by Sam Short
In the field adjacent to the one the cars were on show in, lines of tents, caravans, and camper vans dotted the landscape.
It was the last day and night of the show, and people seemed to be making the most of it. Groups of men and women sat in huddles on the grass near the canal, drinking beer and wine from plastic cups or cans, and other people wandered along the rows of vintage cars, admiring the old machinery.
It was a real festival atmosphere, and we began to make plans as we cruised past the lines of boats, searching for a mooring spot for the Water Witch.
"How about we look at some of those magnificent cars," suggested Boris, the ribbon in his beard fluttering in the gentle breeze, "then get a hotdog and a beer. It's been too many years since I savoured food bought from the back of a greasy van."
"That's a great idea, Boris" said Willow, "I'm starving!"
All the best mooring spots had been taken, but finally we found one, at the end of the long line of boats, beneath an old gnarled oak tree surrounded by bushes. I manoeuvred the boat into the space and Willow jumped ashore to tie the Water Witch up. With the engine switched off, the sounds of the show were even more vibrant, and I picked Rosie up from off the roof and ushered her inside the boat. "You stay in there," I said. "It's far too busy and loud for you out here."
She gave me a look that I interpreted as a thank you, and sauntered off to relax on her favourite seat.
"Let's go," said Susie, hooking her camera bag over her shoulder and stepping onto the grassy bank. "My camera finger’s itching to get some photos of those cars."
Boris leapt gracefully ashore and waited as I attached the dog leash to his collar. "Don't worry, Penelope," he said quietly as I apologised. "I really don't mind, and I couldn't ask for a nicer person to be on the other end of my leash."
I was beginning to realise why Granny had such a soft spot for him. He really was a charming goat.
"Come on," I said, "let's go and have a nice day."
We walked alongside the line of boats, saying hello to the boat owners that sat on their roofs, drinking and eating, and telling us what a lovely looking goat Boris was. Boris made low sounds of appreciation at every compliment he received, and even allowed a friendly old lady to tickle him behind his horns.
We were just about to veer off to the right, and away from the canal, when Willow grabbed my arm. "Look," she said, pointing at a beautiful yellow and purple narrowboat. "It's the Flirting Kingfisher. The boat that Barney's witness lives on."
The boat had a fresh paint of coat and the windows gleamed like they had been very recently cleaned. A man wearing just shorts sat on a deckchair on the bow of his boat, sipping a drink and reading a book. His chest and shoulders were bright red, and I guessed he'd be applying an aftersun soothing cream by the end of the day.
"Do you feel like trying some magic?" said Willow with a suggestive grin. "To see if we can get more information out of him than Barney could?"
Without warning, a spell popped into my mind, almost begging me to cast it. "A spell of enhanced memory," I said. "It's just made itself known to me. It must have imprinted on me last night when I was flicking through Granny's book."
"Do it," urged Susie, "you might make him remember something that solves the murder."
Boris agreed. "I'm not privy to the story about this witness, but I'd love to see some magic in action."
"He saw someone on the towpath," I explained to Boris. "He said there was a logo or something on his jacket, but he can't remember what."
"Then help him remember," said Boris in a low voice, being careful not to let anyone hear him speaking. "There's still a murderer at large."
The man looked up from his book. With three girls and a goat staring at him, I felt it was necessary to explain our interest in him.
"I'm sorry to bother you," I said, approaching the boat. "I'm a friend of the policeman who interviewed you about the man you saw on the towpath on the night Mr Hedgewick was killed."
He looked at me with confusion on his face. "How on earth do you know it's me?" he asked.
"The boat name," explained Willow. "We're on a boat too, my sister lives on the canal, like you. We just want the murderer caught. It scares me to think of my sister alone on her boat at night with a killer on the loose. A killer who's already killed someone on the canal towpath."
His guard visibly dropped when he knew I was a liveaboard. Boat owners always helped each other whenever they could, and Willow's fear-mongering seemed to have made him even more willing to talk to us. "It is unnerving," said the man. "But I told the police everything I remember."
