by Adele Abbott
As I stumbled down the stairs, I could hear the sound of the TV coming from the lounge. What was that doing on at this unearthly hour?
“Jack? What’s going on?”
“Shush! Just a minute. I need to watch this part closely.”
It took a few moments for my eyes to focus, but then I realised he was watching ballroom dancing.
“What on earth is this?”
“Just one more minute. Oh, that is quite superb.” He muted the TV, and turned to me. “Sorry? What did you say?”
“I asked what you were watching.”
“It’s Broom TV. I don’t know why I haven’t watched it before. It’s amazing. Did you see that last couple? Such fantastic footwork.”
“Yeah. Great. But why are you watching it at stupid o’clock? It woke me up.”
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised it was so loud, but I do need to hone my observation skills ahead of the big competition.”
“It’s only Grandma’s silly little competition.”
“How can you say that when it’s going to be broadcast live on Broom TV? Don’t you realise what that means?”
“That a couple of people and their dog might see it?”
“Broom TV has an audience which numbers into the tens of thousands, and they’ll all be watching me. If I mess up, my reputation will be in ruins.”
“Does that mean that you plan to do this every morning until a week on Sunday?”
“Yes, but I promise to keep the volume down from now on.”
“Seeing as how you disturbed my beauty sleep, the least you can do is make breakfast.”
“Fair enough. Toast?”
“You’re not getting off that lightly. I’ll have a full English.”
Say what you like about Jack, but he did make the best full English in Smallwash. He had to shoot off straight after breakfast; I followed twenty minutes later.
“Hi, Clare. Hi, Tony,” I said to the man-sized banana and pear that were in next door’s garden.
“Morning, Jill,” the banana, AKA Tony, greeted me.
“Hiya.” The pear waved.
“Another con this weekend, I assume?”
“Yes. Can you guess what it is?”
“I’d say FruitCon, but I guess that’s too obvious.”
“Way too obvious. It’s actually SlotCon.”
“What’s that?”
“It celebrates all manner of slot machines. We’re getting together with a few friends—collectively we’ll be the fruit machine symbols.”
“Of course. It’s so obvious now.”
“Actually, Jill. A couple of people have dropped out, which means we’ve lost our cherries. I don’t suppose you and Jack would take their places, would you? We could provide you with the costumes.”
“Thanks for the offer, but we’ve arranged to visit Jack’s parents. Good luck with it, though.”
I was just about to reverse off the drive when I got a call from Grandma. She asked—or to be more accurate—told me to call in at Ever on my way into work. The morning was just getting better and better: I’d been woken at the crack of dawn by the sound of ballroom dancing, then accosted by a couple of giant fruits, and now I’d have to face Grandma. I had my fingers crossed that she wouldn’t be treating her bunions when I got there. There’s only so much one person can bear.
When I stopped at the toll booth, Mr Ivers had one arm in a sling.
“Oh dear. How did you break your arm?”
“It isn’t broken.” He took it out of the sling just to prove the point. “I’m using this to rest my elbow. I put one arm in the sling for an hour, and then I swap to the other arm.”
“Does it help?”
“A little, but I’d still prefer to find someone to take the cash for me. I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered my offer, have you?”
“Sorry, it’s not for me.”
***
The door to Ever was locked when I got there; the Everettes obviously weren’t early starters. When Grandma let me in, I was relieved to see she was wearing shoes—the potential bunion crisis had been averted.
She led me through to her office.
“I suppose Jack has told you I’ve asked him to be a judge at the competition.”
“He has. He’s very excited.”
“And honoured to, I would hope?”
“That goes without saying.”
“This is the inaugural competition, so we’re expecting a big crowd and a massive TV audience. Jack will have to hire a top of the range dress suit.”
“He already has a nice charcoal suit that—”
“No, that won’t do at all. Tell him to call me, and I’ll give him the name of a suitable dress hire establishment.”
“I assume you’ll be covering his expenses?”
“In your dreams.” She cackled. “And you’ll need to spruce yourself up too. We can’t have you letting the side down.”
“I’ll do my best. Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?”
“I want an update on the witchfinder situation. Have you spoken to Yvonne yet?”
“No. It isn’t really something we can discuss on the phone.”
“This is urgent, Jill. They could already be living among us here in Washbridge.”
“Don’t panic. Jack and I are going to Yvonne’s on Saturday.”
“Good. In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for any new or unusual characters. You have to be on your guard. I assume you still have the Brewflower?”
“Yes, I’ve still got several syringes left from the last encounter with a witchfinder.”
“Do you have it with you now?”
“Well, no, not at the moment. It’s in the drawer at work.”
“A lot of good that will do if the witchfinder attacks you. You must keep it with you at all times.”
“Okay. I will.”
When I came out of Grandma’s office, Kathy was in the tea room; she was a vision in red.
