All Was Revealed (8 page)

I hesitated. I knew what Jack would say if he found out I was involved.

“Sure. Give me your address, and I’ll come over there tomorrow.”

Chapter 8

“Jill, I’m really worried,” Mrs V said, as soon as I walked into the office the next morning.

“What’s happened now?”

“It’s Armi.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, no. I don’t know. You remember I told you he came in yesterday, and gave me a kiss?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, he’s just done it again. He came bursting in, kissed me, and asked me to go to Paris for the weekend.”

“Wow! Did you say you’d go?”

“I think so. It all happened so quickly.”

“That’s great, isn’t it? Paris is lovely at this time of year.”

“I know. I really want to go, but I can’t figure out what’s happened to Armi. Last week I could barely get two words out of him. He was so shy, quiet, and reserved, but now he’s like a man possessed.”

“Maybe that’s the effect you have on him, Mrs V.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jill. Something’s happened. Do you think he’s on drugs or something?”

“Armi? No, he’s not the kind of man to take drugs. Maybe being with you has given him the confidence he’s always been missing.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Definitely.” Or maybe not.

***

It was a while since I’d seen Aunt Lucy, so I magicked myself over to her house where I found her sitting at the kitchen table. She looked down in the dumps; it looked as though there were tears in her eyes.

“Aunt Lucy, are you okay?”

“Sorry, Jill. I didn’t realise you were here. Yes, I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“It’s okay. I’ll make one for both of us. You stay where you are.”

I made tea, put a few custard creams on a plate, and joined her at the kitchen table.

“Aunt Lucy, I know something’s wrong.” I put my hand on hers. “What is it? Is it Lester?”

“No dear. Everyone’s all right. It’s not the family; it’s just me being silly.”

“About what?”

“This article.” She pushed a newspaper towards me.

“Homeless Fairies?”

“It’s so sad. Have you come across the starlight fairies before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“They’re delightful little people. They’re the tiniest sups in Candlefield—the size of a pinhead. Their population has exploded over recent years, but housing for them hasn’t kept pace, and now lots of them are homeless.”

“I always thought fairies lived in the woods.”

“In the human world, maybe, but here in Candlefield they normally live in houses like the rest of us. A friend of mine, Diane Bayswater, runs FairyAid, a charity which is trying to help them. She’s asked if I’ll help out.”

“Raising funds?”

“I suppose so. I’m going to meet with her in the next couple of days to see what she’d like me to do.”

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“That’s very generous, Jill, but I think you’ve already done enough with your work for SupAid.”

***

I hadn’t told Jack that I was going to see Stuart Steele. He wouldn’t have been very happy if he’d known, but I had a business to run, and a living to earn.

I arrived at Stuart’s house ten minutes before the time we’d agreed. It was a large house, and had obviously cost a pretty penny. As I arrived, a tow-truck, with the name Beeline Motors and the logo of a cute bee driving a car, was picking up a black four-by-four from in front of the house.

Stuart answered the door. “Jill, thank you very much for coming.” He must have seen me glance at the car. “They’re taking it in for repair; it packed up on me yesterday.”

“Mine broke down the other day in the middle of nowhere. If it hadn’t been for Malcolm the mobile barber, I would have been in a real pickle.”

“Mobile barber?”

“Yes, he’s a funny little guy. He has a mobile barber shop which he insists on parking in the middle of nowhere.”

“How does he get customers?”

“He doesn’t; at least, not many. But he seems happy enough, so who are we to question him?”

“Let’s go through to the living room.”

There were fish tanks embedded in the walls of the corridors, and in the living room was a large open-topped tank with glass steps leading up to it.

“Fascinating aren’t they?” he said. “Would you like to feed them?”

“No, thanks. I take it this is a hobby of yours?”

“It is indeed—ever since I was a child. My father bought my first fish tank for me when I was six years old, and it grew from there. I eventually started my own shop—you may have seen it: Something Fishy. It’s in Washbridge, close to the library.”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Bar Fish is the next step in my plan for world fish domination. If it’s successful, I hope to sell franchises. Hopefully, you’ll soon see a Bar Fish in cities throughout the country.” He frowned. “Of course, after last night, things aren’t looking quite so rosy.”

“Did you know Starr Fish?”

“I’m not really a fan of reality TV, but you’d have to be blind and deaf not to have heard of her. She was never off the front pages of the tabloids, and all over the internet. I’d heard that she’d disappeared, but that was as much as I knew about her.”

“If you didn’t know her, why would you want to spend money to find out who killed her?”

“Pure self-interest, I must confess. The longer this drags on, the worse it will be for Bar Fish. If it can be cleared up quickly, maybe I can still salvage something out of the situation. Would there be a problem with Jack if you were to take on the case?”

“Not a problem as such, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not to mention it to him. I wouldn’t want him to think I was treading on his toes.”

“Absolutely. A nod is as good as a wink. I would like you to give me regular updates though.”

“Of course.”

***

As I walked past the newsagent, I noticed The Bugle’s front page, and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I’d thought The Bugle had already plunged the depths of gutter journalism, but this took it to a whole new sordid level. The photo on the front page was of Starr Fish in the tank at Bar Fish. Her dead eyes seemed to be staring through the glass at the lens of the camera. How could anyone publish that? How would her family feel when they saw it? It made my blood boil.

