by Adele Abbott
I should have known. “How come I’ve never seen you do it before?”
“What can I say? I like to keep my light firmly secreted under a bushel.”
Yeah, right. “Do you do requests?”
“Of course. What would you like me to make for you?”
“How about a flower?”
“You need to be more precise. A tulip? A rose?”
“A rose, please.”
“Your wish is my command.” He picked up a blank sheet of paper, and began to fold it, this way and then that. Moments later, he handed me a beautiful paper rose.
“That’s brilliant, Winky. Honestly, I’m really impressed.”
“I find it gives me a sense of Zen.”
Just when I thought that cat couldn’t surprise me ever again, he did. And for once, not in a bad way.
***
I’d arranged to meet with Crispin Cross, Gordon Rice’s solicitor, at Washbridge police station. I arrived first, and was waiting in reception when my old friend, Leo Riley, came walking through.
“Gooder? What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, Leo.”
“It’s Detective Riley to you. I asked why you were here?”
“I’m on the defence team for Gordon Rice.”
“Don’t make me laugh.” He scoffed. “You won’t be seeing anyone.”
“That’s where you are wrong, Detective.” Crispin Cross appeared at my side. “Ms Gooder is with me.” He took out a manila folder, and extracted two sheets of paper, which he handed to Riley. “I’m sure you will find all the paperwork in order.”
Riley’s face transitioned through several shades of red, as he studied the papers.
“I’m not happy about this,” he pronounced, after he’d handed back the file.
“That’s as it maybe, Detective.” It was obvious that Cross wasn’t intimidated by Riley. “Nonetheless, I’d be grateful if you would take us to our client.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were shown into an interview room where Gordon Rice was waiting for us.
“I didn’t kill Doug!”
“Please, Gordon.” Cross held up his hand. “You must try to remain calm.”
“Sorry.”
“You asked me to bring Ms Gooder here today.”
Rice looked to me. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. The police have decided I’m guilty. I know you’re already investigating Doug’s death for Amy. I thought maybe you could help to clear my name?”
“I certainly intend to find out what really happened.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“Why did the police arrest you. Do you know?”
“They’ve checked my phone log, and they say there was no record of a phone call from Doug. But I know what I heard. He called me to say he couldn’t make it in.”
“Is that all they have on you?”
“I wish it was.” He hesitated. “They have CCTV of me on that day.”
“CCTV from your factory?”
“No, we don’t have it installed. They have footage from the car park of a restaurant, half a mile up the road, and from the petrol station opposite our unit.”
“What does the CCTV show?”
“I haven’t actually seen it yet, but they say it shows me arriving at, and then later, leaving the restaurant.”
“Are you denying that it was you on the tape?”
“I did go to the restaurant, so they may well have caught me on CCTV there. But they claim they also have footage of me entering our unit in between the time I was seen arriving at, and leaving the restaurant. They think I sneaked out, and went down to the factory.”
“Were you with anyone at the restaurant who can vouch for the fact that you didn’t leave there?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Did you eat alone?”
He hesitated again.
“Gordon, you have to tell me if you want me to help you.”
“I can’t. And what does it matter, anyway? I didn’t do it. I didn’t murder Doug.”
Despite our best efforts, neither I nor Cross could get Gordon to tell us who he had been with at the restaurant.
“What’s wrong with him?” I said, once we were outside the police station. “Doesn’t he know he could go down for this if he doesn’t tell us who he was with?”
“Clients are strange creatures, Ms Gooder. That’s one thing I’ve learned over the years.”
***
My next stop was Ever A Wool Moment, to find out what Grandma was so het up about.
Chloe was behind the counter.
“Hi, Jill.”
“No Kathy?”
“She’s on a day’s holiday. She said she was going shopping for clothes for a party.”
The golden wedding. I might have known. Kathy didn’t need much of an excuse to add to her wardrobe.
“My grandmother is expecting me.”
“She’s in the office.”
Grandma was muttering to herself while sticking large needles into something.
“Good morning, Grandma.”
“What’s good about it? Sit down, we have important business to discuss.” She placed the object, which looked like some kind of voodoo doll, onto her desk.
“Who’s that meant to be?”
“Dominic Duxberry. The leader of the Combined Sup Council.”
“What has he done to upset you?”
“That’s why I asked you to come over. I take it you haven’t heard, then?”
“Heard what?”
“There’s a rumour that the council are going to try to pass a new regulation, which would mean that sups living in the human world will have to pay taxes on the money they earn there.”
“That can’t be right. We already pay taxes in the human world.”
“Is that so? Well thank you for enlightening me. I had no idea.” The wart on the end of her nose was throbbing red. “Why do you think I’m so angry?”
“It will affect me too.”
“You? I don’t know why you’re worried. Based on how little business you have, they’ll owe you money.”
Harsh. But probably true.
“It will cost me a small fortune!” Grandma yelled. “If they think I’m going to take this lying down, they have another think coming.”
