by Adele Abbott
“Civil enforcement officer, if you don’t mind.”
“A what?”
“That’s the new name for traffic wardens.”
“That’s a joke, right?”
“Nope, I’m deadly serious. And the theory behind the uniforms is that we’ll blend in better by wearing these.”
“If you don’t stand still, you’ll have to do this yourself.” Aunt Lucy was growing more and more exasperated.
“I’ll go and make the tea.”
By the time I’d made the drinks and returned to the lounge, there was no sign of Lester.
“Have you finished with the uniform?” I handed her a cup of tea.
“I’ve finished pinning the trousers. I’ll sew them tonight and then start on the jacket. It’s ridiculous, Jill. You’d think they would at least be able to provide them with uniforms that fit.”
“Speaking of uniforms, have the twins told you about their plans?”
“Yes, they told me when they got back from Washbridge.”
“What do you think of the idea?”
“It’s one of their less crazy ones, but I’ve warned them that they’d better get uniforms that fit because muggins here isn’t going to re-tailor those too. Have you got over the disappointment of the car?”
“Just about. I should have known better than to believe I’d win anything like that.”
“What about next weekend? Do you have anything nice planned?”
“Only if you consider going to a model train rally nice.”
“You never know, it could be fun.”
“Yeah, and I hear there’s a flying pigs display too.”
“Before you go, you’d better see that dog of yours.”
“Does he need a walk?”
“No, he’s not long since been for one. He said he has something to show you.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve no idea. He wouldn’t tell me.”
I finished the last of my tea. “I suppose I’d better go and see what he wants.”
When I opened the door to the spare bedroom, the room was in complete darkness. What was going on?
As I reached inside to try to find the switch, the room was suddenly illuminated by a disco ball, hanging from the ceiling. At the same moment, the music from Saturday Night Fever filled the room. I was still trying to recover from that joint assault on my senses when Barry, resplendent in spandex, stepped into the centre of the floor, and began to boogie. He was cheered on by his mentor, the disco-dancing champion, Rhymes.
“Come and join me, Jill,” Barry shouted.
I declined his offer because I didn’t want to be shown up by a dog.
When the track ended, Barry took a bow.
“What do you think?”
“That was great.”
“I owe it all to Rhymes.”
“Oh shucks.” Rhymes flushed. Who knew a tortoise could blush?
“You’ll come and see me perform, won’t you, Jill?”
“Perform where?”
“Don’t you remember? I’ve entered the Candlefield Talented Pets Competition.”
“Oh yeah. I’d forgotten about that.”
“It’s next week, on Wednesday night. Please say you’ll come. I need all the support I can get.”
I was trying to think of an excuse when Aunt Lucy appeared at my side.
“Of course she’ll be there, Barry. Jill told me how much she’s been looking forward to it, didn’t you?”
“I—err—yeah, of course I am.”
“Thanks for dropping me in it there,” I said, as Aunt Lucy and I made our way back downstairs.
“You want to support your dog, don’t you?”
“Of course, but for most people that just entails taking them for a walk. I get lumbered with attending art exhibitions and now a talent contest.”
“It’ll be fun.”
“In that case, you’ll want to be there too, won’t you?”
“I’d love to go, but it just so happens it falls on the same night as my whist drive.”
“I’ve never heard you mention a whist drive before.”
“Oh yes. Every month, regular as clockwork. I’d love to see Barry perform, but I just can’t get out of it.”
She was such a liar.
What do you mean, that’s rich coming from me?
***
That evening, I treated myself to a long, hot bubble bath. By the time I climbed out, I was perfectly relaxed, but my skin looked like a prune.
Jack was in the lounge, watching the television, and for once, it wasn’t TenPin TV.
“What’s that you’re watching?” I joined him on the sofa.
“It’s a new channel.”
“I didn’t think you liked horror movies?”
“I don’t normally, but these are pretty good. In fact, that’s the only thing they show on this channel.”
“Spooky TV? Really?”
“It’s good.”
“I’m not watching that rubbish.”
“You’re scared.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I be scared of a movie when I spend most days with ghosts and all manner of supernatural creatures?”
“Sit with me and watch it, then. There’s another movie just about to start.”
The truth was, he was right, I really didn’t like horror movies, but not because I was scared of their ridiculous portrayal of paranormal creatures. It was the unbearable tension when you knew something was going to make you jump. I spent most of my time with my eyes closed, or pretending to look at the screen when I was actually staring at the floor.
Not that I was about to admit that to Jack.
“Incidentally, Jill, I haven’t seen Mum for a few days. You haven’t heard from her, have you?”
“Not for a while.”
“I hope she’s okay.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably just busy.”
Chapter 5
The next morning, I could tell Jack was still worrying about his mother.
