by Sam Short
Pepper looked around. As long as there was nobody peeping from the window of their shed, she was pretty sure there would be no witnesses if she were to act.
Mary was too preoccupied with attempting to break up the fight to notice, and the men were certainly far too busy. She reached inside her jacket and retrieved her wand. Keeping it low against the side of her body, she muttered the short sentence which brought the length of oak wood to life.
As green sparks dripped from the tip, she looked around once more for witnesses, pointed the wand at the runner bean plants which Geoffrey and Harry were fighting beneath, and sent out a spell.
The flash of green which flew the short distance from her wand to the plant was bright, but Pepper was sure nobody had seen it. When it landed on its target, it immediately enveloped the leaves and stalks in a soft shimmering light.
Using the wand as if it was physically connected to the plant by strings, Pepper guided the tallest stalks in the way she wanted them to move. With little jerks of her wrist, she manipulated the shoots into releasing their grip on the bamboo canes, and twisting a route to the ground as they unwrapped themselves.
When they touched dirt, Pepper guided the stalks towards the fighting men, and with a final flourish of her wrist, used the stems as ropes which twisted around any body part they encountered.
With the spell cast, Pepper hid her wand behind her back and watched with a smile as the men realised they were entangled in the fibrous stems of the plant.
“I’m stuck!” shouted Percy. “Get off me, Geoffrey! It’s not a fair fight anymore. I’m tangled in a bean plant!”
Allowing the spell to fizzle to a stop, Pepper replaced her wand in its pocket and watched her handiwork unfold.
All four of the men had given up fighting one another and were each involved in their own struggle with nature. Mary hurried between them, unwrapping them from beanstalks while tutting under her breath. “Now look at the mess you’ve got yourselves into,” she said. “You’re all tangled up, and you’ve ruined somebody’s bean plant!”
Pepper kept quiet, but she knew that as soon as the men had untangled themselves, and nobody was around to see, the spell would command the bean plant to return to its former glory. No damage had been done to the plant, but Pepper couldn’t tell Mary that. Instead, she helped Mary as she pulled the exhausted fighters to their feet.
The men grunted as they stood up, and Winston nursed a red mark on his jaw, while Percy rolled his shoulders and Harry searched for his cap.
“Is that what you wanted, Percy?” asked Geoffrey. “A fight? How degrading — four grown men rolling around in a vegetable plot in front of two ladies. We should be ashamed of ourselves!”
“I have to say,” said Winston, rubbing his jaw. “I found it quite invigorating. I haven’t felt this young for a long time.”
Percy’s scowl slowly turned into a smile, and he winked at Geoffrey. “You must admit it was fun,” he said. “It reminds me of the days when my school used to play rugby against your school! We always had a bit of rough-and-tumble back then, didn’t we?”
“There’s nothing fun about fighting!” protested Mary, offering Harry a tissue which he took and wiped the sweat from his forehead with.
Harry smiled. “It was fun,” he admitted. “I feel like I can do anything right now.”
“The only thing you men are going to do is shake hands with one another, promise you’re never going to fight again, and share a cup of tea. That’s the only way you’ll clear the air,” said Mary.
Discovering his cap amongst a patch of gherkin plants, and shaking it before placing it on his head, Harry smiled at Geoffrey and Winston. “She makes a good point,” he said. “What do you say? How about we all go to my shed for a cup of tea?”
Chapter 21
“It’s a nice place you’ve got here,” said Geoffrey, sipping his tea. “I like what you’ve done with the space.”
“It’s my home from home,” said Harry. “I like it to be comfortable.” He smiled at Pepper. “More tea? Coffee? Something stronger? I’ve got beer and wine in the fridge, and a bottle of single malt in the watering can.”
“The tea I have is fine,” said Pepper. “Thank you.”
Harry nodded and turned to Mary. “More tea for you, Madam?”
