by Ellen Jane
“We have the equivalent of half a clue and a bad feeling,” Sinéad said drily. “But we should talk to the gardener. We may as well, since we need to know if the police are searching for the Dunnes yet.”
“He might tell us a little more about them, too,” Heather agreed. “We should know where they worked, who their friends are—anything that will give us an idea of who the kidnappers might be.”
Sinéad nodded. “And so long as the police are onto it, I won’t feel so terrible about failing to find them immediately.”
Heather turned to her, studying the furrow of her brow and the tension in her jaw. “You thought we’d find a better clue at the house, didn’t you?”
“I thought we’d find them at the house,” Sinéad admitted with a twitch of her lips. “I was sure it was all a hoax—just someone playing us for some reason.”
“You mean Cian?”
Sinéad shook her head. “No, I didn’t truly believe Cian would do that. I assumed… I don’t know. I just didn’t think, basically. I didn’t think this could be real, and it’s now becoming very real and I’m getting worried.”
Heather had to agree. She hadn’t thought it a hoax, but she’d expected there to be police tape up at the house when they arrived, perhaps a police car out the front—anything to indicate someone was searching for the missing family.
The silence had been eerie. And after some time to mull it over, it had become downright sinister.
“You should apologise to Cian, too,” Heather said.
The idea hit her out of nowhere, but once it had, she knew it was right.
Sinéad turned to her, eyebrows drawn up in a silent plea. “Really?”
“Really.”
She grimaced, and Heather was struck by just how much Sinéad looked like a disgruntled sibling right now, forced to apologise when she didn’t want to.
“Fine.” Sinéad stood up and reached for her phone. “But he’ll never let me live this down. You understand that, right?”
Heather smiled. She’d only known Cian for two days, but she was already dead certain he would remind Sinéad of this at every opportunity.
Any good brother would.
“Wait,” Sinéad said, pausing with an odd look on her face just before she dialled. “You played roller derby?”
Chapter Five
“Look who’s come crawling back,” Cian said with a grin, holding out two steaming ceramic mugs of coffee to Heather and Sinéad.
He picked the third mug up from the brick fence he leaned on and stood to join them. They were meeting a couple of blocks down from the Dunnes’ house so as not to raise suspicion.
“Do I look like I’m crawling?” Sinéad asked with narrowed eyes, accepting the cup and taking an appreciative sip.
“Physically? No. But emotionally?” Cian gave a contented sigh and rested his hand over his heart. “Contrition is a beautiful thing.”
“Your ego is a beautiful thing. Does it take performance requests?”
Heather laughed at the disgruntled expression on Cian’s face. Sinéad hid her smile behind her coffee mug, her eyes crinkling with laughter. She wore a new necklace today, its small tile pendant an abstract swirling design she must have painted herself because when Heather looked at it, she felt revitalised, almost peppy. Sinéad’s magic was particularly strong when it came to mood spells, something only sorcerers could do.
“All right, all right, I see how it is: pick-on-Cian day, again. Utterly charming.” Cian rolled his eyes, but his words had no bite.
Heather had heard Sinéad’s apology over the phone. It had been sincere in a way Sinéad often wasn’t, and Cian’s whoop of triumph and subsequent rant had been audible even to Heather on the other side of the room.
“How did you go with the gardener yesterday?” Heather asked, wrapping her hands around the ceramic mug and soaking up the warmth.
They began to walk down the street toward the house. They hadn’t had a proper chance to look at the front yesterday, since they’d left in such a rush. It probably wouldn’t illuminate anything, but Heather didn’t want to leave any stone unturned. Despite everything involving the charming Mr Branson, she was becoming invested in the case. The thrill of solving a crime rushed through her, reminding her of how good it had felt last Christmas.
Besides, it was an excellent way to avoid thinking about the conspicuous absence of voicemails in her phone. She couldn’t wallow in grief when she was chasing clues. The fact that she’d spent all last night hunting through her suitcase, her handbag, and her purse for any forgotten memento of her parents that could replace the voicemails was beside the point.