“I never get tired of seeing you in that outfit.” I chuckled.
“Shut it! I’m not in the mood this morning.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The kids have been driving me insane. Lizzie was talking to herself in her bedroom again. I’m beginning to think that I should take her to see the doctor.”
“Don’t be silly. I told you what that’s all about. She just has an imaginary friend. It’s really nothing to worry about.”
“Maybe. And Mikey decided it would be a good idea to practise his fly-fishing cast in the living room. He managed to hook that favourite vase of mine.”
“You mean the ugly one, on the mantelpiece?”
“It wasn’t ugly.”
“Wasn’t?”
“It’s in a thousand pieces now.”
“You must have been glad to get out of the house and come to work, then?”
“Oh yeah. I love being run off my feet while dressed like this. What brings you down here at this time of the morning, anyway?”
“I was summoned by Grandma. I assume you’ve heard that she’s roped Jack into being one of the judges for the ballroom dancing competition.”
“I have. How does he feel about that?”
“He’s over the moon. He was up at the crack of dawn so that he could watch Broom TV. Oh well, I suppose I should get going before the rest of the Everettes arrive.” I hesitated. “I’ve just had a thought: With a name like the Everettes, you guys should start your own dance troupe. You could give The Coven a run for their money.”
If looks could kill.
Snigger.
***
Jules, Lules and Gilbert were in the outer office, but none of them seemed to notice my arrival because they were too busy arguing. At first glance, it appeared that Lules and Gilbert were siding against Jules.
“Hey! Timeout!” I shouted.
“Sorry, Jill.” Jules was red in the face.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m trying to talk some sense into my sist
er, and he isn’t helping.” She pointed an accusing finger at Gilbert.
“I don’t need your help or your advice!” Lules barked. “I’m not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
“Enough!” I raised my hand. “Will someone please tell me what this is all about? Jules?”
“Lules has entered the Miss Bottle Top competition. I’ve told her that it’s demeaning, and that she shouldn’t be making a show of herself.”
“It isn’t demeaning at all,” Lules insisted. “And besides, it will be good for my career. The people at the modelling agency have told me that I need to raise my profile if I want to get work.”
“Not like this!” Jules shouted.
“There’s nothing demeaning about this type of competition. They’re not like they used to be years ago. These days, it’s as much about personality and product knowledge as it is about looks.”
“Jules is right,” Gilbert chipped in.
“You can be quiet!” Jules slapped him down. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t given Lules the idea, she wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I’m not in a mess. I’m in a competition, and nothing you or anyone else says, is going to change my mind.”
“I wash my hands of you, then.” Jules stood up and stormed out.
“She’ll get over it,” Gilbert said.
I wasn’t so sure.
“I actually came to see you, Jill,” Lules said.
“Oh?”
“When I won the Miss Black Pudding competition, I already had all the product knowledge I needed to get me through that part of the contest. Bottle tops are different. I know next to nothing about them.”
“Can’t Gilbert help you with that?”
“Yes, but only so far. What I really need is an expert. That’s why I thought of you.”
“Me? I don’t know anything about bottle tops.”
“No, but you know the guy who owns Top Of The World, don’t you?”
“Norman? Yeah, I know him.”
“I was hoping that you might have a word with him. Ask if he’d be willing to tutor me ahead of the competition.”
“If your mind is made up, then yes, I’ll have a word with him for you.”
“Thanks, Jill. You’re a star.”
***
When I went through to my office, I expected Winky to be waiting for me, demanding to be fed, but there was no sign of him.
“Winky?”
No response.
I crouched down, and looked under the sofa. A single eye was looking back at me.
“Are you alone?” he whispered.
“Of course I am.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
He crept forward, gingerly—all the time, glancing back and forth around the room.
“What’s going on, Winky?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged.
“Don’t give me that. You look scared.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m perfectly—”
Winky shot back under the sofa because he’d heard something clatter in the outer office—it was probably Jules throwing something at Gilbert.
“Don’t let them get me.” He sounded terrified.
“Don’t let who get you?”
“Anyone. If they ask, you haven’t seen me. Tell them I’ve left the country.”
I walked over to the office door, and peeked out. Just as I’d suspected, Jules and Gilbert were fighting again.
“It’s only Jules and her boyfriend.” I went back to crouching next to the sofa.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Now, why don’t you come on out, and tell me what this is all about?”
“You were right,” he said.
Now I knew something was seriously amiss. Winky never admitted I was right about anything.
“About what?”
“I should never have got involved with that evil game.”
“Poker?”
“Yeah.”
“I did warn you. What happened?”
“It was all going great. I’d trebled my money.”
“But?”
“But then, I got a full house: tens over sixes. So naturally, I went all in.”
“And?”
“Big Gordy had a straight flush.”
