by Rachel Ward
Ant had smiled when he’d said, ‘You’re investigating, aren’t you?’ and she had to admit there was something thrilling about having another ‘case’ to work on.
She sat up and checked her watch again. 5.57. She groaned. It was just plain wrong to get up before six o’clock. Goldie would need a good walk this morning, because Queenie wasn’t likely to do anything more than let her out into the garden while Bea was at work, but there was still time for that if she went out at 6.30. She pulled the duvet up to her chin and reached for her phone, scrolling through the photos that so far made up the evidence for this ‘case’.
There were the shots of Joan’s body that she had shown to Tom and Shaz, some ‘screenshots’ of the CCTV that she’d managed to sneak at work, and finally, the farm buildings. Next, she pulled up a map of Kingsleigh and zoomed in on the area where the four cats had lived. The street names for the missing cats had been in the Bugle. They were all within the same small residential area – the square where Anna’s flat was and the few streets around.
She needed to write it down. She threw back the duvet and swung her legs out of bed. She went over to the bookshelves above her desk and reached down a soft-backed notebook. After Ginny’s murderer was arrested and charged, Bea had stuck her printout of suspects into this book along with a couple of Bugle articles. It was a way of coming to terms with what had happened, keeping it because it was important, but also closing the cover, putting it on the shelf, moving on. She felt the sharp pang of grief as she opened the cover. It was almost a physical pain, the stab of knowledge that the events before Christmas had been real, that Ginny was never coming back. But it was mixed with something else, another feeling – a frisson of excitement.
She found a fresh page and wrote a heading, below which she listed four strands of enquiry as bullet points.
Missing Cats
the ‘Square’
the Costsave connection
Dean and Tank
She checked her phone. Only six twenty-five. Pleased with her progress, she headed for the bathroom.
The house was in a sort of half-light as she padded downstairs. She was starting to get used to the doggy fug that greeted her. There were no extra acrid notes this morning, so that, at least, was a win.
Goldie, still in her basket, looked up politely as Bea came in and scrambled to her feet, wagging benignly. Bea drew the bolt back on the kitchen door and turned the key in the lock. When she opened the door, she couldn’t help smiling – there was a thick layer of snow outside, nearly two inches. That explained the weird light; the snow was reflecting the streetlight.
Goldie peered out of the door and retreated to her bed.
‘Ha!’ said Bea. ‘We’re going out in a minute, whether you like it or not.’ She pulled on her coat and moon boots, checked for dog bags, keys and phone, then clipped Goldie onto her lead. They both hesitated for a moment on the threshold and then stepped out into the snow.
The houses and streets and the park were breathtakingly different this morning – a better version of themselves. Bea briefly thought about heading into the field again, but after yesterday, she didn’t want to go on her own. She wasn’t sure Goldie was up to the role of fierce defender. Besides, she had a plan for this morning’s walk.
Bea was the first person to cross the rec, but there were animal footprints leading from one side to the other. Goldie had a bit of a sniff at them before hunching over and conducting the morning’s business. Bea was just closing the lid on the nearest dog bin when she saw a shape moving on the other side of the rec. Goldie had seen it too. She was staring intently and then she gave a deep bark.
The shape stopped moving and Bea could see the fox staring back at them, before it started running. Bea grabbed hold of Goldie’s collar, but she didn’t need to; Goldie wasn’t interested in the chase. Once the fox had disappeared from view, she just gave a little grumble and turned away.
‘Good girl,’ said Bea. They’d only been out for a few minutes but her feet were starting to get cold, even inside her moon boots. She bent down, formed a snowball with her mittens and threw it in front of Goldie. It landed with a soft thud a few metres in front of her. Goldie watched with polite interest, then walked slowly up to the place where it had landed, gave it a cursory sniff and looked back at Bea. Bea could almost swear she shrugged.
‘All right, brisk walk to warm up,’ she said and she started marching towards the far side of the rec. As they approached the square which seemed to be the focus of the cat mystery, Goldie started walking faster, going ahead of Bea, and Bea remembered that Charles lived in one of the bungalows. Goldie was heading home. She walked right up to the door and stood there wagging with her front paws on the step.
