by Adele Abbott
“Neither can they. At least not to the standards of a bigxie. The thing is, I could put up with the competition if they stuck to legitimate tactics, but they’re playing dirty.”
“How?”
“I have reason to believe that they’ve been deliberately nobbling bigxies. Every time that results in a bigxie being sacked, they step in and offer their services.”
“What proof do you have of that?”
“Nothing solid as yet. That’s where you come in. I’m hoping you’ll be able to uncover proof of their wrongdoings, so that we can get them shut down once and for all.”
“Okay, but I’m going to need a lot more information first.”
“I think it would be best if you spoke to two of the bigxies who have fallen victim to this despicable sabotage. If you’re willing to take on the case, I’ll set up a meeting with them.”
“I’m definitely up for it. Why don’t you go ahead and arrange the meeting, and then give me a call when you know the where and when?”
***
Back in Washbridge, I’d arranged to meet Annette Banks’ flatmate, Gaye Crooks.
“Sorry for the mess.” She removed a pile of washing from one of the chairs in the living room. The place was a mess—barely one step up from a squat. “Would you like a drink?”
Having seen the state of the cups on the table, the decision was an easy one. “No, thanks. I’ve just had one.”
“Any news on Annette?” she said.
“Not yet, but then her parents only came to see me yesterday. Have you met them?”
“A couple of times. Annette doesn’t like to invite them over.” She glanced around the room. “For obvious reasons.”
“I don’t understand why the police haven’t got involved?”
“I assume that’s because of the note.”
“What note?”
“Didn’t her parents tell you? I gave it to them the day after she took off.”
“Are you saying that Annette left a note?”
“Yes. I assumed her parents would have mentioned it to you.”
“They didn’t. Do you know what was in it?”
“Yes, I read it, but only because it was addressed to me. It said she was feeling totally stressed out and needed to get away for a while. And that I should tell her parents that they weren’t to worry.”
“Right.” It was beginning to look like I’d been sent on a wild goose chase. “Are you aware of any particular reason why she was feeling stressed?”
“I think it was the effort of trying to juggle work and her studies. It seemed to get much worse recently.”
“Her parents told me that they gave her an allowance so that she wouldn’t need to take a job.”
Gaye smiled. “Annette appreciated the money they gave her, but it was barely enough to cover the rent on this dump. She took the job so she’d have money for socialising, clothes and stuff.”
“What about Annette’s boyfriend?”
“Her ex, you mean? Craig is okay, or at least I thought he was until he dumped her out of the blue.”
“She must have been upset about that too?”
“I expected her to be, but she seemed to take it in her stride.”
“I assume you haven’t heard anything from Annette since the day she left the note and walked out?”
“Nothing.”
“Did she take any clothes with her?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?”
“I suppose so.”
“And you have no idea where she might have gone?”
“None, sorry. Do you think she’s okay?”
“I don’t know. Do you have a contact number for her ex-boyfriend? Craig?”
“Sure. I’ll get it for you.”
My meeting with Gaye had left me more than a little confused. When the Bankses came to see me, they’d failed to mention the note that their daughter had left behind. At least now, it was obvious why the police had shown no interest in Annette’s disappearance. Once the Bankses had showed them the note, that would have been the end of the matter as far as they were concerned. But, why hadn’t Annette’s parents mentioned the note to me?
I intended to find out.
***
Oh bum! It had just turned three-twenty-five, and I was supposed to meet Grandma outside Ever at three-thirty. If I was late, she’d kill me, so there was only one thing for it—I magicked myself to the alleyway close to the shop.
“I didn’t think you were coming.” Grandma tapped her watch.
“I’m on time.”
“Barely.”
Standing next to her were two stunningly beautiful young witches.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” I said.
“There’s no time for that.” Grandma flagged down a taxi. “Get in. We don’t want to be late.”
Grandma sat upfront with the driver—poor man. The two witches and I sat in the back, where we made our own introductions.
“I’m Jill Gooder—err—I mean, Maxwell. I haven’t got used to that yet.”
“I’m Anthea,” the blonde said. “Anthea Threepenny.”
“And I’m Tuppence. Tuppence Lane.”
“Nice to meet you both. How do you know Grandma?”
“We don’t,” Tuppence said. “We’re from the Washtastic Model Agency. Do you know what the job is? Your grandmother hasn’t really told us anything.”
“She’s launching a new anti-ageing cream. We’re headed for the studios of one of the TV shopping channels to make an infomercial, but I can’t imagine why she’s hired you two for this assignment. Neither of you needs anti-ageing cream. You’re both beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Anthea said. “Can I just say that it’s an honour to meet you, Jill. I’m a big fan.”
Another fan? At this rate, I’d soon have to start my own fan club.
What? Of course I was joking.