"Can I ask you a question or two?" I said.
"Of course, but as I've said. I can't remember much. It was dark and I was drunk." He winked at me. "Whiskey's my weakness," he added with a smile. He gestured at us with a wave of his hand. "Come aboard," he offered. "Would anybody like a drink? I'm getting myself a top up."
We refused the offer of a beverage as we stepped aboard the Flirting Kingfisher and sat together on one of the hulls curved built in benches. The boat owner stepped down into his boat, and Boris remained on the bank with his leash tied off on the bow of the boat. "I would have liked one of what he was drinking," he complained. "I was surprised to find out what good noses goats have, and this excellent nose tells me that the golden liquid in that gentleman's glass is not a whisky bought from the supermarket."
"You can have a brandy when we finish speaking to him," I whispered, tapping the backpack Granny had given me.
The boat owner emerged from the belly of his boat with a full glass, and reclaimed his seat. He took a sip of whisky and looked at us in turn. "Okay," he said. "How can I help you?"
"I want you to try and remember what you saw that night on the towpath," I said. "What was the man you saw wearing? What was the logo you said you saw on his jacket?"
He looked up and to the right as he thought. "Like I told your policeman friend," he said after a moment. "I can't remember. He was quite far away, and he was only lit up by the moon for a second or two."
I accessed the spell and tasted copper. "Try again," I urged, my head gently throbbing. I clicked my fingers behind my back. "What was the logo or badge on the man's jacket?"
He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. "I'm sorry," he said. "I really can't — "
He paused, and excitement flashed in his eyes. I concentrated harder. "Do you remember something?" I said.
"Wow," he murmured. "I do." He looked at the drink in his hand. "It must be this stuff," he marvelled. "It's as if I can zoom in on my memory. It's all becoming clearer!"
I took a deep breath. "What did you see?"
He scrunched his eyes up as he concentrated. "He was wearing a blazer or jacket," he said softly, his eyes still screwed tightly closed.
"What did he look like?" I whispered, as Willow and Susie both leaned forward, watching the man.
"I can't remember his features," he said. "I can just see the badge on his clothing, but it's not clear."
I sucked more air through my teeth, and the taste of copper filled my mouth and throat. "What was the badge on his blazer?" I said slowly.
He straightened in his seat. "Wait," he said. "I can see something. A crown and letters. There was a crown on the badge with letters below it!"
My head pulsed as I concentrated. "What were the letters?" I said.
He took a long breath. "The letter B," he said. He shook his head. "No, it was an R. Then an A, and the last letter was a C!" He opened his eyes. "RAC!"
"Can you see anything else?" I urged.
"No," he said, with a perplexed expression on his face, "but my head hurts. It must be this whisky. It' a special blend I got from a distillery in Scotland. It's very strong."
Boris leaned over the hull wall and put his mouth next to my ear. "Told you," he murmured.
Susie tapped me on my leg. "Look," she said, pointing at one of the old cars near to the canal bank. "Look at the badge on the front."
The old car's polished paintwork shone in the sun, and heat waves rose from the warm metal. The badge Susie was pointing at was attached to the grill at the front of the car, and I smiled as I studied it. RAC was written in large letters with a crown above them. I stopped the spell, and the man's face went blank. "It's gone!" he said. "I can't picture it anymore."
"I think you've given us everything we need," said Susie.
"RAC," said the man. "That's the Royal Automobile Club. Most of the owners of these cars will be members of the RAC," he said. "It's a huge club. Do you think the murderer is here? At the car show?"
"I don't know," I said. "But I need to let the police know what you told us."
He drained the last of his whisky and massaged his forehead. "Be sure to tell your police friend that I gave you the information. I was very disappointed that I couldn't help him when he came to my boat asking questions."
"I will," I promised. I took my phone from my pocket. 'I'll tell him right now."
Barney didn't answer his phone, so I sent him a text message instead, telling him where I was and what I knew. "I've told him the information came from you," I said to the man as I climbed off the Flirting Kingfisher and joined Boris on the bank. "He'll be very happy."
