“You can’t approach that house by yourself!” Toby whined, pulling on his harness, frantic to be out of the car. “Of course I need to come. I’m your guard dog.”
“Is that right?” Clarissa hid her smile and detached him from his seatbelt. “Come on then, Toby Schwarzenegger.”
Clarissa locked the car and slowly navigated the broken paving stones that made up the front path as they approached the front door. Toby, by her side, sniffed as he went, picking up a variety of scents: some local cats, a couple of children and the unmistakeable smell of Sue Mitchelmore’s favourite perfume.
He’d recognise that anywhere. It had wafted around the Sunshine Valley Pet Sanctuary and made some of the dogs sneeze. He shuddered at the memory. But at least they appeared to be on the right track after all. Sue Mitchelmore lived here, or she had visited here recently.
They halted at the front door and Clarissa pressed the button, expecting to hear a bell or a buzzer alerting the occupant to their arrival, but the only sound was the rumble of traffic in the road behind them. Clarissa lifted her finger to press the button once more. “Isn’t it working? Should I knock instead?” she dithered. “I hate to appear impatient.”
“I don’t think she’s going to be all that pleased to see us, regardless of whether you’re patient or not.” Toby leaned forward to simultaneously listen at the door and give the entrance a good sniffing. “She’s definitely been here. I can smell her.”
“That’s something, at least.” Clarissa pressed the button, harder, and when she didn’t hear anything this time, she lifted her fist to rap on the wood with her knuckles.
Meanwhile, Toby ran his nose around the crack at the base of the door, snuffling as he sucked in the scents, his sharp brain processing what he found. Sue Mitchelmore’s unpleasant perfume. Lemon floor cleaner. Bleach. A strong smell of bleach. He didn’t like that much. Something metallic and yet slightly tangy. And—
He stiffened and moved backwards.
“What’s the matter, Toby?” Clarissa stared down at the dog, surprised by his sudden movement.
He pulled away from the door, yanking her with him. She pulled him back and he cowered.
“I smell death!” he said. “I smell death.”
“Not again, Toby! We’ve been through this before.”
“I can smell it, I tell you.” Toby’s ears lay flat against his scalp and he shivered. “I smell death.”
Clarissa crouched next to him and gently stroked his head. “You said that when we found Mrs Crouch and she was still alive. We helped her, remember?”
“Not this time,” Toby whimpered. “Someone is in there—I think it is Sue Mitchelmore—and she’s dead. I’m telling you.”
Clarissa bit her lip and fondled his ears before standing again. What should she do? Call the police? But what if they arrived and there was no crime here at all? She’d look like a fool.
“I don’t know, Toby…” Clarissa muttered. She battled her way through the tall grass to peer through the bay window. She couldn’t make out much of anything. The windows were encrusted with grime and the thick net curtains effectively obscured her view. She retreated a few steps and tipped her head to get a better view of the upstairs. The curtains were open, but the windows were closed.
She breathed out heavily, knowing she would have to try around the back. The thought of it, the thought of maybe finding another person lying helpless on the floor inside, filled her with dread. Her stomach fluttered. “Are you going to stay here?” she asked Toby. “Only I want to see if there’s any other way of getting in—”
Toby groaned. As dogs went, he probably wasn’t the bravest, not after the run-in with The Pointy Woman—she’d scared him to death—but his heart was in the right place. He couldn’t let Clarissa go by herself.
Not this time.
“No. I’ll come with you,” he told her.
“You’re sure?” Clarissa tried not to let him hear her relief. Before he could change his mind, she began to navigate the garden to walk around the side of the house. Toby took a second, glanced all around, and finally fell into step beside her, his nose against the back of her right calf.
The fence between number 32 and the house next door, number 34, had collapsed. In places Clarissa had to walk over it, and in others she had to climb past it or push it out of the way. A jumble of old bicycles and tricycles littered the path on the other side, and dustbins, full to overflowing, were stacked against the side of the house.
