by Adele Abbott
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Humour me.”
“To get to the other side.”
“Precisely, and that’s exactly why so many felines are injured on the roads. Because they’re trying to get to the other side.”
“Duh! I would have thought that was obvious. I still don’t understand how your project is going to reduce the number of cats who are injured or killed on the roads.”
“It’s really very simple. Cat Zip will give them a safer way to get across the road.”
“How?”
“It’s in the name.”
“Zip? I don’t get—wait a minute, you don’t mean—you can’t possibly mean—”
“Zip wires, yes. Ingenious or what?”
“You are certifiable. Are you seriously proposing to have cats traversing the roads on zip wires?”
“Not just any old zip wire. Cat Zips.”
Oh boy.
I sometimes think that I should write a book about my life, but who would buy it? I mean, who in their right mind would want to read about cats traversing the roads on zip wires? They’d have to be completely crazy.
Yes, I’m looking at you.
***
I needed to collect the notepad from Bernie Sparks, so I gave her a call just to make sure she was in, and told her I’d be over there in thirty minutes.
Mrs V was back at her desk, but she was no longer wearing the earmuffs. Alistair had finished his pot noodle, and now had one finger up his left nostril.
“I’m nipping out to see Mrs Sparks. I’m not sure how long I’ll be or even if I’ll be back today.”
“Okay, dear.” Mrs V looked up from her knitting. “Isn’t Mr Song supposed to be installing the replacement sign today?”
“I’d forgotten all about that. When he comes, would you please check and double-check the new sign before he puts it up? If there’s anything wrong with it, don’t let him install it—just give me a call.”
“Will do, dear.”
***
Bernie Sparks lived only five minutes from Kathy’s house.
“This is Kirk.” She handed me a framed photograph of herself and a man, standing on a beach. “That was taken in Hawaii three years ago. We went there for our crystal wedding anniversary.”
“He was a very handsome man.”
“Kind too. I was blessed to share my life with him.”
After Bernie had made the tea, she handed me a small notepad.
“I’m not sure how much help this is going to be, Jill. Kirk always said that he was the only one who would understand his cryptic notes. I think that was deliberate, so that if anyone got hold of this, they wouldn’t be able to make head nor tail of it.”
“I’ll take it anyway. It can’t do any harm. You said that your husband didn’t discuss the articles he was working on, but do you happen to know what prompted him to investigate the casino in the first place?”
“Actually, I do. It was purely by chance that it came about. Kirk didn’t go out without me very often, but this particular day, it was the birthday of one of his friends. There were four of them—four guys. After they’d been drinking in Washbridge, someone suggested they end the evening at the casino. Kirk had never been there before, and to be honest, I don’t think he was very keen on the idea, but he allowed his friends to talk him into it. When they arrived at the casino, the doorman refused to allow Kirk in.”
“Just Kirk?”
“Yes, the others had already walked by the doorman before Kirk was stopped.”
“Why wouldn’t they let him in?”
“The doorman insisted Kirk was drunk, but that was nonsense. None of them were drunk, and if anything, the other three had had more to drink than Kirk.”
“I assume the others didn’t stay there after Kirk was refused entry.”
“They were going to leave, but Kirk insisted that they stayed. He said he was tired, which was true, and that he wanted to get back home anyway. They took a little persuading, but in the end, they went inside, and Kirk got a taxi home.”
“And that’s what got him interested in the casino?”
“Yes. He told me he thought there was something dodgy about the place, and it seems his instincts were right.”
“But he never actually told you what he’d discovered?”
“No.”
“What about the three friends who were with him that night? Do you have their contact details?”
“Yes, I’ll write them down for you before you leave.”
“Thanks. Is there anything else you can think of that might help my investigation?”
“No.” She hesitated. “Well, there was one thing.”
“What is it?”
“It’s just that I found something strange in Kirk’s jacket. It’s probably nothing.”
“Tell me, please.”
“It was a receipt for a meal in a restaurant called Wonders.”
“What’s unusual about that?”
“Maybe nothing. But I can’t find any trace of a restaurant called Wonders anywhere.”
Chapter 6
“Yes!” I shouted, drawing a few curious looks from passers-by.
I didn’t care what anyone thought; I was so excited at having got my new sign. It was now perfect in every way.
Jill Maxwell
Private Investigator
It had taken much longer than it should have, but all’s well that ends well.
Alistair was beavering away at his desk, with the obligatory finger up one nostril.
“Could I have a word please, Jill?” Mrs V said.
“Sure, what is it?”
“In your office, please.”
“Okay.”
After she’d made a point of closing the door behind her, she said, “It’s about Alistair.”
“If it’s the nose-picking thing, I—”
“It isn’t that, although that is quite disgusting.”
“What is it, then?”
