by Adele Abbott
There was no more activity for the next ten minutes. I’d have to be on my way soon or I’d be late for my appointment with Lesley Thomas. Just then, the door to Magical Skincare opened, and out came Gilbert, and the young man and woman who I’d seen go in just a few minutes before.
All three of them now had flawless skin.
Something very strange was going on inside that building, and I intended to return, to find out what.
***
Lesley Thomas looked more like a ghost than most of the ‘real’ ghosts I knew. She was pale and drawn, and her hair was dishevelled.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I said.
“Come in. I apologise for my appearance. I haven’t really been myself these last few days.”
“That’s understandable.”
She led the way into the living room, and gestured for me to take the seat next to the patio doors.
“I know you probably told me on the phone, but I’m not sure what you need from me.” Lesley sat in the armchair next to me. “Are you the police?”
“No, like I said on the phone, I’m working alongside them.” I doubted Leo Riley would agree with that statement, but hey-ho. “I believe you jumped with your husband that day?”
“Yes.” She picked up a framed photograph from the sideboard next to the chair. “We regularly jumped together.” She handed me the photo.
In the picture, a much happier Lesley Thomas was standing next to a bald-headed man. They were wearing matching navy blue jumpsuits.
“The police think your husband may have blacked out? Had he been ill?”
“No. Dale was perfectly well, but I can’t think of any other explanation. It seems he never pulled the cord.”
“Was he okay otherwise? Was anything troubling him?”
“He was perfectly happy. It wasn’t suicide, if that’s what you’re insinuating!” Her sorrow was suddenly replaced by anger.
“No. Of course not. What about your relationship?”
“What about it? We were perfectly happy, and had been for twelve years.”
“You know Alan Carver, I believe?”
“He was one of Dale’s best friends.”
“Alan suggested that you and Dale might have been having a few—err—issues?”
Her face flushed red. “How dare he! I never did like that man, but I put up with him for Dale’s sake. There were no issues with our marriage. Alan is recently divorced. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t.”
“His wife cheated on him, and I can’t say I blame her. That seems to have coloured his judgement. He no longer believes it’s possible to be happily married. Sad really.”
“What about your stepson, Shane? Were Dale and he close?”
“Shane is a waste of space. I knew that the first time I met him, but Dale wouldn’t have a bad word said against him. At least, not at first.”
“That changed?”
“Even Dale eventually saw through him. Shane came to him for money to finance some half-baked business venture. Dale could see it was destined to fail, so he turned him down. They haven’t spoken since. Still, it looks like Shane will get his money now.”
“He stands to inherit?”
“Even though they’d fallen out, Dale wouldn’t remove Shane from his Will. Everything except this house and the business will be split fifty-fifty between him and me.”
“I understand that you didn’t normally jump with Skydiving Adventures?”
“No. We usually jump from Robert Lane’s plane.”
“That’s Dale’s business partner?”
“Yes, and a close family friend. His plane was in for repairs. We weren’t going to bother at all, but Dale suggested we book a ride with Skydiving Adventures. If only we’d stayed at home—” She began to cry.
Lesley Thomas did appear to be devastated by her husband’s death—hardly surprising, given the circumstances. She’d had to watch, helpless, as he had plummeted to his death. I couldn’t begin to imagine what she must have gone through, as she drifted slowly down to earth—knowing what waited for her on the ground. Just the thought of it sent a shiver down my spine.
One thing was clear, she was not a fan of Alan Carver. I hadn’t been aware of his recent divorce. Could that have tainted his views on the Thomas’s marriage? Possibly, but I thought I was a pretty good judge of character, and I still believed that Carver was genuinely concerned that his friend’s death may have been the result of foul play.
***
My phone rang, but I didn’t recognise the number.
“Jill Gooder speaking.”
“Jill, it’s Susan Bestwick.”
Oh bum!
“Hi, Susan.”
“I just wanted to ask what you thought of the sculpture?”
“The sculpture? I—err—I.”
“Didn’t you like it?”
“No, I mean yes, I loved it.”
“Thank goodness. I thought you were going to say you hated it.”
“Not at all. It was very lifelike.”
“Was?”
“I meant ‘is’. There’s just one thing I wanted to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s just that—err—well—err.”
“Are you sure you’re alright, Jill?”
“Fine, yeah. When I came for the sitting, I was—err—I had my clothes on. But when I—got the err—”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. I should have mentioned that I only do sculptures of the naked body. I pride myself on being able to recreate a model’s body accurately, even without actually seeing it. I seem to have a kind of x-ray vision.”
“I see.”
“Did I get it wrong? Too big? Too small? Too perky? Not perky enough?”