Susie and Willow followed me off the boat, and we left the man looking pleased with himself as he headed back into his boat to top his glass up again.
"What do we do now?" said Susie, snapping a photograph of a man dressed in old fashioned clothes changing a wheel on his car. He pumped the jack handle up and down, and cursed as it slipped and hit his finger.
Even I recognised the car as an old Rolls Royce, and joined Boris in admiring it. "There's not much we can do," I said. "If the murderer did come from the car show, he could be long gone, or he could be anybody here." I looked around the huge field and estimated there to be well over two hundred cars. "Lets just enjoy our day, and if we see anything suspicious, we can let the police know. It's up to them now. They're still looking for Granny's bad boy, so we can keep an eye out for him too, but right now I'm hungry. Who fancies a burger?"
Chapter Fifteen
We chose a burger van with a relatively short queue of people waiting to be served. Two children fussed and patted Boris as we waited. He did his best to act like a goat in a petting zoo; nuzzling the children's hands and accepting the blades of grass they fed him, spitting them out in disgust when the children's parents had been served and the family had left with their meals.
"I will do most things expected of a goat," said Boris under his breath, ejecting the last of the grass from his mouth. "But I won't do that."
It was our turn to be served, and I left Boris standing next to Willow as I approached the food van. The white van was emblazoned with large red letters which read Mr. Meaty. The vendor was far from meaty though, and I doubted he ate any of the greasy products he sold. I ordered our food and passed it around as it was served. A hotdog with onions for Susie, a cheeseburger for Willow, and a chicken burger for me. Boris chose a triple burger with bacon and cheese with a side of fries, and I scowled as I refused Mr Meaty's offer of a spork.
We found a secluded area away from the crowds, where Boris could speak freely, and sat beneath the shade of a horse chestnut tree, watching people go by and enjoying the scent of the wild flowers that flourished in the the hedgerow behind us.
Boris ate his meal with less decorum than I would have expected from such a cultured individual, but I supposed eating without cutlery or fingers could only finish in a mess of sauces and food scraps. No sooner had he licked the last of the mustard from the cardboard tray, he looked up at us. "I'd like a dram of brandy now please, young ladies. I need a boost of confidence for the show."
We'd checked what time the mixed livestock competition was starting, and had watched as people had begun arriving at the makeshift circle of hay bales, some leading pigs and sheep, and a few with goats, which Boris had eyed with envious suspicion. There was still half an hour to go until the show started, so I opened Granny's backpack and took out the bottle of brandy and the saucer she'd provided.
Willow and Susie styled Boris's hair with the brush Granny had provided as he slurped brandy from the saucer. When he'd had six saucerfuls, I wiped the remains of his meal from the hair around his mouth, and tightened the plait in his beard.
"How do I look?" he said, wobbling slightly as he walked back and forth in front of us. "I'd better look good. I'll blame you three if I don't win the competition. You see if I don't! I'll tell Gladys that you messed up my chances by feeding me that fast food rubbish!"
"You look drunk, Boris," said Susie, taking a photograph of him.
"And you sound drunk," said Willow. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say to us."
Boris looked at Willow and gave what I assumed he thought was a smile. In reality it was a grimace which showed off his yellowed grass worn teeth. "You know I love you, don't you? I love all of you. I bloody love — "
"That's enough, Boris," I snapped. "I'll put a spell on you if you don't stop swearing and start behaving. I'm sure I've seen a sleeping spell in Granny's book."
Boris tilted his head from side to side and mimicked me in a high-pitched voice. "I'm sure I've seen a sleeping spell in Granny's book!" he teased. He stamped his hoof. "Get over yourself, Penelope Pitstop. You couldn't spell spell! Let alone cast one on me!"
Willow burst into laughter, and Susie continued snapping photographs of the drunk goat.
"Granny said he gets problematic when he's had a few brandies," I whispered to Willow and Susie. "I didn't think she meant she meant this problematic though."
