by Adele Abbott
Chapter 12
Washbridge’s largest bookstore, where the book signing was to take place, was called Wash Books, which had always struck me as a rather naff name. It was ages since I’d been in there; the last time was when I’d bought a couple of books for Florence at Christmas.
I headed straight for the customer service desk, which was just inside the door. The eager young woman looked very bookish.
“Welcome to Wash Books. How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Richard Watkins. I believe he’s in your store today.”
“He is indeed. I take it you’re here for the book signing?”
“Actually, no. I just need a quick word with him on a private matter.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until the book signing has finished.”
“Right. How long will that be?”
“He’s scheduled to be here for another three hours.”
“Three hours?”
There was no way I could wait that long because I’d miss the barbecue. If I did that, Jack would be furious (which, okay, I could live with), but Florence would be upset too, and I didn’t like to let her down if I could help it. I would have to find a quicker way to get to Richard Watkins. What if I had one of his books to sign? That should get me to him quicker.
“Where can I find Richard Watkins’ new book?”
“Err, they’re right behind you.”
I turned around to find four tables stacked high with them.
“Right, thanks.” I grabbed one and flicked open the cover to check the price. Twenty pounds! Was he having a laugh? No way was I going to spend that kind of money. I’d just hold onto the book until I’d managed to grab a few words with him.
“Where exactly is the book signing taking place?”
“At the far end of the shop, in the crime section.”
“Thanks.”
I’d expected to find a dozen or so people queuing. Twenty tops.
I was wrong by a factor of five. Watkins was seated at a table at the far side of the crime section. From there, a queue ran along two of the walls to where I was standing.
“Excuse me,” I said to the young woman in front of me. “I take it this is the queue to get a book signed?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I wasn’t expecting there to be so many people here.”
“Really?” She seemed surprised. “I thought there’d be more. When Richard was here to sign his last book, there were twice as many people. Have you read all of his books?”
“Not all of them.”
“They’re brilliant. I’ve read every one several times.”
“Do you like Margaret Plant’s books?”
“Oh yes. I love Margaret’s books as well, but I’ve been waiting ages for her new one to come out, and I still don’t know when it’s going to be published.”
It soon became apparent that Richard Watkins wasn’t simply signing books. He was having a long chat with everyone in the queue, as well as taking selfies with most of them. At this rate, I’d still miss the barbecue.
What I needed right now was a cunning plan. Something that would allow me to get to the front of the queue much quicker. I ran through a list of spells that I might use, but there was no obvious solution. In the end, I decided on the ‘rain’ spell. It was far from ideal, and I would have to use much tighter control than normal.
After creating a teeny, tiny rain cloud, I manoeuvred it slowly over the full length of the queue. As it passed overhead, the people beneath began to make for the exit to avoid what they assumed was a burst pipe. In no time at all, everyone except Richard and me had deserted the crime section.
After reversing the spell, I walked over to the table where Richard Watkins was looking very confused. He was wearing glasses and had a goatee. He fitted the description of the man Mr and Mrs Comfy had seen hanging around their street on the day that Margaret Plant’s manuscript had gone missing.
“Where’s everyone gone?” he said.
“They probably needed the loo.”
“Who shall I dedicate it to?” He reached over and tried to take the book. If he signed it, I’d be forced to pay for it, so I kept a tight hold of it. We were soon having a tug of war. “Do you want me to sign your book or not?”
“Actually, I just wanted a quick word with you.”
“About what?”
“My name is Jill Maxwell. I’m a private investigator working for Margaret Plant.”
“Margaret? Why does she need a private investigator?”
“Someone has stolen the manuscript for her next novel.”
“Really?” His face lit up. “How terrible for her.” I could almost see the cogs turning in his mind, and as it dawned on him why I was there, his smile faded. “Wait a minute. Why do you want to talk to me? That crazy old woman doesn’t think I had anything to do with it, does she?”
“Margaret hasn’t suggested anything of the kind, at least not to me. But her neighbours saw someone matching your description hanging around the street on the day it went missing.”
“This is outrageous. I don’t even know where Margaret lives. When is this supposed to have happened?”
“Last week.”
“Do you know where I was last week?” He grinned. “I’ll tell you. I was in the States doing TV interviews and book signings. All week. I’m sure it won’t be difficult for you to confirm that.”
Oh bum! So much for that theory.
“I see. In that case thanks for your help.”
Catching me off guard, he snatched the book from my hand and signed it.
“There you go, Jill. Don’t forget to pay for it on your way out.”
“Thanks.” For nothing.
“Oh, and by the way, when I’ve finished signing books, I’m going to have a word with my friends in the book press. I’m sure they’ll be very interested to hear about Margaret’s misfortune.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that.”
“And how exactly do you intend to stop me?”
After casting the ‘forget’ spell, I made my way out of the shop, stopping only to put the book on the pile near the door.