“Quite enlightening, actually,” Cian said, before swallowing half his coffee in one go. “He was shocked and appalled to hear the bees were agitated.” Cian pulled a face. “A little too appalled, if you ask me. Bit much for a couple of hives. He wanted to know everything I knew—where the swarm had been, how high they flew, if they went clockwise or counter clockwise. That sort of thing.”
“How is any of that enlightening?” Sinéad asked with a frown.
“Well he’s clearly acting strange, isn’t he?” Cian grinned. “Built a solid case for number one suspect. Who’s that invested over a few bees? Mad suspicious, if you ask me.”
Sinéad rolled her eyes, but Cian kept talking before she could interrupt.
“Anyway, just before he ran off to check on the house, I asked how long it had been since he’d seen the Dunnes around, since they’re meant to tend to the bees. And he said he hadn’t seen them for over a week and he’d assumed they were on holiday. He seemed keen to write it off, so I pushed a little and said the Dunnes never go on holiday, and I was worried something had happened to them. And then—this is the strange part—he reluctantly agreed they hate travelling, got all squirrelly on me, and ran off.”
“Squirrelly?” Heather asked.
“Yeah,” Cian said with a shrug. “Squirrelly, like he had somewhere else to be and he didn’t want to talk to me anymore. So I don’t know if he’ll have reported it or not. Couldn’t get a read on him at all.”
“I think we’re in luck,” Heather pointed to the brightly coloured police tape that enclosed the front fence.
Sinéad breathed out slowly. “Well, that’s that then.”
“There’s the gardener.” Cian pointed to an elderly man trimming hedges in the laneway by the house.
“Let’s talk to him,” Heather said, straightening up and marching over to the man. “Excuse me!”
The man looked up and blinked a few times before his gaze landed on Heather. His eyes were deep-set and cast in shadow from his wide-brimmed hat, and thick, grey whiskers covered his chin.
“Hello lass.” He turned toward her. “Can I help you?”
“We were wondering what the commotion was about,” Heather asked, nodding toward the police tape. “Is everyone all right?”
The gardener shook his head, frowning. “Couldn’t tell you. No one’s seen Mr and Mrs Dunne in over a week. Apparently, there’s signs of a struggle inside, so they’ve cordoned the whole thing off.”
Sinéad frowned. “Signs of a struggle?”
He nodded. “Oh yes, furniture askew, drawers upended. It’s in a right state, they said. I haven’t been inside myself, but that’s what I heard from Mrs Fletcher this morning.”
“That’s terrible,” Heather exclaimed, thoughts whirring. The house was fine when they left it. “Who reported it?”
“I did, last night.” He caught sight of Cian and frowned. “I know you. You’re the lad who saw the bees.”
Cian grinned at him. “That’s me. Mr Williams, isn’t it? Did you catch them?”
“Catch them?” Mr Williams scoffed. “You don’t catch an agitated swarm, lad. You coax them, convince them to stay. But they weren’t absconding when I got there, thankfully. It’d be terrible news if they abandon the hives.”
“Why is that?” Sinéad asked, glancing back at the house. “They’re just bees.
”
Mr Williams choked, eyes wide. “Just bees?” He opened his mouth to say something further but closed it after a second, visibly pausing to regain his composure. “Beekeeping magic is a noble tradition,” he managed finally. “Unchanged for centuries. There’s no ‘just bees’ about it.”
Sinéad’s nostrils flared, but her expression remained polite. Heather shot her an impressed eyebrow raise while Mr Williams wasn’t looking, earning a twitch of a smile in response.
Mr Williams nodded to them and turned to leave, but Heather couldn’t let him go without learning at least something that wasn’t to do with bees.
“Did you see anyone go into the house?” she asked. “Anyone who might have harmed them?”
“Or anyone who would want to,” Cian added.
