by Adele Abbott
“I’m sure he would.”
Stirring it? Who, me?
Before setting off in the car, I phoned the office.
“Jules, I thought I’d just let you know that Mrs V is feeling a lot better now.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“I don’t really know, but I’m positive she’ll be back to her old self again the next time you see her.”
“What time will you be in, Jill?”
“I’m not sure. I’m going to interview someone in connection with the case I’m working on. It’s quite a long drive, so I’m not sure if I’ll get in or not. I’ll keep you posted. If there are any important messages, you can give me a call.”
“Okay, Jill.”
Before I could set off, my phone rang. It was Mad.
“Jill, I have news about the client that Lester despatched to the wrong destination.”
“Is it good news?”
“Yes. I managed to track down the paperwork, and just as I’d hoped, the man was still in the holding area waiting to go on his journey. It was lucky for us that there’s such a backlog at the moment. I grabbed the paperwork, and had a word with one of the officials, who has agreed to amend it. Lester’s client will now be going via Ghost Town.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yeah. One hundred percent. Lester is off the hook.”
“Thanks, Mad. I owe you one.”
“See you at the wedding, then.”
“The wedding?” I’d tried to blank that out of my mind. “Oh, yeah. See you there.”
***
When Andrew Clowne had visited my offices, he’d mentioned that two clowns had been murdered in the last year. From the details he’d given me, I’d managed to track down articles related to those deaths. I thought it might help the investigation if I could speak to those connected to the murder victims.
The first death was a clown who had gone by the name of Bongo. He had been part of a double act: Bingo and Bongo. His partner, Bingo, lived in Corndale—a two-hour drive from Washbridge. I’d managed to contact him by phone, and he’d agreed to speak to me about Bongo’s death.
On arriving in Corndale, I found Manors Road using the GPS. The house was easy enough to spot; it was painted all the colours of the rainbow. On the front door, where one might normally have expected to find a knocker, there was a big red nose. I bet the neighbours loved this guy.
It took me a few seconds to work out that the big red nose was actually the doorbell. As soon as I pressed it, there was a loud peel of bells. It sounded as though there was an army of bell ringers inside. The man who opened the door was wearing large clown shoes, white baggy trousers and a string vest. The left side of his face was covered in something creamy white in colour.
“You must be Jill Gooder.”
“That’s me. I’m sorry if I’ve caught you in the middle of rehearsing.”
He looked puzzled.
“The custard pie.” I pointed to his face.
“That’s shaving foam.” He laughed. “Take a seat in the living room while I finish shaving, would you?”
The living room was unlike any I’d seen before. The walls were covered in photographs of clowns, which was terrifying enough. But to make matters worse, there was a glass showcase with the head and shoulders of a clown in it. The first time it started to laugh, I almost jumped out of my skin. Imagine living with that thing? The one thing missing from the room was a seat of any kind. Instead, there were several colourful barrel-shaped objects.
A few minutes later, Bingo returned, clean-shaven.
“Do take a seat,” he said.
I couldn’t work out where I was meant to sit until he walked up to one of the barrel-shaped objects, and lowered himself backwards onto it. Only then, did I realise that the ‘barrels’ were made of some kind of foam material which shaped to your body when you sat on them.
I followed his lead, and lowered myself onto the orange barrel. It was surprisingly comfortable.
“Thank you for seeing me today, Bingo.”
“Bingo isn’t my real name. That’s just my stage name.”
“Of course. What should I call you?”
“Coco.”
I laughed.
He didn’t. He just looked puzzled. “My name is Coco Smith, but I could hardly use Coco as my stage name, could I?”
“I guess not.”
“I needed a more clown-like name. That’s when I came up with Bingo.”
Oh boy!
“I see. And your ex-partner? I assume Bongo was his stage name too?”
“No. His name was Arthur Bongo.”
I couldn’t decide whether this guy was having a laugh at my expense or not, but I decided to go with it for now.
“Well, Coco, I wonder if you could tell me what happened to your partner?”
“It was all rather tragic. Both of us had full time jobs. The clown act was just a hobby which earned us a little pocket money. For the most part, we relied on slapstick humour—you know: custard pies in the face, buckets of water over the head, that kind of thing. We both wanted to add something to the act that would grab the attention of the audience. We’d been looking around for some time when we found the ideal prop: a clown car.”
“Wasn’t that rather expensive if this was only a hobby?”
“It’s not a real car; you can’t actually drive it. It doesn’t even have an engine. It’s simply a wooden-framed prop in the shape of a car. The idea was that Bongo would sit in the front, I would sit in the rear, and we would do our routine as though we were driving along. There were many comedy features built into the car. For example, the wheels would drop off, and the steering wheel would come away in Bongo’s hand. But the piece de resistance was the front seat, which was fitted with an ejector mechanism. It was designed to shoot the driver out of the car and onto the floor. But something went badly wrong.”
He took a deep breath, and I could see he was trying to hold back the tears. I gave him a few moments, and then gently prompted him.
