by Adele Abbott
I hammered on Mr Ivers’ door. He had to be in or I’d cry. Come on! I hammered again. Finally, the door opened.
“Jill?” Mr Ivers looked confused, but then it probably wasn’t every day he had a woman hammering on his door. “Are you okay?”
I tried to catch my breath. “Yeah—I’m fine.”
“You don’t look okay. You look like you’ve been running.”
“I’m okay. I was just wondering—you mentioned the premiere of ‘Full Force’.”
“It doesn’t look as though I’ll be going. I don’t have anyone to go with.”
“I’ll be happy to go with you.”
“But, you said you were too busy.”
“No, you must have misunderstood. I said that I thought I might be busy. It turns out that I’m free after all. Do you still have the tickets?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s great! We’ll make arrangements later then.”
Off I ran, back to my flat. Once inside, I let out a whoop and gave a fist pump. I was going to see Rick Ryland! Forget Luther. Forget Jack. Forget Drake. Even forget Jethro. Rick Ryland, my dream man, here I come.
Chapter 9
“There’s a man in your office,” Mrs V said.
“What man?”
“Something to do with extermination.”
My blood ran cold. I knew Gordon Armitage was evil, but surely he hadn’t sent a hit man to take out Winky? I rushed through to my office, and found a man crawling on his hands and knees, next to my desk.
“Excuse me. What do you think you’re doing?”
He looked up. “I’m here about the bugs.”
“Sorry?”
“The bugs. That’s why I’m here.”
“Reversing the order of the same words doesn’t help. Why exactly are you here? What bugs?”
“The ones in your office. I’ve come to exterminate them.”
“I don’t have any bugs in my office.”
He grinned. “That’s what they all say. What do you call this then?” He held out his hand. On his palm was a horrible eight-legged creature.
“What is that?”
“Like I said—it’s a bug, and I’m here to exterminate them.”
“But I didn’t call you.”
“I was called in by the other occupants of this building. Armitage, Armitage—and something. They were concerned that they were being infested with bugs which originated from this office.”
“Well, you can just tell Mr Armitage that I don’t need your services, thank you very much. I’d like you to leave now!”
“Okay, on your head be it. If you don’t mind living side by side with bugs that’s fine by me.” He stood up, and made his way out.
No sooner had he left than Winky slipped out from under the sofa.
“Has he gone?”
“Yes, I sent him packing.”
“He was up to no good.”
“What do you mean?”
“He might have been here on ‘bug’ business, but it wasn’t the creepy crawly kind.”
“Huh?”
“He didn’t notice me, but I was watching him. He planted a ‘bug’ under your desk.”
“A cockroach?”
“Not that kind of bug!” Winky sighed with obvious exasperation. “How did you ever become a private investigator? An electronic ‘bug’—a listening device!”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Any minute now it’ll be activated, so we should probably stop talking.” He put his paw to his lips.
I bent down and looked under the desk. Sure enough, there was a small device stuck to the underside. I nodded to Winky, and mouthed the word: Thanks.
“Mrs V,” I whispered.
She was busy knitting a pair of orange socks.
“What’s the matter, dear? Why are you whispering?”
“The man who just left—”
“The exterminator?”
“He planted a bug in my office.”
She looked even more confused.
“A listening device.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Someone wants to listen in on my conversations, and I have a feeling I know who.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Here.” I handed her a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?”
“It’s your script. You and I are going to do a little amateur dramatics.”
“Really? How exciting. I was once in Romeo and Juliet, you know.”
“Were you Juliet?”
“No, I was a tree.”
“Right.”
“I didn’t have many lines.”
“Still.”
Once Mrs V had familiarised herself with the script, we went back into my office.
“Ready?” I mouthed.
She gave me a thumbs up.
“Mrs V, is everything organised for the cat show this afternoon?” I said, in my normal voice.
“Yes, Jill. Just as you requested. Everything’s in place.” She was in full-on thesp mode.
“How many people will be taking part?”
“Twenty altogether.”
“Good. And did you call everyone to make sure they knew the details, and to confirm they are still coming?”
“I did. I reminded them that they should arrive at two o’clock. Are you sure there will be enough room in here for twenty cats?”
“I think so. If we move my desk back.”
“I didn’t think the landlord allowed animals.”
“Don’t worry about that. He’ll never find out.”
I knelt down and prised the ‘bug’ from under the desk. After disposing of it in the waste skip at the rear of the building, I re-joined Mrs V in the outer office.
“We’re not really having twenty cats in here, are we?” Mrs V looked horrified.
“Of course not. But I have a sneaking suspicion that someone, not a million miles from here, will believe we are.”
***
After a quick trip to the local charity shop, I began to put the next phase of my cunning master plan into action.
“What are you up to now?” Winky said.
“What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’ve lost your mind.”
“Why don’t you go and wave your flags around, or talk to someone on FelineSocial?”
