by Mandy Morton
‘Ah, bless you! The conditions have to be right for Crimola to speak. She has to take me over for a bit, and that’s a full on session. She channels herself through me and I only tend to do that sort of work on Fridays.’
‘But you said you’d helped Mr Bunch find his tin opener this morning and it’s Tuesday, so how does that work?’ asked Hettie, her irritation made worse by the first pangs of hunger; the shared packet of crisps was just a distant memory.
‘Well, I didn’t find the tin opener actually. She’d thrown it away before she passed over as she didn’t want him living on that nasty tinned stuff. But I went straight to her and it was a simple job – no need to involve Crimola in that one.’
Hettie was keen to move things along: it was getting late and Mavis was still taking up most of her kitchen floor.
‘Would you help me to make Miss Spitforce a little more comfortable? I think she’d be better in the parlour.’
Irene Peggledrip smiled. ‘Of course I will, but she’s not here any more. My guess is she left around midnight and she’s being processed as we speak. I’ll know more in a day or two. Why don’t you come and see me on Friday? Crimola may have some answers for you.’
For some unknown reason, Hettie agreed to the somewhat bizarre assignation with Crimola and the two cats bore Mavis Spitforce’s body into her parlour, leaving her in peaceful repose on the chaise longue. Having waved off her new friend, Cossack hat and all, Hettie picked up Teezle’s bag of abandoned letters, took one last look at the murder scene and locked the door, knowing that she would have to return in the morning to do some real detective work.
She made her way down the passageway and back onto Whisker Terrace, and then stopped dead; there was something she needed to check and it wouldn’t wait for the morning. Letting herself back in, she went straight to the parlour and to the corpse. She looked down on Miss Spitforce’s face and noticed a slight bulge in her cheeks. Taking great care not to break the jaw, Hettie gently prised the mouth open wide enough to see that there was more than teeth inside. She looked round for something to help and settled on a pair of tweezers that had been left on the desk, tweezers which Miss Spitforce had used to add to her butterfly collection, a hobby she was very keen on.
Returning to her grim task, she removed several small bits of paper from the victim’s mouth; on closer inspection, it was clear that the fragments related to the Milky Myers story and – by the quality of the paper – had come from Marmite Sprat’s Strange But True version of events. She put the fragments in a convenient jar on the mantelpiece, secured the house once again and strode off home, hoping for a good dinner, a blazing fire and a pipe or two of catnip.
Those hopes were shattered when she arrived home to a less than blissful scene. Her arrival went unnoticed, mainly due to the volume of the TV, and only after she’d banged the door shut did Tilly react, shrugging her shoulders in a desperately apologetic way as if the chaos was none of her making. She got up from her blanket and bounded over the considerable bulk of Teezle Makepeace, who was lying stretched out in front of the fire, singing along with Bruiser, who was still in Hettie’s chair. They were glued to a rerun of Top of the Cats, and – to make things worse – a number of empty plates were dotted round as if a good time had been had by all.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Tilly said, seeing the look on Hettie’s face. ‘There was nothing I could do. Teezle said she needed to eat because her blood sugar was dropping with the shock, whatever that means, and Bruiser had already collected our dinner from the Butters when I got back and eaten most of it. I felt obliged to give the rest of it to Teezle, and now they seem to have settled in for the evening.’
‘Well, that’s what they think! Just follow my lead, but hang on to Teezle – I need to have a quick word with her before she goes.’ Hettie acted swiftly, pulling the TV plug out of the socket to cut short Teezle and Bruiser’s backing vocals to I Will Survive and bring the impromptu party to an end. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said, ‘but we’ve a very important client calling in on us this evening and I’m afraid you’ll have to make yourselves scarce.’
Tilly marvelled at Hettie’s ingenuity and played her part by scurrying around collecting the empty plates, folding her blanket and fetching Teezle’s coat. Bruiser stretched and yawned.
‘Well, I s’pose I’d better make a move. ’Spect it’s a cold old night out there, and I’d better find me a bit o’ shelter afore the frost settles.’
