by Kim M Watt
“There’s a Josie Fyfe here?”
“Josie!” Shirley said, rubbing her painfully red nose again. “Can she come in?”
Collins looked at DI Adams, and she shrugged. There didn’t seem to be much more to ask. “Yes, I think we’re done here,” he said, and disentangled himself gently from Shirley’s grip. “You look after yourself, okay? And call us if you need anything.” He fished a card out of his phone case and handed it to her. “Especially if you remember anything that you think might be important. Anything at all.”
Shirley nodded, her eyes already brimming over, and DI Adams thanked her then headed for the door at the quickest pace she could manage and not seem too rude. Hopefully. Another woman in workout gear was waiting impatiently at the door, her handbag clutched in both hands, and she gave them a look that suggested this whole thing was their fault before pushing into the dining room.
Outside, DI Adams breathed in the cooler, clearer air as she walked down the little path to the front gate, Dandy trotting next to her. He seemed to have taken a liking to a magazine and was carrying it with him, but as Collins hadn’t said anything about being able to see a floating glossy mag, she didn’t bother taking it off him. That would look weirder. She checked the street instead. There weren’t any gawkers gathered around the police cars, but she could see people standing on front steps and peering around curtains, and there was a man walking his dog astonishingly slowly on the other side of the street. She rubbed her eyes and checked the time.
“’The body?’” DI Collins said. “I thought all you big city cops got sensitivity training and that sort of thing.”
DI Adams didn’t fancy admitting that she’d had to take the course three times, and then the instructor had only really passed her because he’d given it up as a bad job. “Well, what was with all the patting and stroking? I half-expected you to scratch her behind the ears and offer her a treat.”
Collins snorted. “In policing around here, we’re sometimes required to have these things called people skills.”
“Yet another reason to dislike the country.”
“Well, look. You can practise yours.” Collins nodded at Ervin, who was waving enthusiastically beyond the cordon of cars.
“Not a chance.” DI Adams beeped her car open and tried to ignore the journalist as he hurried over.
“Another death on the council! This is looking like a pattern, wouldn’t you say?”
“No comment,” DI Adams said, getting in the car.
“Oh, come on! I helped you out!”
“You did,” Collins agreed, leaning on the car as DI Adams slammed her door. “But that was just you doing your civic duty, right?”
Ervin snorted. “Obviously the answer’s no, but I can’t say that without looking like scum, can I?”
DI Adams slid her window down. “You already look like a journalist.”
“Harsh. But I feel we’ve got a nice back and forth going here. A repartee? A bond?”
Collins wedged himself into the passenger side. “He’s right, of course. There is a bond.”
“Like a bail bond?” DI Adams asked, starting the car.
“Something like that.”
“Come on.” Ervin leaned on the window, all dimples and dark curls. “At least give me an official statement.”
“I can officially state that you’re an annoying little prat,” Adams said, and pulled away, leaving the journalist standing in the middle of the street scowling after them.
“You see,” Collins said, “your people skills are excellent in these sorts of situations.”
“I think so.”
“However, for the good of our partnership, I think I should talk to victims and grieving widows.”
“I’m in complete agreement.” She glanced at her watch. “Dinner? Cake in Toot Hansell didn’t quite cut it for me.”
“Dinner,” Collins agreed, leaning back in his seat. “Then we need to revisit the Alice Martin problem.”
“And figure out how we’re going to pin two – maybe three – deaths on a development company that we have no evidence has actually done anything wrong.”
“I think this sort of mental effort calls for pizza.”
DI Adams started to point out that she wasn’t sure pizza was really considered brain food, but was interrupted by her phone shrilling through the car’s speakers. The display flashed up Alice, W.I. “Got a plan yet?” she asked Collins.
“Not a one.”
“Me either.” She hit answer. “Hello, Alice.”
“Detective Inspector. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“No, you’re fine. I’m in the car with Collins.”
“Hello, Alice,” Collins added.
“Hello, Colin, dear. I just thought I should update you, as you did have to leave in rather a rush.”
“We did,” DI Adams said, heading out of the mess of quiet cul-de-sacs and back toward town. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, quite alright, thank you. However, we have discovered something rather interesting.”
The inspectors looked at each other, and DI Adams said, “What’s that?”
“At least one empty farm, DI Adams. Stockpiles of drums, possibly diesel. Earthmoving equipment.”
“Alice,” Collins said. “Have you been trespassing?”
“Merely checking on neighbours.”
DI Adams thought that, even for Alice, she might be stretching the definition of neighbourly by romping around farms. “Maybe they’re on holiday?” she offered.
“The houses were empty.”
“You went inside?” DI Adams demanded.
“There might have been someone in trouble.”
DI Adams pinched the bridge of her nose and decided that pizza sounded like an excellent idea. With extra cheese, and jalapeños. “In what world is that not poking around, Alice?”
“It may be completely unrelated. But if you should like to look into it, I can text you the address.”
“We can’t go poking into buildings without reason,” Collins said.
“Of course not. But if someone were worried about their neighbours vanishing …?”
