by Sam Short
"I very much doubt it's a serial killer," I reassured her. "The police are looking for a suspect, and Barney's gone to interview a witness. It won't be long before they catch whoever did it."
Veronica looked at the floor. "And to think my last words to Sam were nasty ones. I'm ashamed."
"Why? What happened?" said Willow.
"He drank too much at the party," said Veronica. "And then he wanted to drive home! I told him in no uncertain terms that he would do no such thing! We parted ways on harsh words, and then he couldn't get a taxi so he had to walk home." Veronica shook her head. "To think he was killed on the way. Maybe I should have just minded my own business and let him drive. He'd still be with us."
"He could have killed an innocent person, or himself in a crash. You did the right thing, Veronica," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. "Come, on. Willow and I will walk you home."
The nursing home was a grand old building set in acres of manicured gardens. Once a mansion that had housed a local wealthy landlord and his family, with an army of servants, it had been an easy job to transform it into an upmarket residential home.
As we neared the steps, guarded by stone lions on pillars, which led to the large doors, a voice came from our left. "This door's open."
A short overweight woman peeped through an open doorway surrounded by climbing ivy, and Veronica waved her away. "Sylvia, get back inside. Don't use that door during the day — you'll give the game away!"
Sylvia hurried back inside, muttering to herself, and closed the door behind her.
"Give the game away?" I said. "What game's that?"
Veronica looked around, making sure nobody could hear her. "People use that door to sneak their lovers in at night," she smiled, oblivious to our shock. "The alarm's broken, so the nurses don't know when it's been opened."
"Naughty, naughty," I teased.
"Not me of course," said Veronica. "But I might need that door in the future, me and Ron are going through a rocky patch, you see. He's such a jealous man, but you can't blame him — look at me, I still turn the heads of men under sixty!"
"I'm sure you'll work things out," I said, helping Veronica up the steps.
"I hope so," said Veronica, "but I won't be told what men I can and can't talk to. My ex-husband tried that little trick on me, and we were divorced before he knew what had hit him! I'll give Ron a month or two to sort himself out, but you know what they say, a leopard never spots a change."
"A leopard never changes its spots," said Willow.
"Yes, that's it. Come on girls, now you're here you can come and say hello to him. He's sitting in his room moping, two pretty girls like you will soon cheer him up."
We followed Veronica into the home, saying hello to the receptionist that sat behind the huge dark wood desk, and waving at the residents who sat in the large communal lounge watching TV. Ron's room was at the end of a corridor lined with potted plants and oil paintings, and Veronica tapped lightly on the door before letting herself in.
"Visitors, Ronald!" she said.
Ron looked up from a seat in the corner. Veronica hadn't been exaggerating when she said he'd been in the gym a lot. His muscles bulged at the striped pyjamas he was wearing, and he'd added inches to his shoulders.
"Oh, hello girls," he said in a flat voice. "Veronica told me you were back in town, Penelope."
"Cheer up, Ron," said Veronica. "Penelope and Willow don't want you bringing them down. Turn that frown upside down and get dressed."
"I don't feel well," said Ron. "I'm not trying to be miserable."
"You're not being miserable," I assured him. "You look very tired though."
"I'll be okay soon enough," said Ron. "Another good night's sleep should see me right."
"Come on, Ron," urged Veronica, "get up out of that chair and take a shower. What is it you always say? The devil's hands are lazy."
"The devil makes work for idle hands," muttered Ron.
Veronica nodded. "Yes, that's it. You wouldn't have lounged around all day when you were in the army, would you? They'd have kicked you out of that seat soon enough!"
"I'm not in the army anymore," said Ron. "I can sit here for as long as I like."
Veronica tutted. "Look at his pictures, girls," she said, pointing to the framed photographs that were perched on a set of wall shelves. "You wouldn't think it was the same man, would you?"
The fact that most of the photographs were black and white told me that Ron probably didn't feel like the same man these days. A lot of years had passed since Ron had posed for the photographs, some of them of him standing with other soldiers, and some of them portraits of him alone on top of a tank.
