by H. Y. Hanna
“Possibly. Although it could also have a completely innocuous explanation—after all, we all know how easily glitter sticks to anything. Minerva could have simply handled or even brushed past something with glitter on it, such as a greeting card or a gift bag.”
“What about the stool that was used? Have they traced that?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t help much. It’s just an ordinary three-legged wooden stool. We have several in the coach house restaurant, in fact—the decorator wanted to use them as rustic plant stands—and it’s almost certain that the stool was taken from there.”
“And the rope that was used to tie Minerva up?”
“Again, fairly ordinary, and could have come from the equipment littered around the outbuildings area. The knots themselves were a bit interesting—the murderer used something called a Zeppelin bend knot, which is not one that many people would know—but otherwise, there is nothing that really stands out. I gather that Inspector Walsh is quite disappointed at the lack of leads.”
James turned as Mosley arrived, carrying a large wicker basket filled with an assortment of fruit. “Ah! Thanks, Mosley—that looks great. Put it in the back, will you?”
He indicated the space on the backseat, next to Nibs’s cat carrier. The little kitten peered curiously at the fruit basket as it was placed on the seat next to him.
“Mew?” he said, putting a paw through the bars and trying to reach a cluster of grapes that dangled over the edge of the basket.
“Wow, those look beautiful,” said Caitlyn, turning around in her seat to look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen grapes so big!”
“Yes, I must say, I’m quite proud of them,” said James with a smile. “It’s a Vitis Brant—we have a vine in the Manor greenhouse. All the fruit in this basket is from the greenhouse, actually. We’ve had a late bumper crop—we even got a crop from our dwarf Cavendish bananas!—and I thought I’d take some for David Liddell and the clinic staff.”
He turned and called to Bran, who was sniffing a bale of hay nearby, and the English mastiff ambled over, then jumped up into the boot at James’s command. The Land Rover rocked from the impact, then tilted backwards slightly as the giant dog settled in the boot. Caitlyn had to resist the urge to grip her armrest for support! A few minutes later, they were driving smoothly out of the estate and joining the motorway. They rode in silence for a few moments, then Caitlyn took a deep breath and said:
“Um... James? There’s something I need to tell you. It’s... it’s about Gerald Hopkins—”
“Oh, Lord... I’ve been meaning to apologise for his behaviour last night,” said James with a rueful look. “I hope you didn’t take any of his comments to heart. I’m sure he didn’t really mean—”
“Actually, I think he did,” Caitlyn cut in. “He meant every word of it. And I think he may have acted on it too.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
Caitlyn hesitated, then said in a rush: “I think he murdered Minerva Chattox.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He hates witches, doesn't he? What if he decided to take the law into his own hands? In fact, he even calls himself a ‘witch hunter’—”
James gave a dismissive laugh. “Yes, but it was the media who dubbed him that. You know what they’re like—they love giving catchy titles to things, and it so happened that Gerald was featured in a series of programmes on TV about the history of witch hunting in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century England. This was several years ago, when there was a general revival of interest in witchcraft, paganism, and other alternative religions. There were a few articles in the press, interviews with him, and, as you know, Gerald can be quite... er... passionate about his subject, which makes him good entertainment. It certainly captured the public’s imagination. He became a bit of a celebrity and the media began referring to him as a ‘witch hunter’—which sounds a lot sexier than ‘leading academic expert on the social manifestations of witchcraft in the UK’, doesn’t it?” said James with a smile. “Well, the sobriquet stuck, and since then, whenever he’s been consulted in the press or other capacity, he’s been referred to by that title. But it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe it means something to him—maybe he’s come to believe his own legend.”
James gave another laugh. “That’s a ludicrous suggestion! Yes, I grant you that Gerald is very eccentric—in fact, he seems to have got a lot worse since I last saw him, but I suppose that’s only natural. It’s a common fact that as people get older, their hobbies often become their obsessions... but that doesn’t mean that he would murder a woman just because she calls herself a witch.”
