by Adele Abbott
“That's okay, dear,” Aunt Lucy said. “Barry will live in Candlefield. Amber, Pearl and I will look after him while you're away. Why don't the three of you take him for a walk?”
“Take me for a walk.” Barry jumped up so his front paws were on my knees. “Please!”
Amber linked her arm through my left arm while Pearl took my right arm. I held on to the lead for dear life as we walked to the park, which was only a short distance from Aunt Lucy's house. Once we were there, Barry began to pull on the lead.
“Let me go! I want to run!”
I wasn't sure. What if he ran away?
“He'll be okay,” Amber said.
I took a deep breath, and unclipped the lead. Barry shot off across the huge grassed area.
“Do you like him?” Pearl asked.
“He's lovely. I've never had a dog before. I'm not sure how often I'll get to see him though.”
“We'll take good care of him while you're away. How often do you think you'll be able to visit Candlefield?”
Washbridge was my home, and probably always would be, but I was already beginning to feel a connection to my new family. And now I had a dog to consider.
“I'm not sure. I wouldn't want to impose on Aunt Lucy too often.”
“You could always stay with Grandma,” Amber said.
They both laughed when they saw the horrified look on my face.
“Kidding. We wouldn't do that to you. There's a spare room at our place that you can use when you come over. We'll show it to you later. As payment, maybe you can help out in Cuppy C sometimes.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Me? Work in the tea room? That had disaster written all over it.
“Barry! Come here!” We'd been in the park for just over half an hour, and Barry had barely stopped running for more than a couple of minutes during that time. I was exhausted just watching him. “Barry!” I shouted again in vain.
It was fifteen minutes later when I finally managed to grab a hold of him.
Chapter 19
Aunt Lucy said she'd look after Barry while the twins gave me a tour of their shop. Cuppy C was on the east side of Candlefield. The huge windows made the ideal showcase for the beautiful cakes inside. The sign above the door displayed a picture of a strawberry cupcake.
“Do you bake the cakes yourself?”
“Heavens no.” Pearl laughed.
For some reason I'd assumed the twins were bakers.
“We can't bake to save our lives,” Pearl said. “We use a number of different bakers. Mostly small concerns. Our main delivery should be here in about ten minutes.”
“Do either of you have a boyfriend?” I asked, while trying to balance two boxes of cakes.
They both giggled. They giggled a lot.
“I'm seeing the most handsome man in Candlefield,” Pearl said.
“No you're not,” Amber objected. “You can't possibly think Alan is more handsome than William.”
“I don't think. I know.”
“You're crazy. And jealous!”
This outburst took me by surprise. Until then, I'd only ever seen a close bond between the twins. Now, suddenly, lines had been drawn.
“Jealous of William?” Pearl snapped. “Now I know you're insane.”
“Girls, girls.” I stepped between them before they began to scratch each other's eyes out. “Are Alan and William—?” I hesitated. “I mean to say, what are—what kind of—?”
“Alan is a vampire,” Pearl said.
“And William is a werewolf.” Amber screwed up her nose at her twin sister. There was obviously more rivalry between the two of them than I'd realised.
“Do different types of sups often date one another?”
“Yeah. It's quite common. What about you, Jill?” Pearl asked.
“What about me?”
“Are you in a relationship?”
“No. I'm taking a break.” See how I made it sound like it was by choice. “I have a bad habit of picking losers.”
“Is there anyone you have your eye on?” Amber asked.
I hesitated a few seconds too long. “No.”
“You can tell us.”
“There really isn't. It's just—nothing.”
“Come on, Jill. Spill the beans.”
“Okay. A while back, a new detective moved to the Washbridge area. I thought he was kind of—”
“Hot?” Pearl giggled.
“Yeah. But that was before I discovered that he was a complete asshat.”
“Did you go out with him?”
“No. We never dated, but my work brings me into contact with him—unfortunately. He isn't my number one fan, and he takes every opportunity to tell me so.”
“But you still have the hots for him?”
“No, it's just—” This had been bugging me ever since that day at the police station.
“What? We won't tell. Promise.”
“I used the 'mind read' spell on him. I thought that if I could make him think about the case I was working on, he might reveal information that would help me. But when I saw what was on his mind—”
“He was thinking about you, wasn't he?”
I nodded.
“What was it? Something depraved and disgusting?”
“No! No! Nothing like that. He was thinking what it would be like to kiss me.”
“That's good isn't it?”
“No. It's not good. It's terrible. I hate the man.” What? It's true. I do hate him and I hadn't once wondered what it might be like to kiss him. Not once. Ever.
By a quarter to ten, all of the cakes were on display.
“Thanks for your help,” Amber said. “As payment, you can have your choice of cake.”
It wasn't an easy decision, but in the end I decided upon the double-chocolate.
“Would you like to see your room?” Amber asked.
I wasn't ready to think of it as 'my room' yet, but I didn’t think it would do any harm to take a look. “Don't you need to open up the shop?”