“I’m not sure how to put this.”
“Has he said something to upset you?”
“Yes. No, at least not in the way you mean. It’s all very strange.”
“Just tell me what’s happened.”
“Do you remember he mentioned that I was going to knit him some clown socks?”
“Yes?”
“Well, just now, I showed him what I’d done so far, and he said he hated clowns. That they gave him the creeps.”
“It’s funny you should say that because he said something similar to me, but I didn’t really think much of it at the time.”
“I know that some people are afraid of clowns. You for example.”
“I’m not actually.”
“But he said he’d signed up for the clown school. Why would he do that if he doesn’t like them?”
“Beats me. It’s all very strange. How’s the whistling going? I noticed you didn’t have the earmuffs on when I came in just now.”
“That’s another weird thing. The mornings are terrible. It’s whistle, whistle, whistle—non-stop. But then, after lunch, there’s not a whistle to be heard.”
“That’s good at least.”
“But that’s when the nose-picking begins.”
“Oh dear.”
“Another thing, Jill. Have you noticed he changes his tie at lunchtime?”
“That’s because he spilled coffee on it yesterday.”
“And today?”
“Noodles, he said.”
“I just don’t know what to make of him, Jill.”
“I realise it must be difficult having to share the office with someone after having it to yourself for so long.”
“It’s not that. I shared with Jules and that was okay.”
“If I remember correctly, you two had your moments.”
“Only when she first started.”
“Exactly, and it’s only Alistair’s second day. You have to give him a chance to settle in.”
“
You’re right. I’m being very unfair to the young man.”
“Not at all. You were right to come and talk to me about it, but let’s give it a couple of weeks to see how things develop. I’m sure it will all work out fine. Can you do that?”
“Of course. What do you think I should do about his clown socks?”
“I’d hold off on those for the time being if I were you.”
“What did I tell you?” Winky jumped onto my desk. “The new guy is a cheese short of a mousetrap.”
“That isn’t even a saying. And coming from someone who is considering selling zip wires to cats, I’m not sure you’re in any position to talk.”
“You only have to look at the guy to see he’s a nutjob. I mean, those ties? Where did he get those from? Ugly Ties Inc?”
“I’m not going to discuss members of my staff with a cat.”
“Please yourself. I’m only trying to help. Don’t blame me when the men in white coats come knocking at the door, and take doliphant boy away.”
“What’s a doliphant?”
“Haven’t you noticed? He wears a tie with a dolphin on it in the morning, and one with an elephant on it in the afternoon. Dolphin plus elephant equals doliphant.”
“Don’t you have zip wires to sell?”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t beginning to have a few doubts about my new office manager, but like I’d said to Mrs V, it was only day two. Things were bound to get better.
Weren’t they?
***
I’d been hoping that Kirk Sparks’ notepad might give me some clues into what he’d discovered about the Lucky Thirteen Casino, but I was to be sorely disappointed. His notes weren’t so much cryptic as non-existent. In fact, under the heading Lucky Thirteen there were only three scribbled lines of text:
No 5 allowed.
Got it wrong. Some 5 allowed.
Only 5 win.
And when I say scribbled, I really do mean that. His handwriting was even worse than mine, and that was saying something. I had no idea what those three lines of text were supposed to mean, but it seemed clear that the number five was the key. All I had to do now was find out what the five represented.
I searched the online archives for articles on the casino. The most recent, unsurprisingly, covered the death of Kirk Sparks. After seeing The Bugle’s headline, I could understand why Bernie had been upset. Apparently oblivious to the effect their words might have on the deceased’s relatives, they’d chosen to go with the headline: Unlucky Strike.
The other newspapers had resisted the temptation to use the sensationalist, insensitive approach employed by The Bugle, but they all agreed that a freak lightning strike had dislodged the stone dice that had crushed Kirk Sparks.
By digging further back into the archives, I hoped that I might uncover more information about the casino. Maybe even some hint of a scandal that might give me a pointer towards what Kirk had been investigating.
Unfortunately, I was to be disappointed. The oldest article dated back to five years earlier when the casino had first opened. Neither Washbridge nor West Chipping councils had wanted the casino, but permission had eventually been granted for it to be located on the retail park halfway between the two. The owner was a Mr Orville Ringstone, about whom I could find no other information. It was almost as though he hadn’t existed prior to opening the casino.
Since then, there had been precious few articles relating to the casino until the recent tragic incident. The few pieces I did find were all innocuous; mainly related to special events that had taken place there.
I finished my research feeling that I was no further forward. Hopefully, the three men who had been with Kirk on the night that he’d been turned away from the casino would be able to help.
Mrs V came through to my office. “A woman has just dropped this off for you.”
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know. I did try to ask her, but she was in and out like a flash.”
