by Adele Abbott
“No. I decided to give it a miss. Momsy and I went to see her sister instead. Glad I did as it turned out. Terrible business. Sorry, I must go. I need to catch this silly bird.”
“Okay. Thanks, Stanley. Good luck with the parrot.”
“Is that Barbara? It’s Jill Gooder.”
“Hello, there. I imagine you’re calling about this awful murder?”
“That’s right. Were you on The Flyer on Sunday?”
“I was. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Did you see anything?”
“Nothing at all, but then I was busy trying to dry off my dress.”
“Sorry?”
“The stupid guard knocked a glass of wine out of my hand—all over my dress. I wouldn’t have minded, but I only bought it last Friday.”
“Was the woman who was murdered in your carriage?”
“I believe so, according to what I heard, but I can honestly say I didn’t even notice her. Apparently, she was seated at the opposite end, near to the toilet. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“That’s okay. Thanks anyway.”
***
Cole took my cash at the toll bridge. He looked much happier than when he’d been on the deserted bridge in Candlefield. As I was about to drive off, Mr Ivers came out of the booth, and flagged me down.
“Where did you find this guy, Jill?”
“Why? Is there a problem?”
“Quite the opposite. The man is a marvel. It’s like he’s been doing the job all his life.”
“I did tell you that he’d had experience in this type of work.”
“My elbows can’t thank you enough. He is rather quiet, though. I’ve tried to engage him in conversation a few times, but without much success.”
“He’s probably still nervous. I’m sure he’ll come out of his shell in time.”
“That’s probably it. Maybe I should offer to show him my collection of bottle tops. That’s always a good ice breaker.”
“Why not? Go for it.”
Poor Cole. Snigger.
***
Mrs V looked resplendent in her green ballgown. There were two other gowns hanging from the coat stand.
“What do you think, Jill?” She did a little twirl.
“It’s very nice. I assume it’s for the competition on Saturday?”
“That’s right. One’s dress shouldn’t really be taken into consideration; it should be all about the dancing. But I’ve been around the block enough times to realise that it really does matter. Which one do you prefer?”
“I’d need to see you wearing them, but the green one is very nice.”
“Chartreuse.”
“Sorry?”
“This gown is chartreuse.”
“Okay. The pink and blue ones look nice too.”
“You mean cerise and ultramarine?”
“Whatever.”
“I’ll slip the others on, and come through to your office, so you can tell me which one you like best.”
“Okay.”
The pile of tin foil hats in the corner of the room was halfway up the wall.
“How many more of those stupid silver hats do you intend to make?”
“Excuse me, but they aren’t silver hats; they’re argent.”
“Don’t you start. I don’t suppose you’ve actually sold any yet?”
“No, but I expect the rush to start any day now.”
The poor cat was delusional. “If I were you, I’d forget the silly hats, pack my bags, and get out of Dodge, before Big Gordy comes a-looking.”
“You worry way too much. I have everything in hand.”
“I hope so. I’ve just had this room decorated—I don’t want it spraying with your blood.”
Just before ten o’clock, Mr Gander turned up, unexpectedly. Mrs V, who had changed into the pink—whoops, I mean cerise gown, showed him through to my office.
“Why is your receptionist wearing a ballgown?” He had the same confused look that so many visitors to my office seemed to share.
“She has an important ballroom dancing competition coming up.”
“I see.” He clearly didn’t. “I assume you heard about the murder on The Flyer at the weekend?”
“I did.”
“That proves conclusively that Gary didn’t murder Gena. He must have been a victim too.”
“It certainly looks that way.” I saw no reason to mention Don Preston—it would serve no purpose now.
“In view of this, we will no longer require your services. Would you send your bill for the time you’ve spent on this to-date?”
“Of course.”
When it was time to show Mr Gander out, Mrs V was wearing the ultramarine gown.
“So?” she said, after he’d left. “Which one do you prefer?”
“They’re all nice, but I particularly like the err—green—err—chartr—err—the first one.”
“Me too. Chartreuse it is then.”
***
Sonya Aynos, whose husband had gone missing, had arranged for me to meet with his best friends, Roy Wright and Philip Long, in Spooky Wooky.
Behind the counter, Harry was wearing a shirt adorned with a pleasing pattern consisting of thousands of tiny letter ‘H’s. Larry was wearing a similar one, but with the letter ‘L’.
“Nice shirts, guys.”
“Thanks, Jill.” Harry smiled. “We got them from Alphabet Wear. They have some fabulous stuff in their shop. Have you seen it?”
“I can’t say I have, but I’ve barely explored any of GT yet.”
“I saw a lovely ‘J’ dress that would really suit you,” Larry said.
“I’ll have to check it out sometime. Where is it exactly?”
“Do you know the statues in the market place?”
“You mean the creepy vegetables-with-legs statues?”
Both Harry and Larry looked horrified.
“They aren’t creepy!” Harry sounded indignant. “They’re fabulous.”