Mr Williams shook his head. “Not a soul. Everyone loves the Dunnes. The only person who wouldn’t give ‘em the time o’ day is old Mrs Fletcher down the street, but she’d never do a thing like that. And everyone knows her gossiping is out o’ line. Ask anyone down at the Society, they’ll tell you.”
“The Society?” Heather asked.
“Of beekeepers.”
Of course.
“Well,” Heather said, forcing a smile. “Thank you for your help.”
“Just before you go,” Cian interjected, leaning forward. “I’ve been thinking about getting into the old bee trade. Their buzzing calms me, you know? Just wondering if you could point me toward the Beekeeping Society? Or maybe the closest… bee… shop.”
Mr Williams frowned. “The Dunnes got their supplies down on the little alley off Lancein Street. Bright yellow shop, you won’t miss it. But you don’t just ‘get into’ this business, lad. You’re born into it.” He shook his head, tipped his hat, and turned back to the hedges he was trimming.
Heather watched a little longer as he brushed his fingers over the leaves, whispering something to them so that long tendrils sprouted out. She frowned at the counter-intuitiveness of the action before realising the vines were carrying the shears to the top of the hedge, where they began to trim away on command.
“Wish I could do that,” she muttered to herself, imagining for a brief second how she might trip up criminals and ensnare them in vines with a snap of her fingers.
She turned away and jogged to catch up to the others before she became too distracted.
Sinéad widened her eyes incredulously at Cian as soon as they were out of earshot. “Bee shop?”
“What?” Cian shrugged, laughing. “I was right, wasn’t I? There had to be a supply store. You’ve got to buy… I don’t know. Hives and things.”
“Bee shop,” Sinéad repeated under her breath, staring into the distance.
“Well, let’s go,” Heather said. “Nothing much else to go on.” She paused for a moment. “Why do you think they waited so long to search the house? It wasn’t ransacked when we first went.”
Cian pulled a face, mulling it over. “Could be they’re following us. They’re reaching out to anyone they think knows where the stolen thing is, so maybe they didn’t even think it was in the house until they saw us go there.”
Heather shuddered. The thought of their every move being shadowed was deeply unpleasant.
Sinéad wrapped her arm around Heather’s shoulder, drawing her close, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “They can follow us if they like.” Her expression turned fierce. “We’ll still catch them first.”
*
Dozens of shoppers spilled across the streets, far more than there would be in Old Wetchhaven. The swaying crowd bustled around the three of them like a single mass with a mind of its own. Every few seconds, someone would bump into Heather, sending her stumbling forward, but she never fell far because there was always another person right in front of her.
Every time she returned to the city, it felt worse than ever. She couldn’t imagine living in a place like this, where people rushed past too quickly to care about anyone else. Everyone wore the same expression: mouth pinched tight, eyes fixed forward, and a tension in their jaw.
Sinéad was in her element. She strode through the streets, clearing a path before her where Heather could slip along behind. Even Cian seemed unfazed as he strode along beside Sinéad, his long legs making him appear out for a leisurely stroll even though he moved so fast Heather had to jog to keep up.
The difference between the city and Old Wetchhaven couldn’t be more stark, even though her town was only an hour’s drive away. Heather felt more homesick than ever.
The crowd thinned, and Sinéad cut sharply to the right, leaving the other two to follow. They ducked into an alley and made their way toward the awnings at the far end.
“It stinks down here,” Heather complained, covering her nose.
“Does it?” Cian lifted his eyebrows. “Must be used to the smell. Don’t worry, the shops are down the far end, nowhere near the bins.”
“That’s something, at least,” Heather muttered, stepping gingerly over a pile of rotten fruit that had slid down the side of the industrial bin.
Cian was right. The smell began to fade after a few metres, and as soon as the bins were no longer in sight, the overflowing rubbish disappeared as well. By the time they reached the end of the alley, close to where it popped out at the next street, the alley appeared almost cheery.
“I guess it’s that one,” Sinéad said with a hint of a smile, pointing to the shop in the middle.