“Why not?” Caitlyn argued. “You heard what he said yesterday—he thinks that we should bring witch trials back!”
“That was just bluster,” scoffed James. “It’s no different to people who hold strong political or religious views and start ranting about wanting to assassinate someone or lock everyone up... Besides, whatever Gerald may wish, the time of witch trials is over. The laws have changed, and freedom of religious belief and practice is the accepted norm now. One can’t go around accusing people of witchcraft and causing them harm.”
“Yes you can—you just make sure you don’t get caught. I mean, Minerva’s murderer got away, didn’t he?”
“You’re assuming that she was murdered for being a witch. Personally, I think it was more likely that she was murdered for being a cheat and using fake witchcraft to defraud people of money.”
“But if that was the case, why didn’t they just bash her on the head or something? Why go to the elaborate lengths of tying her up to a chair and drowning her? That’s one of the classic tests used in the witch trials, you know. And Gerald Hopkins would have been the best person to know that.”
James shook his head again. “No, I'm sorry, but I just can’t believe it. I’ve known Gerald ever since I was a little boy. He’s one of my father’s oldest friends and I know he’s not a murderer.”
Caitlyn swallowed her frustration and looked out of the window, feeling a surge of annoyance at James’s stubbornness. It was a novel feeling; usually, when they were together, she was either overcome with shyness or overwhelmed with romantic feelings for him... They had generally seen eye-to-eye in the past, and she had never doubted that James would always support her and agree with her. She had never considered him as anything other than the perfect dream hero, but for the first time, she saw him as a whole person, with quirks and flaws, someone she could disagree with and find infuriating, despite her feelings for him.
The Land Rover rocked violently all of a sudden, interrupting Caitlyn’s thoughts and really making her grab the armrest this time. She glanced over her shoulder and realised it was because Bran was trying to climb out of the boot and into the back seat. He was now hanging through the gap between the two, with his front paws on the back seat and his rear end still in the boot.
“Bran! What are you doing?” cried James, eyeing his dog in the rear-view mirror.
The English mastiff scrabbled harder, trying to climb through, but he was wedged tight. He stretched his neck towards the fruit hamper, sniffing eagerly, then gave a loud bark and wagged his tail, causing the car to shake even more.
“Bran—stop that this instant! Get back in the boot and lie down,” said James in exasperation.
The mastiff didn’t obey. Instead, he pawed at the fruit basket and whined. Caitlyn turned and peered at the hamper. It looked completely innocuous, a colourful pyramid of peaches and nectarines, a bunch of bananas, and several clusters of sweet, dark-purple, bloomy grapes piled high in a large wicker basket. Bran was staring at it intently, however, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Is Bran really into fruit?” she asked James.
“Not particularly. It’s usually dog biscuits and bones, although he wouldn’t turn his nose up at a piece of apple if you offered it to him. Still, I’ve never seen him this interested in fruit...”
The big
dog was straining towards the basket, whining in an agitated manner, and Nibs began mewing excitedly in his cat carrier too.
“Oh God—not the little one too,” groaned James. “What on earth could be getting them so worked up?”
Caitlyn stared at the fruit basket again. Was it her imagination or had she seen a movement—there—between the grape clusters? Wait! Then she froze as her ears caught something. Had she heard a squeak?
“Do you think there might be something in the basket?” she asked. “Like a rat or a mouse...”
James gave a shout of laughter. “I should think not! Mrs Pruett supervised the making up of the basket herself this morning and I’m sure a rat would not have escaped her eagle eye. In fact, I doubt there is a rat for miles who dares come near Huntingdon Manor while she’s in charge.”
Having met the Manor cook, Caitlyn had to agree. There was no way that exacting lady would allow even a speck of dirt into the basket, never mind a rodent stowaway! Still, she was sure she had heard something... Thankfully, they were nearly at their destination now and, despite Bran’s unconventional position, they managed to arrive at the veterinary clinic without further incident. She lifted the cat carrier from the back seat whilst James extricated his mastiff, then the four of them made their way into the clinic reception.
