by Adele Abbott
“I can give you their names, and the last addresses I have for them.”
“That will do. I should be able to track them down from there.”
***
On my way back to the car, I checked my phone. I had two text messages. The first was from Jack; he had to work late and so wouldn’t be home for dinner. That was just dandy because it should have been his turn to cook. The second message was from Amber. She wanted to remind me about the book signing on Friday. I really wasn’t very keen to go, but I felt I should support the twins, so I sent a reply saying I’d be there.
Just then, a woman came down the road, pushing a pram. She was wearing an ankle length blue dress, and a headscarf. There was something very familiar about her.
“Daze?”
“Jill? What brings you to this neck of the woods?”
“I’m working on a missing person case. More to the point, what’s with the dress and the pram?”
“Undercover again.”
“The dress suits you.”
“Don’t you start. I’ve taken enough ribbing from the guys back at HQ.”
“Are you working solo today?”
“I wish.”
“Hi, Jill.” Blaze spat out the dummy, and sat up in the pram.
“Crikey! I didn’t realise that was you. It must be a tight fit in there?”
“Tell me about it. I don’t know why Daze couldn’t have used a doll.”
“Because.” Daze engaged her ‘headmistress’ voice. “This is a two-man job. Plus, I wanted to see you in a pram.” She laughed.
“See what I have to put up with, Jill?” Blaze stuck the dummy back into his mouth.
“Who are you after?” I asked.
“We’ve had reports that Roger Rosepetal, a diminutive elf, is posing as a young child to gain access to the nursery school.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Roger is an expert pickpocket. He steals from the parents when they come to pick up their kids. No one expects a young child to be rifling through their pockets and bags.”
“He sounds like a nasty piece of work.”
“He really is, but he’s in for a shock later.”
“I bet. Hey, Daze, have you heard of someone called Tammy Winestock?”
“Of course. She’s a celebrity chef back in Candlefield. She hit the big time a couple of years ago. What with her TV appearances and books, she must be making a fortune.”
“Apparently, she’s doing a book signing at Cuppy C on Friday.”
“That can’t be right.”
“According to the twins, it is.”
“She’s an A-list celebrity. Why would she go to Cuppy C? Are you sure the twins aren’t just pulling your leg?”
“I don’t think so. They’re adamant that it’s going to happen.”
“If that’s right, then kudos to them. Anyway, we’d better get going. We have an appointment with an elf.”
“Good luck, Daze.” I leaned over the pram. “Oh, and Blaze—”
“Yeah?” He sat up.
“Goo, goo, goo.”
Daze and I dissolved into laughter; Blaze was most definitely not amused.
Chapter 9
Something just didn’t ring true about the book signing that the twins had organised. If Tammy Winestock was as big a deal as Daze had suggested, why would she waste her time doing a book signing at Cuppy C? The twins were convinced that it was going to happen, but I had serious doubts.
If I’d had any sense, I would have kept my nose out, but as we’ve already established, common-sense and I were not even on speaking terms.
I magicked myself over to Candlefield library. I was going to brave the dusty basement where copies of The Candle newspaper were archived. If only the other members of the Combined Sup Council had got their collective heads out of their collective backsides, and agreed to introduce the internet to the sup world, my life would have been so much easier.
Two hours later, covered in dust, I re-emerged. I’d flicked through every copy of The Candle for the last nine months, and had found details of five other book signings that Tammy Winestock had held. They’d all taken place in large, prestigious venues that typically held several hundred people. That seemed to correspond with what Daze had told me, and made it even less likely that the celebrity chef/author would agree to make an appearance in Cuppy C. The most recent book signing that she’d held was at Candlefield Country Club—an upmarket establishment that was located out towards the Black Mountains. That had taken place less than a week before, and according to the article in The Candle, it had attracted a crowd of several hundred eager fans.
“Are you a member?” The wizard doorman at Candlefield Country Club looked down his nose at me.
“No.”
“Members only.”
“I don’t actually want to use the club’s facilities. I’d just like to speak to whoever is responsible for booking guest speakers: authors, that sort of thing.”
“That’s Adrian Knutsmore. You can write to him at this address.”
“Is he here now? I’d really like to speak to him today.”
“He’s a busy man. Who are you, anyway?”
“My name is Jill Gooder. I’m—”
“The Jill Gooder? Why didn’t you say so?” He stepped aside. “Do come in, Ms Gooder. Take a seat over there, please. I’ll see if Adrian is free. Would you care for a drink?”
“No, I’m okay, thanks.”
He hurried off, leaving me to reflect that my fame, such as it was, did come in handy sometimes.
A few minutes later, the doorman reappeared. He was struggling to keep pace with a short, older wizard who was headed my way.
“Ms Gooder. This is indeed an honour. I’m Adrian Knutsmore, social secretary.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand; he had a strong grip for such a small man.
