All Was Revealed (4 page)

“No, not really. I followed him yesterday and again today, but he hasn’t been anywhere in particular or met with anyone. He walked the same circular route around Candlefield, and went past The Central, but he didn’t disappear this time.”

“Right, thanks again, Daze.”

I wondered if I should tell her that I’d actually managed to get inside The Central, and what I’d seen in there. In the end, I decided against it; this was something I had to handle alone.

***

Winky was busy trying to set a personal best for his juggling. He gave me the evil eye every time he dropped one of the balls as though somehow it was my fault. As there was still nothing happening work-wise, I decided to call it a day early.

I planned to call in at the newsagent to pick up a bottle of ginger beer, but before I could get across the road, I bumped into Betty Longbottom and Luther Stone who were arm in arm. I still couldn’t get my head around the idea that they were now a couple.

“Hello, Jill.” Betty was so smug since she’d taken up with Luther. Not that I was bitter. At all.

“Hello there, you two.”

“Hi, Jill,” Luther said. “Where are you off to?”

“Just to the newsagent. I’m having a quiet night in. Just me, a bottle of ginger beer, and a few custard creams.”

“Guess where we’re going,” Betty said.

“To an accountants’ convention?”

“Nothing as boring as that.” Luther grinned. “Betty’s taking me to my first ever seashell exhibition.”

“And, you’re going of your own free will?”

“Of course. Until I met Betty, I never realised there was such a variety of shapes and colours. It really is fascinating. I’m hoping to make a few purchases while we’re there—to kick-start my own collection. Luckily, I’ve got Betty to advise me; she’s something of an expert when it comes to sea shells.”

“That is lucky.”

How had sexy, red-hot Luther turned into boring seashell man? Perhaps Betty was some kind of sup. Maybe she’d cast a ‘boring’ spell on him? Or maybe he’d caught it from Mr Ivers? Was
boring
contagious?

After a couple more minutes of riveting sea-shell conversation, I’d lost the will to live, so I made my excuses, and went over to the newsagent where as usual Jasper James was behind the counter. Today’s fedora was lime green.

“I have to ask, Jasper, how many fedoras do you own?”

“That’s a sore point. Mrs James says I have too many. She insists that using the spare room just for my fedoras is not a good use of space.”

“It sounds like you have an awful lot of them.”

“A lifetime’s collection, but I’m always on the lookout for new ones. If you spot any on your travels, I hope you’ll tip me off. I’m particularly interested in locating a gold one. They’re exceedingly rare.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open for you.”

“What can I get for you today?”

“Just a bottle of ginger beer, please.”

“Surely you’re not going to leave without a magazine?”

“I’m not really in the mood for reading today.”

“Are you sure? Couldn’t I interest you in this one? It seems to be extremely popular at the moment.” He lifted it from the shelf. “Seashell Weekly. I’ve had a second subscription for this only today.”

“Could that have been Mr Luther Stone, by any chance?”

“It was indeed. He already subscribes to Accountant Talk and Accountant Bi-weekly, but now he seems to have developed a new interest. It must be that new girlfriend of his. She subscribes to a number of sea creature-related magazines: Jellyfish Digest, Crustaceans Quarterly, and a couple of others. Are you sure you’re not interested?”

“I’ll just take the ginger beer, thanks.”

Chapter 4

Mrs V popped her head around the door. Maybe the blue look would grow on me eventually? A bit like fungus.

“There’s a lady here to see you, Jill. A Ms Turtle.”

“Oh? Okay. Send her in.” I wasn’t expecting anyone, but hopefully this could be a new case.

Ms Turtle was dressed in a tweed two-piece. I put her in her late sixties, maybe even early seventies. Her serious expression gave nothing away.

“Jill Gooder, I assume?”

“That’s right.”

“The sign outside says ‘Ken Gooder’?”

“Ken was my father. This used to be his business; he died some time ago, but I haven’t got around to changing the sign yet.”

“Hmm? Not very efficient.”

This wasn’t getting off to a very good start.

“Please take a seat, Ms Turtle.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like tea, or coffee?”

“Tea would be very nice.”

“Milk and sugar?”

“Milk and one and three quarters spoonfuls of sugar.”

A kindred spirit! I was beginning to warm to this old lady.

“I’ll ask Mrs V to make us some.”

“Mrs V?”

“My receptionist.”

“Is there something wrong with her hair? It seems to have turned blue.”

“I don’t think so. Excuse me for just a minute.”

