by Adele Abbott
“If it hasn’t broken down, there’s no reason why you couldn’t take Jules out tomorrow, and work on the car in the evening, or one day when Jules is working.”
“That’s just what I said,” Jules chimed in.
“I—err—” He obviously felt cornered. “I suppose I could do that.”
“Good, that’s settled then,” I said. “I hope you both enjoy your day out.”
When I went through to my office, the peaceful scene that greeted me was in stark contrast to the one I’d left behind only an hour earlier. The four kittens were sitting in silence, listening to Peggy, telling them a story. Winky was fast asleep on the sofa—no doubt catching up on lost sleep from the previous night. Peggy saw me, and gave me the paws-up.
“I’m reading them a story, and then they’re going to have a nap, aren’t you kids?”
They all nodded.
And sure enough, twenty minutes later, the four kittens joined Winky in the Land of Nod.
“Well done, Peggy,” I said, in a hushed voice.
“There’s no need to whisper. This lot will be out for hours. I don’t think any of them got much sleep last night.”
“Thanks for your help. I really do appreciate it.”
“No problem. Anyway, you’re not the one who should be thanking me. What was Winky thinking of, agreeing to look after those four?”
“He didn’t realise that’s what his brother wanted him to do until they all turned up, and by then it was too late. Plus, I reckon he thought that he’d be able to control them.”
“He got that part wrong, didn’t he?” Peggy rolled her eyes. “I’d better get going.”
“Are you leaving?”
“Don’t worry. I plan to drop in every few hours to make sure that these four little darlings don’t get out of line.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“No you don’t, but sleeping beauty over there definitely does, and I intend to see that he pays his debts. Bye, Jill.”
“Bye.”
A little later, when Jules came through to my office, cat and kittens were still fast asleep.
“Where did they come from?” She did a double-take when she spotted the little balls of fur.
“I’m looking after them for a couple of days for a friend.”
“Oh? I’m surprised.”
“That I’d look after kittens for someone?”
“No. That you have a friend.”
Huh?
Jules continued, “Sorry to bother you, Jill. That Alicia woman is here again. She says it’s important.”
“You’d better show her through, but no drinks or biscuits for her.”
“Oh? Right, okay.”
“Thanks for seeing me, Jill.”
“What do you want, Alicia?”
“Is it okay if I sit down?”
“I suppose so, but don’t get too comfortable.”
“Thanks. You have a lot of cats in here.”
“You didn’t come here to discuss my cats. What’s on your mind?”
“I promised that I’d let you know if Ma Chivers was up to anything that might affect you or your family.”
“I’ve already heard that she’s been bad-mouthing Grandma, if that’s what you’re here to tell me.”
“She’s always done that. No, she’s definitely up to something else, but I haven’t figured out what it is yet.”
“How does that help me then?”
“I think it could be something big, so I figured you’d want to know about it.”
“I’m listening.”
“She’s been running a huge campaign in Candlefield, to recruit witches to work here in Washbridge.”
“Doing what?”
“That’s just it. No one seems to know. The ads don’t give any details, and even the people who have been interviewed for the job, don’t seem any wiser. I’ve spoken to a few of them, and they all said the same thing: that Ma Chivers had been deliberately vague about what the work entailed. The only thing they all agreed on was that the money being offered was good. Good enough that most of the witches I spoke to are tempted to take the offer even though they don’t have any idea what they’ll be doing.”
“She’s just opened a wool shop on the high street. Maybe she needs staff for that?”
“Not this many. From what I can make out, she’s made job offers to dozens of witches.”
“That is weird, and a little scary.”
“I just thought you would want to know.”
“Right. We’d better exchange phone numbers, in case you find out any more.”
After we’d done that, she started for the door.
“Alicia.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
***
I wanted to speak to the Bradleys separately, so I’d arranged to meet Georgina at her house, and to meet with Thomas at West Star’s offices later in the week.
If I could have picked my dream house (some chance of that on the money that Jack and I made), it would have been something similar to the one owned by the Bradleys. Located in North Wash, a leafy suburb of Washbridge, the house must have been worth at least a million pounds.
“You have a lovely house, Mrs Bradley.”
“Thank you. Please call me Georgina. Do come through to the conservatory.”
The ‘conservatory’ was almost as large as the whole of our house, and looked out onto a magnificent rear garden.
“I’ve made iced tea.” She pointed to the glass jug, on the marble-topped table. “Or I can make you something hot if you prefer?”
“Iced tea will be fine, thanks.”
After ten minutes of small talk, we got down to business.
“I have to ask about your relationship with Stephen and Thomas, I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I expected you to.”
“Your husband said you and he were married five years after Stephen’s death?”
