Cat Among the Pumpkins

by Mandy Morton

  Hettie stood in the doorway to introduce Bruiser. ‘Sorry to hear about your accident. I have a difficult case on at the moment, and I wondered if I could use Scarlet? My friend Bruiser here has offered to take me out on her.’

  Lazarus put down the Biker Monthly he was reading and – still seated – reached for a set of keys from the board above his desk. ‘It’s about time you managed the wheels yerself instead of sittin’ in the sidecar with yer friend. Where is she today? It’s not like her to miss a ride out.’

  Hettie took the keys from Lazarus’s giant paw. ‘She had to do some work in the office today, but she hopes your leg will mend soon. Is Scarlet parked in her usual place?’

  Lazarus nodded, looking Bruiser up and down. ‘She needs a good strong kick to start ’er up, but once you give ’er a bit o’ throttle she’ll fly. You got any leathers? Not the weather to go without.’

  Bruiser admitted that he hadn’t expected to be working for Hettie and had shed his leathers some years ago. Lazarus pointed to the back of his cabin door. ‘Take that jacket. A customer left it months ago and he’s not been back for it. That should keep the wind out. There’s a helmet on the floor down there. You can ’ave the jacket but the helmet’ll ’ave to be a borrow as it belongs to me old ma.’

  Bruiser offered his thanks and eagerly pulled on the leather jacket, which was a perfect fit. Grabbing the helmet from the cabin floor, he crossed the yard to where Hettie was standing next to a bright red motorbike and sidecar. His eyes lit up. ‘Cor blimey! What a beauty! I take it all back – nothing girlie about her. She’s a goddess on three wheels. I can’t wait ter get her fired up.’

  Hettie was pleased at Bruiser’s enthusiasm. She pulled back the lid to the sidecar and clambered in. ‘We’d better get going. You’ll have to wheel her through the double gates at the back of the yard.’

  Bruiser took charge of the bike and guided it out through the gates onto the road. ‘Where’re we goin’ first?’

  ‘Cheapcuts Lane. There are some flats at the bottom, and we have to call at number seven.’ Hettie closed the lid on the sidecar, settling herself down in the plush comfort of Tilly’s homemade cushions and pulling the tartan travel rug around her. Bruiser crammed Meridian Hambone’s helmet on his head, kicked Scarlet into life, and sped off.

  The journey in Scarlet was exhilarating, although Hettie almost revisited her rustic ham stick on the roundabout at the bottom of Sheba Gardens. Bruiser had enjoyed his first circuit so much that he repeated the manoeuvre three times before taking the exit road that would bring them in at Cheapcuts Lane. The small flats at the bottom of the road looked cold and unwelcoming, and this part of the town was to be avoided unless you enjoyed fighting or similar anti-social behaviour. It wasn’t so much that the residents were poor; it was more a case of their refusing to comply with rules that had been laid down by others; they were perfectly happy with the way things were, and had collectively decided to rail against anyone whose agenda was to make the world a better place.

  Bruiser brought the bike to a shuddering standstill outside the flats, attracting immediate attention from a legion of kittens that appeared from nowhere and proceeded to bounce up and down on the roof of the sidecar, much to Hettie’s dismay. Bruiser rose to the occasion by offering his fiercest hiss and spit routine, which held the hordes at bay long enough for Hettie to clamber out onto the pavement. Looking round, she tightened the belt on her mac as if preparing for battle. ‘I think you should stay with the bike in case this lot get any ideas about borrowing her.’

  ‘Right-o,’ said Bruiser, pleased not to be parted from his new toy. ‘Any bother, though, and you just gives me a shout. I was brought up near here, and I know how it all works. Yer gives as good as yer gets, and yer gotta earn respect – that’s the way of it.’

  Hettie was grateful for the advice but felt rather overdressed in her smart designer mac. She knew that the information she was about to deliver would not endear her in any way to this area of the town, but the sooner it was done, the better her chances of catching the killer who was still at large.

  The door to number 7 was scratched and grimy; the paint had peeled some time ago and the letterbox was just a hole in the door; there were no trimmings and no pride, just a way of getting in and out of what looked to be little more than a box connected to other boxes. There was no bell or knocker, either, so Hettie thumped on the door as politely as she could and waited.

