by Adele Abbott
“Oh? What’s that?” Again, with the Oscar worthy performance.
“A few regulars stay behind, and carry on drinking after the doors have been locked. Seeing as you’re thinking of moving here, you’re welcome to stay, if you like?”
“Thanks. That’s very kind. I wouldn’t mind staying a little longer if that’s all right.”
Only a couple of people left before the doors were locked; everyone else simply carried on as before. Myrtle and her sidekicks would be putting their plan into action about now, so I needed to make sure Trevor didn’t disturb them.
“Trevor, could I get a lime and soda, please?”
“Are you sure? Wouldn’t you like something a little stronger?”
“No, thanks. Lime and soda will be fine. I see you’re something of a fisherman.” I pointed to the photos on the wall.
“Yes, all my life really. Are you interested in fishing, Jill?”
“My father was a keen fisherman, and he used to take me from time to time.”
“Did he go in for competitions?”
“No. He wasn’t all that good. It was just his way of relaxing. You’ve obviously had a lot of success, though.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“What’s that photo over there?” I pointed.
“That was when I won the cup for fly-fishing in Cumbria in 1997.”
“And that one?”
And that’s how it continued for the next three quarters of an hour. I pointed to a photo, and Trevor bored me to death telling me where, when and how he’d won the cup. He only broke off occasionally to serve drinks to the other customers who had remained behind.
My brain was about to melt and come pouring out of my nose. I was so bored. The sheer effort of trying to look interested was beginning to wear me down.
Suddenly, from a door behind the bar, Myrtle appeared.
Trevor turned around, obviously surprised. “Myrtle? Where did you come from?”
“Upstairs.”
“What were you doing up there? How did you get in?”
Just then, there was a knock on the door.
“I think you should get that, Trevor,” Myrtle said.
He glanced back and forth between Myrtle and the door—not really knowing what to do. There was another knock—louder this time. That made his mind up.
It was Sergeant Charlie Cross. “Can I come in Trevor?”
“This isn’t what it looks like. Just a few friends over for drinks.”
“I’m not here about the lock-in. I’m here to arrest you for the murder of Madge Hick.”
“What? Is this some kind of joke?”
“It’s hardly a joking matter.” He turned to Myrtle. “Ready?”
“Yes. Follow me.”
“Wait!” Trevor shouted. “You can’t go up there.”
“This warrant says I can.” The sergeant flashed a sheet of paper at Trevor. It could have been a shopping list, for all I could tell.
Sergeant Cross took hold of Trevor’s arm, and led him to the door where Myrtle was waiting. She gestured for me to follow. When we got to the top of the stairs, Myrtle stopped, and said, “You almost got away with it, Trevor.”
“Got away with what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do.” She pressed one of the wooden panels, which then slid open to reveal a ‘secret’ room. Inside, there were rows of shelves on which were glass cages containing all manner of creepy crawlies and reptiles. It was incredibly hot inside the cramped room.
“After you left your job at the zoo, you missed the exotic creatures that you’d looked after, didn’t you?”
“What of it? There’s no law against keeping these.”
“Actually, I think you’ll find there is,” Sergeant Cross said. “I suspect some of these are dangerous, and require a special licence. I’ve checked, and you don’t have one. You probably knew you’d never be granted a licence to keep them above a pub.”
“I look after them; they’re all perfectly healthy.”
“I’m sure they are,” Myrtle said. “But, that’s not really the point, is it? My guess is some of the snakes have a lethal venom. I suspect that if you were to mix the venom of several of these, you’d probably end up with a poison similar to that found in Madge Hick’s bloodstream.”
“That’s just wild speculation.” Trevor protested.
“Maybe, but once the scientists know which snakes they’re dealing with, it shouldn’t be difficult to test that theory.”
“And how am I meant to have administered the poison? I was in the pub all night.”
“You’re right, of course,” Myrtle conceded. “But that’s where you were clever. Follow me.” She led the way to the beer garden on the roof.
“It’s a great view from here, isn’t it Trevor? Look, that’s Madge’s kitchen. It’s easy to spot; it’s the room with the window which is half open.”
“What are you suggesting? That I threw a poisoned dart at her? Or maybe used a blowpipe?” He laughed, but it was unconvincing. “I might be on the pub’s dart team, but I’m not that good a shot. And besides, the dart would have been found.”
Myrtle smiled the smile of a woman who knew she had her man.
“You didn’t need a dart, Trevor. You used a rod and line. You coated the hook with venom, and then cast the line. You’re an expert—the photos downstairs are proof of that. Getting the line through Madge’s window would have been a trivial matter for you. Once the hook had delivered its poison you simply pulled it back.”
The colour drained from Trevor’s face. He knew the game was up.
“Trevor Total, I’m arresting you for the murder of Madge Hick.” The sergeant clamped handcuffs around Trevor’s wrists, and led him away.
“That was brilliant, Myrtle,” I said, once we were outside.
