by Sam Short
“Remember to eat some seeds, Reuben,” said Millie. “We had a deal. I let you eat what you like, but you supplement your diet with seeds. The vitamins in them keep your plumage looking nice and healthy.”
The cockatiel swallowed a piece of sausage. “I know,” he said. “I’ll have some today, while you’re out investigating Tom’s murder. I promise.”
“Oh?” said Millie. “Are you not coming with us? I thought you’d enjoy it. You like putting your beak in other people’s business.”
“Very funny, but I’ve got other things to do,” said the bird. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me spending some time in your cavern again?”
Millie raised an eyebrow. “Of course I don’t mind you being down there, Reuben,” she said, glancing at the door to the left of the fireplace. “But what is it you’re doing in there? You missed our run yesterday so you could be in the cavern, and I found you down there when I came back from the pub quiz on Monday night.”
“You told me I was allowed,” said Reuben.
“You are!” said Millie. “I was just wondering what you were doing.”
“Looking through the big spell book,” said Reuben. “Nothing exciting. It’s taking some time because I don’t have hands. Turning heavy pages with a beak and claws is quite hard going.”
“Do you need help?” said Millie. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“What do you want with spells, Reuben?” asked Judith. “You can’t use magic. Can you?”
“No, I can’t use magic,” said Reuben. “But I can be interested in it, can’t I? That is allowed, isn’t it? Everybody complains that I watch too much TV — I thought you’d all be happy that I’ve got my head in a book instead. A bird can’t win, it seems! Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t!”
“Blimey, Reuben, chill out,” said Millie, beginning to clear the table. “Spend all the time you want down there, just be careful, okay?”
Sergeant Spencer looked up. “An engine,” he said. “Somebody’s here. I bet it’s ASSHAT. When I spoke to Mister Anon on the phone, he said he’d be here by eight. He didn’t sound very happy when I told him the sand dunes were now a murder scene, and he couldn’t access the skeleton. I think he swore before he ended the call.”
Millie rushed towards the front door as it swung open, bringing with it the angry face of Mister Anon, with Mister Incognito close behind him. She stared at the two men. “I’ll let you off this time, but never do that again,” she warned. “You knock and wait to be invited in next time, do you understand?”
“Oh. Sorry,” said Mister Incognito. “Should we go out and try again?”
Mister Anon turned on the spot, and faced his partner. “No, Mister Incognito. We will not go out and try again. We’re angry, remember?”
Mister Incognito took a step backwards. “Okay Graham, I’m sorry. I —”
“Don’t call me that!” hissed Mister Anon. He turned to face the room. “Did anybody hear that?”
“Hear what?” said Sergeant Spencer, his stomach shaking as he repressed laughter. “I don’t think any of us heard anything.”
“I didn’t,” said Millie.
“Me neither,” said Judith. “What did we miss?”
Mister incognito peered past his partner. “I called Mister Anon by his real —”
“Stop talking, Mister Incognito!” snapped Mister Anon. “Just stop talking, would you?”
“I’m sorry,” said Mister Incognito, bowing his head. “My lips are sealed.”
“Good,” said Mister Anon, adjusting his cap and turning to face the room. “Now, what’s this I hear about a murder being committed in almost the exact same spot in which my alien skeleton was found?”
“Precisely that,” said Sergeant Spencer, “and for the foreseeable future, you won’t be allowed anywhere near the skeleton. The scene of a crime, especially a murder, is of more importance than the alleged remains of an alien for the time being. The site needs to be preserved until it’s been searched thoroughly for clues.” He looked at Millie, and winked. “And that could take some time. “Possibly a week.”
“At least let us check the skeleton before you begin your investigation,” said Mister Anon. “It’s important!”
Sergeant Spencer shook his head. “Nobody is allowed near a scene of a crime. You might contaminate it. The alleged alien remains won’t go anywhere, and nobody will go near them.”
“It’s not an alleged alien!” said Mister Anon. “Stop saying that! It is an alien! And what if the skeleton is radioactive? You don’t want to be going anywhere near it until it’s been tested.”
