad told me. Right, Dad?”

Dad does more mumbling. “One melted in the fire and another was disabled by a top-secret government organisation called the
B
ureau
A
gainst
D
angerous
D
evices in
I
reland,
E
ngland and
S
cotland.”

“What about Wales?” Vigil-Aunty asks.

“Wales must have opted out.”

“More importantly, what about the other brain ray?” I ask. “It wasn’t destroyed, was it, Dad? Don’t lie. I’ll know and I’ll hate it.”

Dad stares at his hands and says, barely loud enough to hear, “It’s in a safe place.”

I don’t believe it. As if the Moon Rock wasn’t enough to worry about.

“Tell me where it is.” I glance at the clock. “And tell me what you’ve done with the Moon Rock. We don’t have much time. The world needs saving. You need to start
talking.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Dad asks. “You haven’t been very good at keeping my secrets so far.”

I gasp. How unfair is that?

It’s Vigil-Aunty’s turn to slam her fist on Table Eight.

“CRASH!” Dad shouts.

“Oh, shut up, Brian!” Vigil-Aunty snaps. “Noelle’s the only member of your family who can stand to be near you, and now you’re upsetting her too. Frying
children’s brains is not a ‘secret’, you stupid man – it’s a crime. Where is your remorse? Where are the apologies? You haven’t even asked how my sister is. And
what about Holly?”

Dad rocks back on his chair, looking ashamed but grumpy. He doesn’t like being told off. He likes being told how great he is . . . Aha! That might work.

“The policeman told us the Moon Rock theft was a professional job.” I watch Dad’s face. “The work of a criminal mastermind.”

Vigil-Aunty mutters something about ‘criminal mastermind’ being an oxymoron. Dad looks tempted to onomatopoeia-ify her again.

“Was it you, Dad?” I ask. “Were you the criminal mastermind?”

“How could I be when I was locked in here?”

“That’s what I want to know. I know you were involved, Dad. How did you do it? Does this have something to do with these ICT lessons?”

Dad smiles. Even when he’s trying to keep things secret he likes it when I figure things out. But all he says is, “So many questions, Know-All.”

“And so few answers,” I reply. “Can you at least tell me about the research you were doing?”

Dad chews his fingernails.

“Or tell me why Hell Raizah’s so happy.”

More fingernail nibbling.

I jump to my feet and then quickly sit back down again when scary criminals turn to stare at me. “I need to know what’s going on, Dad. Removing the Moon Rock from its case put
everyone’s life in danger. I’m going to be busy saving the world, so if you won’t help me by telling me what you know, I won’t have time to visit you for a while.”

Dad slumps in his chair, his shoulders drooping, but I refuse to feel sorry for him.

“I mean it, Dad. If you won’t speak to me then I don’t see the point in coming back.”

“What if I give you a clue?”

“What kind of clue?”

Dad doesn’t answer. The prison guards announce visiting time is almost over.

I pinch my lips together and tap my fingers on the table. I hate the woolliness of the word ‘clue’ but I need to find out what Dad knows. Growling in frustration, I mutter,
“Okay, I’ll come back if you give me a clue.”

Dad edges his chair closer and whispers, “Ask your friend Porter about the museum volunteers.”

Porter is squatting in the oak tree outside Holly’s bedroom window when we get home. It’s Vigil-Aunty’s fault he’s happier outside, balancing on a
branch, than in here with us. Even though Mum clearly invited Porter to stay for as long as he wants while his mother’s missing, Vigil-Aunty keeps asking what his plans are and telling
everyone who’ll listen that Mum should never have taken him in.

I’ve told Porter not to take it personally – if everyone Vigil-Aunty has offended this month sat in our tree, there’d be no room left on the branch for him. But he still
won’t come inside, which is annoying because it’s hard to hold a conversation through a window.

“What did Dad mean about the volunteers?”

“No idea.” Porter doesn’t look up, just sits there shredding leaves.

“Please come in,” I say. “I feel ill watching you perch out there like some sort of over-sized squirrel.”

“Nice simile. Vigil-Aunty would be proud.” Holly leans out of the window to yell at Porter. “Stop being an idiot. Come in and tell us what you know.”

“I don’t know anything. And I’m not coming in. I like it out here. Fresh air helps me think.”

“Then start thinking about what Dad meant,” Holly snaps.

“I already told you. I. Don’t. Know.”

“Liar.” Holly throws a hairbrush at him. “Fine. You sit out there looking for nuts while Know-All and I solve this case on our own.” She makes a big thing of pulling the
window down, but I notice she leaves it open a crack at the bottom.

“Looks like it’s down to us, Know-All,” she says with her bossy face on. “We need a list of museum volunteers and a lift to the Science Museum. You get the list and
I’ll pester Uncle Max for the lift. It shouldn’t be hard to convince him. Vigil-Aunty will like the idea. She’s always saying that you need to get out more and that I should do
some educational activities.”

The window creaks upwards. Porter’s head appears through the gap, like an eighteenth-century French royal awaiting the guillotine.