Wondering why Mary deserved the label of Madam, and she didn’t, Pepper attempted to replicate how Mary held her teacup. Her little finger felt strange sticking out at such an angle, and her fingertips didn’t seem dainty enough to fit through the small handle. She gave up and clutched her cup in her whole hand again.
“No thank you,” answered Mary. “Although I would appreciate it if you’d turn the television down a little. It’s rather loud for such a small space.”
Percy reached for the remote control and pointed it at the television perched on a shelf next to a bottle of tomato feed. The excited voice of the man commentating on the horse race quietened, and Mary nodded. “Thank you,” she said.
“It’s okay,” said Percy. “Our races don’t start until after two in the afternoon. We never put money on a race before two, do we, Harry?”
“No,” said Harry. “Only if it’s a special race, it’s bad luck otherwise.”
The shed fell silent for a few moments until Percy offered Winston the little tube of ointment he’d been using to apply to the cut on his ear. “Do you need any?” he asked. “That bruise looks nasty.”
“It’s nothing,” said Winston. “It was a good punch Harry gave me, though. Fair play.”
“We all fought well today,” said Percy, with a broad grin. “And although there were no clear winners, I think we should be all be proud.”
“There’s no pride to be found in violence,” said Mary, sniffing. “Only more violence.”
“That’s bollocks,” said Harry. He gave a gasp. “Oh, excuse my French — I beg your pardon, but I must disagree quite vehemently — if it wasn’t for violence we wouldn’t be sitting here together chatting like we’re old friends. Sometimes, violence breeds peace.”
“We are old friends, really,” said Geoffrey. “Only three miles separate our towns. We’re all men cut from the same Derbyshire cloth.”
“Aye,” said Harry, nodding. “We are. We’re all good Derbyshire folk.” He gazed at the open doorway as a bird whistled outside. “As was Stan,” he said, quietly. “We were sorry to hear about what happened to him. He was as untrustworthy as a watch bought from a Spanish beach, but he was a character. He was a good potato grower but give him a plant that needed plenty of sunshine and he’d kill it in no time. He didn’t know his left from his right or his north from his south. He’ll be missed in what’s left of the competition vegetable growing circle.”
“Yes,” said Percy. “He will be. Cheat that he was.” He lifted his mug and raised his voice. “To Stan. A cad and a cheat, but a character, nonetheless.”
“To Stan,” came the echo in the room, followed by the sombre gurgle of five mouths slurping tea.
“What happened to him was terrible,” said Percy. “The copper told us last night. That was no way to die… impaled on one of your tools on your own shed floor. Poor fella. What I don’t understand, though, is why you’ve come here today asking about what happened. Don’t you believe it was an accident.”
Geoffrey frowned and placed his cup alongside the sugar bowl on the crisp white tablecloth. “You know how long I was a copper for.”
Percy acknowledged him with a nod of his head. “Aye. Me and Harry had a few run-ins with you over our time.”
“You did,” chuckled Geoffrey. “But when I wasn’t arresting a pair of daft Chapelford drunkards, I was developing my sense of what was right or wrong about the crimes I investigated. Call it developing my hunches — and something about Stan’s death triggered one of them. I wasn’t the only one.” He nodded in Pepper’s direction. “Pepper had a hunch that something was wrong, too.”
“Is that right?” asked Percy, looking at Pepper.
Pepper sipped her
tea and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It’s just a gut feeling, but it’s a strong one.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Did you two see anything suspicious yesterday evening when you left Stan? Whatever happened to him occurred soon after you two had left.. did you see anybody else?”
“Good question,” said Winston. “We saw somebody skulking around, but we thought he was just one of the regular vegetable thieves we have, looking for some free supper. We could have been wrong though. Maybe he’d meant Stan harm.”
“What did the police have to say about him?” asked Harry.
“Not a lot,” said Pepper. “They aren’t looking for somebody in connection with Stan’s death, though. They think it was an accident, and why they think that makes sense… Stan’s shoelace was undone, and it was trapped in the shed door. Everything points to the fact that he accidentally tripped and landed head first on his rake.”
