by Adele Abbott
“Indeed I am. Such lovely creatures, don’t you think?”
“I guess.”
Rusty opened a small wooden case and took out the longest cigar I’d ever seen. “Do you like cigars, Jill?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“What about one for your hubby?”
“He doesn’t smoke either.”
I gave an involuntary shiver because the temperature in the room had suddenly plummeted.
“Sorry about the cold, Jill. The heating has been on the blink for some time now. I’ve had the man out a couple of times to check the boiler, but he couldn’t find anything wrong with it. The weird thing is that it only ever seems to happen in this room.”
“That is weird.”
Actually, it wasn’t all that weird because, standing in the corner of the room was the ghost of a woman. She walked over and whispered in my ear. “Tell him to throw away those awful things before they kill him, would you?”
“Edith?”
Rusty dropped the cigar. “What did you just say?”
“I said—err—Swedish.”
“Swedish?”
“Yes. I heard that Swedish squirrels are the biggest.”
“I didn’t know that. You live and learn.”
Chapter 7
Mrs V was hard at work behind her desk, knitting what looked like a poncho. She had a plaster on her forehead.
“What happened to your head?”
“It was those pesky squirrels, Jill. I always used to think they were such cute little creatures, but I was wrong. They’re vicious.”
“Are you telling me that a squirrel attacked you?”
“Not attacked, exactly. I was out in the garden, tending to my petunias, when one of the little blighters threw an acorn at me. It almost knocked me out.”
“Are you sure it threw it at you? Might the acorn simply have fallen from the tree?”
“I’m positive. It wouldn’t have hit me with such force. And, when I looked up, I saw him standing on the branch; he was practically laughing at me.”
“Did you have to go to hospital to get it seen to?”
“No, it wasn’t that bad. Just a small cut and a bruise. It’ll be gone in a day or so.”
“What about Armi? Did he get hit with acorns too?”
“Don’t mention that man to me.”
“What did he do?”
“He was in the house at the time of the acorn incident, watching Cuckoo Corner on the Cuckoo Channel. When I told him what had happened, he laughed.”
“That doesn’t sound like Armi.”
“He did apologise but that was too little too late. I’ve told him he can make his own dinner for the rest of the week.”
“Serves him right. Were there any messages this morning while I was out?”
“No, but you did ask me to remind you that your new accountant is coming in today.” Mrs V checked her watch. “In fact, she should be here any time now.”
“Oh yes.” I sighed. “I’d forgotten about her.”
I loathed spending time with accountants. Luther Stone had been the exception, but only because he was good company (and smoking hot). Unfortunately, a few months earlier, Luther had decided to go and live in France. Before he left, he’d passed on all his existing clients to someone who he’d described as one of the superstars of the new wave of accountancy.
Whatever that meant.
“Just remind me, Mrs V, what’s my new accountant’s name?”
“Rosemond Starr.”
“She sounds more like a reality TV personality than an accountant.”
“You said you were going to get all your paperwork in order ahead of her visit. Did you remember to do that?”
“Err, yes, of course.”
No.
I’d forgotten all about the accountant’s visit, so all the bills, receipts, invoices and stuff were in a pile in the bottom drawer of my desk. It was too late to sort them out now, so she’d just have to work with them as they were.
When I walked through to my office, I had the shock of my life.
Winky had eyes. Two of them!
I was so stunned that I took a few steps backwards and almost fell over.
“What do you think of it?” he said.
It took a while, but I eventually managed to compose myself, and took a closer look at him. “Is that an eye patch you’re wearing?”
“It certainly is. I was just thinking to myself the other day that it was ages since I’d worn one, so I bought this little number at the weekend. What do you think?”
“It has an eye printed on it.”
“I know. Clever, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s really creepy. Take it off at once.”
“I will not. I think it’s brilliant. From a distance, people think I have two eyes again.”
“It’s freaking me out.”
“Tough. You’ll just have to get used to it.”
Ten minutes later, right on the dot, my new accountant arrived. Rosemond Starr, who looked to be in her mid to late twenties, was wearing what could best be described as a power suit, and she had the haircut to match.
After strutting confidently into the room, she proceeded to crush my hand with her ‘power’ handshake.
“You must be Jill. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise, Rosemond.”
“Please call me Starr. Everyone does.”
“Okay, err—Starr.”
“I trust that Luther Stone told you something about my background.”
“He said you came highly recommended. And something about you being the new wave of accountancy?”
“Quite. The thing is, Jill, the era of the old-style accountant has gone, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“Err, I—err—”
“Long gone are the days when an accountant could simply juggle figures and balance the books. These days, the modern-day accountant is far more than a number cruncher. It’s our responsibility to help drive our client’s business forward. It’s all about blue sky thinking, don’t you agree?”
“Blue sky—err—”
“And, of course, thinking outside the box.”