“That’s right, but Thomas didn’t tell you the full story. I think he feels guilty, and I understand why, but if you’re going to help us, then I believe it’s essential you know everything.” She took a deep breath. “Thomas and I were seeing one another before Stephen’s death.”
“You were having an affair?”
“Yes.”
“Did Stephen know about you and his brother?”
“I don’t think so. Stephen was very trusting. Too trusting as it turned out. I never wanted to hurt him, but these things sometimes just happen, don’t they?”
I was pretty sure that this kind of thing never ‘just happened’, but this wasn’t the time to voice my opinion, so I waited for her to continue.
“I was the one who wanted to come to you,” she said. “Thomas would have preferred to let sleeping dogs lie.”
That rather surprised me, but then everything about Georgina Bradley was surprising today. The mouse-like woman who’d visited my office had been replaced by a much more self-assured woman. I wasn’t yet sure which one was the ‘real’ Georgina.
“What motivated you to contact me?”
“This is going to sound crazy.”
“Try me.”
“I have this niggling doubt that won’t go away. I’m afraid that Thomas may have murdered Stephen.”
I hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Why do you say that?”
“On the night of Stephen’s murder, Thomas was supposed to be meeting me, but he called at the last minute to say he would have to work late.”
“Was that unusual?”
“His working late wasn’t, but cancelling at the last minute like that was. He’d never done it before.”
“There must be more to your suspicions than just that?”
“Over recent years, I’ve seen another side to Thomas. He has a quick temper, and on at least two occasions, I’ve had to step in to stop him from getting into a fight. It’s as though a red mist comes down and he loses control.”
“Has he ever been violent towards you?�
��
“No, but our relationship hasn’t been good for over a year now; we argue most of the time.”
“Have you ever mentioned your suspicions to the police?”
“No. Back then, it never occurred to me that Thomas might have killed Stephen. He seemed every bit as devastated as I was. And now, I don’t feel like I can take this to the police. That’s why I wanted to bring you in.”
“If Thomas did kill Stephen, why would he agree to come to me?”
“When I first broached the idea, he wasn’t very enthusiastic, but he could see how determined I was, so in the end, he agreed.”
“It still doesn’t make sense. If he is the murderer, he’s taking a big risk by allowing me to shine a spotlight on the case again.”
“Thomas has never lacked self-confidence. He may think that if he can fool the police, then he can definitely fool you. No offence.”
“None taken. Is there anything else that makes you think that he might be the murderer?”
“He and Stephen were at odds over the proposed takeover. Stephen was in favour of taking the money, but Thomas wasn’t interested. He wanted to hold onto the business.”
“How would it have been resolved if Stephen had lived?”
“It’s hard to say. Neither of them had shown any sign of backing down.”
“Did Stephen have any enemies? Anyone at all?”
“Not really. Stephen was a gentle, darling of a man.”
Which begged the question: why had she cheated on him?
“What exactly are you hoping to get from my investigation?”
“The truth, and justice for Stephen.”
“What if it turns out that Thomas isn’t the murderer?”
“I’m going to leave him anyway. I’ve already made my mind up about that, but I don’t want to do anything until such time as you’ve concluded your investigation.”
We talked a while longer about both of her husbands, but nothing more of any substance came out of our discussion.
The meeting had not gone the way I’d expected it to. I’d thought I might have to work hard to pry information out of the mouse-like Georgina, but it seemed that she was anything but a mouse. And her accusation that her current husband might have murdered her first husband—his brother—had come completely out of left field. It would be interesting to see how my interview with Thomas Bradley went. Would he be the same man who had visited my office, or would he too be some kind of chameleon?
***
When I got back to the office, there was no sign of Jules, but there was a note on her desk:
Jill, I’ve gone to Nailed-It. I worked through my lunch hour. Hope this is okay, Jules.
There were no sounds coming from my office, so I opened the door slowly, and tip-toed inside. The kittens were all still flat out, but Winky was wide awake, and sitting on my desk.
“If it isn’t Rip Van Winky.” I grinned.
“Shush, don’t wake the kittens.”
“When does Socks get back?”
“Tomorrow, thank goodness. I don’t envy him having to look after these little horrors every day.”
“Just wait until you and Peggy have your own little ones.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“You do realise that you owe Peggy big time for this, I hope?”
“I know. I’ll take her for a meal after the kids are off our hands.”
While he was speaking, I flicked through the mail, which Jules had dropped onto my desk: Bill, bill, advert, bill. “What’s this? It’s addressed to the owner of Winky.”
“It’s obviously for me.” He snatched it from my hand.
“It’s addressed to your owner.”
“I’ve told you before that I don’t have an owner.”
He tore open the envelope and studied the letter, which was printed on a pleasing, cream paper. “Very interesting.”
“What is it?”
“It’s mind your own business, that’s what it is.”
“Have you forgotten that I went to get Peggy for you?”