I ran my finger along the printed names of the soldiers below a group photograph until I found Ron's name. "A sergeant. You did well, Ron." I said.
"I did okay," said Ron.
"Cup of tea, girls?" said Veronica. "I'm going to make one for Ron with extra sugar. Let's see if we can't get his energy up a little."
"No thanks," said Willow, placing a photograph back on the shelf. "We have to be somewhere."
"Well, be sure to pop in whenever you feel like it. Don't let Mr Grumpy put you off visiting us, he'll be right as rain in no time."
We promised to visit again, and made our way back into town, pausing outside the lawyer's office before we went in. "Do you think we need an appointment?" said Willow.
"Let's find out," I said, pushing the door open and striding inside.
The waiting area was sparse, with three plastic seats for clients, a fake rubber plant in a corner, and a middle-aged woman sitting at the tiny reception desk in the corner. Her face lit up when she saw us. "Are you here to see Mr. Sandler? He'll see you right away."
We didn't need an appointment, it seemed. I doubted that Mr. Sandler was inundated with clients in a town as small as Wickford, but he must have been doing something right to afford the BMW that gleamed in the sun, alongside the office.
"Thank you," I nodded. "We'd love to see him."
She hurried from behind her desk and knocked on the panelled wood door to the right of her work space. She pushed it open and led us in. "Two clients to see you, Mr. Sandler," she said.
The lawyer spun his seat around to face us, smiling at us over the vast expanse of wooden desk. "Thank you, Louise," he said.
Louise left the room and Mr. Sandler indicated the two seats reserved for clients. "Please sit down, ladies," he said, his tongue tracing his top lip, and his eyes on Willow's chest for far longer than was polite. I'd feel absolutely no guilt about casting a spell on a man who openly ogled my sister in that way.
Willow seemed unfazed. She even leaned across the desk to shake the lawyer's hand, bending far too low for my thin summer dress to keep her assets captive. Maybe I wouldn't need a persuasion spell after all. Mr. Sandler held onto Willow's hand for a few seconds too long, and smiled at us in turn as we sat down. He crossed his legs, picked up a pen which he rolled between his fingers, and flashed a bright white set of teeth at us.
"How can I help you, ladies?" he drawled.
Willow looked at me and smiled. "Why don't you ask him, Penelope?"
I returned her smile, and accessed the persuasion spell, sucking in a small amount of air and immediately tasting copper. It seemed I was a faster learner than Granny had given me credit for. I clicked my fingers beneath the desk.
"Mr. Sandler," I said, my head gently throbbing.
"Derek, please," he replied.
He didn't look like a Derek. More like a Brad, or a Pierre. Looks could be deceiving though.
"Derek," I smiled, already imagining what I wanted him to do. I took my phone out, brought Barney's number up, and slid it across the desk. "That's PC Dobkin's phone number. The police man who came in to ask you why Sam Hedgewick had been to see you on the day he was murdered. I'd like you to ring it from your phone and tell him what he wanted to know."
Derek picked up his phone from the desk and gave me a wry smile. "I'm afr
aid I can't do that," He said with a wink. "Client confidentiality, you see."
He turned my phone around and glanced at the number as he keyed it into his own phone. Confusion crossed his face, and I smiled sweetly at him as his eyes narrowed. "I really can't do that," he said, bringing the phone to his ear. "I could lose my licence."
He stared at me and Willow in turn. "I'm sorry," he said, "the police will just have to wait until they get their warrant."
"Ah, hello, PC Dobkins," he said. Barney must have answered. "I've reconsidered. I will tell you why Mr. Hedgewick came to see me." His eyes opened wide as he spoke, and his hand trembled as he attempted to move the phone from his ear.
I concentrated hard, and Derek visibly shuddered.
"I asked Sam to come and see me," he continued, his face becoming whiter by the second. "His soon to be ex-wife had been in to see me the day before. She seemed quite desperate. She wanted to know all about the properties Sam was selling. She said Sam was leaving her for someone else and intended to move abroad. She seemed quite panicked about what would happen to her financially. I felt it was my duty to inform Sam."
