by Adele Abbott
“If it isn’t Jill Gooder.” Ma Chivers appeared in front of me. “Has your grandmother sent you to spy on us?”
“I haven’t seen or spoken to Grandma for a few days. I doubt she’s afraid of a little competition.”
“She should be. We’ve been as busy as this since we opened.”
“Is Alicia working for you?”
“Don’t mention that woman to me. After all the time I spent tutoring her, she just ups and walks away without so much as a thank you.”
“What is she doing now?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. The stupid girl says she’s fallen in love. I gave her credit for more sense than that. Still, good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say.”
Cyril poked his head out of the door. “I’ve finished pricing everything, Ma. What do you want me to do now?”
“You’re late. You know I like my coffee every hour, on the hour. You’re ten minutes late.”
“Sorry, Ma. What would you like?”
“Why do you insist on asking me that every time. I’ll have a flat white as usual, and make sure you go to Coffee Triangle. That muck you brought back from Coff Drops was revolting.”
“Anything to eat with that?”
“Get me a chocolate brownie.”
Cyril scurried off down the road.
“I see Cyril hasn’t deserted you yet.”
“Give him time. He’ll no doubt turn out to be a disappointment, just like the others. Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? I can give you the guided tour.”
“No, thanks.”
“I offered your sister the manager’s job here, but she turned me down.”
“That’s because I told her to.”
“I figured as much. She’ll have you to blame when she finds herself out of a job, once we’ve seen Ever off.”
“I wouldn’t write off Grandma so soon if I were you.”
As I walked back to the office, I pondered on what Ma Chivers had said about Alicia. Maybe she really had seen the light, and wanted to make a fresh start?
I still wasn’t convinced.
***
“Look!” Mrs V held up a pair of knitting needles.
“From Yarnstormers?”
“Yes. They have a fabulous range of stock. I think they’re going to give your grandmother a run for her money. They even have their own version of Everlasting Wool and One-Size Needles, and they’re both cheaper.”
That didn’t bode well. Not one bit. Miles Best had tried to compete with Grandma, but that had been short-lived because his magic couldn’t match hers. Ma Chivers was a different proposition. I doubted Grandma would be able to see her off so easily.
“What time is my next appointment, Mrs V?”
“Two-thirty. A Mr and Mrs Piper.”
“Okay. That should give me time to sort out a few things first.”
“Paperclips or rubber bands?”
Cheek! Why did I pay Mrs V to be so insubordinate? Oh wait, I didn’t.
“Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti—” Winky crooned.
“No! Enough already! I can’t take any more of that,” I yelled.
“How am I supposed to prepare for the competition?” Winky looked a little put out, but I didn’t care.
“You can do it tonight after I’ve gone home.”
“Have you forgotten that I have the Midnight Gym to run overnight?”
“Do I look like I care?”
“You’ve changed. You’re so hard these days.”
“If that’s true, you only have yourself to blame. You were the one who said I was a soft touch.”
“Have you had any replies to your enquiry on Find-A-Painter?”
“I’ll check.” I logged onto the website. There were already two quotations, but neither of them was within my budget—not even close to it.
“You’ll probably get more quotes overnight.” Winky jumped onto the window sill.
“Unless they’re a lot lower than this, it won’t be happening.”
At two-thirty on the dot, Mrs V showed in the Pipers—a couple in their forties. Mrs Piper looked like she’d spent at least two hours getting ready. Her husband had spent two minutes—tops.
“Mr and Mrs Piper. Nice to meet you both. Do have a seat. What can I do for you?”
“Thank you.” Mr Piper held the seat for his wife. “Please call me Peter.”
“And I’m Petra.”
“Peter and Petra? You haven’t lost a peck of pickled peppers by any chance?” I laughed.
They didn’t. Instead, they looked rather surprised.
“How ever did you know?” Peter Piper said.
“We’d heard you were good, but frankly, that’s incredible.” Petra shook her head.
Huh?
“I’m sorry. I don’t really follow. Perhaps you should start by telling me why you’re here.”
“It’s just as you suggested,” Peter said. “Someone has stolen the peppers.”
“And the courgettes,” his wife chipped in.
“Can we just rewind?” I was now mightily confused. “Where did the thefts take place?”
“We run a small, but rather exclusive restaurant in the better part of Washbridge,” Petra said. “It’s called Chez Piper. You’ve probably heard of it?”
“I don’t think so.”
They both looked disappointed in me.
“But then, I rarely eat out these days. I prefer to stay at home and cook.”
“That’s so refreshing. So few people cook these days. What’s your speciality?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Winky; he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Oh, you know. I like to mix it up. But enough about me. You were telling me about the thefts.”
“Indeed.” Peter picked up the story. “We spend a small fortune buying only the very best ingredients, and until recently, we’ve never had to worry about pilferage. All of our staff have been with us for several years, and we trust them all implicitly.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming?”
