by Kim M Watt
“Ugh. Primrose,” Miriam said.
“I know. I hate that horrible dog. It yaps constantly, and I’m sure it wee’d on my geraniums last time Jasmine came by. They’ve not been the same since.”
Miriam made a small noise of commiseration as the door opened, unleashing a rush of warmth, the smell of burned coffee, and a wave of high-pitched yapping that drilled into Alice’s skull. She saw Miriam wince and felt a moment’s sympathy for her. It was not what one needed on a hangover.
“Oh!” Jasmine exclaimed, looking anxiously from one woman to the other. “Is there a meeting? Is it here? Did I forget? Oh, God, I always forget—”
“No, Jasmine, just us,” Alice said, scowling at the hysterically bouncing fluff-ball that was pawing at Miriam’s sodden skirt. “Just popping by for a chat.”
“Oh.” Jasmine looked at the sky doubtfully. “And you walked?”
“It’s just a bit of rain. Never hurt anyone.” Alice looked at her expectantly, and after a moment the young woman gave a distressed squeak and jerked the door open.
“I’m so sorry. Honestly, I’m terrible. Come in, come in out of the rain.”
They came in, shaking rain off their coats and trying to avoid Primrose. The dog nipped Alice’s heel, and she muttered darkly about pounds and dog catchers as they followed Jasmine through to the kitchen. It was sleek and modern, post piled on the big kitchen island and a bunch of drooping, waterless lilies competing with the smell of cooking that hadn’t gone quite right. There was a recipe book out on the counter and a pile of haphazardly chopped vegetables next to a slow cooker.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Jasmine said, fussing over trying to find mugs and sugar and milk. She opened the wrong cupboard twice, which Alice rather thought should be impossible in one’s own kitchen, certainly after seven years in it. “But I don’t have any biscuits! Oh, no – Ben took all of the last lot into the station!”
Alice quietly thanked whatever small gods looked after kitchens and visitors. It was entirely possible, of course, that Ben really had taken the biscuits to the station, if he bore someone there a grudge. But he was quite a nice young man, so the odds were good that those biscuits were in a bin somewhere.
“It’s quite alright,” she said aloud. “We just had mince pies at Gert’s.”
“Oh! I did make some mince pies the other day—”
“No, no,” Alice and Miriam said together, and Miriam added, “You can only eat so many mince pies in a day.”
“I suppose,” Jasmine said, a little disconsolately, and turned back to the kettle. “So, is everything okay?”
Alice exchanged a glance with Miriam, then pulled out a barstool at the island. “Have you heard about the postman?”
Jasmine only over-filled one cup of tea, splashing water across the counter, and Alice caught her before she used the salt instead of sugar.
“Sorry about that,” Jasmine said, wriggling onto one of the stools. “I don’t know how I get through life sometimes.”
Alice silently agreed, and took a sip of tea. It was actually quite good, and she wrapped her fingers around the mug, trying to chase the chill from them. There was a twinge in her knuckles that she didn’t much like. Toot Hansell had an astonishingly healthy population, considering the mean age was rather well north of forty, but it apparently didn’t keep her entirely exempt from the small degradations of age.
“So, Jasmine,” she said. “What’s Ben told you?”
“Well, I’m not really supposed to say. I mean, he’s not even meant to tell me, which is silly.”
“Entirely.”
“And he’s a really good policeman. He wouldn’t tell me anything if it could affect the investigation. Like when the vicar was murdered. I didn’t even know you’d been arrested until after you got back!”
Alice winced slightly. Most people chose not to mention that little matter, but it was impossible to be annoyed with Jasmine. She meant well. “That was very restrained of him.”
“But this is different. It’s not to do with us.”
“Of course not.”
“So I guess I could tell you.”
“It won’t go any further,” Alice said, and took another sip of tea.
“Well,” Jasmine said, leaning forward as if to make sure they weren’t overheard. “Apparently the whole van was scorched, and there were enormous scratch marks on the roof and the driver’s door, like a wild animal had tried to get in!”