DI Adams shook her head at the phone. “No, Alice. No making complaints. You don’t want to draw any attention to yourself.”
“Oh no, not me. Miriam’s already taken her concerns to the police, and asked for Colin specifically.”
In the absence of a handy stop sign, DI Adams considered pulling over just so she could hit her head on the wheel a couple of times. Instead she tightened her grip until her knuckles hurt and said, “This is not keeping a low profile.”
“Maybe not, but, as you say, you can’t go poking around without a reason. Now you have a reason.” Alice’s tone was dismissive. “Do let me know if you want that address.”
There was a moment’s silence, then the phone went dead. DI Adams concentrated on making her hands loosen on the wheel, but it wasn’t easy.
“I really think pizza is the only way to handle this,” Collins said after a moment. “Possibly with beer.”
DI Adams looked at the car clock and nodded. “Nothing else can happen tonight, right?”
As she spoke, Dandy pushed his head between the seats, offering DI Adams his slightly soggy prize. She made a gurk sound, but took it, handing it to Collins.
“Ew. Where did that come from?”
“Dandy wants me to have it, for some reason. He got it from the house, I guess.”
“Did he, now.” Collins unfolded the magazine, leaning forward to catch the light as the streetlights started to come on. “It’s not a magazine, Adams.”
“It’s not?”
“No. It’s a brochure. Want to guess what for?”
DI Adams hit the heel of one hand lightly on the wheel. “Not really.”
“A new way of living,” Collins read aloud. “Sympathetic to the glory of the Dales – the glory of the Dales? Really? – yet offering all the amenities of modern city dwelling. Exclusive, luxurious, secur
e. Country life, but better.” He snorted. “Offered by, of course—”
“BelleVue Developments?”
“Indeed. And”—he poked inside—“a little slobbered on, but there appear to be a couple of letters in here.”
“What do they say?”
“No return address, not signed.” He flicked the overhead light on. “We understand living requires a certain standard. We can help you achieve your ideal.”
DI Adams pulled over so she could squint at the letter. “That’s all?”
“That’s it. Sounds like some sort of get rich quick scheme.”
“What’s the next one?” She scratched Dandy under the chin and scrubbed at the top of his head as his tail beat a happy rhythm against the back seats. “Good boy!”
DI Collins looked up from the brochure, his eyebrows raised.
“Of course not you. Dandy.”
“Right.” He went back to the papers. “Your reticence concerns us.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” He turned the sheet over to check the back, then flipped through the brochure. “Nothing else in here.”
“Well, that proves sod all.”
“Wait – one more.” It was tucked into a pocket in the back page, and he unfolded it, holding it so DI Adams could see the stark black print. “Choices have consequences.”
They stared at it for a moment, then DI Adams said, “That is no use at all.”
“World’s worst fortune cookies,” Collins agreed. “But they were inside a BelleVue Developments brochure.”
“Tenuous, but enough to ask some questions.”
“Do we deserve pizza now?”
She gave Dandy a one-armed hug and said, “We should have it either way.”
Collins shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the invisible dog thing.”
“You and me both.” She reached up to turn the overhead light out and he caught her arm.
“What’s on your sleeve?”
She peered at it uncertainly. “It looks like …”
“Cake crumbs?”
DI Adams lifted Dandy’s chin to the light, spotting icing on his nose and more crumbs caught in his dreadlocks. “Oh no …”
“You don’t think—” Collins phone rang, cutting him off, and they both looked at it apprehensively. He tapped answer. “Lucas? Really? Gone? No, we didn’t pick them up. No, didn’t see anyone else around. Sure, hang on.” He looked up at Adams and said, “You didn’t take the cupcakes, did you?”
“No,” she said, and glared at Dandy, who sat back into the seat and thumped his tail. “Not me.”
“Yeah, sorry, Lucas. I’m sure they’ll, um, turn up.” DI Collins hung up, looked at DI Adams and said, “Well.”
“Yeah.” She started the car again. “Pizza?”
14
Mortimer
“No,” Thompson said. The cat had appeared at the kitchen window, peering in at them with narrowed green eyes and demanding to know why no one had considered that he might be waiting for his dinner. Miriam had found a tin of salmon in the pantry, and now he was sitting on the table with salmon juice on his chin and his tail flicking from side to side, threatening to end up in the butter. “No, we will not be asking around the farm cats to see if anyone saw anything dodgy going on.”
Mortimer wondered if that was the royal we, or if Thompson really did think he could stop Beaufort and Alice from asking questions.
“See here, Thompson,” the High Lord said, “we don’t know what happened to the people from the farm. We don’t even know if it might be more than one farm. We just want to be sure everyone’s alright, and not draw too much unwanted attention by going there ourselves.”
“No, you see here, Beaufort,” the cat started, and Alice clicked her tongue.
“Thompson. There’s no need to be rude.”
“I am not being rude. You are all behaving like particularly inbred poodles.”
There was a moment’s silence while everyone tried to decipher just how much of an insult that was. Mortimer felt it was probably deeply offensive, given cats’ low opinions of the intelligence of dogs. He personally thought dogs, terrifyingly toothy though they were, were probably quite intelligent. After all, one never saw them caught up in Investigations.
