by Sam Short
Millie sighed. “Indeed,” she said. “Men.”
“You’ve got a man problem, yourself?” said Jill.
“Sort of,” said Millie. “An unresolved argument. It will work itself out, though.”
“Don’t let it simmer, is my advice,” said Jill. “Because if you let it simmer and don’t turn the heat down, it will get hotter and hotter, until it’s boiling. And then it will be too late. The pan will boil dry.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Millie.
Jill smiled. “Please, sit down, sorry about the mess on the table top. When your colleague phoned me yesterday, I got to thinking about Mum again, and fetched the box I keep her letters in. It’s all love letters, from her Canadian fella, but it gives me a glimpse at a part of her that I never really knew.”
Lowering herself into a chair, Millie placed her file on the table, and glanced at the nearest letter. “Do you mind?” she said. “If I have a look?”
“Please feel free,” said Jill, adding milk to one of the mugs. “The police looked at them all those years ago, but they were of no help. The address on the letters is where the man used to live at the time my mother was writing to him, a town in Quebec but when Mum went missing he’d moved on. The Canadian police found his wife living there, but with no husband, and with no forwarding address. He’d already left her.”
“For your mother?” said Millie.
“Who knows?” said Jill, placing a mug in front of Millie. “His ex-wife said he’d moved out a month before Mum went missing. They never traced him. The assumption is that Mum went to Canada to join him. They’re probably living the good life in some remote peaceful corner of Canada. On the coast. That’s how I like to picture her, anyway. She loved the sea. I like to think that she’ll spend the rest of her days with a sea-view.”
“I’m sorry,” said Millie. “It must have been so hard for you.”
“It was,” said Jill. “It was very —” She leapt to her feet and hurried towards the open back door. “Harry!” she shouted. “Get that dirty thing out of the kitchen! Go on, take it back in the garden — shoo!” She sat down next to Millie. “Sorry about that,” she said. “He’s been digging in the vegetable patch all morning. He must have picked up on a scent, he keeps wandering in here with dirty feet. I’ve only just mopped the floor.”
“That’s why I have a cockatiel, and not a dog,” said Millie. “Although he doesn’t come without his own problems and habits.” She picked up a piece of paper from the table, and scanned the neatly written letter. “He seemed to love her,” she murmured, reading the affectionate outpourings.
“Oh yes,” said Jill. “The letters are lovely, aren’t they? They could be just words, though — he left his wife, remember. Who’s to say he never did the same to my mother?” She jumped to her feet. “Harry! What on earth is that? Get it outside immediately! It’s disgusting!”
Millie turned the letter over, and stared at the single sentence at the bottom of the page. The sentence preceding three kisses. Her blood ran cold. “Jill,” she said. “What does this mean? At the bottom of the letter?”
“Oh,” said Jill, pushing Harry through the door with gentle persuasion from her foot. “The French part you mean? He was from Quebec, as I’ve said, and French is the main language spoken in that part of Canada. I looked that phrase up in an old French dictionary — as far as I can tell, it means I will love you forever. He signed off like that on all the letters he sent to Mum. I think it’s lovely.”
Millie silently re-read the sentence at the bottom of the page. Je t'aimerai pour toujours. “Jill,” she said. “Did your mother have any jewellery with that phrase engraved on it?”
“Yes,” said Jill, wrestling something from the little dog’s mouth. Something long and white. Something which fell to the floor and bounced a few times before coming to rest at Jill’s slipper-clad feet. “She had a ring. He bought it for her while he was working over here, when they first met. A gold ring, with a heart on the band. She would never take it off.” She bent at the waist and peered at the saliva covered item which Harry had dropped. “What is that, Harry? It looks like a bone.”
Footsteps on the stairs drew Millie’s attention, and she stood up as the front door clicked open and then slammed shut. “Jill,” she said, rushing for the kitchen door. “Don’t touch that bone. And keep Harry away from the garden. Don’t let him dig anymore. Stay here and wait for one of my colleagues to arrive.”