“Oh dear.”
“He cheated. I’m sure of it. It was a set-up.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Of course not.”
“So, you lost all of your money. That’s a lesson learned.”
“It’s much worse than that. Big Gordy lent me some cash.”
“You borrowed money to continue to play? That was a terrible idea.”
“I thought I could win.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No. I lost big time, and now I’m in the hole to Big Gordy for over a grand.”
“You lost a grand of his money? Are you insane?”
“No, but I’ll be dead when Big Gordy gets a hold of me. I was meant to pay him first thing this morning, but I don’t have that kind of cash to hand.”
“With all the money-making schemes that you run? You must have.”
“The money is all tied up. I can’t get my hands on the cash that quickly. I’ll just have to lay low until I’ve raised the money plus interest. In the meantime, if a big, fat, ugly cat comes around here—”
“I haven’t seen you?”
“Got it in one.”
Chapter 6
I’d managed to contact the two season ticket holders who had been on the Washbridge Flyer when Gena and Gary Shore died. Both of them had agreed to talk to me.
Stanley Sidcup was a retired banker. He lived in Top Wash; one of the most expensive suburbs of Washbridge. His house, although obviously worth a ton of money, was seriously ugly. The house’s nameplate was shaped like a train, and when I pressed the doorbell, it didn’t ring a bell, but made the sound of a steam engine.
“You must be Miss Gooder.” Sidcup answered the door, wearing a smoking jacket, which had a steam train motif.
“Call me Jill, please.”
“Spiffing. And you must call me Stanley.” He stepped to one side. “Do come in. Can I get you anything to drink? Scotch? Wine?”
“It’s a little early for me.”
“Quite. A cup of tea, then?”
“That would be lovely.”
“Spiffing. Momsy! Are you there?”
A grey-haired woman appeared from a door at the far side of the hall. “You called, Popsy?”
“Momsy. This young lady is Jill Gooder. She’s here to talk to me about the Washbridge Flyer incident.”
“Terrible business.” The woman frowned. “Yours must be a difficult job, dear?”
“It can be.”
Although no formal introductions had been made, I was working on the assumption that Momsy and Popsy were man and wife.
“Momsy,” Stanley said. “Would you make some tea for us? How do you take yours, Jill?”
“Milk and two-thirds spoonfuls of sugar, please.”
“And biscuits?”
“Do you have any custard creams?”
“Sorry. Everything but. They bring Popsy out in a rash, don’t they, dear?”
“Always have done.”
Freak!
“Just the tea then, thanks.”
Stanley led the way through to a large reception room, which was filled with all manner of railway memorabilia.
“My one vice,” he said, as he ushered me into a leather armchair. “I’ve spent a small fortune on this stuff, but a man has to have a hobby, doesn’t he?”
I nodded, and an image of Jack’s bowling shirts popped into my head. What was it with men and their stupid hobbies?
“So, Jill? How can I help?”
Before I could answer, Momsy brought the tea through. “Would you like me to stay?” she asked, once she’d passed the drinks to us.
“Were you on The Flyer that day, too?”
“Goodness, no. I have better things to do with my Sundays. I was playing bridge at my club.”
“In that case, it’s just Stanley I need to speak to.”
“Jolly good. Well, it was nice to meet you, Jill. Don’t let Popsy bore you to death, telling you about his collection.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
Stanley took out a pipe, and popped it into his mouth. Great! I loved being choked by tobacco smoke.
“Don’t worry, Jill. I never light it. I smoked a pipe for thirty years until Momsy put her foot down and made me stop. She said she didn’t want me popping my clogs before she did. I haven’t lit it for over three years, but I still find it helps me to relax, just having it in my mouth. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“So, how can I help, exactly?”
“I understand from Desmond Sidings that you have a season ticket for The Flyer. That must be quite expensive?”
“I suppose it is, but what else am I going to spend my money on at my age? Momsy has her bridge and her ladies’ lunches; I have my steam train.”
“Can you tell me about that day? Did you see the couple who died?”
“Yes, I was in the same carriage as them. They were celebrating their wedding anniversary, or so he said. When they came onto the train, they were weighed down with champagne, flowers and chocolates.”
“Did they both seem okay?”
“The man was very loud, but the woman seemed subdued. I thought perhaps she was embarrassed by all the fuss he was making.”
“Were you seated near to them?”
“Right across the aisle. The man asked if I’d take a photo of them on his phone, and I agreed, but then he noticed my camera.” Stanley grinned. “When I said I only had the one vice, I was lying. I’m something of a photography buff too. Anyway, he said that as it was a special occasion, they should have a ‘proper’ photo. He asked if I’d take a picture of them with my camera, and email him a copy.”
“Did you take one?”
“Yes, but I have to say, she didn’t seem very keen. It took me all of my time just to get her to smile.”