Chapter Eight
The Break-In
“A massage by any other name still requires oil.”—A very old footman.
As Beryl, Archie, and H2 walked back to the front of the house, Izzie went mad.
She circled the back porch in a crazed barking fashion until her feet caught the curtain. Archie, H2, and Beryl heard the clatter of a fallen curtain pole, a yelp, then silence.
“One scuttle too many,” muttered Beryl.
No one answered.
H2 tried to manoeuvre Beryl into the car. But Beryl, filled with the “I can do anything” side effect of sugar and burning with memories of a time when she could beat the pants off Mex, was immovable.
She stared at the run-down porch at the front of Bunnie’s house. It was even older than the back porch, with a half-opened single glazed window that refused to budge. In Beryl’s ey