“Pearl can look after things down here, can't you Pearl?”
“Yes, Amber dear.” She sneered, “I usually do anyway.”
“You do not!”
I was starting to rethink my initial impression that the twins lived together in blissful harmony.
The space above the shop covered two floors. On one floor was the kitchen and living room. On the top floor were three bedrooms, and a bathroom.
“This is my room.” Amber pushed open the door. I now knew which of them was the movie buff. “And this pig-sty is Pearl's.” She pushed open the next door and held her nose. I peered inside expecting to see a scene of devastation, but apart from a few clothes in one corner, it was perfectly tidy. If Amber thought Pearl was untidy, she should meet Kathy.
“And this will be your room.” Amber stepped aside, so I could see. “We can change the colour if you don't like it.”
“It's lovely.” The lemon coloured room appeared to have been recently decorated, and had a new carpet smell.
“You will come to stay won't you?” Amber said.
“Of course. As often as I can, but I do have a business to run and a family back in Washbridge.”
“Mum said you have a sister.”
“Kathy. She has two fantastic kids.”
“Will we get to meet them when we come over?”
“Sure.”
“Thank goodness you're here,” Mrs V greeted me the next morning. “That cat has been driving me insane.”
Nothing new there then. “Anything else I should know about?”
“Not really.” She shrugged.
“No phone calls? No new enquiries?”
“No.”
I sighed. If business didn't pick up soon I'd be in big trouble. Maybe I should give it all up and move to Candlefield.
“Thank goodness you're here,” Winky said. “That woman has been driving me insane.” He rubbed up against my leg and I saw his nose twitch. “What's that?”
“What?”
“That smell.”
“What smell?”
“Dog.” Winky took a step back, and gave me the evil eye. “You smell of dog.”
“That's Barry.”
“Barry?”
“He's a Labradoodle.”
“You have a dog? I thought you said you couldn't have pets at your flat. You've been lying to me.”
Winky could be scary when he was mad, and right now he was livid.
“He's not my dog. Not really. He—err—he belongs to a friend. I was just visiting.”
Winky looked unconvinced. I needed to change the subject. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Come on then. Let’s give you some food.”
All was forgiven.
Or so I thought.
Mrs V had placed a copy of the Bugle on my desk. The headline read 'Face of the Animal'. The article covered the arrest of Martin Kilburn who had now been charged with all three murders. According to the article, the arrest had followed a tip off from a tattoo artist. How accurate this information was, I'd no way of knowing—this was the Bugle after all. Apparently Kilburn had asked for a tattoo of a fox. The owner of the tattoo parlour had noticed that he already had a tattoo of a lamb and a lion, so had contacted the police.
The article included two photographs of Kilburn. He was bare-chested, and appeared to be showing off his tattoos to the camera. In the first photo he was facing the camera; in the second he had his back to it. His torso was covered in numerous tattoos, but there was no sign of a lamb, lion or fox. But then, the caption did state that the photos had been taken the previous year. The tattoos on his arms were only partially visible, but by studying the two photographs, I was able to make out one in particular. It was on his left arm, and was of two crossed daggers. That matched the description given by the eye-witness at Pauline Lyon's house. It looked as though Maxwell might have got his man after all.
So what was bugging me? Something didn't feel right. I studied the photos again—checking every individual tattoo. There was no single large tattoo. Instead, there were clusters of small ones.
Wait a minute—these weren’t just random tattoos.
“I'm going to the police station,” I said as I hurried past Mrs V.
“To see Detective Maxwell? Such a nice young man. You should wear that red dress. The one you bought last Christmas.”
“Yeah—I don't think so.”
“Do you want to take a scarf for him?” She pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk.
“I think he's good for scarves, thanks.”
“Jack Maxwell, please,” I said to the young police officer who was manning the front desk.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but it'll only take a minute.”
“What's it in connection with?”
“I have some information relating to the 'Animal' case.”
“And you are?”
“Jill Gooder.”
Her expression changed the moment she heard my name. I assumed that meant I was on some kind of blacklist.
“What kind of information?”
“I'd rather speak to Detective Maxwell.”
She glared at me for a few moments, and then made a call. “Hi, I have a Jill Gooder at the front desk.” She listened for a few seconds. “What shall I tell her then?” Once the call had ended, she gave me a withering look, and said, “Sorry. He can't see you.”
“It's important.”
She shrugged. “I can get someone else to take the information from you if you wish?”
“Forget it.”
There had to be a way to get to Maxwell. I parked in the supermarket car park, which was opposite the police station. At ten minutes before midday, I saw Maxwell's car appear. From that distance, I couldn't be sure if he was alone in the car or not. It took me a few seconds to force my way across the traffic, and I almost lost sight of his vehicle. I tucked in three cars behind him and followed.
After ten minutes, he pulled into the car park of the Whistling Pig pub. I drove around to the rear of the building, and parked as close as I could to the door. Before he'd even got out of his car, I'd cast the 'faster' spell and made my way inside. By the time Maxwell walked through the door, I was already seated at the bar.
