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Lily Stuart - PI
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Category:
Young Adult/Teen
Publisher: I. M. Books
Type: Fiction
Pages: 236
Copyright: 1st September 2014
ISBN-13: 9780992996147
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
Sixteen year old Lily balances the intricacies of teenage life with playing detective when her mother internet dates a murderer.
If you're a fan of Veronica Mars, Nancy Drew, Janet Evanovich's books on Stephanie Plum or Meg Cabot's Size 12 books featuring Heather Wells and want more fly-on-the-wall teenage realism than fictional fantasy, check this YA book series out!
Lily Stuart is the teen with the trick of getting to the bottom of murder, as well as juggling bitching, banter and boys – well, almost. The boys are a bit more difficult than the banter…
The plot: when Lily's mum resorts to the web for her romance - the world-wide-web - Lily resorts to her own bit of web-weaving to fend off the two candidates for replacement daddy.
The trouble is neither are quite how they first appear to be. Meanwhile Jas is getting on Matt, Melissa is being an utter bitch, Dad and Mum still don't get it that they should be trying again and The Hitler Youth Brigade - aka school - are on Lily's case to choose what her future is going to be like. If she still has one that is...
It's enough to turn a girl to drink. Luckily it doesn't, but it does turn Lily detective in an attempt to solve all her problems. Before she reveals the Russian roulette murderer, though, she has to first look down the barrel of his gun.
Excerpt
Cataclysm:
The Girl – D-Day, 13th July 2012:
He wrenched the scissors I’d stabbed him with out of his arm and threw them across the floor, howling like an animal. Then he stopped and smiled at me. Not a normal smile; face contorted like a wailing mask from a Greek tragedy. Blood trickled from the cuts on his face where I’d slashed at him as I tried to escape. Then he put his hand in his pocket and slowly, almost casually withdrew the gun.
Small, brown and ugly. A gun.
Oh shit, this was it!
My guts gave out and peed myself. I didn’t care. A million other thoughts flashed through my head ending again with so this is it. But I’ve never driven a car, or had my own cash card, or even had sex. So this was it – nothing else? I felt angry and cheated. Why should this psycho take all that away from me?
I want to do all that stuff, I really do!
But it was too late; way too late for anything else now. I thought I must have cried, screamed, sobbed, ‘No, no, no, please let me live,’ but I don’t think I actually said anything at all. In my loud-silent world, there was only the ear-splitting crack as the gun discharged. I waited for my head to explode too, but there was only an odd shuddering sensation as the world shattered into a million pieces of nothing. I put my hand out to stop myself falling but the ground wasn’t there anymore; only empty space that wouldn’t end. As everything faded to white I finally heard myself cry – for Mum, and everything I would never know.
*
The Man – Brightmead Hospital Secure Unit, 16th July 2012 – Day 1:
I hovered on the edge of consciousness, trying to distinguish the sounds and smells invading oblivion. I was drowning, the waves beating my head against the submerged rocks with an aggravating clicking sound and the water was unpleasantly chlorinated. Not the sea then – a swimming pool, perhaps. The clicking annoyed me most, followed by the medicated-wet-dog smell. The persistence of both was becoming irksome.
I snapped awake. The shifting mist of the dream had become the blue sea of a regulation issue hospital blanket encasing my caged legs. It had a string of little boats bobbing on it. There was an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth.
‘Ah, you’re awake. Good.’ The nearest boat came into focus. Not a boat, a face. But not a face I knew. A nurse. Crisp, white and business-like. She twitched the clicking machine to silence and pulled the already pristine covers pinning me down tighter. ‘You have visitors. Are you up to that?’
The other boats on the blanket horizon floated into focus alongside her. More faces. These I did know. One was particularly unwelcome. Rodgers. What was he doing here?
‘How are you feeling?’
And Stuart.
Rodgers moved alongside the officious nurse, face still bobbing merrily on the blue blanket.
‘Do you remember me?’ he asked. I debated which answer to give. He smiled. The sly smile of the serpent waiting to strike. I cleared my throat to tell him to sod off but nothing came out except an awkward gurgle. ‘We’d like to ask you some questions.’
