RUBY GOT OUT OF BED and pulled on the clothes that happened to be piled on her chair (her new jeans and a T-shirt announcing keep your distance).

      She crept downstairs, her satchel slung over her shoulder, tiptoed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, took a quick slug of peach juice, called to Bug and then set off for Marty’s minimart.

      Ruby skateboarded along Cedarwood, Bug running along beside her, speeding together down Pecan until they reached the little store where four busy roads met. Sure enough, Marty’s had what she was looking for. Ruby paid for her copy of the Whispering Weekly along with one green apple and one blueberry slushy and some bone snacks for Bug, then she went and sat on the bench outside the store.

      Looking at the pictures of poor old Jessica Riley and the way the camera had revealed something the mere naked eye could never have seen, made Ruby believe in her theory all the more. But she was halfway through her slushy when tiredness took a hold of her – lack of sleep the night before had finally caught up. She placed the Whispering Weekly shock-horror journal under her head, curled up on the wooden seat and closed her eyes. Just a five-minute nap, she told herself. Her dog sat watching, never taking his eyes off her.

      She woke to the clank of Mrs Beesman’s shopping trolley. Today it was full of soup – cans and cans of the stuff – and two war-torn-looking cats.

      Bug’s fur stood on end, he was wary of one-eyed felines with chewed ears – they could be unpredictable: they had nothing to lose.

      Ruby rubbed her eyes and adjusted her glasses.

      ‘Hi Mrs Beesman, how are you this morning?’

      The dishevelled lady peered at her and grunted.

      Mrs Beesman had never said one friendly word to her, not that Ruby minded that. Today she appeared a little more cranky than usual, which might have something to do with the yellow paint sprayed in an arc across her shopping cart. There was even a little on the cat’s tail. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing she would have done herself, so Ruby figured it was vandals or bullies. Mrs Beesman tended to run into a lot of them.

      It was the first day of a new school year at Twinford Junior High, and Clancy was feeling sort of OK about it, not exactly eager for the new term but happy enough to put some distance between himself and recent past events of the summer break.

      As far as the happy stakes went, the summer had been a mixed bag. On the one hand, great weather, a few precious weeks with no school, and even more importantly, no Madame Loup, so that was good. It had been exciting solving a crime and saving an almost extinct wild animal from a miserable end, so yes, that had also been a plus.

      Less fun on the other hand was the being abducted and nearly murdered by psychopaths, which, combined with the almost being burnt alive by a ferocious forest fire, made the summer break far from idyllic and for obvious reasons it was this near-death experience that dominated Clancy’s impression of the vacation.

      He got to class a little early as he just about always did, sat down and cracked open his new graphic novel, Snoozer. The stories were ridiculous but very entertaining and Clancy felt an affinity with the main character, who was a bit of an underdog.

      Clancy wasn’t surprised when the school bell rang and still there was no sign of his friend. She would never be entered for any punctuality contest, and if she was, well then she would doubtless miss the start.

      Ruby finally strolled into her form room just as Mrs Drisco called, ‘Redfort?’

      ‘Present,’ Ruby called back, as she slid into her seat.

      ‘Barely,’ muttered Mrs Drisco, pen hovering over the absent box.

      But Mrs Drisco wasn’t in the mood to have a long drawn out back-and-forth with Ruby Redfort. It was the first day of a new school year and she didn’t want to start it on a losing streak.

      When the bell went for class the students spilled out of their form rooms into the corridor.

      ‘You look awful tired,’ said Clancy. ‘Something keep you awake?’

      ‘You could say that,’ yawned Ruby. ‘I’m trying to figure out something, something to do with the window thief.’

      ‘There are clues?’ asked Clancy.

      ‘There are always clues,’ said Ruby, ‘it’s just a matter of spotting them and then putting them together. I had a kinda brainwave at four o’clock this morning.’

      ‘This morning?’ said Clancy. ‘Before school?’

      ‘Impressive huh?’

      ‘For you, yeah,’ said Clancy, ‘morning isn’t really your time of day.’

      ‘Which is why I zonked out on the bench outside Marty’s.’

      ‘You were sleeping rough?’

      ‘Clance, falling asleep on a bench for two hours does not constitute sleeping rough.’

      ‘You feel like hanging out later?’ asked Clancy.

      ‘Yeah but nah, I have to get into Spectrum, work on my theory.’

      ‘So what’s the theory?’

      ‘I’ll tell you when I prove myself right,’ said Ruby. ‘Let’s just say it came to me in a flash.’

      Clancy was in a good mood all morning – he had so far been assigned all his favourite teachers and no Madame Loup. He felt there was something about this year that was going to be good – better than the last one anyway. At lunchtime, he queued up in the canteen and managed to get the very last slice of pecan pie. Yes, there was no doubt that this was going to be a good year for him.

      He took his tray of food outside to one of the wooden tables arranged under the trees.

      ‘Hey,’ said Del, ‘I haven’t