“I didn’t mean creepy in the bad sense of the word. Gosh, no. I think they’re—err—quite magnificent. I meant that they look as though they can creep around—seeing as how they have legs. That’s all.”
“Hmm?” Harry looked unconvinced, but continued, “Alphabet Wear is on Spirit Lane which is just behind the statues.”
“Great. I’ll check it out later. In the meantime, I’ll have my usual, please.”
“I should have mentioned earlier. Those two men in the corner said they were supposed to meet you here.”
“Right, thanks.”
Once I had my coffee and muffin, I made my way over to the corner table.
“Excuse me. I’m Jill Gooder.
“Phillip Long.” The taller of the two men stood up.
“And you must be Roy Wright?”
“Actually, Roy couldn’t make it,” Philip said. “He’s laid up with flu. This is my brother, Paul. He knows Malcolm Aynos too.”
That was all well and good, but two Longs didn’t make a Wright.
What? Come on! You know you love it.
“How was Malcolm the last time you saw him?”
“He was really down,” Philip said. “I’ve never seen him like that. He loved his job at the gnome factory, and was devastated when they let him go. He’d been in that same job for years, and had no idea how to go about getting another one. Malcolm doesn’t even have a computer. That’s why I suggested he could use mine to see if he could find any suitable vacancies. In fact, that was the last time I saw him. I set him up on my computer, and went out for a few hours. When I came back, he’d gone.”
“Do you think I could take a look at your computer? Maybe the browser history will give me some clues as to which websites he’d been looking at.”
“Sure. We can go back to my place now, if you like?”
So that’s what we did. Philip Long logged me onto his computer, and I checked the browser history.
“What’s Hot Ghosts?” I asked.
“Oh
, err—nothing. You can ignore that.”
“Are you sure? There seem to be a lot of entries for that particular website.”
“Those have nothing to do with Malcolm.” By now, Philip was looking decidedly uncomfortable. Only then, did the penny drop, and I realised why he didn’t want me to pursue that particular line of enquiry. “What about this? Ghostlancers? What’s that?”
“I’ve no idea.” Philip shrugged.
When I clicked on the link, it took me to a website that recruited ghosts to work on freelance projects both in GT and in the human world. The website obviously used cookies because it offered to display recently viewed projects. As soon as I clicked on that link, everything started to fall into place.
“Do you have a recent photo of Malcolm that I could see?”
“Yeah.” Philip took out his phone. “That was taken last year.”
Eureka!
Chapter 14
After leaving Spooky Wooky, I called Murray to tell him that I wanted to hide in the writing room again the following day. He wasn’t sure that would achieve anything, but I was now confident it would pay dividends—although not necessarily for Murray.
I was intrigued to see the shop where Harry and Larry had bought their shirts, even if that did mean I’d have to walk past those hideous and very creepy statues. As always, there were lots of people taking selfies in front of the monstrous legged vegetables. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that ghosts had a particularly weird taste when it came to statues.
Alphabet Wear was a tiny shop, sandwiched in-between two (ironically enough) sandwich shops.
“Hi,” a bubbly young woman, with custard coloured hair, greeted me as soon as I stepped inside. “I’m Dee.”
“Hi. I’m Jill.”
“Is this your first visit to Alphabet Wear?”
“It is. Two friends told me about your shop.”
“Hi.” A second assistant, just as bubbly, swooped in from somewhere. “I’m Bea. Do you need any help, or do you understand how things work?”
“I’m okay, thanks.” How things work? How difficult could it be to choose a dress, try it on, and then pay for it?
Dee and Bea left me to browse, but I could sense them keeping an eye on me.
The shop stocked an extensive range of clothing for both men and women of all ages. Every item had a pattern made up of a single letter. I really wanted a dress, but none of the ‘J’s caught my eye. Then I spotted a lovely summer dress with a ‘G’ pattern. I took it off the rail, and was on my way to the changing room when Dee intercepted me.
“Excuse me, did you say your name was Jill?”
“That’s right.”
“Is that Jill with a ‘J’, or Gill with a ‘G’?”
“Jill with a ‘J’.”
“In that case, you can’t buy that dress.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a ‘G’.”
“Yeah. It’s beautiful.”
“But it’s a ‘G’.”
“So?”
“You’re only allowed to buy items with a letter ‘J’ design.”
I laughed, but she didn’t. “Are you serious?”
“Totally. I’m sorry.”
“My surname is Gooder. G for Gooder.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t count. It’s the initial letter of your first name which matters.”
“I really love this dress. Is there no way you could make an exception?”
“I don’t think so, but I could ask the manager, if you like?”
“Please.”
She disappeared into the back, and returned a few minutes later, accompanied by an older woman.
“Hello. My name is Gigi. Dee has explained the situation, but I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done. You’re only allowed to purchase ‘J’ patterned garments.”
I left the shop empty-handed, but I wasn’t going to allow their stupid rules to stop me from buying that dress.
