by Holly Bell
Back home Amanda with a furry, purring bundle on her lap, was processing what she had learned.
‘Tempest,’ said his witch, scratching him behind his right ear, ‘who was at the Feast for the first time? Let’s see: Ryan, Jonathan Sheppard, Leo and Donna, Vic and Majolica. If only we knew definitely if Leo and Donna had the Recket papers. I can’t see them inviting me in to search their premises, but … Amanda looked down at her familiar speculatively. He sighed wearily.
It was Friday night. Bound to be busy for Leo and Donna, thought Amanda. They were doing lots of fifty-per-cent deals on hair for the Christmas Eve Ball, now to be held at the Snout and Trough.
Amanda had to make sure that they were both in the salon. She needed a pretext. There must be someone in the village she hadn’t sent a Christmas card to. How about someone in the salon, having their hair done at this moment?
She headed for the corner shop and struck gold: the postlady.
‘Oh Joan, I’m sure I’ve forgotten to put someone on my Christmas card list. I keep thinking if I wander around I’ll see them and remember. You don’t happen to know who’s in the hairdresser’s at the moment, do you?’ Amanda asked, with an air of helplessness.
‘Yes, love, Irma’s in there, Pam … and oh yes, Maddy Hinch is in there too.’
‘Oh, Maddy Hinch, of course,’ replied Amanda, feigning relief. ‘I did a restoration job for her.’
‘Wasn’t that about five years ago?’ remarked Joan dampeningly.
‘Good marketting policy; to remind customers that you still exist, Joan,’ Amanda replied merrily.
‘Of course. See you at the party, dear. Happy Christmas!’
Amanda walked home at a reasonable pace, pulled out her Christmas card box, and hastily penned best wishes to Maddy. She returned to the High Street and walked into the fragrant, hot and crowded salon. Leo and Donna looked up in surprise.
‘Hiya,’ called Leo.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Amanda, ‘Just wanted to give you this,’ she said leaning across and offering the card to a bemused Maddy. ‘I’ve been a bit remiss, but I’m on the ball this year. Happy Christmas, Mrs Hinch!’
‘Oh well … that’s very nice of you, Amanda. Well! Very sweet. Actually, I do have … but I’ll call you in the new year. See you at the party.’
Once they were on their way home, in the deserted Orchard Row, ‘Right,’ said Amanda to her walking grey cloud of a companion. ‘Leo and Donna’s whereabouts confirmed. Time for a bath.’
Tempest was more than Amanda’s companion, or, from his point of view, she was more than just his witch. They had a unique bond that, in certain conditions, allowed her to see through his eyes. The conditions were a meditative state on Amanda’s part, and the enjoyment of an, occasionally extortionate, bribe on his.
Tempest’s delicacy of choice was caviar. If Amanda were lucky, he’d accept the lumpfish recipe. If she wasn’t, it meant handing over the contents of a costly sturgeon variety. Amanda considered that if her career as body-finder general were going to continue, this would have to be factored into the budget.
Presently, Amanda was relaxing in hot water under a quilt of lavender-scented bubbles, and Tempest, waving aside his treat for the present, set out on his reconnaissance mission.
The trouble with winter was that people had an irksome tendency to close their doors and windows. Tempest preferred to stick to normal methods of entry. Magic left a trail, and leaving a trail was careless, and Tempest, being perfect, at least in his own estimation, was never careless. He toured the perimeter of the premises. In the end, he decided there was only one way in. If it was good enough for Old Father Christmas, it was just about good enough for him.
Amanda, looking at the view through her cat’s eyes, was alarmed at the sheer dark drop down the chimney. But Tempest was an able climber on any axis. He came to earth in the fireplace, stepped to one side and cleaned himself of any trace of soot, while Amanda tried not to be overcome by a fever of anxiety. Tempest was right, of course, she told herself. The Weathersbys would be down in the salon for some time to come.
This was a two bedroom flat; with two occupants, there was no space for a study, but there was a table in the living room with a small drawer, and a 1960s-style sideboard on legs with cupboards. Tempest, with the dexterous application of a claw here, an incisor there, soon had them open and explored.
Nothing.