I opened the envelope to discover an invitation to another W.O.W. gathering to be held at the home of Camilla Soapling on Monday next week.
“What’s a beetle drive, Mrs V?”
“Goodness, it’s a long time since I’ve been to one of those.”
“But what are they?”
“It’s a game. You throw a dice and draw a beetle. It’s really fun.”
“It sounds like it.” Yawn.
“Who’s invited you to a beetle drive?”
“It’s—err—one of our new neighbours.”
“I wonder why she didn’t introduce herself.”
“She’s a busy woman.”
“Will you go? To the beetle drive?”
“I’ll think about it. Probably not. I’m going to shoot off in a few minutes because I need to call and see Grandma before I head home.”
“Alright, dear. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Beetle drive?” Winky laughed. “Don’t you have to be over ninety to play that?”
“I hadn’t heard of it until just now.”
“Still, thinking about it, you’d probably enjoy it. It’s about your pace.”
***
When I arrived at Ever, I half expected to find the Everettes continuing with their protest outside the shop, but there was no sign of them.
Julie, the head Everette, was still dressed in canary yellow, but she looked much happier than the last time I’d seen her.
“Hi, Jill.”
“Hi. I take it the protest is over?”
“Yes. I’m pleased to report that your grandmother decided to see sense and allow us to go back to the red uniforms.”
“That’s great.” To say I was surprised would have been an understatement. Grandma rarely backed down over anything. “When will you get them back?”
“Get what back?”
“The red uniforms?”
“We’re wearing them.” She gave me a puzzled look.
“Right, yes, of course. Sorry, I’m not on my ‘A’ game today.”
“I have days like that too.” She smiled.
“Is she in her office?”
“Yes. She was drinking a strange, green concoction when I popped my head around the door a few minutes ago. Some kind of herbal tea I imagine.”
“Do you have a minute, Grandma?”
“As long as it’s quick. I’m working on an upgrade to ForEver Young.”
“Your anti-ageing cream?”
“Yes. Have you tried it yet?”
“I don’t need anti-ageing cream.”
“Hmm.”
“I see the Everettes are back at work.”
“And not before time. How am I supposed to run a business with those girls walking around on the pavement outside?”
“Julie seems to think you backed down.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” She cackled.
“She also seems to think that the yellow uniform she’s wearing is red.”
“Does she?” She cackled even louder. “Isn’t that strange? Perhaps she’s colour blind?”
“You can’t go around casting spells on people willy-nilly.”
“Did you come down here to ask me something or just to shoot the breeze? Because if it’s the latter, I don’t have the time to waste.”
“I need your help.”
“Again? What is it this time?”
“Actually, it’s for Jack.”
“That’s your human, isn’t it? Why would I want to help him?”
“Because he’s my husband.”
“Don’t remind me. I’ve tried to block that out.”
“Will you help him or not?”
“With what?”
“He’s agreed to help with the marketing for a convention, but there’s one slight problem.”
“Which is?”
“He doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. He’s never done any marketing before.”
“So you told him that I’d be able to help him?”
“Actually, it was Ja
ck’s idea. He’s been very impressed by some of the recent marketing you’ve done. Like the Surfing Extravaganza for example. He said if anyone could do it, you could.”
“He did, did he? Maybe that human has more sense than I credited him with. What exactly is this convention?”
“TenPinCon.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s for people who like ten-pin bowling, and for cosplayers.”
“What’s a cosplayer?”
“It’s—err—kind of difficult to explain. Basically, they’re people who like to dress up as their favourite comic book characters.”
“Just when I was beginning to think there was some hope for humans. Who would want to attend such an event?”
“Ten-pin bowling enthusiasts and cosplayers. It’s actually our next-door neighbours who are organising it. They’re hardcore cosplayers; they go to a different one almost every week.”
“They’re humans too, I assume?”
“Yeah.”
“When is this convention?”
“In four weeks’ time.”
“That doesn’t give us very long. What has Jack done so far?”
“Well, err—actually, nothing.”
“What’s the budget?”
“There isn’t one.”
“If there isn’t any cash, what am I supposed to do?”
“I thought you could—err, you know.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You could use magic.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re the one who’s always preaching to me that I shouldn’t use magic in the human world, but now because it suits you, you’re encouraging me to do it. Do you know what I call that?”
“Hypocritical?”
“No.” She grinned. “Inspired. You’re getting more like me every day.”
“Right. Thanks.” That was possibly the worst thing anyone had ever said to me. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”
“Why not? How difficult can it be to persuade a few thousand dumb humans to go to some kind of stupid convention?”
“Thanks, Grandma.”
“You will of course owe me a favour.”
“A favour?” A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the last time I’d agreed to owe her a favour. Those bunions still gave me nightmares.