Despite number 32’s run-down appearance, there was far less junk lying around, and the one dustbin Clarissa could see had recently been emptied. The back garden was a long thin strip of land, the earth little more than dried-out dust with a few sprigs of grass poking through. Nothing of note that set off any alarm bells.
The back door—half wood, half glass—was closed. No nets here. Clarissa cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the window. Nobody in the kitchen. She tapped on the pane and waited. Nobody came.
“Are we going in?” Toby asked, swallowing.
“Can you still smell it?” Clarissa asked, meaning ‘death’. He nodded, his face miserable, his tail hanging low.
She sighed. “I guess we have to, then.” She reached out to try the door. Locked.
“How will we get in?” Toby asked, worried that if they broke the glass the police would come and arrest them. He never wanted to be incarcerated in a kennels again.
Clarissa rummaged in her old leather handbag, rooting around at the bottom until she found what she was looking for. Her wand. A basic slither of wood without favour or embellishment.
Toby gave Clarissa a little side-eye. “Oh my word. You’re not actually going to do some magick, are you?”
Clarissa returned his look with a pointed one of her own. “Enough of the sarcasm, you.”
“I thought you were allergic to it, that’s all.” He wagged the tip of his tail so that she understood he was joking and stood back to allow her access.
Clarissa gently tapped the lock. “Recludo! Sedatus.” The lock jiggled and clinked. “Sedatus!” Clarissa hissed.
A quiet, metallic tink and the job was done.
Clarissa turned the handle and this time the door swung open. She remained in place and peered into the kitchen. A mug and plate stood upside down on the draining board but apart from this, the work surfaces were clean and clear.
“Hellloooooo?” Clarissa called. Toby leaned against her leg. Together they waited but nobody answered. “You know what we never thought of?” Clarissa’s voice had a slight tremor to it. “She might have gone to the shops. She might come back at any moment. What are we doing?”
Toby didn’t agree. He knew what he could smell. “I think we should go in.” He pushed against her and reluctantly, Clarissa edged forwards.
“Hello?” she called again. “Ms Mitchelmore?”
She stepped over the threshold and paused. The house seemed oddly still. Not a breath or a hint of movement anywhere.
“Ms Mitchelmore?” Clarissa inched forwards again. The house only had two downstairs rooms. The kitchen opened directly into the living room, with the front door at the end, in front of the flight of stairs leading to the next floor. Nobody appeared to be in the front room. With a little more confidence Clarissa took a few quick steps, walking across frayed beige carpet… and pulled up short.
There was somebody there, sitting in one of two armchairs. They had their back to Toby and Clarissa. Toby clung to Clarissa’s side. She could feel him shaking.
“Ms Mitchelmore?” Clarissa asked, her voice little more than a whisper. She edged sideways to catch a glimpse of the person on the armchair. What was this she was seeing? Strange cotton wool hair, a red face as though someone had painted the woman in oils, eyes open but…
“Oooh!” Clarissa reared back in shock. “Oooh!”
She scuttled backwards into the kitchen, clamping a hand across her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. “That’s not good. That’s not good
at all.”
Toby followed her. “I told you. Is that her? Is that Sue Mitchelmore?”
“I don’t know,” Clarissa’s voice sounded unusually shrill, ringing out through the silent house. “I couldn’t tell.”
“What do we do? Should I phone the police?” Clarissa tried to pull her bag from around her arm and succeeded in dropping it on the floor. A handful of items spilled out.
Clarissa knelt down to begin scooping them up and Toby placed his paw on her trembling hand.
“Yes. You will need to phone them, but Clarissa?”
She focused on his furry, loving face in front of her, biting down on her rising panic. “Yes?”
“She’s far beyond help. I think we should take a look around first.”
Clarissa took a few minutes for herself, standing alone in the back garden, breathing and allowing her heart rate to slow a little until she could face going back inside. Toby waited patiently, sitting on the back step. At last she turned to him and nodded.
“Okay, let’s give it a quick once-over and then I’ll ring the police.”