“No, they—err—it was fine. Just the right amount of perkyness. Thanks.”
“Phew. Thank goodness. It’s important to me that you like it.”
“Oh, I do. Thanks.”
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“The sculpture?”
“Oh, it has pride of place on the mantelpiece.”
“Great. Look, I normally take a photo of all the pieces I produce, but because I was in such a hurry, I totally forgot. Could I pop over to your house? Just to take a quick photo?”
“Pop over? Err—sure. But it might be difficult for a couple of days because we’re going away.”
“Okay, I’ll ring you in a few days’ time to arrange something. Thanks, Jill. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Oh bum squared!
Chapter 7
Jules was in the office, knitting.
“Afternoon, Jill.”
“Hi. Anything to report?”
“Brent from I-Sweat popped around earlier to see you. He said he’d try again later.”
“He’s probably going to try to persuade me to sign up for membership.”
“You should join, Jill. I feel much better for my new exercise regime.”
“I might.” Or I might just stick with the custard creams. “How’s Gilbert? Still acting strangely?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Why do men have to be so complicated?”
“I’ve no idea, but if you ever work it out, let me know, would you? How is his complexion? Has the acne made a comeback?”
“No. His skin is flawless. I wish mine was as good.”
As soon as I walked through to my office, Winky pointed to a huge bouquet of flowers on my desk. “Those are for you.”
“Okay, now I know you’re up to something.”
“What do you mean?”
“First you buy me a cake, and—”
“Bake! I baked you a cake.”
“Okay. First you bake me a cake, and now you buy me flowers. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I felt bad because I persuaded you to give your flowers to Peggy, so, I thought I’d buy you these. Do you like them?”
“They’re very nice.”
“Smell t
hem.”
“Lovely, yes, but I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Why are you talking about shoes?”
“It’s a saying.”
“You two-leggeds have some weird sayings.”
“I suppose that you felines have better ones?”
“Of course. Would you like to hear one?”
“Probably not.”
“A whisker is never to be sneezed at.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“But a shoe dropping does?”
“Go on, then. I’ll bite. What does it mean? The whisker sneeze thing?”
“Isn’t it obvious? It means that even when everything seems lost, you should never give up.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’ve just made that up.”
He shrugged, and then jumped onto the sofa.
Now I felt bad. Perhaps he was genuinely trying to be nice. “Thanks for the flowers.”
He was still sulking when I took them through to the outer office.
“Jules, can you put these in water, please?”
“They’re beautiful. Who bought those for you?”
“Wink—err—Winkard. An old school friend.”
“Called Winkard?”
“Yes. Unusual name, isn’t it? Wendy Winkard. Nice woman.”
***
Thirty minutes later, I heard the outer door open, and shortly afterwards, Jules popped her head around my door.
“Is it Brent?” I said.
“No, actually it’s your accountant, Mr Stone. He wondered if you could spare him a moment.”
“Of course. Send him through.”
Luther smouldered his way into my office. “Nice flowers. From an admirer?”
“An old school friend, actually.”
Winky one-eye-glared at me.
“I was passing by so I thought I’d just pop in to say that Maria and I both enjoyed dinner the other night.”
“So did we.”
“I must give Jack a call to arrange a game of bowling sometime.”
“Yeah. Just don’t beat him. He’s a terrible loser.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m only kidding. Unless it’s against me. He hates it when I win.”
“What did you think of Maria?”
“She seems very nice.” For a bloodsucking vampire.
“She isn’t usually so quiet, but she was on edge waiting for the phone call from the hospital.”
“She seemed to brighten up once she’d heard from them.”
“Yeah, she did.”
“Do you two see each other often?”
“Most days.” He hesitated. “Jill, do you think it’s strange that I don’t know where Maria lives?”
“Err—I—err”
“We’ve been seeing quite a lot of each other, and usually end up back at my apartment. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be with her anywhere, but she has never invited me to her place.”
“Maybe it’s a mess. Women can be quite untidy. Not me, obviously, but some can. Or maybe she lives in a flat-share, and has noisy flatmates.”
“I guess so, but I don’t even know whereabouts in Washbridge she lives. Whenever I’ve offered to drive her home, or to get her a taxi, she always comes up with some excuse why I shouldn’t. It’s almost as though she doesn’t want me to know where she lives. You don’t think she has someone else, do you?”
“No, I’m sure that’s not it. She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”
“Yeah.” He managed a smile. “I guess I’m just impatient. Thanks, Jill. Tell Jack I’ll call him to arrange a game, will you?”
“Sure.”
After Luther had left, I reflected on what he’d said about Maria. It was obvious she was still living in Candlefield, but she could hardly tell him that. If their relationship was going to progress, she’d have to find herself a base in the human world.
