by Adele Abbott
“No problem. I’ve had to work late too.” I sniffed the air. “What is that you’re eating?”
“This? It’s curds.”
“And whey?”
“Ooh, no!” She screwed up her nose. “That stuff is gross.”
“I’ll just take this.” I put the Pot Noodle on the counter.
“Is that all you want?”
“Yeah. I just need something quick and easy.”
“Mr Corner has asked me to tell every customer about his new line.”
“What’s he got this time? Rubik’s Cubes? Space Hoppers?”
“Buckets.”
“Sorry?”
“Over there.” She pointed down the next aisle.
I shuffled to my left, and took a look. At the far end of the shop was a mountainous display of buckets, in all colours and sizes.
“I’ve never seen so many buckets.”
“He bought a job lot. Can I interest you in one?”
“No, thanks. I’m okay bucket-wise at the moment.”
“Will you at least take one of these. It’s a list of all the different sizes and colours. It took Mr Corner hours to complete it.”
“Okay, then.” I turned to leave, but then hesitated. “No thought for the day?”
“Sorry. Mr Corner did tell me what it was, but I’ve forgotten. You won’t tell him, will you?”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
When I got home, Jack had his trouser leg rolled up, and was applying a plaster.
“What happened to you?”
“I tripped.”
“While you were practising for the sack race?” I grinned.
“I’m glad you find it amusing.”
“Sorry. How did it go?”
“Really well, until I fell. I figure I’m in with a good chance of doing the double.”
“Good for you.”
“What’s that in your hand?”
“A Pot Noodle. What does it look like?”
“Not that. The sheet of paper.”
“This? It’s just a bucket list.”
“Aren’t you a bit young to be making one of those?”
Chapter 13
Jack had made us both a fry-up for breakfast. What a star!
“I think I’ve got the sack race nailed.” He sounded very pleased with himself.
“That’s great.”
“I managed to lay my hands on a small sack too if you’d like to practise before you leave for work.”
“I’d love to, but I have to see someone before I go to the office.”
“I take it you’re still busy?”
“Very. I’ve got a few cases on the go.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He grinned. “If you keep that up, I’ll be able to retire soon, and become a gentleman of leisure.”
“Dream on, buddy. I only got together with you because I thought I could become a kept woman.”
“You got that badly wrong, didn’t you?”
“It’s beginning to look that way.”
After Jack had left for work, I checked the local phone book. There was only one Dewey listed in the Smallwash area, and he had the initial ‘S’. That sounded like my man. Remarkably, he lived only five minutes from my house.
Dewey’s house stood out from the rest in the row, but not in a good way. The paintwork was flaking and in desperate need of attention. The lawn was overgrown, and the borders were overrun with weeds. One of the gates was hanging from a single hinge.
I knocked three times on the door, and was about to give up when I heard footsteps inside.
“Yes?” The man who answered the door had long, unkempt hair, and a beard; he looked like he hadn’t washed for some considerable time. He was standing awkwardly, with one hand tucked behind his back.
“Mr Dewey?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. Could I ask you a few questions?”
“What about?”
“The H&L bakery.”
For the first time, I thought I saw a spark of life in his eyes. “What about it?”
“I understand you were there when it burned down.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Can you tell me what happened that day?”
“They died. Both of them. I couldn’t do anything.”
“Did you know the men who died?”
He nodded. “I used to have a bakery, too. We were rivals. We didn’t really get on.”
“What were you doing there that day?”
“I walked that same route every morning. I saw the flames as soon as I turned onto the street. I tried to get in, but it was impossible.”
“Did the police question you?”
“Yes. They thought I’d done it.”
“You sold your own bakery not long afterwards. Why was that?”
“I couldn’t see any point in carrying on. Harry and Larry worked much harder than I ever did, and look what happened to them. Snuffed out just like that. And anyway, I couldn’t work with this.” He brought his arm from behind his back. All that remained of his fingers were stubs.
“Did the fire do that?”
He nodded. “Didn’t even realise I’d done it until they dragged me into the ambulance. If I could just have got inside the building, I might have been able to save them.” He looked me square in the eye. “Why do you want to know all of this, anyway?”
I could hardly tell him that I was working for Harry and Larry, and I couldn’t think of any other good answer, so I cast the ‘forget’ spell, and left.
***
I magicked myself over to Ghost Town. Harry and Larry were both behind the counter in Spooky Wooky.
“Blueberry muffin, Jill?” Harry greeted me with a smile.
“Nothing for me, thanks. I can’t stay. Is there any chance I could have a word with you both in private?”
Larry asked one of their assistants to mind the counter while we went into the back.
“I’ve just been to see Stewey Dewey.”
Their expressions changed immediately.
“I hope you told the little scumbag he was going to get what was coming to him,” Larry said.
“He didn’t do it.”