‘Not today,’ Bea said softly, clipped Goldie on her lead and gently started to walk her away. She heard a gentle whirring noise and looked round. A CCTV camera on the house next to Charles’ was swivelling on its bracket, pointing at her. Extra security was probably a good thing, Bea thought. Old people were so vulnerable. The front garden looked strangely prison-like, a forest of short bamboo sticks poking up out of the snow with string criss-crossing between them. Something to keep the birds off, Bea supposed. As she watched the front door opened and a man shuffled out of the front door, dragging a trolley on wheels behind him. It was fluorescent yellow with ‘Kingsleigh Bugle’ emblazoned on the side.
The man nodded to her. He had obviously been quite tall when younger, but was now bent over, with a permanent curve in his spine. He saw her watching and waved.
‘Morning,’ Bea called out. He nodded to her and Bea moved on.
There was a light on in the next house, and Bea thought she saw the curtain moving. She hoped she and Goldie hadn’t worried the pensioner living there. At its worst, Queenie’s anxiety made her jump at every noise outside and peer out at the side of the curtain, trying to see the source but not be seen. She wouldn’t want to have sparked similar anxiety in anyone else.
‘Come on,’ she said. They walked around the edge of the square, past the flats where Anna lived. There was a whining sound in the background, getting louder as they walked. Despite the snow, an electric milk float turned into the square and made stop-start progress along the rows of houses, as the milkman delivered milk and cartons of juice. As he got closer, Bea could see that he wasn’t in the traditional uniform of white coat and peaked hat (had that ever actually been a thing?), but was wearing a thick padded coat with a hood, and fingerless gloves.
‘All right?’ he said to Bea as she walked past him.
‘Morning,’ she replied.
She and Goldie had completed their tour of the square. They mooched back across the rec and were overtaken by two women, heads down, walking solidly.
‘Don’t see how the two of us can cover the whole office with our hours cut like that. It’s ridiculous.’
‘We’ll just have to skimp a bit. Do the bogs and the kitchen, but only do the desks once a month or something. Lazy beggars can clean their own keyboards and screens.’
‘Ha! And wash their own mucky cups!’
Bea checked her phone. Ten past seven. She guessed these two were coming back from cleaning, their early morning shifts already done.
There was a slight lightening in the eastern edge of the sky, a suggestion of the start of the day. As they left the rec, nearly home now, Bea felt the cogs in her brain turning slowly. The cat killer must work at night. After all, they’d dumped Joan’s body at the very start of the day. If she kept walking Goldie around Kingsleigh’s streets in the early hours, would she see them in the end? Perhaps she already had. It was a sobering thought.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with cold, crisp air. Time for a cuppa, some Coco Pops and maybe a bonus slice of toast. These early walks were all very good, but they didn’t half make you work up an appetite.
As Bea sat at the table eating her cereal and making notes in her book about the sorts of people who might be out and about early in the morn
ing, she could hear Goldie crunching the biscuits in her bowl. It only took the dog a few seconds to polish off the lot and then she was lying at Bea’s feet. Queenie appeared as Bea was making the toast. She looked at Goldie warily.
‘No accidents?’
‘No, Mum, not today. We don’t do that any more, do we?’ Bea said, addressing Goldie, who was now sitting to attention next to her, watching her every move as she buttered the toast. ‘Oh, you like toast, do you?’ A string of drool formed at one saggy corner of Goldie’s mouth. ‘Here.’ Bea broke off a bit of crust and Goldie took it delicately from her fingers.
‘Oh no, Bea, don’t do that! Don’t feed the dog titbits.’
Bea winked at Goldie and ate the rest herself, leaning against the cupboards.
‘What’s that?’ said Queenie, looking at Bea’s notebook on the kitchen table.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Bea said, gathering it up. ‘Are you going to be all right with the doggy today?’ she asked, quickly changing the subject.
Queenie pulled a face. ‘I’ll have to be, won’t I? Don’t see that I’ve got much choice.’
Bea picked her way carefully across the Costsave car park. Staff driving their cars in had compacted the snow and it was starting to make rutted ice. She was nearly at the door when Ant caught her up.