“I doubt it’s radioactive,” said Millie, resisting the urge to inform the men that it was not an alien, nor radioactive.
“It might be,” said Mister Anon. “I’d rather be on the safe side.”
“Yeah,” said Mister Incognito. “Radioactive with space radiation. It’s much worse than Earth radiation isn’t it, Gra — Mister Anon? It can make your skin turn blue and your eyes go a bit mad, can’t it, Mister Anon?”
Mister Anon sighed, and removed his sunglasses. “Yes, Mister Incognito. Space radiation may make your skin turn blue, and it’s possible your eyes might go… a bit mad, but at the moment, that’s mere speculation. It’s never been proved.” He stared at Sergeant Spencer, his top lip curling. “I’m sure you wouldn’t like to be the first person to test the hypothesis? Maybe it’s best if you stay away from the skeleton, while you investigate your so-called murder.”
“So-called?” said Sergeant Spencer.
“It’s a little convenient, isn’t it?” spat Mister Anon. “We leave the area for one night, and when we come back we’re told there’s been a murder at the very site we came to investigate, and that we’re not allowed near the skeleton! Very convenient, I’d say!”
Mister Incognito removed his glasses and narrowed his eyes. “Very conventional indeed,” he said.
“Convenient, Mister Incognito!” said Mister Anon. “The word is convenient!”
Mister Incognito smiled. “It is, Mister Anon. Very convenient indeed.”
“Never mind, Mister Incognito,” said Mister Anon, removing his hat and running a hand through his thinning brown hair. “Never mind.” His shoulders slumped as he looked at Millie. “I trust you’ll allow us to park our vehicle on your land? While we wait until this murder has been solved. I want to make sure we can see the tent covering the alien’s remains, twenty-four-seven. I don’t want anybody going near it! I won’t be responsible for an outbreak of blue skin and, or, mad eyes!”
Millie studied the two men. No longer as intimidating as they were the day before, the men’s confidence seemed to have deflated — especially Mister Anon’s, whose worried eyes waited for Millie to answer. “Okay,” she said. “You can stay on my land, but is that little van of yours really equipped for sleeping in?”
“Oh, we didn’t come back in that van,” said Mister Anon. “When the sergeant telephoned me this morning, I assumed we’d be here for longer than expected.”
“We came in the mobile home,” said Mister Incognito. “Didn’t we, Mister Anon?”
“We did,” said Mister Anon. “We’ll park it in a spot which gives us a clear view of the alien’s position. Nobody will get near that skeleton without us knowing about it!”
“Nobody,” confirmed Mister Incognito, removing his sunglasses and narrowing his eyes. “Not even me.”
Mister Anon gave a frustrated sigh. “Try and be a little more professional would you, Mister Incognito?”
Millie headed for the door. “Follow me. I’ll show you where you can park your mobile home. I don’t want it right outside my cottage, thank you very much.”
She pushed past the two men, and as she opened the door, she suppressed a giggle. ASSHAT funds must have been really tight if their transportation budget could only provide them with the vehicle which stood outside. “It’s smaller than I thought it would be,” she said. “You can park it alongside my
cottage, on the right, where it won’t be in my way.”
“It’s a classic,” said Mister Anon, opening the rust-spotted driver’s door. “It’s a nineteen-eighty-one VW T25, and it’s inconspicuous — nobody will suspect we’re alien hunters. It’s perfect for our requirements.”
Sergeant Spencer slipped his notebook from his chest pocket and began writing in it. As the campervan’s engine sprang into grumbling life, a plume of dark grey smoke billowing from the rattling exhaust pipe, he spoke to Millie and Judith. “As you can probably imagine,” he said. “I don’t trust those two. There’s something very weird about them. I’m going to run the vehicle registration through the system and see if I can find out just who those characters are. I’m staying here while you two begin trying to find out what may have happened to Tom — I don’t trust that they’ll stay away from that demon, and the last thing we need is one of them becoming possessed.”