The blanket sea drained away like mist burnt off by the sun. That was it. I was in hospital after shooting Lily. What did they know? They bobbed closer, invading my safe harbour. I tried to lift my hand to physically deflect them off while I thought, but it twitched uselessly on the covers, tubes trailing sinuously to the clicking machine. I struggled to move my head and it rolled to one side, allowing me to see the machine. A drip. Antibiotics – good. I turned my head slowly back, feeling a dribble of saliva slip from the side of my mouth, pooling in the corner of the mask. The rest gargled down the back of my throat. I fought to swallow and it sounded the same as drowning had in my dream. The nurse swept to my rescue.
‘I’m sorry, DCI Rodgers. He’s clearly distressed. You will have to wait.’
‘But we have questions to ask.’
‘Well, they’ll have to wait until he’s a little better, I’m afraid. You can see how poorly he is. He’s probably traumatised as well, poor man.’
The serpent uncoiled, unsheathing its fangs. ‘Poor man! Pah! I don’t care if he’s traumatised or on bloody cloud nine. This is a kidnap and murder case, Sister. It needs sorting.’
She compressed her lips and raised her eyebrows at him. The serpent clearly didn’t scare her. ‘Nevertheless, this is a hospital, not a police station. And if my patient isn’t up to answering your questions then they won’t get asked.’
The most nebulous of the little flotilla bobbed forward. Over-magnified eyes blinking behind out-sized lenses. He looked like an owl; a fledgling at that.
‘Maybe I could help?’ It was so hesitant as to almost not have been said. I focused on the nonentity. Rodgers and Stuart homed in too.
‘And you are?’
‘…Jonathon Frowd. I’m a registrar here.’
‘And how do you think you can help? Beat Sister over the head and carry her away?’ So Rodgers was still his usual charming self.
‘I’m a psychologist. My research thesis was on post-traumatic stress disorder. I’d be happy to help with your patient – and the questions that you need answering while he’s here…’
The idea hung in the air between them. I could see them liking it.
‘Sister?’ It was Stuart this time. Imploring. Oh yes – it was his kid, wasn’t it? Lily.
‘Well, I’d have to check with Mr Davies, the consultant, but …’
‘Good, when can we get started then?’
Pig-ignorant. Typical Rodgers.
And so I got the psych instead of the inquisition for the time being. The questioning couldn’t be avoided, but it could be managed.
I studied the psych. Diffident, uncertain, but obviously keen. The suggestion had been pushy, but it had taken all his nerve to make it. The body language said it all; flushed face, sweat patches under his arms, infinitesimal shake when he addressed Rodgers – not that he could be blamed for that. Yes, I could work with that, but first I had to remember.
Rodgers and Stuart left, posting their minions – the boys in blue – to stand guard at the door. Sister ushered them out imperiously and their shadowy figures took up position outside instead. I watched them through the glass panel. I was left with the psych.
‘I’ll come back later, if you like?’
I closed my eyes, and ignored him. I could sense him waiting, then the door swished shut.
The Russian roulette murder.
I laughed quietly to myself for a moment. I still liked the name.
Part One: Spiders and Flies
‘Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the spider to the fly.
ʼTis the prettiest little parlour that ever you may spy.’
Chapter 1: Lily Stuart – PI
Lily’s diary, 13-4-2012:
Friday the 13th – an awesome day to start a diary, especially since I’ve found this cool poem and the best line ever in it.
‘Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.’
It is just exactly what I have, even though that sounds SO melodramatic, LOL. Friday the 13th is one of those dark days when anything could go wrong – and it did. Technically I suppose I should have recorded this entry as Saturday the 14th, since that’s when I’m writing it but it’s all about Friday 13th, so what the hell. Let’s just say life’s a bitch, and so is Melissa.
I suppose it was all Ted’s fault really. Life was meandering along nicely enough until him – boring but OK. The only blip on the horizon was exams – the dreaded GCSEs – General Certificate of Senseless Education; well, what are we going to use trigonometry for in the future, or tidal erosion statistics? Not that they really worry me. They provide me with a reason to hole up in my room while Mum’s fads threaten to take over and drive us both over the edge. Her attempts at dating have been a prolonged fad for a while though, but as Abe Lincoln (according to Hitler Youth – aka School) so rightly said, hopefully this too shall pass…I was waiting patiently for that to happen when Ted popped up as the latest candidate for dream date.
‘Why him Mum? He’s a dick.’ (Well – a Ted really, but also a dick…) ‘Go for someone more inspiring – at least.’
‘I don’t want inspiring. He’s polite and reliable. Your dad was inspiring and look where that got me.’
‘It got you me, didn’t it?’