“Mrs V. Can I have two teas, please. Milk in both. One and two thirds spoonfuls of sugar for me.” She rolled her eyes as she always did. “And one and three quarters spoonfuls for Ms Turtle. See—” I grinned. “It isn’t just me.”

I left Mrs V tutting about sugar measures, and re-joined Ms Turtle.

“Is that your cat?”

She’d spotted Winky, who had just crawled out from under the leather sofa.

“Yeah, that’s Winky.”

“What a handsome young man he is. Come here, boy.”

She put out her hand, and Winky came strolling over. While Ms Turtle made a fuss of him, and in between purrs, he turned to me and said, “I like this old bird.”

“Shush.”

“What?” Ms Turtle looked a little affronted.

“Sorry, I was just sneezing.”

“What a very strange sneeze you have.”

“It’s sort of a family thing. What is it I can do for you, Ms Turtle?”

“I came here on the bus from Middle Tweaking.”

She probably wanted to hire me to investigate the murder of Madge Hick. News of my reputation had obviously spread further afield than I thought.

“I see. I assume you’re here about the murder of Madge Hick?”

“I am indeed.” She handed me a business card from her handbag. On it was printed: ‘
Myrtle Turtle’,
and her phone number.

“Myrtle?”

“Yes?”

“Turtle.”

“Yes.”

“Nice name.” I stifled a laugh. “May I call you Myrtle?”

“All my friends call me Myrtle.”

“Right.”

“You can call me Ms Turtle.”

“Oh? Right. I assume you’d like to hire me to investigate Madge Hick’s murder?”

“Hire you? No. Why would I hire
you
?”

Huh?

“Because I’m a private investigator? Isn’t that why you came to see me?”

“No. I’m here to ask you some questions.
I’m
investigating the murder, and I was told by some of the people who were in The Old Trout that you were a little unconventional in your approach.”

“What do you mean
unconventional
?”

“Didn’t you accuse the victim of being the murderer?”

“Oh that? I suppose so, but—”

“Don’t you think that’s rather unconventional? Did you think the victim had murdered herself?”

“No, of course not. I thought it was some kind of double bluff.”

“Is that how you approach your real life cases?”

“Well, no. I—err—”

“Did you know Madge Hick?”

“No. I’d never seen her before that night.”

“Are you sure?”

Sheesh. What was with the third degree? “I’m sure.”

“Had you been to Middle Tweaking before?”

“No. I’d never even heard of the place.”

“What did you do after the murder mystery evening had finished?”

“We came straight back to Washbridge. Peter, my brother-in-law, drove. He dropped me off at my flat.”

“I see. And after that?”

“I went to bed. It was the next morning when I heard that Madge Hick had been murdered.”

She scribbled something in a notebook, and looked at me—rather suspiciously I thought.

Mrs V brought in the tea. “This one has one and three-quarters—wait, no—two-thirds—or maybe this one. I’ll just put the tray down here. You can sort them out, Jill.” With that, she scurried away.

I took a sip out of the cup closest to me; Ms Turtle took a sip from the one nearest to her.

“I think we’ve got each other’s, dear.” She screwed up her face.

“You’re right, Ms Turtle.”

We swapped cups.

“Much better,” she said. “One and three quarters just hits the mark.”

“Look, I’m not sure how to say this, Ms Turtle, but investigating a murder can be very demanding. Even I find it hard going sometimes, and I’m young. For someone such as yourself—”

“Hold it right there, young lady. Are you trying to suggest that I’m not up to running a murder investigation? I’ve probably solved more murders than you’ve had men friends.”

That wouldn’t be difficult.

“Is this something you do as a hobby?” I asked.

“I would hardly call it a hobby, more a vocation.”

“I see.”

“So why were you at the murder mystery evening, Miss Gooder?”

There was something distinctly weird about being interrogated in my own office.

“Please call me Jill.”

“The question remains.”

“It was actually my sister’s idea. I wasn’t too keen to be honest.”

“Will she vouch for that?”

“Yes, of course.”

The old girl grilled me for another thirty minutes. I felt like she’d put me through the wringer.

“Right, well thank you for your time, Miss Gooder. I’d better get going. The buses to Middle Tweaking don’t run very often.”

“Maybe I could be of some assistance?”

“I’m quite capable of catching a bus, young lady.”

“I didn’t mean with the bus. It’s very unusual, but I don’t have much work on at the moment.” Winky laughed, but I ignored him. “So I have a little time on my hands. Maybe I could come over to Middle Tweaking to help with your investigation?”