What? Maybe someone called Jill would buy it.
***
When I pulled up outside the old watermill, Jack was looking for me through the window. I’d no sooner got out of the car than he and Florence came walking down the drive.
“I didn’t think you were going to make it.” Jack tapped his watch. “I thought Florence and I would have to go to the barbecue by ourselves.”
“The book signing was way busier than I expected.”
“How did it go?”
“It was a complete waste of time. I thought I might be onto something because Watkins matched the description of the man seen hanging around the street where Margaret Plant lives on the day of the theft, but he was in the USA all that week.”
“Where does that leave you?”
“Back at square one.”
“Oh well, never mind. The barbecue will cheer you up.”
“Somehow, I doubt that. Incidentally, I called in at Mad’s record shop while I was waiting to go to the book signing.”
“What’s it like?”
“Very retro.”
“Did you meet her husband?”
“Yeah, Brad seems really nice.”
“Did they say how business was?”
“It sounds like it’s got off to a good start. Except for the thefts.”
“They haven’t had a break-in already, have they?”
“No, it sounds more like shoplifters.”
“They should report it to the police.”
“Like that would do any good.”
Olga was waiting for us at the gate. Standing beside her was a man I recognised as our postman.
“Hi, Jill,” Olga said. “This is my husband, Oscar. You’ve probably seen him delivering the mail.”
“Hi, this is Jack, and this is Florence.”
“Hello, Florence. Aren’t you a pretty girl? My two children, Olivia and Oliver are around the back. Shall we go and join them?”
As we made our way around to the back of the house, the smell of cooking meat greeted us.
“Kids, this is Florence. Come and say hello.”
Oliver and Olivia came running over, and began to make a fuss of Florence.
“When will everyone else be here?” I said.
“It’s just us and Oscar’s brother who should be arriving soon, hopefully. He’s travelling down from the Midlands. We thought we’d keep it a small affair today, didn’t we, Oscar?”
“Yes, flower. Hey, Jack, are you interested in stamps?”
“Stamps?”
“It’s my hobby. Would you like to take a look at my collection while we wait until the food is ready?”
“Err, sure.” Jack couldn’t have looked any less enthusiastic if he’d tried.
It served him right. He was the one who’d agreed to come to this shindig.
Olga seemed to be in charge of the barbecue, and judging by the expert way she was flipping the burgers, she was clearly an old hand at it.
“The two guys seem to have hit it off,” she said.
“Don’t they just? Jack’s always had a keen interest in philately.”
“Really? Oscar will be thrilled. It’s his passion.”
“Quite an appropriate hobby for him, considering.”
“How do you mean?”
“Because of his job.”
“Sorry, Jill, I still don’t follow.”
Oh boy!
“Postman. Letters. Stamps?”
“Oh, right. I see what you mean now. It had never occurred to me. What about you, Jill? Do you have any hobbies?”
“No. I don’t really have time for them, what with work and looking after Florence.”
“You really should get one. Everyone needs something to help them unwind after a busy day at work. Personally, I’m into basket-weaving.”
“Really?”
Not quite as boring as stamp collecting, but very close.
“Do you see those bread baskets over there? I made those.”
The baskets looked like a dog had spent the last hour chewing holes in them.
“They’re—err—very nice.”
“Thanks. I’d be happy to give you a few lessons. Once you’ve tried it, you’ll soon catch the bug. It’s addictive.”
I very much doubted that.
“Sure. When I have some time to spare.” The day after the twelfth of never.
The three children seemed to be getting along famously. The Rileys had a swing and a sandpit in their garden; Florence was making sandcastles with the help of her two new friends.
“The meat looks about ready,” Olga said and then shouted to her daughter, “Olivia, go inside and get your dad and Jack, will you? Tell them food’s up.”
“Okay, Mum.” Olivia disappeared into the house and moments later, Oscar and Jack re-emerged. The glazed expression on Jack’s face told its own story.
After Olga had handed out the food, I managed to pull Jack to one side.
“Was that enjoyable?”
“He’s got twenty albums full of stamps, and he’s only shown me one so far. I just hope he doesn’t intend to show me the rest later.”
“I realised something while you were in there. These are the O-Riley’s.”
“I thought their surname was just Riley?”
“It is, but they’re still the O-Riley’s.” I grinned.
“I have precisely no idea what you’re talking about, Jill.”
“Think about it. There’s Olga, Oscar, Olivia, and Oliver. All of their names begin with an O, so that makes them the O-Riley’s. Get it?” I laughed.
“Hilarious.”
Just then, someone appeared from around the side of the house.
“Hi, everybody. Sorry I’m—” He stopped midsentence when he saw Jack and me.
***
After what were two of the longest hours of my life, we thanked our hosts, and made our exit. Back home, Buddy came rushing up to us as soon as we walked through the door. Normally, he paid no heed to our comings and goings, so I could only assume he’d caught scent of the barbecue.