“What are you doing here?” he snapped.
“Getting a drink. What about you?”
I could see the cogs in his mind working overtime. Could my being there really have been a coincidence? For a moment, I thought he might turn around and walk back out.
“Jack!” The barman greeted him. “Your usual?”
Jack looked at the barman, and then at me. I still wasn't sure if he'd stay or not.
“Yes please, Gary.”
“I was here first, actually,” I chimed in.
The barman looked at Maxwell.
“You’d better serve the lady first.” If looks could kill, I'd have been a goner.
“Thank you. I’ll have whatever the detective is having.”
Maxwell sat down on the stool next to mine. “How did you know I'd be here?”
“I didn't.” I lied. “Coincidence I guess.” And a little bit of magic.
“I don't believe in coincidence. Didn't you come into the station earlier this morning?”
“Yes, I did. They said you were busy.”
“I am.”
“So I see.”
“It's my lunch break.”
“There you go.” The barman placed two soda and limes on the bar in front of us.
“I see you're on the hard stuff.” I raised a glass. “Cheers!”
Maxwell scowled. “What do you want?”
“What makes you think I want anything? I just popped in here for a bite—”
“Don’t give me that, Gooder. What do you want?”
There was something distinctly sexy about him when he was mad—not that I'd noticed or anything. I was way too busy hating his guts.
“You've got the wrong man.”
“What are you talking about?”
“For the 'Animal' murders. Kilburn didn't do it.”
“Really? And you know this how?”
“The tattoos.”
“The tattoos are precisely why we know he did do it.”
“You mean the lamb, lion and fox?”
“Plus the tattoo on his arm.”
“The daggers? That’s it? That’s all you have?”
“Then there’s the small matter of his confession.” His smirk was back big time.
“His confession isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”
The barman placed a ploughman's lunch in front of each of us. Maxwell took a bite of his.
“Says who?” he munched.
“Says me. The man is obviously some kind of nut job.”
“He killed three people. Of course he's a nut job.”
“Martin Kilburn didn't kill anyone. He gets his jollies from stalking serial killers. Check his tattoos. Almost every one is related to a serial killer. Remember the 'Razor'? That's on his left shoulder. The 'Reaper' is on his chest. The 'Dorm Killer' is on his back. Do you want me to go on? If you don't believe me, go check them out. The 'Animal' tattoos were just the latest addition to his gallery.”
Maxwell was silent for a long moment, and then said, “That changes nothing. We still have the cross daggers tattoo, and his confession. Kilburn did it.”
Chapter 20
I could have let it go at that. After all, everyone was happy. Jack Maxwell was happy because he thought he'd got his man. Danny Peterson was happy because he believed his girlfriend's killer had been caught, and his serial killer theory had been proven correct. Even Martin Kilburn was happy because he was in the limelight. So why wasn't I happy?
It just didn't sit right with me. It was all way too neat and convenient.
“Hi!” Kathy greeted me. She looked harassed as usual. “Come in.”
“Sorry, I should have called first.”
&nb
sp; “Don't be daft. I need some grown-up company.” She was picking up Lego pieces as we walked through to the living room. “How was Candlefield?”
“Good. Really good, actually. Shall I make us a coffee?”
“That would be great, thanks,” she said while still collecting Lego pieces. “I'm sure this stuff is breeding.”
“So? What's your new family like?” Kathy sipped her coffee. “Biscuit?”
I declined the offer. Custard creams, digestives, ginger nuts and jammy dodgers—all in the same biscuit barrel—just wrong. “Aunt Lucy is a darling, and Amber and Pearl—”
“Amber and Pearl? That's their names? Seriously?”
“Yeah. They're identical twins and really sweet.”
“What about Grandma?”
A shudder ran down my spine. “She's a bit scary.” Make that a lot scary.
“How do you mean?”
“You'd understand if you saw her.”
“When do I get to visit Candlefield?”
I'd been dreading that question. How was I meant to explain to Kathy why she couldn't visit Candlefield when I wasn't allowed to tell her about the whole 'witch' thing?
“Amber and Pearl want to come to Washbridge. I told them all about the kids and they can't wait to meet you all.”
“Really? That would be great.”
“The kids will love them.”
I'd dodged the bullet for now, but Kathy wasn't stupid—she'd soon realise that I was hiding something.
“Are the kids okay?” When in doubt, change the subject. Clever eh?
“They're great. Especially when they're asleep.” She dunked a ginger biscuit into her coffee.
Yuk! She knew how much I hated it when she did that.
“What?” Kathy said through a mouthful of mushy ginger biscuit.
“Nothing.”
“I saw you pull a face. It tastes better when it's been dunked.”
“It's disgusting.” I had to look away.
“It's yummy. You should try it.”
“I think I'll pass.”
“Please yourself.” She shoved the rest of the biscuit into her mouth. “I seyo caut—”
“What? I can’t understand a word you are saying. Wait until you've finished eating.”