The receptionist and veterinary nurse exclaimed with delight when they saw the fruit hamper, and received it eagerly.
“Oh, that looks gorgeous—thanks so much! By the way, Dr Liddell says he’d like to see you and Bran first,” the receptionist told James, before turning to Caitlyn and adding with a smile: “Please take a seat in the waiting room.”
Caitlyn did as instructed and found the waiting room empty except for a thin woman who gave the cat carrier a wary look and shifted uneasily in her chair. Caitlyn wondered if she was afraid of cats. Carefully, she set Nibs down and was about to take a seat when she heard a squeal come from the reception. She looked back to see the veterinary nurse staring at the fruit hamper.
“What is it?” the receptionist asked.
The girl pointed at the basket. “I think I saw... I think it was a rat!”
“Don’t be daft!” the receptionist laughed.
Caitlyn hurried back to the reception counter, wondering if her suspicions in the car had been right after all.
“I'm sure I saw something!” the vet nurse was insisting. “There was a brown furry creature beneath the grapes—it had a pointy face... and these enormous ears, almost like a fox, you know... and bright black eyes...”
Suddenly, Caitlyn had a terrible suspicion. She knew something—or someone, rather—who could take the form of a little furry creature with pointy ears and a fox-like face: an old vampire named Viktor.
She leaned over the counter and peered surreptitiously into the basket. She groaned inwardly as she spied something in the corner, tucked behind the luscious bunch of grapes: a flap of leathery wing. The size was too big to belong to one of Britain’s native bats and it seemed too much of a coincidence that another fruit bat should randomly appear out of nowhere... no, it had to be Viktor.
What’s the old vampire doing here? she wondered in exasperation. Then she realised that the answer was, literally, staring her in the face: the colourful, juicy feast of grapes, peaches, and nectarines offered in this basket, something no fruit bat—or self-respecting fruitarian—would be able to resist.
“I’m telling you I saw it!” the vet nurse was still insisting.
“Well, there’s an easy way to find out,” said the receptionist with matter-of-fact briskness.
She began to empty the basket, taking the fruits out one by one and placing them on the counter. But she had barely reached for her third nectarine when she jerked back with a scream. The next moment, a fuzzy, brown fruit bat clambered out of the depths of the basket, squeaking grumpily. It had a purple grape clutched in one tiny claw and was busily munching on it, even as it grumbled and glared at them.
“Oh my God... is that... a bat?” squealed the vet nurse.
The receptionist snapped her fingers. “Yes, it’s a fruit bat! I saw some when I was on holiday in Australia last year... ‘Flying foxes’, that’s what they call ’em there.”
The vet nurse leaned in for a closer look, having got over her fright. “Aww... it does look a bit like a little fox with wings... look at that pointy little face... and those big black eyes like chocolate buttons... isn’t it adorable?”
The fruit bat bristled and gave an offended squeak.
“We’d better catch it,” said the receptionist, ever the practical one. “Here, you grab a cage and—”
“I’ll use a towel!” said the vet nurse. “I saw them do that on telly. Throw the towel over the animal to blind them, and then use it to bundle them up.”
“Um... don’t you think we should just let it go?” Caitlyn spoke up.
“We can’t do that! Fruit bats aren’t native to England. He’s probably escaped from a zoo or wildlife park,” said the receptionist. “Besides, he might be injured or something. Dr Liddell needs to check him over—”
“He looks very healthy to me,” Caitlyn insisted. “Honestly, I think we should just—”
Before she could finish, the vet nurse lunged at the fruit bat, a large towel in her hands. The little creature gave a startled squawk and launched itself into the air, flapping clumsily. Its long, leathery wings smacked against various items on the counter, sending pens, papers, and various other bits of stationery flying everywhere.
“Quick! Grab it!” shouted the receptionist.
