by Adele Abbott
“Trampolining is a serious sport.”
“Of course it isn’t. You’ll be telling me next that jumping up and down on a bouncy castle is a sport too.”
“I’d like to see the Washbridge Flyers.”
“Okay.” Yawn. Hopefully, he’d have forgotten about it by three o’ clock, so we could do something more exciting. Like watching paint dry.
“Jill!” a female voice called.
It took me a moment to place her, but then I realised it was Brenda from The Coven, the superstar singing combo who had once tried to recruit me to be the ‘The’.
What do you mean you’re confused? You should have read all of the books.
“Hi, Brenda. Long time, no see. This is Jack.”
“I’m a big fan of The Coven.” He fawned. The man was such a creep.
“Actually, I’m no longer with The Coven.”
“Really?” I said. “How come? I thought they’d been killing it?”
“They have, and I’m sure they’ll continue to without me. I started off as a solo singer, and that’s my real passion, so I decided to go on my own again. It’s a bit scary though.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great.” Jack gushed.
“Thanks. I hope so. My first show is at Washbridge Arena in a couple of weeks.” She took a flyer out of her handbag, and handed it to me.
“I don’t get it. I thought you said you were going solo?”
“I am.”
“But this says ‘We’ in concert?”
“That’s right. Do you remember The Coven’s closing number?”
“Who could forget it?”
“In that finale, I always used to be the ‘We’ in the ‘We Are The Coven’ routine. No one knows me as Brenda. Everyone knows me as ‘We’. Do you see?”
“Yes.” Clear as mud.
“I hope you and Jack will come and see me.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Jack was still gushing.
“Okay. Well, I’d better get off,” Brenda said. “I need to buy some new outfits for the show. Nice to see you again, Jill. Nice to meet you, Jack.”
“We should definitely go,” Jack said, after she’d left.
“To see ‘We’? I don’t think so. You should give Kathy a call. Her music taste is on a par with yours.”
Suddenly, there was an ear-piercing scream, which caused everyone to stop dead in their tracks. The whole mall came to a halt and fell silent, as everyone looked at the man standing by the rails on the floor above. A few feet away from him, a hysterical woman was screaming.
“I’ll drop her!” The man shouted.
‘Her’ was the baby girl he was holding out over the rails.
“Please, Mike. Put her down!” The woman was weeping.
“If I can’t be with you, what’s the point?”
A number of security men had appeared, but none of them dared make a move towards the man for fear that he would drop the child.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” one of the security men shouted.
“Shut your mouth. This has nothing to do with you. Come any closer, and I’ll drop her.”
I glanced at the trampoline. It was a few feet short of being directly under the man. If he carried out his threat, and dropped the child, she would hit the tiled floor.
“I said stay back!” the man shouted. He’d seen one of the security men move a few feet closer.
The screams were deafening. Whether deliberately or by accident, the man had let the baby fall. I had only a split second to act. I cast the ‘move’ spell, and pushed the trampoline a couple of feet to the right.
It was enough. The baby hit the trampoline, and bounced back into the air. A woman, one of the Washbridge Flyers, leapt onto the trampoline and grabbed the baby. You could have heard a pin drop as everyone waited.
“She’s okay!” The woman declared to loud cheers. The baby’s mother was already rushing down the steps. The baby’s father had been tackled to the ground by a number of security guards.
“Thank goodness she’s alright.” Jack squeezed my hand. “I thought she was dead for sure. I didn’t think the trampoline was in the right place to catch her.”
Fortunately, everyone had been so busy watching the baby that they hadn’t noticed the trampoline slide across the floor.
It was at times like this that I gave thanks that I had magical powers.
“Can we go now?” My feet were killing me. We’d been at the mall for almost three hours.
“Okay, but we’ll definitely have to come back again when we have more time.”
More time? Just how long did he want to spend there?
“I had no idea that there’d be a branch of ‘Bowled Over’ here,” Jack said.
“Neither did I.” Or I wouldn’t have come.
Jack had been beside himself with excitement when he’d realised that there was a ten-pin bowling store in the mall. I hadn’t spotted it on my first visit, otherwise I would have made sure we’d given it a wide berth.
“Do you think I picked the right shirt?” he asked.
“It took you almost two hours to decide, so I would hope so.”
“It took me ten minutes, max.”
“It felt like two hours.”
“You don’t think the green one might have been better? I could always go back and swap it?”
“No. The blue one is fine.”
“I bought a red one.”
“That’s what I meant. The red one suits you.”
“I might treat myself to a new ball, the next time I come.”
“If you decide to, do me a favour, would you?”
“What?”
“Take Trevor or Luther with you. If I have to come, I’ll be comatose by the time you’ve picked one.”
“I will. At least that way I won’t have to listen to you complaining all the time. Or were you ‘commenting’ again? Anyway, where’s this shark you’ve been going on about?”
