by Adele Abbott
“No, they’re not,” Pearl said. “I said we should do buy-one-get-one free. Amber wants to do two-for-one.”
“I know that, but two-for-one is exactly the same as buy-one-get-one free. Just think about it.”
The twins looked at one another, thought about it for a moment, and then burst out laughing.
“You’re right, Jill. It is, isn’t it?” Pearl said.
“Silly us.” Amber at least had the good grace to blush.
“Right, now that’s settled, can I have—”
“I think we should knock up a sign straight away,” Amber said. “It can say, two cupcakes for the price of one.”
“No,” Pearl objected. “It should say, buy one cupcake, get one free.”
Give me strength!
Eventually, the twins managed to reach a compromise by agreeing to include both of the terms on their sign: Two-for-one and buy-one-get-one-free.
At long last, I had my coffee and muffin. Nectar!
“Hey, girls, how do you go about teaching the Lilys magic?”
“What do you mean?” Amber said.
Both of them seemed confused by the question.
“I mean, do you teach them a certain number of spells each week?”
“I don’t teach Lily any magic,” Pearl said.
“Me neither.” Amber shrugged.
“How do they learn magic, then?”
“Mainly at school. They have one magic lesson a day.”
“How are they coming along?”
“My Lily hates it,” Pearl said.
“My Lily does too. She says it’s boring.”
“But they’re witches. They should love magic.”
“I never did.” Amber shrugged.
“Me neither,” Pearl said. “Mum was always giving us a hard time about it, but we couldn’t be bothered.”
“What about Grandma? Didn’t she get on your case?”
“At first, but after a while she gave up on us, thank goodness.”
“Florence loves it. She’d learn a new spell every day if I let her.”
“Sounds like she’s a swot,” Amber said.
“Just like her mum.” Pearl laughed.
Chapter 6
As soon as I walked into the outer office, Mrs V got up from her desk and held up her phone triumphantly like some kind of trophy.
“Would you like to know how many followers I have now, Jill?”
Definitely not.
“Of course I would. How many?”
“Three-hundred and forty-eight. I can’t believe it.”
“Me neither. That’s—err—fantastic, but I really must crack on.”
“Look, there’s another one. That makes it three-hundred and forty-nine.”
“Great.”
Winky was fast asleep on the sofa. Meanwhile, Bobby and Bertie, the two overweight pigeons who had made their home on the ledge outside my office, were perched near the open window.
“Good morning, Bobby. Morning, Bertie.”
They both seemed somewhat subdued, and they could barely find the energy to raise their wings in acknowledgment. That wasn’t like them at all; something was clearly amiss, so I walked over to the window.
“Are you two okay?”
“We’re just feeling a little blue today, Jill,” Bertie said.
“I can see that, but why? Has something happened?”
“Nothing in particular. We’re just lonely.”
“But you have each other for company, don’t you?”
“Yes, but neither of us has a girlfriend. We haven’t had one for ages.”
“Two handsome birds like you? I’m sure that’ll change soon.”
“I very much doubt it,” Bobby said. “We’ve both been trying to find a girlfriend for ages, but with no luck at all. It can be very lonely without someone to snuggle up to.”
“I’m sure it can.”
“It’s alright for you two-leggeds. You have dating agencies and even dating apps to help you find a partner. There’s nothing like that for pigeons.”
“I guess not, but then it’s not like you have phones anyway, is it?”
“Of course we do,” Bobby said, and they both produced a phone from under a wing. “How else do you think we communicate with one another?”
“Sorry, I had no idea. Maybe someone will come up with a dating app for pigeons soon.”
“I certainly hope so.” Bertie sighed. “Anyway, we’d better get going. The lunchtime sandwich crowd will be headed back to their offices now, so there should be rich peckings down there. We’ll see you later, Jill.”
“Okay. Keep your chins up.”
All ten of them.
What do you mean that’s unkind? Have you ever seen a pigeon that didn’t have at least a double chin?
While I’d been talking to Bobby and Bertie, Winky had woken up, no doubt in time for his bowl of salmon. Curiously, though, he’d disappeared under the sofa. I went over to the cupboard, opened a tin of salmon, and filled his bowl. Normally by then, he would have been weaving around my legs, but he was still under the sofa, so I got down on all fours and looked underneath, to find him tapping away frantically on his tablet.
“Winky, I’ve just put your salmon out.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I thought you’d be hungry by now.”
“I am, but it’ll just have to wait. I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”
Charming! I would never understand that cat. Most days, he pestered me non-stop for his food. Whatever he was working on must have been very important because it certainly had all of his attention.
***
I really wasn’t looking forward to this meeting.
Even though there had been a clown school just down the corridor from my office for a couple of years, I was no fonder of clowns now than I had been when I was a kid. That’s why the thought of returning to Chuckle House filled me with dread. Last night, I’d had a horrible nightmare in which I was being chased all around Washbridge by a gang of killer clowns.
