by Adele Abbott
I didn’t know, but it was well past time that I found some answers.
***
I magicked myself back to Washbridge. Jules was behind the desk.
“Hi, Jill.”
“Any messages?”
“Just one. A man wanted to know if we sell Routers.”
“Right.”
“Are you okay, Jill? You seem a little down.”
“I’m alright. I’ve just had a busy morning.”
“I have some good news.”
“I could use some.”
“Gilbert’s back to his old self. He came over to see me last night, and he was bright and chatty, just like he used to be.”
“That’s really great.”
“It’s not all good, though.”
“Oh?”
“Magical Skincare has closed down, so he’s out of a job.”
“I’m sure he’ll find another one soon.”
“That’s what I told him. That’s not all, though. His acne has come back, and it’s worse than ever.”
“Oh dear.”
“I don’t mind. I’d rather he had a few spots than act like a zombie.”
***
“Hi, Jill.” Winky greeted me as soon as I walked into my office. “You’re looking particularly radiant today.”
My suspicionometer jumped into the red again. What was with the compliments? Normally, whenever I stepped through the door, he either ignored me, or pestered me to feed him.
There was a brochure open on my desk. Had Jules left it there?
Purrfect Cruises? That didn’t sound like something Jules would have been looking at, but I had a sneaking suspicion I knew who it did belong to.
“Is this yours, Winky?”
“Oh?” He feigned surprise. “I didn’t realise I’d left it there.”
A likely story.
“What do you think?” He jumped onto the desk. “About that cruise.”
“The one on the page you just happened to leave the brochure open at?”
“Looks good, don’t you think?”
“I can’t get my head around the idea that there are cruises just for cats.”
“Why wouldn’t there be?”
“I suppose by now that I shouldn’t be surprised at anything. Here, you can have your brochure back.”
“Socks is going on that cruise.”
“So?”
Socks was Winky’s brother. He and I had had a few run-ins. Let’s just say, he wasn’t on my Christmas card list.
“I thought that maybe you’d like to pay for me to go with him?”
“That’s a joke, right?” I laughed. “Have you seen how much it costs?”
“Aren’t I worth it?”
“Let me think about that for a minute. Hmm? No.”
“You’re my human. You’re meant to spoil me. That’s what other humans do with their cats.”
“Spoiling a cat usually involves catnip or cream. It doesn’t involve buying passage on a cruise liner. Where do you think I’m going to find that kind of money? Jack and I can barely afford a week in St Annes. What about all the cash you’ve made from your many money-making ventures?”
“It’s all tied up in long term investments.”
“You’ll just have to untie it then because I’m not forking out for this.” I pushed the magazine across to him. “This is why you’ve been so nice to me lately, isn’t it? The cake, the flowers, and the biscuits? You’re so transparent.”
“And you’re ungrateful. Most people would feel blessed to have a feline companion like me. I’ve been thinking lately that maybe you were never meant to be my human. I’ve had a few flashbacks from before I was in the human reallocation centre.”
“Don’t you mean the cat rehoming centre?”
“That man who came in here the other day. What was his name? Carver. He said he’d lost a cat who looked like me. Maybe, he’s my human?”
***
Dale Thomas’s business partner, Robert Lane, hadn’t been keen to talk to me. It had taken many phone calls and much persistence on my part to convince him to spare me some of his time. I finally caught up with him at Washbridge North Airfield where he was tinkering around with an aeroplane, which had a white fuselage and a purple tail.
“I believe that Dale jumped with Skydiving Adventures because your aeroplane was being repaired? Is this the one?”
“It is, and I’ll always blame myself for his death.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The repair wasn’t so urgent that it couldn’t have waited a few more days. If we’d taken my plane that day, Dale might still be alive.”
“But he blacked out. Surely that could have happened anyway.”
“Perhaps, but I keep thinking that if I’d been there, maybe I would have been able to do something. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but I can’t help it.”
“How did Dale seem to you on the days just prior to his death?”
“No different from usual. He had his ‘off’ days, but then we all do, don’t we?”
“He didn’t mention anything in particular that was on his mind?”
“No. You’re talking as though he committed suicide. That isn’t what happened.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I knew Dale. He would never have killed himself.”
“I’ve heard it suggested that his wife might have been having an affair. Had he mentioned anything about that to you?”
“Lesley? No. That’s ridiculous. Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. Who told you Lesley was having an affair?”
“Dale’s secretary, Lucy Hannah, said that Dale had mentioned it to her.”
“Did she say who Lesley was supposedly seeing?”
“No, Lucy didn’t know.”
“Of course she didn’t know because it’s not true. Lucy Hannah had a thing for Dale, but he would never have cheated on Lesley. It strikes me that Hannah is a bitter woman.”
“You may be right. I’m sorry, but I have to ask these questions.”