***
Mrs Rollo came out to meet us when we pulled onto the drive.
“Jack, Jill, I’ve made a cake to celebrate Marco’s visit. I have a couple of slices for the two of you.”
“Thanks ever so much, Mrs Rollo.” Jack took them from her.
The man was an accomplished actor. He actually sounded pleased to receive the cake, which would no doubt go in our bin as soon as we got inside the house.
“It’s such a pity that Barry had to go back.” Mrs Rollo looked quite sad.
“I agree,” I said. “But Jack just couldn’t get along with him.”
Mrs Rollo glared at Jack.
“That’s not entirely true, is it, Jill?” Jack sounded miffed. “We both agreed that he’d be better off in a bigger house where there’d be someone with him all day.”
“I know, but I still miss him.” I sighed.
Jack shot me a look.
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” Mrs Rollo said. “I managed to get a couple of tickets for you for the talk that Marco is giving at Paranormal Activity Watch.” She produced them from her pocket.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Rollo,” I said. “It’s not really our—”
“We’d love to go.” Jack took them from her. “It sounds really interesting, doesn’t it, Jill?”
“Does it? Yeah, I guess.”
“Okay, well I’d better get back inside. I have some cupcakes in the oven. I’ll make sure to save you some.”
Oh goody.
“What were you thinking, taking those tickets?” I said, once we were back in the house.
“It could be interesting.” He dropped the slices of cake into the bin. “And what’s with blaming me for sending Barry back?”
“It was your idea to get shot of him.”
“I miss the big lump.”
“You liar.”
“Anyhow, this talk could be interesting. Don’t you find the whole idea of paranormal beings fascinating?”
“Not really. It’s all just fairy tales.”
“How ca
n you possibly know that? They could be living among us right now, and we’d never know. Maybe I’m actually a wizard.”
“I know for sure that’s not true.”
“How?”
“Wizards have a much better taste in shirts.”
Chapter 10
I left the house early the next morning because I wanted to take a closer look at Magical Skincare to find out what was happening with Gilbert. This time though, I needed to get a look inside the building.
I hid across the road from the unit, and when I spotted Gilbert arriving, I cast the ‘invisible’ spell. I followed him to the door, and slipped in unseen behind him. I’d expected to find a sales office and some kind of production line. In fact, all of the rooms except the largest one were empty.
In the centre of that room was a large cauldron. Standing around it, were three witches, dressed in formal robes just like the one I’d worn at the Levels Competition. The tallest of the three had a wart on her nose that was even bigger than Grandma’s. The witch standing next to her had the most enormous feet I’d ever seen. The last of the three was tiny and only came up to the waist of the other two.
Gilbert was standing with the young man and woman who’d been working with him at the mall. Once again, all three of them had terrible acne.
“Time for your dip,” The Wart cackled.
“Caps on!” Giant Feet yelled.
Gilbert and his two companions picked up what looked like swimming caps, and pulled them onto their heads to cover their hair.
“Harnesses on!” Tiny Witch shouted.
The three young people fastened themselves into harnesses, and then clipped a cord to some kind of conveyor belt which was running above their heads.
“Dip them!” The Wart ordered.
Giant Feet threw the switch, and immediately Gilbert and his co-workers were hoisted into the air and then flipped upside down. The conveyor belt then began to move slowly towards the centre of the room. Gilbert was the first in line. When he was immediately above the cauldron, he was lowered so that his head was fully submerged in the dark green, gooey liquid. After no more than a few seconds, he was hoisted back up. The same thing happened to the other two.
The three of them were lowered to the ground and released from their harnesses. After removing the ‘swimming caps’, they wiped the remaining goo from their faces, which were now blemish free.
“All done, Madam Frumaker,” Giant Feet addressed The Wart.
“Excellent,” The Wart said. “Off you go then.”
The three young people made their way out of the building. I followed them.
What had I just witnessed? When Gilbert and his two colleagues had arrived, they’d had terrible acne, but after being dipped into the gooey substance, they had perfect skin. Did they do that every day? It certainly looked that way.
This had confirmed my suspicions that Magical Skincare was a front for some kind of magic potion, but why go to all the trouble of dipping the young people in the cauldron? Why not just apply the ointment they were trying to sell at the mall? Before I took this any further I needed some advice, and much as it pained me to admit it, the best person to give me that advice would be Grandma.
***
Dale Thomas’s son, Shane, had agreed to see me. He was living in a flat-share in a run-down block of flats in the seedier part of Washbridge.
“What d’ya want?” A young woman, with a pierced nose, answered the door. She blew and then burst a gum bubble. “Are you from the social?”
“No. My name is Jill Gooder. Shane Thomas is expecting me.”
“Shane? You sure? No one ever visits Shane.”
“I’m sure. Would you tell him I’m here?”
“You’d better come in. Got any ciggies?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Shane!” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Some woman here to see you.”
