Death at Tower Bridge by Rachel McLean & Millie Ravensworth

Author:Rachel McLean & Millie Ravensworth [McLean, Rachel & Ravensworth, Millie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ackroyd Publishing
Published: 2023-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Zaf scribbled on a piece of paper. Once he was satisfied with his thoughts, he stood and addressed the audience.

“I have awarded points in the following categories. First of all, best use of available materials, where I have rewarded creative re-use but deducted points for anything that caused damage to property. Team Hen score seven out of ten and Team Bridge score five out of ten.”

There were howls of outrage from both teams.

Zaf held up a hand.

“Next category is style and visual impact. This one was a toughie because both teams excelled, so Team Hen score eight points… and Team Bridge score eight points as well.”

The teams were quiet, each eyeing the other, eager to hear what came next.

“Our final category is the performance of your catwalk show. For this I have awarded six points to Team Hen and seven points to Team Bridge. So Team Hen have a one-point lead.”

The Hens whooped and cheered, while the Bridge team hollered and protested that they’d been robbed.

“Pay up!” Bethan called to Bunty, her face alight with glee.

“It’s definitely all to play for in the next round,” said Zaf.

Bethan’s face fell. “Next round?”

“The bet is not yet concluded,” said Bunty.

Zaf nodded. “Our second challenge of the day. But before that can begin, can we possibly have a tablecloth amnesty? I want them all folded and piled up neatly. Make it look like we never touched them, please.”

DS Quigley had crossed the room and was whispering in Bunty’s ear. Bunty followed the sergeant to the interview cupboard.

“You’re going to be one man down, chaps,” he called.

“I think we’ll cope!” replied Tom.

He grinned at Bunty, then flashed the last of the grin at Zaf.

Zaf felt warmth run through him.

Focus, he told himself. You’ve got a job to do. This wasn’t exactly regular tour guide work, but at least the punters were enjoying themselves.

Soon enough, three piles of tablecloths were arranged in front of him. The first would pass as clean. He smoothed them flat as he re-folded them. Would they be OK to put on a table at an event? He hoped so.

The second pile of tablecloths were intact but dirty. He tried brushing off the dirt so that they could join the clean ones, but there were footprints, streaks of stubborn dust and even some inexplicable stains that looked like they might be chocolate.

He hoped it was chocolate.

The third pile was little more than tattered remains. These cloths had been cut and torn to make outfits. He had no idea how many the groups had used: right now, they looked like rags.

“We need ideas, people,” he said. “We can’t do this to the hotel staff. Penny downstairs has put herself out for us, and she’ll get into trouble if we leave her with this mess.”

“Sorry,” said Lydia. “We got caught up in the challenge.”

“It was like being on one of those telly programmes,” said Gaynor, “where you have to make something out of junk.”

Tom shrugged. “I think we were all just lost in the moment.

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