by Adele Abbott
“Not really. Unless you remember anything else which Alan said or did which might help. Did he ever mention any of his neighbours? Or anything about Tregar Court, come to that?”
“He never talked about his neighbours, but he was always complaining about the building.”
“Anything in particular?”
“All sorts of things. Nosey concierge, dirty common areas, that sort of thing. Nothing earth shattering, but when you’re paying that kind of money, you expect the best. I must have told him a dozen times to find somewhere else. Heaven knows, he could have afforded to move.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“I don’t know. Even though he hated the place at times, it seemed like he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Men! I’ll never understand them.”
We talked for another thirty minutes, but neither of us came up with anything new. Before she left, she made a fuss of Winky.
“He’s such a little darling.”
“You can have him if you like.”
She laughed.
“Why can’t you be more like her?” Winky said, after she’d left.
“She’d soon change her tune if she had to live with you.”
He looked affronted. “You’re the one who’s difficult to live with. You should be grateful that I’m so easy-going.”
***
Candlefield didn’t do the Internet, so if I was going to find any information on The Dark One, I’d need to go old-school. When had I last been in a library? At school, probably. My teachers would have been ashamed of me.
Candlefield library looked and felt just like my school library. The only difference was that the ‘no talking’ rule was much more strictly enforced in Candlefield.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Shhh!” The witch, dressed in an overdose of floral print, put a finger to her lips. “How can I help?” she whispered.
“Where can I find archived copies of the newspapers?” I whispered back.
She beckoned me to follow her down a flight of stairs. The basement had no carpets, but no shortage of dust. I sneezed.
“Shhh!”
“Where are the readers?”
She looked puzzled.
“Microfiche readers?”
She shook her head. “We don’t have those. All the original copies are stored down here.”
“All of them?”
“This basement stretches for several miles under the town. There’s a copy of every newspaper going back over a century.”
“Are they in any kind of order?”
“Of course. No one would be able to find anything otherwise. They’re stored by year with the most recent nearest to the stairs. Then they’re divided into the different publications.”
“How many different newspapers are there?”
“Each of the different sups has its own paper. For example, The Wonder is published by and for Wizards and Witches. Then there’s The Candle which is a general publication. As you might imagine, it has the largest circulation. Is there anything else you need?”
Apart from a thousand pairs of eyes? “No, thank you.”
“Please make sure you return everything to where you found it.”
“I will.”
I decided to discard those publications aimed at specific sup groups—the real news seemed to be concentrated in The Candle. I figured if I started with newspapers from ten years ago, and worked my way towards the present day, that I could make a note of all the incidents involving The Dark One.
Three hours later, I emerged from the basement—my nostrils coated in dust, and my hands in newsprint.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Floral print whispered.
I shook my head and tried not to sneeze. “I couldn’t find a single article on The Dark One.”
“You should have said that’s what you were looking for. I could have saved you a lot of time.”
“Why aren’t there any stories about him?”
She shrugged. “You should ask the newspapers that question.”
I intended to, but first I had an appointment with a cup of coffee and a muffin at Cuppy C.
“Blueberry!” I could barely control my joy. “You have blueberry.”
“It was the least we could do.” Pearl handed me the tray. “After what you did for us.” She touched a finger to her ear. “Grab the window seat; I’ll come and join you in a minute.”
Amber beat her to it.
“Nice?” Amber said.
I nodded—my mouth was too full to speak.
“Thanks for what you did with Grandma.”
I shrugged.
Pearl joined us. “How did you get Grandma to reverse the spell?”
“I relied on reason and her sense of fair play.”
They both laughed. “No, seriously. How did you manage it?”
“I told her that I wouldn’t take part in her stupid Levels Competition.”
Their mouths fell open.
“What?” I shrugged.
“Nothing,” Pearl said. “I just can’t believe you’re still in one piece.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t turn you into a frog—or a donkey,” Amber said. “She must want to win really badly.”
“That’s what worries me. What chance do I have of winning? I’ve only just moved up from level one. Surely even Grandma will have to make allowances?”
They both shook their heads.
“Thanks. That makes me feel much better.”
“You’ll win.” Amber put her hand on mine. “You’re the best level two witch I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, you’ll win.” Pearl added her hand.
I wished I shared their confidence. It’s not like there wouldn’t be enough pressure going into the competition anyway, but now I had the threat of being transformed into a donkey, hanging over me.
“Did you enjoy that?” Amber asked, after I’d scooped up the last few crumbs.
“It was delicious.”
“Good. Now we have another favour to ask you.”
“You two have used up all your favours.”
“Don’t forget we got blueberry muffins for you.”
“Does this favour involve Grandma?”
“No. I promise. It’s just that it’s our birthday next week.”
“Are you having a joint party?”
