by Adele Abbott
As soon as I signed into the dating website, a small red flag began to blink in the top right-hand corner of the screen. I had three messages.
The first was a generic welcome message from the site’s admin. The other two were from members who had responded to my profile. Daze had given me the name of the Rogue she was trying to ensnare, and sure enough he was one of the two respondents. She had obviously done her homework in creating a profile which would attract his attention.
I gave Daze a call.
“Jill? Hold on a minute, would you?”
“I can call back later—”
She’d obviously moved the phone away from her ear. I could hear her voice and another—a man’s—on the other end of the line.
“You can’t give me a ticket!”
“You’re illegally parked, sir.”
“Technically speaking, maybe. But I always nip in here for a coffee. I’ve only been gone a minute.”
“One minute too long.”
“Can’t we come to some arrangement?”
“Are you trying to bribe me, sir?”
“No. Not at all. I’m just saying—”
“There you go sir, have a nice day.” “Jill? Sorry about that.”
“Sounds like you’re beginning to enjoy the new job.”
“It has its moments.”
“I’ve had a reply from Damon Black.”
“Great. I thought he’d bite.” She chuckled at her own joke. “Have you replied to him yet?”
“No. I was waiting until I’d checked in with you. When do you want to do this?”
“The sooner that scum-bag is behind bars in Candlefield, the better.”
I’d no sooner posted my reply to Damon Black, than my phone rang. It was Jack Maxwell.
“Hi, Jack. Do you need someone to whup you at bowling again?”
“Funny, very funny. Look, I wouldn’t normally do this, but I know your sister was one of the people affected by the holiday fund theft.”
“What’s happened?”
“Norman Reeves’ car has been found.”
“What about him?”
“No. Still no sign.”
“And the money?”
“Just the car, so far.”
“Where was it?”
“Parked on the ground floor of the long-stay car park next to the train station. Looks like our friend, Norman might have done a runner.”
“I’m not buying that.”
“Why? What do you know that I don’t?”
“Nothing really, but I’ve spoken to some of his work colleagues. According to them, he’s as honest as the day is long.”
“They all are—until they’re not.”
I knew Maxwell was right. People could change. How well did anyone really know the people they worked with? “Okay. Well thanks for letting me know.”
“Don’t forget. This arrangement has to work both ways—if you know anything—you tell me. Understood?”
“Absolutely. Could I take a look at the car?”
“There’s nothing much to see, but sure knock yourself out. I’ll let the officer down there know you’re coming.”
“Don’t forget about Bella!” Winky called after me, as I left the office.
“Don’t worry, I’m on it.”
This new working relationship with Maxwell was kind of unnerving. When we’d hated each other’s guts, I’d known precisely where I stood. Now, I didn’t know how to play it. Maybe I should have reported the Daleside affair, but how would I have explained being on the scene wearing ‘old lady’ clothes? From now on, I’d do my best to play ball. Maybe.
It wasn’t difficult to spot Reeves’ car. It was cordoned off by bright yellow tape with the words ‘Police - do not cross’ printed on it. The solitary policeman standing guard must have drawn the short straw. He eyed me suspiciously.
“Jill Gooder.” I flashed him my sweetest smile.
He remained stony faced. I had a way with men.
“Detective Maxwell said it would be okay for me to take a look at the car.”
He still said nothing—obviously the strong, silent type.
“Hello?”
“Go ahead.”
I was getting a certain vibe. Something told me he’d read the Bugle article, and wasn’t a fan.
“Thanks.” I ducked under the tape. Norman Reeves was obviously the kind of guy who took good care of his car. It was ten years old, but looked as though it had just come out of the showroom. I checked the door pockets and the glove compartment—nothing. I pushed back the seats to check if there was anything underneath—nothing. After thirty minutes, I’d seen all there was to see, which was precisely nothing.
“Anything on CCTV?” I asked Mr Happy.
“Nothing. Camera’s out.” He gestured towards the camera mounted on the wall, above the emergency exit.
I took a closer look. Sure enough, it looked as though someone had taken a hammer to it.
It took me a few minutes to locate the security office. The man had his feet up on the desk, and was playing a game on his phone.
“Hi.” I stuck my head around the door.
He grunted.
“I’m working with the police—with Detective Maxwell.”
He grunted again, still more interested in the game.
“What happened to the camera on the ground floor? The one near the entrance.”
He shrugged. “They’re always getting smashed up.”
“When did it happen?”
“Last week some time.”
Mrs V wasn’t happy.
“I’m not happy.” She sighed.
See, what did I tell you?
“What’s the matter?” I took a sneaky glance at her legs—just in case.
“I don’t know. It’s never happened to me before.”
I waited for more.
“I’ve been doing this for the best part of sixty years.”
And waited.
