by Adele Abbott
“Okay, okay.” Amber sighed. “We’ll tell her.”
“Tomorrow.”
“You can be so hard sometimes, Jill.”
The Lils were still totally engrossed in the show, so the three of us went back through to the kitchen.
“Is that all I get?” I stared at the two custard creams.
“A couple is more than enough for anyone.”
“I know, but you’ve only given me two.”
“Two is a couple.”
“In theory, maybe.”
“No, not in theory. A couple equals two. Always.” Pearl put the packet back in the cupboard.
She could be so mean.
“Have you two recovered from the hen night?”
“Just about.”
“That’s more than I can say for Aunt Lucy.”
“We haven’t heard from Mum since Saturday night.”
“When she called me earlier, she sounded like death warmed up.”
“It was Mad’s mother that did for her,” Amber grinned. “That woman is crazy. Which reminds me, where did you and Mad disappear to? When we got to Toadstool, there was no sign of either of you.”
“Mad was feeling a bit off it, so I took her home.”
“That’s strange.” Pearl grinned. “When we spoke to Mad yesterday, she said you’d been feeling ill, so she took you home.”
“Busted.” I laughed. “We’d both had enough.”
“You oldies can’t take the pace.”
“Talking about oldies, did Grandma manage to stay the course?”
“And then some. They had to practically drag her and her crew off the dancefloor when it was time to close.”
I finished the second custard cream, coughed, and gestured to the empty plate, but Pearl simply ignored me.
“What’s happening about the self-order machines? Have you been in touch with the supplier?”
“Not exactly,” Amber said.
“What does that mean?”
“The number they gave us doesn’t exist.”
“But you know where they’re based, right?”
Pearl shook her head. “Ron, the guy who sold them to us, just came into the shop one day.”
“How did you contact him to place the order?”
“We did all the paperwork there and then in the shop.”
“Isn’t there an address on the paperwork?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then?”
“That doesn’t exist either.”
Oh boy.
***
I’d no sooner magicked myself back to Washbridge than my phone rang; it was Desdemona Nightowl.
“Jill, I thought you’d want to know that there’s been another theft. I heard about it just over an hour ago.”
“What’s been taken this time?”
“A gold bracelet belonging to Christine Ridings.”
“Where was it taken from?”
“The Nomad girls’ dormitory again.”
“I’ll be honest with you, headmistress, so far, I haven’t come up with any meaningful leads.”
“I’m sure you’re doing your best, but if this continues, I’ll have to call in the Candlefield police. I’d rather avoid that if I possibly can.”
“How would you feel about my going undercover in the Nomad dorm?”
“What do you mean by undercover?”
“If I posed as a pupil, I’d be able to witness the goings on in that dorm more closely.”
“I don’t think that will work.”
“I could use magic to make myself appear to be the right age.”
“I don’t doubt that you could, but there’s no way we’d be able to explain the sudden appearance of a new pupil. New starters are only allowed to join the school at the beginning of a new term. The thief would be bound to realise something funny was going on.”
“Right. Better scrap that plan then.”
“From what you’ve just said, Jill, it sounds like you think it was an inside job.”
“It’s certainly looking that way. Can you give me a few more days before you call in the police?”
“Of course, but please keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
As I walked back to my office building, I spotted a man who was wearing the same horrible jumper as Finn Waters had sported at The Sea’s The Limit. A little further along the street, a woman was wearing an identical jumper. By the time I’d reached my offices, I’d counted ten more people wearing them.
“Look, Jill.” Mrs V held up her version of the same jumper. “What do you think?”
“I think Grandma’s app must be very popular.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’ve just seen loads of people wearing the very same jumper. They must have been at The Sea’s The Limit, and used the app to download the pattern. What I don’t understand is how everyone managed to knit them so quickly.”
“They probably did what I did and used the wap to speed things up.”
“Hold on a minute. I thought the wap—err—app just produced a pattern based on the garment you’d photographed.”
“That’s all the basic wap does, but the premium version actually knits the jumper for you.”
Now it was all starting to make sense. Until then, I hadn’t been able to work out why Grandma would invest time and money into producing something that was being given away for free. “How much does the premium version cost?”
“It’s subscription based. It costs nine-ninety-nine per month. It’s a bargain when you consider how much time it saves.”
“And how exactly does it work?”
“Once you’ve used the basic wap to capture the pattern, you have to put the wool and knitting needles in a dark room, and then you click on the ‘Knit Now’ option.”
“What happens then?”
“I’m not really sure. You have to leave the room, or it won’t work.”
“I bet.”
“You wait outside the room for ten minutes, then when you go back, hey presto the jumper is all done. It’s like magic.”
