by Adele Abbott
I’d just finished my cup of tea when my landlord, Martin Macabre, arrived.
“Do I have to make him a drink?” Mrs V disliked the man almost as much as I did.
“No. I don’t want to give him an excuse to stay any longer than is strictly necessary. Give me a couple of minutes, and then show him in, will you?”
“Okay, dear.”
“Winky, the landlord is here.”
“So?”
“Get behind the screen, and don’t make a sound.”
“What about my studies?”
“They’ll just have to wait.”
“If I don’t win the quiz, it’ll be your fault.”
“I can live with that.”
“Morning, Mr Macabre.”
“Good morning, Mrs Maxwell. May I have a seat?”
“Sure. Help yourself.”
“You haven’t started selling books, have you? You know that would be against the terms of your lease.”
“No, I haven’t. They’re all mine.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have had you down as the studious type.”
“Was there something you wanted?”
“I see you still don’t have a sign?”
“That’s because you made me take it down.”
“It was too wide, as you’re well aware.”
“Yes, I know, and the replacement is being made as we speak.”
“It seems to be taking a long time.”
“The man who was making it, Sid Song, was killed when one of his signs fell on him.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Steady on there with the sympathy. “His death has meant the order is delayed slightly, but I’m assured I’ll have it within a couple of weeks. Is that what you wanted to see me about?”
“No. I wanted to talk pigeons.”
“What about them?”
“There have been complaints.”
“From the pigeons?”
“No, not from the—oh, I see. A joke? Very funny. Some of the other occupants of the building have complained about the mess that the pigeons are making.”
“I can’t say I’ve noticed it.”
“Hmm.” He looked around the room. “I suppose some people notice these things more than others.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“In the next few days, anti-pigeon measures will be taken.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“Strips of spikes will be installed on all the window ledges to stop the birds from nesting there.”
“Isn’t that a little cruel? What about those pigeons who have already made their homes there?”
“There are plenty more window ledges in Washbridge.”
“Still, it doesn’t seem fair to simply throw them out of the homes that they may have had for years.”
“Are you some kind of pigeon-fancier?”
“No, I just think it’s a little uncaring.”
“Nevertheless, it’s going to happen. I’m just here to give you advance warning.”
As soon as Macabre had left, Winky re-emerged from behind the screen.
“You can’t let him do that! What about Harold and Ida?”
“There’s nothing I can do about it.”
The sound of someone crying caught our attention.
“It’s going to be okay, Ida.” Harold had his wing around his wife. “We’ll find somewhere else.”
“But I love it here, Harold,” she sobbed. “I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives here.”
“See!” Winky said. “Are you going to stand by and allow this to happen?”
“I really don’t see what I can do.”
“It’s not Jill’s fault, Winky,” Harold said. “You can’t blame her.”
He was right, so why did I feel so guilty?
Thirty minutes later, I was still feeling bad about the pigeons when Mrs V popped her head around the door.
“I have Mr Billy Gotnuts here.”
“Who?”
“He does have an appointment.”
“Oh? Okay, you’d better show him in.”
And she did.
“Good morning, Mrs Maxwell.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was too shocked to be face to face with a giant squirrel. Eventually, though, I managed to splutter, “You—you are—”
“Late? I know. The traffic was terrible.” He took a seat opposite me.
“What can I do for you, Mr—err—”
“Gotnuts. I’d like to discuss storage solutions with you.”
“Earth to Jill!” Winky shouted. “Are you with us?”
I looked over at him, and then back at the chair opposite me. It was empty.
“Did you see him?”
“Who?”
“The squirrel?”
“Where?” He glanced all around the floor.
“The giant one who was seated opposite me?”
“You looked like you were in some kind of daze. Have you been smoking those funny ciggies?”
“No, I haven’t.” I hurried through to the outer office. “Where did he go, Mrs V?”
“Mr Macabre? He didn’t say.”
“Not Mr Macabre. Billy Gotnuts.”
“Who?”
“The squirrel?”
“Are you feeling alright, Jill?”
“Yeah, no, I think so.”
“Do you think you should go home?”
“No, I’m fine.”
But was I?
Thirty minutes later, and I was still finding it difficult to focus on anything. All I could think about was Billy Gotnuts. What exactly had happened? Had I drifted off to sleep at my desk? It was the only thing that made any sense. But it was still the morning, and I hadn’t felt at all tired.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Winky said.
It was only then that I realised my phone was ringing. “Hello?”
“Jill, it’s Amber. You need to get over here.”
“What’s wrong? It doesn’t have anything to do with a squirrel, does it?”
“Squirrel? What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. What’s up?”
“You’d better come and see for yourself.”