“You’re wasting your time. Dale must have blacked out. Nothing else makes any sense.”
***
Although my first priority had to be investigating Dale Thomas’s death, I also had to get to the bottom of the problems at Elf Washing machines. If that wasn’t resolved quickly, there was a real danger that the retailers in the human world would stop stocking those products. That could be the kiss of death for Elf.
Their factory was one of the larger ones on the Candlefield Industrial Estate. Archie Bald, who had arranged to meet me there, introduced me to Bob Binns.
“Bob has only recently been promoted to factory manager,” Archie said. “I’ll leave you in his capable hands.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jill. What do you need from me?” Binns seemed eager to please.
“Maybe we could start with a quick tour of the factory?”
He obliged, and talked me through the different areas of the production line.
“I have to be honest,” I said. “I was surprised to find out that Elves make washing machines.”
“I suppose you thought we all made toys?” He grinned. “That’s a bit of a stereotype.”
“Sorry, I guess so. Do you have any idea what might be causing the current problem, Bob?”
“None. I wish I did. I feel responsible. Archie has shown a great deal of faith in me, and it feels like I’m letting him down.”
“Is there anything else you think I should see while I’m here?”
“Just the Quality Control department.”
Bob introduced me to Jimmy Underlake, the head of QC. I immediately sensed some kind of friction between the two men.
“You can leave Jill with me, Bob.”
“Okay. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
After Bob had left us, Jimmy walked me through the QC process. It was very detailed and exceedingly boring.
“So you see, Jill, it’s impossible for any machine to leave these premises with a fault. If there was a problem with a machine, we would catch it.”
“How do you explain what’s been happening recently?”
“I can’t. But don’t take my word for the rigorousness of our checks. You can test it for yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“When a machine has passed QC, it is sealed in this special packaging. When the machines land at the retailers, that packaging should be undamaged. If it has been tampered with in any way, the stores have instructions to contact us immediately.”
“Couldn’t someone simply remove the packaging, do the damage, and then repackage it?”
“Impossible. There’s no way to duplicate the special packaging materials we use. It would be obvious immediately if someone had done that.” He led me to a batch of machines which had passed QC, and were packaged, ready to be dispatched. “Pick any three.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pick any three machines you like. We’ll remove the packaging for you to check inside.”
I did as he asked—mainly to humour him.
“Take a look at the seals.”
They were all in perfect shape.
I left the factory no wiser than when I’d first arrived. Based on what Jimmy had shown me it was hard to see how or where the damage was being done to the washing machines. But, for the sake of Elf, I would have to somehow work it out.
***
When I got back to the office, Alan Carver was waiting for me.
“Alan? I wasn’t expecting you, was I?”
“I got a call half an hour ago, asking me to come in.”
“Oh?” I glanced at Jules who shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I think there’s been some kind of mix up.”
“Never mind. Look, ever since my last visit, I’ve been thinking about your cat, Winky. I can’t get over how much he looks like my Winky. You don’t think I could take another quick look at him, do you?”
“Err—I—err—suppose so. Come on through.”
As soon as we walked into my office, Winky began to wrap himself around Carver’s legs. His purring was set to maximum volume.
Suddenly, everything made sense. Winky must have used text-to-speech to call Carver and ask him to come into the office.
“Hello again, boy.” Carver stroked him. Winky was lapping up all the attention.
“I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, Alan,” I said.
“Don’t give it a second thought. It was worth it just to see this handsome boy.”
***
We’d just finished dinner. Jack had cooked, so I was doing the washing up.
Jill, have you seen this?” Jack held up a copy of The Bugle.
“What have I told you about that rag? There’s nothing in there that could possibly be of interest to me.”
“What if I was to say the word ‘zombies’?”
Had there been another zombie attack? I’d heard nothing from Z-Watch for some time. It must have been bad if it had made headlines in The Bugle.
“Give it here.” I snatched the paper from his hand.
“I thought you weren’t interested.” He grinned.
“I’m not.” I skip read the article, and gave a silent sigh of relief. “It’s about a movie.”
“What did you think it was? Even The Bugle isn’t going to write anything as far-fetched as a story about real zombies.”
“This coming from the man who wants to go to PAW meetings.”
“That’s different. There may well be ghosts or witches living among us, but not zombies.”
“I bow to your superior knowledge of the paranormal. Why would they choose Washbridge to shoot their movie? It seems an unlikely choice of location.”
“If you read the article, you’ll see it’s because Washbridge has the highest level of paranormal activity in the country—just like Greg said. They’re going to play off that angle when they start to promote the film.”
“I hate zombie movies.” I handed back the paper.
“I love them. Maybe they’ll need some extras.”
“You should audition. You wouldn’t need much makeup.”
“Cheek!” He hit me with the rolled-up newspaper. “If they do audition for extras, we should both go.”
