by Adele Abbott
Ever since the shop had made the transformation from Coffee Triangle, I was never quite sure what I might be walking into. I was hoping that it wasn’t musical statues day because that always made getting served a tediously slow process.
Once inside, the first thing I noticed was that there were several small groups of people gathered together. One of those groups was standing directly in front of the counter.
“Excuse me, please! Coming through.”
There was no sign of Sarah. Instead, I was served by a young man with lip and nose piercings.
“Hi. Is it Sarah’s day off?”
“She no longer works here, I’m afraid.”
“Oh?”
He whispered, somewhat conspiratorially, “She’s gone to work for one of our competitors. I’m Piers, what can I get for you today?”
I was just about to give him my order when one of the men standing in the nearby group screamed in agony and fell to the floor. I expected one of his friends to go to his aid, but they didn’t react—they continued to chat as though nothing had happened.
“Are you okay?” I crouched down beside him and checked his pulse, which seemed to be fine. “Can you hear me?” There was no response, so I turned to his ‘friends’ and said, “Don’t just stand there. Call an ambulance.”
They didn’t. Instead, they all began to laugh. I was just about to give them both barrels when I realised that the man on the floor was laughing too.
“What’s going on?” I stood up.
“It’s wink murder day,” Piers said, by way of explanation.
“It’s what?”
“Wink murder. You get together in groups, and one person is nominated to be the murderer. He ‘murders’ his victims by winking at them.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Neither had I,” Piers admitted. “We had to look up the rules online. It’s proving to be very popular, though. If you’d like to play, I can put your name down for the next group.”
“No, thanks, I’ll pass.”
Once I had my coffee and muffin, I made my way to the very back of the shop where it was less crowded.
“Jill! Hiya!” Betty Longbottom waved. “Come and join us.”
Oh bum! The last thing I needed was Betty Longbottom.
“Jill, this is Rhonda.” She nodded to her companion. “We went to school together.”
“Pleased to meet you, Rhonda. I won’t interrupt. I’m sure you have lots of catching up to do. I only came over here to get away from those winkers.”
“No, you must join us,” Betty insisted. “Rhonda, this is Jill Maxwell. She’s a private investigator.”
“Really? How very cool.”
“Rhonda has a pretty cool job too,” Betty said. “She’s in TV.”
“I actually work for an independent production company. We’re commissioned to create programmes by the major TV networks.”
“She’s worked on some of the big reality shows, haven’t you, Rhonda?”
“A couple of them, yes.”
“Don’t be so modest. She worked on Paws For Thought—that series that was set in a pet shop, and Suds—about everyday life in a car wash. You remember those, don’t you, Jill?”
“I—err—to be honest, I don’t watch much TV these days.”
“Rhonda is putting together a proposal for a brand new series.” Betty could barely contain her excitement. “And you’ll never guess what she’s thinking of doing?”
“Something to do with Coffee Games?”
“No. Coffee shops have been done to death. She’s going to make a programme based around The Sea’s The Limit.”
“Nothing has been finalised yet, Betty,” Rhonda said. “Not until we get it green-lighted.”
“I know, but that’ll just be a formality when they see what you have in mind. Just think of it, Jill. Can you imagine how much publicity it’ll generate for the business.”
“It all sounds great.”
Just then, a small group of customers came and stood right next to our table.
“Watch out!” Betty picked up her coffee. Rhonda and I did likewise, but I didn’t have time to grab my cake, and the next thing I knew, a man ‘dropped dead’ onto our table, squashing my muffin.
To be fair to him, the ‘murder victim’ did offer to buy me a replacement, but before he could, I received a phone call from Mad to inform me that operation ‘Takedown Spooky’ was about to begin.
***
I’m not sure what I’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this nondescript, steel-clad unit on a quiet side road, halfway between Washbridge and West Chipping. If it wasn’t for the cars parked outside, you would probably have assumed the building was unoccupied because there was no signage to suggest otherwise.
I met up with Mad in a layby, a quarter of a mile from the isolated factory, and she outlined the plan. I say plan, but in all honesty, we would pretty much be winging it.
“You know what you have to do?” Mad looked at me for confirmation.
“Yeah, I’ve got it, but please be as quick as you can.”
“Will do.”
Mad was going to head around to the back of the building to try to gain entry, and hopefully, locate the captive ghosts. Meanwhile, my job was to distract the people in the offices at the front of the building.
Here goes nothing.
“Hello?” I was standing in what would normally have been the reception area, but which was empty except for an old desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. “Anyone home?”
There was a telephone on the wall, but when I picked it up, there was no dial tone.
“Who are you?” A tall man, with criminally poor taste in aftershave, wafted into the room.
“Hi.” I engaged my super-duper friendly smile.
