by Adele Abbott
“Who did you think he was?”
“I thought he was you.”
“Me? How could you possibly confuse the two of us? We—”
“Don’t look like one another. Yeah, so you said. You certainly do to me.”
“How did you come to realise that Lou wasn’t me?”
“The chrome.”
“Chrome?”
“He has rather an unhealthy obsession with it.”
“That’s true.” Luther laughed. “So, if Lou isn’t your type, does that mean you’re still on the market?”
“Not really. I’m actually seeing someone else now.”
“Who’s the lucky man?”
“A policeman. Nobody you’d know.”
“It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?”
“I thought you and Lucinda were an item.”
“We were, kind of, but it just didn’t work out, so I’m back on the market now.” He laughed. “You don’t know of any eligible young women who have a thing for accountants, do you?”
Typical! When I was single and hoping for a date with Luther, he was spoken for. Now, when it looked as though my relationship with Jack might actually be going somewhere, Luther was suddenly available.
There were times when I was convinced that someone had it in for me.
***
“Any progress with the murder enquiry, dear?” Mrs V asked, as soon as I walked into the office the next morning.
“Not a lot, to be honest. I’ve spoken to Doris Drystone and Wanda Moore, but I haven’t made a great deal of progress. One piece of interesting information has come to light, though.”
“What’s that?”
“You remember the notes that were left next to the victims?”
“The ones written in French?”
“It turns out that it wasn’t French after all. It didn’t say ‘knit une, kill une’. It said ‘knit one, kill one’. The letter ‘O’ had obviously worn thin on the typewriter key, so instead of looking like an ‘O’, it looked like a ‘U’.”
“How did you work that out?”
“I can’t take the credit for it. Tom Hawk, the man who’s deputising for Jack Maxwell, told me. That means the whole case now hinges on finding the typewriter with the faulty letter ‘O’. If we can find that, we’ve probably got our murderer. Do you know of anyone in your knitting circle who has an old-school, manual typewriter?”
“I don’t. I used to have one myself, but that’s years ago. I called her Bessie. I loved that old girl. I typed so many love letters on her.”
“Focus, Mrs V, focus.”
“Sorry dear, I was getting rather nostalgic there. I don’t know anyone in the knitting circle who has one. In fact, the only old-fashioned, manual typewriter I’ve seen in the last ten or fifteen years, was at the local history museum. They have a part of the museum set up to look like a sixties office. I only know because Felicity Dale, one of the members of our knitting circle, works there. I went to see her at the museum a few months ago, and she gave me a tour. Have you ever been there, Jill?”
“Not since I was a kid.” It bored me senseless.
“It’s extremely interesting.”
I bet. “Okay, thanks, Mrs V. I’ll look into it.”
I didn’t want to build up her hopes, but Mrs V might just have given me the missing piece to the puzzle. Arnold Crowsfoot worked as a security guard at the local history museum, so he would have had access to the sixties office. If that typewriter had a worn letter ‘O’, then I might just have my man.
***
My office went suddenly chilly, and the chair at the other side of my desk began to swivel. Moments later, Colonel Briggs appeared.
“I think I’m getting the hang of this ghost thing.” He looked rather pleased with himself. “I managed to attach myself to you first time.”
“Well done, Colonel. Who said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? How are you settling into Ghost Town?”
“Very well, Jill, thanks. My house in Ghost Town isn’t a patch on my old place, but you can’t have everything. I’m just grateful to still be here, so to speak.”
“Have you seen anything of Mrs Burnbridge?”
“I did pop over to her house, but I didn’t attach myself to her in case I scared her. She seems to be enjoying her retirement.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“I believe she’s going to buy a bungalow on the coast. It’s nice to see she’s putting the money I left her to good use. Speaking of which, what’s your brother-in-law done with his windfall?”
“He used most of it to set up his own landscaping business. Peter’s worked for other people all his life, and for one reason or another, the jobs have never lasted. He thought it was time to be his own boss.”
“What a terrific idea! He’s very talented; he should do well.”
“I’m sure he will, and it’s all thanks to you.”
“Don’t mention it. It was the very least I could do.”
“Peter is also going to buy a drum kit for my nephew, Mikey.”
“I’m not sure that’s quite such a good idea, but still, Peter knows what he’s doing. Anyway, there’s a reason I’m here today. I was hoping to get some advice from you.”
“How can I help?”
“You know that Priscilla’s taken a bit of a shine to me.”
“Yes. How’s that going?”
“It’s so long since I dated anyone, I’ve lost touch. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I wasn’t sure who to turn to for advice, but then I happened to bump into your mother, and she suggested I speak to you. She said that you dated a lot of men, so you’d be in a good position to advise me.”
My mother said what? We were going to have words.
“The best advice I can give you, Colonel, is the same advice I’d give to anyone: Be yourself. If you try to be something you’re not, Priscilla will see straight through you.”
I laughed. “See straight through you? Get it?”
He looked puzzled for a moment, but then smiled. “A joke?”