He listened as Barney spoke. "No," he said, "I wasn't breaking client confidentiality in that instance. Mrs. Hedgewick was not a client, you see." He nodded as Barney spoke. "I'm sure you will get straight on it, PC Dobkins," he said. "Good luck with your investigation."
He put the phone down slowly and stared at me. He rubbed his head with his hands and pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Please cancel the rest of my appointments for the day," he said when Louise answered. "I don't feel myself. I need to go home and have a lie down."
"You have no more appointments today, Mr. Sandler," said Louise.
"That makes your job easier then, doesn't it?" he snapped. He pointed to the door. "You two should leave," he said. "I don't know what just happened, but I don't feel right."
With the spell still fizzing in my mind, I stared at Derek. "I suggest you don't tell PC Dobkins that we were here. You decided to phone him out of a sense of moral obligation, not because I asked you to."
He stared at me open mouthed and nodded.
"Thanks for your help, Derek," said Willow, offering him her hand again, which he refused with a quick shake of his head. "I hope you feel better soon."
Chapter Twelve
I think it was a drunk stranger, on the towpath, with the windlass," said Susie.
I didn't put my theory forward that it was Sam's wife. We hadn't told Susie and Granny about our trip to the lawyer's office yet. Mum didn't know we'd blackmailed Granny for her spell book, and she'd have never believed that Granny would simply have handed it over to us. She'd have found out about Granny's accident with Boris and Charleston within minutes.
"I bet it was my badboy. I bet Sam owed him a gambling debt and he called it in, using the only method an alpha male like him knows... violence, intimidation, and ultimately, sad as it may be — murder," said Granny, spooning a second helping of lasagne onto her plate. "This isn't half bad for reheated food, Maggie," she said.
"It was far tastier last night," said Mum, choosing to keep her suspicions as to the identity of the murderer to herself. "Willow would have known that if she'd spent the night here, where she lives, instead of staying on Penelope's floating emporium of loneliness, in fear for her life."
Willow scowled. "There's nothing lonely about Penny's boat," she said, wincing as she snapped a piece of garlic bread off the steaming hot baguette in the centre of the table. "And no one was in fear for their life."
"Thanks to Barney," said Mum. "I'd have been far less happy about you two staying there last night with a potential murderer casing the joint, if that strapping young man hadn't been there to look after you both." Mum looked at the wall clock. "He's beginning to go down in my estimation though. I invited him for a family evening dinner as a thank you for saving my daughter's lives, and he decides he's going to be late."
"He'll be here soon, Mum," I said. "He's involved in a murder investigation, remember? And that's a little more important than lasagne and roasted vegetables."
"And he didn't save our lives," said Willow, stabbing a piece of courgette with her fork.
"I read your story in the newspaper, Susie," said Mum, refusing to acknowledge Willow. "It was very informative and very well written."
"Thank you, Maggie," beamed Susie. "The police have asked me not to write about their ongoing investigations, so I'll have to wait until they catch the murderer before I write a follow up piece."
Mum nodded as Susie spoke, her hands clasped beneath her chin. "Well, I'm sure it will be just as gripping as the one I read today, dear."
"I'm going to the car show tomorrow," said Susie. "The classical car magazine still wants a story, it's Saturday tomorrow, and I could do with a day out. Maybe I'll have a wine or two while I'm there."
Mum smiled her approval, before standing up. "I think Barney's here," she said, as the sound of a car engine floated through the open window. "I'll let him in."
As soon as Mum had left the room, Granny looked at Susie. "I'm assuming these two tattle-tales have told you about my accident with Boris?"
Susie looked at me, and I nodded my permission. "Yes," she said. "It wasn't your fault though."
Granny waved her hand in the air. "Who's to blame is a ship long sailed," she said. "Speaking of ships, you girls are going to do me a favour. And if you refuse, you'll see exactly what blackmail is — and I don't mean that amateur stuff you pulled on me yesterday — I'll take you to hell and back! You mark my words!"