“It most certainly is.” I started to walk towards my office, but then remembered something. “Mrs V, did you manage to order the new sign?”
“I did, dear. At least, I think so.”
“Aren’t you sure?”
“Mr Song is a very strange man, isn’t he? All the time I was trying to have a conversation with him, he insisted on singing.”
“I did warn you.”
“It might be as well if you give him a call yourself, just to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll do that.”
When I’d discovered that the only prizes at the cat show were certificates and rosettes, I thought Winky would do his nut, but he’d been as proud as punch. In fact, he’d already put his certificate and rosette up on the wall.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d win?” he said.
“You did.”
“And did you hear what the head judge said about me?”
“I did.” He was going to be unbearable from now on.
“While I think about it, you weren’t planning to work late tomorrow night, were you?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“I’m having a lady friend over for dinner. I’ve asked her to come to see my rosette and certificate.”
“Not your etchings, then?”
“Sorry?”
“It doesn’t matter. Who’s coming over?”
“Daisy. No, wait, it’s Judy.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He thought about it for a while. “No, I’m wrong. Judy couldn’t make it tomorrow. It’s Trixie. Definitely Trixie.”
Unbelievable.
Just then, Kathy came charging into my office; she didn’t look a happy bunny.
“I’m sorry to burst in on you, Jill, but if I’d stayed in the shop for another minute, I would probably have murdered your grandmother.”
“What’s she done now?”
“It’s
bad enough that she opened a bridal shop right next door to mine, but now she’s ripping off every idea I come up with. Last week, we ran a twenty-per cent off promotion on wedding albums, so guess what?”
“She did the same?”
“She offered thirty per cent off them. It’s not just that—she’s stealing our ideas too. We’ve just introduced a new range of environmentally friendly confetti. It took me forever to source a supplier, and I spent ages putting together a window display to feature the new range. This morning, when I walked past her shop, guess what? She’s got exactly the same confetti, front and centre of her window.”
“That’s despicable. No one likes a copy cobra.”
“You mean, copycat.”
“I think you’ll find it’s cobra.”
From the sofa, Winky nodded his approval.
After Kathy had eventually calmed down and left, I called the sign company.
“It’s A Sign. Sid Song, singing.”
“Mr Song, hi, it’s Jill. My PA, Mrs V, called the other day about getting my current sign replaced.”
“You’re the private investigator, aren’t you?” he warbled.
“That’s right.”
“Change of name to Maxwell?”
“Correct.”
“It’s all in hand. It should be installed next week.”
“That’s great. Thanks.”
Chapter 15
I adore breakfast.
I just thought I’d put that out there.
It’s the meal which offers such a wide range of options. Everything from cereal to toast to a full fry-up. And yet, Jack chose to eat sawdust (AKA muesli) almost every day. Sometimes, I had serious doubts about that man.
“Penny for them,” he said.
“I was wondering if I should be getting married to a man who voluntarily eats muesli for breakfast.”
“It’s good for you, unlike that thing in your hand.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a sausage cob.”
“How many sausages are in there?”
“Just a couple.”
“Is that an actual couple, as in two, or your version of a couple, as in as many as will fit in the cob?”
“You’re only jealous.” I took a huge bite.
He screwed up his face in mock disgust, but deep down, I knew he’d swap his sawdust for my sausage cob, in a heartbeat.
No chance, buddy.
“Only four days now until we get married,” he said.
“Three, actually. Today’s Tuesday.”
“I know. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. That’s four days.”
“You’re not supposed to count today.”
“Of course you are.”
“Everyone knows you don’t count today when you’re calculating how many days there are to go until something happens.”
“This everyone of whom you speak. Would that be the same everyone who thinks that a couple can be any number you choose it to be?”
“I can’t help it if you don’t understand the fundamentals of mathematics. Incidentally, I thought I might take a look around the bowling alley today. Do you happen to know if they have CCTV?”
“They definitely do. What are you hoping to learn from that?”
“I don’t really know, but I figure it can’t hurt to take a look at it.”
***
The bowling alley didn’t open until midday, which was just as well because I had a meeting with my accountant, Luther Stone, in the morning.
On the short walk from the car park to my offices, I encountered another six of the now infamous jumpers.
“I think I might be in trouble, Jill.” Mrs V looked worried.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I might get sued.”
“Who would want to sue you, Mrs V?”
“That Waters man.”
“Finn Waters? Why would he sue you?”
“Look.” She passed me a copy of The Bugle.
The headline read: Counterfeit gang traced back to Washbridge.
A quick skim of the article revealed that Finn Waters’ solicitors were trying to track down the source of counterfeit jumpers based on Mr Waters’ design. It seemed that all the counterfeits had been traced to Washbridge and the surrounding area.