“Allegedly. Never mind. As I was saying, just be yourself.”
“You’re right. That’s what I’ll do. And when we go on our next date, should I buy her a little present?”
“It’s always nice to receive a present.”
“Flowers perhaps?”
“Yeah, flowers would be nice. Most women appreciate them. Or maybe chocolates. Chocolates would be perfectly acceptable.”
“What about skimpy underwear?”
“No! Definitely not! Way too soon for that!”
“You’re right, sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Thank you for your help, Jill. I really do appreciate it. I’d better be going because I still find this attaching business a little tiring. Please give my regards to Peter, and tell him that I wish him every success in his new business.”
“I can’t really do that, Colonel.”
“Why not?”
“How would I explain that I’ve been talking to a ghost?”
“Oh yes, of course. I’m a ghost, aren’t I? I keep forgetting about that. Silly me. Bye then.”
“Bye, Colonel. See you soon.”
***
The local history museum was right next door to the library. It was a small grey building, and somewhere I hadn’t visited since I was at junior school. I’d blanked that visit from my memory, but it all came back to me now. I’d been bored out of my brain, and had been amusing myself by dropping marbles off the first floor balcony. I still swear that I didn’t see our history teacher below me. She came from nowhere. Still, it wasn’t all bad. The visit had to be cut short after Miss Bluestairs was taken to A&E for stiches. I seem to remember Charlie Hillder was accused of causing her injury. I did the only honourable thing, and let him carry the can for it.
What? He had bad breath, so he totally deserved it.
Unsurprisingly, there was no entrance fee. Who in their right mind would pay to go in there? If they�
��d had any sense, they would have charged people to get out—that way they would have cleaned up.
I appeared to be the only visitor—big surprise! The reception desk was tucked away in one corner. Behind it, sat an elderly lady with a blue rinse. She greeted me with a smile.
“Hi, are you Felicity Dale?”
“Yes, I am. Do I know you?”
“I’m Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. I think you know my P.A, Annabel Versailles?”
“Of course, V. We’re in the same knitting circle.”
“So I understand. I know this is rather an unusual request, but I believe you have a section of the museum set out as a sixties office?”
“That’s right, dear, we do.”
“And I believe there’s a manual typewriter among the exhibits?”
“Yes, there is.”
“Would I be able to try out the typewriter?”
“No, I’m sorry, dear. I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
“It will only take me a couple of minutes.”
“I can’t allow you to touch any of the exhibits without getting permission from my supervisor.”
“In that case, would you ask your supervisor if I could take a look at the typewriter? I just need to press a few keys.”
“Yes, of course, but my supervisor isn’t based here. With all the recent cutbacks, he has to cover several areas.”
“Could you phone him, perhaps?”
“We have to submit every request in writing.”
“Could you email him, then?”
“I’m afraid we have to send it through the post.”
No wonder they called this place the local history museum. It was like stepping back in time.
“Okay then. Never mind—it’s not important.”
“Are you sure? Because I could write him a letter, and drop it in the post tonight.”
“No, really. It’s okay.”
I had to see that typewriter, and I didn’t have time to wait for the wheels of bureaucracy to turn. I needed to distract Felicity somehow. But how? Then I noticed an unusual umbrella in the stand beside her desk. The bird pattern on it gave me an idea.
I cast the ‘illusion’ spell.
“How did that bird get in here?” Felicity looked in disbelief at the peacock that she saw standing where the umbrella had been. “Oh dear, oh dear. It must have come from the park. I’d better go and get security. I don’t want it to make a mess all over the floor. Will you excuse me for a moment, Jill?”
“Yes, of course.”
With that, Felicity scuttled off towards the back of the building. This was my chance. By casting the ‘faster’ spell, I was able to dash around the building in only a few seconds; I soon found the sixties office. Sure enough, there on the desk was the typewriter in question. Fortunately, there was a pile of paper next to it—to add authenticity, presumably. I fed a sheet into the typewriter, and typed the letter ‘O’.
No! I couldn’t believe it. The letter printed on the paper was a perfect ‘O’.
I’d been so sure this was the typewriter that had been used for the notes found beside the murder victims, and that Arthur Crowsfoot had been my man. But I’d got it badly wrong.
I quickly made my way towards the exit. As I was leaving, I saw Felicity standing next to a tall man in a blue uniform.
“But it was there!” Felicity said. “Where the umbrella is now. It had blue and green feathers.”
The man gave her a doubtful look. “Are you sure about this Ms Dale? Only we don’t get many peacocks in the museum.”
“Yes, I’m positive.”
“Maybe it’s gone back to the park.”
I felt a little guilty at making her look silly, particularly as it had all been to no avail.
Chapter 7
I was back to square one with the knitting circle case. If the murderer wasn’t Arthur Crowsfoot, then who was it?
Suddenly, Mrs V came rushing into my office. She looked panic-stricken.
“Mrs V? Are you okay? Don’t tell me another one of your knitting circle has been murdered?”