“What?” Harry looked at me in disbelief. “Of course he did it. Surely, you don’t believe that lowlife?”
“I am one-hundred percent certain he didn’t do it. And what’s more, from what I’ve just seen, Stewey Dewey might as well have died in the fire with you.”
“What do you mean?” Larry said.
“He’s a broken man. Did you know he sold his bakery shortly after the fire?”
They both shook their heads.
“The man is living alone, in squalor. I don’t know how old he is, but he looks like an old man. It’s quite obvious he has lost the will to live. And do you know why? Because he blames himself for not being able to save you. He didn’t set the fire, but he did try to get inside to rescue you. The flames beat him back, but not before he’d lost all the fingers off one hand. He still has nightmares about that day; I don’t think he’ll ever get over it.”
“Are you sure about all of this, Jill?” Harry was visibly shaken. “Could he have been putting on some kind of act?”
“That was no act. I’m a good judge of people, and I have no doubt in my mind that he was telling the truth. What I don’t understand is why you are both convinced he was responsible for the fire.”
“Word got to us that the police had arrested him, and we just assumed he must have done it because the rivalry between us was pretty intense.”
“A business rivalry is one thing, but that’s a long way from deliberately killing someone. I’m sorry guys, but I think you’ve got this badly wrong.”
***
I wasn’t sure if Harry and Larry were convinced or not; they were still in a state of shock when I left them.
While I was in GT, I decided to check in with Constance Bowler. I’d called ahead to confirm she�
��d be in her office, and could spare me a few minutes.
“Morning, Jill.”
“Thanks for seeing me, Constance. I’m actually after a favour.”
“If I can help, I will.”
“My niece, Lizzie, is exhibiting parahuman powers; she’s able to see ghosts.”
“How old is she?”
“Only six.”
“Is she okay? Has it scared her?”
“She seems fine with it. Lizzie has developed a friendship with one ghost in particular: a little girl named Caroline who normally haunts Lizzie’s school. The problem is that Caroline has gone missing. Lizzie hasn’t seen her for a few days, and she’s a little upset. I told her that Caroline has probably gone on holiday, and that seems to have put her mind at rest for now, but I’m worried about what will happen if the little girl doesn’t come back soon.”
“How can I help?”
“I wondered if you knew of any way that I could track Caroline down here in GT?”
“You might be in luck. There are special rules governing minors who choose to visit the human world. There’s a special register in which they have to be listed, along with signed permission from their parents.”
“Is there any way I could get a look at that register? I really need to find Caroline’s address.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, but if you can give me the name of the school that Caroline is haunting, I should be able to trace her for you.”
“That would be great. Will it take long?”
“I should have the information later today; tomorrow at the latest. I’ll give you a call as soon as I have it.”
“Thanks, Constance.”
“While you’re here, Jill, there’s something I’d like to show you.”
“Sure.”
She took a sheet of paper from her top drawer. “One of the biggest problems we are facing is stolen goods that are being taken to the human world. It’s easy money for the thieves because they don’t even have to worry about fencing the goods here in GT. They simply move them to the human world where they’ll never be traced back here. I’m hoping you might help us to put a stop to this.”
“What’s on the list?”
“Right now, there seems to be a spate of thefts of garden ornaments and gardening equipment. These are the more popular items that are being stolen from properties in GT, and then shipped to the human world.”
I ran my eye down the list. One item in particular, caught my attention.
***
I’d just about got used to living in two different worlds, but now that I had a third one to contend with, things could sometimes get confusing. Sometimes, I felt like the lead singer of a rock band who goes on stage and says: ‘Hello, Manchester’, only to find they are actually in Birmingham.
I’d magicked myself to Washbridge, and from there to Candlefield. I had an owl-shifter to track down, and my first port of call was his sister’s house. Appropriately enough, she lived on Aviary Drive.
“Can I help you?” The woman who answered the door had nails that were so long they resembled talons.
“I’m looking for Alfie.”
“Why? Is it about the DVD?”
“Sorry?”
“He took it back three weeks ago.”
“I’m not here about a DVD.”
“If he owes you money, I haven’t got any.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I’m working for Ella Brand who runs the Washbridge Bird Sanctuary. She’s worried about Alfie.”
“Why didn’t you say so before? Alfie said someone might come looking for him, but he thought it would be Eric. That’s not you, is it?”
“No. My name is Jill Gooder. Do you know where Alfie is?”
“He’s in Candlefield Hospital. The stupid idiot went for a bike ride, and fell off. Broke his leg, he did.”
“I really do need to have a word with him. Do you know which ward he’s in?”
“Dove ward, unless they’ve moved him. Are you going there now?”
“I thought I might.”
“Would you mind taking him a change of underwear? I forgot all about it yesterday.”
Dove ward was on the second floor of Candlefield Hospital. Alfie’s leg was in plaster, and he was looking very sorry for himself.