I turned to Jack. “I didn’t remember to bring Buddy anything back, did you?”
“No, I forgot all about him.”
“Oh dear. Looks like we’re in trouble.”
“It’s alright, Mummy, I brought him some food.” Florence held out a burger.
“How long have you been carrying that around?”
“I asked Mrs Riley if I could have it just before we left. I promised Buddy I’d bring him something back.”
By now, the Chihuahua was jumping up Florence’s leg in a vain attempt to reach the burger.
“Give it to me, darling. I’ll cut it into pieces for him.”
“Hurry up!” Buddy screamed at me while I chopped up the burger.
“Have some patience, will you!”
“I’m starving.” He was running around the kitchen in circles. It was the most energy I’d seen him expend since we’d first brought him home.
“Take this in the garden to feed him, Florence.” I handed her the plate, and Buddy followed her outside.
“Well, Jack, I hope you’re pleased with yourself. That was truly awful.”
“How was I supposed to know that Oscar’s brother was Leo Riley?”
“I’d hoped never to see that man again.”
“He clearly still has a soft spot for you.” Jack grinned.
“How I resisted smacking him around the face with a hotdog, I’ll never know. Did you notice that he’s still claiming I hindered his investigations? I solved more cases for him than he did himself.”
“You look like you could do with a drink.”
“That’s a good idea. Why don’t you pour us both a nice glass of wine?”
Thirty minutes, and a glass of wine later, I’d managed to calm down a little. “I can’t believe that idiot is now heading up the murder squad in the West Midlands.”
“He’s done well for himself,” Jack said.
“Does it make you wish you’d stayed in the force?”
“Not really. I was never cut out for the politics that were needed to rise in the ranks. And besides, I like working from home and being able to spend time with you and Florence.”
As we spoke, a spoon came floating past my eyeline. “What the—?”
“What did I tell you?” Jack pointed at it. “This place is haunted. Now do you believe me?”
“I don’t understand it. It’s not cold in here, but there’s always a chill whenever there’s a ghost around.”
“It must be a ghost. What else can it be? How else could the spoon move back and forth like that?”
“Hold on a minute! Florence Maxwell! Is that you?”
There was silence for a moment but then I heard a teeny giggle.
Jack looked at me with a puzzled expression. “What’s going on, Jill?”
“Florence, reverse that spell, immediately!”
Moments later, Florence appeared, still holding the spoon. “That was funny, wasn’t it, Mummy?”
“Who taught you the ‘invisible’ spell? Has Great-Grandma been around here again?”
“It wasn’t Great-Grandma. I taught myself from the book. It’s fun being invisible. Daddy was really scared when he saw the spoon yesterday, weren’t you, Daddy?”
Chapter 13
The next morning, Jack was still trying to get his head around what had happened the previous day. He’d been gobsmacked when he’d realised that the ‘floating’ spoon had actually been carried across the room not by a ghost but by his invisible daughter. It turned out that, all the time we thought she’d been playing with her dolls’ house, she’d actually been studying the spell book. That also explained why Buddy had become so agitated the other day. The thing he’d been barking at had actually been an invisible Florence.
“Why can’t I go for a walk with Daddy and Buddy, Mummy?”
“Because I need to have a little talk with you about what happened yesterday.”
“Do you mean about the spoon?”
“Yes, about the ‘invisible’ spell.”
“I’m good at it, aren’t I? Daddy didn’t know it was me, did he?”
“No, he didn’t, but that isn’t—”
“You only knew it was me because I giggled.”
“That’s true, but do you remember when I told you that you could learn some more magic? I said that I would be the one to teach you the spells.”
“But I taught it myself, Mummy. It was easy peasy.”
“That’s as maybe, but some of those spells in the book can be dangerous. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself or someone else, would you?”
“No.”
“That’s why I’ve put the spell book somewhere safe.”
“Where is it?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Do I have to try to find it?”
“No. I’ve hidden it so that you can’t teach yourself any more spells.”
“But that’s not fair.”
“I’m afraid that’s the way it has to be. From now on, you can only learn new spells with me. That way, everyone will be safe.”
“But you only teach me one new spell a week. That’s not many.”
“Okay, maybe we can make it more than one.”
“Ten!”
“No, definitely not ten. You can learn two, but only if you’re a good girl.”
“I am a good girl.”
“Most of the time, but not when you use the ‘invisible’ spell to scare Daddy.”
“It was funny, wasn’t it?” She giggled. “He thought I was a ghost.”
“No, it wasn’t funny.” I thought it was hilarious, but I couldn’t let Florence know that. “And you mustn’t do it again. Okay?”
“Okay, Mummy.”
When Jack and Buddy got back, he took me to one side to ask how our little chat had gone.
“Okay. She understands that she mustn’t teach herself any more spells.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely.”
