by Adele Abbott
“In that case, he’s basically trespassing. There are strict rules which determine where a ghost can live—in other words, where he can haunt. He can try to attach himself to anyone, but unless he was known to that person, the connection is unlikely to succeed. Do you happen to know the ghost’s name?”
“It’s Matthew Most.”
“Okay, I’ll look into it, and let you know what I find out.”
“Thanks, Mad, you’re a good friend.”
“Hmm? Let’s see if you still think so in a couple of minutes’ time.”
Oh dear, I didn’t like the sound of that one little bit.
“What do you mean?”
“The reason I’m here is to invite you over for dinner.”
“At your place?”
“Yeah. My mother said that she wanted to show her gratitude for the way you helped me when I was charged with Anita Pick’s murder.”
“There’s really no need. You’re a friend. I was glad I could help.”
“That’s what I told her, but she insists that you come over for a meal at our place.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
What had I just let myself in for?
***
I’d been trying for ages to secure an interview with Starr Fish’s manager—a man named Charlie Taylor, or apparently, Chaz to his friends. Whether he’d been avoiding me or had genuinely been busy, I had no way of knowing. Eventually though, my persistence paid off, and he agreed to meet me at his offices.
“Hello,” the fresh faced young man behind reception said.
“Hi.”
“How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mr Charlie Taylor.”
“You mean Chaz. And who are you?”
“My name’s Jill Gooder. I’m—”
“Oh, yes. Gooder. Chaz is expecting you. You can go through now. It’s that door on the right.”
“Thanks.”
Chaz Taylor should have been prosecuted for his taste in shirts: Dolphins, lighthouses and mermaids? A blue cravat was the finishing touch.
“I don’t have long,” he greeted me.
Obviously not long enough to give due consideration to his wardrobe.
“That’s all right, Mr Taylor. I know you’re a busy man. I like your shirt.”
“Thanks. It’s one of my favourites. Call me Chaz. Everybody calls me Chaz.”
Flattery did it every time.
“Okay Chaz. This shouldn’t take very long. I wanted to ask you a few questions about Starr Fish.”
“How come you’re involved? Aren’t the police handling this?”
“Yes, of course, but I often work alongside them.” Whether they know it or not.
“I thought at one point they were going to arrest me.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I was one of the last people to see Starr alive.”
“What can you tell me about that meeting?”
“There’s not much to tell. Starr was her usual obnoxious self. We ended up in a shouting match. She told me to butt out of her business, and her life.”
“But weren’t you her manager?”
“In theory, yes. In practice, debatable.”
“How do you mean?”
“I made it my business to sign up the contestants who were going into Life at the Top before the show started.”
“Did they all sign up?”
“Of course they did. They couldn’t wait to be famous.”
“What went wrong between you and Starr?”
“The stroppy little cow accused me of trying to rip her off.”
“In what way?”
“You would have to ask her.”
“I can hardly do that now, can I. You must know why she wasn’t happy?”
“Someone turned her head.”
“What do you mean, ‘turned her head’?”
“I mean what I say. Joey told her that I was ripping her off, and that the contract wasn’t even legal. He promised her the earth if she’d sign with him.”
“Who’s Joey?”
“Joey Buttons. He’s the bane of my life. He’s a manager too, but he wants it handed to him on a plate. Instead of finding new stars, and nurturing them like I do, he waits until they’ve already made the headlines, then jumps in and tries to steal them away.”
“And that’s what happened with Starr?”
“Yes, as soon as she won the competition, and began to make all the headlines, Joey turned up.”
“But, surely she was under contract to you.”
“Of course she was, but that doesn’t count for much these days. Those fancy lawyers can get almost any contract declared null and void. Joey knew I didn’t have deep enough pockets to fight it in court, even if I did think I’d win.”
“So, I guess your relationship with Starr was difficult.”
“Impossible. She hated the idea of me getting any commission. In fact, she’d actually been arranging some of her own gigs recently.”
Chapter 14
The next morning, as I was just about to have breakfast, I realised I was out of coffee. What was I supposed to do now? I could nip across to the shops or—
“Morning, Kathy.”
“Jill? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just thought I’d call to say good morning to my favourite sister.”
“I’m busy. I have to get the kids ready for school.”
Always with the excuses.
“I thought I’d pop over, if that’s okay.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. Have a coffee ready for me, would you? And a slice of toast would be nice.”
I ended the call before she could object.
What? Can I help it if I love my sister so much?
Before I got to the car, my phone rang. I assumed it would be Kathy, but it was Jack.
“Morning, pet—” He caught himself. “Jill.”
“You nearly said it again, didn’t you?”
“Said what?”
“You know what: petal.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“You’d better not.”
“I thought I’d better give you a call while I had a minute. I’ve been at the station since the crack of dawn. Things have been pretty hectic here, so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to see you. It might be a few days.”