The vet nurse lunged again, just as Caitlyn made a grab for the bat as well, and the two girls collided against each other. The fruit bat squeaked and tumbled to the floor, where it flapped awkwardly, trying to take off. Then it hobbled into the waiting room, still squeaking irritably. The woman who had been sitting there screamed and sprang up, eyeing the fruit bat in terror.
“It’s all right—he won’t harm you,” Caitlyn gasped, disentangling herself from the vet nurse and hurrying after the creature.
The fruit bat was crashing around the waiting room now, knocking dog toys and treats off the racks on the walls and toppling a pyramid of tinned cat food on display. Nibs mewed excitedly and threw himself at his cage door, rocking the carrier back and forth as he tried to get out and join the fun. The vet nurse began chasing the bat around the chairs, waving the towel like a demented matador, whilst the receptionist yelled and tried to corner it.
It was utter mayhem. Caitlyn looked desperately around the room, hoping to see a window that she could open and let Viktor escape through, but there were only two small panes of glass high up on the wall—too high for her to reach. She was just wondering if there was any way she could herd the fruit bat towards the door of the clinic when the veterinary nurse gave a triumphant whoop and leapt onto the little creature, grabbing it and bundling it up in the towel.
Oh no! Caitlyn rushed over to the girl and stared in dismay at the bat squirming in the towel’s tight folds. Short of snatching the towel out of the other girl’s hands, she couldn’t really do anything now.
“Good work!” said the receptionist, panting. “Bloody hell, it’s quicker than I thought. Quick, put it in the cage.”
“I really think we should just let it go,” Caitlyn pleaded. “It sounds really distressed.”
Actually, the bat sounded more angry than distressed. It was squeaking and chattering loudly, and Caitlyn had a bad feeling that any moment now, Viktor might decide to resume his human form so that he could continue his tirade in English. The last thing she needed was to explain to a pair of traumatised girls why a bat had suddenly turned into a grumpy old man!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CAITLYN TRIED AGAIN to convince the other two girls to let the fruit bat go, but they ignored her pleas. Talking excitedly, they retreated to the reception and disappeared into the office behind the counter, with the fruit bat in tow. Caitlyn started to follow but was stopped by the sound of
a scream behind her. She whirled around to see the woman who had been in the waiting room now pressed up against the wall in the corner, staring in fright at the little black kitten in front of her.
“Mew?” said Nibs, eyeing her curiously.
The woman gasped. “Get away from me! Get away!”
“Nibs! How did you get out?” Caitlyn hurried over and scooped up the little cat, putting him safely back into the cat carrier. She realised that the carrier must have fallen onto its side in the earlier chaos and the cage door had been knocked open. Now she latched it carefully again, then looked up to smile reassuringly at the other woman. “Don’t worry. He’s only a baby and he doesn’t scratch or bite.”
The woman relaxed, easing away from the wall and coming back to sit down next to Caitlyn. “I’m not really scared of cats,” she said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’m just... I’m worried about what they might give me.”
Caitlyn frowned in puzzlement. “Give you?”
“You know... diseases and parasites and stuff. Especially toxoplasmosis. That can be really dangerous to a pregnant woman... It can make the baby go blind!”
“Oh. I didn’t realise it was so serious—I always thought that as long as the pregnant woman didn’t handle any cat litter and always washed her hands... Anyway, Nibs didn’t touch you and I’m sure a little kitten a few feet away from you isn’t going to infect your baby.” She smiled at the woman. “I didn’t realise that you’re pregnant. Congratulations!”
The woman flushed. “It’s... it’s not a hundred percent confirmed, but I want to make sure I take every precaution, you know.”
“Yes, of course. Is it your first baby?” asked Caitlyn politely, thinking that would explain the woman’s anxiety. She looked old to be having a first baby—somewhere in her late thirties or early forties—but that wasn’t so unusual in this day and age.
“Yes. I... I mean, maybe,” said the woman, her face clouding over. “I mean, if I am pregnant. I’ve been trying for years, you see... my husband and I... we’ve tried everything: artificial insemination, IVF, even intra-cytoplasmic sperm injection... but nothing’s worked!”