‘I know what I’m going to be doing today,’ he said.
‘Shovelling snow?’ said Bea.
‘Got it in one.’
A car drew up right by the door. Bob-on-Meat got out of the driver’s door and jogged round to the passenger side. Then he held his arm out for Dot to hold onto as she picked her way the few metres towards Ant and Bea.
‘Jeez,’ said Ant, and made to go inside.
‘Hang on, Ant,’ said Bea, not wanting him to disappear. ‘Aren’t you going to hold the door open, like a gentleman?’
He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Yeah. Okay. Whatever.’ He punched in the access code and then stood back and held the door.
Dot smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Ant. Nice to see you.’
Ant winced a little, but managed, ‘You too, Dot. Welcome back.’
‘I’ll hug you in a minute, Dot,’ said Bea, squeezing her arm as she went past. ‘Don’t want to risk skating across the car park.’
Bob got back in his car and went to find a space. Bea started to follow Dot up the stairs to the locker room, leaving Ant skulking in the lobby, but she went back down.
‘Ant, mate, you need to get over it. Dot’s fine with you. There’s no embarrassment, no bad feelings. Just be normal with her.’
He scuffed his toes on the wall, looking down. ‘Yeah, I know. It’s just—’
‘Just nothing. I can’t have two of my best mates here not talking. I’ll have to cut myself in half. Let’s all have lunch together, iron things out.’
‘Dunno what time Nev’s going let me have my break today.’
‘Well, Dot’s only doing till twelve, so if you’ve got your lunch break then, find Dot, won’t you? I’ll try and have my break then too.’
‘Yeah, all right.’
They headed up the stairs together.
‘Here,’ said Ant, ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Steady. You’ll give yourself a nosebleed.’
‘Ha, ha. No, listen, I went down the pub last night. Stevo and I took Mum, trying to cheer her up.’
‘That’s nice. Did it?’
‘Nah, not really. She just sat in a corner, didn’t say much. And I think – nah, it doesn’t matter.’
‘What?’
‘I think people are avoiding us. Well, her. They were talking to me because of Charles and me being on the telly, but Mum was sort of left on her own. Some of the neighbours too. They usually rally round when Dad’s gone away, but this time nothing.’
Bea sighed. ‘Maybe it’s what your dad did, nicking people’s presents. It was pretty low, Ant.’
‘Yeah, but it wasn’t Mum’s fault. She didn’t do it.’
‘Guilt by association, I suppose. People can be cruel. Things’ll settle down.’
‘Hope so. Anyway, what I was going to tell you was just before last orders Deano and Tank came in. Tank was looking as white as a sheet. Proper agitated.’
They were at the top of the stairs now. Bea checked her watch. They only had a couple of minutes before George’s morning huddle and she needed to change out of her boots.
‘Can you tell me later, Ant? Can’t be late, can we?’
‘Okay. Catch you at dinner.’
‘First of all, well done for getting into work on time. The weather may put some customers off, but past experience has shown that there may also be a rush on bread and milk. I’m expecting our normal supplies to get through, so any low stock levels should be short-lived, but be prepared for some moans and groans. Meet them with your usual smiles and positive attitude.
‘Talking of positive, I’ve got some very good news. We’re up one and a half per cent on the same week last year. I want to thank you all for knuckling down and rallying round. But we can do better still. We need to be leaner and meaner. Well, maybe not meaner.’ George flashed a reassuring smile around the room. ‘We need to trim waste. I’ve been reviewing the stock with Mila – there’s stuff in the stockroom from years ago. Dead stock that we will never sell – Three Lions garden gnomes from 2014, Kung Fu Panda bubble bath, superhero pencil toppers . . .’
‘I’ve got one of those gnomes,’ muttered Bob. ‘Only six fifty with my staff discount. Bloody good value.’
‘It’s all got to go,’ said George. Ant had raised his hand. ‘Yes, Ant?’
‘I could sell it for you. Keep it till the summer and I’ll car boot it. Give the proceeds to Kayleigh’s Wish.’
‘Kayleigh’s what?’
