Ernest nodded. “Mother is in such a state that she asked him to turn to his former colleagues. But I really don’t see what they can do about it.”
So I should hope. I drank some more coffee and wondered whether we’d left footprints in the flower bed, and they’d put the forensic department on our trail. Or fibers from our jackets … No, nonsense! First, the earth all around the clipped box bushes was completely covered with fine mulch, and second, Scotland Yard wasn’t about to send its forensic experts out for a clipped box tree, Admiral or no Admiral. Why was he called Admiral, anyway, if he’d been in the police?
Someone touched my shoulder, and I jumped. But it was only Grayson moving me aside on his way to the coffee machine.
“Everything okay, Liv?” he asked.
“Yes. Yes, why?” I replied, quickly hiding my hand with the suspicious sore place on it behind my back and almost dropping my cup as I did so. “I had a wonderful night’s sleep. Long, deep sleep.”
Mia clicked her tongue warningly, and I stopped at once, before I could sound even more suspicious. There was nothing left of yesterday’s wonderful elation when I’d felt like Zorro. I was feeling like a criminal instead. Here in England maybe they sent you to prison for what we’d done. Particularly as Mr. Snuggles had obviously been no ordinary bush but some kind of local celebrity.
But the full extent of it became clear to me only when we arrived at Frognal Academy. Everyone there seemed to know Mr. Snuggles as well. And they all knew about his demise because Secrecy had put it in her blog first thing this morning.
Or so I heard at the school entrance from my friend Persephone Porter-Peregrin. I took her smartphone from her hand and read the blog entry. Rest in peace, Mr. Snuggles. An obituary for a topiary peacock. In a school gossip blog. Would you believe it?
Even more incredible, how on earth had Secrecy come by her information so soon? It was positively uncanny. I looked around for Mia, but she had already disappeared into the crowd. Florence’s tears hadn’t made her feel guilty, unlike me. I even got the impression that she rather enjoyed all the fuss. I wished I could feel the same, but Secrecy’s obituary of Mr. Snuggles only made it worse. If even someone as fundamentally nasty as Secrecy was claiming the moral high ground …
Stupid gossipmonger! Suppose she lived in Elms Walk, and that was why she’d been able to take a look at the Boker’s front garden so early in the morning? At least that would explain it. We’d have to check the addresses of the people on Mia’s list of suspects as soon as we could.
A red-haired girl smiled at me in passing and said, “Don’t let it bother you, Liv. I’m waiting until my wedding night too!”
Baffled, I stared as she walked away. Who on earth was she?
“Look, here’s the link Secrecy gave to a report in a gardening magazine—wasn’t Mr. Smithers just amazing?” Persephone had taken her smartphone back and was batting her long lashes dramatically. “He was even on a list of protected plants of the British Isles.…”
“Mr. Snuggles,” I corrected her.
“Yes, that’s what I said.” She linked arms with me. “You really have to wonder who’d do a thing like that, don’t you? They must be terribly disturbed!”
“Hmm,” I said. “Maybe they had good reasons. If there was more than one of them, I mean.”
“Hey, Liv! I think it’s really mean the way they keep going on at you,” said a girl I didn’t know from Adam, or rather Eve. Persephone piloted us around her as if she were a pillar or something.
“It’s typical—they always blame the woman. Whereas it could just as well be Henry’s fault,” said the unknown girl. “Just wanted to let you know I’m on your side.”
“Er, thanks, very nice of you,” I said.
“You’re welcome. We girls have to stick together, and Secrecy’s a slag and a disgrace to feminism.”
Okay. This was getting stranger all the time. “Do you know her?” I whispered to Persephone, but my friend’s thoughts were still dwelling on Mr. Snuggles.
“What good reason could anyone have to murder an innocent tree?” She shook her head.
“Murder sounds so … well, excessive, don’t you think? I mean, even if Mr. Snuggles were a person—which he isn’t, he’s a plant—then it would only be a case of injury because he still has his roots, so he can always grow again.”
“A plant is a living creature too,” said Persephone quietly.
Oh God. That made me a murderess.
“I thought Mr. Smithers—”
“Snuggles!”
“—was so cute. When I was little and we went to the park on Sundays, we always passed him, and he looked a little different every time.” She heaved a melancholy sigh.
This was unbearable. So were all the curious glances cast at me even up on the next floor. And all the whispering. Persephone didn’t notice. Her mind was entirely on Mr. Snuggles.