“Why should it start now?”
Any time now.
“I keep dropping stitches.”
There we go—worth the wait, no?
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I had the same problem.”
She fixed me with her gaze.
“What?”
“You aren’t seriously trying to draw a comparison between me, a regional competition winner, and you? Are you?”
“No. Of course not. I only meant it can happen to anyone.”
“Not to me. Annabel Versailles did not become a regional champion by dropping stitches.”
“I suppose not.”
“Something is amiss.”
“How do you mean?”
“Sabotage.” She looked furtively around the room. I followed her gaze.
“Sabotage?”
“There are a lot of people who would like to see me lose my crown. They must have interfered with my needles.”
“How would they do that?”
“I don’t know, but nowadays everything is digital isn’t it? Anything is possible.”
I could feel a migraine coming on.
“Maybe we should get the office swept,” she said.
“The cleaner comes in every other night.”
“Not that kind of swept. Swept for devices.”
“What kind of devices?”
“Knitting needle jammers or blockers or whatever it is that they’re using.”
Sure. I’ll give them a call. What’s the number again? Oh yes, Crazytown911. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you!” Winky began to rub up against my leg. “You’re the best!”
Now, I was scared. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Thank you for finding Bella.”
“Bella?” I’d forgotten all about the missing feline supermodel.
“She’s back. I thought I’d lost her.”
“Did she say anything? With her flags, I mean?”
“She must have lost them.”
“So you haven�
�t actually been able to exchange messages, then?”
“No. Just loving glances.”
In that case, I totally found her. “It was nothing. Pleased I could help.”
“I owe you. If there’s anything you need.”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about digital knitting needle jammers, do you?”
To escape the madness I took a walk down the high street. The coffee was more expensive than in my office, but there was less of the crazy. I sat at a window seat, and did a quick mental review of the cases I was working on. I’d recovered my mother’s ring, so that was one down. I hadn’t made much headway with the missing holiday funds. As for the one paying case on my books, I was still waiting to hear back from Seamus-the-wheel. I was due to give Colonel Briggs an update, and we’d arranged to meet at the dog show in a few days time. He thought it might be helpful for me to talk to some of the people who had known Mrs Vicars from the Dog Show circuit.
The coffee shop was on the opposite side of the road to Ever a Wool Moment. From my seat, I could see a steady stream of customers going into the shop. Grandma might be many things—most of them unprintable—but she knew the yarn market.
That’s when it struck me. Grandma wasn’t one to give in easily, but she definitely was one to hold a grudge. She must have hated having to back down over Mrs V’s toad legs. How better to take her revenge than to put some kind of curse on Mrs V’s knitting? No wonder she was losing stitches, and it had nothing to do with digital knitting needle jammers.
Time for another showdown.
As I waited for the lights to change, I spotted a familiar face coming towards me. Natasha Cutts’ face looked like thunder, and she became quite animated, as she screamed into the phone.
“Natasha?”
It took her a moment to register who I was. “Oh, hi.” She pressed the ‘end call’ button.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“That’s okay. It was just—err—my mother.”
“Are you okay? You seemed kind of upset.”
She smiled nervously. “I’m fine. You know what mothers are like.”
I nodded. She should try having a ghost-witch for a mother.
“I’d better get going,” she said, and was gone.
“Don’t you have any work to do?” Grandma said when I walked into her shop.
“Reverse the spell,” I said.
“I already did. Her legs are perfectly normal now.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What I said before still stands. I’ll never go to Candlefield again, and I’ll—”
“Renounce your witchmanship, blah, blah, blah.”
“I mean it, Mrs V is off limits. Reverse the spell which is making her drop stiches.”
“You’re no fun at all, are you?” Grandma sighed. “Okay, I’ve reversed it.”
“No more, okay?”
“Okay, I get the message. Mrs V is off limits. Happy now?”
For now maybe, but something told me I was going to be made to suffer for this later.
Chapter 13
“Mum?” It still felt kind of weird doing this. “Mum?”
“Yes, dear?” My mother’s ghost appeared behind me. “Is everything okay?” She was standing/hovering just in front of the French doors.
“Everything’s fine. How are the wedding preparations going?”
“Getting there. How’s your speech coming along?”
Speech? What speech? “Err—nicely.”
“Is there something you need? I was in the middle of making breakfast for Alberto. He loves a good fry up.”
“I have something for you.” I took the ring out of my pocket, and held it out to her. Her hand began to tremble.
“Mum? Are you okay?”
She put a hand to her mouth; tears were welling in her eyes.
“Mum?”
“I’m okay,” she managed. “Just give me a moment.” She reached out and took the ring. “How? How did you know?”
“Alberto told me. Don’t be mad at him.”