Toby stood and led the way, his tail high, as though his rear end wanted to present a bouncy confident countenance to Clarissa. She followed him, somewhat reluctantly, wand in hand and eyes turned away from the figure in the armchair.
Not so Toby, however. Swallowing, he dared himself to take a look. Once he’d seen all he needed to, he looked around at the rest of the room.
“This is mighty peculiar, Clarissa.”
“Is it?” Clarissa had moved to the front window to look outside. She could see her car and had half a mind to jump in it and run away.
“Look here.” When she purposely ignored him, Toby continued. “Here on the coffee table.”
Still averting her gaze from the body in the chair, Clarissa looked around. The small, badly-stained coffee table was littered with what appeared at first glance to be make-up, but among the pots was a mixing bowl and a jar of silver goo that sparkled in a most supernatural way.
“What is this?” Toby asked, and Clarissa, forgetting her panic for a moment, came closer to get a better look. She crouched beside the table and used the tip of her wand to move the jar around to inspect it. ‘Dermismajik!’ read the brand name. In smaller letters underneath she could pick out the words, ‘Magickal Reactive Stimulating Dermis Gel’. Twisting the jar around once more she could see the pricing information. She read, “Sixty-four pounds and ninety-nine pence? Blimey.”
“And this? This is weird?”
Clarissa looked at the spot he was snuffling; wispy strands of bleached blonde hair covered the carpet. Her toes curled in revulsion. “That’s hair. It’s Sue Mitchelmore’s hair.”
Toby sniffed at it.
Clarissa had turned her attention to the mixing bowl. She tipped it slightly to get a better look at the contents.
“I think I know what this is,” she said. Straightening her back, she fortified her courage and snuck a quick peek at Sue Mitchelmore.
The bright red face, the cotton wool hair.
“Sue Mitchelmore may have been trying to alter her appearance. This is cosmetic alchemy gone wrong. This Dermismajik stuff is mixed with cosmetics and is combined with a spell to change your appearance.”
“Sue Mitchelmore wasn’t a witch, though.” Toby sniffed at the hand that dangled closest to him. “She smells of washing-up liquid.”
Clarissa recalled the clean mug and plate in the kitchen. She used the tip of her wand to turn Sue’s hand about. Completely clean. No goo. She checked the other one, slightly more difficult as it nestled in her lap. There were no marks of any kind on it, and no dye or make-up.
“She didn’t do this to herself.” Clarissa stood, swivelling about to take in the rest of the room. A small television and a single potted plant were the only items of decoration. The furnishings consisted only of the two worn armchairs and the coffee table. No books, no magazines, no pictures or photos, cushions or throws.
Nothing.
“She didn’t live here,” Clarissa decided. “Or at least if she did, she hadn’t been living here long.”
“Temporary accommodation maybe?” Toby suggested and began to sniff along the skirting board. “I get a strong tang of someone else from the carpet. Ordinary people. An older man, living with a bird of some kind.”
“That’s weird too,” Clarissa said, more to herself than to him. “It suggests this place hasn’t been magically cleansed the way Mrs Crouch’s house was when she was attacked. If the same person was responsible, you’d expect that.”
Toby had reached the unit where the television perched. “Clarissa? What’s this?
Clarissa bent over and teased a small slip of paper from beneath the corner of the unit. “It’s a till receipt,” she shrugged, imagining it could be of no consequence. She flipped it over to take a closer look at what it listed and quickly changed her mind. “Sixty-four pounds and ninety-nine pence?” She glanced over at the jar of Dermismajik. “Purchased from Temperance House.”
“But if Sue Mitchelmore isn’t—” Toby risked another look at the body in the armchair, “—wasn’t a witch, she wouldn’t have been allowed into Temperance House.”
“Somebody else bought the items they needed from there, in order to cast a cosmetic alchemy spell to change Sue Mitchelmore’s appearance. Somebody from my coven.”
Toby sniffed around the armchair. “Potentially someone was helping Sue to change her appearance and it all went wrong.”