“That’s okay. Are you working on anything in particular?”
“Mainly the Starr Fish murder. As you can imagine, the tabloids are having a field day with it.”
“Are you making any progress?”
“Old habits die hard with you, don’t they, Jill? Please tell me you haven’t gone and got yourself involved with this case.”
“Of course not. I was only asking out of interest.”
“We haven’t made much progress yet. There are a couple of odd things about this case, but nothing worth talking about.”
“Go on. You can tell me. You know I’m always interested in murder cases.”
“The really curious thing is that although the autopsy showed that Starr Fish was drowned, she wasn’t drowned at Bar Fish.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“According to the experts, the water found in her lungs was not the same water as that in the tanks at Bar Fish. I don’t really understand it, but they’re certain she was drowned somewhere else, transported to Bar Fish, and placed in the tanks there.”
“And, you don’t have any leads so far?”
“Not a thing. Look, Jill, I’ve got to go—I’ve got a briefing in a few minutes. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.”
“Bye, Jack.”
“I take it you’ve run out of coffee again.” Kathy was really pleased to see me; she was just hiding it well.
“I’m not just here for your coffee.”
“Don’t come that. I can read you like a book.”
“So
, where is it?”
“On the kitchen table.”
“What about my toast?”
“You know where the toaster is.”
“Charming. Where’s Peter?”
“You’ve just missed him. He’s taken the kids to school.”
“Are they okay?”
“They’re both fine. Lizzie’s next talent competition is soon. You’ll be coming, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Wild horses couldn’t drag me there.
“How’s Jack? Have you seen anything of him recently?”
“He’s busy on that reality TV star’s murder, Starr Fish.”
“Has he made any progress?”
“Not much. The problem is I’m working on it too.”
“How come?”
“The owner of Bar Fish, Stuart Steele, came to see me.”
“What does Jack think of that?”
“There’s the thing.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t told him.”
“Not exactly.”
“By ‘not exactly’ I assume you mean ‘not at all’? Have you spoken to him?”
“Yeah. Just now before I came over here.”
“Did he mention the case?”
“Only when I asked him about it.”
“Jill! Please tell me you weren’t pumping him for information.”
“‘Pumping him for information’ is a bit strong.”
“I doubt he’ll think it’s a bit strong when he finds out. You’re such an idiot, Jill. You’ve got a good thing going with Jack, and you’re jeopardising it by lying to him.”
“Anyhow, how’s Peter.” It was time to change the subject.
“He’s great.”
“Business all right?”
“The business is doing really well. He’s landed lots of new customers, and he’s been working all hours. I hardly see him.”
“How do you both feel about that?”
“We’re pleased to have the money, and thrilled that the business is doing well, but I’m not happy he’s out of the house so much. But it should be okay now.”
“How come?”
“Pete had mentioned to a few people that he was looking for someone to help him. An old colleague of his suggested someone. This guy has plenty of experience in the gardening business, and he’s recently been made redundant, so Pete has taken him on a trial basis. So far, Pete’s really pleased with him.”
“That sounds promising.” I finished the last of my coffee. “Anyway, I only popped over to make sure you were all okay.”
“Not for the coffee, then?”
“You really have a low opinion of me, don’t you?”
“Not as low as Jack will have when he finds out that you’ve been lying to him.”
***
I’d parked the car, and was walking towards the office, when my phone rang.
“Jill, it’s Stuart Steele.”
“Hi.”
“Would it be possible for us to meet up later today, at Bar Fish, for a quick drink and a catch up?”
“I suppose so, but to be honest, I don’t really have anything to tell you at the moment. It’s early days.”
“Even so, if we could meet for five or ten minutes, it might be useful. How does midday sound?”
“Sure, okay. I’ll see you then.”
When I got to the office, there was a note on Mrs V’s desk which read: Next door with Armi. Back in 15 minutes. Annabel.
It seemed, my highly paid PA/receptionist had absconded in order to meet up with her boyfriend next door at Armitage, Armitage, Armitage, and Poole. I’d have to have words. I was just about to open the door to my office when I noticed another note attached to it: World record attempt. Do not enter!
How dare he? If Winky thought he could lock me out of my own office, he had another think coming. Stuff him!
My office was full of cats: one with a clipboard, another with a stopwatch, a third with a notebook, and one with a camera. They were all standing around Winky.
“Didn’t you see the note?” Winky yelled at me.
“The one that said I couldn’t come into my own office? Yeah, I saw it.”
“And?”
“And, I ignored it.”
“Lucky for you we haven’t started yet.”
“Haven’t started what yet? Who are all these cats?”
“I’m trying to break the Meow World Record for juggling five balls. This gentleman is Marmaduke Masters. He’s responsible for the circus skills section of the Meow World Records publication.”
