All Was Revealed

by Adele Abbott

  I grabbed him by the tie. “Tell me who took the photo, Dougal.”

  “If you don’t let me go, I’ll call the police. I’m sure Jack Maxwell would be interested to see what his girlfriend gets up to.”

  Before I could release Dougal, the guy at the next desk had snapped a photo of me. I was tempted to take the camera out of his hand, and smash it into pieces, but no doubt there’d be three more cameras taking photos of that too. The damage was already done. I needed to get out of there before I did anything else I’d regret.

  “You’re a disgrace, Dougal.” I released him. “A worm.”

  My heart was still in overdrive after I’d left the building. Moments later, my phone rang. I had to take a deep breath to compose myself.

  “Hello?”

  “Jill? It’s Susan Hall.”

  Susan Hall was The Bugle’s newest recruit. She’d visited my office to introduce herself, and to tell me that she shared a lot of my concerns about that rag. She had hoped she’d be able to transform it into a more reputable publication. If today’s events were anything to go by, it looked as though she’d failed miserably.

  “Have you seen the front page of your publication, Susan?”

  “I have. I think it’s terrible.”

  “I thought you said you were going to clean up The Bugle.”

  “I’m working on it, but it’s not going to happen overnight.”

  “That photo is beyond the pale.”

  “I agree. That’s why I’m calling.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you with Dougal. I was hoping you’d punch him in the nose.”

  “I came very close.”

  “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but the photographer was George Pullman—he’s a freelancer.”

  “Thanks, Susan.”

  Maybe there was hope for Susan Hall yet.

  ***

  It was time to make my way over to Middle Tweaking. I’d arranged to meet Myrtle at the old watermill.

  “Ah, Jill. You came.” Myrtle greeted me. “I wasn’t sure if you would. Are you positive you want to do this?”

  “Absolutely, yes.”

  “There is one piece of interesting information I’ve picked up since you were last here. It seems that the murder mystery players had a lottery syndicate going. They played the same numbers every week, and because Madge ran the post office where the lottery is sold, she was responsible for purchasing the tickets. Anyway, a few weeks ago now, it seems that their numbers came up. They didn’t stand to win the jackpot, but they would have ended up with five thousand each. Not to be sniffed at. Unfortunately, it turned out that Madge had forgotten to buy the ticket that week, so they ended up with nothing.

  She was understandably devastated to have let down her friends in that way. It seems that some of them accepted her apology, and understood it had been a genuine mistake. Others suggested that she’d never bought the tickets, and had pocketed the money every week assuming that they’d never win, so no one would be any the wiser.”

  “Presumably there was a lot of bad feeling in the group.”

  “Yes. Some were annoyed with Madge; others were annoyed with those who refused to believe it had been a genuine mistake. That’s undoubtedly why they’d decided to abandon the murder mystery evenings.” Myrtle grabbed her handbag. “Anyway, come on, we’d better get a move on. I’ve arranged for us to see Florence Long who runs the pharmacy.”

  Florence Long had a beautiful thatched cottage just outside the village. Myrtle and I found her waiting for us on the front porch.

  “Myrtle, nice to see you again.”

  “And you, Florence. How are you keeping?”

  “My arthritis is playing up a little at the moment. It’s the weather, I think.” She turned to me. “Who is this young lady?”

  “This is Jill Gooder. She was in the audience for the final murder mystery evening.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t take much notice of the audience. I get very nervous, so I tend to focus on the lights.”

  “Jill works as a private investigator in Washbridge.”

  “I see. Would you both like a drink?”

  Florence provided us with cold, hand-squeezed lemonade.

  “Florence,” Myrtle said. “How long had you and Madge known each other?”

  “Madge and I have always been friends. We both grew up in Middle Tweaking; we went to school together. Lifelong friends, you could say.”

  “And what did you make of this lottery business?”

  “The way Madge was treated was disgusting. She would no more cheat her friends than she’d steal money from the post office. The suggestion was preposterous. It was obvious that she genuinely forgot; she was devastated. We were all upset; it was a lot of money. But these things happen. Forgive and forget, I say, but some of the others didn’t see it that way. That was the beginning of the end for the players.”

  “Was there anything else troubling Madge that you’re aware of?”

  “There was something, but I don’t like to say.”

  “Come on, Florence. You know you can tell me anything.”

  “I know, Myrtle, but I wouldn’t like it to get back to the police.”

  “I won’t tell anyone, and Jill won’t or I’d be forced to kill her.” Myrtle grinned—she could be very scary when she wanted to be. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Jill?”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  Florence took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s common knowledge, but Madge had been seeing Brendan Breeze.”

  “Brendan? Really? You do surprise me. Brendan’s a nice man, but he has a permanent smell of fish about him.” Myrtle screwed up her nose.

  “I know. I’m not sure how she put up with it. Apparently, they’d been seeing one another for some time, but then Brendan dropped her for his young assistant. By all accounts, Madge was heartbroken. She came to cry on my shoulder.