I rushed straight over to their offices, burst through reception, and made a beeline for Dougal Bugle’s desk.

“If it isn’t Jill Gooder. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“This!” I waved a copy of The Bugle in his face.

“Did you come to congratulate me on another brilliant article?”

“How could you publish a photograph like this?”

“We’re only reporting the news.”

“You could have done that without the photo. What about her poor family? How do you think they’ll feel when they see this?”

“I think they have bigger things to worry about. And besides, I don’t see what it’s got to do with you.”

“I want to know who took this photo.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s confidential.”

I grabbed him by the tie. “Tell me who took the photo, Dougal.”

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll call the police. I’m sure Jack Maxwell would be interested to see what his girlfriend gets up to.”

Before I could release Dougal, the guy at the next desk had snapped a photo of me. I was tempted to take the camera out of his hand, and smash it into pieces, but no doubt there’d be three more cameras taking photos of that too. The damage was already done. I needed to get out of there before I did anything else I’d regret.

“You’re a disgrace, Dougal.” I released him. “A worm.”

My heart was still in overdrive after I’d left the building. Moments later, my phone rang. I had to take a deep breath to compose myself.

“Hello?”

“Jill? It’s Susan Hall.”

Susan Hall was The Bugle’s newest recruit. She’d visited my office to introduce herself, and to tell me that she shared a lot of my concerns about that rag. She had hoped she’d be able to transform it into a more reputable publication. If today’s events were anything to go by, it looked as though she’d failed miserably.

“Have you seen the front page of your publication, Susan?”

“I have. I think it’s terrible.”

“I thought you said you were going to clean up The Bugle.”

“I’m working on it, but it’s not going to happen overnight.”

“That photo is beyond the pale.”

“I agree. That’s why I’m calling.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you with Dougal. I was hoping you’d punch him in the nose.”

“I came very close.”

“Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but the photographer was George Pullman—he’s a freelancer.”

“Thanks, Susan.”

Maybe there was hope for Susan Hall yet.

***

It was time to make my way over to Middle Tweaking. I’d arranged to meet Myrtle at the old watermill.

“Ah, Jill. You came.” Myrtle greeted me. “I wasn’t sure if you would. Are you positive you want to do this?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

“There is one piece of interesting information I’ve picked up since you were last here. It seems that the murder mystery players had a lottery syndicate going. They played the same numbers every week, and because Madge ran the post office where the lottery is sold, she was responsible for purchasing the tickets. Anyway, a few weeks ago now, it seems that their numbers came up. They didn’t stand to win the jackpot, but they would have ended up with five thousand each. Not to be sniffed at. Unfortunately, it turned out that Madge had forgotten to buy the ticket that week, so they ended up with nothing.

She was understandably devastated to have let down her friends in that way. It seems that some of them accepted her apology, and understood it had been a genuine mistake. Others suggested that she’d
never
bought the tickets, and had pocketed the money every week assuming that they’d never win, so no one would be any the wiser.”

“Presumably there was a lot of bad feeling in the group.”

“Yes. Some were annoyed with Madge; others were annoyed with those who refused to believe it had been a genuine mistake. That’s undoubtedly why they’d decided to abandon the murder mystery evenings.” Myrtle grabbed her handbag. “Anyway, come on, we’d better get a move on. I’ve arranged for us to see Florence Long who runs the pharmacy.”

Florence Long had a beautiful thatched cottage just outside the village. Myrtle and I found her waiting for us on the front porch.

“Myrtle, nice to see you again.”

“And you, Florence. How are you keeping?”

“My arthritis is playing up a little at the moment. It’s the weather, I think.” She turned to me. “Who is this young lady?”

“This is Jill Gooder. She was in the audience for the final murder mystery evening.”

“I’m afraid I don’t take much notice of the audience. I get very nervous, so I tend to focus on the lights.”

“Jill works as a private investigator in Washbridge.”

“I see. Would you both like a drink?”

Florence provided us with cold, hand-squeezed lemonade.

“Florence,” Myrtle said. “How long had you and Madge known each other?”

“Madge and I have always been friends. We both grew up in Middle Tweaking; we went to school together. Lifelong friends, you could say.”

“And what did you make of this lottery business?”

“The way Madge was treated was disgusting. She would no more cheat her friends than she’d steal money from the post office. The suggestion was preposterous. It was obvious that she genuinely forgot; she was devastated. We were all upset; it was a lot of money. But these things happen. Forgive and forget, I say, but some of the others didn’t see it that way. That was the beginning of the end for the players.”

“Was there anything else troubling Madge that you’re aware of?”

“There was something, but I don’t like to say.”

“Come on, Florence. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know, Myrtle, but I wouldn’t like it to get back to the police.”

“I won’t tell anyone, and Jill won’t or I’d be forced to kill her.” Myrtle grinned—she could be very scary when she wanted to be. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Jill?”

“My lips are sealed.”

Florence took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s common knowledge, but Madge had been seeing Brendan Breeze.”

“Brendan? Really? You do surprise me. Brendan’s a nice man, but he has a permanent smell of fish about him.” Myrtle screwed up her nose.

“I know. I’m not sure how she put up with it. Apparently, they’d been seeing one another for some time, but then Brendan dropped her for his young assistant. By all accounts, Madge was heartbroken. She came to cry on my shoulder.