  It was some time before she heard a shuffling from inside, followed by the appearance of two eyes looking through the letterbox hole. Hettie bent down to show herself in the hope that the door would eventually be opened.

  ‘I don’t want anything you got, so clear off!’ said the letterbox that had now turned into a mouth.

  Hettie stood back and shouted at the door. ‘I need to speak with Miss Mildred Spitforce. Is she at home? I have some distressing news for her.’

  The eyes returned to the letterbox and then the mouth again. ‘Maybe she is or maybe she isn’t, and who might you be?’

  ‘I’m Hettie Bagshot of the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency, and I must speak with Miss Spitforce urgently. Can you help?’

  Hettie was tiring of her conversation with the door and was just about to scribble a note to stick through the letterbox when she heard the sound of bolts being drawn across. The door resisted to start with, but eventually swung back to reveal a thin and feeble version of Mavis Spitforce, and Hettie wasted no time in delivering her message. ‘Ah, I can see that you are Mildred Spitforce and I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your sister Mavis is dead.’

  Hettie was hoping that she might be invited into the flat to discuss the finer points of Mavis’s death with her sister in private, but no invitation was forthcoming. Instead, Mildred Spitforce threw back her head and laughed. ‘Bad news, you say? Why, it’s the best news I’ve had in years. Miss High and Mighty gone for good? Now that really is a cause for celebration.’

  Hettie had been warned by Teezle Makepeace that there was no love lost between the sisters, but she hadn’t expected her news to bring such joy and she was keen to wipe the smile from Mildred’s face. ‘I think you should know that your sister was murdered, and I am at present investigating who might have done that.’

  ‘Murder, you say? Seems like someone got to her before I did. She had it coming to her, that’s for sure, with all her meddling and her thinking she was better than the rest of us and her delving into things that didn’t concern her.’

  Hettie could feel eyes trained on her from everywhere around the flats: doors had been half opened, and one or two cats had come out on the pretence of sweeping their doorsteps.

  ‘Do you think I could step inside for a moment, Miss Spitforce? I’d be grateful if you could tell me a little more about your sister.’

  Mildred could see that her neighbours were homing in on her visitor and their conversation, and reluctantly ushered Hettie into her front room, nodding grudgingly to a chair. ‘Sit down if you want to. There’s no heat till later so you may as well keep your coat on. What do you want to know?’

  Hettie doubted that the front room had ever had any heat, and instantly noticed the drop in temperature when she stepped in from outside. The room was a sad reflection of a life lived without colour or hope: no cheerful trappings, no photographs, just plain and sparse – a far cry from Mavis Spitforce’s comfortable home.

  ‘You seem to think that your sister deserved to be killed – is there any particular reason why?’

  Mildred Spitforce laughed again. ‘Why, you say? I’ll tell you why! She broke my heart, that’s what she did – took away the only thing I ever loved.’ A deep sob came from somewhere inside Mildred Spitforce and her frail body seemed wracked with the pain of her loss.

  Hettie sat and waited for the waters to calm a little before responding. ‘May I ask what it was that your sister took from you?’

  ‘My girl, Livvy. She was just a kitten and she snatched her away, said I couldn’t look after her pro
perly, filled her head full of books. Spoilt her, she did – just like Merry Spitforce did with her when we were growing up. He never had time for me once Ma had gone.’

  Hettie began to understand what had driven the sisters apart, but she was still confused. ‘You mentioned Merry Spitforce – who is he?’

  ‘He’s my old dad, gone now and good riddance. Left all his money to Mavis, he did, because she looked after him. They were always sharing secrets. When Livvy got older, she shared secrets with Mavis. Neither of them ever shared any secrets with me.’

  ‘What sort of secrets?’ asked Hettie.

  ‘How the hell should I know? They were secrets.’

  ‘Where is Lavinia now?’

  ‘She lives out Much-Purring way, lodges with Bugs Anderton and teaches at the village school. I never see her. She’s far too grand to call on me.’