“Or maybe whoever that was intended to kill her, and the cosmetic alchemy was just a ruse to get inside the house.” Clarissa could hear the note of distrust in her voice. How had it come to this? Only a few months before, she’d been a largely happy-go-lucky young woman with a decent job, who just happened to receive an anonymous tip-off about her grandfather.
Now she had no idea who to trust or where to turn.
“Who would want to kill her?” Toby wondered out loud.
“And why?” Clarissa added. “My guess would be that she knew too much. I’m not sure that Miranda Dervish would tolerate ordinary people becoming overly involved in her business.”
“You’re assuming it was her?” Toby quaked inside and cast a worried glance upstairs.
Clarissa followed the look. “Who else?” She lifted her wand, as though by doing so she would be able to protect the pair of them from any attack The Pointy Woman might launch their way.
“I can’t find any trace of her here.”
“She’ll have covered her tracks somehow.” Clarissa’s eyes never left the ceiling.
“Do you think we ought to check upstairs?”
Clarissa grimaced. “And leave Sue Mitchelmore down here alone?”
Toby shuffled towards the stairs. “She’s not going to get up and dance a jig, is she?”
“I would certainly hope not.” Clarissa glanced around uneasily. “You go up. Have a very quick look and come straight back.”
Toby wagged his tail. “Alright.”
He did as he was told, disappearing up the stairs at lightning speed. She heard his paws as he walked over linoleum in the bathroom at the top of the stairs, then a creak as a door at the front of the house was pushed open.
She held her breath, listening to him move with purpose.
While they’d been in the house, cars had been driving along the road intermittently and she’d hardly noticed, but now the sound of a car door slamming outside caught her attention.
She moved to the window and peered through the murky net curtains.
A familiar figure alighted from a small grey car.
DC Plum!
“What in the world—?” Clarissa’s mind raced. She hadn’t called the police yet, so what were they doing here?
She dashed to the bottom of the stairs. “Toby?” she called, sotto voce. “Toby?
His grey face appeared at the top of the stairs, his expression quizzical.
“Come down! We’ve got company. We need to get out of
here.”
He trotted briskly down the stairs towards her.
“Out the back. Hurry!”
Clarissa took a quick look around, checking they hadn’t left anything behind that might give away the fact that they’d ever been in the house at all, and then she sped into the kitchen. Her handbag and half a dozen items were scattered on the floor. Quickly she gathered them up, her fingers all thumbs, making everything so much more difficult.
She jumped through the back door and pulled it closed after her. Toby watched as she tapped the lock with her wand. “Clauditis!” she urged it, and a metallic chink announced her success.
She breathed out in relief, before wafting her face with her hands. “Calm, calm,” she told herself.
“He’s coming,” Toby told her, keeping his voice low.
Clarissa nodded. “Ms Mitchelmore? Hello, Ms Mitchelmore?” she called, and knocked on the glass with her knuckles, purposefully smearing the glass. As DC Plum came around the corner, his brow creased in surprise, she knocked a little harder. “Ms Mitchelmore?”
“Clarissa? What are you doing here?” DC Plum had his warrant card out but seeing the pair of them standing there, slipped it into the top pocket of his jacket. Toby jumped up at him and nudged his hand for a stroke. “Hey fella. How are you? Good boy.”
“Down you get, Toby,” Clarissa told him, pleased that Toby had so readily understood the need to join in her performance of ‘everything-is-fine-officer-nothing-to-see-here-I’ll-just-move-right-along-thankyou-and-goodbye.’ She smiled her biggest, brightest, most innocent smile at Ed Plum. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?”
Ed raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I asked first.”
Clarissa wobbled her head and raised her hands. “It’s a fair cop. You caught me, Officer. I managed to track down Sue Mitchelmore and I wanted to ask her a few questions. For a follow-up article.” She indicated the door. “It doesn’t look like she’s in though.”
Toby nudged her. She brushed him away, intent on carrying on her innocent pantomime. “I tried the front door, but no answer.”
Bark Side of the Moon: A Paranormal Animal Cozy Mystery (Spellbound Hound Magic and Mystery Book 3) Page 7
