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The Orion Ghost a Jennifer Jefferies Mystery

  Copyright 2012 Olivia Rogers

  The right of Olivia Rogers to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author.

  The Orion Ghost - a Jennifer Jefferies Mystery is a work of fiction.

  All characters and events in this publication, are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners.

  Illustration Elly Sindall

  Layout Vic Rogers

  For Thomas Joseph Sindall

  CHAPTER 1

  The twins were really enjoying themselves. The summer holiday had been pretty boring so far and watching their mother and big sister Jennifer do battle over the kitchen table was quite entertaining. Claire and Jack sat at the far end of a long wooden table with their chessboard in front of them grinning at each other.

  Jennifer stood on one side of the table, her red hair flying everywhere and her cheeks blazing. Their mother stood opposite, staring at Jennifer and holding a porcelain sugar bowl that had begun to look like a potential weapon. She had started to clear the table after lunch when the argument had begun, slowly at first but now, to the twins’ delight, they were witnessing a full-blown slanging match!

  Claire moved a chess piece and whispered, “mate” to Jack. Her mother and sister glared at her.

  “School finished two weeks ago,” snorted Jenny, “and what do we have to look forward to? Nothing! It’s stinking hot in London and I’M BORED!”

  “Don’t be so selfish Jennifer. You know how important dad’s new job is. The London Olympics is no ordinary architectural event. He really cannot spare the time to go on holiday this year.”

  “Oh that’s just great! So, when the English teacher sets the first essay of the term which is bound to be “My Summer Holiday”, because, as we all know, English teachers have no imagination and always set the same subject, I’m just going to say – I DIDN’T HAVE ONE!”

  “Check,” said Jack and pulled a face at Claire.

  “Oh do calm down, Jennifer. Lots of children don’t go away on holiday. We could take the train to Brighton next week and have a day at the beach. Some children never see the beach!”

  “Next year more likely! You’re always too busy working on that stupid fashion magazine to spare us any time. And who wants to go by train! It’s so humiliating being the only girl at school whose parents don’t have a car!”

  “Your dad explained all that when we moved to central London, Jennifer. A car is unnecessary in Islington and it’s environmentally unfriendly. We can get anywhere we want by tube, bus or taxi. Just think of all those petrol guzzling 4 x 4s that your friends’ parents drive. They go round the block to school or the shops and drive to a tube station! Are they all scared of a little exercise? Anyone would think they were living in Africa and travelling huge distances. Urban rhino hunters, that’s what they are! DON’T THEY CARE ABOUT THE PLANET?”

  Jennifer glared at her mother from behind her piercing green eyes. She knew she had a point but didn’t fancy losing the argument. Her mother put the sugar bowl down on the table and wiped her brow. In truth they were both a little surprised at how passionate their argument had become. The tension in the room was palpable and the twins held their breath for the next round.

  “What if we wanted to go on holiday?” asked Jenny quietly. She was a little subdued by her mother’s outburst about the planet.

  “We could take the tube to Heathrow Airport.”

  “And what if we wanted to go to Devon or Cornwall, like all my new school friends are doing?” Jenny had a peculiar glint in her eye, a sort of “I’ve got you now,” kind of glint. The twins had seen it and hung on to the table expecting the explosion that was to come.

  “Then we would hire a car.”

  “Oh I see,” began Jennifer in a whisper, “so, it’s ok to hire a 4x4, petrol guzzling, urban rhino hunter – JUST NOT TO BUY ONE!”

  Jennifer turned on her heels, feeling the thrill of verbal victory. She marched up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door behind her.

  “Check mate,” said the twins with a high five and a huge grin on their identical faces.

  Their mother spun round and glared at them. “Well don’t just sit there playing chess, come and help with the dishes!”

  The argument, three days ago, had certainly been the highlight of the twins’ day, but since then things has settled back into a more normal pattern: father working in the City of London, mother working in her upstairs office, sister sulking and the London summer getting hotter and hotter. But then something much more interesting happened.

  On August the 5th after breakfast Jennifer was up in her room sulking because she felt the summer holidays were destined to be the worst ever with nothing exciting happening at all, when she heard a commotion coming from downstairs. She heard her mother shouting at the twins to be quiet and not run in the house.

  “But mum,” said Claire, “the postman has just given us a foreign letter.”

  “It could be from Aunty Izzy,” said Jack. “Please mum can we open it?” they cried in unison.

  The twins seemed at times to work as a double act, they often had the same ideas and knew just what the other was thinking. They were not identical twins, of course, one being a boy and the other a girl, but they were both very blond and had blue eyes and people often thought they were both boys as Claire had her hair cut very short. At nine years old she didn’t think it necessary to be all girlie like Jennifer whose hair was long and a rich red colour and whose green eyes flashed if her hair wasn’t just so! Claire hoped she would never care about her hair or what she looked like.

  The twins were always very excited when a letter from Aunty Izzy arrived. She often wrote when she was away on her painting trips because she hated computers and vowed she would never send emails. She felt a letter was much more interesting with its exotic stamps and the smell of the envelope that had been through so many different countries and touched by so many hands before it reached its destination. The twins always imagined the journey Aunty Izzy’s letters took - on camel trains through deserts and strange cities, carried by donkeys or taken on small steam ships down rivers infested with crocodiles and finally reaching them in London after a flight lasting many hours. She had taught them to look at the stamps first to see which country a letter came from and she treated each stamp as if it were a work of art. “Look at that little jewel of a stamp with its kangaroo and bottlebrush plant,” she had said once when she received a letter from a friend in Australia. “It’s such a shame that we throw them away!”