“Fair enough. It’s from Drake, Lake and Makepiece. They’re a firm of solicitors. It seems I may have been left something in a Will.”
“By who?”
“It doesn’t say. My owner has to contact them, so you’d better get on the phone to them now.”
“But you just said that I’m not your owner.”
“Don’t try to be smart. Just give them a call to see what it’s all about.”
“Okay.” I called the number on the letter.
“Well? What is it? Have I inherited a fortune?” Winky demanded as soon as I’d finished on the call.
“I don’t know.”
“What did they say?”
“It’s related to the estate of a Mr Shoesmith.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Apparently, he was your first owner. It seems he bought you as a kitten, but very quickly realised his daughter was allergic to cat fur, so he had to hand you in to a rehoming centre.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“That’s not surprising. You were very young. From what they said, you must have been rehomed several times since then because they’ve had one heck of a job tracing you. Anyway, it seems he’s always felt guilty about having to give you up, so he’s left you something in his Will.”
“Money? How much?”
“We won’t know that until the Will is read on Friday.”
“I’m going with you. To the reading of the Will.”
“I doubt they’ll allow a cat in their offices.”
“They have to. I’m a beneficiary.”
“Okay, but if they turn you away, don’t blame me.”
“Just think, after Friday, I could be a millionaire.”
“What do I get?”
“What do you mean?”
“If I don’t turn up for the reading, you won’t get a penny.”
“Okay. I’ll give you one percent.”
I laughed. “Think again. I want half.”
“No chance. Ten percent.”
“Twenty. Take it or leave it.”
“You’re a crook.”
“It’s no skin off my nose whether I go or not.”
“Okay. Twenty. I hope you can live with your conscience.”
Just then, I heard a strange wailing sound; it was coming from the outer office. My first thought was that one of the kittens had somehow escaped, but the four of them were still sound asleep.
It turned out to be Jules who was in floods of tears at her desk.
“What’s wrong?”
“They’re ruined.”
“What is?”
“My nails. Look!” She held out her hands.
I was no expert on nail care; my own nails are testament to that. But I was quite sure that nails should never have looked like these.
“They are a bit streaky. Is that what you wanted?”
“Of course it isn’t. And she’s got nail varnish all over my fingers. They look terrible. I can’t let Dexter see them. That woman should be arrested.”
“Which nail—err—technician did them?”
“There’s only one woman working there. I think she’s the owner. She’s been in here to see you a few times.”
“You mean Deli.”
“That’s her. I thought she was meant to be qualified.”
“Now I think about it, I seem to remember she earned her diploma through a correspondence course.”
“How can you learn nail care from a correspondence course?”
It was a good question, and one that a lot of her customers would no doubt be asking very soon.
Chapter 5
“Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside.”
“Do you have to make that awful row?” Jack looked up from his muesli.
“Don’t you like my singing?”
“I wouldn’t call that noise singing.”
“There’s nothing you can say this morning that wil
l upset me because only one person in this room is going to the seaside, and it isn’t you.”
“It’s nice that you don’t feel the need to rub it in.”
“Oh, I do like to be beside the sea.”
“Where are you meeting Kathy?”
“The coach is picking us up near Lizzie’s school.”
“Do you need me to give you a lift?”
“No, it’s okay. I’ve booked a taxi.”
“Any idea what time you’ll be home?”
“Late, probably.”
“If you give me a call when the coach gets back, I’ll come and pick you up unless I’m still at work.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” I gave him a peck on the lips. “You’re so selfless. Just like me.”
Half-an-hour later, Jack had left for work, and I was waiting for my taxi to arrive when I felt a vibration in my pocket. At first, I thought it was my phone, but it turned out to be the Z-Call button.
Great! What timing.
Still, great timing or not, I couldn’t afford to ignore it, so I called the Z-Watch number.
“Z-Watch. How can I help?”
“Ike? Is that you?”
“Ike Cann speaking.”
“It’s Jill Gooder. My Z-Call button just vibrated.”
“I’ll need your passphrase, please.”
Oh bum! It was ages since I’d been in touch with Z-Watch, and I couldn’t remember my passphrase.
“I can’t remember it, but surely the fact that I have the Z-Call button proves it’s me?”
“I’m afraid not. Zombies have been known to take the Z-Call button from their victims.”
“And what do they do then? Make a phone call? That’s hardly likely, is it?”
“There’s a first time for everything. Sorry, but I am going to need your passphrase.”
“Hold on a minute. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Is it ‘Custard Creams, the king of biscuits’?”
“No.”
“Does it include the word ‘Muffin’?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you any clues.”
“Wait, hang on. I remember it now: Crazy just got crazier.”
“That’s it. Nice to hear from you again, Jill. I’m just sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”
“What circumstances, exactly?”