“To what do we owe this honour? Are you thinking of joining the club? The waiting list is currently over six months, but for you, I’m sure I could pull a few strings.”
“That’s very kind, but I’m actually here for some information about a book signing you hosted last week.”
“Tammy Winestock?”
“Yes. How did it go?”
“It was a roaring success. We used the main hall, which is very large, but there was barely enough room to accommodate everyone. She’s a big draw.”
“So I understand. Could I ask how you came to host the event?”
“It wasn’t easy to organise. It took me the best part of three months just to get hold of her agent. And when I finally did, he took a lot of persuading. It cost a small fortune, too. Still, she’s in such demand, it’s hardly surprising.”
“Just so I’ve got this straight. You approached them? They didn’t contact you?”
“That’s right. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Thank you very much, Mr Knutsmore. You’ve been a great help.” I turned to leave.
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in a membership, Ms Gooder?”
“Not just now, but thanks, anyway.”
***
Amber and Pearl were both behind the counter in Cuppy C.
“Hi, girls. Have you ordered the fish tank yet?”
“No. We’re going to wait until after the book signing on Friday.” Amber was wearing an unusual shade of green lipstick.
“I actually popped in to talk to you about the book signing.”
“You’re still coming, aren’t you, Jill?” Pearl said.
“Yes—err—well, that’s just it. I’m worried there might be something amiss about this book signing.”
“You worry too much, Jill,” Amber said.
“Yeah.” Pearl nodded. “You should be more laid back. Like us.”
“You might be right, but I’ve done some research into Tammy Winestock, and it appears that she only ever does book signings at large, prestigious venues.”
“Which is why this is such a coup for us,” Amber said.
“I’ve just been to Candlefield Country Club.”
“Ooh, la-di-da.” Pearl mocked. “Aren’t we the posh one?”
“Should we start calling you: your ladyship?” Amber laughed.
“I’m not a member there. I just went to talk to the man who books their guest speakers.”
“Are you thinking of giving a talk? Blueberry muffins through the ages?”
They both laughed.
“The club hosted a book signing for Tammy Winestock last week. There were hundreds there—they almost had to turn people away.”
“That’s great,” Amber said. “Think of how much money we’ll take over the counter.”
“The man who booked Tammy told me that it had taken him three months just to get hold of her agent, and even then, it took some persuasion to get him to agree. They even had to pay her an appearance fee.”
“More fool them,” Pearl said. “It isn’t costing us a penny.”
“That’s just my point. Don’t you think this smells fishy? Why would her agent contact you, and offer to do this for free? Something isn’t right.”
“You’re forgetting one important thing, Jill,” Pearl said.
“What’s that?”
“We’re the ones who spoke to him. We know what he said, and Tammy will be here on Friday, so you’d better make sure you’re early, otherwise you might not get in.”
“Don’t you think it might at least be worth double-checking?”
“No need. We know what was agreed.”
Oh well. No one could say I hadn’t tried.
***
Jack was obviously pretending to work late, just to get out of making dinner. That left me with three options. Option one: Make dinner for myself—nah, didn’t feel like doing that. Option two: Order dinner in—appealing, but I was spending way too much on takeouts. Or option three.
“Kathy, it’s me.”
“Hey. You just caught me. I just got back from collecting the kids from school.”
“No rest for the wicked. I imagine you’ve got to make dinner now, too?”
“Of course. It isn’t going to make itself.”
“Having anything nice?”
“I’m doing a roast. Pete enjoys a midweek roast.”
“Hmm, sounds delicious. I’m eating alone tonight. Jack’s got to work late.”
“Hold on.” She laughed. “Are you angling for an invite?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“So, why did you call?”
“Err—why did I call? Err—to ask—err—to ask if you found out what all the banging was downstairs at Ever.”
“You’re such a liar. Would you like to come over for dinner?”
“Okay, but only if you insist.”
“You can help Pete to do the washing up. And in answer to your question, no, I still don’t have any idea what your grandmother is up to down there, but all the banging has stopped, and the workmen seemed to have finished.”
“I’ll come over now, then.”
“See you shortly.”
Yes! Result! Except for the washing up part, but I might be able to sweet-talk Peter into doing that by himself.
What? Who are you calling devious?
“Auntie Jill, I’ve entered a fishing competition.” Mikey was on me as soon as I stepped in the door.
“Let Auntie Jill get inside first, Mikey.” Kathy appeared from the kitchen.
“That sounds exciting,” I lied. “When is it?”
“On Sunday. Will you come to watch me?”
“Sunday? Err—I might be doing—”
“Of course she’ll come, Mikey.” Kathy got in first. “She’s family. That’s why she felt she could invite herself over for dinner today, isn’t it, Auntie Jill?”
Touché.
“Thanks, Auntie Jill!” Mikey went charging off upstairs.
“He’s really into the fishing now, then?” I said.
