All Was Revealed (5 page)

Chapter 5

The twins and Aunt Lucy regularly took Barry for a walk, so I knew he was getting plenty of exercise, but he was meant to be my dog, and it seemed ages since I’d taken him out.

The twins were busy behind the counter in Cuppy C, so I didn’t like to disturb them. I just went straight upstairs.

“Jill! Jill! Can we go for a walk?” Barry was all over me. “Jill! I want to go to the park. Can we see Babs? Can we go for a walk now, please?”

You always knew where you stood with Barry; he never changed. Crazy as a box of crazy frogs.

“Yes, we’ll go to the park now.”

“Can we see Babs?”

“Sorry, no. It’ll be just you and me, today. I think Babs is still away with Dolly.”

“Aww! I want to see Babs!”

“Do you want to go to the park or not?”

“Yes! Let’s go to the park. I want to go for a walk. Let’s go for a walk.”

Barry dragged me every step of the way as per usual. When we reached the park, I let him off the lead, and off he ran. I sat on a bench; I knew that in time, he’d wear himself out and come find me.

I’d been there for no more than twenty minutes when I spotted a dog that I recognised. It was Babs. She was on the lead, but I didn’t recognise the man who was walking her. Had he stolen her? I had to find out before he disappeared with her.

“Excuse me,” I called. “Hello, there!”

The man was obviously wondering if he knew me. “Hello?”

“My name’s Jill Gooder. Is that Babs?”

“It is. Do you know her?”

“Yes. My dog, Barry, often goes for a walk with her.”

“You must be the private investigator lady?”

“That’s me.”

“Dolly told me all about you. I believe you’ve helped Dorothy.”

“That’s right. And you are?”

“Sorry. I’m Nigel West. I—err—and Dolly—we—err—are kind of an item. We’ve been seeing each other for quite some time.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. Dorothy has never mentioned you.”

“Unfortunately, Dorothy and I don’t get on very well.”

“I see.”

“You know how it is. Children don’t like to think of their parents having a love life. Dorothy was used to having Dolly all to herself. When I came onto the scene, it rather put her nose out of joint. To keep the peace, we’ve kept our relationship very low key. But now Dorothy’s gone to live in the human world—well, that changes everything.” He grinned.

“I see. Have you moved in?”

“No. It’s a little early for that, but we certainly see a lot more of each other.”

“Where is Dolly? Is she still at the artists’ retreat?”

“No. She came back yesterday—much re-energised from the experience. When I left her just now, she was in her studio. She’s got a commission today.”

“A paid commission?”

“Yes. A vampire couple are having their portraits done.”

Oh dear.

“Anyway, I’d better get going,” Nigel said. “I promised Dolly I’d be back in time to make drinks for everyone.”

“Right. Well, it was nice to meet you, Nigel. Bye!”

I went back to the bench. A couple of minutes later, my phone rang.

“Is that Jill Gooder?” A squeaky little voice said.

“Squeaking, I mean speaking.”

“I was given this number by your Aunt Lucy.”

“How can I help?”

“My name is Tuppence Farthing.”

What a great name!

“I own the thimble shop in Candlefield. I don’t know if you know it?”

“The Finger?”

“That’s the one.”

“I’ve never been in, but yes, I know where it is.”

“We’ve had a spate of thefts recently. I’ve spoken to the police, but to be honest, they don’t seem very interested in the theft of a few thimbles. But, it’s rather important to me that we get it resolved. Your Aunt Lucy suggested that you might be able to help.”

“Of course. Would you like me to pop in?”

“Please, if you could. We’re busy stocktaking today, so perhaps tomorrow or the day after?”

“I’d be happy to.”

Thimble theft? I got all the high profile cases.

***

I’d promised Ms Turtle that I’d go over to Middle Tweaking. She was apparently going to show me everything she knew about being an investigator.

Snigger. Poor old dear.

I would no doubt have the murder solved in no time, but I’d be sure to do it in such a way as not to embarrass her. And, I’d obviously let her take some of the credit. I was big-hearted like that.

The drive to Middle Tweaking in daylight was most enjoyable. On my way there, I drove through Lower Tweaking. And from what Kathy had told me, I understood there was a Higher Tweaking on the other side of Middle Tweaking. Lots of Tweaking going on, apparently.

Middle Tweaking was picture postcard beautiful—complete with village green and duck pond. It was exactly what you’d expect of the English countryside. There were no identikit high street shops to be found. Next door to The Old Trout was the butcher’s shop, and on the other side was the post office where the murder had taken place. On the opposite side of the street was a fishmonger, a pharmacy, and what appeared to be a small souvenir shop. A village like that would no doubt attract its fair share of tourists. The houses, including several thatched cottages, were all very quaint.

There was a young woman with a pram, walking down the street. I asked if she could give me directions to the old watermill.

“Ah, you’re looking for Myrtle.”

“Ms Turtle, yes.”

“You need to carry on straight through the village. The old watermill is on the right. You can’t miss it. It’s a large grey building.”

I thanked the woman, and drove on down the road. Sure enough, the old watermill was unmistakable. I parked my car next to an old Morris Minor, which I assumed belonged to Ms Turtle. But she’d come to Washbridge on the bus, so perhaps she was a little too old to drive now?

There was a large brass knocker on the door. When I pulled it back and released it, a thunderous noise seemed to echo through the building. A few moments later, I heard footsteps, and the door creaked open. It was Myrtle Turtle; she was wearing a blue cardigan, a tweed skirt and slippers.