Then again, precious papers were more likely to be in a bedroom. A careful and systematic search of drawers, wardrobes and bedside cabinets revealed … nothing. Hm.
‘What if,’ thought Amanda to Tempest, ‘they were taped underneath something?’
He returned to the living room, glanced around, then slipped under the sideboard and looked up. Bingo. Taped in place, was an A4 sized envelope. Deftly, Tempest got his claws under the Sellotape, and soon the manila packet was on the open floor. It was not sealed but also taped. He was no ordinary cat, and as adept with his teeth, tongue, claws and paws as any human with their hands. He got a paw inside the envelope and pulled the papers out.
Together, witch and familiar read headings, addresses, and lists of purposeful faults. There were houses, offices, churches, even schools. It was on the fourth page that they came to Sunken Madley Church Hall …. Joists undersized, woodworm … beams … rafters … purlin incorrectly positioned, missing roof tiles … persistent leak ... rot .... Suddenly, there was a sound of a key in the door. Tempest swiped the papers and himself under the sideboard.
Feet trod up the stairs, the door opened, the light switched on. Trousered legs with turnups came into view. Must be Donna, thought Amanda. There was the sound of a drawer opening above. She saw legs going to the table, and heard a pen scribbling.
‘”Deck the halls with boughs of holly, tra la la la”,’ sang Donna softly, as she wrote what Tempest next saw in her hand as she crossed the room to the door: a Christmas card, probably for a client. The light went out, the shoes descended the stairs, and the street door shut.
‘Tempest, put them back and get out of there,’ said Amanda nervously. ‘We’ve seen what we need.’ He replaced them and pushed the tape into place. Laying on his back, the feline sleuth pressed the envelope onto the sideboard underside with his paws.
Tempest walked over to the chimney and looked at it with distaste.
‘You owe me,’ he thought to Amanda. ‘Spectacularly.’
Amanda knew this would cost her. Having risen from the bath waters, dried, dressed and descended to the kitchen in time for his return, she got out the £17 pot of caviar without regret and served it to him at the table. ‘Thank you, darling, wonderful, Tempest, whatever would oor Ammy do wivout oo?’
True, he reflected, taking the first taste of his just reward. So true.
***
On Saturday morning, Amanda was summoned to The Grange.
‘I’ve found out that, yes,’ she told the ladies, ‘the Recket papers are in the Weatherby’s flat, which means one or both of them had the means to dispatch one of the Woodberry’s. But motive?’
‘We can’t supply one,’ replied Gwendolen, ‘but we do have a link between the Weathersby children and Vic. Bella Bogia’s first marriage was to a Victor Woodberry, but soon after they divorced. Then she remarried. Her new husband’s name was Weathersby. Donna has no father named on the birth certificate, and Leonardo’s father is recorded as Weathersby.’
‘Well! So Bella Bogia’s marriage to Vic was the marriage Majolica broke up! It was for her that he left Bella, Donna and Leo. But Leo, at the classes, didn’t seem to recognise either Vic or Majolica.’
‘I expect he was too young at the time. And I expect he never met the woman. And Vic wasn’t his father, why would he hold a grudge against either of them?’
‘Of course. I suppose Bella might have a grudge against Majolica. Only she was on the other side of the world. That’s pretty much the ultimate alibi. And Donna wasn’t free to come to any of the classes until Vanessa was teaching, s
o she would never have seen them. Oh, poor Leo and Donna,’ said Amanda compassionately, ‘they do seem to have had a rocky road. No wonder they’re so close. I wonder, though, if their mother could have been using them to punish Vic or Majolica?’
‘We found her Facebook page,’ answered Miss Armstrong-Witworth, ‘and based on that, I don’t think she is at all that sort of person. She seems to be very positive and kind and lives in the present. She’s engaged, you know.’
‘Why complicate her life with a crime after all these years?’ Miss de Havillande chipped in.
‘Well, what about the children themselves?’ asked Amanda. ‘Though I can’t see that they would hold a grudge against a man who was once married to their mother. And even if we can establish a motive, they still didn’t have the means: no keys to the hall or the cellar.’