“That’s just it. We thought—” Amber looked at her sister.
“Yeah, we were thinking—” Pearl said.
I had a horrible feeling I knew where this was heading.
“We’d really like to go to Washbridge for our birthday.”
“Shopping?”
“No, we thought we could go out for the evening.”
“For a meal?”
“No, silly. Going out for meals is for old people. We want to go to a club. To dance.”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with somewhere for you to go.”
“You have to come too,” Pearl said.
“Me? No, I’m old people.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re not old. Kathy can come too.”
Yay! Can’t wait.
“So, can we?” Amber had the pathetic puppy dog face off to a tee.
“Please!” So did Pearl.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can arrange.” What else could I have done?
“Thanks, Jill. You’re the best!”
***
I timed my visit to Kathy’s so the kids would be at school.
“Hello, stranger,” Kathy had a cheese cracker in her mouth. “Come in. Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’m not stopping.”
“I saw your grandma’s shop on Wool TV the other day.”
“Since when did you watch Wool TV?”
“I heard about the competition on the radio, so thought I’d check it out. Exciting finish wasn’t it?”
“Thrilling.”
“I thought you’d be pleased that Mrs V won.”
“I am. She deserved to get one over
on her sister.”
“What brings you here? Come to see the new beanie creations?”
“You’re sick. It’s a wonder Child Protection haven’t taken the kids away.”
“It’s creative. That kangadillo is a work of genius.”
“Of a sick mind more like. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. It’s the twins’ birthday next week. They want to come to Washbridge and go to a club.”
“Good for them.”
“They want us to go with them.”
“Are you sure you can manage a late night? Don’t you have to be tucked up in bed by ten?”
“You make me sound old,” I said.
“You act old.”
“Rubbish! So, are you up for it?”
“Just try stopping me. It’s ages since I got down and funky.”
“I don’t think anyone gets down and funky any more—if they ever did. Look, you don’t have to go. Are you sure you wouldn’t like more time to think about it?”
“I’m in. I’ll have to buy a new dress though.”
“Like you need an excuse.”
“Anyway, I’ve got news too,” Kathy said.
“Does it involve the wilful destruction of beanies?”
“When I was listening to the radio, there was a phone-in competition. You’ll never guess who won.”
“The kangadillo?”
“No. Me! Guess what I won.”
“A trillion pounds?”
“Close. A voucher for a manicure and pedicure.” She grinned inanely. “For two!”
“Don’t look at me.” I shook my head. “No! No way.”
“It’ll be great.”
“I can’t have anyone touching my feet.” I shuddered at the thought.
“We can get our nails done for the twins’ birthday night out. I’ll book us in.”
Chapter 12
“You have a visitor,” Mrs V whispered when I arrived at the office.
“Who?”
“Your grandmother. She doesn’t look happy.”
When did she ever?
“Morning, Grandma. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“I’m on to you.” She pointed a crooked finger at me—at least I think it was at me—it was hard to tell.
“What have I done now?”
“Don’t come the innocent with me, missy. You used the ‘sleep’ spell on Mrs G.”
“How can you even suggest such a thing? You would have known if I had.”
“You’re right. I would have known—IF I’D BEEN THERE. But I was at the TV studios for an interview—THAT NO ONE KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT!”
“Oh dear. I wonder how that could have happened. There must have been some kind of mix up.”
“Your mother was just the same.” Grandma snorted. “Thought she knew it all. Thought she was clever. Looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
“I wonder who she got it from.”
I really should learn when to keep my mouth shut. For instance, when Grandma’s wart began to glow red would have been a good time to stay quiet.
“You’d better win the Levels, or you’ll be sorry.” With that she stomped out of my office, slamming the door closed behind her.
Winky came out from under my desk where he’d been hiding while Grandma went off on one. “I wouldn’t like to see her when she’s angry. Sounds to me like you are in her bad books.”
“When aren’t I?”
It was at times like this that I was pleased Mrs V was a little on the deaf side. I wouldn’t have wanted her to find out that I’d used a little magic to ‘assist’ her win.
***
The Tregar case was getting under my skin—nothing made sense. How and when had Alan Dennis been stabbed? There was no sign of the attack taking place during that last, fateful lift ride. He’d been standing at the very front, which meant that only his head and shoulders were visible on CCTV, so it was possible he’d already been stabbed before he entered the lift. But surely the other people in the lift would have noticed if he’d been bleeding. Or would they? No one in that apartment block seemed very interested in their neighbours. By their own admission, they all kept themselves to themselves. Was it possible that they had all been so involved with their own thoughts that they hadn’t noticed the man was bleeding? In the absence of any other bright ideas, that was the theory I was working on.