“I’ve got you to thank for it, Jill.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“It was when you mentioned the fly-fishing that it all started to make sense. Madge tried to tell us who murdered her. That’s why she wrote ‘FL’ in the flour. She knew Trevor was known as ‘The Fly’. And, do you remember that Harry complained about the smell of old frogs? That was the exotic animals. From there, it wasn’t difficult to put two and two together. Trevor had the means to deliver the poison—casting a line through that open window would have been child’s play for him. I just had to work out where the animals were. Once Hodd and Jobbs were able to get me inside, the smell soon led me to them.”
“Myrtle, if you ever decide to come and live in Washbridge, there’s a job waiting for you. I think we’d make a great team.”
“I’m too old for all that. That’s a young person’s game. I think I’ll stay in Middle Tweaking; the pace of life here is more suited to me. Besides which, what would Hodd and Jobbs do without me?”
“Well, thanks again. You’ve taught me a great deal.”
“Not at all Jill, I’ve learnt a lot from you too. Keep in touch.”
“I will.”
“Bye then.”
Chapter 18
The next morning, I hadn’t been in the office very long when I felt a bit of a chill. Sure enough, moments later, the colonel and Priscilla appeared. Thankfully, they were both dressed, so I didn’t have to avert my eyes.
“Hi, Colonel. Hi, Priscilla. How’s things?”
“Much better, Jill, thank you,” the colonel said. “And it’s all down to you, again. I’m pleased to report that Matthew Most is no longer causing us problems up at the house.”
“So I understand. Mad dropped in and told me that she’d sent him packing back to Ghost Town. Apparently, there were already several warrants out for him.”
“He was a nasty piece of work altogether.” The colonel glanced at Priscilla who was remarkably quiet. “We’re glad to be rid of him, aren’t we, Cilla?”
“Yes, Briggsy.”
Unless I was very much mistaken, Cilla didn’t seem quite as pleased with the outcome as the co
lonel obviously was.
“You really must let us thank you properly, Jill,” the colonel said. “Why don’t you come up to the house for dinner some time?”
“Is that possible? What about the new owners?”
“They hardly ever venture into the west wing. We’ve more or less made that our home now, haven’t we, Cilla?”
“Yes, Briggsy. It’s really very private up there.” She seemed a little brighter now. “We’d love to have you join us for dinner.”
“But what about—err—I mean—how do you manage to prepare meals?”
“That’s the other piece of news I have for you.” The colonel beamed with obvious delight. “You remember Mrs Burnbridge, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. Is she enjoying her retirement?”
“That’s the thing. Her retirement didn’t last very long.”
“Oh dear, you don’t mean—”
“No, nothing like that. She’s perfectly fine. The other day, I overheard the new owner mention that he could do with a housekeeper/cook. He was toying with the idea of advertising, so I conveniently left some papers on his desk: Mrs Burnbridge’s employment records.”
“And he contacted her?”
“He certainly did. Mrs Burnbridge was delighted to get back to the house. Retirement didn’t suit her; she was bored to tears.”
“Have you managed to make contact with her?”
“Yes indeed.”
“She didn’t die of fright, then?”
“No. She seemed to take it all in her stride. I should have known she would. And, of course, I introduced her to Cilla. You and Mrs Burnbridge get on famously, don’t you, Cilla?”
“Oh yes, she’s such a lovely old dear.”
“How does it work with the meals?”
“Primarily, of course, Mrs Burnbridge is working for the new owner, but she also makes meals for us from time to time. If you were to join us for dinner, you’d actually be enjoying Mrs Burnbridge’s cooking.”
“In that case, I’d love to. Will Mrs Burnbridge be joining us?”
“I don’t see why not. That’s a jolly good idea. What about bringing your young man too?”
“I don’t think that’s going to work, unfortunately, Colonel.”
“Have you and he fallen out?”
“Nothing like that. It’s just that he doesn’t know ghosts exist, and I’d rather keep it that way.”
“Of course. I understand. Not to worry. I’ll be in touch to arrange a date.”
***
Now the case in Middle Tweaking had been resolved, I could focus all my attention on the Starr Fish murder. I’d arranged to meet with Maureen James, who was Scott Venus’s old girlfriend. Of course, when she’d gone out with him, he hadn’t been ‘Scott Venus’; he’d been plain old Alan Smith. Maureen flat-shared in an apartment block, which was close to Beans.
The woman who answered the door was very spotty. I don’t mean she had acne; everything she was wearing was covered in spots: A polka-dot dress, grey tights covered with little red spots, and in her hair, a yellow ribbon covered in blue spots.
“Hello?” She was obviously surprised to see me. “I’m just on my way out.”
“Are you Maureen James?”
“No, I’m Dotty.”
I laughed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dotty?”
“Yeah, that’s my name.”
“But, the dots—you are covered—never mind. Is Maureen in?”
“She’s in her bedroom. Do you want me to get her for you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Who shall I say wants to speak to her?”
“Tell her it’s Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator.”
“I bet that’s exciting! I’ve always wanted to be a private investigator. I think I’d be really good at undercover work.”
“Really?” She wouldn’t be at all conspicuous in that outfit.
