by Sam Short
“Why did you run?” said Millie. “When we came to your shed today?”
“Because we’d broken the law,” said Eric. “We’d been nighthawking.”
“And I’d have lost my job if the garage had found out what I’d done to a customer while his car was in our care,” said Andy. “And what I did was stealing — I took the good batteries out of his detector and changed them for old ones. That’s stealing! I’ve never broken the law in my life. That’s why I ran!”
“I ran because Eric told us to,” said Jack. “It was exciting, until I tripped and hurt myself.”
“Would you jump off a cliff if Eric told you to, Jack?” said Pamela.
Jack shrugged. “I dunno,” he muttered. “Maybe. How high is the cliff?”
“Okay. Let’s get back on track,” said Millie, wondering if the hospital room she’d wandered into was in a different dimension — a dimension populated by village idiots. “Did you see anybody else in the sand dunes before you left Tom behind? Or hear anything unusual?”
“No,” said Eric. “Nothing.”
“Were any of you shining a torch around?” asked Judith. “Torchlight was seen in the dunes just before Tom was killed. Was that one of you?”
“No chance,” said Eric. “None of us brought a torch, neither us three or Tom. I brought a little headlamp along, but that uses red light which can’t be seen from a distance. I hardly used it anyway — the moon gave us enough light to find the coins in the holes we’d dug. We wouldn’t have been stupid enough to shine a torch around — we shouldn’t have been there. We were nighthawking. We’d have been asking for trouble. That’s what we meant when you heard us saying that Jack couldn’t report us — he’d been nighthawking, too. He’d have dropped himself in trouble along with us.”
Pamela cast a stern glance at each of the men. “You’ve been very silly,” she said. “The three of you!” She bit into a biscuit and smiled at Millie. “Are they in trouble? Will they get criminal records? Or go to prison? I hope not, because I’m not sure I could wait for Jack if he had to do time. I’m not sure I could be married to an old lag.”
“I doubt it,” said Millie. “They’ve been foolish, but there are still bigger fish to fry.”
“You mean finding the person who did kill Tom?” said Jack.
Or demon, thought Millie. “Yes,” she said. “I mean finding the person who killed Tom.”
Chapter 13
Placing the turkey in an oven tray, and staring at the pile of unpeeled potatoes, Millie glanced at the wall clock. “I haven’t got time,” she said. “They’ll be here soon. I meant to prepare it earlier, but I got side-tracked by Mister Anon and the man from DEFRA, and then all that nonsense in the hospital.”
“You know you can do it, Millie,” said Reuben, perched on the top-rail of a kitchen chair. “You could have it prepared in minutes — if you’d just give in to temptation.”
Placing a whole head of cauliflower on a chopping board, Millie shook her head. “No. That’s cheating. I promised George and Judith a home cooked meal.”
Sergeant Spencer looked up from his notebook, and placed his empty mug on the table. “Don’t worry about what Judith thinks,” he said. “She uses magic in the kitchen all the time. She thinks I don’t know, but I’ve seen her.”
Millie rubbed butter into the turkey, the warm glow of magic rising in her chest as she considered utilising her powers for such a trivial task. She looked at Sergeant Spencer. “You won’t tell them I cheated?” she said.
“You know me better than that, Millie,” he said. “I hope so, anyway. Of course I won’t… if you let me watch, that is. I enjoy watching magic being performed.”
“I’ll do better than that,” said Millie. “Why don’t you join us for dinner?”
“Oh no. I wouldn’t do that to you,” said Sergeant Spencer. “Judith told me you have a crush on George. I realise Judith will be eating with you and George, but that’s a little different than a middle-aged policeman joining you. I’d cramp your style.”
Heat burst from Millie’s chest, wending a route over her shoulders, along her arms, and into her hands — where magic sparked at her fingertips. She focused on the turkey in the oven tray and allowed the magic to leave her in a frustrated burst of energy, the skin of the bird beginning to brown almost immediately as it was wrapped in coiling tendrils of purple light. She turned her head to face the policeman. “I do not have a crush on George,” she said, magic still spewing from her fingertips. “How dare you!”
