by Sam Short
The fact that a balaclava wearing goat had been on the scene was not just more damning evidence, but was also proof that Boris and Granny had not only broken the law, but were both stepping teasingly close to the line which separated them from being relatively normal — or a pair of raving lunatics.
Granny’s front door was unlocked, and Willow and I entered the cottage to complete silence. The kitchen, which Granny spent most of her time in, was empty, and Boris was not in the study where he could often be found writing his blog and drinking brandy.
“Granny!” shouted Willow. “Are you here?”
Hurried footsteps sounded on the ceiling above us, and Granny’s face appeared at the top of the narrow stairway, her blue rinse perm recently coloured, and her finger over her lips as she hushed us. “As happy as I am to see you both again, would you keep the noise down, please? Boris and I are trying to have a candlelit vigil.”
“A candlelit vigil?” I said. “What on earth are you having —”
Granny shushed me with a hiss of air through her teeth. “It’s Charleston’s birthday,” she whispered. “Boris and I wanted to pay our respects. If you two can keep those flapping mouths of yours quiet, you can come up and join us. Boris would appreciate it, I’m sure.”
Willow looked at me and shrugged. “Candlelit vigil it is,” she whispered.
Granny waited at the top of the stairs for us, and we followed her quietly to the guest bedroom. She ushered us into the dimly lit small room, and Willow’s giggle elicited a stern stare from Granny. “It’s not funny!” she warned. “Boris is taking this very seriously!”
Boris sat on his haunches with his front hooves on the bed. His head was bowed and he mumbled incoherently under his breath. He looked up at us, and the tea-light candle on the bedspread in front of him almost set alight the long hairs of his beard. Small strands of black wool were visible on his horns, and his white hair was darker than usual — almost as if he’d been near a sooty fire in very recent history. “It’s good to see you both again,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sure we’ll catch up later, but for now, please light a candle each and join Gladys and I in celebrating the end of another year in the life of a remarkable man.”
“And the beginning of another,” murmured Granny, gazing at the acupuncturist who lay in her guest bed.
Only Charleston Huang’s head was visible, resting on two plumped up pillows which were scattered with rose petals. The petals matched the colour of the rose plants climbing up the outside walls of Granny’s cottage, and tiny aphids crawled off them and onto the white linen pillowcases.
The rest of Charleston’s body was covered by a flower print duvet, and his face still wore the shocked expression it had adopted when Granny’s witch dementia had switched his mind with that of a goat. His mouth was frozen in a perfect O shape, but his eyelids had been closed — by Granny, I presumed. I tried convincing myself that he looked peaceful, but if I was being brutally honest with myself — he looked like a man who’d been jabbed in the buttock with a long and very sharp pin.
Charleston’s body was in complete magical stasis, and the mind of the goat trapped in it was oblivious to anything that was happening. Until Granny cured her witch dementia, the minds could not be switched back, and even then, it was doubtful that Charleston would want his mind to be put back in his own body. He’d become strangely accustomed to living life in the body of a goat, and had insisted that people called him Boris, out of respect for the goat whose body he inhabited.
Willow passed me a candle, and I lit it using the lighter which Granny offered me. Granny had never had a cigarette lighter in the house until she’d moved the goat in with her, but Boris was fond of cigars, and brandy — in large quantities.
Granny peered over her purple glasses. “Kneel down, girls,” she said. “Join Boris in his tribute. I’ll remain standing. Boris has given me special dispensation due to an injury I acquired this morning… while… feeding the chickens.”
“Not while pushing a burning car over a cliff in a quarry?” mumbled Willow, as she lowered herself next to Boris and joined him in his solemnity. Willow had never learned to let Granny’s lies go unchallenged.
The candle in Granny’s hand dropped to the floor at her slipper clad feet, and she broke the dignified silence with a gasp. “I don’t know what you mean! And neither does Boris! Car? Burning? Cliff? None of those words make any sense!” Granny’s face paled, and she slowly lowered herself to her knees and crumpled into a heap on the carpet, wrapping her arms around herself. “Nothing happened at the quarry this morning,” she mumbled. “I was feeding the chickens. Nothing happened at the quarry.”