Fifteen minutes into the journey, I noticed that Tuppence had turned a shade of grey, so I asked her if she was feeling okay.
“I feel a little queasy. It might have been the sausage roll I ate. I thought it looked a strange colour.”
“Will you be okay to work?”
“I think so.”
After the taxi had dropped us outside the studio, I had a quiet word with Grandma.
“Tuppence isn’t feeling too good. Look at her.”
“She’ll be alright.” She turned to the two witches. “Right then, before we go inside, you both need to cast the ‘ageing’ spell.”
Anthea and Tuppence looked confused.
“Sorry?” Anthea said.
“What’s not to understand? You both know how to cast the spell, I assume?”
They nodded.
“Good. Get on with it, then.”
Both women seemed uncomfortable with what she’d asked them to do, but they did it anyway. Moments later, they’d been transformed into old hags.
“What are you up to?” I said to Grandma as we made our way into the building.
Before she could respond, we were met in reception by a woman who introduced herself as Rosemary Budd who would be presenting the infomercial.
“I assume these two ladies are the models you’ll be using for the shoot?”
“That’s right,” Grandma confirmed.
“Excellent. I’ll take them through to makeup, and then come back and pick you up when we’re ready to start the shoot.”
“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” I said, once Grandma and I were alone.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re going to get Anthea and Tuppence to use the cream, and then reverse the ‘ageing’ spell, aren’t you?”
“And your point is?”
“It’s a deception. The cream could never have that kind of dramatic effect.”
“It’s called marketing, Jill. You know: the thing you’ve asked me to help you with.”
“I’d never stoop to those
depths just to promote my business.”
“Which is precisely why you’re on the verge of bankruptcy, and I’m building a retail empire.”
Just then, Tuppence reappeared; she’d obviously reversed the ‘ageing’ spell.
“What are you playing at?” Grandma yelled.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just been sick. I can’t do the shoot.”
“That’s great!” Grandma was as understanding as you might have expected. She turned to me. “You’ll have to stand in for her.”
“Me? I can’t do it.”
“I realise you’re not as beautiful as Tuppence, but you’ll just have to do.”
“Sorry?”
“There’s no point in apologising for your appearance. There’s nothing we can do about that. Cast the ‘ageing’ spell and get in there sharpish.”
“But, Grandma—”
“Hurry up!”
“How’s Tuppence?” Anthea asked when I joined her.
“Not great.”
“It was good of you to volunteer to take her place.”
“Who volunteered?” I laughed.
Moments later, Rosemary Budd came to collect us for the shoot. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice I’d swapped places with Tuppence.
When the shoot began, Grandma was centre stage. Next to her was a podium on which stood several pots of the ‘wonder’ cream. Rosemary Budd ‘interviewed’ Grandma about the exciting new product for several minutes, and then Anthea and I were wheeled on; we both looked ninety if we looked a day.
After we’d applied the product to our faces, the camera panned back to Grandma and Rosemary, who talked a little more about the cream. Finally, the camera panned back to Anthea and me, who by now had reversed the ‘ageing’ spell.
Rosemary’s face was a picture. “Err—I have to say, that’s amazing.”
“Thank you, Rosemary.” Grandma beamed. “And all for the bargain price of sixty-pounds a pot. A steal, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
As soon as the director confirmed the shoot was in the can, Grandma came over to Anthea and me.
“Go and grab a taxi before anyone asks any awkward questions.”
Tuppence was waiting for us outside.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Much better since I’ve been sick. How did the shoot go?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Minutes after I’d flagged down a taxi, Grandma appeared. “I think that went very well under the circumstances.”
“Are you serious, Grandma? No one will be fooled into buying the cream on the strength of that infomercial.”
“We’ll see, shall we? The first airing is tomorrow night.”
***
I wasn’t able to get hold of the Bankses, so I decided to call it a day. On my drive home, I reflected on what I’d learned so far from Grandma about marketing. It could be summed up in one word: lie.
“Jill! Hello, there!” Pauline Maker called to me from across the road. “Would you like to come over for a cup of tea?”
“Thanks, but I probably should get in. I have some cleaning to catch up on.”
“That’s a shame. I have a delicious Victoria sponge cake.”
“Go on, then. You’ve twisted my arm. The cleaning can wait.”
“You’ll have to excuse the mess.” She led the way inside. “It would probably be best if we go through to the kitchen.”
Mess? That didn’t even begin to describe the scene of utter devastation inside the house. On our way to the kitchen, we passed by the lounge and dining room, both of which resembled small industrial units; they were full of all manner of tools and partially assembled—err—somethings.
Pauline must have seen my look of confusion, and obviously felt an explanation was called for.
“You’re probably wondering what’s going on in here.”
“You’re not installation artists, are you, by any chance? I only ask because the last people to live here were the balaclava twins.”