  Shortly afterwards, I heard Brendan had accused Madge of taking her revenge by trying to sabotage his business. Absolutely ridiculous. Madge simply wasn’t capable of such a spiteful act.”

  The three of us talked for another twenty minutes. Florence had many memories of Madge to recount, but none of them seemed particularly relevant to our investigation.

  “What did you make of Florence?” Myrtle asked, as we walked back to the mill.

  “She seemed harmless enough, but the Brendan Breeze connection might be worth looking at.”

  “Can you think of another reason to look more closely at Florence?” Myrtle pressed.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Jill. It’s obvious.” Myrtle was beginning to remind me of Grandma and her tests.

  “Not to me.”

  “The woman works in a pharmacy. She has ready access to all manner of drugs and poisons.”

  “But I thought the forensic people said they didn’t recognise the poison.”

  “They did, but surely if anyone has the opportunity to mix chemicals and poisons together to produce something out of the ordinary, it would be a pharmacist. And then, there are the letters written in the flour.”

  “You’re right, of course. I should have thought of that.”

  “Don’t worry, Jill. We all have to start somewhere.”

  Chapter 9

  Mrs V was deep in thought when I walked into the office. So deep in thought, that she didn’t even notice me come in.

  “Mrs V?”

  “Sorry, Jill. I was miles away.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s Armi. I don’t know what to do about him.”

  “I thought you and he were going to Paris?”

  “I don’t think so. When I first met him, he was such a shy man; I couldn’t help but like him. He isn’t the same person now; he’s just too much.”

  “I thought the change was for the better. Gordon had been
giving him such a hard time. It was nice to see Armi grow in confidence, and be able to stick up for himself.”

  “It is, but I can’t keep pace with him. He talks so much now that I can barely get a word in edgeways. And he’s got all these ideas: we should do this, we should go there. It’s all a bit too much for me. I think maybe it would be better if I called it off before things get out of hand.”

  “That would be such a shame. It might just be a temporary thing. Maybe he’s taken some meds that don’t agree with him. Look what happened to me when I took that hay fever medicine, and called him a goblin. Perhaps something like that caused his change in personality.”

  “Do you think so, Jill?”

  “It’s possible. Why don’t you give it twenty-four hours, to see if he reverts to the Armi you used to know? If he doesn’t, then you can call it a day. But at least give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “You’re right. I owe him that much at least. He’s been so very kind to me; he even helped me with my Will. I’ll give it twenty-four hours, as you say. But if he hasn’t changed by then, I’m afraid that will be it.”

  Phew! I’d bought myself a little time, at least. Now, I needed to get to Armi, and reverse the spell which I’d cast on him. I’d better do it quickly otherwise Mrs V would call off their relationship, and then I’d feel terrible.

  I told Mrs V that I had to go next door to Armitage, Armitage, Armitage and Poole to see Jules Rules about her employment paperwork. Jules seemed to be settling into her new role as receptionist quite nicely. Not bad for someone whose only previous experience had been packing black pudding and sausages.

  “Hello, Jill,” she said. “Can I help?”

  “I’m here to see Joseph Armitage.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I’m sure you know that isn’t going to stop me.”

  “But Jill, I might get in trouble if—”

  “Sorry, Jules.”

  I started towards Armi’s office, but before I got there, I heard a commotion coming from another office a few doors down. Gordon Armitage was arguing with Armi.

  I crept over and peeked through the window. They didn’t notice me because they were going at it hammer and tongs.

  “I’ve told you, Joseph. I don’t want you seeing that woman.”

  “It’s none of your business, Gordon.”

  “I’m warning you, Joseph—”

  “Which part of none of your business don’t you understand?”

  Armi was giving as good as he got. Go, Armi!

  “I mean it, Joseph. I won’t stand for it.”

  Armi walked up to his brother, grabbed his jacket lapels, and pinned him to the wall.

  “I don’t want to hear another word about it, Gordon. Do you understand? And, if you bad-mouth Annabel Versailles again, you’ll have me to answer to.”

  Gordon Armitage looked both scared and confused. Little wonder. His older brother, Armi, who he’d been used to bullying, had finally turned on him.

  I ducked into a vacant cubicle, and waited until Armi began to walk back to his own office. As he passed by, I reversed the spell. In a few minutes, he’d be back to the old Armi. Hopefully, that would mean Mrs V wouldn’t have to break up with him. I doubted Gordon would cross Armi again any time soon because he’d be too afraid that he’d turn on him again.

  ***

  George Pullman, the freelance photographer who had taken the picture of Starr Fish, worked out of Maine House, which housed numerous small businesses—mainly start-ups and one-man bands.

  The man who answered the door had thinning hair, and zero dress sense. Purple corduroy trousers had never been a good look.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for George Pullman.”

  “That’s me. I don’t do wedding photography.”

  “I’m not here for wedding photography.”

  “Or christenings.”

  “I’m not here for that, either.”

  “I only do commercial and press.”

