by Adele Abbott
“I see,” the man with the pipe said. “In that case, I’ll hold onto it. The next time we have mail to forward to them, I’ll send it along.”
“Thank you very much,” I said. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Not at all.” The man with the pipe closed the door.
“The next time you have anything to deliver to an apartment in this building, I’d be grateful if you would contact reception first,” the security guard said.
“Yes, of course. I’ll make sure I do that.”
And with that, I made my way out of the building. Hopefully, Winky’s new friend would get a chance to look at the book before it was forwarded to Bonnie and Clive, who would no doubt be more than a little surprised to receive it.
***
It was time to pay a visit to the widow of the second clown supposedly murdered by the extortionist. The woman’s name was Gemma Tyson. I’d managed to contact her by phone, and she’d been quite happy to talk to me, although she had seemed surprised that I was in any way interested in her husband’s death.
The Tyson house didn’t have any of the clown paraphernalia, which I’d found at the house belonging to Coco, a.k.a. Bingo. It was a modest semi-detached house in a quiet neighbourhood. Gemma Tyson was a woman in her late forties or early fifties. She welcomed me with a friendly smile, and offered me a cup of tea. To my delight, she handed me an unopened packet of custard creams.
“I’m afraid these are the only biscuits I can offer you. I had planned to go to the supermarket earlier, but I had a problem with the dishwasher—that set me back a little.”
“Not to worry. Custard creams are my favourite biscuit.”
“Really? I’m not too fond of them myself, but my friend, Beryl Bobbins, is very partial to them. I usually keep a pack in just for her. Do help yourself to as many as you like.”
That was a very dangerous thing to say to me. I took three, but then handed back the packet. I just didn’t trust myself.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“No problem. I’m still not sure why you’re interested in Robert’s death.”
“Was your husband a full-time clown?”
“Oh no.” She laughed. “Robert was actually an undertaker.”
I hadn’t seen that one coming. “Really?”
“Yes, a lot of people were surprised when they found out about his double life. His day job wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs, as you can imagine. I think that’s why Robert chose to be a clown in his spare time. He really loved it. He would have liked to have done it full-time, but there simply wasn’t enough money in it.”
“Where did he actually do his clown act?”
“Mainly at birthday parties. He didn’t make much money at it—just enough to cover his expenses plus a little extra. He mainly did it for the pleasure he got out of it. He called himself Mr Laughs.” She smiled at the memory.
“I’m sorry to drag this up, and I have no desire to upset you, but I wonder if you could tell me exactly how your husband died?”
“Robert liked to treat himself to new props every now and then. Something that he could use in his act. Nothing too expensive, you understand. Just small bits and pieces that he could incorporate into the act. He’d bought a new custard pie gun; it had a huge barrel which fired custard pies.” She took a deep breath and was silent for a long moment. “I’m sorry, but the memory is still quite painful.”
“I understand. Take your time.”
“When the custard pie gun arrived, he asked if I’d help him to test it. We went around the back of the house where no one would see us. I didn’t want to do it in the house because of the mess. Robert asked me to fire the custard pie at him, which I did. It went with such force that when it hit him in the face, he fell backwards and banged his head on the concrete step. I called the ambulance, but by the time they arrived, he was dead. The post-mortem said that he’d ruptured a blood vessel in his brain when his head hit the step.”
“Did the police interview you about the incident?”
“Of course. After all, I’d been the one who fired the custard pie gun, which was what caused him to fall backwards. But they realised it was just a terrible accident, and they didn’t take it any further. That doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty every day. If only he’d stood a few feet further back, I’m sure the impact wouldn’t have knocked him over.”
“At any point did the police treat the death as anything other than an accident?”
“No. They were quite understanding, actually.”
“Just one last question please, if I may? Where did your husband buy the custard pie gun from?”
“He got it off Clown’s List. He bought most of his props from there.”
***
I’d no sooner got back home than Blake pulled onto his driveway. Jack wasn’t home yet, and neither was Jen, so this was my opportunity to catch Blake, and warn him about his new neighbour.
“Blake! Can we go inside for a minute?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
“Shut the door, Blake. You don’t know who might be listening.”
“And I thought I was paranoid.” He grinned. “Whatever’s the matter?”
“It’s your new neighbour.”
“You mean weird guy? Have you seen that cloak he wears?”
“Yeah. Look, I can’t be sure, but I have a horrible feeling that he might be a witchfinder.”
“What makes you think that?”
“According to my grandmother, there’s word on the street that a witchfinder has moved into Washbridge. If it’s true, she thinks he’ll be targeting the most powerful witches in the area, which unfortunately would be Grandma and me. The other day he was standing on his drive, staring at me. I shouted ‘hello’, but he didn’t reply. It’s got me freaked out.”
“That is a bit worrying.”
“No kidding. I’m terrified. I thought I’d better warn you. I’m not sure whether witchfinders come after wizards as well as witches.”