‘Well, everything has its downside, I suppose.’ She grinned.
I pretended an exaggerated gasp and mouthed at her, ‘You’re a poo!’
She chuckled victoriously. It’s been my most favourite term of endearment for her for ages now. Usually she throws it back at me and we fall about laughing. However just recently we’ve agreed that at fifteen something more appropriate is needed. I just haven’t thought of it yet. After all, next stop is sixteen, A levels and adulthood. It’s become an in-joke for her to tease me and for me to resolutely resist using it when she’s being, well – a poo…
‘So not fair!’ I threw a cushion at her and Daisy joined in, fielding the cushion as if it were a football and bringing it back to me, tail going like a pendulum. We both fell about laughing, as intended, and she must have thought that was it. But no. I’d met Ted once and he was the pits. No way was I letting this one go without ramming the point home.
‘Anyway, that wasn’t a proper answer, and you know it. Please don’t be desperate, Mum.’
‘I’m not – I told you, he’s nice; respectable. Honest.’
‘Oh yeah? Right. That’s why you always go out of town with him. It’s never just down the road to the pub. It’s always the next town or a back room bar.’
‘It’s not!’ She threw the cushion on her chair at me this time, but I ducked. ‘This time it’s Millionaire’s Mile.’ She patted her hair and grinned smugly.
‘Ooh, get you! But that means Mr Winky’s going too.’
‘What?’
‘He’s planning on getting his leg over afterwards.’
‘No he’s not! Lily!’ then she ruined it by asking, ‘And who’s Mr Winky?’ I nearly choked.
‘See, Mum, that’s why you shouldn’t be allowed out on your own.’
‘Huh! Haven’t you got revision to do?’
‘Yeah, yeah – got the message.’ I unwound from the floor, pushing Daisy gently off of me. My stomach gurgled noisily but luckily Mum had turned the TV on so she didn’t hear. I padded out to the kitchen, planning on taking bounty back upstairs with me but Mum’s radar was on.
‘And don’t raid the biscuits. I’ll be cooking tea soon.’
‘Would I ever?’ I called back while I systematically searched the cupboards for stash, knowing she wouldn’t follow me. She was too intent on getting her Millionaire Mile plans past me to risk confrontation. ‘And I’m not sleeping over at Melissa’s so that you and Mr Winky can become better acquainted either. She’s on a Sam-slam at the moment and I don’t think I can put up with hearing his name every other word for a whole night.’
‘He’s wooing me – don’t be mean – or rude. And I know what you’re up to out there.’
That brought me up short. ‘Wooing you?’ A crispbread would have to do. She’d obviously hidden everything else. It only had thirty-five calories, and my self-imposed ration today was five hundred max – although Mum didn’t know that. I took it back to the lounge door. Daisy attached herself to my feet in case of crumbs. ‘What the ffff…is that?’ I waited to get my language corrected but she must have thought better of it – that wouldn’t help the persuasion process either.
‘Wooing – it’s like our town; old-fashioned, old-school, courtly – he woos.’
‘Yeah, right.’
Actually I didn’t really care – she’d soon see what he was up to when I was proved right and it would probably be OK to sleep over at Melissa’s while Mum went out with tasteless Ted – sorry Mum, if she could be kept off the Sam subject. Alas, that was as much an epic fail as the Ted attack on Mum. She went on and on about him all evening until I was sick of his name, and said so. Bad move! Then she stopped talking to me altogether – after she’d called me a badass bitch of course. So that put paid to my home comforts for the night. She’s got a swanky house and a king-size bed, unlike our two-bed terraced doll’s house. I was going to sleep on one side of the monster bed and she on the other – like lezzers – but Melezzer wasn’t going to share her bed with me after that!
Anyway, when I came home earlier than expected because Melezzer, the Ice Maiden, had frozen me out, Mum was already stressed – unusually so. We fall out all the time, and Melissa will have got over it by next week, even if she is a cow to me in the meantime, but Mum gets so worried about how everything looks these days. It wouldn’t have mattered what I said on the subject, really – weird really because she doesn’t even like Melezz much; says she’s a spoilt brat and a bad influence – but this time she was on meltdown so I stayed carefully neutral.
My disastrous big night in deflected me from Mum’s big night out to begin with, but the more stressy she was, the plainer it became that they hadn’t got it on because she was such a sourpuss, instead of all guilty smiles. We skirted round both Melezz and Ted most of the morning until Mum broke first.
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