“Who?” A young man wearing torn jeans and no shirt, appeared in a doorway.
“Jill Gooder. I rang yesterday.”
“Oh yeah. You’d better come through.”
I followed him into what I assumed was a bedroom, although it was difficult to be sure. Somewhere under all that rubbish, a bed may have been lurking. Shane put on a t-shirt that looked like it hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine for several weeks.
“Like I said on the phone.” He lit a cigarette. “I don’t understand what it is you’re investigating. Dad never pulled the cord. That’s what I heard.”
“That’s right.”
“Must have been an accident then. Blacked out or something.”
“Probably.”
“It wasn’t suicide, if that’s what you’re thinking. Dad would never have topped himself.”
“Do you skydive?”
He laughed. “Me? Not likely. Dad tried to get me to go with him when I was younger, but I didn’t want to know.”
“I heard you and your father didn’t have a particularly good relationship?”
“Who said that? I bet it was Lesley?”
“Did you?”
“Not particularly. We used to be okay before he married that witch.”
“I take it you don’t get along with your stepmother?”
“That would be an understatement. She never liked me from the get-go, and the feeling is mutual. She never loved my dad.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It was obvious to anyone.” He snorted. “Except Dad. He was besotted.”
“I understand you went to your father with a business idea.”
“I did. A good one it was too, but he just pooh-poohed it.”
“What was it?”
“An online marketplace for bottle tops. And before you laugh, there’s big money to be made in bottle tops.”
“I believe you.”
“Anyway, he turned me down flat.”
“That must have made you angry?”
“Course it did, but it doesn’t mean I wanted to kill him if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Not sure.” He shrugged. “A couple of months ago, I guess.”
“Are you going to be long, Shane?” Bubble-gum girl stuck her head around the door. “We’re meant to be going to the launderette.”
“We’re done here, aren’t we?”
“We are. Thanks for your time.”
Shane Thomas may not have had a good relationship with his father, but I wasn’t sure the frustrated bottle top entrepreneur was murderer material. I’d found his remarks about his stepmother interesting though. If it was true that she had never loved Dale Thomas, that could change everything because she stood to benefit from his death, and was one of only two other people in the aeroplane.
I made a call to Gerry Southland.
“Gerry, It’s Jill Gooder. I came to see you the other day.”
“I remember.”
“Is there any possibility that Dale Thomas could have been knocked unconscious, and pushed out of the plane?”
“Is that a joke?” He laughed. “Of course that’s not possible. I have a clear view of the jumpers before they leave the plane. They were both fully conscious when they jumped. No one pushed anyone out.”
“Okay, Gerry. Sorry to have troubled you.”
That seemed to rule out foul play. I was back to just two possible explanations: a blackout or suicide. It was time to call Alan Carver.
“Alan, it’s Jill Gooder.”
“Have you got something for me?”
“Nothing. That’s just it. I don’t think there’s anything to find. It looks like an accident or, at worst, suicide.”
“I still don’t buy it.”
“These things do happen.”
“I know, but something just doesn’t feel right about this. Is there anyone else you still have to talk to?”
“Possibly, but I didn’t want to run up your bill any further on a wild goose chase.”
“
Let me worry about the money. I’d like you to see this through to the bitter end.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Positive.”
It was just as well that Luther hadn’t overheard that conversation. He would have said I was crazy trying to talk someone into dropping a case, but I hated working on something when I knew that there was nothing to find. But, it was Carver’s money, so his call.
***
On my way back to the office, I called in at a print shop. The large sign outside read ‘F For Print’.
“Hi, how can I help you?” The man behind the counter had a big red ink smudge on his nose.
“Hi. You’ve got a—err—on your nose.”
“Oh?” He wiped at it, but it made no difference.
“It’s still there.”
He tried again.
That’s when I realised—it wasn’t ink; he just had a very red nose. If Santa ever needed help again, he’d know who to call.
“That’s it—all gone. I noticed your sign is damaged.”
“Oh?”
“Part of the ‘P’ must have fallen off. It says ‘F for Print’ instead of ‘P for Print’.”
“It’s not damaged. It’s supposed to be an ‘F’. The ‘F’ stands for Fred. That’s me, Fred Hinkman, at your service.”
“I see.”
“What can I do for you?”
I passed the photograph to Fred, and explained exactly what I was after.
“No problem. I’ll give you a call when they’re ready.”
I was almost back at the office when my phone rang. It was Brent from I-Sweat.
“Jill, you said I should give you a call the next time the suspicious guys were in the gym.”
“Are they there now?”
“Yeah. Can you get around here?”
“I’m almost back at the office. I should be with you in a couple of minutes.”
“Hi, Jill.” Jules was behind the desk.
“Any messages?”
“No. Can I have a word about Gilbert?”
“Not just now, Jules, I have to go straight back out.”
I dashed into my office, and picked up my sports bag.
