by Adele Abbott
“Good morning, Jill,” she said in her fake posh voice.
“Morning, Betty.”
“We high-flying businesswomen need our coffee breaks, don’t we, Jill?”
“Err? Yeah, I guess so.” Why was she acting all weird again? “Look, Betty, I’m really sorry about the pigeon incident the other day.”
“Let’s not talk about that,” she snapped.
“But it must have been embarrassing for you when that pigeon landed on my shoulder. It’s not really the image you were trying to portray.”
She turned around and shouted over her shoulder, “Cut! Cut! I don’t want any of that included in the show.”
Only then did I realise there was a camera crew hovering in the background.
“Really, Jill,” she said in her normal voice. “I’m trying to create a good impression here. The least you could do is to play along.”
“I would have done if I’d realised you were on-camera.”
“The next time I see you, if I speak in a posh voice, it means the camera crew is filming me, and you need to be on your best behaviour. Okay?”
“Okay, Betty, whatever you say.”
Sheesh!
I was on my way back up the high street when I spotted Armi, a few yards in front of me. I was about to call to him when he ducked inside Ever. I couldn’t for the life of me think why he’d have occasion to go in there.
Curiosity got the better of me and I followed him inside. As I walked through the door, I spotted him on the stairs, headed for the roof terrace, so I did the same. There was no one else up there, so I held back and watched what he did. He headed to a small apple tree, which certainly hadn’t been there on my previous visit. Armi then took what appeared to be a twenty-pound note out of his pocket and placed it in the box next to the tree. Next, he picked an apple, and shoved it in his pocket.
As he made his way back to the stairs, I stepped out in front of him.
“Armi, what are you doing up here?”
“Nothing.” He couldn’t have looked any more guilty if he’d tried.
“I saw you put money in that box and then take an apple.”
“You won’t tell Annabel about any of this will you?”
“Tell her what?”
“I heard about it from a friend of a friend.”
“Heard about what, Armi? You aren’t making any sense.”
“I was told that the apples on that tree are supposed to make you feel twenty years younger. I didn’t believe it at first, but I decided it couldn’t do any harm to give it a try. To my amazement, it actually worked. The results are remarkable. I feel just like a young man again.”
That explained why Armi had been feeling so frisky recently.
“I see.”
“You won’t say anything, will you, Jill?”
“Of course not. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks. I’d better get going.” He shot off down the stairs.
I was intrigued to find out more about the so-called magical apples, so I walked over to the tree. What Armi had told me was clearly nonsense, but I was still tempted to try one, just to see what happened.
I was about to pick an apple when—
“Leave those apples alone or put twenty pounds in the box.”
It was Grandma’s voice, but I had no idea where it was coming from. There was no sign of cameras, so how did she know I was about to take an apple?
I hurried downstairs to her office, knocked twice, and went inside. Thankfully, Grandma was wearing shoes today.
“Well, look who it is. Two visits from my granddaughter in the same week. To what do I owe this honour?”
“How did you know I was about to take one of those apples?”
“You should know by now. I’m all seeing and all hearing.”
“What’s the story with the apples? I just saw Armi up there and he seems to think that they can make you feel twenty years younger.”
“That’s because they do.”
“That’s nonsense, and you know it. I hope you’re not poisoning them with some kind of weird potion.”
“Relax. I’m not poisoning anyone. It’s just an illusion potion that makes them think they feel twenty years younger. It doesn’t actually have any effect on them at all.”
“I might’ve known. I suppose you’re making a small fortune from this.”
“Obviously. Humans are such easy targets; it would be remiss of me not to take advantage of them.”
“Unbelievable.”
“I hope you’re ready for Saturday’s broom flying practice.”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
***
Lorraine Cross had told me that her brother’s widow, Sandra, had moved to a larger house, shortly after Eddie had disappeared. Judging by her new house, and the car parked in the driveway, Sandra Broom certainly wasn’t short of money.
I wasn’t anticipating a particularly warm welcome, so I took a deep breath, braced myself, and then knocked on the door.
The woman who answered it looked as though she was dressed for a cocktail party. She was wearing designer clothes and her jewellery was probably worth more than my house.
“Can I help you?” She looked me up and down as though I was something nasty that she’d just trodden in.
“My name is Jill Maxwell. I wondered if you could spare me a few minutes?”
“Are you the woman who keeps phoning me? That private investigator woman?”
“That’s me.”
“I thought I made myself quite clear; I have nothing to say to you. I’d like you to leave now, please.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Broom, but I can’t do that.”
“If you don’t, I’ll call the police.”
“If you must, you must, but I’m not moving from this spot. Wouldn’t it be easier to spare me five minutes of your time? And then you’ll never see me again.”