“No, thank goodness.”
“What is it then?”
“I’m so sorry. With all the upset, I completely forgot to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“I should have remembered.”
“It’s okay. But what exactly did you forget to tell me?”
“There was a telephone message for you. Late last night, after you left. They said that a tax inspector would be coming to see you this morning.”
Oh bum!
“She’s here now. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t give it another thought, Mrs V. You’ve had much more important things on your mind.”
I hated all things tax—especially paying them. But why would a tax inspector want to see me now? I was up-to-date with my filings as far as I was aware. Maybe, if I climbed out of the window, walked along the ledge, and then climbed through one of the windows into Armitage, Armitage, Armitage and Poole, I might be able to avoid her. Or I could just make myself invisible?
But what would that achieve? Those people never gave up; she’d keep coming back until she caught me. I might as well get it over and done with.
“You’d better show her in, please.”
I took a deep breath and hoped for the best. And then, in walked my neighbour, Betty Longbottom. I’d totally forgotten she was a tax inspector. Suddenly, things didn’t seem quite so bad. Betty and I were friends, and I’d helped her out of a tight spot with the police, so she wouldn’t do anything to hurt me or my business. What a stroke of luck!
“Hi, Betty.”
“Miss Longbottom, if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m here in my official capacity as a tax inspector, so I’d be grateful if you would address me as Miss Longbottom.”
“Are you kidding?” She didn’t answer, but I could tell by her expression that she wasn’t. “Okay, Miss Longbottom. Would you care to take a seat?”
“Thank you.” She sniffed the air. “Is it my imagination? Or is there a very strong smell of cat in here?”
“He’s over there.” I pointed to Winky who was resting after his latest semaphore class. “He doesn’t smell.” Much.
“Hmm?” She screwed up her nose.
Mrs V came back into my office; she was carrying a small pile of scarves.
“I forgot to ask you, young lady. Would you care for a scarf? I have all colours and sizes. I have socks too, if you’d prefer those?”
“I’m not allowed to accept gifts of any kind. It’s against the rules. Tax inspection is a very sensitive area. It’s essential that we’re seen to be squeaky clean.”
I almost choked. Betty Longbottom—squeaky clean? This was the woman who’d been shoplifting as a hobby for years; the woman who had an Aladdin’s cave of stolen goods in her apartment, and who’d asked me to rescue her from the police when she’d been caught red-handed. It was only because I’d used magic to hide the contraband that she’d got away with it. Now, she had the audacity to sit there, and say that she couldn’t accept a scarf because it might be seen as a bribe! The two-faced little madam!
Mrs V backed out of the room.
“So what is it that you want, Bet—err, Miss Longbottom?”
“We’ve had reports, Miss Gooder.”
“What kind of reports?”
“Reports that you’re paying your staff off the books.”
“How do you mean, ‘off the books’? And anyway, I don’t have any staff.”
“What about the woman out there; the woman with the scarves?”
“That’s Mrs V. She’s not really staff. She’s—well, I suppose in theory she’s my P.A.”
“What’s that if it’s not staff?”
“Basically, Mrs V just knits all day.”
“But she does answer the phone?”
“Occasionally. If she’s not knitting anything too complicated.”
“I suppose so. She usually offers them a scarf or a pair of socks.”
“How much do you pay her?”
“Nothing.”
“Come, Miss Gooder. Do you really expect me to believe that? Who in their right mind would work for you for nothing?”
“I don’t ask her to work for nothing.”
“So you do pay her?”
“No.”
“Do you pay her under the table?”
“I don’t pay her under the table, on top of the table or behind the table. I don’t pay her at all. She chooses to come here because she’d rather do that than stay home alone.”
Betty gave me a sceptical look. This could turn nasty. No one was ever going to believe that Mrs V came to work without pay. It was far more likely that they’d think I was paying her ‘cash-in-hand’ so as to avoid tax.
I had to kill this investigation quickly, and the best way to do that was to remind Betty that she owed me a favour.
“By the way, Miss Longbottom, did you have a clear-out yet?”
“Sorry?”
“Those items in your spare bedroom; the ones that the police were interested in?”
“I’m not here to discuss my personal affairs, Miss Gooder. I’m here to discuss whether or not you are defrauding the tax office.”
“Oh, okay. I just assumed you’d prefer no one found out about that.”
“You’re not threatening me, are you, Miss Gooder?”
“Of course not. Because that would be a very serious offence. No threats involved here.”
“I think the only way to resolve this matter is for me to speak with your accountant.”
Hold on just a doggone minute. Betty knew full well that Luther was my accountant. She must have heard he was no longer in a relationship. All this was just a clever ploy, so that I’d arrange for her to meet with him. The crafty little madam!
“You want to meet with Luther?”
“Is he your accountant?” She feigned surprise. “I hadn’t realised.”
Yeah right! This woman could lie for England.
“I’m sure you hadn’t. I’ll have a word with him, and ask him to contact you. What’s your office phone number?”