by Adele Abbott
“No, that’s why I wanted to check if the records that have been stolen are the ones on this list.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I went to Candlefield Market with Aunt Lucy earlier today, and I came across a stall selling vinyl records. The guy running it was a wizard. He didn’t have a lot of stock, just a few boxes full of records. As I was browsing through them, I spotted several of the titles that Brad mentioned when he told me about the thefts. I’ve made a note of several others which I want to check with you.”
“Let me get Brad.”
“You can’t tell him about—”
“It’s okay. He knows all about the paranormal world.”
“How?”
“I told him of course.”
“Mad! Are you insane?”
“It’s okay. I figured I’d already told him about ghosts, so I might as well go the whole hog and tell him about you lot.”
“Us lot?”
“Sorry, no offence. I meant sups.”
“Does that mean he knows I’m a witch?”
“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not as long as he doesn’t tell anyone else.”
“He won’t. He’s the soul of discretion. Wait there.” She disappeared into the back and moments later, the two of them returned. “Show Brad the list, Jill.”
He glanced through it. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. These have all been stolen from us in the last two weeks. Who did it, Jill?”
“Roof sprites.”
“I’ve never heard of them,” Mad said.
“Neither had I until a few days ago when I bumped into Daze and Blaze. They told me they were looking for a gang of roof sprites whose MO is to get into buildings through the roof, hence their name.”
Mad glanced over at the bucket. “Do you think they caused the leaks in the roof?”
“I’d bet my life on it.”
“What do these sprites look like?” Brad said.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“What about the guy running the stall?” Mad said.
“I asked him where he sourced his records, but he wouldn’t tell me. He was being very cagey. My guess is that the sprites are fencing the stolen records through him.”
“Do you think he knows they’re stolen?”
“Almost certainly.”
“What can we do about it?” Brad said. “How can we catch them?”
“I assume they’re getting into the shop at night after you’ve closed. Why don’t I see if I can disrupt their plans?”
“We couldn’t expect you to do that, Jill,” Mad said.
“I don’t mind, and besides, it’s definitely going to take magic to catch these little blighters. What time do you normally close?”
“Five-thirty.”
“Okay. I can’t do it today, but I can come around tomorrow night.”
“That would be great, Jill, thanks. We really do appreciate this.”
“I’ll be here just after seven.”
***
After dinner, Florence went out into the garden to play with a very unenthusiastic Buddy.
“Jack, my darling,” I said in my sweetest voice.
“What do you want, Jill?”
“What makes you think I want something?”
“Because the only time you talk to me like that is when you do.”
“That’s really unfair. You’ve hurt my feelings.”
“Yeah, right. So, what is it you want?”
I picked up my bag and took out the glass I’d taken from Mila, and the coffee cup that Phil Black had been drinking from.
“Why does that cup have Coffee Animal on it, Jill? Did you steal it?”
“Of course I didn’t. What do you think I am? I paid twenty-five pounds for that.”
“If you’re going to lie, at least try and make it credible. Nobody in their right mind would pay twenty-five pounds for a cup like that.”
“I had no choice. It was the only way the manager of the shop would let me take it.”
“So, what’s with the glass and the cup?”
“Do you still have any contacts at the police labs?”
“So, you do want a favour, after all?”
“Only a teeny tiny one.”
“What do you mean by labs? What exactly are you after?”
“I need someone to check the DNA on these.”
“I assume this is related to one of the cases you’re working on?”
“Yeah, it’s the one I told you about, where my client was convicted of murdering his kid brother.”
“You want to know if the same person’s DNA is on both of these?”
“Not exactly.”
“What then?”
“I need to know if there’s a family connection between the two DNAs. Do you know anyone who can do it?”
He thought about it for a minute. “There’s Walt, I suppose. Walter Wheelie.”
“Is that Wheelie his name?” I grinned.
“Jill, here’s a tip. If you want someone to help you, don’t make fun of their name.”
“Sorry. Force of habit. Do you think this Wheelie guy will be able to help?”
“Maybe. I still see him occasionally at the bowling alley.”
“So you’ll ask him?”
“I suppose so, but I can’t promise anything.”
“Thanks, Jack, you’re the best.” I gave him a hug and a big kiss.
“And you’re a manipulative creep.”
“I’ve been called worse things. When can you get in touch with him?”
“I’ll give him a call now.”
“Great. Oh, and while I think about it, I have to go out tomorrow after dinner, and I might be gone most of the night.”
“Why?”
“You remember I told you there had been a spate of thefts from Vinyl Alley. I think I know who’s behind them.”
“Who?”
“Roof sprites.”
“What are they?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I hope to find out tomorrow night.”
Chapter 20
Florence clearly had something on her mind as she ate her breakfast of boiled egg and soldiers. “Mummy, you haven’t taught me a new spell this week.”
“I know, darling, and I’m very sorry, but Mummy has been really busy.”