  Hettie was beginning to feel sorry for Mildred Spitforce, despite her indifference to Mavis’s death, but there were things that had to be done and Mavis could not lie indefinitely in her parlour. ‘Your sister’s body is still in her house at Whisker Terrace. Is there anyone who will take responsibility for the … er … arrangements?’

  Mildred had recovered a little and returned to her earlier bravado. ‘Well, that’s nothing to do with me, although I wouldn’t mind having a look at her now that she can’t have a go at me. Hang on a minute – I’ll get my coat.’

  Mildred had taken Hettie by surprise; the last thing she had expected was to be ferrying her across town to view her sister’s corpse, but that’s exactly what appeared to be happening. The motorbike and sidecar were not where she had left them, but no sooner had she sworn under her breath than Scarlet roared into view, Bruiser giving her full throttle to the delight of at least half a dozen kittens who had crammed themselves into the sidecar for a free ride.

  The kittens tumbled out as Bruiser applied the brakes. Hettie did her best to help Mildred into the sidecar, then closed the lid to avoid any further conversation and clambered up behind Bruiser. ‘Do you know Whisker Terrace?’ she shouted above the din of the bike’s engine. Bruiser nodded and spun the machine around. They travelled back up Cheapcuts Lane, past Jessie’s shop and out onto the High Street, narrowly missing Lavender Stamp who was on her second postal round of the day.

  There was quite a crowd in Whisker Terrace as Bruiser swung the motorbike round the corner. Balti Dosh was deep in conversation with Hacky Redtop from the local paper, and his sidekick Prunella Snap was taking pictures of the crowd that had gathered outside Mavis Spitforce’s front door. Bruiser parked the bike outside the Dosh Stores, and Hettie groaned at the sight of so many sightseers.

  ‘Bloody marvellous!’ she said. ‘How are we going to get in there without being noticed? We’ll be mobbed, and Hacky Redtop won’t let it drop until he’s got a story.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Bruiser, helping Mildred out of the sidecar. ‘There’s an alleyway round the back that leads to the gardens. We’ve just got to work out which house is which.’

  Mildred responded immediately. ‘I know the one. Mavis didn’t like me coming to the front door, so I always went round the back.’ Mildred led the way past the Dosh Stores and round the corner into the alleyway. A high wall ran down both sides, punctuated every so often by a tall garden gate. Mildred chose the second gate, but it was bolted and Bruiser sprang into action, bounding over the wall and opening the gate from the inside to let Hettie and Mildred into the garden.

  ‘I’ll stand guard by the gate while you go in, just in case we get any trouble at the back.’

  Hettie had quite forgotten how decisive Bruiser was and welcomed his protective qualities. He was certainly earning his bed and board. She felt for the key in her mac pocket and steered Mildred Spitforce up the garden towards the house. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? She’s been dead for some time.’

  Mildred nodded and Hettie forced the key into the lock, opening the door into the kitchen. Once inside, she locked the door behind them in case the gathering crowd at the front decided to try their luck.

  ‘She’s in the parlour. Would you like me to come with you?’

  Mildred looked nervous, as if the news of her sister’s death was finally registering. ‘I’ve never seen anyone dead before. I ran away when Ma died. They laid her out in her coffin for people to visit, but I couldn’t look.’

  Hettie was beginning to wish that she had been successful in closing Mavis Spitforce’s eyes before allowing her family to view the corpse, but nothing could be done now. ‘You could wait until the undertakers have made her more … er … comfortable,’ she suggested as Mildred moved towards the parlour, but it was she who was actually more shocked by what confronted them: Mavis Spitforce’s body was gone, and all that remained was the blanket that Hettie had thrown over her.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Hettie, speaking out loud. ‘She was here a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘Perhaps she wasn’t dead,’ offered Mildred, slumping down on the chaise longue which her sister had so recently vacated. ‘It’s just like her to perform a miracle to disappoint me.’

  ‘That’s not possible. She was really very dead and certainly not capable of going anywhere under her own steam.’ Hettie looked round the room, sensing that there were other things out of place as well as the missing corpse. Her attention was drawn to the desk and one of the drawers which was slightly open; the clock on the mantelpiece was no longer in its central position; and the door that led through to the short hallway was wide open. Hettie could see the front door, which she hadn’t been aware of before.

