Cat Among the Pumpkins (13 page)

‘She should have seen it coming if she’s a real psychic.’

‘Mm. And we mustn’t forget that she actually lives in the house where this whole sorry mess began. I think tomorrow will be a very interesting day. And now I suggest we relieve the table of those cream horns and put the milk on for the cocoa.’

Friday dawned with a ringing in Hettie’s ears. It persisted until Tilly had successfully negotiated the contents of the staff sideboard to locate the telephone, which rang rarely and only at the least convenient times. During business hours, it was Tilly’s job as office junior to field any outside communications and to give the impression that the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency was a busy and efficient organisation. Today, with Hettie still swathed in her bed covers and Tilly in her winter pyjamas, the impression was a little far from the mark.

‘Oh bugger!’ exclaimed Tilly as she backed out of
the sideboard, bringing the telephone with her. ‘That’s just typical – it’s stopped. You’d think it would have the decency to wait until I could answer it. It’s plain bad manners to disturb us and then ring off.’ She slammed the offending creature down next to her blanket and put the kettle on. The clock said five past eight and an early morning cup of milky tea might help to repair the jangling nerves of such a rude awakening.

Hettie, now fully awake, sat up. ‘Why anyone would want to call at this time defeats me. Nobody decent would be awake enough to pick up the phone in the first place.’

‘I suppose most cats are up by now if they have jobs to go to,’ Tilly said reasonably, adding an extra sugar lump to her tea.

‘Well, they should keep their early rising habits to themselves and not bother the rest of us with them.’ Hettie was about to launch into one of her rants when the telephone rang again.

Tilly responded immediately, pulling the receiver off the hook. ‘Good morning, the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency, Tilly Jenkins speaking – how may I help?’ Hettie was impressed, and marvelled at what Tilly liked to call her ‘posh voice’. The measured decorum was soon shattered and the caller was clearly in a hurry. ‘Oh, just a minute Miss Anderton – I’ll see if Miss Bagshot is able to take your call.’ Tilly covered the mouthpiece with her paw. ‘It’s Bugs Anderton. She
sounds very upset. I think you’ll have to speak to her.’

Grudgingly, Hettie took the proffered phone. ‘Miss Anderton, what can I do for you?’ It was several moments before she was able to get another word in, but eventually she gained control of the conversation. ‘We have arranged a meeting with Miss Peggledrip today, but we could come and see you tomorrow to discuss this properly if that would help? We have other business in Much-Purring, so shall we say two o’clock?’

Having finalised the appointment, Hettie passed the phone back to Tilly, who in turn pushed it back into the staff sideboard. ‘Whatever’s the matter with her? I thought there’d been another murder by the way she was shrieking down the phone.’

‘Not yet,’ Hettie said wryly, giving the fire a good poke. ‘She’s had a nasty threatening note saying that if she doesn’t clear off back to Scotland she’ll be sharing a plot with her friend Mavis. Evidently there have been some odd things happening in her garden recently, as well – broken panes in her greenhouse, paint sprayed on her rose garden, and bags of rubbish appearing from nowhere. On the face of it, it doesn’t seem very serious, but coupled with the threatening note and the fact that it all sounds very similar to the problems Mavis was having a few weeks ago, I think we should look into it. We have to pay a call on Pakora Dosh tomorrow anyway, so we’ll kill two birds with one
stone. Today we enter the weird and wonderful world of Irene Peggledrip and her friend Crimola.’

Tilly clapped her paws in excitement. She had been looking forward to visiting the town’s medium all week, and sprang to the filing cabinet to select the garment that she thought would be most suitable for the day’s adventure. After much pondering over which colour would best suit her first foray into the spirit world, and a complete fashion parade in front of a disinterested Hettie, she decided on the purple cardigan with hood and bright yellow buttons – the one she had picked out right from the start. Several rounds of toast and cheese triangles later, she tidied their room whilst Hettie strode off down the garden to wake Bruiser, only to find him in deep conversation with Beryl Butter about her plans for the bonfire night celebrations the next day. Hettie had already stepped forward as chief firework warden and would be giving her display, assisted by Tilly as torch bearer and carrier of matches. Bruiser, it would appear, was being coerced into taking charge of the bonfire in exchange for as many sausage rolls as he could eat.

Satisfied that her new recruit was on board, Beryl bustled back up the garden to help her sister with the breakfast rush in the shop. Hettie helped Bruiser throw some more wood onto the bonfire, which was beginning to look impressive.

‘This’ll go up a treat tomorrow, as long as we don’t
have any rain,’ he said, pleased to be part of the party. ‘What yer got in store fer us today?’

Hettie took a moment to respond as she picked a splinter out of her paw. ‘Nice things this morning, odd stuff this afternoon. We have to go to Hambone’s to pick up the fireworks for tomorrow, that’s the first job; then lunch and off to the Peggledrip house for God knows what this afternoon. If you don’t fancy staying, you can drop us off and pick us up later.’

Bruiser appreciated Hettie’s diplomacy but was quite enjoying his role as bodyguard. ‘No, I’ll wait fer yer. Yer might need a quick getaway from there.’ Strangely, Bruiser was right.

Tilly was waiting excitedly when Hettie got back to their room. ‘Look – Betty’s dropped off the money for the fireworks. She said they’ve raised twice as much as last year by putting an extra penny on their Halloween novelties.’

‘We’d better get a move on, then, if you’re going to choose them this year. It’s a big responsibility.’