“Right.”
“It’s my mission to maximise the potential of your business based on the synergy of my business acumen and your skills as a—err—what is it you do again?”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“Right. Once we’ve harnessed our combined skillsets, you can expect to see your business grow exponentially. What do you say?”
I was getting a migraine just listening to her. “That all sounds—err—great.”
“Excellent.” She took a file from her briefcase. “Looking through Luther’s notes, I see that you don’t have any kind of management reporting system in place. We’ll have to remedy that.”
“Will we?”
“You need reports that tell you which of the jobs you’re working on are profitable. That will help you to keep a tight grip on your cashflow, and to monitor your performance against budget. All the useful stuff that I’m sure you’ve been dying to have.”
“I—err—”
“I suppose we’d better make a start by going through your income and expenditure for the last couple of months. Have you prepared that for me as I requested?”
“Actually, I—err—” I pulled open the bottom drawer, and glanced at the pile of receipts, invoices and goodness knows what else. “Err, yes, I have.”
“Excellent.”
“Unfortunately, I left it all at home.” I pushed the drawer closed.
“Oh?”
“I’m really sorry, but I was called out on an urgent case first thing this morning, and I totally forgot to pick up the paperwork I’d prepared for you.”
“Never mind. I suppose I could pop in again next month, and we’ll catch up on it all then.”
“Great.”
“This does tie in rather nicely to something else I wanted to discuss with you today. Reco
rding your income and expenditure by collecting dozens of scraps of paper is now totally outdated.”
“It is?”
“Absolutely. That system belongs back in the dark ages. Do you have a mobile phone, Jill?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Could I borrow it?”
“Err, sure.” I handed it to her.
“I’m just going to install an app called SnapExp.”
“Is that some kind of dating app?”
“No.” She laughed. “Every time you get a bill or receipt, use this app to scan it. The app will automatically input the details into the accounting system, which means that your accounts will be up to date all of the time. It also means when we have these meetings, we’ll be able to have much more meaningful discussions about your business, rather than having to sift through mountains of paperwork. Does that work for you?”
“I guess so. Is it difficult to use?”
“Not at all. You simply use it as you would a camera. Put the receipt or invoice on the desk, snap a picture of it with the app, and Bob’s your uncle.”
How many more times? No, he isn’t.
“So?” Mrs V said, after Starr had left. “What did you make of your new accountant?”
“To be perfectly honest, I didn’t really take to her. She’s too much. Much too much. I just need somebody who will sort out my books and tell me how much money I’ve made.”
“Or lost.”
“Thanks for that, Mrs V. That Starr woman wants to take over my business. She was talking about blue sky boxes—whatever they are. And she’s put this stupid app on my phone.”
“What does it do?”
“I’m supposed to take pictures of all my bills and receipts, but I don’t really have a clue how to use it.”
“What are you going to do about her?”
“I’m not sure. Look for another accountant probably. An old-school one who just wants to deal with numbers.”
Mrs V was just about to leave my office when she glanced over at Winky and almost jumped out of her skin.
“Why would you buy him that horrible eye patch, Jill? It looks like his eye has grown back.”
“I didn’t buy it.”
“Who did, then?”
“I—err—I’m going to get rid of it.”
“Please do. It’s making me feel queasy.”
After she’d left the office. I turned to Winky. “See? What did I tell you? Nobody likes your new eye patch.”
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, and what do you mean, you’re going to get rid of it? I’d like to see you try.”
***
I’d decided to call it a day, and I was just about to go downstairs, when I saw a woman come out of the door at the other end of the corridor. I thought I should go over and introduce myself.
“Hi, there. I’m Jill Maxwell. I work in the office just down the corridor.”
“I’m Farah. Farah Close. You must be the private investigator.”
“That’s me.” I glanced up at the sign. “Bubbles? We were trying to work out what kind of business it might be. Are you a hairdresser?”
“Actually, no. I’m a dog groomer. I’ve been working as a mobile groomer until now. This is the first place I’ve had of my own. I’m really very excited. Do you have dogs, Jill?”
“Yes, one. Well, two, I suppose.” She gave me a puzzled look. “It’s a little complicated. I have a Chihuahua at home.”
“Such lovely dogs, and very easy to groom too.”
“My ‘other’ dog doesn’t actually live with me all the time. He’s a Labradoodle.”
“That’s a very different proposition. They’re very lively dogs, as I’m sure you know. Much more expensive when it comes to the grooming. We open next Monday; all shampoos will be free on that day, on a first-come, first-served basis.”
“Well, the very best of luck with your new venture.”
“Thanks, Jill. Drop by for a cup of tea any time you like.”
***
I’d intended to pop into one of the shops in Washbridge city centre, to pick up some custard creams because I’d eaten the last one that morning. Unfortunately, I’d been so busy with the new accountant, and so distracted by Winky’s freaky eye patch, that it had totally slipped my mind. Not a problem. The local store in Middle Tweaking was bound to stock the most popular biscuits in the country.