“You’ve gone white, dear,” said Jill. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”
“I’m sorry,” said Millie, hurrying along the hallway and opening the front door as a car engine burst into life. “I think something terrible may have happened.”
“Where’s he going?” said Jill, joining Millie on the pavement, and watching as a blue car sped off down the road, turning left at the end. “He said he was going to lie down.”
“I think he heard us talking,” said Millie, staring at her car wheels. “And he didn’t like what we had to say. So much so that he’s slashed my tyres.”
“What do you mean?” said Jill. “What’s going on? Where is Chester going? Who slashed your tyres?”
Millie placed her phone to her ear, and cursed silently as she reached Sergeant Spencer’s answering service. Of course — he and Judith were at the zoo. She was on her own. She dialled the only other number she could think of. “I need you. Urgently. In Sandy-hill Terrace. And bring a spare helmet,” she said.
Chapter 21
Jill Harris watched on with shock scrawled across her face as George brought his motorbike to a screeching halt outside her house. “What’s happening?” she shouted, as the rumbling tones of the bike’s engine made normal conversation impossible.
Millie slid the open-faced helmet, which George had handed her, over her head, Jill’s anxious face begging her for answers — answers Millie didn’t have — yet. She took a long breath, and decided to share her honest suspicions with the woman. “Jill,” she yelled. “I think Chester may have done something to your mother. Is there a neighbour you can wait with? Somebody to give you support?”
As Millie climbed onto the bike, Jill gave a slow nod.
“I’m sorry, Jill. We have to go!” she yelled, as she nudged George in the small of his back. “Left at the end of the road. We’re looking for a blue hatchback.”
The engine screamed as the bike moved away, the rear tyre screeching on tarmac. “The car must be heading out of town,” shouted George. “There’s only one road. It shouldn’t be hard to catch it. Why are we trying to catch it? Who is it?”
Holding tightly to George’s leather jacket as he leaned the bike low to the left, Millie shouted over his shoulder. “I think he killed his mother-in-law. And buried her… somewhere.”
If Chester had killed her, and buried her body in his garden thirty years ago — why was it only now that Harry had discovered her remains — if the bone the dog had brought into the kitchen did belong to the missing woman, and why was her ring discovered in the sand dunes by Tom Temples, the man who was murdered in the same spot? If it even was her ring.
Millie shook such complicated thoughts from her head. One task at a time. The first one being to catch Chester Harris.
George opened the throttle as the road widened, and lines of houses became thick hedgerows. “So, does this mean we’re friends, or are you just using me for the ride?” he yelled, his voice competing with the whoosh of wind.
“Not now, George!” shouted Millie, shutting her eyes as the bike roared around a blind corner.
“That woman, Millie,” shouted George. “The nurse. She’s —”
“Not now!” yelled Millie. “I don’t care!”
George responded by giving the engine more fuel, the bike lurching forward as he dropped a gear and lowered his chest closer to the fuel tank, allowing a wall of wind to push hard into Millie’s face.
Bending with him, Millie watched the road ahead, a sudden reflection of sunlight on metal v
isible at the crest of the hill, where the road began to head inland. “There!” shouted Millie. “I saw a car!”
Expertly manoeuvring the bike, George opened the throttle wider, the hedges zipping past in a blur of green. “I see him,” he yelled, as the bike reached the top of the hill. “Now we have to stop him!”
“Ride alongside him,” said Millie. “Maybe when he sees us he’ll pull over!” Lurching backwards as the bike powered forward, her training shoes pressed firmly on the foot grips, she held on tightly to George as he neared the tail end of the hatchback, its driver glancing nervously in the rear-view mirror as the car swerved to the left.
“He’s not going to stop!” shouted George. “He’s seen us! He knows we’re here, but he’s speeding up!”
“Be careful!” yelled Millie, as George matched the speed of the car and drew alongside it, a distance of a few feet between the two fast-moving vehicles. She pointed at Chester Harris, whose panicked face peered at her. “Pull over, Chester!” she shouted, jabbing her finger in his direction. “Pull over!”