  Mildred shivered. ‘Good to know she scrimped on her heating as well. It’s freezing in here.’

  Suddenly there was a sound from above as if a door was being closed. Mildred and Hettie both looked towards the stairs as the rhythmic beat of footsteps came closer to the parlour. The two cats braced themselves, preparing to see the ghost of Mavis Spitforce appear from behind the stair curtain; afterwards, it was hard to decide if they were disappointed or relieved when reality spoke.

  ‘Well, I didn’t think it would be long before the family vulture turned up.’ The comment was addressed directly towards Mildred Spitforce, and it was clear to Hettie that the cat who joined them in the parlour was her daughter, Lavinia. ‘And I see you’ve brought a friend with you to help carry off the spoils. Well, it won’t surprise you to learn that she left you absolutely nothing, so you can get out of my house right now.’

  Hettie looked at the dejected form of Mildred Spitforce, considered the spiteful nature of Lavinia’s words, and couldn’t resist wading in. ‘That’s not entirely true, Miss Spitforce. Your aunt left a box of sovereigns to your mother. You are correct in assuming that you are a beneficiary, but I regret to inform you that this is not your house.’

  Lavinia Spitforce looked first at Hettie and then at Mildred before adopting her school teacher’s voice. ‘I’m not interested in anything you have to say. I know what has been promised to me, and whatever you have dreamt up between you is incorrect. Now, if you would be kind enough to leave, I will get on with the business of organising a funeral.’

  Mildred Spitforce stood and turned on her daughter. ‘You wicked little madam! Where is the grief? Where are the tears? And where is my sister?’

  Lavinia sneered, showing perfect teeth. ‘It’s a bit late for all this, isn’t it? Suddenly caring now she’s dead. She was old. Old cats die. You’ll die soon. There’s no time for grief – we’re born, we make our own way, and then we die. I’ve had her taken away. I don’t want her cluttering the place up while I sort through her rubbish. If you’re desperate to see her, she’ll be tucked up at Shroud and Trestle’s – they carted her off half an hour ago. She got a great send-off from her neighbours. They’re still out there now.’

  Hettie shook her head in disgust, remembering the pride with which Mavis Spitforce had spoken of her niece during their tea time chats. She decided to try and take control of the situation before Lavinia destroyed
her mother completely. ‘Miss Spitforce, you refer to your aunt’s death as a natural progression of life, but I should point out to you that her death was by no means natural. Someone chose to plunge a knife into her back and then dress her up as a pumpkin while she was seated at her kitchen table.’ She enjoyed the look of horror on Lavinia’s face; Mildred appeared to have gone into shock, and at last mother and daughter seemed to have found some common ground. Lavinia opened her mouth to speak, but Hettie pressed on. ‘Your aunt was murdered, this house is a crime scene, and – whatever your expectations were – your aunt drew up a new will a couple of weeks ago, and this house has been left to someone else.’

  ‘Oh, you mean this worthless bit of paper?’ sneered Lavinia, pulling the will from her coat pocket. She reached behind her and took a box of matches off the mantelpiece, then threw the will into the empty grate and lit it before Hettie could react. ‘There you are!’ she continued. ‘The old will still stands, and in that one I get everything.’ The angry cat crossed to the desk and yanked the third drawer open with some force, then took the box of sovereigns out and threw it across the room at her mother. ‘Here, take what she left you and go. That’s all you’re getting. If you’ve a fancy for anything else, you’ll have to buy it from a charity shop. I’m getting the house cleared tomorrow, and anyway, none of this stuff would fit in that nasty little box you call home.’

  The coins broke loose from the tin and Hettie gathered them together while Mildred’s sobs shook the chaise longue. There was a piece of paper in the bottom of the box, and a quick glance told Hettie that it was a letter from Mavis to Mildred; she replaced the coins and pocketed the letter to look at later, just in case it shed further light on the sisters’ relationship. Now, there were some unanswered questions regarding Lavinia Spitforce and Hettie took what she knew might be her last chance to confront her. ‘Before we go, Miss Spitforce, I should inform you that my colleagues and I are investigating the circumstances surrounding your aunt’s murder. I wonder if I might ask you a couple of questions?’