by H. Y. Hanna
“Yes, yes, I saw it from my bedroom window!” said Professor Thrope. “I came down right away—I could hardly believe my luck—a real, live sighting of a cryptid! I lost the Black Shuck the other day but I was determined to get closer this time.” He frowned at Nathan. “I did not see you and Lord Fitzroy, though, when I went out.”
“We must have been ahead of you. I called James as soon as I saw the creature and he grabbed a gun and we rushed out in hot pursuit.”
“How come you didn’t worry about the danger then?” asked Caitlyn, setting some milk on the stove to heat up. Then she crossed back to the long table and carefully chopped up a thick slab of rich, dark chocolate.
“There were two of us—and we had a gun,” said James. “Besides, while I fully support gender equality, there are still some situations where men do have superior advantage in strength and size.”
“I suppose,” Caitlyn conceded.
“Ah, only if you’re a tall, muscular example of manhood like James… not if you’re a weedy little ferret like me,” said Nathan, striking a comical pose and pretending to flex his biceps.
James grinned and called his friend something rude, which had Caitlyn laughing as she crossed back to the stove and poured the chopped chocolate into the simmering milk. She stirred slowly as the chocolate melted in oozing swirls, then she added some of the salted caramel sauce that the Widow Mags had made earlier in the day. The rich, buttery aroma of the caramel mingled with the intense, bittersweet fragrance of the dark chocolate and permeated the whole kitchen.
“Are you trying to kill us slowly?” said Nathan with a groan. “I think I’m going to start drooling like Bran.”
Caitlyn chuckled. “It’s coming, it’s coming! Would you like whipped cream on top?”
“I can’t believe you even need to ask that question.”
Caitlyn laughed again, then looked at James and the professor. Both nodded.
“You don’t like chocolate but you have whipped cream with your coffee?” said Nathan to the cryptozoologist.
The older man laughed. “I know. I’m strange. But actually, the Viennese drink their coffee like this. It’s called a café mélange. And trust me, once you taste it, you’ll never go back to boring straight coffee again.”
Caitlyn stirred the mixture on the stove until it was a smooth, rich, dark mahogany liquid, then carefully poured it into three mugs. The kettle that she had set to boil was also whistling and she hurriedly took this off the stove and poured hot water into a fourth mug with some instant coffee powder and sugar. Then she found a small bowl of fresh whipped cream in the fridge, leftover from the day’s baking, and spooned some of that across the top of each mug.
“Here, let me help you,” said James as she started to lift the mugs and carry them over to the table.
He’d barely got up when the door to the kitchen opened and the Widow Mags shuffled in.
“So this is what all the noise was,” she growled.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Grandma—did we wake you?” asked Caitlyn, setting Nathan’s and the professor’s drinks in front of them.
“Caitlyn has kindly been making us a nightcap,” James said with a smile. “Hot chocolate, with some of your delicious caramel sauce. We’d love you to join us.”
The Widow Mags’s face softened and she said gruffly, “I’m still working on that caramel sauce recipe. It’s not quite right… so you’re tasting a recipe failure.”
“Bloody hell, if you call this a failure… Send all your duds to me!” said Nathan, raising his mug in a toast and taking a big swallow.
The professor did likewise—then jumped up and spat the drink from his mouth, spilling it all over the table. Everyone stared in astonishment.
“It’s chocolate!” he cried.
“Oh… gosh, I’m really sorry! I must have switched the mugs by mistake and put the wrong one in front of you,” said Caitlyn. She picked up the mug nearest to her. “This must be the coffee. I couldn’t tell because of the whipped cream on top.” Hurriedly, she placed the correct drink in front of the professor.
“Bloody hell, Professor—when you said you weren’t a fan of chocolate, you really meant it,” said Nathan with a laugh. “I’ve never known anyone to hate it so much they’d spit it out!”
The cryptozoologist flushed. “Er… no, it wasn’t that… it was… er… very hot.” He looked apologetically at Caitlyn. “I’m so sorry for the mess. If you give me a cloth, I’ll clean up the table.”