Yellow and black stripes decorated the awning, and the front window displayed a giant decal of a bumblebee which took up half the glass. A witch must have spelled the bee to flutter, as it lazily shimmied its wings and buzzed around the glass when they drew close.
“Good guess.” Heather laughed and led the way inside while Sinéad and Cian inspected the decal.
The inside of the shop shone far brighter than appeared possible from the outside, given its location nestled down an alley. Either someone had spelled the lights to shine like daylight, or the mirrors adorning the walls employed some trick to fool the eye. Whatever they had done, it made the shop light and relaxing. Several shelving displays of products that made no sense lined the floor, and a bell jingled happily when Sinéad and Cian followed her inside.
A sales attendant popped up at the sound. “Welcome! Can I help you? Or are you just browsing today?”
She wore a bright yellow cardigan and thick-rimmed black glasses. Her hair framed her face—short, blonde, and spiked, with an intermittent pattern of black stripes dyed across it. Even her voice sounded husky, like a smoker’s. Heather had never noticed just how much a smoker’s voice buzzed. Her jaw fell slack as she tried to remember how her verbal filter worked before she spoke.
Sinéad saved the day.
“Good morning.” She smiled warmly and walked up to the counter.
Now that Heather looked at it, she saw the counter was shaped like a bee. The woman beamed at them.
“Samantha, is it?” Sinéad asked, glancing at the attendant’s name tag. “We have a few questions for you, if you have a minute?”
“Of course!” Samantha insisted. “Anything for a customer.”
Sinéad smoothly ignored the fact they weren’t customers. “We wondered if you know the Dunnes? They’ve shopped here for supplies for several years.”
“Oh, the Dunnes!” Samantha’s eyes widened, and she beamed impossibly wider. “Yes, I know them. Are you picking up their next allotment?”
Sinéad barely stumbled. “If it’s ready. We told them we’d be in the area.”
“Of course, of course.” Samantha knelt down and began fumbling with items below the counter. “It’s so hard for them to get away from the house sometimes, poor things, what with training up Ryan. But they’re such good customers; we’re more than happy to hold their packages until they can send someone.” She stood up and popped a brown paper package onto the counter. “There you are.”
“Thank you so much.” Sinéad smiled gracefully. “They also wanted us to check there was
nothing in particular they had to be aware of?” She trailed off and waited.
Samantha looked confused. “Like what?”
Sinéad lifted one shoulder in apology. “I don’t know any details. We were only told there was an issue recently, and Mrs Dunne didn’t want to—”
“Oh!” Samantha began nodding enthusiastically. “I heard about the Careys. You can tell Mrs Dunne not to worry. No one has expressed any concern about the Dunnes’ quality of work. The families on their list should have all been in touch with the Dunnes by now, anyway. Has anyone neglected to contact them?”
Sinéad blinked but shook her head without a pause. “Not that I know of.”
“Well they certainly haven’t indicated any hesitation to us. Though we’re happy to act as liaison if need be. It’s still within the month of passing, so there’s time if anyone needs chasing up.”
“Much obliged,” Sinéad said with another smile. “I’ll pass it on. Have a lovely day.”
Samantha waved them out of the store, the brown paper package tucked neatly under Sinéad’s arm.
“What was that about?” Heather asked the second they were out of earshot.
“Yeah,” Cian said with a grin. “You holding out on us, sister? How did you know they had a problem recently?”
Sinéad smirked. “There’s always a problem, and if you keep things vague enough, people will fill in the gaps.” She tapped on her necklace with one finger. “Besides, a little extra clarity and team spirit doesn’t go astray.”
Heather’s stomach sank. No wonder Sinéad had charged her necklace with an invigoration spell; it was perfect for their investigation. If only her own magic could be so useful.
They headed back onto the main shopping strip in search of a place to open the package without drawing attention. Across the road sat a bustling café, so they crossed over and found a secluded table near the back. The walls were adorned with cheery memorabilia from local tourist shops—brightly coloured clocks, paintings, even a few framed tea towels. The shop hummed with conversation, and the three of them fell easily into discussion without being overheard.