“I’ll stay here if you like,” said Millie.
Sergeant Spencer frowned. “No. Even though you have the badge I gave you, I sense that Mister Anon won’t accept that you have any authority over him. As Henry said, he’s a conspiracy theorist. It’s better that I stay and guard the murder scene. I’ll look for clues here, can you two think of anywhere you can begin asking questions? Is there anything Tom might have said or done that might give us a non-demon suspect?”
“We should begin with the members of the Spellbinder Sand Diggers metal detecting club,” said Millie. “They seemed very angry that Tom was finding gold and they weren’t. One of them, Eric, even told Tom to watch his back. He sounded very threatening. Stan had to throw him out of the pub.”
“Where is the metal detecting club?” said Sergeant Spencer.
“I don’t know,” said Millie. “But Eric mentioned he’d been to a pawn shop to have a Roman coin appraised, the same shop Tom had visited — it seems the pawn shop owner is the go-to person for detectorists who find rare items. We could start there. The shop owner will probably be able to point us in the direction of the metal detectorists.”
Sergeant Spencer nodded. “I know the shop, and I know the man who owns it. He’s got a colourful criminal history — nothing serious — receiving stolen goods, that sort of thing. But yes, that sounds like a good idea — start there. Ask him where he was last night, too,” he said, watching as Mister Anon struggled to reverse the campervan. “I’ll find out who those two alien hunting clowns really are. If it wasn’t for the fact that they’d bring all manner of unwanted attention down on our town, I’d have thrown them off your land already, Millie. With any luck, I’ll be able to soon enough.”
Chapter 9
As Millie prepared to enter the pawn shop, Judith tapped her on the shoulder. “Oh, my gosh! Look,” she said, her voice raised to compete with the roar of the black motorcycle which zoomed past them, the rider raising a gloved hand in greeting, and his passenger giving them a wide smile from the open-faced helmet she wore. The same helmet Millie wore when she rode on the back of George’s bike.
“What?” said Millie, gripping the door handle in a knuckle-whitening grasp, and wincing as her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “It’s just George taking a ride. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“With a blonde bombshell on the back of his bike?” said Judith. “I haven’t seen that before. You’re the only female I’ve seen on the back of his bike since you moved to town. Who do you think she is? Do you think it’s that nurse he mentioned?”
“It’s nothing to do with me,” said Millie, her stomach churning as she caught a final glimpse of the bike negotiating the corner at the end of the road, the shapely blonde pillion passenger clinging tightly to George’s waist. “Nothing to do with me at all. I don’t care what George does! Or who he does it with!”
“Are you okay?” said Judith. “Your cheeks are red.”
Millie span to face her friend. “I’m fine! It’s a warm morning!” she said. “Okay? I’m fine.”
Judith lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Okay. You’re fine. I get it. I won’t mention it again. I won’t mention her again.”
“Good,” said Millie, pushing the shop door open. “Anyway, that blonde girl won’t be smiling so much if George has a crash. I doubt a mini-skirt is going to offer her much protection.”
“Or those high heels and tight t-shirt,” added Judith, following Millie into the shop.
Millie took a deep breath and closed her eyes, ridding her mind of the unwelcome image of George and the… woman. When she opened them, she focused on the smells of the cluttered shop, enjoying the scent of old vinyl record sleeves, and the fragrant aroma of whatever the polish was the long-haired man behind the counter was massaging into the body of a guitar.
Millie smiled. “Is that a Gibson Hummingbird?” she asked, admiring the flame red and honeyed amber of the wood, decorated with an engraved pickguard featuring its namesake feeding from a flower.
The middle-aged man stood up, looking Millie up and down. He placed the guitar gently on the counter and wiped his hands on his denim jacket. “It is,” he drawled. “This one’s a real beauty. You know your guitars.”
“My mother played,” said Millie. “That was her dream guitar.”