Hettie spotted the paraffin can by the door. ‘No need for that, Bruiser. You can stay in our shed for as long as you like. There are cushions and blankets and we picked up some paraffin for the old stove – you’ll be snug in there.’ Hettie was doing her best to sound hospitable but inside she was seething; after the day she’d had, the last thing she needed was an overweight post-cat and a stray from her past clogging up the fireside.
Bruiser sprang from Hettie’s chair and followed her out into the backyard, keen to be settled in for the night. Hettie returned minutes later as Teezle Makepeace was about to leave.
‘Before you go, Teezle, I need your help. Miss Spitforce mentioned that she had a sister and a niece – we need to get in touch with them. I don’t suppose they’re on your post round?’
Teezle’s face lit up at the thought of assisting in the investigation. ‘I know where her sister lives, but they don’t get on.’
Hettie sighed. ‘Well, maybe when she knows Mavis is dead they’ll get on better.’ It seemed an odd thing to say but it had been a long day and Hettie’s reasoning was more accurate than she could have hoped.
Teezle wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or not, but Tilly came to the rescue. ‘Shall I jot down the address?’
‘We should phone her tonight,’ Hettie said. ‘The sooner she knows, the better.’
Teezle shook her head. ‘No chance of that. She’s hardly got enough to feed herself, let alone afford a telephone. She lives in one of those tiny flats at the bottom of Cheapcuts Lane – number 7.’
Hettie sighed again. ‘Well, it’ll have to wait for the morning. I’ll call round on my way to Miss Spitforce’s. There’s a lot to be done there, and I don’t want anyone disturbing the crime scene until I’ve gathered all the evidence. I think the sister should be told, though – unless of course she knows already.’
There was a silence as the three cats looked at each other. Tilly broke the spell by reaching for her notepad and jotting down the address. Keen for Teezle to be on her way, Hettie hesitated over asking any more questions – and if she was honest, the biggest question was what was for dinner now that Teezle and Bruiser had made short work of the Butters’ best steak pies – but the case had to be solved, and the post-cat was perfectly placed to supply local information.
‘Before you go, Teezle, tell me what you know about Miss Spitforce. Was she well-liked in the community?’
Teezle thought for a moment. ‘Well, she was always nice to me. I think some cats found her a bit scary because she was clever and always reading difficult books with long words. She liked doing those family history things, and she made big charts tracing who belonged to whom. She often had one on the go when I stopped in for a chat. She did them for her friends, I think.’
‘Did you notice any particular family names in her research?’ asked Hettie, not sure whether this was an interesting line of questioning or not.
‘She did the Treemints – I know that because Miss Treemints was with her one day when I called in and they were both very excited because Miss Spitforce had discovered a famous actor. Beer Bone Treemints or something – he was a great, great, great uncle of Delirium’s. Anyway, they were very pleased about that and Delirium was so overcome that she knocked her cup and saucer onto the floor. I helped her clear it up while Miss Spitforce made another cup of tea for us.’
Hettie couldn’t help but think that Delirium Treemints spent most of her time clearing up broken crockery, regardless of her ancestors, but she pushed on as Teezle seemed keen to talk.
> ‘Did Miss Spitforce share any of her findings with you?’
‘Not really. In fact, I called in last week and she had a chart laid out on her table; she folded it up like greased lightning when she saw me, and stuck it under a cushion on one of her kitchen chairs.’
Hettie had suddenly forgotten she was hungry. Even Tilly, who had continued to take notes, moved in closer as Teezle lapped up the questions, pleased with the appreciation of her responses.
‘Did Miss Spitforce ever mention that she was writing a book?’
Teezle thought again and laughed. ‘She always seemed to be writing or reading something. Like I said, she was clever, but I took her post in one day and she had a parcel which she opened while I was there. It was a book. She took one look at it and threw it across the kitchen. I had to duck. It was a copy of …’
‘… Marmite Sprat’s Strange But Trues,’ said Hettie, finishing Teezle’s sentence.
Tilly was impressed. Teezle stared in admiration, and Hettie’s hunger pains returned with a vengeance.
‘One more question before you go – do you deliver to Miss Peggledrip?’