Just after two o’ clock, I heard a commotion in the outer office. Moments later, the door flew open.
“Stop! You can’t go in there,” Mrs V shouted.
Gordon Armitage burst through the door, followed closely by my landlord, Zac Whiteside.
“I told you, Zac,” Armitage said. “She’s having a cat show.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “What the—?”
“Can I help you, Mr Armitage?” I treated the pair of them to my charmingest smile. What? Of course it’s a word.
“Err—I thought—” Armitage spluttered.
Zac stepped forward. “Jill, I’m sorry for this interruption. Mr Armitage insisted that you were holding a cat show in here, but it appears he may have got that wrong.” He looked around the office. Fortunately, Winky had taken the hint, and hidden under the sofa.
“It’s actually a hat show,” I said. “In aid of the local Washbridge Children’s Charity. I hope you don’t mind, Zac?”
I pointed to the hats which I’d purchased earlier from the charity shop. They were now displayed around the office in a rather pleasing manner. Although I do say so myself, I have a natural flair when it comes to visual merchandising.
“Not at all. A very worthy cause. A few hats never hurt anyone, did they, Mr Armitage?”
“Err—” Armitage looked at me, and I winked at him. His face flushed red with fury. He knew I’d found the listening device, but what could he say? He could hardly tell Zac that he’d been bugging my office.
“Would you like to buy a hat while you’re here, Mr Armitage?”
He didn’t answer. He just turned aro
und and stormed out of the office.
“Sorry again,” Zac said. “I won’t trouble you any longer. Mr Armitage seems to have got a bee in his bonnet.” He laughed. “Bonnet? Get it?”
After he’d left, Winky came sliding out from under the sofa. “You really can be quite sly, can’t you?”
“I try.”
***
I was at Kathy’s house.
“What makes you think I’m trying to get out of it?” I put on my best innocent expression.
“I don’t think you’re trying to get out of it. I know you are,” Kathy said. “Go on then—if you really do have a client coming to see you, what’s his name?”
“Err—Mr—err—”
“See! You’re lying. Look, you promised to go to the kids’ party, and that’s where you’re going.”
“Will there be clowns?”
“No. I’ve already told you; there aren’t any clowns this year. It’s Punch and Judy. Anyway, I didn’t think you were scared of clowns?”
“I’m not scared of them.” Terrified more like. “I just don’t find them very funny.”
“Come on, Mummy, it’s time to go,” Lizzie shouted.
“Can I take my drum?” Mikey was banging it as loudly as he could.
“No, you can’t. I’m sick of it. You can leave it here.”
“But, Mummy, I could play it and everyone could dance.”
“The drum stays here—or you don’t go.”
Mikey reluctantly put the drum on the table.
“I still blame you for that stupid thing,” Kathy said.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t buy it. It was nothing to do with me.”
“Hmm.”
“Anyway, how come Peter gets away with not going to the party?”
“Because Pete has a real job. You know? One of those where you actually have to do some work.”
“I have a real job. I solve important cases.”
“About two a year.”
“Rubbish.”
“How many have you solved this year, so far?”
“Too many to recall.”
“How many?”
“A lot.”
“How many?”
“Definitely more than two.”
***
It took a while to find a parking space at the Community Hall. The place was packed with mums, dads, grandmas, granddads and a million-and-one kids. It was going to be a long afternoon.
Once inside, I could barely hear myself think.
“How long does this go on for?” I shouted.
“We’ve only just walked through the door.” Kathy gave me a disapproving frown.
“I was only asking.”
“Probably two hours. Certainly no more than three.”
“Three hours? I’ll be deaf by then!”
“Stop complaining and go and get us both a drink.”
“There are drinks?” That was good news at least. Maybe a little alcohol would numb my senses just enough to get me through this ordeal.
“Not the kind you’re thinking of—only soft drinks. Go and get us one.”
En route to the refreshments stall, I walked by the stage where the Punch and Judy booth had already been set up. As I did, I heard a familiar voice.
“Daze?”
She popped her head around the side of the booth. “Jill? What are you doing here?”
“More to the point—what are you doing here?”
Blaze appeared around the other side. “Hi, Jill.”
“Hi, Blaze. What on earth are you two up to?”
“We’re the entertainment.”
“You’re doing the Punch and Judy show?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said. “I’m Judy. I wanted to be Mr Punch, but Daze wouldn’t let me.”
“How many jobs do you two have?”
“Only ever one at a time,” Daze said. “But I get bored so easily. And besides, those dogs were driving me crazy. This is a much better gig. Puppets—nothing to it.”
“Don’t you have to learn a script?”
“Nah, the show is only for kids. We just improvise. As long as we get the crocodile out, throw a few sausages around, and I hit Blaze—I mean Judy—over the head with a stick a few times, the kids are happy.”