I parked outside the old watermill, but instead of going straight into the house, I nipped over to the store. Once inside, it quickly became obvious that the main problem would be locating the biscuits. They could literally be anywhere. I did find some ginger nuts, which were next to the cabbages. On a separate aisle, I found fig biscuits, Garibaldis, and Jammie Dodgers, next to the breakfast cereal. But, as for custard creams, I drew a complete blank.
Behind the counter, Cynthia Stock was writing in what looked like a large, old fashioned ledger.
“Hello, Jill. Sorry, I didn’t notice you come in. I’m just updating my stock book.”
“Is that really where you record your stock?”
“Yes, we’ve used books like this one for years. It’s a foolproof method. Every now and then, we get someone in here, trying to sell us one of those new-fangled computer systems, but you can’t beat pen and paper, can you?”
“Err, I guess not.”
I’d always thought I was something of a Luddite, but compared to Mrs Stock, I was at the cutting edge of technology. “I just popped in for some custard creams. Do you know where I could find them?”
“Did you check next to the tea bags, Jill?”
“No, I didn’t. Where are the tea bags?”
“Next to the carrots. If you turn around, it’s the third aisle from the left.”
“Okay. I’ll take a look.”
I followed her directions and found the carrots and the tea bags, but there was no sign of the custard creams—just an ominous gap where they should have been.
Back at the counter, I told Mrs Stock that there were no custard creams on the shelf.
“Oh dear.” She began to flick through her ledger. “Let me see. Custard creams? Here they are. According to this, we were down to our last packet on Monday. That should have triggered a new order, but Marjorie seems to have missed it.”
“Marjorie’s your sister, isn’t she?”
“That’s right. I’ll have a word with her later about this. It really isn’t good enough.”
“I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble.”
“How about a packet of Garibaldis? Or Jammie Dodgers? And there are always ginger nuts.”
“No, thanks. I had my heart set on custard creams.”
“I’ll order some straight away.”
“Thanks. When are you likely to receive them?”
“Next week, hopefully. The week after at the very latest.”
Somewhat disgruntled at the prospect of an evening sans custard creams, I made my way back to the old watermill. I expected Florence to meet me at the gate, but there was no sign of her. She didn’t even appear when I stepped into the house.
Jack was all alone in the kitchen.
“Where’s Florence?”
He gestured towards the window. “Out in the garden, playing ball with Buddy.”
“How long have they been out there?”
“Ever since she got back from school. That poor little dog will definitely sleep well tonight.”
What I saw through the window, sent a cold shiver down my spine. Jack must have seen the look of horror on my face because he jumped out of his chair and hurried over to join me.
“How is Florence floating in the air like that?” he said.
“She isn’t floating.”
“Yes, she is! I can see her. Look.”
“It looks like she’s floating, but technically speaking, she’s using the ‘levitation’ spell.”
“I didn’t think she knew how to do that.”
“She doesn’t. She didn’t. She—err—”
�
�Apparently, she does. What’s going on, Jill?”
“I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.” I hurried out into the garden. “Florence Maxwell!”
“Yes, Mummy?” she said, rather sheepishly.
“What are you doing up there?”
“Practising the left tator spell, Mummy.”
“Get back down here immediately.”
“Okay.” Her bottom lip began to quiver, as she lowered herself gently back to the ground. “Are you mad at me, Mummy?”
“No, I’m not mad at you, but I need you to tell me how you learned to do that.”
“But I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”
“When Mummy or Daddy ask you a question, you know that you have to give them an honest answer, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Good. So, who was it who showed you how to do that?” As if I didn’t already know.
“Great Grandma.”
“And when did she show you?”
“Just now.”
“Great Grandma was here in the garden?”
“Yes. I showed her how Buddy could fetch the ball, and then she said that she was going to show me a new spell.”
“What did I tell you, Florence? I said you weren’t allowed to learn any new spells until you were older.”
“Great Grandma said it would be alright.”
“You mustn’t use the left tator—err—‘levitation’ spell again.”
“But why, Mummy? It’s fun. It’s like flying.”
“Do you see this high fence? There’s a river over the other side which is very dangerous. If you were to levitate over the fence, you might fall in the river and drown.”
“Great Grandma said I wouldn’t be able to go as high as the fence.”
“Never mind what Great Grandma said. You aren’t to use that spell again. Understood?”
“Yes, Mummy. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, darling. Come here and have a hug.” She threw herself into my arms and I could feel her sobbing. I felt terrible for having a go at her, but she’d scared me to death. Just wait until I got hold of Grandma—she and I were going to fall out big time.
Chapter 8
The next morning, I was still seething about what had happened the day before.