‘Well, not exactly to her,’ Teezle admitted, looking quite fearful. ‘It’s not a place I look forward to on my round on account of the old murder. I quite like Miss Peggledrip, though. She’s a bit mad, but that old place she’s got is creepy and it’s the last house going out of the town. I just put her letters in the mailbox at the bottom of her drive, unless I have a parcel – then I have to take it right up to the house.’
‘And what do you know about the old murder?’ asked Hettie, helping Teezle on with her coat.
‘Just that a cat called Milky Myers killed all his family a long time ago. Since then, he’s haunted the old house and he might kill again, especially on Halloween.’ Suddenly realising what she had said, Teezle gasped and put her paw up to her mouth. ‘Poor Miss Spitforce! Do you think Milky Myers killed her?’
‘I think that’s the general idea,’ said Hettie, steering Teezle to the back door. ‘You’ve been very helpful. I may need to speak with you again, and if you think of anything else we’ll be at Miss Spitforce’s for most of the day tomorrow.’
Teezle said her farewells, took custody of her mail bag and disappeared into the frost, never to be seen alive again. If Hettie had been quicker putting her coat on, she might have seen the figure loom out of the darkness in pursuit of the postcat, but it was the discussion with Tilly over who should have what from Greasy Tom’s mobile food van that delayed her – and it would be some time before Teezle’s body was discovered.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hettie returned to a blazing fire and a table laid out for supper. While she was stamping her feet in the cold, waiting for Greasy Tom to fry a fresh batch of sausages and bacon, Tilly had flown round their room like a dervish, putting Hettie’s dressing gown to warm, laying out her pipe and catnip pouch on the arm of the chair, and filling her own hot water bottle before sliding it under her fireside blanket. A pan of milk for two large mugs of cocoa came to the boil just as Hettie stepped over the threshold.
Appreciating the sudden burst of heat that wasted no time in thawing out her whiskers, Hettie put the newspaper-wrapped parcel of food down on the table. Tilly dished it up onto two plates while Hettie pulled off her day clothes and bounded into her armchair, glad for the warmth of her dressing gown.
‘Thank goodness it’s all over for another day! I don’t think I could take much more. Bruiser turning up in the middle of the night, Bugs Anderton and her gaggle of bloody Methodists, a corpse dressed up as a pumpkin with a dagger in her back, I-RE-NE Peggledrip and her friend Crimola stamping all over the crime scene and issuing invitations to talk to dead cats – oh and last but by no means least, Teezle Makepeace who eats us out of house and home and seems convinced that a psycho cat from longer ago than any of us can remember marauds round the town on Halloween stabbing elderly cats to death in their own homes.’
Tilly waited patiently until her friend had finished chronicling the salient points of the day, then placed a full plate of sausages and bacon in front of her and took her own plate to the fireside. The cats chewed and licked their way through their supper, gathering strength from the first decent meal they’d had all day. Full, warm and content at last, they were ready to discuss the day’s events in a rational and constructive way. Hettie began by bringing Tilly up to speed with her initial observations of Miss Spitforce’s body and her encounter with Irene Peggledrip.
‘She’s invited me to go and have a session with Crimola on Friday. She seems to think I’ll get some answers that way.’
Tilly clapped her paws excitedly. ‘Ooh, do you think I could come? I’ve always wanted to go to one of her séances. Jessie goes once a month to speak to Miss Lambert. She says Miss Peggledrip has a real talent.’
‘Yes, I bet she does,’ said Hettie, more sarcastically than she intended. ‘But I can’t help feeling that allowing Crimola to solve all our cases might just put us out of a job. I definitely think you should tag along, though – I’ll need you to take notes and keep your eyes peeled. If Miss Peggledrip turns out to be a fake, I’ll want to know how she knew that Mavis Spitforce had departed this world at midnight on Halloween. She has to be high up on the suspect list, along with Marmite Sprat.’
Tilly was delighted to be included in the Friday visit and, while Hettie filled her catnip pipe, she collected the empty plates and poured milk into their cocoa mugs, humming to herself as she went and excited at the prospect of another case for the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency.