The exterior of Chuckle House had been given a complete facelift. So had the interior, which was nothing short of spectacular—in a freak-you-out-of-your-mind kind of way. I’d never seen so many statues, paintings and photographs of clowns in one place. Behind the reception desk was a woman who, unsurprisingly, was wearing a clown costume.
“Good afternoon,” I said, all cool, calm and collected, like clowns were my favourite thing. “My name is Jill Maxwell. Don Keigh is expecting me.”
“Ah yes, of course.” Her bow tie spun around and lit up as she spoke. “He’s in the conference room on the next floor. You can take the Chucklevator.”
“Sorry? The what?”
“The Chucklevator.” When she pointed, I realised she meant the elevator.
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
I stepped out of the elevator (I refuse to call it a Chucklevator) onto a red carpet so thick that I could barely see the top of my shoes. On the walls on either side of the corridor were numerous framed photographs of clowns. Beneath each one was a small plaque, which commemorated the life of these apparently famous performers. One in particular that caught my eye was Mr Cheese who had been Washbridge’s Clown of the Year for three consecutive years during the nineties. Mr Cheese’s main claim to fame was that instead of the customary red nose, he had what appeared to be a lump of cheese on his face where his nose should have been. You had to hope that his act was funnier than his appearance.
While still trying to put creepy Mr Cheese out of my mind, I knocked on the door marked conference room. From inside, I heard Don Keigh shout for me to come in. Dressed in a regular suit, he was seated at the head of a large conference table. Unfortunately, the man sitting next to him was in full clown costume.
“Jill, do come and join us.” Don gestured to the seat next to him. “This is my second-in-command, Trevor Hee. He has a performance booked for later this afternoon, hence the outfit.”
“I’m ve
ry pleased to meet you, Jill.” Trevor stood up and offered his hand. He must have sensed my hesitation because he said, “No shocks, I promise.” He held out his open palms to prove the point.
“Nice to meet you too, Trevor.”
I’d no sooner got the words out than I was hit in the face by a gush of water, which came out of the flower on his lapel.
“Sorry, Jill. Force of habit. Funny, eh?”
“Hilarious.” I took a tissue from my pocket and wiped my eyes.
“I’ve told Trevor about our brief meeting yesterday,” Don said. “I thought it might be helpful if you spoke to him too.”
“I agree. Trevor, I assume you’re aware of the Scrabble tiles.”
“Yes, but to be perfectly honest, I’ve already told Don that I share the police’s view on this. I don’t think they’re of any significance. The cause of death in both cases was confirmed as a heart attack and tragic as that is, I don’t see anything sinister in it.”
“What do you make of Don’s theory that this might be the work of someone with a grudge against NOCA?”
“Like who, though? I have to say that I think we’re wasting our money pursuing this, but Don’s the chairman, so it’s his call.”
“What can you tell me about the two clowns who died?”
Don fielded that question. “The first was a great guy called Mickey Vallance. His clown name was Webby, and he’d been runner up for Clown of the Year on three separate occasions. Most of us were hoping that he might win this year. He specialised in wearing oversized clown boots which were twice as long as the normal ones. They were really something to behold.”
I bet.
“How old was Mr Vallance?”
“In his early sixties.”
“Had he been ill at all?”
“He’d had a little trouble with his ticker. Nothing too serious though.”
“What about the other clown?”
“That was Randy Seaburn who was about the same age as Mickey. As far as I’m aware, he’d been in good health. Randy’s clown name was Jolly Jelly, and as his name suggests, his act was predominantly built around jelly. He specialised in taking jelly pies to the face. He had it down to a fine art.”
“Were both gentlemen married?”
“Yes, their widows are distraught, as you would imagine.”
“I think it might be helpful to my investigation if I could speak to those two ladies. Do you think that would be possible?”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll give you their names and addresses before you leave, and I’ll give them a call to warn them that you’ll be contacting them.”
“Thanks.”
“What do you think we should do about the next committee meeting, Jill?” Don said. “Should we press ahead with it?”
“We have to,” Trevor interjected. “I can see no reason to do otherwise.”
Don clearly wasn’t so sure. “What do you think, Jill?”
“For now, at least, there’s no evidence of foul play, so I think you should proceed as normal. If I uncover anything untoward, I’ll let you know and then maybe you’ll need to have a rethink.”
“I’m still convinced this is the work of someone with a grudge against NOCA. Or maybe just against me,” Don insisted.
“You really have to let go of that idea,” Trevor said. “It’s time for us to move on.”
“This is your call, Don,” I said. “Do you want me to investigate the deaths or not?”
“Definitely, and I don’t want you to leave any stone unturned.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.”
“And you’ll keep us posted?” Don stood up.
“Naturally.”
***
Kathy had called earlier to ask if I’d like to pop over to her house for a coffee after work. Her place wasn’t exactly on my way home these days, but I’d had a long day, so I decided to finish early and have a drive over there.
“Jill, I almost didn’t recognise you without the candyfloss in your hair.”
“You’re so funny, Kathy. You should do stand-up.”