Marmaduke looked at me over his jam-jar lens glasses. “If you intend to stay in here, I must ask you to sit over there.” He pointed to the sofa. “Take a seat and remain absolutely silent. It’s essential for Mr Winky—”
“It’s just Winky,” Winky corrected him.
“It’s essential that Winky is not distracted during the course of his world record attempt.”
“Do as Marmaduke says.” Winky gestured to the sofa.
Something wasn’t quite right here. Why was I being ordered around in my office by a bunch of cats?
“Hurry up, please.” Marmaduke ushered me along.
“Okay. How long will this take?”
“If he’s to beat the current record, it must be at least thirty-six minutes and twenty-two seconds.”
“You want me to sit there for thirty-six minutes?”
“And twenty-two seconds. Unless of course he was to drop one of the balls, in which case the attempt will have failed. Now, if you’ll please sit down, I’d like to get this thing started.”
It was pointless arguing with this crowd, so I took a seat on the sofa.
“Right, Winky,” Marmaduke said. “I’m going to count you in. Are you ready?”
Winky nodded.
“Three, two, one, go.”
Marmaduke’s assistant pressed the button on his stopwatch, and Winky began to juggle the five balls. Even though I was annoyed about being ordered around in my own office, I couldn’t help but admire Winky’s skill. He kept those five balls up in the air with consummate ease; his level of concentration was incredible. I daren’t move in case the sofa squeaked. If I was responsible for him failing in his world record attempt, I’d never hear the end of it.
Thirty minutes in, and he was getting close to the record. I wanted to cheer him on, but thought it would probably put him off, so I remained silent.
Thirty-six minutes. Another twenty-two seconds, and he would have broken the record. Marmaduke glanced down at his colleague’s stopwatch; I was watching the second hand on mine. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.
He’d done it! I was just about to jump off the sofa and cheer, but realised he was going to carry on to set a new record. Seven minutes later, and he was still at it, but then, one of the balls fell to the ground. He’d beaten the record by a good seven minutes. There was a round of applause from the cats in the room, and Winky took a bow.
“Well done, Winky,” Marmaduke said. “That’s definitely a new record. You’ll be in the next edition of Meow World Records, unless of course someone else beats it in the meantime.”
Marmaduke and his assistant shook Winky’s paw, but I noticed that the other two cats were headed towards me.
“Hello, gorgeous,” the cat with the notepad said. “I believe Winky lives in this office with you.”
“That’s right, who are you?”
“Rory Dale. I’m a reporter for Claw Magazine. You’ve probably heard of it.”
“I think Winky may have mentioned it.”
“This juggling stuff is all very interesting, but what I’m really after is a story that our readers can get their claws into. I heard on the grapevine that Winky is currently dating an ex-catwalk model, Bella. Is that correct?”
“Yes, he is. He and Bella have been seeing one another for a while.” I saw no reason to deny it. It wasn’t like it was a secret.
“I see.” The cat scribbled something in his notepad
. “Am I right in thinking that recently Winky’s brother, Socks, came to visit?”
“That’s right.” I didn’t like where this was heading.
“And, would I be right in saying Bella and Socks had a fling?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Come now. The feline public has a right to know. If you were able to confirm the rumour, I might be able to run to a small fee.”
“I think you should get out of here, right now!”
What was it with the press? Human or feline, they were all the same. If Rory Clawy thought he could get me to dish the dirt on Winky, he had another think coming.
Thirty minutes later, the officials from Meow World Records, and the reporters from Claw Magazine had all left. Winky was having a rest on the sofa, and looking very pleased with himself.
Mrs V was back.
“What’s been going on in your office, Jill?” she said.
“Nothing. Why?”
“There seemed to be a lot of activity in there when I got back from seeing Armi.”
“Just business as usual.”
She obviously wasn’t convinced, but I could hardly tell her the truth.
“Look, I have to nip out. I’ve arranged to meet with Stuart Steele.”
“What shall I say if that nice young man of yours calls?”
“Jack? He won’t. But if he does, don’t tell him where I am. Or who I’m with.”
I ignored her disapproving look, and hurried out.
***
Stuart Steele met me at the door of Bar Fish, and insisted I try a Neon Rainbow fishtail, which he told me was one of his own inventions. There was a little too much rum in it for my liking, but I persevered.
“So, Jill. What’s the latest?”
“As I said on the phone, there isn’t a latest. I’m very much at the beginning of my investigation.”
“What about the police? Where are they with their investigation?”
“I can’t speak for the police, Stuart.”
“But Jack must tell you how things are progressing.”
I didn’t like the way this was going. I wasn’t about to discuss anything that Jack had told me with Stuart.
“No, we don’t discuss professional matters.”
“Surely you must,” he pressed.
“We don’t. I can only report back on my own investigations. If you want any information from the police, you’ll have to take that up with Jack.”