“Okay!” said Sergeant Spencer. “I got the wrong end of the stick! Judith told me you had a crush on him. I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn, but calm down, and save some of that energy for the roast potatoes. You’re going to cremate that poor bird if you’re not careful.”
“Yeah. Calm the hell down, Millie,” squawked Reuben. “Don’t be so sensitive. We all know you like George, and we all know he is fond of you.”
The salty aroma of crispy turkey skin rising to her nostrils, Millie took a calming breath and regained control of her powers, the sparks at her fingertips flickering as they died. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’m too sensitive when it comes to George.”
“That’s okay,” said Sergeant Spencer. “We’re all guilty of being a little sensitive when it comes to matters of the heart.”
Her cheeks burning, Millie sat down next to the policeman. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I’ve only ever had one real boyfriend. I mean a boyfriend who I actually cared for, and he cheated on me. With my so-called best friend. I’m scared of that happening again, and I’m scared that maybe George doesn’t like me. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
“He likes you,” said Reuben. “Believe me. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“So how do you explain the fact that he’s been seeing another girl?” said Millie. “A blonde bombshell, as Judith called her. A nurse. He went for a drink with her, and we saw him riding around on his motorbike with her this morning! Is that what George would do if he liked me?”
Sergeant Spencer reached into his pocket and withdrew a white handkerchief. “It’s clean,” he said. “I never use it. It’s a habit my grandmother installed in me. ‘Always carry a clean handkerchief, David,’ she used to say. I put a clean one in my pocket every morning. It’s about time one of them got some use.”
Millie laughed as she wiped her eyes with soft cotton. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s nice to be able to let it out.”
“Would you take some advice from a slightly overweight, middle-aged man, whose own dating history has not exactly been perfect?” asked Sergeant Spencer, his brow furrowed with concern.
Would she? Of course she would! The last time an older man had offered her advice, it had been her Uncle James. He cared about Millie, and her for him, but speaking to Millie about personal things — things a father would talk to a daughter about, had never come naturally to him. It had always been an uncomfortable experience for Millie, and she suspected it had been the same for her uncle, too.
Sergeant Spencer, on the other hand, seemed to be drawing on his experience of bringing up his adopted daughter as a single father. He offered a genuine smile, and his eyes showed a kind sparkle which put Millie at ease. She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’d like some advice.”
“Don’t hold anything in, Millie. That’s my advice,” he said. “Be honest with George. Tell him how you feel.” He gave a wide grin. “You know those butterflies you get in your stomach when you see him, and the lump which appears in your throat when you speak to him? The lump which makes it hard to get your words out properly?”
Millie nodded, giving the sergeant a smile. “Yes,” she said. “I know all about those.”
“Well, those aren’t things which happen exclusively to women,” said Sergeant Spencer. “I can almost guarantee that George is experiencing exactly the same emotions as you. Us men might try and pretend we’re aloof when it comes to the opposite sex, but believe
me, we turn to jelly inside when we see the person we like, too — just like you members of the fairer sex do.”
“You think I should tell him?” asked Millie. “Just like that?”
“Wait for the right moment, of course,” said Sergeant Spencer. “But yes. That would be my advice.”
“What about the nurse, though?” said Millie. “I know we’re not together or anything, so what he does is his business, but if he does like me, why is he going out for drinks and motorbike rides with another woman?”
Sergeant Spencer sat back in his seat. “I’ve known George Brown since I moved to this town. And I’m aware that he’s lived here since the nineteen-fifties — never ageing, and with that annoyingly handsome head of his — easily able to attract women.”
“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” said Millie. “You telling me that he’s had plenty of girlfriends.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Sergeant Spencer, with a grin. “I said he was easily able to attract women. What I’m trying to say, is that in all the time I’ve been in Spellbinder Bay, I’ve never known him to be in a relationship with anyone, and as far as I know, he was never in one before I moved here.” He leaned forward again. “What I’m saying, Millie. Is that I’d be very surprised if George has suddenly become interested in two women at the same time.”