Her whimpers turned to sobs, and her eyes glazed over, adopting the expression which Willow and I recognised as her thousand-yard-stare. Granny had temporarily shut down.
“Gladys?” said Boris, his face looking convincingly concerned for a goat. “Gladys!” He leapt to his feet, sending wax flying as his beard knocked his candle over. The wax flew in hot arcs which splattered the duvet and the already shocked face of the Chinese acupuncturist in the bed. “Gladys!” he repeated, tapping her with a hoof. “Oh, Gladys! Where have you gone?”
“She’s shut down, Boris,” I said placing a hand on his back. “It’s nothing to worry about, I’m surprised this is the first time you’re seeing it, if I’m honest. Really surprised.”
“Poor Gladys,” said Boris. “The shock of what we were forced to do this morning has evidently caught up with her.”
“You mean burning a car?” said Willow.
Boris looked into Granny’s glassy eyes. “It was necessary. It’s my body’s birthday, and Gladys and I wanted to begin the next year with a fresh start. Having my car hidden away in the lean-to was just too much of a problem for the both of us. It’s only a matter of time before somebody notices Charleston is missing — even though I’ve been spreading false information over the internet that he’s gone away on a vacation. Imagine if they found my body here in magical stasis — your family secret would be revealed to the world before you could say abracadabra.”
He was right of course. The fact that my family were witches was a secret known only to a few people, and none of us wanted anybody else finding out. “I can understand you burning the car,” I said, “but attacking the firemen was inexcusable.”
Granny groaned. “That wasn’t Boris,” she mumbled, snapping out of her shock induced trance. “It was another goat.”
Even Boris rolled his eyes.
“So, you’re telling us that there was another goat who just happened to be in the quarry at the same time as you two were there?” said Willow, helping Granny to her feet with a hand under her arm.
“A balaclava wearing goat which attacked the firemen?” I added. I picked a strand of wool from one of Boris’s horns and held it out for Granny to inspect.
“Good grief, Boris!” said Granny. “You just can’t hide evidence very well at all, can you?” She sat on the bed, her bottom inches from Charleston’s wax splattered face. It seemed that the dignified vigil was well and truly over. “It’s your fault we had to send you after the firemen, and now your leaving evidence on your horns! Remind me not to involve you in anything potentially illegal again. You’re a liability!”
“Why was it Boris’s fault?” I asked.
Granny straightened her glasses. “He said there was nothing with his name on in the car. Until the fire brigade arrived and began putting the fire out. Then he remembered his passport was in the glove compartment. We had to make sure that car burnt to the ground! I’d been up all night filing the identification numbers off the chassis and engine, and then that daft goat goes and leaves his passport in it! It was imbecilic of him.”
“So you sent Boris to distract the firemen until the car was completely burnt out and all the evidence was destroyed,” I said. “And you just happened to have a balaclava with you? I’m not even going to ask why you thought it was necessary to make Boris wear it. He’s a goat for g
oddess’s sake!”
“Boris is a very distinguished and easily recognisable goat,” said Granny, “especially since he won the beautiful farmyard animal competition, and I’ve always got a balaclava in my bag. You never know when you’ll stumble upon a protest. I’ve needed that balaclava more often than the lipstick I carry in the same bag.”
Granny had very rigid political views which had landed her in trouble in the past. It was no shock to me or Willow that she carried a means of hiding her face with her at all times.
“Be warned,” I said. “The animal welfare people are searching for Boris, and you’d better hope the police don’t find out who the car belongs to.”
Granny stood up, bent over Charleston, and began peeling dried wax from his face. “Bah!” she laughed. “The policeman who turned up at the fire was your friend Barney. Forgive me if I say I’m not particularly nervous about the possibility of being found out.”
“That’s not fair,” I said. “Barney did well during the Sam Hedgewick murder investigation.”