Alice mentally scaled the description down a few notches, considering Ben was still very into that Monsters and Basements game, or whatever it was called, but it still didn’t sound good for the postman. “Do they have any leads?” she asked.
“No, although they’re watching all the markets for stolen goods. The presents and things.”
“And what are they saying about the scratch marks?” Miriam asked. She was looking positively perky now, although her skirt was dripping on the wood floor.
“I don’t know. Ben didn’t say.” Jasmine looked suddenly doubtful. “It wasn’t – it couldn’t have been dragons, could it?”
“Of course not,” Alice said. “Can you imagine Beaufort or Mortimer doing that?”
“No,” she agreed. “But what if there were other dragons?”
“Well, that is a possibility. But they’re looking into it now. And it’s best you don’t mention that sort of thing to Ben.”
“Umm.”
“Oh, Jasmine. You haven’t.” Alice’s voice was full of horror, and Miriam covered her mouth, suddenly pale again.
“Well, not really. I just said, you know, wow, that sounds like dragons! And he laughed. He always laughs.” There was a tremble of upset in Jasmine’s voice, and the older women exchanged glances.
“I’m sure he doesn’t always laugh,” Miriam said.
“He does. And I’m not stupid. I mean, I know I’m a bit ditsy, and I have trouble with some things, but I’m not stupid.”
“We never thought you were,” Alice said. “And I’m sure Ben doesn’t either.”
“But – well, he may as well have patted me on the head! He was so condescending about it.”
“You have to be ready to believe in dragons. And I don’t think Ben’s there yet.” Ben was a nice, solid young man, and a very good policeman. But for all his Monsters and Basements games, no one could accuse him of being terribly perceptive. Unlike certain detective inspectors.
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter.” Jasmine picked up Primrose, who had been pawing at the legs of the stool, and buried her face in the dog’s fur. The dog gave Alice a startlingly evil glare. “He thought I was joking, so that’s it.”
Alice returned Primrose’s glare and said, “Well. I think it’s best if you don’t mention them again anyway. Just in case. As it happens, the inspector’s already paid us a visit. We don’t want any more interest than that.”
“I won’t say anything,” Jasmine said, her words muffled by Primrose’s fur. The dog bared her teeth at Alice, and she bared hers back. The dog whimpered and looked away, and Alice gave a satisfied smile.
Miriam got up and went to rub Jasmine’s back, careful to avoid Primrose. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “It really is okay. You’re lovely, Jasmine, and no one thinks you’re stupid. No one who knows you, anyway.”
Jasmine snuffled, and lifted her head, looking at Miriam with red-rimmed eyes. “Have you been on the mulled wine?” she asked. “Only you smell quite boozy.”
Miriam left Jasmine and the dog and went to sit down again.
The rain had eased by the time they left, and Jasmine had cheered up enough to offer them lunch, which they declined as tactfully as they could. She stood in the hall watching them pull their boots on, still sniffling a bit. Alice wondered if there was something more wrong than just Ben laughing at her, and made a mental note to come by more often. Jasmine was a good deal younger than the rest of the W.I., but the meetings seemed to make up much of her social life, and Alice wondered if that was enough. Be
ing happy in one’s own company wasn’t a natural thing for everyone. It hadn’t occurred to her that Jasmine might be lonely, but she looked it now, hugging her elbows in the hall, wearing a sweatshirt that was at least three sizes too big and had a cartoon reindeer on it.
Miriam peered out the door, and said, “No cats.”
“That’s, um, good?” Jasmine said, sounding confused.
“Too much festive spirit,” Alice whispered, and was relieved when Jasmine gave a delighted snort of laughter.
“Nothing festive about it,” Miriam said darkly, but she was smiling.
“Oh,” Jasmine said suddenly. “I forgot. Who’s doing the eBay listings for the baubles? Only the pictures aren’t very good. I’m sure I could do better ones.”
“Etsy,” Alice said, fastening the top button of her coat.
“No, eBay. And have we dropped the prices? Or is it like an eBay special?”