“I’m sorry to upset you, but it would be really helpful if you could tell me exactly what happened.”
“Sorry. We were in Bongo’s garage, testing the new prop before we used it in our live act. Everything seemed to be working fine. The wheels fell off, and the steering wheel came away in Bongo’s hand. The only thing we had left to test was the ejector seat. Bongo put his foot on the brake pedal, which was the trigger. It shot him up into the air, and he hit his head on the roof of the garage. He was killed instantly.”
“That’s terrible. I’m very sorry for your loss. Can I ask where you got the clown car from?”
“We’d been looking for one for ages, and eventually found it on Clown’s List.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s an online marketplace specifically for clowns.”
“Have the police made any progress with the investigation?”
“The police aren’t investigating the death.”
“Do they already know who the murderer is?”
“Murderer? This wasn’t murder; it was just a terrible accident.”
“So the police aren’t involved?”
“No.”
I thanked Bingo for his time, but was now more confused than ever. Andrew Clowne had told me that the extortionist had stated that he had been responsible for two murders—the first of which was that of Bongo. And yet, the local police weren’t treating this death as murder at all. Maybe things would look clearer after I’d had the opportunity to speak to the partner of the second ‘murder’ victim.
***
It was ages since I’d taken Barry for a walk, and the guilt was getting to me. After I’d driven back to Washbridge, I parked my car, and then magicked myself over to Candlefield.
“Great news!” Lester greeted me when I walked through the door. “I’ve just heard that I’ve been reinstated.”
Aunt Lucy was standing directly behind him; she didn’t appear to share his excite
ment.
“That is great news,” I said.
“Did you have anything to do with it, Jill?” he asked.
“I had a word with Mad. She managed to track down the paperwork, and got it amended before the client had been transported.”
“Thank you.” Lester gave me a hug.
“Yes, thanks very much, Jill.” Aunt Lucy said, with no sincerity whatsoever.
“I’d better get going.” Lester started for the door. “I promised to meet Monica in twenty minutes.”
“Bye then, Lester.” I called after him, then turned around, to find Aunt Lucy giving me an icy glare. “What was I supposed to do? He seemed so unhappy.”
“You’re right—I know. I just hate that job of his. Shall we have a cup of tea?”
“Not right now, thanks. I thought I’d take Barry out for a walk. It’s ages since I did that.”
“Good idea. He’s in the back garden. I let him out a few minutes ago, to do his business.”
I went outside, but there was no sign of Barry anywhere. Then I noticed the back gate was open.
“Aunt Lucy! He’s gone!”
She came rushing out of the back door, looked left and right, and then spotted the open gate.
“Oh no! I’m so stupid. I must have left it open when I put the bin out.”
“Where do you think he might have gone?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to the Park? It’s his favourite place, and he definitely knows his way there.”
“Okay.” I headed for the gate. “I’ll go there. You check the streets around here.”
I ran all the way. By the time I reached the park gates, I was exhausted. If anything had happened to Barry, I’d never forgive myself.
To my relief, as soon as I walked through the gates, I spotted him in the distance.
Phew!
But then, I spotted another Barry, and then another, and another, and yet another. The park was full of black and white Labradoodles.
“Are you all right?” A woman wearing a black coat and a white headscarf walked over to me. “You look a little upset?”
“I’ve lost my dog. I thought that was him at first, but then I saw all the others. I don’t understand what’s going on here.”
“Is your dog a black and white Labradoodle, by any chance?”
“Yes.”
“I can see why you might be confused then. It just so happens that today is the bi-weekly meeting of BWLC.”
“BWLC? What’s that?”
“The Black and White Labradoodle Club. My name is Jessica Dewdrop; I’m president of the club. Have you tried calling your dog?”
“Barry! Barry!” I yelled at the top of my voice. “Come here, boy!”
Suddenly, two black and white Labradoodles came rushing towards me.
“Oh dear,” Jessica Dewdrop said. “Is your dog’s name Barry?”
“Yes.”
“Barry is the single most popular name with our members. We have at least five Barrys in our club.”
I was beginning to despair, but then I noticed a familiar face in the distance. It was Dolly, Dorothy’s mother. With her were two dogs: Barry and Babs.
I dashed over to them. As soon as Barry saw me, he began to pull on the lead. So much so, that Dolly had to let him go.
He came rushing over, jumped up, and almost flattened me.
“Jill! I didn’t know you were coming today!” he said, excitedly.
“What were you thinking, Barry?” Who was I kidding? Thinking wasn’t exactly Barry’s strong suit. “You shouldn’t have come here by yourself. We’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m okay. I know my way to the park. I met Babs.”
“So I see.”
“There are lots of other dogs in here today that look just like me.”
“I know. Apparently, it’s a club for black and white Labradoodles.”
“Can I join?”
“Would you like that?”
“Yes, please. Can I? Can I?”
“I suppose so. You stay here while I go and sign you up.” I handed his lead back to Dolly.
“Excuse me!” I called to Jessica Dewdrop.