"What are you saying about Granny?" demanded Boris, lowering his head and waving his horns at me. "I'll ram you if you say one bad word about her. Just try me. Go on, I dare you. Say one bad thing about that wonderful woman and see what I do! Go on, I dare you. I double dare — ”
"Right, that's it!" said Willow. "Now you're just being rude!" she scrunched her face up and clicked her fingers. Boris's shouting stopped immediately, but his mouth continued opening and closing as he tried to speak.
"Where did you learn that?" I said, impressed.
"You're not the only one who learnt a few spells from Granny's book," she said with a wink. "A spell of silence. I learnt it for the next time mum teased me about my..." she looked down at her chest, " ...boobs."
"Look at him," laughed Susie. "He's writing something in the dirt."
Boris dragged his hoof through the dry dirt at the base of the tree we sat beneath, and Willow stood up to read his message. "Give me my voice back," she read. "You can't silence me, you bunch of — " Willow wagged her finger at the goat. "No, Boris! that's rude! I won't read that, and you can't have your voice back yet, that spell lasts for three hours."
Boris rammed the tree in frustration, the thwack of horn on wood gaining the attention of a young couple walking past. Willow grabbed him by the horns. "Calm down, Boris," she demanded. "Or we won't enter you in the show. I'll put you in that field behind us with the cows, and pick you up when we're ready to go if you can't behave."
Boris struggled to release his horns from Willow's grasp, stamping his hooves into the ground.
"Right, I'm phoning Granny," I said, retrieving my phone from my pocket. "She'll sort him out."
Boris looked at me with alarm and stopped struggling, he scratched his hoof through the dirt again. "I'll be good," read Willow. "Don't phone Gladys. It's not me talking. It's the brandy. It's a weakness."
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and looked at Boris with my sternest of stares. "You're going to behave?" I asked.
He nodded and stumbled as Willow released his horns, almost falling over completely.
"Are you sober enough to enter the contest?" I said.
Boris nodded again, opening his mouth as he tried to speak. He nodded once more and I smiled at him. "We've all had too much to drink at one time or another, Boris. Maybe you should stay off the brandy though? It doesn't seem to a
gree with you."
Boris dropped his head in shame and staggered over to Susie, dropping to his knees beside her. He nudged her camera with his nose, and Susie laughed. "You want to see the pictures I took of you?"
Boris nodded, so Susie turned her camera on and showed him the large screen on the rear. He shook his head shamefully as Susie flicked through the pictures of him hurling abuse at us.
"Don't worry," said Susie. "I'll delete them."
Willow glanced across the crowd of people to our front. "It looks like Boris's competition is starting soon. We'd better get over there and sign him up before it's too late," she said.
Susie held onto Boris's leash as we made our way through the cars and people, pausing now and again to admire any particularly beautiful vehicles. When we got to the circle of hay bales surrounded by onlookers, and full of people with their animals on ropes next to them, Susie went to the judges table to sign Boris up for the competition, and Willow and I took a seat on a scratchy bale of hay.
"Who's going to lead him round the ring for the judges?" said Willow.
I took a coin from my pocket. "Heads or tails?"
"Tails as always," said Willow. "If it's tails, I win, and you parade him around the ring."
I flicked the coin and caught it in one hand, slapping it onto the rear of the other. "Heads it is. Make sure he behaves."
Chapter Sixteen
Willow led Boris into the ring and stood between a woman with a very grumpy looking pig, and a man with a particularly woolly sheep — far too woolly for the warm weather in my opinion. The sheep looked happy enough though, and tried to sniff Boris's face, who reacted by turning his nose in the air and looking the other way.
Willow gave us a nervous smile as a man's voice burst out over the tannoy system. "Ladies and gentlemen! It's the show you've all been waiting for — the Wickford and Covenhill beautiful farmyard animal of the year competition!"
I glanced around at the crowd. There were no more than twenty spectators, and most of them looked like they were only there to use the hay bales as make shift seats to enjoy their beer on.