“It’s not like anything bad could have happened to her,” I tried to reassure him. “She is already dead.”
“I just think it’s strange because she’s made contact almost every day since that first time, but then nothing for several days.”
“Would you like me to go over to Ghost Town later, and see if I can find out what’s going on?”
“That would be great. I know I’m probably worrying about nothing, but it would put my mind at ease.”
“Okay. I’ll do that.”
“You’re so good to me.”
“I’ve been telling you that for ages.”
***
I thought I’d just about got used to Mr Ivers’ stupid vegetable hand puppets, but what I saw at the toll booth completely threw me. At one side of the window was a carrot hand puppet, and on the other side of the window was a broccoli hand puppet.
What’s so strange about that I hear you ask? I’ll tell you. The window is at least six feet wide, so even if Mr Ivers had a hand puppet on each hand, there’s no way he could be controlling them both at the same time—not unless he had somehow split himself in two.
I was still scratching my head at this conundrum when Mr Ivers popped his head above the counter.
“Morning, Jill!”
“Err, morning. I don’t understand.” I gestured to the broccoli hand puppet at the opposite side of the window. “How are you doing that?”
Just then, a young woman stood up. It was she who was controlling the other puppet.
“Jill, can I introduce you to my new girlfriend, Ivy. Ivy, this is Jill Maxwell who I told you about.”
She came over to stand next to Mr Ivers and then offered me her hand. Let me tell you, shaking hands with a rubbery broccoli hand puppet is not a sensation I’m likely to forget in a hurry.
“I’m so very pleased to meet you, Jill. Monty has told me a lot about you. I understand that you and he have been neighbours twice.”
“That’s right.” Aren’t I just the lucky one?
“Ivy and I met at a meeting of the Washbridge Puppeteers, didn’t we, my sweetness?”
“We did, Monty.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “That was the best day of my life so far. I’m so lucky to have met you.”
“Not as lucky as I am.” He gave her a hug.
As always, there wasn’t a single sick bag in sight when you needed one.
Mr Ivers managed to tear his gaze away from his beloved for a moment. “And, Jill, you’ll never guess what Ivy’s main interest is. Apart from puppets, of course.”
“Base jumping?”
“See, Ivy, what did I tell you? Jill is so funny. No, she’s a big movie fan just like me.”
“How fabulous for you both.”
“From now on, she’ll be helping me with my movie newsletter.”
“I’m so excited.” She beamed.
And the really sad part? She actually did look excited.
***
When I walked into the outer office, and before I could say a word, Mrs V pointed towards my office door, and then said in a hushed voice, “You have a visitor.”
There was only one person who would wait in there rather than in the outer office.
“Grandma?”
Mrs V nodded. “I asked her to wait out here, but you know what she’s like.”
“Is she in a bad mood?”
“I can never tell. She did make some passing reference to your ‘tardiness’.”
“I suppose I’d better go and face the music.”
Unsurprisingly, there was no sign of Winky. He always made himself scarce whenever Grandma came over.
The woman herself was sitting in my chair, with her feet up on the desk.
“What time do you call this?” She tapped her watch.
“Good morning to you too, Grandma. Isn’t it a beautiful morning?”
“Not all of us have time to stand around and notice the weather. Do you know what time I started work this morning?”
“I—err—”
“I’ll tell you. A quarter past five, that’s what time.”
“Yes, but then you did sleep for a couple of days solid recently.”
“I was witchbernating, as well you know. Don’t just stand there—take a seat—you’re making the place look even untidier than it already is.”
“Do you have to put your dirty shoes on my desk?”
“Oh, sorry.” Much to my amazement, she took her feet off the desk. Then, she slipped off her shoes and socks, and put her bare feet back on the desk. “Happy now?”
Happy wasn’t the word that came to mind because I was now forced to stare at her bunion-infested feet.
“What exactly is it that you want, Grandma?”
“Broom flying.”
“Sorry?”
“Have you got wax in your ears?”
That question brought back horrible memories involving candles.
“I heard what you said. I’m just not sure what it means.”
“I would have thought it was pretty obvious. There are only two words, after all: Broom and flying. As in the art of flying brooms.”
“Yeah, I get that, but we don’t fly them, do we? Witches, I mean.”
“Not nowadays, but broom flying was once a major sport for witches. The biggest tournaments were almost as popular as the Levels is now.”
“What happened to change that?”
“The same thing as always happens: People found newer, more ‘shiny’ pastimes, but I intend to change that.”
“How?”
“By bringing back this lost art. I’m still ironing out the details, but I thought you’d want to hear my news before it becomes common knowledge.” She removed her feet from my desk and put her shoes and socks back on.
“Err, well, thank you for dropping by to bring me this breaking news. I’m very grateful.” Not!
She started for the door, but then hesitated, “I’ve been meaning to ask, why do you call Annabel, Mrs V?”