‘There is just one thing I thought of,’ she said, returning to the fireside with the cocoa. ‘Who’s paying us to sort all this out?’
Hettie brought her smoke ring session to an abrupt halt, coughing and spluttering. Tilly had a point: who was going to pay them? Teezle Makepeace had sought them out after discovering the body, but she had no real responsibility to Mavis Spitforce, and from what they had heard about the dead cat’s family, there was no love or money there.
‘What a bloody nightmare! The best case we’ve had for ages and no one to pay the bill, not even expenses. Maybe the friendship club will have a whip round? Miss Spitforce was obviously well in there.’
Tilly looked doubtful. ‘Perhaps we could ask Crimola to see if Miss Spitforce would be happy to stump up for us herself?’ she suggested, before draining her cocoa mug and pulling her blankets around her. In seconds she was asleep, but Hettie sat long into the night, mulling over the day’s events and determined – money or not – to find the cat responsible for the tears she had shed at Whisker Terrace.
CHAPTER SIX
The money came by first post the following morning, a little later than usual and from a very unexpected donor. Both cats had woken early, and Tilly crawled out of her blanket to add some kindling to the fire, coaxing it back to life. She pulled the curtain open slightly and noticed that it was still dark, but the frost had been a hard one and the window looking out over the Butters’ backyard was iced in beautiful patterns.
‘Jack Frost has been busy,’ she said brightly, rinsing the dirty cocoa mugs ready for their morning tea. ‘I hope Bruiser is OK in the shed.’
Hettie rubbed her eyes and sat up. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. He was very pleased to have some shelter, and he’d demolished our dinner before turning in for the night. I bet he got more sleep than I did.’ She accepted her tea gratefully, wrapping her paws round it to feel the heat. ‘We’ve got a difficult day ahead of us. I suppose we should see the sister first, although I’d rather have a better look round Miss Spitforce’s before the relatives start turning up.’
‘Let’s go now then,’ said Tilly enthusiastically. ‘It’s very early and we could grab anything interesting and bring it back here before anyone else gets a chance. We could take my tartan shopper.’
The thought of getting up at this time and venturing out into the cold winter’s morning held no joy whatsoever for Hettie, but she had to admit that it was a v
ery good idea. ‘You’re right – we could get all the crime scene stuff out of the way. I’m keen to take a look at anything Miss Spitforce was working on. This book that Irene Peggledrip mentioned and that family history hobby she had – I wonder if she ruffled some feathers there?’
Tilly downed her tea and leapt into action, choosing her warmest cardigan and socks. Hettie struggled from the comfort of her armchair and pulled on yesterday’s clothes, which still smelt faintly of paraffin. They banked the fire up, equipped themselves with a torch each, put on their business macs, turned up their collars and stepped out into the hallway to be confronted by Betty and Beryl Butter hauling the first batch of rustic sticks from the oven.
‘Whatever’s up?’ asked Betty, fighting off a hot flush. ‘We’re not used to seeing you two about at this time.’
‘We have an early house search to do,’ Hettie replied, trying to sound important.
‘Well, won’t the house still be there later?’ Beryl forced a tray of bridge rolls into the empty oven. ‘Stay there,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll be back in a tick.’ She disappeared into the back of the shop and returned minutes later brandishing one of the rustic sticks filled with ham. ‘That should sort the pair of you out. Our old mother used to say that leaving the house without breakfast makes a cat repent all day.’ Betty nodded in agreement at her sister’s borrowed wisdom and placed the food in Tilly’s tartan shopper. Delighted with their unexpected breakfast, Hettie and Tilly set off for Whisker Terrace, long before most of the townsfolk were awake.
It was a rare thing to see the Dosh Stores in darkness, and there were no lights on in the rest of the terrace either. Hettie unlocked the door to Miss Spitforce’s kitchen, pleased to be getting on with the investigation without the prying eyes of the community. She moved to the window to pull the blind down and shone her torch round the room, relieved to see that everything was how she had left it the night before. The dagger lay with the discarded tea towel on the table; the orange silk shroud and witch’s hat were in a heap on the floor; and she hoped that Mavis Spitforce had remained similarly static since she last saw her.