“Oh?” said the man. He traced a thin finger over the curves of the instrument, and ran the tip of his tongue across his moustache sheltered upper lip. “This one sings like a bird,” he said. “If you know how to treat her right. If you treat her like a lady, that is. And I know how to treat a lady. I know how to treat a lady real —”
“Okay!” said Judith, rolling her eyes at Millie. “We get it! You’re a ladies’ man!”
The man frowned. “Why do you say that? I’m just trying to sell a guitar to the young lady. She seemed interested.” He smiled at Millie. “It’s a bargain at two-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine. With spare strings, a case and a strap.”
“You were flirting,” said Judith. “Quite obviously.”
“Sex sells,” said the man. “And I wasn’t flirting. I was using sensual imagery to encourage a sale. I learned it from an online course.”
“I hope the course didn’t cost too much,” said Judith. “Because either you’re misinterpreting the material you were taught, or you’ve accidentally been studying a course aimed at teaching losers how to pick up women.”
The man ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “Can I help you at all? You seem like a very tense young lady. I’ve got a massage chair out the back. Only two-hundred quid. I have a feeling it might help you.”
“I don’t want a massage chair, thank you very much,” said Judith.
“Then what do you want?” said the man, sitting down. “I’m busy.”
“Are you Pete?” asked Millie. “Pawn Shop Pete?”
“That’s what they call me,” he said, nodding slowly. “Those that need to. Who’s asking?”
“We’re here on police business,” said Judith. “Important police business.”
Millie had never witnessed a face drain of colour before. She’d read about it, and had always assumed it was simply an author’s way of expressing a character’s state of shock, but watching Pete’s face literally drain of colour from the forehead down, was quite the sight.
Pete bent down, and fumbled with something beneath the counter, before attempting a smile. “Oh. Now I recognise you. You’re Sergeant Spencer’s daughter,” he said, speaking to Judith.
“I am,” said Judith.
“How can I help you?” said Pete, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, and the corner of his left eye twitching. “I keep records of everything I buy from people. It’s not my fault if they stole those items, is it? How could I possibly know?”
Judith smiled. “We know about your criminal record, Pete,” she teased. “And it’s quite obvious that you have something under the counter that you don’t want us to see, but we’re not here about such trivial things. We’re here about a murder.”
Pete’s face whitened further,
and his cheeks seemed to sink, making his bony jawline more prominent beneath his scruffy stubble. His mouth slowly dropped open, and he placed both hands on the counter to steady himself. “Murder?” he said. “What murder? You don’t think I did it, do you? I wouldn’t hurt a man — or a woman. It could be a woman, couldn’t it? Was it a woman? Who could do such a thing to a woman — not that I know what was done to her, of course! Was it strangulation? A stabbing? Electrocution? Blunt force trauma? Poor, poor woman — oh my, what has Spellbinder Bay come to, if a woman can’t —”
“Stop talking, Pete,” said Millie. “You’re babbling! Calm down and take a deep breath.”
Pete nodded, both hands on his chest and his lips forming a circle as he blew out a slow breath. He gazed at Millie with frightened eyes. “Underneath this counter, I have two laptops which I’m sure are the proceeds of a house burglary. I’ll hand them over to you, but you must believe me when I say I’d never hurt a fly — literally! My house is full of them in the summer! They only have a twenty-eight-day lifespan. Who am I to shorten it any further?”
“You sound like a very kind man, Pete,” said Judith, glancing at Millie. “But before we go any further, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you where you were last night? Between the hours of eleven, and one o’clock this morning.”
“At home!” said Pete. “I’m always in bed before midnight!”
“Can anybody confirm that, Pete?” said Millie. “A wife, a partner?”
“Of course,” said Pete. “My mum can confirm it! She saw me go to bed, and if I’d sneaked out at night, I’d have woken her — she’s a very light sleeper!”
“Your mum?” said Millie.
“Yes,” said Pete, picking his phone up and tapping at the screen. “I’ll ring her right now, you can speak to her!”
“That won’t be necessary, just yet,” said Judith. “We came here to ask you some questions about gold. Specifically gold found by Tom Temples.”