“Forget it. I’m not being a zombie for anyone.”
Chapter 17
I was in my PJs in the kitchen, munching on toast, and enjoying a nice cup of tea. Outside, it was a beautiful morning—there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the birds were singing, and all was well with the world.
“Jill!” Jack shouted from upstairs. “Did you run off all the hot water?”
I walked to the bottom of the stairs, toast in hand.
“No.”
“Are you sure? The water is freezing cold.”
“How could I have? I haven’t had my shower yet.”
“There must be something wrong with the boiler. I’ll get dressed and take a look at it.”
I ran the hot tap in the kitchen; it was stone cold.
Great!
“It won’t come on.” Jack had spent the last ten minutes pressing buttons on the boiler.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know. It just won’t come on.”
“And here was I, thinking that you were a handyman. What am I supposed to do about my shower?”
“Same as I did. Have a cold one. While you’re doing that, I’ll see if I can find someone to come out to take a look at it.”
The water in the shower was absolutely freezing, and by the time I got out, I was blue with cold.
“Did you manage to find someone?” I asked when I got downstairs.
“Eventually, on my tenth call. The others were all booked up for weeks.”
“When can he come?”
“That’s just it. The only slot he had available was three o’ clock this afternoon, and that was only because someone had cancelled. I can’t get back here for then because I have a meeting. Can you do it?”
“It doesn’t look like I have much choice.”
“He goes under the name of Whistle Boilers. Make sure you don’t forget, otherwise we’re stuffed.”
“I’ll be here.” I couldn’t bear the thought of another day with only cold water.
We left the house together.
“Hi, you two.” Marco Rollo was walking back up his sister’s drive. “I’ve just been to get a newspaper. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Lovely,” Jack said. “Hey, we really enjoyed your talk the other night, didn’t we, Jill?”
“Yeah.” I tried, but failed, to sound enthusiastic.
“Thanks. I thought it went okay.”
“I’m thinking of going to more PAW meetings,” Jack said.
“You should.” Marco was obviously pleased to have made a convert. “What about you, Jill?”
“I don’t think so. Not really my thing.”
“I was fascinated by the meter that Greg brought along,” Jack said. “It’s a pity I missed the demonstration. We had to leave because Jill was choking.”
Pardon me for almost dying.
“Yeah, I saw you leave. The meter caused a bit of a stir. It actually detected a weak paranormal reading.”
“Really?” Jack was way too excited about this.
“Greg said he thought there was some kind of paranormal activity close to the church hall.”
“That’s fascinating.” Jack turned to me. “Isn’t it, Jill?”
“Fascinating.”
“Greg allowed me to bring the meter home with me,” Marco said. “I could bring it around to your place tonight, if you like. I can show you how it works.”
“That would be great.” Jack was almost beside himself with excitement. “We could check for paranormal activity in our house.”
“What about the boiler repair man?” I said.
“He’ll be long gone by then.
How’s seven o’ clock sound, Marco?”
“Sure. I’ll come over then.”
Oh bum! How was I going to get out of this?
***
After I’d parked the car in Washbridge, I took a walk down the high street to get coffee to-go from Coffee Triangle. En-route, I noticed a camera crew outside a shop four doors down from Ever. The shop had stood empty for some time, but now had a new sign: Top Of The World.
It was Norman’s new shop. He might not be a mastermind, but he’d wasted no time in pressing ahead with his new venture. As I got closer, I could see the man himself—he was giving an interview to Toppers TV, who were there to cover the launch.
Although Norman might be the last word when it came to bottle tops, he was an interviewer’s worst nightmare. It was obvious that the man with the microphone was struggling to get anything more than monosyllabic responses from Norman.
“Liliana! Liliana! Over here. Could we have a word?”
Only then, did I realise that the man with the microphone was shouting to me. It was the same man who I’d given an interview to when Toppers TV had been on this street before. Liliana Topps was the name I’d made up on the spur of the moment.
“Liliana? It is you, isn’t it? Liliana Topps?” The man thrust the microphone under my nose.
“Hi.” I engaged my fluffy Liliana voice.
“You must be excited today?”
“Beside myself. I hardly slept last night.”
“Did you ever dream that Norman would experience such success?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t he? Norman is the king of the toppers.”
“He is indeed. And what will you be buying today, Liliana?”
“I don’t know. I can hardly wait to see what opening offers there might be.”
“Well, you don’t have long to wait because the shop will be opening in, ten, nine, eight…”
The camera was now pointing at Norman who was poised to cut the ribbon. That was my opportunity to get away while everyone was watching Mastermind. A little further up the road, on the opposite side, there was some activity around Betty’s shop. She was on the pavement, supervising the three men who were putting her old sign back up. Betty would no doubt be delighted that her shop would once again be known as ‘She Sells’.