“Did you find your dog?”
“Yes, thanks. That’s him over there.”
“Jolly good.”
“I’d like to sign up for your club, if I may?”
“Certainly. We’re always on the lookout for new members.” She took a sheet of paper out of her bag. “This is the application form. You’ll need to complete this, and post it to the address on the bottom, along with your first monthly fee.”
“Fee?”
“We have to levy a small fee to cover overheads: admin and the like.”
“Of course.” I took the form from her.
“We’ll see you at the next meeting, then.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
As Jessica Dewdrop went back to join the other club members, I glanced at the application form. What? It cost how much?
“Did you sign me up?” Barry asked when I got back to him.
“It’s an awful lot of money.”
“Aww, please, Jill. Aren’t I worth it?”
“Oh, go on then. I suppose so.”
I’m too soft-hearted, that’s my problem.
Chapter 8
Jack and I had had a quiet weekend at home. On Saturday, we’d worked on the garden. On Sunday, Jack had washed both cars while I caught up on my beauty sleep. Then we’d gone out to a local carvery for Sunday lunch.
“The garden’s looking much better,” I said, as we ate breakfast on Monday morning.
“No thanks to you.”
“What do you mean? It was a joint effort.”
“Sitting on the bench, barking orders, does not constitute a joint effort.”
“I was supervising.”
He rolled his eyes. “And how come I get to wash both cars?”
“You’re so much better at it than I am.”
“You can wash them next time.”
“Sure. No problem.” I’d already had a chat to the young boy from two doors down. He’d said he’d do them both for a fiver.
Jack left for work before me. When I stepped out of the front door, Mr Hosey had parked his silly little train right outside Jen’s house, and he appeared to be treating her to one of his illuminating lectures. I know it was cruel of me, but I couldn’t help but think that was karma. After all, she and Blake had escaped to the movies to avoid Hosey’s dreadful open day—the same one that Jack and I had been forced to suffer.
“Jill! Jill.” Jen came rushing across the road, leaving Mr Hosey looking rather put out. “Rescue me, please! He’s been talking to me for the last fifteen minutes, and I don’t seem to be able to get rid of him. I told him that I’d promised to give you something this morning.” She held out her hand as though she was passing something to me, and then said in a whisper, “Pretend to take it.”
I did as she asked. “It’s okay.” I gestured across the road. “He’s leaving.”
“Thanks, Jill, you’re a lifesaver. That man is impossible. He just can’t take a hint.”
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Jack and I had to endure his open day.”
“You’re kidding.” She laughed. “You’re not telling me that you actually went over to his place, did you?”
“Unfortunately, yes. It was the longest night of my life, and it was all Jack’s fault.”
Jen double-checked to make sure that Mr Hosey had gone. “I suppose I’d better be making tracks. I’m already late for work because of that nutjob. How about you and I grab a coffee later today, Jill? Could you make it at lunch time?”
“Yeah. I’d like that. Where did you have in mind?”
“How about Coffee Triangle?”
“Fine by me.”
“Okay, shall we say one o’ clock?”
“Sure. I’ll see you there.”
“By the way, our new neighbour has moved in already.”
&n
bsp; “That was quick. Have you met them yet?”
“I think it’s just a ‘him’. I haven’t seen anyone else.”
***
As I drove into Washbridge, I noticed a small film crew outside Betty and Norman’s shop. There was quite a crowd gathering to see what was happening, and being the nosy kind of person I am, I decided to take a look for myself.
After parking the car, I made my way on foot down the high street. Norman was standing in front of the shop window being interviewed by a man dressed in a suit with an unusual polka dot design. It was only when I got closer that I realised that the polka dots were actually pictures of bottle tops. Betty was inside the shop, standing by herself behind the counter. She didn’t look particularly happy.
“Good morning, Betty.”
“Morning, Jill.” She sounded as fed up as she looked.
“It looks like you’re getting some nice free publicity for the shop.”
“Not the kind of publicity I would have liked.” She sighed. “It’s Toppers TV.”
“As in bottle toppers?”
“Yeah. They’re doing a feature on Norman and the shop. It’s scheduled to go out tonight at prime time.”
“Surely, that’s a good thing? Why the long face?”
“We already have more than enough toppers coming into the shop. There’s barely room for my customers to get through the door. After this article has aired on Toppers TV, we’ll be overrun.”
“But, you two are in it together now, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so, but it’s all so very disappointing. When I left HMRC, it was to pursue my dreams. When I opened She Sells, I couldn’t have been happier. Now it just feels like I’m a bit player. All the attention is on Norman and his stupid bottle tops.”
“He did put a lot of money into the shop.” Even if he didn’t know it at the time.
“I know, and I’m grateful for that. I’m just not sure that I can carry on with things as they are. If one more person asks me about the Blue Diamond bottle top, I’ll hit them over the head with a crustacean.”
As I was leaving the shop, the interview with Norman had just come to an end. The TV presenter, with microphone in hand, was looking around the crowd for someone else to speak to when he spotted me.