“You promised you would.”
“I know I did, and I will.”
“Can you teach me one tonight?”
“Not tonight because Mummy has to go out to work. We can do it on Saturday.”
“But I go to dance class on Saturday.”
“I know, but there’ll be plenty of time in the afternoon.”
“Okay. Which spell are you going to teach me?”
“I think it would be a good idea if you learned the ‘propel’ spell.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you remember when we went to the seaside last year and Daddy tried to win you a cuddly toy?”
“I wanted the cuddly spider.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I was going to call him Spider, but Daddy didn’t win him.”
“That’s right. That’s because Daddy’s rubbish at darts.”
“I’m standing right here,” Jack said. “And I still say someone had tampered with those darts.”
“What is it they say about a bad workman?” I turned back to Florence. “Anyway, the ‘propel’ spell lets you throw things with great force.”
“Cool.”
“Did you just say cool? When did you start to say that?”
“Theo in my class says it. He says it’s cool to say cool.”
“Does he now?”
“What can I throw?
“I’ve not decided yet.”
“Can I throw a dart?”
“Probably best not to throw anything with a point on it.”
“What can I throw, then?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll give it some thought, and we’ll do it
on Saturday.”
After she’d finished her breakfast, Florence went out to play with Buddy.
“Jack, did your Mr Wheelie Bin say how long the DNA test would take?”
“Mr Wheelie Bin? You just can’t help yourself, can you, Jill?”
“I’m only having a bit of fun. So, did Walter Wheelie say how long it would take?”
“I’ve arranged to take the glass and cup over there after I’ve taken Florence to school. I’ll ask him then, but I got the impression that he’d be able to turn it around pretty quickly.”
“Thank you, darling. You’re such a sweetheart.”
“So you keep telling me. I thought you might have had a lie-in this morning, seeing as you’re going to be working tonight.”
“That would have been nice, but I’m rushed off my feet. I can’t spare the time.”
“At least you’ll be able to relax this weekend. We don’t have anything on, do we? Apart from Florence’s dance class, obviously.”
“The way things are lining up, there’s a good chance I may have to work.” I took the envelope containing the Scrabble tiles out of my bag and tipped them onto the kitchen table.
“I thought you said you were busy,” Jack said.
“I am.”
“But you have time for a game of Scrabble?” He grinned.
“These were sent to the chairman of NOCA after the second committee member dropped dead during a meeting.”
“Why are some of them coloured red?”
I rearranged the tiles. “The red ones spell the word revenge. See?”
“What about the rest of the tiles?”
“I don’t think they’re relevant.”
“Why send them, then?”
“I don’t know, Jack, but I’d get on a lot better without you looking over my shoulder.”
***
Although Mrs V had given me the all-clear to enter the office, it was obvious that she had plans to make a video because the tripod and camera were set up on her desk. Standing next to Mrs V, was a very attractive young woman who, if I wasn’t mistaken, was wearing the cardigan I’d been asked to model.
“Good morning, Jill,” Mrs V said. “This is Ramona.”
“Hi.” Ramona gave me a little wave.
“Ramona is going to model my cardigan.”
“Great. Are you two—err—friends?”
“No,” Mrs V said. “I only met Ramona a few minutes ago.”
Ramona elaborated, “Annabel stopped me in the street and asked if I’d ever done any modelling.”
“O—kay?”
“I told her I hadn’t, but that it was something I’d always dreamed of doing. She said this could be my opportunity to get into the business.”
“Did she now?”
“I understand her channel has a large following.”
“Hmm. So, this will be your first time modelling?”
“Yes, I’m a little bit nervous.”
“You’ll be fine, I’m sure. You strike me as someone who has a natural ability for it.”
“Do you really think so?” She giggled. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I’d better leave you two to get on. I have lots of work to do.”
I couldn’t believe the nerve of Mrs V, picking a random stranger off the street, and getting her to model the cardigan. Poor Ramona clearly thought this was her first step into the big time. Little did she know she’d probably be seen by no more than a few hundred yarnies. If she was lucky.
Winky was nowhere to be seen, but Bobby and Bertie were sitting on the ledge outside the window, so I went over to chat with them.
“Good morning, guys. How are things?”
“Okay, I guess.” Bertie sighed.
“I thought you two were okay now you have the pigeon dating app.”
“We’re starting to have our doubts about that.”
“How come?”
“We’re beginning to wonder if it’s just a scam.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Look at this.” He took out his phone, brought up the app, and began to flick through the profiles. “What do you see, Jill?”
“Err, some very handsome male pigeons.”
“Now, look at these.” He flicked through another selection of photos.
“What’s going on with those?”
“That’s what we’d like to know. The profile photos of male pigeons are selfies with the guy looking straight at the camera. Those weird looking photos are supposedly profiles of lady pigeons.”
“None of the lady pigeons are looking at the camera.”