“What’s going on, George?” A second man appeared. This guy looked like he’d just dipped his hair into a vat of cooking oil.
“Hello, gentlemen,” I said. “My name is Justine.”
“Justine who?” Bad Aftershave demanded.
“Justine Case. And you are George and—?”
“George,” Cooking Oil snapped.
“George and George? Doesn’t that get a little confusing?”
“Never mind that,” said Cooking Oil, hereafter referred to as George Two. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“These are the offices of Spooky TV, I assume?”
The two men exchanged a puzzled look before George One (AKA Bad Aftershave) said, “How did you find us?”
“It wasn’t all that difficult.”
What do you want?”
“I’m the commissioning editor for Max TV. I assume you’ve heard of it?”
Of course they had. It was the biggest player in the market.
“Yes, why?” George Two’s curiosity had clearly been piqued.
“We at Max TV have been most impressed by the output of Spooky TV.”
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I should get an Oscar for this stuff. Two minutes ago, the two Georges were ready to throw me out onto the street, but now I had them eating out of my hand.
I continued, “The thing is, gentlemen, we’re looking to introduce a late-night horror slot on Max TV. We had intended to produce the content in-house, but having seen the quality of your productions, we wondered if you’d be interested in working with us.”
“What would that entail, exactly?” George Two asked.
“Assuming we could agree terms, we’d want you to produce a number of movies, which we’ll run next season.”
“How many titles?”
“We thought maybe four to start with. Ninety minutes each. How does that sound?”
The two guys were desperately trying to act nonchalant, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that they were super-stoked by the offer.
“We could do that.”
“Excellent.”
“What sort of budget would we be talking?” George One said.
I’d been hoping w
e wouldn’t get into the specifics. How much did one typically pay for a B-movie? I didn’t have the foggiest idea, so I just plucked a figure out of the air. “We were thinking a mill.”
“For four movies?”
“Each, obviously.”
They were practically drooling now. “What do you think?” George One turned to George Two.
I had to hand it to them, they made a good double act. Like there was even the slightest doubt that they’d accept the offer. Eventually, after much mumbling, they both nodded their agreement.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, lady.” George offered me his hand.
Thankfully, Mad made her appearance just in time to save me from his sweaty palm.
“Who are you?” George One spun around to face Mad. “You’re trespassing!”
“My trespassing is the least of your problems.” She turned back to the open door. “Come on through everyone.”
The two Georges stared open-mouthed as a parade of ghosts walked into the room.
By now, it was obvious that the two Georges knew the game was up, and I was expecting them to make a run for it, but instead George One said, “None of this was our idea.”
“Do you really expect us to believe that?” I said.
They both stared at me. Up until that point, they obviously hadn’t realised that I was working with Mad.
“It’s true,” George One said. “We’re innocent.”
“Go on. I’m listening.”
“George and I already had plans to start the TV station, and we’d intended to buy in old, cheap movies. That’s when she got in touch with us.”
“She?” Mad pressed. “Who’s she?”
“Her name is Dayton. At least, that’s what she told us. She offered us a way to make our own movies on the cheap.”
“By using slave labour?” Mad snapped.
“Dayton told us that the ghosts wanted to come to the human world, and that they were willing to work for nothing in order to be here.”
“And you really expect us to believe that you bought that nonsense?” I scoffed. “It was all rather convenient, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe we’re naïve, but that’s exactly what we believed. At least, we did until she insisted that we kept them locked up.”
“When you realised what was going on, why didn’t you tell her you wanted no part in it?”
“It was too late by then. She said if we tried to back out, she’d kill us,” George One said. “And we believed her. She’s a very scary individual.”
“I take it Dayton wasn’t doing all of this for free. How much did you pay her?”
“She’s taking eighty percent of the profits.”
“Eighty? Wow, you two are even stupider than you look. You took all of this risk for twenty percent?”
“What choice did we have?”
I was lost for words at their stupidity, and judging by the way Mad was shaking her head, she obviously felt the same way.
“What are you going to do now?” George Two said.
Before Mad could respond, I caught her eye. “Mad, can I have a quick word with you outside?”
“Sure.” Make sure these two don’t go anywhere.” she said to the crowd of ghosts.
They didn’t need telling twice.
“What’s up?” Mad said, once we were outside.
“What are we supposed to do with these two losers?”
“What do you mean? We have them banged to rights.”
“Do we, though? I assumed the people running this outfit would be sups or maybe even ghosts. What can we do with a couple of humans?”
“Hand them over to the police.”
“And say what? Please arrest these men because they’ve been ghost-trafficking? If I do that, I’ll be the one they lock up.”
“Damn it, you’re right.” Mad sighed. “What are we going to do, then?”
“Fortunately, those two geniuses in there don’t seem to have realised that there’s nothing we can do, so we have to use that to our advantage. We might not be able to put them behind bars, but we can still take down Dayton. It sounds like she’s the mastermind behind all of this anyway.”