“I’m not sure you can do that anymore. It’s not very ‘PC’.
“I’ll hit him with the sausages then; no one can complain about that, surely. Anyway, what are you doing here?”
“My sister, Kathy, dragged me here with her kids. I didn’t want to come. I hate these things; they’re so noisy. I’m thinking of sneaking around the back to escape.”
“That would hardly be fair to your sister, would it?”
Why was everyone guilt-tripping me? “I suppose you’re right. Are the two of you working on anything interesting?”
“We’re on the trail of Mona, a rogue witch if ever there was one. We’ve had a few run-ins with her over the years.” Daze checked her watch. “Sorry, Jill. It’s show time. Catch you later.”
As soon as the Punch and Judy show was underway, Lizzie, Mikey and all the other kids began to shout at the puppets.
“This is a very strange Punch and Judy show,” Kathy said.
“How do you mean, strange?”
“This is not the usual script.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I’m a mum, and I’ve seen a hundred Punch and Judy shows. Trust me, this is not the usual script. Punch doesn’t tell Judy to ‘go sling her hook’. And he doesn’t hit her with sausages.”
“Perhaps it’s a re-imagining?”
Chapter 10
Today was the day. Oh yeah! The day I got to meet my heartthrob, Rick Ryland. The man oozed sex appeal, and yours truly had a ticket for the movie premiere. There was, of course, one downside: I had to go with Mr Ivers. The train journey alone would be three whole hours. Would he notice if I pretended to go to the loo, and slipped away to find a vacant seat in another carriage?
“Hi, Jill.” He beamed.
“You’re looking very dapper, Mr Ivers. I haven’t seen you in that suit before. Have you had it hidden away?”
“How did you guess?”
“Just a hunch.” And the smell of mothballs. “I see you’re sporting a cravat too.”
“I’ve always thought cravats were rather debonair.”
Not the word I would have used. But still.
“You’re looking very beautiful, Jill.”
I’d always said Mr Ivers had a discerning eye.
“I thought we might be travelling first class,” I said, as we squeezed into the narrow seats in standard class.
“I’m afraid not. The premiere tickets were free, but I had to pay for the train tickets. Which reminds me—you owe me thirty-five pounds.”
Huh?
“You don’t have to give it to me right now. But, before the end of the week if you could.”
“Right—okay—thanks.”
“Then there’s the taxi fare. I thought you could get that, and I’ll pay for the meal?”
That sounded fair—after all, the restaurants in the West End would be very expensive.
“I thought we’d go to McDonalds,” he said.
“McDonalds?”
“Yes, there’s one on the square, right next to the cinema where the premiere is being held.”
“Sit in McDonalds—in this outfit?”
“We could always get takeout.”
Just my luck, there wasn’t a free seat to be had anywhere on the train. In the end, I had no choice but to spend the whole journey sitting across from Mr Ivers.
“I thought it would be interesting for us to look at all the films which Rick Ryland has made.” Mr Ivers took out a few sheets of paper. “So, I put together a short report from my journals. Perhaps we could talk through them, and give marks out of ten?”
“Sorry, I have a bit of a headache. I thought I might close my eyes for a while.”
“Oh. Okay the
n.” Disappointment was etched on his face.
I didn’t sleep a wink. Nor did I open my eyes again until the announcement came over the speakers that we were pulling into London.
***
If Mr Ivers’ idea of dining out was McDonalds, there was no way I was going to fork out for a taxi. We took the Tube instead. Big mistake! I’d never seen so many people squashed together in such a confined space.
“Hey, do you mind? Watch the dress!” I shouted at the man leaning against me.
“What are you wearing that thing for, darlin’? You going to a premiere or something?”
After around fifteen minutes, but what felt like ten days, we arrived at our destination. The day was turning into an unqualified disaster, but it would all be worth it in the end—when I got to see Rick.
True to his word, Mr Ivers bought us takeout from McDonalds. I refused the tomato sauce—it was way too risky in that dress.
By seven o’clock, a crowd had formed behind the barriers.
Pah! Peasants!
Mr Ivers and I strode down the red carpet as though we owned the place. I nodded to the people on my left and right. They probably thought I was one of the stars of the movie. Half way down the carpet, Mr Ivers tripped over his own feet. I gallantly pretended I wasn’t with him, and carried on walking. He eventually caught up with me at the cinema doors.
“Tickets, please.”
Mr Ivers was desperately searching his pockets while I smiled nervously at the stony-faced doorman.
“I could have sworn I put them in the inside pocket. Or maybe it was this one. Or maybe I took them out and put them on the table?”
No—please no. I was going to kill him.
“Oh, here they are.” He held the tickets aloft.
Phew!
We made our way inside. The interior of the cinema was luxurious, and had been fitted out with all sorts of promotional décor for the premiere. There was even a life-size cut-out of Rick Ryland. I sidled over to it. We made a nice couple.