“Exactly.”
“Let me take another look at them.”
He handed me the camera and I flicked through a selection of the female profiles. Very few of the photos actually showed the pigeon’s face.
“Do you see what I mean, Jill?” Bobby said.
“Yeah. These don’t look like selfies at all.”
“We’re beginning to think this whole thing is a con.”
“Have you actually tried contacting any of the females?”
“Yes. Bertie and I have tried to connect with a number of them, but we haven’t had a single response.”
“To be fair, that’s not so unusual with dating apps. At least, so I’m told.”
“Yeah, but the same thing has happened to all our male friends. None of them has had any kind of response.”
“That is odd.” I handed back his phone.
It was more than odd; it was downright suspicious, and although I didn’t say anything to Bobby and Bertie, I had a feeling I knew exactly what was going on. If I was right, someone had a lot to answer for.
***
Mrs Flattery answered the door at Margaret Plant’s house, with a feather duster in her hand.
“Hello again, Jill. Is Margaret expecting you?”
“Actually, no, but I was hoping to grab a quick word with her.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to be possible. She’s been hard at work in her office all day. I don’t really like to disturb her.”
“It is rather important.”
“I daren’t just burst in, it’s more than my job’s worth. I can knock on the door and see what response we get if you like.”
“Yes, please.”
As we approached the office, I could hear the sound of typewriter keys. Mrs Flattery knocked on the door but there was no response, and the typing carried on unabated.
“Will you try again, please?” I said.
She did as I asked, but there was still no response, and the typing continued.
“I don’t think it would be wise for us to venture inside,” Mrs Flattery said. “Maybe you could call back another time.”
“Err, okay.” I was all for going into the study, but I didn’t want to get Mrs Flattery into trouble, so I allowed her to show me out.
I hadn’t given up yet, though.
Once outside, I checked there was no-one around, and then levitated over the gate at the side of the house. I’d intended to knock on the window to attract Margaret’s attention, but the door into the study was open, so I popped my head inside. There was no sign of Margaret, which was weird. But not half as weird as the fact that I could still hear the typewriter keys, even though the typewriter was standing idle on the desk.
I went inside and followed the sound of typing, which seemed to be coming from one of the drawers in Margaret’s desk. I pulled it open to reveal a tape recorder. Why would Margaret have made a recording of herself typing? And, more importantly, where was she?
I had a hunch that I knew the answers to those questions, and if I was right, that would explain what had happened to the manuscript. But first, I needed a closer look at Daisy.
***
It was ages since I’d been to Washbridge Library. In fact, the last time was when Mad was supposedly working there. I say supposedly because if memory serves me right, she spent most of her time hiding in a storeroom, practising her crossbow skills.
Still, it had provided a good cover for her ghost hunting activities.
The library had undergone a complete revamp since my last visit—and not before time. There were lots of people browsing the bookshelves, and a similar number were seated at tables. And yet there was total silence: No one was talking, and I couldn’t even hear anyone unwrapping sweets. I headed straight for the customer service desk behind which sat a young woman, wearing horn-rimmed glasses on a chain around her neck.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Shush!” She put a finger to her lips.
“Sorry, it’s just that I—”
“Shush!” Her icy stare almost cut me in two.
“I—err—”
“Shush!” She pushed a notepad and pen across the desk.
“You want me to—?”
“Shush!” She nodded and made a scribbling motion with her hand.
I wrote my enquiry onto the notepad:
I am looking for books by Margaret Plant. Which section would I find them in, please?
I pushed the notepad and pen back to her. She read my note, turned to a blank page and wrote her reply:
On the mezzanine level in the general fiction section under P.
She pushed the notepad and pen back to me.
This time I wrote:
I’m looking for her latest book. Do you happen to know what it’s called?
She studied my message, and then turned to her computer. Remarkably, she seemed to have developed the ability to use the keyboard and mouse without making a sound. After studying the screen for a few minutes, she wrote another message:
Margaret Plant’s latest book is called Call for Murder. Our records show we have three copies in stock.
In response, I wrote:
Thank you.
After passing the notepad and pen back to her, I made my way to the stairs that led to the mezzanine level. Every other step creaked, and I could feel the woman’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, but what was I supposed to do? It’s not like I could levitate myself to the upper level.
Okay, if you want to be really pedantic, I could have levitated, but I doubt it would have gone unnoticed.
I grabbed a copy of Margaret Plant’s latest book and flicked to the final pages of the story.
Eureka! Just as I thought.
I was about to take the book downstairs when it occurred to me that I wasn’t a member of the library, so I wouldn’t be able to check it out. As a resident of Washbridge, I was entitled to join, but that would have taken forever, particularly having to do it by passing notes back and forth. I didn’t have time for that nonsense, so I made sure no one was watching, then used the ‘hide’ spell to make the book invisible. After creaking my way back down the stairs, I walked casually towards the door.