Anna stepped in. ‘It’s the store’s adopted charity, George. Kayleigh’s the daughter of one of our colleagues. She’s got leukaemia.’
George nodded as she took in the information. ‘I like your thinking, Ant, that’s very generous of you. But I can’t wait for the summer. This store needs sorting out now. There’s no time to lose in retail. We have to be responsive, flexible, current.’
‘What about selling it in store, then?’ said Bea. ‘Make a thing of it. We could use the bay in aisle fifteen where we sell damaged stock. Put all the dead stock in there, mixed up, like a sort of bargain basement. Call it something fun, I don’t know. Call it the Crazy Aisle.’
There were some murmurs among the crowd, but it was difficult to tell if they were for or against.
George frowned. ‘Well, we don’t want it to look like a jumble sale. We’ve got standards to maintain.’
‘I could make it look nice,’ said Eileen. ‘I like visual merchandising.’
‘What?’ said Ant. ‘Standing all the gnomes up straight, making them point the same way?’
Eileen turned a rather nasty shade of beetroot. Ant grinned and held his hands up in defence.
‘Wouldn’t that conflict with our Valentine’s display?’ said Neville. ‘That will be going in on Thursday, taking up half of the other side of aisle fifteen.’
‘Nah, it’s spot on, mate,’ said Ant. ‘We can still call it the Crazy Aisle.’ He started singing and jigging about on the spot. Bea eventually realised it was his version of ‘Crazy in Love’.
George held her hand up. ‘All right, all right,’ she said, raising her voice above the hubbub. ‘Let’s work on that. We can’t call it the Crazy Aisle, though. Costsave as a company takes mental health issues very seriously. We don’t want to cause offence to our . . .’ she struggled to find the right words ‘ . . .to our customers. We’ll think of something else and I’ll ask Regional HQ if we can donate a proportion to our charity. Okay, everyone. It’s nearly time. I’m expecting a busy day today – let’s make it a good one.’
As Dot took her place at checkout five, Bea felt that after six weeks of things being slightly off-kilter, everything was back to normal. Or as normal as it could be, when one of your colleagues has
been murdered and there are dead cats turning up in the recycling.
‘Ready for this?’ she asked Dot, as they watched George walk towards the front door with the master keys in her hand.
Dot stretched her arms out and wiggled her fingers like a concert pianist limbering up. ‘I was born ready, babe. I’m so glad to be back. If I had to watch one more morning of daytime TV I think I would have gone mad. Mind you, if there’s anything you want to know about cooking, DIY, property developing or antiques, just ask. I’m a bloody expert on all that. Don’t ask me to shift my arse and actually do any of it, though.’
‘You’ve got Bob for that, haven’t you? The DIY and stuff. He’s pretty handy.’ Bea caught Dot’s eye, and there was a twinkle there and a suggestion of a smile playing round the corner of her mouth.
‘I know what you’re thinking. Not that sort of handy,’ said Dot, then the smile got broader. ‘Not yet. Not much, anyway.’
‘Ooh,’ said Bea. ‘You’re a one, aren’t you? He was round at ours yesterday, putting up a gate.’
‘Was he?’
‘Hmm, he and Mum had a nice chat. Took the heat off me a bit.’
‘That’s nice.’
The doors were open now and Smelly Reg was shuffling in and heading for the paper rack and his Racing Post. He was followed by the usual gaggle of early morning shoppers. While they waited for them to grab their goods and make their way to the checkouts, Bea and Dot watched Ant through the window. Just as he’d thought, he was on car park clearing duty, shovelling snow off the paths and sprinkling grit. He’d done all of a couple of minutes’ work when he stopped to lean on one of the pillars at the back of the trolley park and light up a cigarette, thinking he was tucked away out of sight.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Dot, as they saw Neville, on the customer service desk, clock him. ‘Quick, Bea, do something.’
Neville left the desk, but instead of going out to deal with Ant, he found George, who was inspecting aisle fifteen. Bea got out of her chair and went and banged on the window near Ant. He looked up, startled, then grinned when he saw her. She wagged her index finger at him, but he just took a long drag, tipped his head up and blew the smoke out, then gave her the thumbs up.