“I will withhold all fresh fish and kick you off my bed unless you stop acting like a lout,” Alice said.
“You still let him sleep on your bed?” Miriam asked. “Isn’t that— I mean, doesn’t it feel a bit weird?”
“He’s still just a cat,” Alice said.
“Just— just—” Thompson spluttered. “Why am I even here? What have I done to be lumbered with the responsibility of Watching a village full of meddling senior citizens and misguided dragons? What god have I displeased?”
“Thompson, you are being a drama queen,” Beaufort said, with some satisfaction.
The cat glared at him so furiously Mortimer would have laughed if he hadn’t been just as worried about the meddling and misguidedness of certain people. “You tell me if I’m being a drama queen when word gets back to the Watch that you’ve been asking questions. Questions that indicate you’re taking too much of an interest in the affairs of humans.”
“Dragons and the Watch have always respected each other’s boundaries.”
“We have. But the main duty of the Watch is to keep humans and Folk apart. And that includes dragons getting funny ideas.”
There was silence in the kitchen for a moment, and Mortimer could hear the low rumble of the fire in the belly of Miriam’s Aga, not unlike a dragon itself.
“So, you won’t help us,” Beaufort said.
“Beaufort, I’m asking you to drop this. I don’t know what happened on the farm. I can sniff around, but I can only ask so many questions. If it was Watch business, I’d know about it. So it’s human stuff, which means I can’t be too interested, and is all the more reason for you to drop it.”
“I don’t understand,” Miriam said. She was clutching her mug in both hands as if terrified she might drop it. “If your job is keeping humans and Folk apart, surely human business is your business.”
“Only as much as it impacts Folk. We don’t go sticking our noses where they don’t belong, unlike some people.”
Alice steepled her fingers on the table. “What if it did impact Folk? Or you were worried it might?”
Thompson narrowed his eyes. “I’m not as much of a patsy as your dear police are.”
“Beaufort, you did say Nelly was rather agitated about the car in her pond, and someone maybe putting something nasty in the water supply. That sounds like Folk business to me, protecting a sprite.”
Beaufort grinned. “Nelly was very upset. And you know the dryads are going to be restless if they think someone might start chopping their trees down. Anything could happen.”
“And I don’t see how humans could have moved all those sheep without people knowing about it,” Miriam said, then looked like she wished she hadn’t. Mortimer stroked his tail, as if that might keep his scales attached. He’d lost two at some point this afternoon, and he just hoped they were in the car and not lying in a farmyard somewhere, waiting to be picked up by a nosy human.
Thompson gave a very theatrical sigh and said, “Great. So there’s a possibility that the Watch may need to become involved, and you want me to draw their attention to it?”
“Of course not,” Beaufort said, and there was silence for a moment.
Thompson muttered something under his breath that might have been curses on dragons and the Women’s Institute, then he said, “Scallops. I haven’t had scallops since, ooh, my second life, I think. I should like scallops.”
“Scallops can be arranged,” Alice said.
“And cream. Plus I want to try caviar.”
“Don’t push it.”
Mortimer knew he wasn’t going to sleep. He never slept very much while there was an Investigation afoot, and he was starting to wonder what the consequences wer
e of being a permanently sleep-deprived dragon. But at least he could get some more work done.
He lit the chimineas in the workshop, and angled the prisms in the roof so that they caught the light from the solar-powered lanterns and reflected it onto his bench. Amelia and Gilbert had been busy, by the look of things. Baskets full of baubles and gliders were lined up along one bench, and there was a crate with a label on it which read Competition Entries in wobbly dragon script. There were only five or six … things … in it, and Mortimer pulled one out, examining it dubiously. It looked like a teddy bear as designed by a mole who had read about them once, ten years ago. There were spines on its arms and concertinaed glider wings stuck between its six legs, and it had very large, very intimidating teeth. Mortimer ticked a claw off them, then put the thing back gingerly and picked up a creation that looked like a delicately folded paper flower. He lifted it to the light, admiring the thinness of the scales, and tapped it gently to test the strength. Oh yes. This was excellent. He held it a little closer, and it flung its petals wide in a sudden, violent unfurling, then launched itself off his paw. He jerked away with a yelp as it snapped at his snout, barely missing him. It bounced off the floor, still snapping, and as he tried to trap it with an empty basket it latched firmly onto his tail.
“Ow!” he wailed, throwing the basket at it and only succeeding in knocking the crate of competition entries flying. He looked around wildly for the misshapen teddy bear, just in case it was some sort of joint attack, and a shout came from the tunnel entrance.
“Don’t touch them, don’t–— Oh.” Amelia skidded into the cavern, tripping on a bauble and all but falling into him. “Oh, sorry!”
“What is this thing?”
“I don’t know. Harriet made it. You know she’s been doing all the dragonlet care while Violet’s on hunting detail. I think she’s channelling some frustration.”
“Well, can we get it off, please?” He was glad the six-limbed teddy hadn’t started marching about, but the flower did have a very firm hold of his tail, and the tip was starting to go green.