“All right.” She sighed. “You’d better come in. But five minutes and not a moment longer.”
She led the way into an elaborately furnished dining room, where she sat at the head of the table. She didn’t offer me a seat.
“What exactly is it you want?”
“Just to ask a few questions about Eddie.”
“It’s Edward!”
“Sorry. Your husband’s sister has asked me to investigate his disappearance. It’s been over two years now.”
“I don’t need you to remind me how long it’s been. I’m perfectly well aware, thank you very much.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, Mrs Broom, I can’t understand why you’d object to my investigation. Surely you want to know what happened to Edward?”
“Frankly, dear, I don’t care. I gave up on that man a long time ago. Did you know he was having an affair?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I didn’t think so. That sister of his thinks Edward is some kind of saint, but he’s anything but that.”
“Do you think it’s possible he ran away with his mistress?”
“When he disappeared, that was the first thought that crossed my mind, but then that brazen hussy came to see me a couple of weeks after he’d gone missing, to ask if I knew where he was. Can you imagine? The sheer audacity of the woman.”
“Did she seem genuine or could it have been some kind of act?”
“She seemed genuine enough.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I’m afraid that isn’t repeatable.”
“Would you mind giving me the woman’s name?”
“Sylvia Long. She and Edward worked together.”
“Do you know how long the affair had been going on?”
“I neither know nor care. I found out about it a couple of months before Edward disappeared.” She checked her watch. “You’ve had your five minutes now. I’d like you to leave.”
Chapter 10
I hadn’t seen that one coming. Why hadn’t Lorraine Cross mentioned that her brother was having an affai
r? Was it possible that she didn’t know? Or had she decided to withhold that information for some reason? Was Sylvia Long the mysterious woman who Denise Black had seen with Edward Broom? Had he deliberately ‘vanished’ so that he could be with his mistress? If so, why had she turned up at Sandra Broom’s house, supposedly looking for him?
None of this made a lick of sense.
I needed to speak to Sylvia Long, so I made a phone call to Branded Context, only to discover that she’d left the company a year earlier. I asked if they’d give me her forwarding address or phone number, but they refused.
***
When I entered my office building there were two clowns staring down at me from the landing. It was only when I was halfway up the stairs that I realised it was actually a large sign, featuring life-size clowns. They were holding an arrow pointing down the corridor to Jimmy and Kimmy’s school.
“I suppose you’ve seen it, Mrs V.”
“The clown sign? Yes, I have.”
“I know that I asked Jimmy and Kimmy to put up a new sign at the top of the stairs, but it never for one minute occurred to me that they’d come up with that monstrosity. It’s even worse than the original sign. What will people think when they come through the door and see a couple of clowns looking down at them? They’ll run a mile.”
“A lot of people like clowns, Jill.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. I should wait a while because if I go down there now, I’ll probably fall out with someone. Mrs V, would you see if you can trace a woman called Sylvia Long who used to work at a company called Branded Context?”
“Is that all the information you have on her?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“It isn’t much to go on.”
“Just do your best, would you?”
Much to my surprise, Winky wasn’t broadcasting. In fact, there was no sign of him, which was just as well, because I still hadn’t forgiven him for what he’d done with the picture of my photo frame. The last time I’d checked, there were two-hundred and thirty-four comments on Instagram, and none of them were complimentary.
I was busy shuffling paperwork when Mrs V popped her head around the door.
“Jill, I’ve got two gentlemen out here to see you.”
“I’m not expecting anyone, am I?”
“No, they say they’re from Ofcom.”
“Off what?”
“Ofcom. They insist on speaking to whoever is in charge.”
“I suppose that’s me. You’d better send them in.”
The two men were dressed in identical drab suits. The tallest of the two was wearing a hat; the smaller one was bald.
“Hello, gentlemen. How can I help you today?”
“Are you in charge here?” the taller of the two said.
“Yes, I am. My name’s Jill Maxwell.”
“In that case, Ms Maxwell, perhaps you’d be kind enough to explain why you are broadcasting from these premises without a licence.”
Oh bum! I was going to kill Winky.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a private investigator and this is my office.”
“Are you trying to tell us that you aren’t running a radio station from here?”
“A radio station?” I laughed. “Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You deny it, then?”
“Of course I do. The idea is preposterous.”
“In that case, you won’t mind if we take a look around, will you?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to do that. I’m very busy at the moment.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have any choice in the matter.” He took out some paperwork and placed it on my desk. “This grants us permission to search your premises.”
Before I could stop him, the smaller man walked across the office and pulled back the screen.
“What do we have here?” He smirked.