“Oh yes. He talks about nothing else. Still, I’m not complaining. I’ll take fishing over the drumming every day of the week. Pete enters this competition every year, and Mikey said he wanted to take part too.”
“What chance will he stand against all the adults?”
“He won’t be competing against them. There are separate competitions for different age groups.”
“Isn’t it an expensive hobby? All that tackle?”
“It is, but we’ve sold the drum kit. That paid for most of the stuff he needed. You should get Jack to come on Sunday, too.”
“Don’t worry. If I have to suffer—err—I mean, if I have to be there—then he’s definitely coming too. It will be payback for the charity sports competition.”
“What charity sports competition?”
“Didn’t I tell you? He’s roped me into some kind of sports day at his work: sack races, egg and spoon, that kind of thing.”
“Oh dear. You were always pretty useless at that stuff when we were at school.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“That’s because you have a selective memory. Don’t you remember when you tripped over the sack, and fell into the Mayor? He spilled his lemonade all over his robe.”
“You’re making this up.”
“Trust me, I couldn’t make this stuff up.”
“Where’s Lizzie?”
“In her bedroom.”
“Is she okay? She usually comes to greet me.”
“She’s been a little quiet for a couple of days. Why don’t you go say hello to her?”
Lizzie was on her bed, surrounded by a sea of frankensteinesque beanies.
“Hi, Lizzie.”
“Hello, Auntie Jill.” She barely managed a smile.
“Is everything okay? You usually come down to say hello to me.”
“Sorry. I’m just sad today.”
I sat down on the bed, doing my best not to touch any of the monster beanies. “Why are you sad?”
“Caroline has gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me. When I went to school on Monday, she wasn’t there, and I haven’t seen her since.”
“Why didn’t you tell your mummy that you were feeling sad?”
“Because she doesn’t believe that Caroline is real. When I talk about ghosts, she laughs and tells me not to be silly.”
“You mustn’t blame your mummy for that. Not everyone can see ghosts.”
“Why can I?”
“Because you’re special.”
“Are you and Madeline special, too?”
“I suppose we are. There’s one very important thing about having this special power that you have to remember: you mustn’t tell other people.”
“Why not?”
“It might make them sad because they aren’t special too.”
“What do you think has happened to Caroline, Auntie Jill?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she went away on holiday?”
“Do ghosts go on holiday?”
“Sure. Ghosts do most of the same things we do.”
“When do you think she’ll come back?”
“I don’t know. It will depend where she’s gone. I’m sure she’ll turn up again in a few days. In the meantime, you have to cheer up because your mummy will worry about you.”
“I’m okay now I know that Caroline is going to come back.” Lizzie jumped off the bed, and skipped out of the bedroom.
She would be devastated if her BFF didn’t come back soon, but at least I’d bought a little time to find out what had really happened to Caroline.
“How did you manage that?” Kathy said.
I shrugged. “I just talked to her about her beanies, and she seemed to cheer up.”
“You obviously have a knack with kids. The sooner you have some of your own, the better.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
It has to be said, Kathy makes a mean roast dinner.
“That was delicious, Kathy,” I said after I’d fin
ished.
“It’s nice to be appreciated for once.”
“Hey.” Peter objected. “That’s a bit harsh. I’m always telling you how much I enjoy your dinners.”
“You should take a leaf out of Jack’s book, Pete,” she said. “He cooks dinner every night.”
“No, he doesn’t. We take turns.”
“I’ve seen your idea of taking turns. When we were kids, we were supposed to take turns taking out the trash.”
“And we did.”
She laughed. “The scary thing is that you probably believe that.”
“It’s true.”
“If you remember, Mum liked us to do it at eight o’ clock in the morning, before we went to school.”
“I remember.”
“And do you remember how you always did a vanishing act just before eight o’clock every day?”
“She’s making this stuff up, Peter.”
“I bet Jack would have no trouble believing me.” Kathy grinned.
“Anyway, how’s business, Peter,” I asked.
“Going from strength to strength. In fact, I was going to ask you if you’d get Megan to give me a call.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I’m getting to the point where I’m going to have to turn work away. I thought I might refer some of the smaller jobs, which I can’t handle, to her. After all, I feel like I owe her for the Washbridge House contract.”
“I’ll tell her. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. It sounds like she’s already building up quite a clientele of her own.”
“Great. Ask her to give me a call, would you?”
“Sure. When I was talking to her the other day, she mentioned garden gnomes.”
Peter grinned. “They’re the bane of my life.”
“You too? She said that she gets a lot of requests for them.”
“They’re very popular.”
“And profitable, according to Megan. She reckons she’s found a cheap source.”
“I had someone call me the other day, offering gnomes at ludicrously low prices, but it all sounded rather dodgy. When I asked about a catalogue, he said he didn’t have one; he didn’t even know what inventory he had. I told him I wasn’t interested—it all sounded a bit too good to be true. Tell her to be careful.”