“Do you think I’ll go to prison, Jill?”
“Of course not.”
“But I’m guilty as charged. I did copy his jumper.”
“You only made one based on his design, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Just the one.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, then. There is someone who should be worried, though, and that’s the person who created the app, which is responsible for these counterfeits.”
“Your grandmother? Maybe you should warn her?”
“I don’t think so. Something tells me she’ll be okay. She always is.”
Luther was due any minute, and I was still trying to find all the receipts and invoices, which he would no doubt ask for. Why he couldn’t just do my books without those, I’d never know.
“Which do you think?” Winky was holding up what appeared to be two tablecloths.
“What are you talking about?”
“For my dinner date tonight. Which tablecloth do you think says, young, professional and sexy?”
“They’re just tablecloths. It doesn’t matter which one you use.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. A tablecloth can say a lot about a cat.”
So much for Jack’s theory on the profound thoughts of animals.
“You’re insane.”
“Don’t forget to stay clear of the office tonight. I’ll be entertaining my lady friend.”
“Can you remember which one?”
“Of course I can. It’s—err—”
“Trixie.”
“I knew that.”
“Typical man. Now, if you don’t mind I’m trying to prepare for a meeting with my accountant.”
“Oh dear.”
“What do you mean, oh dear?”
“You’re so self-delusional that you can normally convince yourself that this business is viable, but when the accountant confronts you with the cold, hard figures, pop! That particular bubble is well and truly burst.”
“Shut up and go back to your tablecloths.”
As always, Luther was smouldering with sexual chemistry. Of course, now that I was practically a married woman, I barely noticed.
“Nerves beginning to jangle?” he said.
“I’m too busy to be nervous.”
From under the sofa, I heard Winky chuckle, but I ignored him.
“Maria is really looking forward to the wedding. She made me buy a new suit.”
“It’ll be your turn next.”
“I hope so, but that really depends on Maria.”
“Have you asked her to marry you?”
“Not yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“I’m scared she might say no.”
“She won’t, trust me.”
“We’ll see. Anyway, I suppose we should get down to business.”
“Here are the receipts and invoices you wanted.”
“There aren’t many here.”
“That’s everything.”
“I don’t see any fuel receipts.”
“They’re in the car. Probably.”
“We’ve discussed this before, Jill. I need proof of all your expenses to reduce your tax bill.”
“Can’t you just stick a figure in for them?”
He sighed. “It doesn’t work like that. You’ll need to let me have them next time.”
“Okay. Will do. How are the books looking, generally?”
“Would you like the good news or the bad news?”
“The good. Definitely the good.”
“There isn’t any. You’ve made a loss for the third consecutive month.”
“That’s not possible.”
“The figures don’t lie. You’re
going to need to do something about this and fast.”
“What do you suggest?”
“It comes down to one thing, really. You need more clients. More cases to bill.”
“It feels like I’m already working to full capacity.”
“That simply isn’t reflected in your billing. Are you doing a lot of pro-bono work?”
“Occasionally.”
“Maybe you should cut back on that. And you need to think about some kind of marketing campaign. Something that will bring in the punters. Do you know anyone in marketing?”
“I do as it happens.”
Much as I liked Luther, his visits always left me feeling down in the dumps. Surely, just once he could tell me how well the business was doing? Was that too much to ask?
Unfortunately, I knew he was right; I did need to raise the profile of my business somehow. The thought of having to ask Grandma for help filled me with dread, but she had proven time and time again that no one knew marketing better than she did.
***
Deloris Shuttlebug was back from her short break, and she’d agreed to spare me a few minutes. She lived close to Candlefield Leisure Centre in a delightful house that was shaped rather like a pear.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Shuttlebug.”
“Come in, come in, and please call me Deloris. I’m always happy to talk about Cuthbert; he was a darling man, and I miss him terribly.”
“You have a lovely house.”
“Thank you, dear. Cuthbert designed it himself—he had a passion for pears.”
“And exotic animals, I believe?”
“Yes, they were his first love.” She laughed nervously. “Apart from me, I hope. Now, before we start, we must have a drink. I have tea and coffee, but I’m rather partial to hot chocolate myself.”
“A hot chocolate would be nice. It’s ages since I had one.”
The hot chocolate was delicious. So too was the huge slice of chocolate brownie.
“Desdemona Nightowl told me about your late husband’s interest in exotic creatures.”
“Desdemona is such a dear. She was so very kind to me when Cuthbert passed away. Are you interested in exotic creatures too?”
“Not really, but I am trying to identify a particular creature that was found close to CASS. Ms Nightowl mentioned a manuscript?”