"Okay, Granny," I said, leaning back in my seat to put as much space between us as possible. "Calm down. What do you want?"
"Two birds with one stone," she said, speaking quickly as Barney's car door slammed shut and Mum shouted hello to him. "Boris heard about the car show on the radio, and wants to visit it. He's also a big fan of boats. I want you to take him to the car show on your boat. The show finishes on Sunday morning, so tomorrow's his last chance."
"We can't," I protested. "He's a goat, Granny. Goats don't admire old cars."
"Or go for boat trips," offered Willow.
Granny smiled. "Of course he can go on a boat, and on the radio it said there's a mixed livestock competition being held at the car show tomorrow. Enter him in that if you must. I'll even plait his beard. He'd like that."
"A livestock competition at a car show?" I interrupted.
"Yes," said Granny. "Along with a tent for bands to play in, with a bar. They’ve got rides for the kids too, and stalls selling all the usual tat. Boris will have a wonderful day out."
The front door slammed shut and two sets of footsteps echoed down the hallway. "I'm not doing that," I hissed. "It's ridiculous!"
Granny gave me the smile she reserved for people who were about to regret crossing her. "I will come down on you so hard you won't know if you're a witch or a warlock."
"I think it's a wonderful idea," said Susie, her face white. She'd seen Granny angry before and her expression told me she didn't want to see it again if she could avoid it. "I'll come on the boat with you, it'll be fun."
"What will be fun?" said Mum, breezing into the kitchen with Barney hot on her heels, ducking to avoid banging his head on the doorway.
"The girls have decided to take Penelope's boat out for the day tomorrow," smiled Granny, raising her eyebrows at me, her glasses sliding dangerously close to the tip of her nose. "They're going to the car show. I'm sure they'll have a wonderful time."
Mum rolled her eyes. "Each to their own," she said. She looked at Barney. "Do you see what all the fascination is with boats?"
"Leave Barney out of your campaign to get Penelope off that boat," snapped Granny. "He's an officer of the law."
Barney looked at his feet, but he couldn't hide the redness that rose in his cheeks. He really was too easy to embarrass.
"Scoot up, Willow," said Granny. "Let Barney have your seat, he and Penelope probably want to sit together."
<
br /> It was my turn to blush, but Barney seemed happy with the idea, and sat down next to me as Willow made her seat available. I ignored Granny's cringingly overt matchmaking attempt, and poured my new neighbour a glass of iced lemon water.
Mum slid a plate heaped with food in front of him. "Tuck in," she said, "you'll need your energy if you're going to catch the killer."
Granny offered Barney some garlic bread. "Are you any closer to finding out who murdered that poor man?" she said.
Barney looked around the table. "I'm not really supposed to say anything," he said, picking up his cutlery. He glanced nervously at Susie. "Especially with a journalist in the room."
Susie swiped a finger over her chest in the shape of a cross. "You have my word, as a responsible freelance journalist, that anything you say will not make it into print."
"Or on the internet?" said Barney suspiciously.
"Or on the internet," confirmed Susie with a smile of encouragement. "Anything you say will stay at this table."
Barney took a bite of lasagne, made an exaggerated sound of appreciation, and nodded his approval at Mum, who shrugged. Everything she cooked tasted good, and annoyingly, she knew it.
"There's not much to tell, really," said Barney. "We're waiting for the test results on the windlass and the results of Sam's post-mortem. We're no closer to finding the man who was seen arguing with Sam, and the boat owner witness I interviewed this morning can only confirm it was a male he saw on the towpath near the Flirting Kingfisher."
"The Flirting Kingfisher?" said Willow.
Barney sipped his water and reloaded his fork with food. "Sorry, that's the name of his boat — The Flirting Kingfisher. He says the man was wearing a blazer or jacket with some sort of logo on it, but he can't recall what. It was dark, and he'd drank a few whiskies."
"It's something to go on at least," said Susie.
"That's not all that happened today," said Barney, puffing out his chest. "You know that lawyer I questioned?"