‘There’s probably more to the story. Somehow, we have to talk to Bella Bogia,’ said Miss Armstrong-Witworth intently. ‘I think I may have to pull in a favour from the old days …’
Chapter 46
Christmas Eve Begins
Amanda had got an Edwardian dress off Amazon. She knew she might well end up in a dirty, dusty cellar and had no intention of blowing a small fortune on it. It was a short-sleeved, calf length, V-neck, black lace affair, over a sleeveless orange underdress that fell to just above the ankles. She consoled herself with the knowledge that she had something far better for the New Year’s Eve Ball, thanks to Claire’s contacts in her film company’s wardrobe department.
Amanda got some volume into her hair then piled it into a loose bun. Next, and most vitally, she pulled on a pair of Falke cream holdups. It was a sacrifice. They were expensive and would probably get snagged to death in the hall basement, but she needed the efficient elastic and deep lace band to house the one thing that she never left home without and that could not be concealed in her dress: her Pocket-wand.
She added some orange earrings; not expensive, in case they got lost down there. Finally, she threw on a long jacket and orange pashmina, and headed out into the night, Tempest keeping close. The wind was rising, and she hastily put her scarf around her hair to protect it and got into the car as fast as possible.
By 8 o’clock, the Snout and Trough was already filling up with merrymakers. Amanda made her way upstairs, already a little overwhelmed by the press of humans. But there was Dr Patel, taking her hand.
‘You look lovely, Amanda. Well done. Vanessa is going to give a little lesson for half an hour before the ball gets going. I’ve saved you a seat. Come.’ She took Amanda’s hand and, knowing her young friend and patient was not at her best in crowds, steered her across the floor to a quiet spot near a table, with a carafe of water and glasses on it.
‘Hiya, Amanda,’ said 15-year old Becky Whittle, whose physical attributes gave the misleading impression that she was considerably older, and was seated on the other side of table.
‘Hello, Becky,’ replied Amanda, in a friendly if surprised tone. This wasn’t the sort of event at which she’d expect to find Miss Whittle. ‘Going to try out some dancing?’
‘Yeah, why not? Might be some hot guys. Thought I’d check it out. I can always go downstairs when I get bored.’
Amanda was pouring herself a glass of water when Becky abruptly stood up.
‘Oh … my….,’ she uttered. ‘Eye-candy fest, or what?’
Amanda followed her gaze. Ashlyn Seedwell, captain of the Sunken Madley cricket team was in conversation with Chris Reid their spin bowler and Trelawney. All fit, all unquestionably good looking in evening dress; they certainly made a trio at which the ladies in the room were struggling not to stare.
‘All ancient, of course,’ commented Becky, ‘but, not bad, I mean reeeeally not bad.’
‘Yes, Ashlyn must be, oh what? 28?’ asked Amanda.
‘Yeah, don’t get me wrong. I prefer older men. See Jay Kemp over there? He’s nineteen.’
‘Ah, he meets with your approval, does he, Becky?’ asked Amanda, amused.
‘Sooo meets,’ replied her youthful companion.
‘Why don’t you go and ask him to dance the next two-step while he’s still young enough to make it around the dancefloor?’ she suggested. ‘Here, the music’s changing. You can both do this one.’
‘I guess,’ said Becky, standing up and rearranging her décolletage in a practiced manner. ‘Oo! Comin’ this way! Yum-mee. I mean, not my style, but … yeahhhh, like … for an old guy,’ remarked Becky, nodding encouragingly at Amanda, whom she regarded in the light of a maiden aunt, then making a bee-line for her quarry.
Amanda saw the ‘yum-mee’ ‘old guy’ who was approaching her. She could see that Becky, for once, had a point.
‘Good evening, Miss Cadabra,’ Trelawney said, shaking her hand. ‘You look charming.’
‘Thank you,’ answered Amanda, ‘You look very … nice … I mean, appropriate.’
‘I’m glad you approve. I was just chatting with Ashlyn and Chris about the Feast. Just casually, but especially about when the crowd arrived at the orchard. I asked them whom they remember seeing. Neither of them mentioned Ryan.’
