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She knew it now.

It made perfect sense.

Her suspicions that Clive Dawkins had been kidnapped had come true.

There was no doubt that Pierce Littleslade planned to cajole Clive Dawkins into a game of poker he couldn’t possibly win, in order to take back the land that had once been cheated out of his family’s grasp.

The question was, where were they holding Clive Dawkins?

She could call again, but there was no way she could possibly speak without revealing that she was not Pierce Littleslade. She had no choice but to try to figure it out for herself.

She hurried back towards the inn, figuring that, at the very least, she could prevent the Littleslades from getting to the game on time.

Around the front of the inn there was a great commotion, both from people preparing for the Halloween parade and from others playing up to the television cameras. Around the back, however, the car park was quiet and empty.

Kelly spotted the Littleslades’ car.

Sneaking up beside it, she squatted down. She opened her rucksack, reached in, and took out Larry.

‘Look,’ she said to the toad. ‘You ruined my car, but I’ll forgive you if you do the same thing to theirs. Just make it quick. I wouldn’t like to think of you getting boiled up in there.’

She plonked the giant toad down next to the car’s front tyre and watched as he ambled underneath the vehicle.

Then she turned and headed back around the front of the inn, hoping to interrupt the Littleslades.

She went inside and found Miranda and Esmeralda tidying up the kitchen. Immediately feeling guilty for having scared them with Larry, Kelly offered to help, to which the girls were most grateful.

Miranda, however, lamented that they’d lost the master key for the bedrooms, and that when Martin found out there would be hell to pay.

Kelly, who still had the key in her pocket, made the sheepish excuse that she needed to go to the toilet. Then, as she passed the hook by the door, she discreetly put the key on the counter, tucking it beneath a plastic file just below the hooks where the girls would easily find it if they looked again.

Just as she was heading to the toilet, however—her nerves urging her to go anyway—she heard the voices of Mr and Mrs Littleslade by the front entrance, just heading outside.

She hurried after them, but by the time she’d made it around to the car park, they were already in the car.

Suddenly remembering what she’d done with Larry, and feeling an intense sensation of guilt that the poor toad might be liquidised in the sacrifice to help unravel the mystery, she ran in front of the car, put out her hands, and shouted for them to stop.

Mr Littleslade gunned the engine and reversed hard, leaving Kelly to stumble forwards.

As she tried to regain her balance, the car sped past her, both the Littleslades scowling at her through the windows.

Kelly stared after them, then looked down at the ground.

Where the car had been was a small patch of sludge.

Kelly covered her mouth with her hand.

Larry.

It had to be.

She was too late.

The poor toad, who had clearly loved her, had been turned into gunk.

She went over, squatted down, and reached out for the puddle of sticky ooze. She was just about to touch it when she sensed movement in the grass nearby and looked up to see Larry sitting by the verge with half a moth sticking out of his mouth.

‘There you are!’ Kelly cried, relieved that the toad was still alive, even though he had apparently failed to help her.