“Rubbish!” scoffed Granny, gathering up the petals from the pillows. “We all know it wasn’t Barney who solved that murder, and I’ll go to the foot of my stairs if Barney Dobkins manages to even work out it was a car that was set on fire, let alone link it to me or Boris.”
Granny snapped her head upright as a loud knocking on the front door echoed through the cottage. “Who on earth could that be?” she said. “It can’t be Maggie, she’s preparing for a visitor, and it’s certainly not the window cleaner. The cast isn’t due to be taken off his leg for another three weeks, and he seemed sincere when he said he’d never clean my windows again. Strange though — most young men would be happy to be confronted by a pair of bare breasts when they reached the top of a ladder. He must bat for the other team… that’s the only rational explanation.”
There were so many questions to ask, starting with who was visiting my mother, and then moving swiftly onto Granny’s indecent exposure incident. Willow prevented me from asking them though, as she moved the curtain aside and looked through the window. “It’s Barney,” she said, “and he’s wearing his uniform. It looks like he’s here on official police business.”
Chapter Four
The knocking on the front door grew louder, and Granny pointed to the bedroom door. “Code red! Everybody downstairs!” she panicked. She closed the door behind us as we paraded along the landing. “Boris!” she ordered, “you go straight out of the back door and into the garden, it’s time for you to pretend you’re a garden goat.”
We rushed down the stairs, and Granny pointed to Boris’s study. “Willow, it’s your job to go in there and make it look like it’s not a room that a goat uses to get drunk and write a blog in.” She looked at me. “Penny, it’s your job to keep Barney’s mind occupied. It’s obvious he’s got the hots for you, and it’s time for you to use that to your advantage. We can’t let him find Charleston.”
As Boris trotted through the house and out of the back door, Willow began work in Boris’s study, moving empty brandy glasses and hiding ashtrays. Granny nodded appreciatively at Willow’s efforts and put a wide smile on her face as she opened the front door. I stood next to her and smiled at Barney as he gazed down at us. “Penny, you’re home!” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.
The last time I’d seen Barney I’d promised him that we’d go out for a meal together, and I thought that in the circumstances it wouldn’t be too manipulative of me to use the arrangement as a means of distraction. Even I knew that it would be no good for any of us if Barney was to discover the magically frozen body of Charleston Huang in Granny’s guest bedroom. I could put my principles aside for the time being.
Not used to the intricacies of flirting, I imagined what Willow would do in my position, and pushed my chest out a little as I widened my smile. “Hi, Barney,” I gushed. “It’s so good to see you. I’m really excited about going out for that meal with you. Did you come here looking for me?”
“Really?” said Barney, his cheeks blushing a deep crimson. “I mean yes. I mean no. I mean I’m looking forward to taking you out, but I’m not here for that.”
“Well, just what are you here for, young man?” snapped Granny. “I hope you haven’t come here to try and take down my particulars.”
Barney looked at his feet. His trouser legs exposed far too much of the shiny black leather of his boots, and his stab jacket hung from his skinny frame. He politely removed his hat, revealing his neatly combed ginger hair, and gave Granny a nervous smile. “I am here on duty, Mrs Weaver,” he said sheepishly. “But I’m confident there’s been a mistake. If I could just clear a few things up, I’m sure I can be on my way.”
Granny gazed up at Barney’s face, her neck clicking as she struggled to find the correct angle. She shielded the sun from her eyes with a hand, and sighed. “And what things might they be, PC Dobkins? Have I been reported for shouting at that machine in the convenience store again? It keeps telling me I’ve got an unexpected item in the bagging area. What am I supposed to do? Reason with it? I’ll shout at that machine until it finds some manners, and nobody will tell me otherwise!”
Barney shook his head. “No,” he said. “No one’s complained about that this week. I’m here because of an incident that occurred this morning. In the quarry.”
“What happened?” I said, hoping that Barney wasn’t very good at reading body language. I relaxed my face a little, and gave him another smile.