“What do you intend to do about it?”
“You are going to stop the motion being carried by the council.”
“Me? I’m only one vote. How am I meant to defeat the motion by myself?”
“That’s your problem. You can’t expect me to have all the answers.”
Great!
***
I wanted to follow up on the note that had been slipped into my pocket by one of the pixies at the Human World Society. I could have tried the police to see if they’d let me see their files on the other missing pixies, but Maxine Jewell was unlikely to give me the time of day. Instead, I called in at Candlefield Library, and began a search of the archives.
Generally speaking, I enjoyed living in the human and sup worlds equally, but there was one major exception.
Having no internet was a real pain when it came to research. It didn’t help that the library service didn’t bother to archive newspapers onto microfiche. Instead, I had to search through the physical copies that were stored in the basement. It was a thankless job, and the dust didn’t help—it got everywhere.
“Achoo! Achoo!”
“Are you okay?” The librarian enquired when I eventually re-emerged from the basement. Her ensemble today consisted of a paisley-patterned two-piece with matching walking stick. Nice!
“Yeah. Achoo! It’s just the dust.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I think so. Thanks.”
Surprisingly, the search for articles on the other missing pixies had proven to be easier and more productive than I’d expected. In the last three months, two other pixies had been reported as having gone missing. In both cases, it was obvious
the articles had only been written because relatives or friends had approached the newspaper—presumably in the hope that the publicity might help to find their loved ones. Neither article suggested there had been any police involvement.
I had less joy searching for information on BeHuman—I drew a complete blank.
Chapter 21
I wanted to take a look at the CCTV from both the restaurant and the petrol station, so I planned to give them the usual ‘I’m working with the police’ routine.
Fortunately for me, the restaurant manager took me at my word, and didn’t ask to see my credentials. He was more than happy to show me through to the office where the CCTV was monitored.
“Do you need any assistance?” The helpful manager offered.
“No, thanks. I know my way around these systems. You can leave me to it.”
“Okay. What about something to eat or drink?”
“That would be nice.”
“I’ll get you one of our bar menus. On the house, of course.”
“That’s very kind.”
“We’re always happy to help the police.”
If Leo Riley ever found out what I’d been up to, I’d be all kinds of dead.
I didn’t want to take too many liberties, so I settled for sandwiches, a bowl of chips and a lemonade. I’d no idea what time of day Gordon Rice had visited the restaurant, so I was forced to watch the CCTV from the time the restaurant opened. I set the recording to fast forward, but not so fast that I might miss something. It made for tedious viewing, but I had to maintain my concentration.
During the first hour or so of the recording, there was very little activity. Things started to pick up as lunchtime approached. I had to keep my wits about me to make sure I checked all the customers as they arrived and left. When the time-stamp showed two-thirty, the level of activity dropped off once again.
“Can I get you another drink?” The manager was back to check on my well-being.
“A cup of tea would be nice.”
“Milk and sugar?”
“Milk and one and two-thirds spoonfuls of sugar, please.”
He’d obviously been well trained in the hospitality industry because he didn’t even blink at my exacting sugar requirements.
“Would you like anything with that? We have some delicious cakes.”
“Anything chocolatey?”
“I’m sure I can find something.”
I was beginning to enjoy this.
The slice of chocolate cake was delicious, and enormous, but somehow I managed to finish it.
The action on the CCTV had slowed down considerably. No one had arrived in the car park for the previous twenty minutes, but then a blue Fiat car pulled up. Was that Gordon? I had no idea what kind of car he drove. Nope. It was a woman. Five minutes later, a red Peugeot arrived. This time it was Gordon Rice who disappeared into the restaurant. From what Gordon had told me, the police believed that he had sneaked out the back door, gone to the factory, killed his brother, and then returned to the restaurant. There was no CCTV coverage at the back of the building, so there was no proof that he’d ever left the restaurant. The evidence was purely circumstantial, but it didn’t help his case that he had apparently lied about the phone call he’d received from Douglas. I continued to watch the screen—waiting for Gordon to leave. About ninety minutes further into the recording, the woman in the blue Fiat left. A few minutes later, Gordon drove away. I thanked the restaurant manager for his hospitality, and then took my leave.
The petrol station manager wasn’t as convivial. He moaned and groaned that he’d already been through this once, but he allowed me to view the footage anyway. It was much easier this time because I was now aware of the time-frame during which Gordon was supposed to have sneaked out of the restaurant. Sure enough, roughly twenty minutes after the time I’d seen footage of him parking his car in the restaurant car park, a figure came into frame, and disappeared into the unit. The quality of the CCTV wasn’t great, and the figure never faced the camera, but it certainly appeared to be Gordon Rice.
The CCTV set-up at the petrol station was fairly basic, and had very little by way of security. I hadn’t been able to take a copy of the restaurant’s CCTV, but with this set-up, I was able to ‘cut out’ the clip I needed, and email it to my phone. At least now, if I needed to view it again, I could do so without having to go all the way back to the petrol station.