“But we don’t agree with them,” said Geoffrey. “So, did you two see anybody suspicious?
Percy shook his head. “No, we didn’t see anybody suspicious. But we weren’t looking. We were still angry, and were deciding on which pub we were going to go to when we got back to the right side of the hill.”
“Percy’s right,” said Harry. “We didn’t see anybody else in the allotments apart from you, Pepper, but technically you weren’t even in the allotments, you were on the other side of the fence when you shouted at us.”
“Sorry we can’t be of any more help,” said Percy. “But we didn’t see anybody — Picklebury allotments were like a graveyard. Excuse the pun. A bit like ours really — quiet in the week, and full of fair weather gardeners at the weekend.”
“We did see that one bloke, Percy,” said Harry, suddenly. “The one you called a long-haired ponce.”
“Oh yes,” said Percy. “But he wasn’t in the allotments. He was turning into the car park — he nearly clipped the side of Harry’s car, so I yelled at him. I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t his fault, I was still angry at Stan.”
“A long-haired ponce?” said Geoffrey. “Could you be more specific?”
“And less judgemental,” added Mary.
“I’ll try,” said Percy, answering both Geoffrey and Mary. “I only saw him for a second or two. He was older than fifty, his hair looked like he’d just stepped out of one of them fancy salons you see them Italian fellows using, and that’s it. I don’t remember much more.”
“What car was he driving?” asked Pepper.
“I’m not an observant kind of guy,” said Percy. “I don’t know what car it was. Maybe it was green.”
“No,” said Harry. “It was blue. A blue estate car. A ford. I know that because I’ve been thinking of getting an estate car for myself when the car I’ve got now packs in. I fancy taking up fly-fishing again, and the car I’ve got now wouldn’t be any good. You know what it’s like when you’re interested in a certain car – you start seeing them everywhere, don’t you? It’s like fate’s telling you to buy one.”
“It’s not fate,” said Percy. “It’s your brain. If your hyper-focused on achieving something — be that a physical object or a life goal — your brain will make achieving that goal its priority. It will start noticing things which will help get you to your goal. It’s quite interesting really. I was reading about it in one of those fancy magazines while I waited in the dentist’s waiting room. There were some words I didn’t know the meaning of, but I got the gist of it.”
Silently agreeing that it did sound quite interesting, but bringing her mind back to the priority she wanted her brain to work on solving, Pepper looked at Geoffrey. “I think I know who that was. And, now I can think about it, when Mary and I were walking towards Stan’s shed just before Mary found his body, we saw a blue estate car on the road.”
“Who do you think it was, Pepper?” asked Geoffrey.
“There’s a film crew making a film in Picklebury,” began Pepper. “It’s a World War Two film.”
“We know about the film crew,” said Geoffrey. “And I think I know who you’re going to say the man in the car was. The long hair! Yes, that makes sense — you think it was the director don’t you?”
“You know him?” asked Pepper.
“Aye,” said Winston, joining the conversation. “They were filming in the allotments a couple of weeks ago; they had some young girl dressed up as a land-girl. Stan had given them permission to film in his potato patch. The young girl picked a few potatoes, and the camera-man took close up shots — trying to make it appear like she was working in a field, the director told us.”
“It was interesting to watch at first,” said Geoffrey. “But that director seemed very hard to please. He kept getting angry and making them reshoot the scene. He even snapped at Stan. In the end, we went back to the community hall and watched them from the steps.”
“Yes,” said Mary. “And we made a big pot of tea and invited the whole film crew over when the director really started shouting. The director agreed to a short break, and they all popped over, apart from Stan.”
“I was on edge,” said Winston. “I don’t mind admitting. All those people in that small hall. It was an accident waiting to happen.”
“But it didn’t happen, did it Winston?” said Mary. “So there was no harm done. They were very grateful though, and they loved my butterscotch sponge. The handsome pilot really liked it. He asked for a second slice. His fiancee kept giving me awful looks, so I offered her the recipe and told her that the way to a man’s heart is through his sweet tooth.”