“What makes you think I need any help?”

“I didn’t mean that. I just meant—”

“If you’re struggling for work, and you think you’d benefit from working alongside me, then you’re welcome to come over and watch an expert at work.”

The poor old girl had delusions of grandeur. How many murders could she really have solved? None, was my guess. But this could prove to be an interesting case, and it might generate a few positive headlines in the press, which was always good for business. Even though I wouldn’t be paid, it was better than sitting around the office, twiddling my thumbs. I’d humour her, and pretend I was going to let her give me the benefit of her experience. Then, after I’d solved the murder, I’d be sure to give her a little credit. I’m generous like that.

“Okay, Ms Turtle. I’d like that.”

“I live in the old watermill. Everyone knows it; just ask anyone in the village.”

She finished her tea, bid me farewell, and went to catch her bus.

“A new client?” Mrs V enquired, after Ms Turtle had left.

“Not exactly. She’s a little delusional. She thinks she’s some kind of sleuth.”

“A bit like you, then?”

It was at times like these that I remembered why I didn’t pay Mrs V.

***

I’d popped out of the office for a while to clear my head, and to stock up on custard creams, when I bumped into Bonnie and Clive.

“Hello, you two.”

They looked remarkably happy under the circumstances. I thought they’d still be in mourning for the loss of their feline catwalk superstar, Bella. Far from it; they were all smiles, and looked pleased to see me.

“Hello, Jill,” Clive said. “We really should have come over to tell you our good news.”

“Good news?”

“Bella is back with us.”

“Really?”

“She came back a couple of days ago. I opened the front door to get the newspaper, and there she was. It’s as though she’s never been away. We’re so happy, aren’t we, Bonnie?”

Bonnie certainly looked much happier than the last time I’d seen her.

“That’s really good news. I’m so pleased for you both.”

“You must let us buy you a little present, as a thank you.”

“Really, no. I wouldn’t hear of it.” How little? Not too little, I hoped.

“We’ll drop something off at your office, later.”

“Only if you insist.”

I had to get back to the office to tell Winky the good news; he’d be so thrilled.

I rushed up the stairs, and whizzed past Mrs V, who looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. Again.

“Winky! You’ll never guess what?”

“You’ve got a paying case?”

“No, much more exciting than that. Bella’s back!”

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “I already knew.”

“You did? How long have you known?”

“Since yesterday.”

“And, you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because I was the mug who spent hours creating posters, and putting them up all over Washbridge to try to get her back. I was the one who sympathised with you when your brother ran away with her. Didn’t you think I deserved to know?”

He shrugged again.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“The usual story. Socks got bored with her; like he does with all of his ladies. He dumped her. Poor old Bella had to make her way back to Washbridge.”

“But she’s okay?”

“As far as I know.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“Briefly, she gave me a call.”

“Are you two back together again?”

“It’s not as easy as that. The cut runs very deep. Have you forgotten she ran off with my brother? I’ve told her that I’ll need a little time to think it over.”

Mrs V had asked if she could pop out for a few minutes. She wanted to pay a visit to Ever A Wool Moment to change some of the colours in her Everlasting Wool subscription. While she was gone, I sat at her desk for a while—for a change of scenery, and also because Winky was getting more and more tetchy at his inability to beat his personal best juggling record.

While in the outer office, I heard voices out on the landing. It was Gordon Armitage, and Armi.

“I’ve told you, Joseph, you should have nothing to do with that woman.”

“But, Gordon, we’re in love.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t known her long enough to be in love with her. And besides, she works for that dreadful private investigator. I want you to have nothing more to do with her.”

“But, Gordon, Annabel and I—”

“I said you’re to drop her! Do you hear me?”

“But, Gordon—”

“I don’t want to hear any more about it, and I do not expect you to see her again.”

Poor old Armi. He stood no chance against that bully, Gordon. It made me so angry. I couldn’t let Gordon Armitage spoil what Mrs V and Armi had going; I had to do something about it. Mrs V had warned me off, and made me promise to stay out of it, but how could I?

When I opened the door, Gordon had gone, but Armi was still standing there. He looked shell shocked after the tongue lashing he’d just received.

“Oh? Hello, Jill.”

“Are you okay, Armi?”

“Not really. I’m afraid I may have to stop seeing Annabel.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” I cast a spell. “Why don’t you give it some thought before you rush into anything.”

He looked a little dazed; the spell was obviously starting to take effect. “Okay. Maybe you’re right. Thanks, Jill.”