Alice gave Miriam a quizzical look, and the other woman frowned. “I did the Etsy listing. I already had an account for my herbal creams and dreamcatchers. I’ve never even used eBay.”
“Are you sure it was eBay?” Alice asked Jasmine.
Her mouth tightened in annoyance. “Yes.”
“Well. I think we better take a look.” Alice pulled her boots off again, and behind her Miriam sighed and struggled out of her coat.
Alice took a cautious sip of soup. It actually wasn’t bad. Admittedly, it was Marks & Spencer’s Thai something or other, so it should be edible. But it was always hard to know what Jasmine did to food. It was an anti-talent.
“There,” Jasmine said, pointing at the screen of her tablet. She’d insisted she was hungry and that they all needed to have a little lunch while she found the listing, and Alice and Miriam had felt too uncomfortable to refuse. It was hard to tell if Jasmine actually realised how bad her cooking was, and now certainly wasn’t the time to tell her.
Miriam leaned over the younger woman’s shoulder, peering at the little screen. Alice kept her distance. Primrose was back on Jasmine’s lap, and she bared her teeth if Alice came too close. Alice wasn’t at all sure what she’d done to deserve such vitriol, but she was starting to return it quite passionately.
“Well,” Miriam said. “They do look a bit like our baubles, don’t they?”
In the small images on the screen, the baubles floated against a dark background, softly glossy and lit from within by warm yellow light. As far as Alice could see, they had the same intricate markings and delicate folds as Mortimer’s, and she couldn’t see any strings holding them suspended from hidden hooks.
“An awful lot like it,” she said.
“The photos aren’t very good,” Jasmine said. “If you blow them up they get all pixelated. But listen to the description: The perfect gift for someone who has everything! Quixotic Christmas baubles float and fly! They’ll burn forever without needing fuel! Special high-technical material never gets hot! Buy yours before stocks run out!”
“‘Quixotic’?” Alice asked.
“Yes,” Miriam said, peering a little closer at the screen. “That’s an odd word choice, isn’t it?”
“Sounds like someone got carried away with a thesaurus. ‘High-technical’, too.”
“That’s odd as well.”
“Who’s selling them? Jasmine, can you tell?”
“Umm.” Jasmine tapped the screen. “They call themselves ‘Modern World Enchantments’. It gives an address in Huddersfield, but it’s just a postbox.”
Alice got up and braved the silently snarling dog, leaning over the screen with Miriam between her and Primrose. She hoped the silly mutt wouldn’t get it in her head to bite Miriam instead. She scanned the listing.
“They’re selling them terribly cheaply. Ten pounds! For all that work – honestly, they must be plastic or something.”
“We should order one,” Jasmine said. “Then we can get a proper look.”
“Good idea.” Alice retreated to her chair, the dog’s gaze never leaving her. “Use my card. We’ll factor it into the market expenses. We need to see what’s going on with this. We can’t have Mortimer’s baubles being copied. He puts so much work into them.”
Jasmine took Alice’s card and leaned over the screen, and Alice folded her hands together under her chin, thinking. I’m an artisan myself, the man had said at the market. And hadn’t his friend been carrying an unmarked paper bag, one that could easily have come from their very own stall?
She rather thought he had.
They left Jasmine looking much more cheerful now that she’d discovered the baubles and made them lunch. Alice decided that she would ask if Miriam would give up the internet side of things to the younger woman. She wasn’t sure it would help, but it couldn’t hurt. Unless, of course, Jasmine was as inclined to mishaps in that area as she was in everything else. Still, it was probably worth the risk.