I intended to do more digging around into the backgrounds of Jason Allan and Darcy James—I wanted to know why they’d denied knowing one another when all the evidence suggested otherwise. More importantly, I wanted to know how they could afford to live at Tregar Court.
It wasn’t difficult to trace previous addresses for them. Darcy James didn’t stay in one place for long—I had a list of five previous addresses for her. By contrast, there was only one previous address for Jason Allan. My curiosity was piqued because that address was in one of the most run-down areas of Washbridge. It was hard to imagine how anyone could have gone straight from there to Tregar Court—maybe he’d won the lottery?
The Sunnyside estate had the highest crime rate in Washbridge. If newspaper reports were to be believed (were they ever?), it had become a virtual no-go area for the police. Fortunately, the address I needed was close to the edge of the estate. I didn’t want to risk getting back to the car to find it minus its wheels, so I parked half a mile away and made my way on foot. When the estate had first been built, over half a century before, it had been considered state of the art. Those days were now long gone. Most of the houses were in dire need of repair, and many were empty—boarded up to deter squatters. I soon found the address I was looking for. The ground floor windows and door had been boarded up—the upstairs windows were all broken. No one had lived there for some considerable time. From the gate, I saw movement in the ground floor window of the adjoining property. I waved to catch their attention.
“Sorry to trouble you,” I said when the neighbour came out into the garden.
“It’s no trouble, dear.” The old woman’s slippers looked two sizes too big for her. “Are you looking for someone?”
“The Allan family.”
“They’re long gone. I was just about to make a cuppa. Care to join me?”
“Thanks. That would be nice.”
Mrs Deirdre Downs made a remarkably good cup of tea, but the real bonus came when she offered me a custard cream straight out of the packet. The interior of her house was very seventies, and spotlessly clean.
“Did you know the Allans?”
“Me and Gina were good friends. We both moved in about the same time. Our kids used to play together.”
“You knew Jason then?”
“Yeah. Funny lad. Harmless though. He was a carpet fitter, I think. Stayed with his mother right until she died— cancer—poor thing.”
“Did Gina have any other children?”
“A girl—Sarah. A bit lippy, but a good heart.”
“What about the father?”
“Fathers. Gina was pregnant with Jason when she moved here. I never did get the full story on what happened with his dad. Gina had Sarah with Benny. He died a few years before Gina—heart attack.”
“So Jason lived here until his mother died?”
She nodded. “Yeah, don’t know what happened to him then. He just seemed to disappear. I hope he’s all right.”
“He’s alive and well. Do you have any idea where I might find his sister?”
“She lives on the Pleaston estate, I think. Done all right for herself.”
Not as well as Jason apparently.
“Her name’s Sarah Conway now,” Deirdre said. “She married a nice young man. Civil servant I believe.”
Twenty minutes and two more custard creams later, I thanked her, and set off back to the car.
I’d only gone a few hundred yards when I found my way blocked by three teenagers. The ringleader was a girl, who looked no more than seventeen. All tattoos and piercings, she spoke through a mouthful of gum. Her male s
idekicks, Little and Large, were criminally ugly.
“Get out of my way please,” I said.
“Give us your phone and your money or he’ll cut you.” Tattoos gestured to Little who drew a knife.
“I asked you to get out of my way.”
Little took a step towards me, so I cast the ‘illusion’ spell. He dropped the knife like a hot potato.
“What’s up wi’ you?” she shouted at her henchman.
“It—I—Err.” The poor guy was staring at what appeared to him to be a snake.
Large stepped forward. His knife was longer than his cohort’s, but he dropped it just as quickly.
“Pick ‘em up!” she screamed.
The two boys were transfixed—too scared to approach the snakes.
“Get out the way!” she screamed in frustration. As she stooped to pick up one of the knives, I cast the ‘illusion’ spell for a third time. Tattoos fell onto her backside as she reeled away from the snakes.
The three of them were still staring at the knives as I strolled past them. I’d be at my car by the time the spells wore off.
***
Mrs V was still glowing from the victory over her sister. It had been worth the risk of being on the receiving end of Grandma’s wrath to see Mrs V so happy.
“A man came here while you were out.” Mrs V was knitting a pink sock today. “He wanted to look around and take measurements. I told him he’d have to speak to you first.”
“It wasn’t Maurice Montage again, was it?”
“No. he didn't give his name. He just said he’d come back later.”
“Okay. How is the Everlasting Wool working out?”
“It’s fine. The problem is that my subscription only allows me to use a single colour. Not that I’m complaining because it didn’t cost me anything. If you want to use more colours though, you have to increase your monthly payments.”
Clever. Grandma reels them in with a low opening offer, and then upsells them when they’re hooked.
Winky was on the window sill, flags in hand. I thought he’d abandoned the semaphore.
“Morning, cat. How’s the love life?”
He ignored me—too busy waving his flags around.