“But recently, there have been a number of thefts.”
“Is it just food that is going missing, or has anything more valuable been taken?”
“It’s only the food, and the total value isn’t that great, but it’s the worry that someone within our little operation is stealing. It’s unnerved us.”
“Have you reported the thefts to the police?”
“How could we? They aren’t going to be interested in the theft of a few items of food. And anyway, we wouldn’t want them to waste their resources on something like this, but we do want to get to the bottom of it.”
“What did you want from me, exactly?”
“We thought that maybe you could spend some time working undercover at the restaurant. Hopefully, that will allow you to find out who is doing this.”
“Are you sure? My fees will be much higher than the value of the food being stolen.”
“Positive. You can’t put a price on peace of mind.”
“Okay. I’ll be happy to help.”
***
This was turning out to be quite a day. I’d already snagged two new clients, although I was unlikely to see any payment from the starlight fairy wings case. Not that that mattered—I simply couldn’t have lived with myself if I didn’t try to stop that awful trade.
Winky was itching to do more voice exercises, so I decided to pay Aunt Lucy a visit. She was always good for a cup of tea and a cake or three.
“I’m really sorry, Jill.” Aunt Lucy was rushing around like a headless chicken. “I’m going shopping with some friends. They’ll be here any minute.”
“No problem. I just popped over on the off chance.”
“You’re welcome to make a cup of tea, and help yourself to cakes.”
“I’ll do that. I can catch up with Barry while I’m here. Is he okay? No more problems with the cat, I hope.”
“I haven’t seen anything of the cat since you scared it of
f. In fact, Barry is out in the garden now. I was intending to bring him in before I left, but if you’re going to be here for a while, he can stay out there until you leave.”
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Aunt Lucy let the two women in.
“Where’s Gloria?” Aunt Lucy asked.
“She isn’t coming,” the taller of the two women said. “That stupid animal of hers has gone missing.”
“Ladies, this is my niece, Jill. You’ve no doubt heard of her.”
After we’d exchanged a few pleasantries, the three of them went on their way. I made myself a cup of tea, and grabbed a cherry cupcake. Through the kitchen window, I could see Barry, standing next to the gate at the far side of the garden. I was just about to go outside when I saw a young couple approach him. Barry stood with his front paws on the gate while the young woman took a selfie of the three of them.
How sweet.
They’d no sooner gone than another couple—middle-aged this time—approached Barry and took a selfie with him.
There was no way that could be a coincidence; something was afoot. Instead of going out of the back door, I went out the front way, and walked around to the gate. Once there, I had my answer.
Fastened to the gate was a notice which read:
Take selfie with cute dog, Barry. Price: five Barkies.
“Jill!” Barry jumped up, and put his front paws on the gate. “Can we go for a walk?”
“Not just now.” I took down the notice. “What’s this all about?”
“I get Barkies for selfies.”
“So I see. You didn’t write this sign, did you? Who came up with this scheme?”
“Hamlet. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“No, it isn’t. You’re only meant to have a few Barkies each day. You’ll be sick if you eat too many of them.”
“But they’re so tasty.”
“They might be, but just because something is tasty doesn’t mean you can spend all day eating it.”
What? Don’t be ridiculous. Custard creams and blueberry muffins are entirely different.
“Does that mean I can’t have any more Barkies?” Barry sulked.
“Not today or you’ll be poorly. I’m going to have a word with Hamlet. He has some explaining to do.”
Chapter 3
I was surprised to find Hamlet running on his little wheel. He was usually reading a book or playing chess.
“Hamlet!”
No response.
“Hamlet!”
Still no response, but now I could see why; he had earphones in. I moved around to the front of the cage so I was in his line of sight, and tried again.
“Hamlet!”
This time he noticed me, took out the earphones, and stepped off the wheel.
“I’m sorry to disturb your exercise.”
“Not a problem. I’d almost finished anyway.”
“What music are you listening to?”
“Music? No. It’s an audio book. Moby Dick. Have you read it?”
“Err—No, but I’ve seen the movie.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not quite the same thing.”
“I wanted a word about Barry.”
“Which word did you have in mind? Boring? Tedious? Simple?”
“He told me that you suggested he should offer to be in selfies in exchange for Barkies.”
“Yes? So?”
“It isn’t good for him to eat too many Barkies. They’ll make him ill.”
“Then tell him to ask for money instead. My only concern is to get him out of my hair. How am I meant to concentrate on my reading when that big, soft lump keeps pestering me to read some childish book to him?”
“He just wants to be your friend.”
“If you think you can make me feel guilty, you’re mistaken. I already spend much more time with that stupid dog than you do, and you’re supposed to be his owner.”
Ouch! That stung, but he was right. I didn’t spend nearly enough time with Barry.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m grateful that you spend so much time with him, but please don’t encourage him to eat junk food.”