“How did that get there?” I did my best to sound suitably surprised.
“This looks remarkably like a radio studio to me, Ms Maxwell,” the guy with the hat said.
“Oh yes, of course. Silly me. I’d totally forgotten that was there. It must have been left by the previous occupant.”
“My understanding was that you’ve occupied these same premises for several years.”
“That’s true, and I’ve been meaning to get rid of that junk ever since.”
“In that case, perhaps you’d care to tell us who has been broadcasting a station called Winky FM from these premises for the last few days. We have recordings, if you’d care to hear them?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“So, who was it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
***
Madge Rumbelow clearly missed her daughter, Cynthia, and she desperately wanted to make contact with her. Unfortunately, Cynthia was a non-believer and would have no truck with the afterlife.
I hadn’t said anything to Madge because I didn’t want to get her hopes up, but I was going to try to persuade Cynthia to be more open-minded about the spirit world. That wasn’t going to be easy because she didn’t know me from Adam, and she was unlikely to be receptive to a stranger who turned up on her doorstep and told her that she ought to believe in ghosts.
Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
On my way to the car, who should I bump into but Luther, with a pretty young woman on his arm. I assumed it must be his new girlfriend, Rebecca, who had not only lifted his spirits, but had also got him in the best shape of his life. As I drew closer, I realised that she was a werewolf; a very pretty werewolf.
“Hi, Jill, fancy meeting you here,” Luther said. “I hope my report didn’t upset you too much.”
“Of course not. It was pretty much what I expected.”
“This is Rebecca. I think I may have mentioned her to you the other day.”
“Only about a thousand times.” I turned to her. “He never stopped talking about you. It’s nice to meet you.”
She blushed. “You too.”
“I was only saying to Rebecca last night that we should have dinner with you and Jack some time,” Luther said. “In fact, I was going to phone you later today, to try to arrange something, but seeing as we’ve bumped into one another, maybe we could do it now?”
“We’d love that, but the thing is, our social calendar is chock-a-block for the next few days. We could make it a week tomorrow if that works for you?”
“That would be great, wouldn’t it, Rebecca?” She nodded. Somewhat less enthusiastically, I thought. Oblivious to her reaction, Luther continued. “Great, next Friday it is, then. I’ll give you a call beforehand to arrange the details.”
***
Madge Rumbelow’s daughter, Cynthia, had her mother’s eyes and mouth. Unfortunately for me, what came out of her mouth wasn’t exactly encouraging.
“Let me get this straight,” she snapped. “You turn up on my doorstep and expect me to believe that my mother’s ghost has been in touch with you. Have I got that right?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Do I look like I’ve just fallen off the top of a Christmas tree? I don’t know how people like you have the nerve to do this type of thing. Do you have no conscience at all?”
“I’m really sorry you feel that way, but I promise it’s the truth. I’m a medium not a conman. I didn’t choose to be contacted by your mother. It just happened. I have absolutely nothing to gain by telling you this.”
“Yeah, right. You’re just as bad as the other guy who came here.”
“What other guy?”
“The guy who was running the same kind of scam as you are. I suppose you have some of my mother’s jewellery that you’d like to sell to me too?”
“I’m sorry, but you have me totally confused now. What jewellery?”
“I honestly don’t know anything about this man, and I don’t have any jewellery to sell. The only thing I wanted to do was to let you know that your mother would like to get in touch with you.”
“And now you’ve told me, so you can do one.”
“Before I go, can I ask a favour?”
“You’ve got a nerve.” She laughed. “I’ll give you that.”
“Do you still have the photograph of the jewellery that the man gave you?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Could I have it?”
“If I give it to you, will you sling your hook?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Wait there.” She went back into the house and returned a few minutes later. “Here, take it, and I never want to see you again.”
“Thanks.” I flipped the photograph over. “What’s this number on the back?”
“It’s the guy’s phone number. He told me to call him if I changed my mind about buying the jewellery. As if. Now please leave and never come back.”
“Thank—” The door had already been slammed in my face.
I hadn’t got the result I’d hoped for—Cynthia was still an unbeliever as far as the afterlife was concerned, but I hadn’t come away empty-handed because the jewellery in the photo looked remarkably like that which Madge had described to me.
***
I should have done a big shop a couple of days ago, but I’d never got around to it, so I called at the corner shop on my way home.
Little Jack had a new pair of stilts.
“They’re very colourful, Jack.”
He clearly couldn’t hear what I was saying, so I pressed the button on the intercom.
“Your new stilts are very colourful.”
“Do you like them? The other ones were rather boring, I thought.”
“The light blue is much better.”
“Turquoise, actually.”
Whatever. “Are the hand-held scanners working yet?”