“Okay. I’m on my way.”
Hopefully, whatever it was would take my mind off the squirrel.
***
“What were you thinking, Jill?” Amber said.
“What have I done now?”
“It’s Belladonna. I mean, Jemima.”
“Hasn’t she turned up?”
“Yes, she was here bang on time as usual.”
“Nothing bad has happened to the kids, has it?”
“No, of course not. Mindy’s up in the creche with them.”
“Where’s Jemima?”
“Come with me.” Amber asked one of the other assistants to watch the tearoom, and then she led me into the back.
“Hi, Jill.” Jemima was in the stockroom.
“Would someone like to tell me what is going on?”
“This!” Amber pointed to Jemima’s face. “This is what’s going on.”
“You’re talking in riddles. I told you that she’d look different. That was the whole point of the exercise.”
“I know that, but you didn’t say she’d look like this.” Once again, she pointed to Jemima’s face. “Don’t you recognise her?”
“Of course I recognise her. I was the one who changed her appearance, remember?”
“And you decided to make her the spitting image of Rebecca Milestone?”
“Who?”
“Rosemary.”
“I thought you said Rebecca?”
“I did. Rebecca Milestone plays Rosemary in Candle Place.”
“Isn’t that the soap opera your mum watches?”
“Practically everyone in Candlefield watches it.”
I looked again at Jemima, and that’s when it struck me. She was the spitting image of the woman I’d seen on TV when I’d
visited Aunt Lucy’s.
“Well?” Amber demanded.
“The soap was on TV at Aunt Lucy’s just before I went to Jemima’s to cast the spell. Her face must have been in my sub-conscious.” I turned to Jemima. “Why didn’t you say anything yesterday?”
“I didn’t know. I never watch soaps—I find them so boring. The first I knew about it was when someone asked for my autograph on my walk over here this morning. I thought they were just messing around, so I ignored them.”
“It’s a good job there was no one else in the shop when she arrived,” Amber said. “If anyone had seen her, word would have spread like wildfire.”
“What can I say?” I shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Can you change me back to how I used to be?” Jemima said.
“I can’t. I told you that before I cast the spell.”
“You have to do something!” Amber said.
“Okay, okay. I’ll just have to change your appearance again.”
“Not to a soap star this time!” Amber was well and truly on my case.
“You aren’t helping. Why don’t you leave the two of us alone, so I can concentrate?”
Somewhat begrudgingly, Amber did as I asked.
“I really liked my new face, too.” Jemima sighed.
“I’m sure your new new one will be just as good. Are you ready?”
“I guess so.”
“Okay. Take two.”
When I left Cuppy C, Jemima was back at work in the creche. Fortunately, she seemed just as happy with her second new face as she had been with Rosemary’s. Amber was much happier too now that she and Pearl could focus on the tearoom and cake shop, and no longer had to cover the creche.
Chapter 5
Back in the human world, I’d arranged to meet Rachel Somers who was a friend and work colleague of Alison Forrest. They both worked as solicitors at West & Partners: Alison in family law, Rachel in probate. We met at a small coffee shop called Best Coffee Ever, which was just around the corner from the offices of West & Partners. The shop’s name made a very bold claim, and unfortunately, it was one that proved to be unfounded. My Americano was at best average, and certainly not good enough to justify the price tag. Rachel had opted for a green tea.
“What do you think of the coffee?” she said.
“It’s certainly not the best ever.”
“Not even close. That’s why I always have tea.”
“Thanks for sparing me your time today.”
“No problem. I still can’t believe that Alison has gone.”
“Had you known her long?”
“We started at West’s in the same week, and we hit it off straight away.”
“How would you describe her?”
“A little quiet until you got to know her, but once her guard was down, she was good fun.” Rachel hesitated. “Until recently that is.”
“What changed?”
“Just lately, she’d been much quieter than usual. Little things seemed to stress her much more than they would normally.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“I’m not sure if I should say any more about that.”
“Why not?”
“I know that Laurence is supposed to have killed Alison, but I don’t believe it. He’s a good guy. He always struck me as a gentle man. Certainly not the kind of man who would do something like this. I don’t want to say anything that might make matters worse for him.”
“Telling the truth can never be a bad thing.”
“I suppose not. The thing is, Alison had said a few things recently that made me think she and Laurence weren’t as happy as they once were.”
“Such as?”
“She wanted more kids, and she was angry because Laurence seemed to have gone cool on the idea. And she complained a few times that he was always working late.”
“Did she think he was seeing someone else?”
“She didn’t say so. Not in so many words, anyway.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“On the day she was murdered, but only to say hello to.”
“And did she seem okay?”