“Don’t worry—it’s no big deal,” said Caitlyn, grabbing a rag from the sink and quickly wiping the table.
Professor Thrope was looking really embarrassed now. He glanced at the Widow Mags and said hurriedly, “Please don’t think that’s any reflection on your chocolates, madam. I’m really quite mortified. The… er… heat of the drink took me by surprise and it was purely a reflex reaction… I didn’t mean to be rude.”
The Widow Mags gave him a long look, but all she said was: “I’m not that easily offended.”
They finished the rest of their drinks in an awkward silence, occasionally punctuated by stilted conversation. The Widow Mags’s presence seemed to have a sobering effect—especially on Nathan and Professor Thrope, who didn’t know her well and watched her a bit warily. Caitlyn felt a bit bad for her grandmother. It wasn’t the old witch’s fault that her appearance was so intimidating, and her natural reserve—built up from enduring years of hostility from the villagers—meant that she wasn’t used to making new friends easily or engaging in casual chitchat. Caitlyn wished that Pomona was there—her bubbly American cousin would have put everyone at ease in no time with her vivacious manner and outrageous comments. She herself didn’t have the social confidence to lead the conversation, and besides, she always felt slightly shy and self-conscious whenever James was around.
Finally, the men thanked her for the drinks and stood up to take their leave. As they were trooping out the back door, James paused and said to Caitlyn:
“Oh yes—I’ve been meaning to let you know that your car has been repaired. They’ve delivered it back to the Manor… would you like me to bring it down to the village for you?”
“Oh no, I don’t want to give you extra work—I can come and pick it up myself tomorrow morning.”
“You can bring that kitten back with you,” the Widow Mags spoke up suddenly. “Wouldn’t want to impose too much at the Manor and not do our part in looking after the little mite.”
Caitlyn hid a smile. She could remember how crotchety and unreceptive the old witch had been the first time she had brought Nibs to the chocolate shop… but it hadn’t taken long for the little kitten to worm his way into the Widow Mags’s heart! And now, although she would never admit it, the Widow Mags missed the naughty ball of fluff when he went to stay at the Manor and looked forward eagerly to his return.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The car started with a deep, throaty purr the first time she turned the ignition and Caitlyn smiled at Nibs, sitting in the cat carrier on the passenger seat next to her.
“Now that’s sounding a lot better, isn’t it?”
“Mew!”
Cailtyn released the handbrake and was about to start down the driveway when Mosley came hurrying out of the front door of the Manor.
“Miss Le Fey! Miss Le Fey!”
Caitlyn rolled down her window. “Yes?”
“I’ve just had a phone call from your aunt: there’s been a problem with one of her shipments for her distributors, which she must see to immediately. She was wondering—now that you’ve got the car—if you could help her by taking your grandmother to the doctor’s follow-up appointment this morning?”
“Oh, of course. What time is the appointment?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Sure, no problem.”
The butler hesitated, then said: “I beg your pardon, madam—but I noticed that you walked over alone from Tillyhenge this morning?”
“Yes…I came over the hill, from the chocola
te shop. Why?” Caitlyn looked at him in slight surprise.
He gave a polite cough. “I hope you’ll forgive the presumption but I wanted to urge you to take care when walking alone. There has been another attack on a young woman, you see.”
“Really? When?”
“It happened late last night—I just heard the news from the staff this morning. She was walking alone through the woods at the back of Tillyhenge and she was jumped on by a gang of men.”
Caitlyn drew her breath in sharply. “Is she all right?”
“She managed to get away, although not before she was… er… manhandled quite a bit. She’s at the hospital now, I believe, but I don’t think her injuries are serious. The police are investigating, of course. They believe it’s the same gang who attacked the girl last week. They’re hoping, this time, the victim can give them enough information to track down the culprits and make an arrest.”
“God, I hope so…” Caitlyn swallowed, thinking of the poor girl who had been attacked. “Thank you for telling me, Mosley, and for your concern. It’s really sweet of you.” She gave him a smile. “And I will be more careful—I promise.”