The car’s engine gave a loud roar, and the vehicle gained a small advantage over the motorbike, easily matched by George as he twisted the throttle grip. He turned his head to look at the driver. “Stop!” he ordered. “Stop the car!”
Millie saw what was about to happen a millisecond before it did. “Watch out!” she screamed. “He’s going to —”
Her words abruptly cut off by the heavy thud of the car’s side panelling striking the motorbike, and her hands losing their grip on George’s jacket as the violent collision launched her from the pillion seat, time seemed to slow for Millie as she twisted in the air, gaining height as she watched Chester beginning to lose control of his car, the front-end heading for the closely spaced trees which lined the side of the road.
“Millie!” she heard George shout, his voice distant as the front wheel of the motorbike swivelled too far to the right, the bike’s rear end travelling upwards as if the front brakes had been slammed on, ejecting the vampire from his seat.
Hearing the sickening thump of the car colliding with a tree, and watching the front end begin to crumple, Millie closed her eyes, awaiting her own collision. Awaiting the crumpling of her body. She wondered if it would be painful, or quick, and gritted her teeth as she felt herself losing height, plummeting at speed towards her fate.
The collision came quickly, and not as violently as Millie had expected. She waited for the pain, wondering if her adrenaline was acting as natural morphine, and held her breath, becoming aware that she was still moving. The clamping of strong hands, one on the back of her neck, and one on the curve at the top of her calf muscle, persuaded her to breathe again, her breath leaving her in a gasp of shock.
She opened her eyes, and looked up at George, his open-faced helmet framing his expression of rage, and his eyes an ebony black, in stark contrast to the long white fangs protruding from beneath his top lip.
George landed with a soft thud, and lowered Millie onto the grass verge, kneeling next to her, his eyes becoming hazel again, and his fangs retreating. He ripped his helmet from his head, and moved his face close to Millie’s. “Are you alright?” he said. “Millie? Please be alright!”
Blinking twice, Millie gave a gentle nod. “You saved me,” she said.
“Are you okay?” demanded George, his hands sliding gently along Millie’s legs, feeling for injuries.
“I’m fine,” said Millie. “You leapt through the air and saved me. That was some move.”
“Never mind that,” said George, the smell of his leather jacket and aftershave in Millie’s nostrils. “That nurse,” he said. “It’s not like that. I promise. It’s you I —”
Millie put a finger to his lips, his breath warm on her hand. “Just kiss me, George,” she said. “We don’t have time. We can talk later.”
Colour rising in his cheeks, George lowered his face to Millie’s, his hands on her shoulders and his knees against her thigh. As his lips brushed Millie’s, she closed her eyes and returned his kiss, wondering what the acrid smell was that was beginning to mask the spicy scent of the vampire’s aftershave.
Millie opened her eyes as a loud thumping bang shook the ground beneath her, and the crackling sound of fire reached her ears. “What the —” she said, pushing George away.
George leapt to his feet. “It’s the car,” he said, turning to face the billowing black smoke cloud which was rising from the opposite side of the road.
“We were kissing while a man was trapped in a burning car!” said Millie, allowing George to help her up.
“We were in shock!” said George, rushing towards the crashed car, slowing as he neared it, and shielding his face with both arms. “It’s hot!” he said, his eyes blackening and long fangs sliding into position.
A panicked shout came from the burning car, the flames enveloping the bonnet and beginning to climb the thick trunk of the tree which the vehicle had collided with. The windows blackened by smoke, it was impossible to see Chester, but his shouts of fear increased in intensity as Millie reached George’s side.
“Can a vampire walk through fire?” shouted Millie, as George approached the car, his arms still shielding his face.
“No!” he said, inching nearer to the inferno. “But it’s okay. I’ll take the pain. I’m not leaving him to die!”