“As far as I could tell, but like I said, I only passed her in the corridor.”
“Laurence’s mother gave me your name. Yours was the only name she could bring to mind when I asked about Alison’s friends. Did she have any other close friends you think I should speak to?”
“Alison and I had the occasional night out when Laurence was away on business. She’d sometimes invite some of her other friends along.” Rachel took out her phone. “There’s Susan Shields and Craig Mann. I have their numbers if you’d like them?”
Rachel Somers’ account of Alison and Laurence’s marriage was at odds with the version told to me by Sheila Forrest. Had Sheila deliberately held back the truth in order to protect her son, or was she oblivious to the problems in their marriage? Then again, there was always the possibility that Rachel was reading more into it than there actually was.
I now had the contact details for two other close friends of Alison. Hopefully, talking to them would give me a clearer idea of the state of the marriage.
***
As I walked back to the office, I bumped into Deli. Normally, whenever I saw her, she was larger than life and twice as loud. Today, though, she had her head bowed, and could only manage a half-hearted greeting.
“Hi, Jill.”
“Is everything okay, Deli? You seem a little subdued.”
“Is there any wonder?”
“Sorry? Has something happened I should know about?”
“Your grandmother has happened.”
Oh bum! What had she done now? “Grandma?”
“I thought you might have tipped me off to her plans, Jill.”
“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The beauty salon of course.”
“I’m still no wiser. Has she done something to your shop?”
“No. She’s going to open her own beauty salon, two doors down from Nailed-It.”
“Are you sure? She’s never mentioned anything to me about a beauty salon.”
“See for yourself.” She pointed. “The shopfitters are already in there. I was just beginning to think we were making progress, and now this happens. Why couldn’t she have opened her shop somewhere else? Why did it have to be so close to mine?”
“I’m sure you’ll be okay. You have first-mover advantage.”
“I have what?”
“It means you were here first, and you’ve already built up a customer base.”
“Yes, but your grandmother is so good at marketing and stuff. Just look at the promotions she’s run recently. How am I supposed to compete with that?”
“Try not to worry too much. At least Mad is back here to stay now. You must be pleased about that?”
“Back? Since when?”
Oh bum!
“I—err—”
“Jill?”
“I assumed you knew.”
“I had no idea. When did she come back?”
I could have killed Mad. Why hadn’t she told her mother? “She’s only just moved back here.”
“Where’s she living?”
“I—err—”
“Tell me, Jill. I’m her mother. I have a right to know.”
“She has an apartment in the old sock factory on Colbourn Drive.”
“That place is really posh. How can she afford to live there?”
“You really should ask her that yourself.”
“Don’t worry, I intend to.” She started down the street. “Right now.”
As soon as Deli was out of sight, I gave Mad a call.
“Mad, I thought I’d better warn you that your mother is on her way over there.”
“You told her I was back?”
“I assumed she knew. Why haven’t you told her?”
“I was getting aroun
d to it. What did she say?”
“She’s not best pleased. She was already in a bad mood before I told her about you.”
“What’s Nails done to upset her now?”
“It’s not him this time. My grandmother is apparently going to open a beauty salon two doors down from your mum’s place.”
“Oh dear.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve dropped you in it.”
“It’s not your fault. I should have let her know I was back. Okay, I’d better go and prepare myself.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I decided to drop into Ever to see Grandma. I still had a bone to pick with her about what she’d done at TenPinCon.
Julie, the head Everette, was on duty, and looking exceptionally pleased with life. No mean feat for someone who had to put up with Grandma for long periods of time.
“Morning, Jill. What do you think?”
“Of what?”
“Multi-colour day, what else?”
“Of course.” I glanced around looking for any kind of clue as to what she was talking about but found none. “Remind me again what that is.”
“Instead of all of us wearing the same colour uniforms, each of the Everettes gets to choose which colour they want to wear. It’s never been so colourful in here.”
“Of course. I should have realised. And you went for—”
“Blue, of course. I think it suits me best.”
“It definitely does. Is my grandmother in?”
“Yes, she’s in her office.”
“Okay. Catch you later.”
Grandma was cutting her nails. Her toenails.
“If it isn’t my tap-dancing granddaughter.”
“Do you have to do that on the desk?”
“You could cut them for me if you like?”
“No, thanks.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“I’ve got a number of things I want to discuss with you.”
“Fire away.” She’d just finished the nails on one foot and had made a start on the other.
“That’s very distracting, you know.”
“You’d better be quick because when I’ve finished this, I’m heading across the road to check on the shopfitters. If I don’t keep an eye on them, they’re liable to slack off.”
“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Deli reckons you’re opening a beauty salon.”