“Who?”
“They were artists. Their most recent masterpiece was a pile of buckets.”
“No, nothing like that. Shawn and I are actually inventors.”
“How fascinating. Where is your husband?”
“He’s in bed. He’s been ill for a few days. Food poisoning, I think.”
“Really? Did you know that the clowns—err—I mean, your next-door neighbours have had food poisoning? Clare and Tony, next-door to us, have been ill with it too.”
“Yes, I knew about Jimmy and Kimmy, and what’s more, I think I may know the source of the food poisoning.”
“Oh?”
“Your other next-door neighbour, the funny little man.”
“Mr Ivers?”
“That’s him. He held a barbecue last Friday while you were on honeymoon. He invited everyone, but I couldn’t make it because I’d promised to visit my sister. It looks like I dodged a bullet.”
“I’m glad we weren’t here.”
Just then, my phone rang; it was Jack.
“Where are you?”
“Sorry?”
“You were meant to be meeting me at the bed shop. You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”
“Of course not. I’ve left work and I’m just getting in the car now. I’ll be with you shortly.”
“Another piece of sponge, Jill?” Pauline said in what she no doubt thought was a whisper.
“Who was that?” Jack said.
“Just someone on the street, giving away free samples.”
“How do they know your name?”
I rubbed the phone up and down my sleeve. “The line’s breaking up. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
***
Jack was waiting outside of Forty Winks.
“Sorry I’m a little late. I got delayed at the last minute.”
“Eating sponge cake?”
“Very funny.”
The shop, which was located on the outskirts of Washbridge, was enormous. I’d never realised there were so many different types of bed. At some point while looking around, Jack and I had become separated from one another.
“Can I help you, Madam?”
I knew that voice. When I turned around, Daze was standing behind me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Selling beds. What does it look like?”
“No, seriously, who are you after this time?”
“We’re on the trail of some rogue slumber fairies.”
“Slumber fairies? I’ve never heard of them.”
“That’s not surprising. They spend twenty-three hours a day asleep.”
“What have they been up to?”
“Pickpocketing in and around Washbridge. It’s been getting out of hand recently. We figured they wouldn’t be far away from a bed, and where better to find one than in here?”
“Are you working solo?”
“No, it’s a two-man job.”
“Blaze?”
“No. He’s covering the other major bed shop: Bedfordshire Beds. Laze is working with me, but I have no idea where he is. He disappeared an hour ago, the useless oaf.”
“I think I’ve found the bed for us,” Jack appeared beside me.
“You know Daze, don’t you?”
“Of course. Nice to see you again.”
It was all a little awkward. Daze had to pretend that she didn’t know that Jack knew. Meanwhile, Jack had to pretend that he didn’t know that she knew that he knew.
Try saying that quickly.
I liked the bed that Jack had picked out, so we went to the cash desk to pay for it. While we were waiting for the payment to go through, Jack nudged me.
“Look over there. There’s a guy asleep in that bed.”
Oh dear. Laze would be in big trouble when Daze eventually found him.
Chapter 5
As our bed was broken, Jack and I were forced to sleep on the mattress, on the floor. It didn’t make much difference to me because I was totally beat
, and soon drifted off into a deep sleep.
“Jill! There’s someone knocking.”
“Three sausages, please.”
“Jill. Wake up!”
“Do you mind?” I managed to force open one eye. “I was having a fantastic dream about a full English. What time is it?”
“Just turned three.”
“You must be joking!” I buried my head under the pillow. “Let me go back to my dream.”
“There’s someone knocking.” Jack pulled the pillow off my head.
“Go and answer the door, then.”
“They aren’t knocking at the door. They’re knocking at the bedroom window.”
Right on cue, it happened again.
“See,” Jack said.
“That wasn’t a knock—it was more of a tap.”
“Why are you arguing over semantics? There’s someone at the window.”
“How can there be? We’re upstairs.”
The tap-cum-knock came again.
We got off the mattress and walked over to the window.
“Pull back the curtain,” I said.
“Why me?”
“You’re the man of the house.”
“Okay. On three. One, two, three.”
“Joey?” I stared at the sand sloth who was gripping onto the drainpipe for dear life.
He let go with one paw to wave at us, and almost fell.
“Be careful.” I opened the window. “What are you doing here?”
“Can we talk down there.” He gestured towards the ground. “I don’t think I can hold on much longer.”
“Okay. We’ll see you downstairs.”
As I closed the window, Joey began to slide down the drainpipe.
“What did he say?” Jack asked.
“You heard him.”
“Have you forgotten I can’t understand him? All I heard was a series of squeaks.”
“Oh, right.” I’d forgotten Jack couldn’t converse with animals. “He wants a word with us.”
We both put on our dressing gowns, went downstairs and opened the back door.