“Sorry?”
“Your receptionist.”
“I know who she is. It’s the question that I don’t understand.”
“Unless I’m very much mistaken, she got married recently, didn’t she? To that funny little man?”
“Armi, yes.”
“Didn’t she take his name?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure if she did or not.”
“You should probably find out.”
After Grandma had left, I decided to do just that.
“Mrs—err—V, I’ve been meaning to ask. When you got married, did you change your name?”
“No, why would I change it? I like being called Annabel.”
“I meant your surname.”
“Yes, I thought you knew. I’m now Annabel Armitage.”
“Oh?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been calling you Mrs V. Should I start calling you—err—Mrs A?”
“Definitely not.”
“What would you like me to call you, then?” Maybe, after all these years, she was finally going to invite me to call her Annabel.
“I’d like you to carry on calling me Mrs V, dear. That way, I’ll know you’re talking to me.”
“Right. Okay, then.”
When I walked back into my office, there was yellow tape blocking the way to my desk. Standing on the desk was a small figure, dressed in a white biohazard suit.
“What’s going on?” I yelled.
The figure jumped down, walked over to me, and then removed his mask.
“Winky? What are you doing?”
“Saving your life, probably. You saw her remove her shoes and socks, didn’t you?” He shuddered. “But don’t worry; I’ve treated the area. You should be able to have your desk back within an hour or two.”
“You don’t think you might be overreacting just a little?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen the reading on the odour meter. It was off the scale.”
“Oh. Thanks then, I guess.”
“It’s a good thing Aunt Wynn isn’t coming into the office until later. What would she think?”
“I thought you said she was staying at a hotel?”
“She did last night, but she still wants to see where it is that I hang out.”
“Just as long as she doesn’t disturb me. I’m very busy at the moment.”
“Working on your missing penguin case?”
“Not just that. I also have the missing Bells case.”
“Penguins, bells? Do you actually have any cases involving people?”
“The Bells are people. That’s their name.”
“Whatever. Aunt Wynn won’t disturb you. And, seeing as how you aren’t going to do it, I’d better give this place a once over before she comes.”
“You know where the broom is.”
“Speaking of which. It sounds like you’re going to be flying one.”
“How did you hear about that? Where were you when Grandma was here?”
“Out on the ledge with Harold and Ida.”
“For your information, I will not be doing any flying of brooms, thank you very much.”
***
What can I say about Leonard Bell? He would have made the Grinch look like the life and soul of the party. Supposedly, he was Walter Bell’s younger brother, but this guy looked much older than Walter had in the photographs I’d seen. And as for Leonard Bell’s dress sense: his trousers were at least two inches too short—and not in a hipster kind of way. More in a I don’t know how long my legs are kind of way. And then there was his shirt. I think he was going for the lumberjack look, but it wasn’t happening.
He didn’t offer me a drink, and after seeing some of the crockery left lying around the living room, I was mightily relieved that he hadn’t.
“Have you found Walter yet?” He pointed to what I thought was a pile of clothes, but which turned out to be a sofa, covered by a pile of clothes.
“It’s okay, I’ll stand, thanks. No, not yet. That’s why I’m here today.”
“Me and Walt don’t speak much.” He treated me to a nicotine-stained grin.
“When was the last time you saw him and Jean?”
“Christmas before last, I reckon. He always invites me at Christmas.”
That made sense: Where would Christmas be without the Grinch?
“Not since?”
He thought about it for a moment. “No, wait, I forgot about the hoe.”
“Ho?”
“He’d lent it to me, and I’d forgotten to let him have it back. That reminds me, I’ve still got his spade somewhere.”
“How did Walter seem the last time you saw him?”
“Angry.”
“Why was that?”
“Because I hadn’t taken his hoe back.”
“Right, but apart from that, did he mention any kind of trouble he and Jean might be having?”
“No, but then we don’t talk much. We never have.”
“What about their children?”
“Katie is nice. She drew me a picture of a scarecrow when she was little.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if the picture had really been of a scarecrow or of Leonard—one and the same thing, practically.
“That must have been a long time ago. Have you seen her recently?”
He shook his head.
“What about Walter’s son, Adam?”
“He’s a waster.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? He doesn’t work.”
“I understood that he was at college.”
“Any excuse not to work. Thinks he’s better than the rest of us, he does.”
“I take it you and he don’t get along?”
“I don’t see much of him, which suits me. If I gave him the chance, he’d try to get cash out of me like he does his parents, but I’m not as stupid as our Walt.”
“Do you have any idea where your brother might have gone?”
“He’s probably dead, I reckon.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s the only thing that makes any sense. Adam probably bumped them both off, so he’d get the house.”
“That’s a very serious allegation. What evidence do you have to make an accusation like that?”