The initial shock over, she moved over to the sofa. “Come here.” She patted the seat beside her. “I’m not mad at him. How could I be?”
“You should have told me about the ring,” I said.
“I didn’t want to bother you. I knew you’d feel obliged to do something about it, and you already had enough on your plate.”
“It’s beautiful.” I touched the ring as it lay on her open palm.
“It’ll be yours one day.”
I smiled, unsure exactly how that would work, but for once in my life, too diplomatic to ask.
“My wedding day will be complete now,” she said. “I have everything I need. The man that I love, my grandmother’s ring, and my beautiful daughter.”
Both of us were in tears now.
“You’d better get back to Alberto’s fry up,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“Thank you again.” She was still staring at the ring when she disappeared.
Speech? No one had said anything to me about a speech. What was I meant to say exactly? I’d only known my mother for a matter of weeks, and then only as a ghost. Should the speech be serious? Funny? I knew nothing of the conventions of sup or ghost marriages, and I highly doubted I’d find a book on it in the local library. I was going to need help. Aunt Lucy’s help.
I called Kathy to let her know that Norman Reeves’ car had been found.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“The police think he abandoned it there, and left on a train.”
“What do you think?”
“The evidence certainly points that way.”
“That’s not what I asked, Jill. What do you think?”
“The more I learn about him, the less likely it seems that he’d steal the cash. If his co-workers are to be believed, he’s a shy, honest man who would be horrified at having an overdue library book. The problem is he isn’t here to defend himself. Maybe he did do it. Stranger things have happened.”
“So is that it? Do we kiss goodbye to the money?”
“I still have a few leads to follow up, but I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“What about Candlefield? Have you managed to sort anything out yet?”
“I’ll be seeing Aunt Lucy later today. I’ll keep you posted.”
As I made my way out of the flat, I heard what sounded like someone crying.
“Hello?” I said.
The young woman stepped out from the alcove where the mail-boxes were located. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her make-up had run, so it took a few seconds for me to realise it was DeeDee aka Dee.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yes.” She sobbed. “I’m being silly.”
“What’s happened?”
She broke down in tears again. I hated it when people cried; I was never sure what to do. “There, there.” I put a hand on her shoulder. I’d seen Kathy do that with Lizzie.
I waited until she’d cried herself out. “Okay now?”
She nodded. “He’s a pig.”
“Mr Ivers?”
“Ivy, yeah. He’s a pig.”
“What happened?”
“He dumped me.”
“He dumped you?”
She sobbed again. “Yeah.”
“Did he say why?”
“He’s found someone else.”
That would make number three, in the space of a week.
“How did you meet Mr—Ivy?”
“At the Regent.”
“The hotel near the station?”
She nodded. “They have a speed dating night there once a week.”
“You met Mr Ivers at a speed dating night?”
“Yeah. We hit it off straight away.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of thing did he talk about? The movies?”
“Movies? No. I don’t actuall
y remember what we talked about. He was just so—” She hesitated. “Fascinating and funny. I’d never met anyone like him. And now, he’s dumped me.”
She broke down in tears again.
It was another ten minutes before she’d regained composure enough to go on her way. What was I missing? The man was a certified bore, and was no looker. How had he landed himself not one, not two, but three dates? Why was a beautiful young woman like Dee in floods of tears because he’d dumped her? It made zero sense. My ‘something’s fishy’ meter was sounding. I’d already signed up for an online dating site; why not give speed dating a try too?
I gave Aunt Lucy a call to ask if I could go over to see her later that day. I wanted to pick her brains about the wedding speech I was supposed to deliver, and to see if she had any bright ideas on how I should handle the ‘Kathy/Candlefield’ situation.
Mrs V looked much happier; her knitting needles were moving at warp speed.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Lovely.”
“No more dropped stitches?”
“Not a single one. How did you manage to sort it out?”
“I had them install an anti-jamming device. You shouldn’t have any more problems.”
“Thank you, dear. I knew I could rely on you.”
What? What was I supposed to tell her?
“This came for you.” She handed me an envelope.
Seamus-the-wheel had prepared a short report: Hector Vicars had a five year ban for drink driving, effectively ending what had been a promising amateur career in rally driving. So much for ‘retiring at the top’. He didn’t currently have a car registered in his name.
Hilary Vicars had a dark blue Saab registered in her name. It had never been reported to the police as stolen, but Seamus had managed to track it to a breaker’s yard. He’d located it before the vehicle had been crushed, and he’d paid the yard owner to hold onto it until Seamus gave him the nod.
In the spirit of our new style co-operation, I updated Maxwell on my findings in the Vicars case. I told him about Hilary’s car, and what Mrs Draycott had told me about Edna Vicars’ final words. He said he’d get someone to check out the car, but he was sceptical about what Mrs Draycott had supposedly heard.