“I don’t know either, but I’m nowhere near as powerful as you are, so it probably isn’t me he’s after.”
“We’ll both need to keep our wits about us. If either of us spots anything suspicious we must let the other know as quickly as possible.”
“Agreed.”
Chapter 12
I’d heard back from one of the other timeshare scam victims. Mrs Padd had contacted me via the Merry Widows forum, and after a brief exchange of messages, I’d arranged to go to her house. She lived very close to Kathy—in fact only a couple of streets away.
“Mrs Padd?”
“You must be Jill. Do come in, and please call me Lily.”
Lily Padd? Seriously?
“Come through to the living room, and take a seat.”
In both the hallway, and the living room there were birthday cards on every surface. There were literally hundreds of them.
“I take it it’s your birthday?” I gestured to the cards.
“No. My birthday isn’t for another two months.”
“Oh?”
“I just hate to take cards down, don’t you?”
“I guess so, but then I don’t get nearly as many as you do. A dozen if I’m lucky.”
“These aren’t all from my last birthday.” She laughed. “Some of these have been up for almost ten years. I just can’t bring myself to put them in a drawer.”
“I see.”
Oh boy!
“I must admit that it’s getting a little difficult now because I’m running out of surfaces to put them on. My bedroom is full of them, and so is the dining room. There’s only really the kitchen that’s birthday card free. I have to decide whether to start putting cards in there too, or if perhaps it’s time to put some away. What do you think, dear?”
That she was as nutty as a fruit cake.
“It’s a difficult decision, Lily, I can see that. Anyway, as I mentioned in my messages, my neighbour, Mrs Rollo has also fallen victim to the same timeshare sc
am. I promised her that I’d investigate to see if I can track down the person responsible, which is why I wanted to speak to you today.”
“I’ll certainly do my best to help you, dear. This has come as a terrible shock. He’s taken a good part of my savings, which I won’t now be able to pass on to my children.”
“How many children do you have, Lily?”
“Two—a boy and a girl. They’re both grown up now with children of their own. That’s why I was tempted by the timeshare offer. I thought it would be ideal for us all to go away as a family: me, my children, and my grandchildren. But now I realise that I’ve just been a silly old fool.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself. People like this man are very cunning. Can you tell me exactly what happened?”
“The man just turned up at my door one day. Normally, I’m very wary of anyone cold calling, but he was so utterly charming, and seemed genuine. I fell for it hook, line and sinker. He talked about holidays first, and asked about my children and my grandchildren. When he first showed me the brochure, I told him I wasn’t interested, but before I knew it, he’d somehow persuaded me that it was a bargain I couldn’t pass up.”
“Did you give him a cheque?”
“No. I gave him cash. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was so stupid.”
“Was that the last you heard from him?”
“Yes. He promised to come back the next day with all the paperwork, but I never saw or heard from him again. I went straight to the police, and they said they’d investigate, but I haven’t heard back from them since. I suppose they have more important matters to deal with. And then I received your message.”
I asked Lily to describe the man. Her description pretty much matched the one that Mrs Rollo had given me, including the meaty smell.
After I left Lily’s, I called at several houses on the same street including the two next-door neighbours. I asked whether they’d been approached by anyone selling timeshares, but no one had. I found that very telling. It seemed that whoever was perpetrating this scam had targeted his victims very precisely, as though he knew they’d be easy prey.
***
When I got back into Washbridge, the car park I normally used was full. Great! The next nearest was some distance from my office, and twice as expensive. To top it off, the only ticket machine that was working was at the other side of the car park from where I’d parked.
As I began the trek to the office, I passed by the Magenta Hotel. It was one of the most luxurious, and certainly one of the most expensive hotels in Washbridge. As I drew level with the main entrance, a stretch limo with tinted windows pulled up at the curb.
The man who emerged from the back seat of the car had tight curly hair, a tan which he hadn’t got in this country, and was wearing mirrored sunglasses. He was dressed in an all-white suit complete with white shoes. He’d no sooner stepped out of the car than a cyclist appeared from nowhere. He came whizzing past me on the pavement, and ran into the white-suited man, sending him crashing to the floor. It soon became apparent that this had not been an accident. The cyclist had deliberately targeted the man, and was now rifling through the stricken man’s jacket. The cyclist took the man’s wallet, and then slipped the man’s watch from his wrist.
It all happened so quickly that no one had time to react. The cyclist was already back on his bike, and making his getaway. The white-suited man, who still looked a little shaken, was being helped back to his feet by a passer-by.
I couldn’t simply stand by and allow this to happen, so I cast the ‘faster’ spell, and gave chase. I caught the cyclist before he reached the end of the street, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him backwards off the bike onto the ground. The bike went careering down the road, and crashed into a lamp post. After casting the ‘power’ spell, I knelt on the cyclist who was still winded from his fall.