‘That is a bit odd,’ Amanda remarked. ‘He seems to have pretty pally with them both since his first cricket match here in the summer. You’d expect him to hang out with them. I’m not sure he’s made that many close friends, on account of being away so much, perhaps. And he and Ashlyn and Chris do, at least, have the sport in common.’
‘Speaking of which,’ said Trelawney modestly, ‘they’ve asked me if I’d consider being a reserve for the Sunken Madley XI.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Amanda, almost knocking over her glass. ‘But … but …. you’re not Village!’
‘That’s what I said,’ he replied diffidently, ‘but erm, they seem to regard me as part of the furniture, and, seeing as I can catch a ball and can still, at need, chase down the average delinquent Parhayle teenager, they seem to think I could, in an emergency, be a useful player at the crease and in the field.’
‘Well! Behold me all astonishment. Wait till I tell Uncle Mike. He’ll probably present you with The Golden Mata Hari, or whatever they award infiltrators.’
Trelawney chuckled, but said, ‘Seriously, though. It could be useful. It would certainly get me closer to Ryan Ford.’
‘I don’t know how you do it, Inspector, but I take my hat off to you,’ remarked Amanda admiringly.
‘Thank you. I try. Your friend was not able to make it back from Thailand?’
‘No, Claire called to tell me they’ve gone over-schedule. The cast and crew are gutted but the cost of bringing everyone back here and then out there again isn’t to be thought of. She won’t be back until the new year, alas. But Claire is very upbeat, you know. She said she’s just thinking of the money!’
‘Good for her. No Ryan here tonight, I see.’
‘No, the glitterati are required elsewhere. But I know that Jessica James, our very own homegrown supermodel, don’t you know, would much rather be here. But duty calls.’
‘Jessica James? The Ice Queen?’
‘That’s right. There’s her mother Irene, a talented jewellery designer and crafter standing with Irma Uberhausfest, fêted party-planner extraordinaire for the over-70s, many of whom she regards as wild young things, by the way, and Gordon French the retired headmaster of the Sunken Madley School.’
‘And the CEO of the Asthma Centre?’ enquired the inspector.
‘Up the road, in Lost Madley, you mean? Damian Gibbs?’
‘Yes, and his troublesome daughter.’
‘Samantha would rather a die a thousand unfashionable deaths than be present at a homely little do like this, and they don’t live in the village,’ responded Amanda. ‘But I’ll bet wherever she is, her father will be too. I understand, from Bill — he’s over with The Grange ladies if you want to say hello — that Damian’s now keeping a much closer eye on her since … well, you know.’
‘Indeed, I do. It is still alarmingly fresh in my memory,’ h
e answered.
Vanessa was saying something into the microphone.
‘Shall we take our places? I think the class is starting,’ suggested Trelawney.
Amanda nodded and accompanied him onto the dance-floor. Throughout the lesson, she was distracted by two things: partly, the inspector’s unexpectedly appealing appearance — which she’d considered rather ordinary, if she’d considered it at all — but mostly by the approaching 10 o’clock appointment, on which so much depended.
Trelawney appeared unconcerned, but then he was good at that, she thought. He danced with her a great deal.
‘Why are you partnering me so much?’ Amanda asked curiously.
‘Do you object? You can say no, you know,’ he replied amiably.
‘No, no, I like it. I mean, you’re a very good lead, but…’
‘I thought that if we were seen dancing together so much, it would not be thought odd if we should be seen slipping away,’ Trelawney explained.
‘Surely we don’t want people thinking …,’ she began to object.
‘Take a bit of gossip on behalf of the cause, Miss Cadabra,’ he said bracingly.
‘I suppose so,’ Amanda agreed reluctantly.
As 9.45, she told him, ‘It’s time.’
‘Yes,’ Trelawney replied. ‘I’ll get your coat and meet you by the entrance. Make out that you need some air.’
Amanda gave him a few minutes, then flapped one hand in front of her face fanlike and put the other to her chest. She made her way to the door of the function room.
‘Are you OK, Amanda?’ asked Donna solicitously. ‘You look a bit overcome. It is a little crowded, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, just need some fresh air,’ Amanda answered with a smile.
‘Hair looks great,’ Donna remarked kindly. ‘Did you do it yourself?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nice job!’
Chapter 47