“Anyway, I’ll just go and get Maureen.” Moments later, I heard her shout, “Mo! Mo! There’s a private investigator here to see you.”
There was a muffled sound, and moments later, Dotty came back.
“She’s in bed. She always sleeps late, but I think she’s getting up now. Sorry, but I have to get going.”
I waited by the door, but after five minutes, there was still no sign of the elusive Maureen, so I stepped inside.
“Hello? Hello? Maureen?”
Still no sign, so I found what appeared to be the bedroom, and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I pushed it open. There was someone under the duvet; I pulled it back just enough to reveal a head.
“What do you want?” The woman’s pyjamas were covered in pears, apples, oranges, grapes, and all manner of fruit. She looked at me through half-open eyes.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“My name’s Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator.”
“No thanks. I’ve already got some.”
“I’m not selling anything.”
“Bye.”
“No, don’t go back to sleep.” I shook her gently until she opened her eyes again.
“Who are you?”
Oh, boy. This was going to take some time.
I eventually managed to get her out of bed. But I had to make her a cup of coffee because without it, I wasn’t convinced she’d stay awake.
We were in the kitchen.
“Who did you say you were again?”
“Jill Gooder, private investigator.”
“What do you want?”
“I believe you used to go out with Alan Smith?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“I assume that was before he became Scott Venus.”
“Scott Venus?” She scoffed. “I told him that was a stupid name.”
“You and he are no longer an item?”
She shook her head.
“Did it end before or after he went on the reality TV show?”
“Afterwards. We were fine before he got involved with all that. When he said he was submitting an application for the show, it never crossed my mind that he might actually get in. And even when he did, I didn’t think anything would come of it.”
“When did he change his name?”
“He’d heard that some of the other contestants were changing their names before they went in. He reckoned if he didn’t do the same, he wouldn’t have a chance. He said no one would vote for Alan Smith when there were contestants like Starr Fish in there. I tried to persuade him not to do it, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Did he split up with you as soon as he was voted out of the competition?”
“No, not straight away. I’d half expected it because I’d seen him flirting with Starr Fish on TV. I didn’t know whether that was real or just for the benefit of the cameras. But, when he came out, we seemed to be okay for a while. Until Chaz Taylor stuck his oar in.”
“Chaz? His manager?”
“Yeah. He signed them all up before the show began. A real conman if ever there was one. Anyway, he had the bright idea that if Scott—Scott? Listen to me, I’m calling him Scott now. Anyway, Chaz had the bright idea that if Alan and Starr pretended they were a couple then the press would take more interest in them.”
“From what I understand, it didn’t quite work out like that.”
“No, it didn’t. The press were only interested in Starr. Poor old Alan got his nose pushed out.”
“What about you? You must resent Alan for dumping you like that.”
“I wasn’t very pleased at the time, but I’m over it now. I’m glad I found out what he was like before we got too involved. I’ve seen a couple of guys since then, so he’s history now.”
“Do you think Alan could have murdered Starr Fish?”
“Alan? Murder someone? Not in a million years. I don’t think Alan’s your man.”
***
As I walked back to the office, I noticed a new shop which I hadn’t seen before. The last time I’d been o
n that street, the shop had been empty. Someone had obviously spent quite a bit of money on it because the frontage had been completely revamped. It was the sign that caught my attention: ‘Love You To Death Dating Agency’.
Surely not. It couldn’t be, could it? I was probably going to regret this, but curiosity got the better of me.
The young woman behind the reception desk greeted me with more of a frown than a smile.
“I just popped in out of curiosity. Have you been open long?”
“No, we only opened last week. Aren’t you a witch?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m very sorry, but I don’t think we can help you. We’re a dating agency which is exclusively for Grim Reapers.”
“That’s what I thought. Tell me, is the owner by any chance James Keeper?”
“Yes. Do you know Jim?”
“Our paths have crossed. In fact, he discussed the idea of this dating agency with me and Hilary from Love Spell.”
“Hilary has been helping Jim with the launch.”
“It’s nice to see that he got the business off the ground. Is Jim in today?”
“No, he’s at a meeting with the accountant.”
“Oh, well. Never mind. How’s business so far?”
“It’s early days, but we’ve already had about half a dozen Reapers sign up.”
“I didn’t realise there were so many in Washbridge.”
“There’s always a demand for Reapers.”
“I guess so.”
“There aren’t any other specialised Reaper dating agencies, so Jim has cornered the market.”
“How does it work exactly? Do you pair up Grim Reapers with humans?”
“No, Jim considered doing that. But, based on his own experience with humans, he decided it wouldn’t work.”
“He’s probably right.” I thought back to my date with him.
“So he decided the agency would be exclusively for Grim Reapers.”
“But don’t you get people just wandering in off the street?”
“Not many. We get the odd person who, like yourself, is curious. If they’re a sup, we just explain the agency is only for Reapers. If it’s a human, it’s a little more difficult. We can hardly say that we don’t accept humans, so we allow them to sign up. The first month is free, but they never hear from us again, so they don’t end up paying us any money.”