“Let me go!” He gasped.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
The white-suited man was now back on his feet, brushing himself down. He still looked a little disorientated. Moments later, a police car came screeching around the corner, and came to a halt opposite where I was still pinning the man to the ground. While I’d been waiting for the police to arrive, I’d managed to retrieve the wallet and watch, and had slipped them into my pocket.
“Okay, madam,” one of the officers said. “We know this scumbag. We’ll take it from here. If you could give my colleague your name and address, we’ll be in touch later to take a statement.”
I released the man who was then handcuffed by the officer. Once the thief was in the back of the car, the second police officer took my details. Meanwhile, the white-suited man had walked down the street to join us.
“Mr Murray, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the officer said. “I saw you in concert last night. The show was fantastic.”
Then it clicked. The white-suited man had to be Murray Murray. The pop sensation that Kathy had been raving about.
Murray Murray gave the officer his contact details, and then the police car took the thief away.
“These are yours, I believe.” I handed the watch and wallet back to Murray Murray.
“Thank you. I didn’t think I’d see those again. It wouldn’t have mattered so much about the wallet, but this watch was a present from my late father. I thought I’d lost it for sure, but then I saw you giving chase. How did you manage to catch him?”
“I do a lot of running.”
“That was very dangerous. He could have hurt you.”
“Not his kind. They’re brave enough when it comes to stealing from someone, but they aren’t so brave when it comes to a fight.”
“Is there anything I can do to thank you?”
“Well, now you come to mention it, there is something.”
***
I’d done my best to get out of it, but the twins had insisted that I go to Cuppy C to witness the launch of Baking Reimagined. They’d certainly done a good job on the publicity front because the shop was almost as full as it had been for the Sweaty Boys’ show. The crowd today was a mix of men and women, and thankfully no one was shouting for anyone to take their clothes off.
“Jill.” Amber beamed. “Just look how many people are here.”
“I know. It looks like Baking Reimagined has captured their imagination.”
“See, Jill,” Pearl said. “We do get it right sometimes.”
“I wish you well, girls. So, when do I get to see the cakes?”
Amber checked her watch. “Right now. I’m so excited.”
The twins went into the back of the shop, and returned with several trays, which they placed on the counter.
“There you go!” Pearl said, proudly.
I glanced at the empty trays. “When will you be bringing the cakes out?”
“They’re there.” Amber pointed to the trays. “Look. Don’t they look delicious?”
“I especially like the look of the cupcakes,” Pearl said.
Either I was losing my mind or the twins had lost theirs.
“But there’s nothing—”
“Shush!” Pearl grabbed me by the arm and led me behind the counter.
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“Neither did we at first until the man from Emperor Baking Enterprises explained. Only those with a discerning palate are able to see the cakes.”
Huh?
“Are you telling me that you and Amber can see them?” I glanced again at the empty trays.
“Of course we can. And very delicious they look too. Now, you stay here while we hand them out.”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Amber called the crowd to order. “Thank you for coming today for the launch of Baking Reimagined. As you will have already read in the leaflets we handed to you when you arrived, this truly is the next generation of cakes. They are of course visible only to those with the most discerning of palates, but we’re confident that all of our customers meet that criteria. Enjoy!”
I watched in tota
l disbelief as the twins took the empty trays from table to table. It seemed I was the only one who didn’t have a discerning palate because at each table the customers appeared to pick out a ‘cake’ from the tray. Everyone seemed delighted with the new Baking Reimagined range.
“There’s nothing there!” A young boy’s voice cut through the shop. A witch sitting at a window table had brought her young son with her. He was pointing to the empty plate his mother had placed in front of him. “I want a real bun!”
“It’s right there, Jimmy.” His mother looked a little embarrassed.
“No, it’s not.” The boy waved his hand over the plate to illustrate the point.
“The boy’s right!” A wizard who was seated a couple of tables away shouted. “This is a con.”
Amber and Pearl looked mortified.
“Please, everyone.” Amber stepped forward. “You have to really focus to be able to see the—”
And then it started.
“I want my money back.” A witch stood up.
“Me too.” A wizard shouted.
Soon, everyone was demanding a refund, and the twins had no choice but to comply. Fifteen minutes later, the shop was empty except for the three of us.
Amber and Pearl looked totally dejected.
“Come on, girls,” I tried to encourage them. “It isn’t your fault that the people of Candlefield don’t have discerning palates.”
“We’ve been conned again, haven’t we?” Amber said.
“How could we be so stupid?” Pearl had her head in her hands.
“It’ll be okay.” I tried to reassure them. “You did the right thing. You gave everyone a refund. But you really must stop trying these crazy new initiatives. Just concentrate on selling good quality cakes at reasonable prices. That’s all anyone wants from you.”
“You’re right, Jill,” Amber said.
“You’re always right, Jill.” Pearl sighed. “We really should listen to you in future.”
You think?
Chapter 13