  Izzy, whose real name was Isabelle was their mother’s younger sister. She was an artist who travelled the world never staying very long in her rented accommodation. As she said, she only stayed put till the “inspiration and the paint both dried up.” Claire and Jack were not really sure what she meant, but they knew that her letters were often funny and always surprising and they couldn’t wait to see what this one contained. They knew it was from France because they had read the stamp.

  When their mother opened the envelope they were a tad disappointed as nothing exciting fell out and it contained no photographs or foreign money. Just a letter. Their mother read it quickly and then returned it to the envelope.

  “What did she say?” the twins moaned in unison.

  “Nothing very excit
ing,” replied their mother. “She has just rented a house for the next four months and wanted to give me her address. I’m just popping out to the shop for some bread so you two pack up your swimming things and we’ll go to the pool after lunch.” The twins had heard that it was bad to swim after a meal but they didn’t say anything just turned their heads to each other and rolled their eyes upwards. Something would probably stop them from going anyway. Their mother would suddenly realise that they should wait two hours after eating before swimming and then it would be too late in the day!

  When their mother had gone out the twins looked at the letter. They felt sure that Aunty Izzy would not write anything so boring as just her address. They were both curious. They both adored their artistic Aunt and had always had great fun in her company. Sometimes she was a bit weird and seemed to live up to their mother’s nickname for her, which was Dizzy. She also seemed to be able to read minds, especially children’s minds, and even see into the future. They remembered once when she had stayed with them in London and they had both been desperate to go to see Buckingham Palace and Aunty Izzy had just said quite casually over breakfast, “I think we should all go to see if the Queen is at home today. Who fancies a trip to the Palace?“ When they asked her how she knew they wanted to go she said, “I can read your thoughts, petals!” They had had a marvellous day and laughed themselves silly to see their crazy Aunt imitating the guards as she marched back and forth in front of the palace gates holding a melting ice cream, instead of a gun, high above her head.

  “Do you think we could read it?” whispered Claire, as if her mother might overhear.

  “Mum didn’t say we couldn’t,” replied Jack.

  In a flash the two were poring over the letter. It was true that it was brief and contained their Aunt’s new address but it also contained something much more interesting, if only they could talk to their mother about it without revealing that they had opened the letter!

  The twins thought Jenny might be able to think of a way out of their dilemma and decided to show her the letter. They went up to her bedroom where she was listening to her favourite music. They pushed open the door and were met with a scream of abuse, “Can’t you two read?” She meant the sign on her door that said “NO TWINS ALLOWED”.

  The twins peeped their heads around the door- frame and said, “We’ve read Aunty Izzy’s letter and want your help. They thrust the letter into Jenny’s hands and waited for her to read it.

  Les Volets Bleus

  La Grande Côte

  Charente Maritime 17

  France

  August 1st 2011

  Dear All,

  Just a quick note. I’ve decided to paint large abstract seascapes so have rented a huge, rambling house on the Atlantic coast for four months. Why don’t you come out for a couple of weeks before the school hols are over? There is plenty of room, in fact this place is enormous and the kids would have great fun. It’s a quick walk to the beach and there’s a windmill somewhere but I haven’t managed to find it yet! The grounds are very big and it’s lovely and quiet, except for the roar of the sea - heaven! It’s very easy to fly if you don’t want to drive. All the cheap airlines come into La Rochelle or Bordeaux. I’ve bought an old car to use while I’m here so I can pick you up. Hope you can make it. It would be great to see the children again.

  Oodles of Love

  Dizzy!

  XXX

  Jenny, Claire and Jack all moved at once their eyes going from the letter to each other and back. This was the solution to their non-existent summer holiday. The twins were jumping up and down gleefully on Jennifer’s bed. They knew she didn’t really mean it when she shouted at them and when it really mattered, like now, they were all the best of friends and stuck together through thick and thin. “Surely they were old enough to fly if their mum took them to the airport in London and their Aunt picked them up at the other end,” thought Jenny. She knew it would be up to her to bring up the conversation and secure their holiday in France. Jenny had doubts about how good a holiday it would be with an eccentric Aunt and two younger children for company, but it would certainly be better than staying at home for the next three weeks. She resolved to bring up the subject over lunch.

  Their mother had returned from her shopping with a French loaf and some pâté from the local delicatessen. It had been easy then to turn the conversation to France and the benefits of speaking the language she had been studying at school for the past year. She was grateful that Islington was so cosmopolitan. The area from the Angel Tube Station up to the Almeida Theatre could quite easily have been a tiny part of almost any European city. There were shops selling Greek olives and oil, Mediterranean coffee bars and every type of restaurant you could imagine from Spanish to Turkish. Their mother especially loved the Italian delicatessen and the French bread shop.

  Jenny preferred the shops selling second-hand and antique clothing. They always had shoes from the 1970s with huge stacked platform heels, which she thought must have been impossible to walk in. The twins liked to see the street theatre and especially loved the living sculpture. There was a man who was silver from head to toe and stood so still that they thought he was made of wax, until he winked at them.

  Jennifer finally managed to bring up the subject of a possible trip to see Aunty Izzy in France. Her mother would not commit to a definite answer saying that she would talk to their father when he came home from work. When asked how they knew that Aunty Izzy was in France the three children all shouted at once, “The stamp was French!” They could tell that their mother was suspicious but they felt they had had a narrow escape. Their mother did not ask the obvious question, “How do you know Aunty Izzy wants you around?” Perhaps she had guessed that they had read the letter and, as Aunty Izzy had always made it clear to their mother that she liked the company of the children, she didn’t feel the need to question them further.