“She’s not really his fiancee,” said Winston. “We kept telling you!”
“They were such good actors,” said Mary. “Especially her. They had me convinced. I could easily have imagined them being a real couple in real love. I’m still convinced they’re going to be married!”
“Even though she was dressed as a land girl and he was dressed as a World War Two pilot?” laughed Winston.
“Let me have my fantasy, Winston,” said Mary.
Winston smiled. “Okay, Mary. But they weren’t too happy when they left the hall, were they? Some yob had run off with their expensive lights! That director got very angry!”
“The language he used was despicable,” said Mary, looking at the floor. “For somebody who speaks with such an educated accent, he certainly let himself down.”
“We had to ask him to leave eventually,” said Geoffrey. “He was accusing good people of theft, and demanding that he be allowed to look in their sheds! He almost made poor Hilda cry when he tried to force his way into her shed, but we told him — she’s only just had a hip replacement, she can hardly walk let alone run off with his big lights.”
“Yes,” said Winston. “We told him that allotment folk are good folk and that whoever had stolen his lights was certainly not a member of the Picklebury Allotment Society. I didn’t think much of that director from the moment I met him though. He was very lacklustre about the way he ran his cables. Somebody could have tripped over them and done themselves a serious injury.”
“Well, he still hasn’t found his lights,” explained Pepper. “And he’s still angry about the fact they were stolen. He’s still looking for them.”
Geoffrey removed his glasses and polished the lenses with a serviette he took from the pile next to the porcelain butter dish. “Is anybody else thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Winston. “He should have run the cables down the path and around the back of the shed, not across a walkway.”
“No,” said Geoffrey, replacing his glasses and shaking his head. “I’m thinking that that director chappie went back to the allotments to look for his lights, and somehow ended up arguing with Stan.”
Winston nodded slowly. “You might have a point Geoffrey,” he said. “When the crew left the community centre and headed back to the allotments and found the lights had gone, Stan had already locked his shed and left. Perhaps the director did suspect Stan? He did try and look into his shed through the wind
ow.”
Mary put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my,” she said. “If I’m being honest with you, I never really believed any of you when you said that Stan hadn’t had an accident. I just got caught up in the excitement of it all, but now I’m confronted with a suspect and a motive, I believe I might have changed my mind.”
“Well,” said Geoffrey, replacing his glasses, and smiling at Mary. “Perhaps you’ll believe me the next time I say I’ve got a gut feeling.”
“If it turns out that Stan was pushed,” said Mary. “I give you my word.”
“I say we should go and speak to the film director immediately,” said Winston. “And if we have any suspicions that he got into a bit of rough-and-tumble with Stan, we call the police right away.”
Geoffrey stood up. “I agree,” he said. “We should get back to Picklebury and find the film crew as soon as possible.”
Harry stood up and extended his hand, which Geoffrey took, and shook. “We send you back to Picklebury with our very best wishes. May your beans grow high, and your potatoes large.”
“Aye,” said Percy, shaking Winston’s hand. “You Picklebury people aren’t as bad as we thought. Good luck with finding that long-haired ponce, and if it turns out he had something to do with what happened to Stan, be sure to tell him that us Chapelford allotment gardeners had a hand in catching him.”
“I think it’s going to be more difficult to find him than we thought,” said Pepper. “Oswald — the director, abandoned the film yesterday. He was supposed to be borrowing a Spitfire to use in the last scenes of the film, but I heard his side of a telephone conversation he had yesterday, and it sounded like he’d been let down and could no longer use the plane. He told his film crew that filming was finished. He told them all to go home.”
“If that’s the case,” said Geoffrey. “We’ll have to tell Sergeant Saxon what we think and see what she’ll do with the information. Come on, let’s get back to the allotments. Agnes will be waiting. Then we’ll regroup in the community centre and decide what to do next.”