  “Funny you should say that because it’s about press photography that I wanted to talk to you.”

  “What about it?”

  “I understand from the people at The Bugle that you took the photograph of Starr Fish in the tank at Bar Fish.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “They specifically agreed that my name wouldn’t be associated with that photograph.”

  “That’ll teach you to trust anyone at The Bugle.”

  “Anyway, I don’t have anything to say about it.” He began to close the door, but I cast the ‘power’ spell, and pushed it open easily—knocking him backwards a few feet. Before he could react, I stepped into the room, and closed the door behind me.

  “You have no right to come in here.”

  “You had no right to take photos of a dead woman, and then sell them to the newspapers.”

  “Starr Fish was a nasty piece of work.”

  “Even if that’s true, she didn’t deserve that. Anyway, what makes you say she was a nasty piece of work? Did you know her?”

  “I lost my job because of her. I haven’t always been freelance. I used to work for the Daily Gossip. She got in touch with me shortly before she went onto the reality TV show. She wanted me to take a photo of her—topless—she thought it would boost her ratings when she was in the house, and get her a few more votes.”

  “And did it?”

  “Probably, but by the time it was published, she was already way ahead in the voting. She needn’t have bothered with the topless photograph.”

  “I still don’t understand why you lost your job?”

  “She wanted me to take the photo through the bedroom window. She deliberately left the curtains open so I could do it. But then, when she won the show, she denied any knowledge of our arrangement. She accused me of invading her privacy, and I ended up getting the sack.”

  “It’s quite a coincidence that you just happened to be at Bar Fish on the day that her body was found.”

  “It wasn’t a coincidence at all. I was given a tip-off.”

  “That her body would be found there?”

  “No, of course not. She’d been missing for a couple of days; the tip-off just said she’d be in that bar.”

  “Who did the tip-off come from?”

  “I’ve no idea. I got a phone call out of the blue. I wasn’t even sure whether to believe it, but I had nothing to lose, so I hung around Bar Fish hoping to catch a glimpse of her, and make a few bob from selling the photograph. The next thing I knew a woman was screaming blue murder. That’s when I spotted Starr underneath the floor, so naturally I took a photo.”

  “Naturally. And then, naturally, you sold it to The Bugle.”

  “I offered it to a few other papers as well, but The Bugle made the best offer. I think some of the others were worried about publishing it.”

  “How do I know you didn’t have something to do with Starr Fish’s murder? You obviously had a grudge against her.”

  “I despised her, but I didn’t kill her. Besides which, she had loads of enemies.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Have you seen her autobiography? It’s a real hatchet job.”

  “She has an autobiography?”

  “She must have used a ghost-writer. I doubt Starr could spell the word ‘autobiography’. You should read it. The murderer is most likely in there somewhere.”

  ***

  I’d promised to meet Aunt Lucy at FairyAid because I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help with the plight of the starlight fairies. En route, I called in at Cuppy C. The twins were dressed up, and looked like they were just off out.

  “Hi, girls. Going out?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Amber said.

  “Afraid so,” Pearl said.

  “Wow! You both look really enthusiastic, I must say. Where are you going?”

  “To watch BoundBall practic
e.”

  “BoundBall?” I laughed. “You two hate BoundBall.”

  “I know.” Amber pulled a face like she’d just sucked on a lemon.

  “So, how come you’re going?”

  “We don’t have much choice.” Pearl sighed. “The boys have us over a barrel.”

  “Alan and William? How come?”

  “Ever since they discovered that we hadn’t told them about the double wedding, they’ve made our lives a misery. They’ve come up with a list of things we have to do to prove we love them.”

  “And going to a BoundBall practice session is one of them?”

  “Yep,” Amber said.

  “But I thought you had them wrapped around your little finger?”

  Just then, Alan and William walked into the shop. They were laughing and joking with one another.

  “Hi, boys,” I said. “I understand you’re taking the twins to BoundBall practice?”

  “Yeah, we are.” Alan grinned. “Do you want to come too?”

  “No thanks. I’ve had my share of BoundBall recently, but Amber and Pearl have just been telling me how much they’re looking forward to it.” I glanced at the twins, who were glaring back at me. “In fact, they said they’d love to go to every practice session, and all of the matches.”

  I don’t know how I managed to keep a straight face. The twins looked as though they wanted to tear me limb from limb.

  “Anyway, I can’t stop. I’ve got to meet Aunt Lucy. See you.”

  I wouldn’t be getting any free muffins for a while.

  ***

  FairyAid was based in modest offices near to the Town Hall. Aunt Lucy introduced me to Diane Bayswater, the lady in charge.

  “Diane, this is my niece, Jill, who I told you about.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jill.”

  “I asked to come with Aunt Lucy to see if I can be of any help. I read the article about the plight of the starlight fairies; it’s a tragedy.”

  “It really is, and yet so few people know about it. We have had one stroke of luck, though. We’ve recently managed to increase the output of new homes. In fact, we’ve got the latest batch in the back room, if you’d like to see them.”