“There was a fire,” said Barney. “A car was set alight, and people normally only set fire to cars when they’ve got a crime to hide.”
Granny grew an inch in height, her head almost level with Barney’s chest. “Are you trying to say I’m a criminal?” she blasted, “because if you are, young man, I’d rather you just come right out and say it, than continue beating around the bush.”
“Gosh, no!” said Barney. He’d seemed to have lost a few inches in height under the wilting stare of Granny, and he took a half step backwards along the garden path, almost tripping over his feet. “Sergeant Cooper sent me, he’s received reports of an elderly woman spotted near the scene, and with the addition of a masked violent goat, I think he’s put two and two together and thought that maybe… just maybe, it had something to do with you and that goat you keep in your garden.”
Granny placed one of her hands behind her back, and I knew without looking there’d be sparks flying from her fingertips. I couldn’t allow Granny to cast any spells, not only because of the danger her witch dementia posed to Barney and anybody else within ten metres, but also because I liked Barney, and I knew Granny did too — she was just panicking.
Granny flinched as I placed a calming hand on her shoulder, but the tension left her muscles. “Elderly!” she said. “Do I look elderly to you, Barney Dobkins?”
“Of course not, Mrs Weaver!” said Barney. “The witness said the suspect had blue hair too, maybe that’s why Sergeant Cooper thought of you. You don’t look a day over seventy to me.”
Granny made a low growling sound in her throat, and I shook my head at Barney with my eyes wide. He understood my message. “I mean you don’t look a day over sixty, Mrs Weaver,” he said.
Granny patted her hair with both hands and straightened her apron. “Thank you, Barney,” she said, “that’s very kind of you. I try my best, and isn’t it nice to know that Penny will grow into an older woman as beautiful as I am? Good looks run in this family, so you can be assured that if the meal you’re taking my granddaughter on goes well, you won’t be walking around with a sunken faced old hag on your arm in forty years’ time.”
“Granny!” I said. “Barney’s taking me out for a meal to thank me for my help during the Sam Hedgewick case! Stop embarrassing him.” I raised my eyebrows in an apology to Barney. “What is it you need from Granny? I said. “I’m sure she’d be happy to clear her name.”
Barney took a notepad from his pocket. “I’m really sorry I have to do this,” he said, “but Sergeant
Cooper will come here himself if I don’t ask you these questions.”
Granny sighed. “Ask away, young man, but don’t you dare ask for my date of birth. A lady is entitled to some secrets.”
Barney nodded and touched his pen to paper. “Okay,” he said, “would you mind me asking where you were this morning between the hours of eight and nine o’clock, Mrs Weaver?”
Granny placed a hand on her chin and looked at the sky. “Let me think,” she said, “where was I between the hours of eight and nine this morning?” She locked her eyes on Barney’s. “Where do you think I was? I was where I always am at that time of the day! Right here, in my cottage. Next question please, police constable.”
Barney scribbled in his notepad and shuffled his feet. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask to see your goat… Boris, isn’t it?” he said. “And I just need to take a quick look around your cottage.”
“What on earth do need to do all that for?” said Granny. “Have you got a warrant?”
Barney sighed. “Mrs Weaver,” he said, “this is really awkward for me. I don’t want to be asking these questions, and I certainly don’t want to infringe on your privacy, but if I don’t, Sergeant Cooper will do it himself. I was hoping you’d be more understanding if it was me that turned up on your doorstep. I just want to be able to cross you out of my notebook and tell Sergeant Cooper you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Of course you can see Boris,” I said, pulling Granny aside, and gesturing at Barney to come inside. “And I’d be happy to show you around Granny’s cottage. I don’t know what you’re looking for though.”
“Burnt clothing, petrol cans, that sort of thing,” said Barney. “Nothing that I’ll find here, I’m positive.”
Granny’s eyes sparkled as her brain leapt into gear. “Take Barney into the garden and show him the goat, Penny,” she said. “I’ll just go and tidy up a little, it’s been a long time since a man has been in my bedroom, and I want it to look nice.”