“I’m not going to let him die, either,” said Millie, the heat of the flames pricking her cheeks. “But let me deal with the fire! We’ll need your strength when the flames are out. The car’s mangled, there’s no way the door will open!”
George nodded. “Be careful, Millie! If you can’t do it, step away. I’ll fight my way through the flames. I’ll heal quickly if I’m burnt. Don’t worry!”
“I can do it!” said Millie, lifting her hands as she took slow steps towards the car, the flames spreading to the doors, and the windscreen succumbing to the heat — a tortured creaking sound rising above the vicious crackling of hungry flames, as it began to crack.
“Help me!” came the fearful pleading of Chester Harris, the car rocking as he struggled.
Finding the ball of energy in her chest, Millie reached deep within herself, her arms becoming cold as her magic rushed towards her hands, bursting from her quivering fingertips in a bright flash of blue light, which arched through the space between her and the car, the flames hissing in protest as tendrils of magic wrestled with them, wrapping each tongue of hot orange in an icy cold death grip.
George leapt into action as Millie’s magic held the flames at bay, more bursting into life as others gave in to the cold energy which danced between them. Grasping the top edge of the driver’s door in his fingertips, George winced and gave a short cry of pain, ignoring the heat, and wrenching the door from its fittings, a loud groaning of bending metal joining Chester’s cries for help.
Tossing the crumpled door aside, George reached into the car and dragged Chester Harris from what had almost become his funeral pyre. He carried him a safe distance from the vehicle, and placed him on the ground, the groaning man’s hair singed, and his face and arms black with a thick layer of soot.
Chester Harris looked up at Millie, his eyes frightened. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I never meant to do it. Any of it. It was an accident.”
Grabbing her phone from her pocket, Millie dialled nine-nine-nine. “Try and stay calm, Chester,” she said. “You’re injured. An ambulance will be here soon. There’ll be plenty of time for talking, later.”
Chapter 22
Sergeant Spencer hurried along the hospital corridor, with Judith close behind him, both still dressed in their Bexington Zoo t-shirts. “Are you okay, Millie?” he said, his stomach straining at his t-shirt. “Judith and I have been so worried.”
“I’m fine,” said Millie. “I’m sorry I had to contact the zoo, but both of your phones were off.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Judith, gripping Millie in a fierce hug. “The man who came looking for us, fou
nd us in the gift shop. We were just about to leave.”
“Were you getting your t-shirts for next year?” smiled Millie.
Judith rolled her eyes and zipped up her hoodie. “It’s going to be so embarrassing next year,” she said, lowering her voice. “They have a new machine in the gift shop. You can add a photo from your phone to your t-shirt — they print them out while you wait. When we were told by the staff member that we had to come straight to the hospital, the lady in the shop promised she’d forward them on to the police station for us when they’d finished being printed. I was kind of hoping we would never see them.”
“What’s that?” said Sergeant Spencer. “What were you hoping for, Judith?”
“I was just telling Millie about the t-shirts,” said Judith. “I was telling her that I’m happy that they’re being forwarded on to us.”
Sergeant Spencer smiled. “Oh yes,” he said. “It was very kind of the lady to offer. I’d have been gutted if we’d missed out on them. They’re brilliant t-shirts!”
“Yes,” said Judith. “Brilliant.” She took a seat next to the coffee machine. “Did they say when we’d be allowed in to see him?” she asked.
“Soon,” said Millie. “They’ve begun treatment on his burns and they’re moving him to a private room. It shouldn’t be too long.”
“And you and George are both fine?” said Judith.
“We’re both okay,” said Millie, sitting next to her friend. “George was burned, but he healed within five minutes. It was amazing.” She smiled. “He was a great help. And now he’s gone to Chester and Jill’s house to stop Harry from disturbing what I think might be Jill’s mother’s remains. He’s had a look in the garden, and he’s found a large bag in the spot the dog was digging in.” She paused for a moment. “He saved my life, you know? He caught me in mid-air when I was thrown from the bike. He was like… Superman.”