“Ah, it’s you, young lady. I wasn’t sure if you’d come. So few young people are reliable these days.”

“I hope it’s convenient, Ms Turtle.”

“Do come in.”

The interior was not what I’d been expecting. The furnishings were all very modern—not a rocking chair in sight.

“I’ll just turn this down.” She took a smartphone from her pocket, and used it to stop the music.

“How did you do that, Ms Turtle?”

“It’s Spotify Connect. I have it in all the rooms.”

Spotify? Smartphones? Maybe, I’d misjudged this old girl?

“I usually listen to vinyl.”

“You’re really behind the times, aren’t you, young lady?”

Ms Turtle made tea for us both. Earl Grey, and very nice it was, too. Even better, she got the sugar measure precisely right.

“Would you care for a biscuit, Jill?”

“What do you have?”

“I have a variety, but I like to keep them all separate.” She opened a cupboard inside which were several Tupperware containers. “I have bourbons, rich tea, chocolate digestives and custard creams.”

“Custard creams for me, please.”

“They’re my second favourite. I prefer the bourbons.”

That was just wrong, but I didn’t feel it was my place to comment.

“I like to keep my biscuits in separate containers too,” I said.

“Really? There’s hope for you yet.”

Over tea, we got chatting, and she began to let her guard down a little.

“Ms Turtle, what did you used to do before you retired, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“You can ask, Jill, but if I told you, I’d be forced to kill you.” She laughed.

I laughed too, but there was something in the way she’d said it that made me wonder if there wasn’t at least a grain of truth in it. Was she ex-police, ex-forces or something more sinister?

“What about the local police, Ms Turtle? Don’t they object to you getting involved with their investigations?”

“They’re not exactly thrilled, but they tend to put up with it because I’ve been doing it for so long. Besides which, this is not the city. The police have to cover all of the Tweakings, and several other villages. That leaves them spread rather thin. It helps that my track record is rather good. What about you? Do you have any problems with the police in Washbridge?”

“I used to—with one detective in particular.”

“And you don’t now? Has he moved to a different region?”

“Actually, he’s now my boyfriend.”

“That’s one way to get someone on your side, I suppose.” She smiled. “Drink up and we’ll get cracking.”

We’d no sooner stepped out of the door than we ran into a police officer; his face lit up when he spotted Ms Turtle.

“Hello, Myrtle.”

“Charlie. Can I introduce you to this young lady? Her name is Jill Gooder. She’s a private investigator from Washbridge.”

“Pleased to meet you, young lady.” Charlie Cross had a winning smile, and a firm handshake. He looked old enough to have retired himself.

“Nice to meet you too, Sergeant.”

“None of that Sergeant nonsense. Everyone around here calls me Charlie.”

“Okay, Charlie.”

“What brings you to Middle Tweaking, Jill?”

“I was at The Old Trout the other night for the murder mystery.”

“I see. It’s tragic what happened to Madge. Did you know it was to be the last murder mystery evening?”

“I think the landlord mentioned it.”

“The players had some kind of falling out, and decided they could no longer work together, but they honoured their remaining bookings.”

“I thought at the time they didn’t seem very happy. They didn’t appear to be into what they were doing.”

“They were probably just going through the motions. I’m still not sure why you’re back in Middle Tweaking, though.”

Ms Turtle interrupted. “Jill’s here to learn, Charlie. I promised that she could work alongside me while I investigate this one.”

“I suppose I’d be wasting my breath if I told you that neither of you should get involved?”

“You would.”

“I won’t bother then.” He’d obviously had this same conversation with Ms Turtle a thousand times before.

“He seems like a nice chap, Ms Turtle.”

“Why are you calling me Ms Turtle?”

“You told me to.”

“I’m sure I didn’t. Call me Myrtle.”

Huh?

“Okay, Myrtle. I was just saying that Charlie seems nice.”

“He is. In fact, there was a time when he and I were—close.”

“I
thought
he looked pleased to see you.”

“We saw each other for a short while, but it didn’t work out for one reason or another. But, we’ve remained firm friends since then.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what would happen with Jack and me.

“Okay, Jill, you’re supposed to be the private investigator. Tell me, where would you normally start with a case such as this?”

I hadn’t been expecting her to put me on the spot like that.

“Ideally with the murder scene, but I don’t imagine we’ll be allowed in there.”

“We won’t, but I just happen to have a ‘contact’ inside the force.”

“A contact?”

“I can’t be any more specific. I have to protect my sources. The long and short of it is that I have photographs of the murder scene.” She reached inside her handbag and passed me two photographs.

In the first, Madge Hick was lying dead in the kitchen. The second was a close-up of the kitchen floor which was covered in what looked like flour. Before she died, Madge had been able to write two letters in the flour: ‘FL’.

“Any idea what the letters stand for?”

“Florence Long is the obvious answer, but somehow I can’t picture Florence as a murderer.”

“Was there any sign of a forced entry?”

“None. Either she knew her killer, and let him in, or someone had sneaked through the post office into her flat while the shop was busy.”

“Do you know the cause of death?”

“Officially no, but the pathologist, Henry Twoshank, is a good friend of mine. We play croquet sometimes.”

“Croquet? Isn’t that deadly boring?”

“Absolutely, but I get a lot of my leads from there. According to Henry, Madge was poisoned, but he hasn’t yet been able to identify the specific poison. She also had a small puncture wound on the side of her neck.”

“Are the two things related?”