The butler retreated back to the house and Caitlyn let the car roll forwards. As she drove around the curve of the driveway, she glanced at the petrol gauge and noticed that it was nearly on empty. The GP clinic was in the neighbouring town—Tillyhenge was too small to have its own village doctor—and she would need to have ample fuel to get there and back. She decided she’d better fill up the car before picking up the Widow Mags. Caitlyn glanced at her watch: it was just after nine; she could easily fit in the detour.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into a small petrol station at the side of the motorway. As she manoeuvred the car into place next to the pumps, she spotted a red sports car parked on one side of the forecourt. It looked familiar… Then she caught sight of the number plate: BIG 805S. Of course! It was Julian Pritchard’s car. She looked instinctively around but could not see the man anywhere.
Not that you want to run into him, she thought darkly. The less she saw of that vain, greedy, obnoxious jerk, the better. But as she was returning the nozzle to the pump and screwing the fuel cap back on, she noticed a thin man with a receding hairline getting out of a rundown Volkswagen which had just pulled into the station. It was Derek Swanes.
Caitlyn paused, suddenly alert. The two men who were suspects in Sir Henry’s murder… both here at the same time… was it a coincidence?
She started to follow them into the station building—then she remembered Nibs. The cat carrier was too big and cumbersome to lug along, but she couldn’t leave the kitten in the car either. Even here in the shade and with the windows down, there was a risk that Nibs could overheat. She bit her lip, then—making a split-second decision—she opened the carrier and reached in to scoop the kitten out. He had been dozing, lulled by the movement of the car, and now he yawned and looked around sleepily. Caitlyn tucked him carefully into the side pocket on the outside of her large canvas shoulder bag. He fit snugly into the space, like a joey in a kangaroo pouch, and curled up happily, tucking his head between his paws.
“Don’t purr too loudly,” Caitlyn murmured as she heard a soft rumbling coming from her bag. She slung it over her shoulder, shut and locked the car, then walked as nonchalantly as she could towards the station building.
Inside, she made her way slowly to the counter, pretending to browse some of the shelves along the way, whilst her eyes scanned the area. It was a fairly large store, with chillers displaying drinks along one wall, rows of shelves filled with grocery and hardware sundries down the middle, a rack of magazines by the windows, and along the far wall, a counter with a self-service hot drink dispenser, next to a long narrow table and some tall plastic stools. Two men were sitting side by side on the stools, their heads bent together: Julian Pritchard and Derek Swanes.
Caitlyn went up to the counter and paid for her petrol, then asked about a hot drink.
“You pay here, luv, and I give you a cup, then you go and help yourself,” said the lady behind the counter in a bored voice. She indicated the dispenser on the far wall. “Coffee and hot chocolate from the machine, and there’s hot water for tea. Teabags in the box on the left.”
Caitlyn handed over some money, received a paper cup in return, then turned towards the far wall. She paused beside the magazine rack and eyed the men thoughtfully. They looked engrossed in conversation and were paying no attention to the elderly couple standing by the dispenser. Derek Swanes had never met her face to face, so he wouldn’t recognise her anyway. As for Julian Pritchard… he was the type of self-centred man who probably never paid much attention to others and only noticed them in ways which were directly relevant to himself. She didn’t think that he would remember her from their brief conversation yesterday and, for the first time, she was grateful that she didn’t have Pomona’s kind of glamorous good looks, which always drew men’s attention.
Still, it didn’t hurt to be too careful. So she rummaged in her bag, trying not to jostle Nibs too much, and pulled out a pair of sunglasses and a floppy cotton hat that she kept folded up at the bottom. She put these on. The hat wouldn’t hide all of her red hair but it would make it less noticeable. Slowly, casually, she began to walk over. She was pleased to see that the elderly couple by the dispenser were still fiddling with the buttons, obviously struggling to figure out how to work the machine, and it gave her a great excuse to stand next to the two men as she pretended to wait in the queue.