I cast a spell to make myself look like Kathy. I know—I wasn’t thrilled about it, but needs must.
“Hi, I’m Dee. Is this your first visit to Alphabet Wear?”
“It is. My name is Gloria. Can I see dresses with a ‘G’ pattern, please?”
***
Back in Washbridge, I dropped my dress off at the car, and then made my way to the office. En route, who should I bump into but Peter; he looked as white as a sheet.
“Peter? Are you okay?”
“Not really.”
“What’s wrong? It’s not Kathy or the kids, is it?”
“No, everyone’s fine. Do you remember I told you about the new contract that I’d just won?”
“At Washbridge Country Hall?”
“Yeah. Look, I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but the rumours about that place are right.”
“What rumours?”
“Don’t you remember? I told you the previous contractors had walked away because they’d claimed the maze was haunted.”
“Are you trying to tell me that—?”
“It really is haunted. Yeah. I saw them with my own eyes.”
“Ghosts?”
“Yeah. They were as real as you are. One of them had his head under his arm!”
“Come on.” I laughed.
“It’s true, honestly. I had to leave without finishing trimming the hedges. I’ll have to tell the owners that I can’t continue with the contract.”
“Kathy won’t be thrilled. She’s got her heart set on a new car.”
“I know, but what can I do? I’m still shaking.” He held out his hands.
“Why don’t you take a break, and then try again? It’s possible that all the stories you’ve heard about the place have made your imagination work overtime.”
“But the ghosts were so real.”
“It’s surprising what the mind can do. You could give it a few hours, and then go back. If the ghosts are still there, you can still quit.”
“You’re right. I can’t just walk away without at least making sure it wasn’t all in my mind. Thanks, Jill. I’m sorry for acting so crazy. You won’t say anything to Kathy, will you?”
“Of course not.”
***
Tubby the Hack’s name was well deserved. Tubby, I mean. As for ‘the Hack’, we’d see about that. The overweight cat and Winky were both sitting on my desk. It was just as well that the desk was a solid antique—a flatpack model would have collapsed under their combined weight.
Winky made the introductions, “Jill, this is Tubby. Tubby, meet Jill Gooder.”
“How much does this job pay?” Tubby got straight down to business.
“What’s your usual rate?”
“More than you can afford, by the look of this place. I’m only here as a favour to Winky.”
“I’m very grateful. How about we say that you’ll get half of whatever Winky makes on his tin foil hats?”
“That sounds fair.” Tubby nodded his approval.
“Hold on!” Winky objected. “You can’t use my profits to pay Tubby.”
“Yes, I can because I’ve allowed you to use my office to manufacture and store the hats. Unless, of course, you’d rather I dumped them out of the window.”
“No! Okay. Tubby can have half the profits.”
“Do we have a deal, Tubby?”
“Sure. What do you need me to do?”
“It’s my accountant who is having the problem. We’ll need to go over to his office.”
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
I fetched Winky’s cat basket out of the cupboard. “You’ll need to get in here.”
“Into that thing? No chance.”
“You have to. They’re never going to let you into his office building otherwise.”
“You never mentioned any of this?” He glared at Winky.
“Sorry, bro. You’ll be okay. How about if you have some salmon first?”
“Okay. I suppose so.”
“You heard the man, Jill. Break out the salmon.”
“Okay.”
“Red, not pink.”
“Naturally.”
“For two.”
***
Tubby moaned and groaned all the way over to Luther’s office. He was a cat who obviously did not appreciate being kept in a basket. I’d called ahead to tell Luther that he would need to vacate his office while I and my ‘associate’ checked what had happened to his computer.
Once inside the office, I opened the basket, and let Tubby out.
“If I’d known how long I’d have to be in that thing, I’d have requested double the fee.” He stretched.
“Too late. A deal’s a deal.” I walked over to the desk. “Oh no! Luther hasn’t logged in, and I have no idea what his password is.”
“Not a problem.” Tubby ran his paws over the keyboard, and moments later he was in.
“How did you do that?”
“Trade secret. Now, let’s see what’s going on here.”
“Can I help?”
“I don’t think so.” He grinned. “Why don’t you take a seat over there, and file your nails or something?”
“File my—?” I bit my tongue before I said something I’d regret. I’d just have to save my indignation until after he’d finished the job.
“What?” He laughed at something on screen. “You have to be kidding. Pathetic.”
Something obviously had him amused, but I couldn’t work out if that was good or bad.
“Amateurs!” he pronounced, and then turned to me.
“Do you know what’s going on?” I asked.
“In a word: nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that there is nothing going on with this computer. The warning message about publishing the client data is bunkum. Whoever did this, has no meaningful access to the computer. The only thing they’ve managed to do is send that stupid warning message.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He gave me a disparaging look.
“Okay, sorry. Of course you are. Is there any way you can trace who sent the message?”
“Sure. Piece of cake. Just give me a minute.”
In fact, it took him less than that. When I saw who was behind the empty threat, everything suddenly made sense.