“Message received and understood. Now, while you’re here, I’d like you to do me a little favour.”
“What’s that?”
“My thirty-day free trial of RodentAudio is about to expire. I’d like you to set up a subscription for me.”
“Pay for your audio books?”
“No. I don’t expect you to pay; I just need you to set up the subscription using my credit card.”
“How would I do that?”
“RodentAudio is run by Everything Rodent.”
I should have known. Bill Ratman, the owner of Everything Rodent, seemed to have cornered the market in—err—well—everything rodent.
“Okay. Give me your card, and I’ll go over there now.”
***
I was the only customer in Everything Rodent. Bill Ratman was behind the counter, reading a book titled Of Rats and Men.
“Hello, young lady. I haven’t seen you for a while.”
“That’s true, but I did recently pay a visit to Everything Aquatic.”
“I can’t say I’ve heard of it.”
“You’ll never guess the name of the man who owns it?”
“Laurence?”
Huh? “No.”
“Stewart? Brian?”
“No. His name is Bill Fishman.” I waited for a reaction, but came there none, so I pressed on, “Don’t you see? Bill Ratman—Bill Fishman?”
“Right.” He smiled. “I get it. We’re both called Bill. That is one heck of a coincidence.”
There just weren’t words.
“So, young lady, what can I help you with today?”
“Hamlet has been on the thirty-day free trial of RodentAudio, and would like to sign up for a subscription.”
“Excellent. RodentAudio is really starting to take off. Which plan would he like?”
“There’s more than one? He didn’t say.”
“The bronze plan will give him one book a month. The silver gives him three, and the gold gives him seven.”
“He does get through a lot of books. How much do the different plans cost?”
“Eight pounds, fifteen pounds and twenty-five pounds respectively.”
“Can he upgrade or downgrade later?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Sign him up for the silver plan for now.”
“Will do. I just need his credit card.”
While Bill went through the formalities of setting up the plan, I took a moment to reflect on my life. If three years ago, someone had told me that I’d be arranging an audio book subscription for my hamster, I would have thought they were certifiably insane. And yet, now it was just another day at the office. Perhaps I was the one who was insane. Or maybe one day I’d wake up in the shower, and discover the whole ‘witch’ thing had just been a dream.
“The card has been rejected.” Bill Ratman’s words brought me back down to earth.
“How do you mean?”
“The payment didn’t go through. Do you have another card?”
“Only my own.”
“We do take credit cards from the human world.”
“How will the payment show on the statement?” I wasn’t sure how I’d explain to Jack an entry which read ‘Everything Rodent’.
“Don’t worry. It will read BR Enterprises.”
“Will I be able to change the card details when I’ve got this sorted out with Hamlet?”
“Of course. No problem.”
“I suppose I’ll have to do that, then. Change it to the Bronze plan though, would you?” I handed over my card.
When I got back to Aunt Lucy’s house, there was no sign of the hamster.
“Where’s Hamlet, Barry?”
“He said he was going to a book fair. I asked if I could go with him, but he said no.”
“Did he say how long he’d be?”
Barry shook his head.
“Is it food? Can I have one?”
“No, it isn’t food. Will you tell him that the card was rejected?”
“Red what?”
“Rejected.”
“Got it.”
“Are you sure? What are you going to tell him?”
“That his card was red.”
“Rejected.”
“Red and ted.”
“Never mind. Tell him I’ll talk to him about it the next time I come over.”
***
After that short but painful episode, I needed a muffin infusion.
“One of your best blueberry muffins, please, Amber.”
“Sorry, Jill. We don’t have any muffins, of any flavour.”
“Very funny. Ha, ha.”
“I’m not joking. Christy’s Bakery had a problem with their electrics. They’re going to be out of commission for a couple of days.”
“Can’t you get some from another supplier?”
“We did manage to get a few, but everyone is scrambling around trying to fill the gap that Christy’s has left. The few we had were sold by mid-morning. It’s a tragedy.”
“I know. How am I meant to cope without a muffin?”
“I meant for Beryl.”
“Who’s Beryl?”
“Beryl Christy, of course.”
“Oh yeah. Poor old Beryl.”
“We do have a few brownies left.” Amber pointed to the pathetic selection in the display cabinet.
“Give me a chocolate one.”
“Regular or double?”
“Do you have triple chocolate?”
“No.”
“Double will have to do then. And a caramel latte.”
“Have you asked Jill yet?” Pearl came charging over.
“I haven’t had the chance,” Amber said. “It’s taken her ten minutes to choose a brownie.”
“Tell me what?” I ignored Amber’s uncalled-for jibe.
“About the seaside.” Pearl gushed. “We’re going on a day-trip tomorrow—Amber, Mum and me. Do you want to come with us?”