The day hadn’t improved, and even Alice was starting to feel a little damp and miserable as they trekked through the rain to Priya’s house (Earl Grey tea and Christmas cake), then Rosemary’s (chai tea and buttery shortbread), and Rose’s (strong Yorkshire tea and apple slices, while being lightly slobbered on by her enormous Great Dane, who was much less nippy than Primrose), and finally Carlotta’s (coffee spiked with brandy, and cranberry biscotti). No one had anything of interest to add, although they’d all been very concerned that the dragons might be implicated. Rose, who was some undefined age past eighty and not much bigger than a ten-year-old, had become very excited, dropping her library voice and shouting about hiring private investigators and top lawyers, and the Great Dane had started barking and running all over the house, knocking tables over and tripping over its own enormous feet. It had taken a while to calm everyone down, and to clean up the slobber and spilt tea afterward.
Now they trudged toward Miriam’s, the houses along the lanes turned inward against the early grey dusk. Alice felt like all the tea was going to start slopping out her ears, and she was so full of cake that she had no intention of eating dinner. Possibly for days. Miriam looked much more cheerful than she had earlier, although her nose was bright red and her hair was a tight mess of brown and silver curls.
“Ooh, I’m glad that day’s done,” the younger woman said, letting them in the gate.
“Hmm,” Alice said, not really listening. She followed Miriam in, pulling her boots off for what felt like the thousandth time today. She couldn’t wait to get home, but she had to get her thoughts in order first, and she wanted to hear what Miriam might say.
“Tea?” Miriam asked, as they padded in their thick socks into the warmth of the kitchen. Miriam left a trail of damp left footprints behind her.
“Oh, no,” Alice said. “I’m awash.” She sat at the kitchen table, running her fingers through her hair absently.
“Can I get you anything else, then?” Miriam asked, sounding puzzled.
“No. Sit down for a moment.”
Miriam sat, lines of concern wrinkling her forehead.
“What do we know now?” Alice asked.
“Nothing more, really. The postman’s gone missing with all the post, and there were scorch marks on the van.”
“And someone’s selling baubles that look oddly like Mortimer’s.”
“Oh. Oh, do you think—”
“I don’t know what I think,” Alice said. “We didn’t lose any baubles yesterday?”
“No, I was going to send the first lot of Etsy orders today, but we were investigating instead.”
“Of course. Are you sending them tomorrow?”
“Yes, I need to go to the post office first thing.”
Alice drummed her fingertips on the table lightly. “Well. Let’s see how it goes. Send the parcels, as per normal.” She got up abruptly. “I need to look at a few things. Thank you for your help today, Miriam. I appreciate it.” Miriam started to get up, and Alice waved her back down. “I can see myself out. Have a good evening.”
“You too,” Miriam said, looking relie
ved as she sank back into her chair.
Alice pulled her boots on at the door and set off once more into the dreary day.
She walked home deep in her own thoughts, the village quiet around her. Few places are more desolate and empty than a small village on a rainy afternoon in December. The Christmas lights on the lamp posts burned bravely, but the persistent drizzle seemed to wash the brightness from them. She liked walking when she needed to think, rain or not. It tended to shake more things loose than just sitting at home or pottering around the house.
A fancy-looking silver Audi purred past her, too close for the empty streets, and she jumped sideways to avoid the wake it pulled behind it. She put her hands on her hips, glaring after it pointedly, and announced, “Idiots.” Then she stood there frowning as it vanished around the next corner. She’d been too busy trying to keep dry to see into the dim interior and maybe spot the driver or even a passenger, but hadn’t she seen that same silver Audi around earlier? Maybe more than once. She tried to think. Outside Miriam’s, at the start of the day, maybe? Maybe even outside Gert’s? She couldn’t be sure. She could just be jumping at shadows, too worried about cats and missing postmen. She sighed and adjusted her hood, then kept walking.
All else was quiet.
She was already jingling her house keys when she walked up the path to the front door, looking forward to a hot shower and some dry clothes. Even if she hadn’t actually got all that wet, the whole day had made her feel damp. She pulled her boots off under the shelter of the little porch roof, the door already ajar, and straightened up to see the grey cat sitting on her outside mat.
“Well, hello,” she said. “What do you want?”
The cat didn’t answer, just blinked lazily.
“Are you following me?”
The cat got up and nosed his way around the door.
“Oh, no. No, I do not have animals in my house.”