I felt this case was getting away from me a little, but there was still one more person I wanted to talk to, and that was Jordan Rice’s wife, Sandra.
***
I’d promised to attend the first art exhibition to be held at Cuppy C, but in all honesty, I would much rather have given it a miss because it was bound to be an unmitigated disaster. I’d tried my best to warn the twins about Dolly, but they had dismissed my concerns out of hand—as usual.
As I approached the shop, I expected to hear the sound of raucous laughter, as everyone poked fun at Dolly’s ‘masterpieces’, but instead, there was barely a sound coming from inside. Maybe everyone had already left in disgust at having been brought there under false pretences?
I took a deep breath, and stepped inside the shop.
Far from being empty, Cuppy C was heaving with people, and many of them were not regulars. Judging by the way they were dressed, these were the upper-class punters that the twins had been hoping to attract. What was even more surprising was the fact that everyone seemed to be enthralled by the paintings.
“Her use of colour is exquisite,” a woman wearing a bird’s nest hat said.
“The paintings speak to my very soul,” a man with a monocle commented.
And on and on it went. Everywhere I looked, people were discussing Dolly’s paintings. And no one was laughing.
“What did we tell you, Jill?” Pearl appeared behind me. “It’s a roaring success.”
“How?” I whispered. “Look at these things. They’re awful.”
Amber joined us. “Have you ever considered that you’re not cultured enough to appreciate such works of art, Jill?”
I ushered them behind the counter, and through to the stairs where we could speak more freely.
“You two are having a laugh, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?” Pearl said.
“You know these paintings are rubbish. You’re just encouraging that crowd out there to go along with the ‘Emperor’s New Clothes’ charade.”
“You just can’t admit you’re wrong, can you?” Amber said. “Everyone thinks Dolly’s paintings are masterpieces. Everyone except you.”
“They’re not masterpieces. They are complete—”
Just then, the artist herself joined us.
“err—complete—err—completely fantastic,” I said. “I love them, Dolly.”
What? Who are you calling two-faced?
“Thank you, Jill. I never dreamed it would go as well as this. I’ve already sold four paintings.”
“It’s no more than you deserve,” I heard myself say.
After Dolly had gone back into the shop, the twins both gave me a look. I couldn’t be sure if it was disbelief or disapproval—probably both.
The exhibition was still in full swing when I made my excuses and left.
It was now official. I knew nothing whatsoever about art.
***
I’d arranged to visit Rhoda Riddle’s house to bring her up to date on her son’s disappearance. She’d asked if Maddy and Lionel could join us, and I’d said that was a good idea. Rather than have to conduct the meeting outdoors, I once again shrank myself to pixie size so I could get into the house. Rhoda gave us all a cup of pixie tea, which I’d never tried before. It was delicious.
We were seated around an oval shaped dining table.
“I’ll be honest with you, Rhoda,” I said. “I’m no closer to finding Robbie, but I do have a couple of leads I’m still working on.”
“What kind of leads?”
“Well, for a start, I now know th
at Robbie isn’t the only pixie to have gone missing in recent weeks.”
“I’d heard rumours that was the case, but I didn’t believe it,” Rhoda said. “Surely, if that was true, the police would have investigated?”
“They should have, but the truth is that they’re not treating any of the disappearances as suspicious. They believe Robbie and the others left of their own free will. That might be okay if it was a single disappearance, but there really is no excuse for them not to take it more seriously now that three pixies are missing.”
“Do you think I should go back to the police?”
“It can’t do any harm, but it probably won’t do much good either. My impression of the Candlefield police to-date has been less than favourable.”
“You said you had a couple of leads,” Maddy said.
“Yes. While I was at Pixie Central College, someone slipped a note into my pocket suggesting I check out something called BeHuman. I don’t know who or what it is, but it’s possible they may have something to do with the disappearances. The problem is, so far, I haven’t been able to find any information about them. I’m not sure they even exist.”
“Robbie mentioned them to me,” Lionel said.
“He did? When?”
“A few weeks ago. You know what Robbie is like.” Lionel turned to Maddy. “He’s always rattling on about the human world. He’d just come from one of those meetings of his.”
“The Human World Society?” I suggested.
“Yeah. That was it. To be honest, I got fed up of listening to him going on about it. Anyway, he mentioned a company which he reckoned was going to change everything.”
“Change everything how?”
“I’ve no idea. I’d totally switched off by then. He did give me a leaflet, though. I just shoved it in my pocket.”
“Do you still have it?”
“I think so. It’s in the pocket of my jacket, back at my place.”
“In that case, Rhoda and Maddy, you stay here. I’ll go with you, Lionel. I want to see this leaflet.”
For a little guy, Lionel walked at one heck of a pace. By the time we reached his place, I was out of breath. So much for my new fitness regime.