***
I was in my office, talking to Jules, when Brent came in.
“Jill, I was hoping to catch you.” He glanced across at the vase of flowers. “From an admirer?”
“They’re from an old school friend,” I said. “Wendy Winkman.”
“I thought you said her name was Winkard?” Jules said.
“That’s right Winkard. Her nickname was Winkman.”
It was difficult to say who looked more confused: Brent or Jules.
“Thanks, Jules, that will be all.” I waited until she’d left my office. “If it’s about the subscription, Brent, I’m still thinking about it.”
“No. It’s not that. I may need your professional services.”
“Oh? In that case, take a seat, and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“George and I are worried that some of our members may be using the club for illegal activities.”
“What are they up to?”
“That’s just it. We can’t be sure that they’re up to anything.”
“But your suspicionometer is in the red zone?”
“My what?”
“You suspect they may be up to no good?”
“Yeah. We think they might be dealing steroids.”
“Have you actually seen any change hands?”
“No. If we had, we could act. We’d cancel their membership, and ban them for life. But we can’t get close enough to be sure. That’s where you come in.”
“You want me to go undercover?”
“Yeah. You look like you need to work out. No one would give you a second glance.”
Just what every woman wants to hear.
“The thing is, Jill. The business is still very new, and cashflow isn’t great right now.”
“Is this leading up to the part where you say you can’t pay me?”
“I thought maybe we could come to some kind of arrangement?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“If you do this, we could give you a free lifetime membership.”
“Lifetime? Hmmm, okay then. You’d better tell me everything you know about these people.”
***
I’d no sooner pulled onto my drive than Jen arrived home. She was married to Blake, a wizard; they lived across the road from us. Blake had made the brave, but potentially dangerous decision to reveal to his wife that he was a wizard. In some ways, I envied him. It would have been great to be totally open with Jack. But, for me at least, the risk was simply too great.
I was worried for Blake because Jen had been known to speak out of turn. I couldn’t help but feel it was only a matter of time before she said the wrong thing to the wrong person. If she did, Blake would be transported back to Candlefield.
“Hi, Jill.” She was on her way over.
“Long time no see. How are things?”
“I’m not having the best of days.” She frowned. “The stupid washing machine leaked all over the kitchen floor this morning.”
“Oh dear. Have you had it long?”
“No. That’s what makes it worse. It’s brand new; we only got it a week ago.”
“The same thing happened to my sister. Hers was an Elf.”
“Same as ours. It sounds like there must be a general fault. Anyway, they’re meant to be sending someone around tonight. He’s going to get both barrels.”
“How is Blake?”
“He’s in my bad books. He was the one who suggested we get the new washing machine. There was nothing wrong with the old one. It worked like magic.” She flinched. “Not like real magic, obviously. It wasn’t a magic washing machine. There’s no such thing as a magic washing machine. Or any other magic for that matter.”
Give Jen a spade, and she just keeps on digging that hole.
“I hope you get it sorted. Say ‘hi’ to Blake for me.”
“I will. And if you see him, you won’t mention the magic washing machine thing, will you?”
“No, Jen. I promise that the word ‘magic’ will not pass my lips.”
***
I was just about to o
pen the door when I heard a noise. There was someone already in the house! Then, I realised what the sound was. It was the vacuum cleaner. Of course! Jack had mentioned that our new cleaner would be coming over to do the initial clean today.
I wasn’t sure I dared go inside. I’d never be able to keep a straight face if she introduced herself. Why couldn’t Jack have found someone with a sensible name?
Oh well, I couldn’t stand there all night. I’d just have to do my best not to fall around laughing. Deep breath, Jill.
What on earth was going on? The noise from the vacuum cleaner seemed to be coming from upstairs, but there were also noises coming from the kitchen—it sounded like someone was mopping the floor. But what really bothered me was the sound of the TV, coming from the lounge.
When I pushed open the door, the sight that greeted me left me speechless.
But not for long.
“Who are you?” I asked the elderly witch who was lying on the sofa. She was eating chocolates, and there was a glass of wine on the coffee table.
“Hello.” She muted the TV. “You must be Jill.”
“Yes, I am, but who are you?”
“Agatha Crustie. I’m your new cleaner.”
I’d expected to laugh when she introduced herself, but this was no laughing matter.
“Why are you eating my chocolates and drinking my wine?”
“I couldn’t find the whiskey.”
“Why aren’t you cleaning the house?”
“I am. Can’t you hear the vacuum and the mop?”
“You’re using magic to clean my house?”
“Of course. You wouldn’t expect me to do it, would you? With my old bones?”