“You and the blonde bombshell nurse,” added Reuben. “I feel that Sergeant Spencer could have been clearer about that.”
“I understood what he meant, Reuben,” said Millie. She looked at the policeman. “Then who is she? If not somebody he’s romantically interested in? A friend?”
“I can’t answer that,” said Sergeant Spencer. “Only George can. You should ask him. He and Judith should be here soon.”
Spinning in her seat, Millie looked up at the clock. “I didn’t realise the time! Do you both promise that if I use magic to cook the rest of the meal, you won’t tell them?”
“You can demand that I don’t,” said Reuben. “And I’d be forced to comply. I’m your familiar. That’s the way it rolls. I hope you’ll take my word instead, though.” He bowed his head. “I promise I won’t.”
“I promise, too,” said Sergeant Spencer. “I won’t say a word.”
“Thank you,” said Millie, getting to her feet as two potatoes and a peeling knife rose gently into the air above the kitchen counter. “Are you sure you won’t stay for some? There’s plenty of turkey.”
“No,” said Sergeant Spencer. “Enjoy your meal with your friends, Millie. I’m going to have another look around in the sand dunes. To see if there’s anything I missed. I may check on the demon’s bones, too. To see how the rapid decomposition is coming along. I’ll be glad when those bones are dust.”
Millie frowned. “Thank you for that talk. It took my mind off other things. I’d almost forgotten about demons and murdered metal detectorists,” she said. “Alien hunters in camping vans, too.”
Sergeant Spencer stood up. “I’m glad I could help you,” he said. “I once made the mistake of not telling a woman what I really thought of her. By the time I’d plucked up the courage to tell her, it was too late. She’d gone. And as for the other things — try and put them out of your mind for tonight. After hearing what those idiots from The Spellbinder Sand Diggers had to say, I’m now certain that Tom was killed by the second demon. Henry thinks he has a lead on it, so everything should be back to normal sooner, rather than later.”
George closed his eyes as he bit into a roast potato. “Wow!” he said. “These are really good! They’re so crunchy. Just how they should be.”
Judith spooned a second blob of cranberry sauce onto her plate and reached for the gravy boat. “He’s right, Millie. It’s a wonderful meal, thank you.”
Millie looked out into the darkness. “I wish your dad had eaten with us,” she said. “I feel sorry for him, sitting out there in his car. Alone.”
“You took a plate out to him,” said Judith. “Anyway, he wants to be out there. He’s worried that the other demon might come back, and he told me he’s not taking his eyes off those two men in the campervan. He received an email from the FBI about Mister Anon.”
“The FBI?” said Millie, loading her fork with gravy covered turkey meat. “Why do they have information about Mister Anon?”
Judith shrugged, and spooned some cauliflower onto the small plate in front of Reuben. “I’m not sure. Neither is Dad, yet. When he put the campervan registration through the system, the information he received informed him that the owner was of interest to American law enforcement agencies, particularly the FBI. Dad contacted them and they sent him a brief email telling him they’d compile all the information they had on whoever Mister Anon really is, and send it on to him. He’s still waiting for that second email.”
“Can we forget about all that stuff for tonight?” said George. “Murders, demons and alien hunters, I mean. Maybe we should talk about other things?”
Reuben pecked at a slice of turkey. “Yeah, like who that blonde bimbo Millie and Judith saw you with on the back of your bike is, George. The one dressed like a cheap street hooker, and not a woman taking her safety as a pillion passenger very seriously.”
“What did you say about her?” said George, his face hardening. “Watch your mouth, birdbrain, or I may be forced to do something I might regret.”
“Calm it, bloodsucker!” squawked Reuben. “Don’t threaten me at my own dinner table! I can’t help it if you’ve got a liking for bimbos!”
The table shook as George’s fist came down on it. “I mean it, Reuben!” he warned, his eyes flickering between black and hazel.