“Freaking Tweaking was a blast, wasn’t it? It was a pity about the strong winds. We’ll have to go again next year.”
“Yeah, I can hardly wait.”
“I thought we could go through to the orangery for our drinks.”
“La-di-da. Listen to you with your orangery. Don’t you mean the conservatory? You, Kathy, are turning into a proper snob.”
“Says the woman who lives in the old watermill.”
“The watermill is lovely, but it isn’t nearly as big as this place. There’s just enough room for the three of us.”
“What will you do when the next little one comes along?”
“There isn’t going to be another little one. I’ve already told you that. Florence is more than enough for me.”
“How about Jack? Does he feel the same?”
“Yes, he does. I’ve told him that he does.”
Kathy went to make the coffee and I went through to the ‘orangery’. I’d no sooner sat down than I spotted them and burst out laughing.
“I take it you’ve seen the gnomes.” Kathy handed me my drink.
“I assume they’re some kind of ironic statement.”
“I wish they were. When Pete told me he was getting them, I thought he was joking, but he insists that they give the garden character. He wanted to get six of them, but I put my foot down and insisted that two was enough.”
“More than enough, I’d say.”
“Between you and me, Jill, they’re freaking me out.”
“I’m not surprised. They’re freaking me out too.”
“I don’t mean the look of them, although that’s bad enough. They’re freaking me out because I reckon they’re possessed.”
“Possessed? What are you talking about?”
“I swear they keep moving around.”
“Have you been at the wine again?”
“No. Do you see the one with the fishing rod? Last night when we went to bed, it was underneath that tree. And the one with the bucket was over there by that bush. This morning when I got up, they’d swapped places.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous. The kids must have done it before you came downstairs this morning.”
“That’s what I thought, but when I asked them over breakfast, they said they’d had nothing to do with it.”
“If it was a practical joke, they’re hardly likely to admit it, are they? They’re just trying to get you at it, and it looks like they’ve succeeded.”
“I suppose you’re right. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time. How are you settling into village life?”
“I’m getting used to it slowly but surely. I could do without the long journey to and from work every day, but otherwise it’s all good. Except for Grandma of course.”
“What’s she done now?”
“Bought the hotel in the village.”
“Oh dear.” Kathy laughed. “Rather you than me. I wouldn’t like to think she was my neighbour.”
“There are quite a few strange characters in Middle Tweaking.”
“Such as who?”
“There’s the woman who owns the tea room for a start. She’s so scary it’s a wonder anybody ever goes in there. And then there are the Stock sisters who run the village store. They never have anything you need in stock, and even the stuff they do have, you struggle to find. Their latest brainwave is to put everything on the shelves in alphabetical order. Oh yes, and we’ve been invited to a barbecue by our next-door neighbours.”
“I didn’t think you had next-door neighbours.”
“They live in the house nearest to ours. It’s about fifty yards up the road. I’d thought we could make an excuse to get out of it, but Jack went and told them we’d go. Anyway, how come you aren’t at work today?”
“The managers and staff are more than capable of running the shops without me looking over their shoulders. I just pop into each one fro
m time to time to make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
“Nice work if you can get it.”
“What about you? Are you busy?”
“I’m run off my feet at the moment. I have three cases on the go.”
“Have you ever thought of taking on any help?”
“Like who?”
“Another investigator who could share the load. You’d be able to take on more cases that way.”
“I’ve never really thought about it.”
“You should. Delegation, that’s the name of the game.”
Chapter 7
The next morning, as soon as Florence had finished her cornflakes, she jumped up from the table and rushed upstairs to her bedroom.
“What’s going on with Florence?” I said. “She’s spending an awful lot of time up there.”
“She seems to have rediscovered her dolls’ house.” Jack had forsaken his beloved muesli in favour of Shredded Wheat. That guy was a glutton for punishment.
“I didn’t think she was very bothered about the dolls’ house.”
“She wasn’t until a couple of days ago. Now, every time I check on her, she seems to be playing with it. I guess we should be pleased if it gives us a little peace and quiet.” Buddy yawned and gave a huge stretch (for such a tiny dog). “I bet Buddy’s pleased too. He gets a break from chasing the ball around the garden.”
“Talking of Buddy, I’m going to take him into the office one day next week.”
“How come?”
“I made the mistake of telling Mrs V that we have a dog, and she made me promise to take him to show her. According to her, Chihuahuas are sweet.”
“She might change her mind after she’s met Buddy.” Jack grinned.
“I told you that I was taking Barry for a shampoo at Bubbles yesterday, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, how did it go?”
“Okay. Barry was happy because they didn’t get any soap in his eyes. The only problem was Mrs V saw me with him, which confused her because I’d told her we had a Chihuahua.”
“How did you talk your way out of that one?”
“There was no way I could, so I had to use the ‘forget’ spell on her.”
“Poor old Mrs V. By the way, I didn’t get the chance to ask if Kathy had anything interesting to say when you went around there for coffee.”