“No need to ask what your aunt says about me.” He tries to laugh but his eyebrows look sad. “On the positive side, she won’t want to leave me here ‘weaselling my
way’ into your mum’s affections, so she should be happy for me to tag along.”

I pat his hand awkwardly.

Holly reaches for his other hand and uses it to yank him further into the room. “It would be much easier if you’d just tell us what you know.”

“I’m sure it would,” Porter says. “If I actually knew anything.”

Holly mutters something about fetching her chainsaw to torture to the truth out of him, but, for once, she decides to let it go.

Next morning, the three of us pile into the back of Uncle Max’s Ford Focus and set off for the Science Museum.

Uncle Max yells out of the car window as we push our way through the pack of reporters at the museum entrance. “You’ve got two hours to do whatever it is you kids have to
do.”

Things start well when we bump into Museum Curator Gnome wandering through ‘Exploring Space’.

“Miniature Hawkins people . . . and friend!” His cheery greeting clashes with his general air of gloom and slumpiness. “What a coincidence. I was looking at your father’s
research this morning. Such a clever man. How the devil is he?”

“He’s fine,” I say and then yelp as Holly prods me. “You say you were looking at his research? We’d love to hear more about it.”

“I shall go one better and show you.” Museum Curator Gnome shuffles off, gesturing for us to follow. “It gladdens my miserable heart to see friendly faces.”

Odd thing to say. I wonder who the
un
friendly faces belong to. We stop in front of a big red plastic wall. Written on the wall it says:

“This is our Live Science lab,” the gnome explains. “It gives scientists like your father a chance to conduct research on some of the two and a half million visitors we get
each year.”

“What was Dad researching?” I ask. “Brain stuff, I suppose?”

Museum Curator Gnome shakes his head. “No. He was exploring what it means to ‘see’ things.” He shows us Dad’s entry in the laboratory log book.

Museum Curator Gnome jumps when his mobile rings. He scrabbles for it and slaps it to his ear. “I have to take this,” he tells us, a muscle jerking in his cheek. “They want me
to talk to the press about the Moon Rock investigation. We’re under pressure. Time is running out.”

“Time’s running out for us too.” Holly glances at her watch as the gnome strides away. “Uncle Max will be back before we know it. Where next?”

“Dad’s research has to be a clue,” I say.

Porter nods. “Maybe it’s something to do with the security cameras? Your dad and my mother had an entire CCTV Room in the LOSERS building before the science teacher blew it
up.”

“Brilliant, Porter!” I give him a thumbs-up.

“We need to find out if there’s anything unusual about the camera footage from the time the Moon Rock went missing.”

“Let’s split up,” Holly suggests. “Make the most of the time we’ve got left. See what you can find out about the cameras and meet back in ‘Exploring
Space’ in half an hour. Porter, this would also be a good time to remember anything you know about the museum volunteers.”

Days Left to Save the Earth: 12

As Porter and Holly race off in different directions, I go in search of Museum Curator Gnome. I want to ask him what makes this Moon Rock so dangerous. How can the Irish Moon
Rock be missing for so long with no ill-effects if this one is set to trigger some kind of international exploding head Armageddon?

I find Museum Curator Gnome in the ‘James Watt and Our World’ gallery, talking to a white plaster head.

He looks up as I approach. “Hello again, young lady. May I introduce you to my silent friend?” He pats the case containing the plaster sculpture.

“Right. Um, hello, Mr Watt,” I greet the fake head.

“You’re already acquainted?”

“I’ve read about him.” I close my eyes and picture the page. “He was an engineer and a hero of the Industrial Revolution. They named the ‘watt’ measurement
after him to honour his contribution to science.”

“A hero, eh?” Museum Curator Gnome nods sadly. “Honoured in his lifetime and remembered forever for his inventions and achievements. Lucky chap. I wonder how I’ll be
remembered – probably as the silly old fool who endangered the world by losing a piece of the moon.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I say, wishing I was better at cheering people up. “Most people don’t know much about James Watt, so they probably won’t
remember anything at all about you.”

Museum Curator Gnome’s heavy sigh suggests that’s no consolation.

“Maybe the missing Moon Rock isn’t as big a problem as you think it is,” I try to reassure him. “Other Moon Rocks have gone missing without harming anybody.”

Museum Curator Gnome glances around the room and then moves his mouth closer to my ear and whispers, “This Moon Rock is different.”

“How?” I whisper back.

“Different properties,” he murmurs. “Unidentified. Not entirely lunar.”

Huh? “How can a Moon Rock be ‘not entirely lunar’?”

“The chaps at NASA suspect it came from a meteorite that collided with the moon.”

Oooh. “So it’s a ‘Somewhere in Space Rock’ rather than a Moon Rock?”

“Shh.” Museum Curator Gnome checks behind us. “Not so loud.”

“Could that be a reason for someone to steal it?”

“No. Because no one knew. Not even the fine brains at NASA until last month, when they started testing the other rock taken from this sector of Mare Nubium and experienced shocking
results.”