“…will go the police! You’d better make it worth my while to keep quiet—I didn’t sign up for murder and this is all getting way over my head!”
“Keep your voice down!” hissed Julian Pritchard. “Do you want the whole world to hear? I told you, you’ll get your cut… but for now, you have to sit tight. Do nothing, just wait for this thing to blow over—do you hear?”
“It’s all right for you,” said Swanes sulkily. “You’re not the one being hauled by the police out of pubs and being treated like a murder suspect in front of the whole village!”
Pritchard gave a sarcastic laugh. “What? Worried about your good name?”
“It’s not my name I’m worried about—it’s my freedom.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have been so stupid as to have left a trail of evidence behind you, should you?”
Swanes cast a nervous look around. “I can’t stay here—I need to get away.”
“No! I told you, if you do anything, you’ll just draw attention to yourself and really make the police suspicious. You have to sit tight.”
“Well, I want half my money now, then. You promised—when the job was done, I’d get half immediately. Well, the job’s done now. So… I want my money!”
Pritchard sighed in annoyance, then reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a fat envelope. “I thought you’d start to get twitchy, so I came prepared. Here…”
Swanes grabbed the envelope and opened it to look inside. Caitlyn leaned over surreptitiously and caught a glimpse of a wad of notes.
“This… this isn’t even ten percent!” said Swanes indignantly.
“It’s more than enough to be going with,” snapped Pritchard. “And you’re not getting another penny until things calm down and I’m ready.”
Swanes shoved his stool back angrily and Caitlyn had to jump quickly out of his way. He swore under his breath, then stormed out of the store. Julian Pritchard looked around. Quickly, Caitlyn ducked her head and scurried across to the dispenser machine, which was finally free. As she shoved a teabag into the paper cup and pushed the button for hot water, she watched Pritchard out of the corner of her eye. He drained his cup, made a face, then tossed it into the nearby bin and walked out of the store. A few minutes later, the red sports car roared off with a gratuitous gunning of the engines.
Caitlyn came out of the store, holding her cup of unwanted tea and staring down the motorway, where the red sports car was now a speck in the distance. She couldn’t qu
ite believe what she had overheard—it had sounded almost like a clichéd conversation from a bad B-movie! Had she really overheard Sir Henry’s killers discussing his murder?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Caitlyn stood for a long time staring down the motorway, long after the red sports car was no longer in sight. Then she suddenly remembered the Widow Mags’s doctor’s appointment. She glanced at her watch and gasped, then ran back to her car. The extra time she had spent eavesdropping on Pritchard and Swanes meant that she was now very late. She jumped into the car, hearing a startled “Mew!” from Nibs as she tossed her shoulder bag onto the passenger seat and started the engine.
“Sorry, Nibs… sorry!” she said breathlessly as she spun the wheel and the car shot out of the petrol station, taking the turn onto the motorway with a squeal of the wheels. She drove as fast as she dared back to Tillyhenge and pulled in by the village green ten minutes later. Unfortunately, the narrow, cobbled lanes of Tillyhenge were not made for cars, and so she had always parked in the green and made the rest of the way to the chocolate shop on foot. Today, though, she groaned at the thought of the extra delay… then she saw two figures she recognised standing by the large oak tree on one side of the village green.
“Caitlyn!” Bertha waved, and began hustling the Widow Mags towards the car.
“I’m so sorry!” Caitlyn said, getting out of the car. “I got a bit sidetracked at the petrol station—”
“Never mind, if you leave now, you’ll only be a little late,” said Bertha in her calm, reassuring way. “That’s why I thought we’d come out to meet you—save you having to go all the way to the chocolate shop to get Mother.”
“They always keep you sitting in the waiting room for ages anyway,” said the Widow Mags grouchily. “There isn’t a single doctor who’s ever on time!”
As it turned out, the old witch was right. They arrived only five minutes late but sat in the waiting room for another twenty minutes before they were seen. By the time they were finally escorted into the doctor’s office, Nibs was waking up from his nap and poking his head out of the side pocket of Caitlyn’s bag.