“George!” said Millie. “Don’t speak to him like that. He was only repeating what he heard me and Judith saying.” She stared at Reuben. “But I didn’t use the word bimbo. I said bombshell. The difference is vast. But you must admit, George — when we saw you this morning, whoever she is, certainly wasn’t dressed for motorbike riding.”
George sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m very defensive about her, that’s all.”
“Oh, you are, are you?” said Millie, pouring herself some iced-water. “You’re very defensive about her, are you?”
George chewed the food in his mouth slowly, and fixed Millie with a hard gaze. “Is there anything wrong with that?” he said. “Me being defensive about a young lady? Or is there something I should know about? Something which would make it wrong for me to care about her? Is there somebody else that I should be reserving my care for? Somebody who just can’t tell me that that’s the case?”
“You care about her, as well as being defensive about her?” said Millie, spearing a slice of turkey with her fork, the metal prongs screeching on her plate. “That’s nice for you. And her. I suppose she’s the nurse you spoke about, is she? The nurse you went for a drink with.”
The vein above George’s right eye throbbed, and he licked his lips. “Yes, she’s the nurse. Are you trying to tell me something, Millie, or are you just being childish?”
“Oh,” said Millie, mashing a chunk of cauliflower, the handle of her fork beginning to bend. “I’m being childish, am I?”
Judith gave a polite cough. “Did you use semolina on these potatoes to get them so crunchy, Millie?”
“No, Judith,” said Millie. “Thank you for your interest, but I did not use semolina on the potatoes to get them so crispy. I used magic to cook the whole meal. And I’m glad I didn’t waste time slaving over a hot stove. Some people don’t deserve it!”
“Well, they’re very nice potatoes, Millie,” said Judith, pushing a garden pea around her plate. “Aren’t they, George?”
George placed his knife and fork side by side on his plate, and pushed the chair back as he got to his feet. “I’ve had better potatoes,” he said. “And better company. I think I’ll be leaving now. Thank you for the meal, Millie. It was adequate.”
“You’re welcome,” said Millie. “Would you like me to put some in a doggy bag for you?”
&nb
sp; “I don’t have a —” began George. He nodded slowly, and sucked in a deep breath. “Oh. I see, Millie. Very clever. I won’t be feeding her scraps from this table, though. She deserves far better than a mediocre meal cooked with magic, by a bitchy witch.”
“Don’t slam the door on your way out, George,” said Millie, refusing to look the vampire in his eyes. “And I trust we won’t be seeing you at the pub quiz next week? Judith and I are The Dazzling Duo. You cramped our style.”
“Maybe I’ll be there,” said George stomping the full length of the open plan cottage, and grabbing his helmet and jacket from a hook near the front door. “And maybe I’ll have a new pub quiz partner!”
“Maybe you’ll get out of my cottage before I throw you out!” snapped Millie, her back to the front door, and a tear brimming in her eye.
“Maybe I will,” said George, opening the door and allowing a fragrant gust of night air into the cottage. “Goodbye, Judith. I enjoyed your company. The other two, not so much.”
“The feeling is mutual!” squawked Reuben. He lifted his head. “Are you really leaving, George? Can I have the potatoes you left on your plate, please?”
As the door slammed shut behind George, Millie looked at Judith. “I’m sorry I ruined the meal,” she said, getting to her feet, warm tears on her cheeks. “I’m going to my bedroom. Please help yourself to pudding. It’s a raspberry cheesecake. It’s in the fridge.”
“Millie,” said Judith, getting to her feet. “Let me—”
“I’m sorry, Judith,” said Millie, heading for the door to the right of the fireplace, which would take her to the bedrooms. “I know I’m being irrational, but I just need some time alone.”
As George’s motorbike engine burst into life outside. Millie curled up on her bed, the framed photograph of her mother laying on the pillow beside her. “I wish you were here, Mum,” she said. “I need a cuddle, and I have nobody else to ask for one.” She reached for the sealed envelope on the bedside table, and held it tight against her chest. “What does it say in this letter, Mum?” she said, closing her eyes. “What does it say?”
