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A Flooding At Flurbury's

'Who's Tod Glarent?'

Zach's father seemed utterly confused, whereas his mother shook her head at the volunteer. 'You never change, you old goat.'

Clifford grinned. 'My wife wouldn't have me any other way.'

'Where is Hilary?'

'Oh, I left her at the garden centre this morning and haven't heard from her since.'

'Which one?'

'Greenache's, you know, the one off the industrial estate in Peach Tree?'

'That's fifteen miles away,' interrupted Mr Garrett. 'How the hell did you get out that far in your buggy?'

'Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, there is such a thing as public transport.'

Mrs Garrett bit her lip, and her husband glowered enough to make Zach uncomfortable.

'I need to get inside.'

Clifford gestured over his shoulder. 'I'd show your parents through to the cafe, but Amy is on the warpath today.'

Zach struggled to keep a straight face; he could already imagine Amy stalking them from the shadows.

'What should we do then?'

'Sorry, dad, you'll have to wait until the museum opens.'

'Don't worry,' Clifford winked, already guiding Zach's parents away. 'I have a plan.'

'No!' barked Zach, not messing around. 'Never mind Amy being on the warpath. If you try anything else, she will kill you.'

The volunteer dismissed the lad's warning and beckoned his parents to follow.

'Dad!'

Clifford looked back one last time. 'Relax, kid. Loftus will make us a nice, steaming cup of tea, I'm sure.'

'Not if his pets eat you, he won't.'

'What?' Mr Garrett stopped still. 'Helen, I'm sorry, but maybe we should just wait-'

The volunteer swiftly linked arms with Zach's father and then his mother, unwilling to let them escape. 'You're not going to get eaten. Worst case, you'll have to share the hay bale sofa with the little monsters, but that's it.'

Zach knew that even if he had the time to do so, he couldn't stop Clifford or his parents from doing what they wanted. So, the lad shook his head and turned toward the museum, only to stumble a few feet later when he glimpsed the chaos being wrought inside.

A dozen or more tattered-looking sandbags were stacked atop one another just beyond the entrance. And the lad was ready to chalk it up to more Flurbury's museum antics until he stepped over the barricade and felt the ice-cold snap of water reach past his ankles.

'What the hell? Amy?'

'She's on the phone with the contractor. Come and give me a hand with this.'

It didn't take Zach long to locate Hilton. The man was on his knees, stacking more sandbags to stop the flooding water from reaching the till sockets.

Zach picked up two from the cart and handed them over. The bags were heavy, rough-textured and smelt like urine. He didn't want to waste time questioning their scent, though. 'What happened here?'

Hilton wiped his soaking wet hands on one of the drier sandbags. 'Turns out the plumber who came yesterday wasn't legit.'

Zach stared blankly. 'Didn't they have identification?'

'Yes,' Hilton fired back. 'Everything checked out.'

Zach knew the Museum Manager was lying by his defensive tone, but it wasn't his job to call him on it. Instead, he tried to see where the water was coming from and discovered bubbles running across the surface.