“You’re right. How do you want to play it?”
I explained my plan to Mad and left her to put part one into action.
***
Winky was still sulking.
“How long do you intend to keep this up?” I sighed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I mean you and the long face. You didn’t seriously expect me to buy you a card for your made-up cat day, did you?”
“Why not? I intend to buy you a Feline’s Best Friend card.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There is now.” He stopped sulking and grinned from ear to ear. “What date should it be? Next month, I think.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Mrs V popped her head around the door. “There’s a lady who’d like to see you if you can spare her a few minutes.”
“Did she say what it’s about?”
“Just that she spoke with you earlier today. Her name is Rhonda Bloom.”
Rhonda? Wasn’t that the name of Betty’s friend? “Okay, show her in, would you?”
“Hello again.” She breezed into the office and shook my hand. “I’m sorry to drop in without an appointment.”
“That’s okay. Take a seat. Drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Do you remember Betty told you that I’m currently putting together a proposal for a new reality TV show?”
“Yes. The marine centre could make quite an interesting backdrop, I suppose.”
“Possibly, but to be honest, I’ve never been totally sold on the idea.”
“Betty seemed to think it was a done deal.”
“Betty has rather jumped the gun, I’m afraid.”
“I’m still not sure where I come in?”
“When Betty told me what you do, it suddenly came to me. This would be an ideal subject matter for the new programme.”
“This?”
“You! The P.I. business. It would make must-watch TV. What do you say? Would you be interested?”
Oh bum!
Chapter 23
I’d been dreading this night all week. Seriously, could there be a worse way to spend an evening than watching a ‘talented’ pet show? The sacrifices I made for my pets went above and beyond the call of duty: Chauffeuring Winky all around town—most recently, to a quiz show and a boxing match. And it seemed like only five minutes since I’d attended Barry’s art exhibition. And don’t even get me started on Rhymes’ poetry book.
I was running a little early, but I figured Aunt Lucy wouldn’t mind. And, with a bit of luck, I might get a cake (or ten) to replace the muffin that had been destroyed by some random fake-murder victim guy in Coffee Games.
I’d just walked into her house, and I was about to call out a greeting when I heard voices coming from the kitchen.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Mother,” Aunt Lucy said.
“She’s going to find out sooner or later.”
“We have to wait until we’re sure.”
My nose, which had been tickling for most of the afternoon, decided at that precise moment that it was time to let its feelings be known.
“Achoo.”
“Hello?” Aunt Lucy shouted.
“It’s only me.” I went through to join them. “What were you two talking about just now?”
“The price of bunion ointment,” Grandma said, without missing a beat. That woman had lying off to a fine art.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I heard you say something about someone finding out sooner or later?”
Aunt Lucy flushed. “I—err—we were just—err—”
“Wondering whether to tell Paloma Partridge about the price increase,” Grandma interjected. “Her feet are in a terrible state, so the additional cost is g
oing to hit her very hard.”
Price increase on bunion ointment? Seriously? It was obvious that they didn’t want me to know what they’d really been discussing, which made me suspect that it may have had something to do with me. But what?
I didn’t want to make a scene or cause any upset, so I decided not to pursue the issue.
“What happened to Spikey?” Grandma said.
“It’s Mikey, and he’s okay, thanks.”
“You managed to rescue him from the giant, then?”
“Yes.”
“And did the sneezing powder come in handy?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Yes, it did.”
“And—?”
“And, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I hadn’t intended to.
“Is it time to go yet?” Barry came bounding into the room.
“It doesn’t start for another hour.” I was trying to decide whether I should have a second cupcake or not.
“I don’t want to be late, Jill.”
“You won’t be, I promise. Have you got your outfit ready?”
“Lucy has put everything in the case for me.”
“Okay, go and get it and we’ll take a slow walk over there.”
“Yay!” He went charging back upstairs.
“What will you be doing tonight, Aunt Lucy?”
“Actually.” She took out her handkerchief and patted her nose, rather unconvincingly. “I’ve had a bit of a snuffle all day, so I won’t be able to come. I’ve already told Barry and he understands.”
“But what about the whist drive? I thought you were going there tonight?”
“Whist drive? Err, yes, that’s right. I’m going to have to give that a miss.”
Hmm. Very convincing. Not!
“What about the twins? They’re coming, aren’t they?”
“They really wanted to be there, but they have a prior engagement.” She pretend-blew her nose.
“I bet they do. You three have totally thrown me under the bus.”
“Are we going on the bus?” Barry was back with his case.
“Err, no. We’ll walk there. Say goodbye to Aunt Lucy, but don’t get too close. I wouldn’t want you to catch her ‘cold’.”