“You must be Alfie.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m the woman with your clean underwear.” I dropped the bag onto his bed. “Your sister sent these.”
“Thanks, but I still don’t know who you are?”
“My name is Jill Gooder, and I’m working for Ella Brand.”
“How is she?”
“She’s missing a barn owl, and is extremely worried.”
“I knew she would be, but what can I do?” He tapped the plaster cast. “It’s my own stupid fault for getting on that bike. I never did have a sense of balance.”
“It doesn’t look like you’ll be back at the bird sanctuary anytime soon.”
“The doc said I can get out of here tomorrow, but it’ll be weeks before I’m back on my feet. This is a total disaster. I love that gig. I’m well looked after, and I get the chance to raise money for the other ‘real’ birds that live there.”
“Are there many other owl shifters in Candlefield?”
“Quite a few, actually. Most of them are members of the OSA.”
“What’s that?”
“The Owl Shifter Alliance. I’m the treasurer.”
“Who’s in charge of the OSA?”
“Graham Clawson is the president. Why?”
“I’ve had an idea.”
***
I’d no sooner arrived back in Washbridge than my phone rang; it wasn’t a number I recognised.
“Is that Jill Gooder?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Kitty Landers. I’m Conrad’s mother. You’ve been in contact with my son. He says you want to visit him, or talk to him on the phone. He’s asked me to find out what it’s all about.”
“As I said in my note to your son, I’m a private investigator. I’m working for Sophie Brownling. Her daughter went missing several months before the Patty Lake murder.”
“I remember. I thought at one time they were going to try to pin that on Conrad too. You know that my son is innocent, I assume?”
“I know he pleaded not guilty, and has had a number of appeals rejected.”
“They wanted him to take a plea bargain for a lesser charge, but he refused because he hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“Sophie Brownling is desperate to find out what happened to her daughter. As a mother, I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Of course I can, but I have to tell you, Miss Gooder, that my only interest is in proving my son’s innocence, and getting him out of prison. I fail to see how he can help with your enquiry. He was no more involved with that girl’s disappearance than he was with the murder.”
“It’s possible that whoever abducted Angie Potts may also have been responsible for Patty Lake’s murder. It’s also possible that I may uncover evidence in the course of my enquiry that helps your son, but I do need to speak to him.”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do you have to lose?”
“I’ll talk to him, and see what he says, but I’m not making any promises.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
Chapter 14
What a day! So far, I’d searched for an owl in Candlefield, and a little ghost girl in GT. And, on top of that, I’d had to try to convince Harry and Larry that the bakery fire wasn’t arson.
I definitely deserved a coffee.
Did you notice? No mention of muffins? I have such willpower.
“What can I get for you today?” The hipster who was working behind the counter in Coffee Triangle was new.
“Just a caramel latte, please.”
“Muffins are on special offer today, if you’re interested? Twenty percent off.”
“Go on, then. I’ll tak
e a blueberry one.”
What? You didn’t expect me to turn down a special offer, did you?
“Eating in?”
“To-go, please.”
“Every coffee bought today earns you one entry in the ‘how many marbles in the jar’ competition.” He pointed to the large jar behind the counter. “Here, just write your name and your guess on this slip of paper.”
“Thanks.” I’d never been very good at that kind of competition, so I wrote the first number that popped into my head.
As soon as I left Coffee Triangle, I heard music, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was a Viennese waltz.
That’s when I saw them.
Half a dozen couples were waltzing up and down the high street. The men were wearing tailcoats; the women were resplendent in ballgowns. Each of them had a small card pinned to their back, on which was printed:
Ever Ballroom Opens On Monday
At Ever A Wool Moment
Much as it pained me to admit it, Grandma was a marketing genius.
It took me some time to weave my way through the couples who were now dancing a quickstep.
“Jill! Morning!” Betty Longbottom called from across the road.
I popped the rest of the muffin into my mouth, and went over to say hello.
“What’s going on over there, Jill?”
I still had a mouthful of muffin, so I grunted, and hoped it sounded like: ‘Grandma’.
“Sorry?” Betty obviously didn’t speak MuffinGrunt.
I held up a finger to indicate I needed a moment.
“Sorry about that.” I’d swallowed the last of the muffin. “It’s Grandma. She’s opening a ballroom in the basement of Ever A Wool Moment.”
“Why would she put a ballroom in a wool shop?”
“Didn’t you know? Ever isn’t a wool shop. It’s a destination.”
“A what?”
“Don’t ask me. That’s just some rubbish Grandma came up with. You have to hand it to her, though—she really knows how to generate publicity.”
“Talking of publicity.” Betty’s face suddenly lit up. “Crustacean Monthly are doing a profile on me for their next issue.”
“I assume they’re a big player in the crustacean world?”