She waited for the words to register with her friend, and wasn’t disappointed. ‘Me? Do you mean me to choose the fireworks?’ Tilly squealed, forgetting her arthritis and dancing round the room. She swung the bag of money about so vigorously that she collapsed in a fluffy heap on Hettie’s giant red bean bag, unseating the twelve-string guitar which Hettie only just caught before it crashed to the floor.

Hettie laughed at the sheer joy on Tilly’s face. ‘Come on. Bruiser will be waiting for us. We’ll let Meridian Hambone count the money while you pick out your display.’

Bruiser was posting the end of one of the Butters’ finest sausage rolls into his mouth when Hettie and Tilly joined him in the High Street. It occurred to Hettie that he was becoming quite a hit with the sisters, who were obviously enjoying having a strong pair of male paws about the place. He had certainly settled into his position at the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency, and Hettie’s fear of having to drive the motorbike quite slipped away from her as she and Tilly settled into Scarlet’s sidecar to be chauffeured to Hambone’s in the style to which they had both become accustomed.

Meridian Hambone squawked with delight as Tilly swung the firework money onto her counter. ‘Gawd love us! This’ll buy yer plenty of whoops and bangs, and I got ’em on specials today – four fireworks gets yer a free pack o’ me sparklers.’

Tilly clapped her paws in delight. She loved watching the fireworks as they exploded into showers of gold and silver in the bonfire night sky, but sparklers were her ultimate joy and the anticipation of writing her name with a fizzing stick of magical sparks was almost too much to look forward to. Hettie collected a wire shopping basket and stood patiently whilst she debated over how to strike the perfect balance
between spectacular, pretty and just plain noisy. ‘I think I’ll do the ones on the floor first,’ she said, to no one in particular. ‘Golden Rain, that’s a nice one, and Roman Candles – four of those. The pyramiddy things look exciting – I think four of those as well.’

Hettie loaded the basket as Tilly worked her way through the ‘pretty’ part of her choices, moving on to what she liked to call ‘the tricky ones’. ‘I suppose we’d better have some Jumping Jacks, although I got chased by one last year and it made me drop my toffee apple. Then there was the Catherine Wheel incident.’ Hettie nodded sagely, remembering the moment when the spinning firework had detached itself from the fence to which she had nailed it and completed its colourful swirling in Lavender Stamp’s newly knitted cloche hat, much to Lavender’s surprise and the delight of those who had been made to stand a little too long in one of her queues. Thinking aloud, Tilly continued. ‘But it wouldn’t be the same without the Catherine Wheels, so I think eight of those and four Jumping Jacks and four of those Aeroplanes.’

The basket was now full of colourful tubes of gunpowder of every shape and size, and Tilly reached the ‘spectacular’ section of her display – the rockets. Much to the annoyance of Creamy Float the milk-cat, Tilly had been hoarding empty bottles for several weeks to ensure that the Butters’ rocket display would be a magnificent spectacle; it was traditionally saved until
the end of the firework display, just before the lighting of the bonfire. Now, the rockets stood on their sticks like soldiers across the back of the display cabinet, starting with the smaller ones and building to the giant spaceship shapes with cardboard fins and wings. Remembering the deal on the sparklers, Tilly selected four of each size, giving her twenty-four rockets in total.

Hettie staggered to the counter under the weight of Tilly’s choices, just as Meridian had finished counting the firework money. ‘Near as damn it, twenty pounds there. Old Guy Fawkes’d be pleased to ’ave that much gunpowder!’ she squawked as she began adding up the contents of Hettie’s basket. Eventually, after several recounts and much crossing out on the notepad she kept by the till, Meridian was able to give the financial statement that Hettie and Tilly had been waiting for. ‘I makes that nineteen pound and threepence, with twelve free packs of sparklers.’ Hettie was pleased that Tilly’s extravagance hadn’t broken the bank, and Tilly was ecstatic at having achieved so many packets of free sparklers. It was going to be a very fine display.

Bruiser sauntered through from the yard with a borrowed copy of
Biker’s Monthly
under his arm, just in time to carry the fireworks in several large brown paper bags. They fitted nicely into the sidecar but there was no room for Hettie or Tilly, so it was agreed that Bruiser would run the fireworks home whilst the other two picked up fish and chips for lunch. Hettie
had pointed out that they may need a hearty meal to sustain them during their afternoon at the Peggledrip house, and she received no argument from either Tilly or Bruiser.

Elsie Haddock’s Fish Emporium was almost as popular as the Butters’ pie and pastry shop. From opposite ends of the High Street, they served the townsfolk with premium quality foods and service. Elsie had been in fish all her life, and had jealously guarded a family recipe for crispy batter which brought cats from as far away as Southwool to dine – on or off the premises. ‘Dining in’ consisted of two small tables placed by the salt and vinegar shelf where, on cold and rainy days if you were lucky, you could sit and eat in the warm. Today, there was no chance: the shop was packed to the gills, as it always was on a Friday, and the tables had been pushed to one side to allow more space for the queue of salivating customers. Elsie stood at the helm of her empire, as broad as she was tall and swathed in chef’s battered and splattered whites, wielding her frying baskets with a precision to be gasped at. There was a remarkable intimacy between Elsie and her deep fat fryers, and even though her days were long and tiring, she had never entertained the prospect of taking on staff; in her darkest moments, she allowed the thought of another cat tampering with her built-in heat regulators to enter her charmed life, but mostly those unthinkable demons were kept at
bay. She had also fought off the developing trend of menu expansion, sticking strictly to a choice of cod, her namesake Haddock, and the option of small or large chips; she had given in to the idea of homemade fish cakes, which were popular with kittens, but there was no chance of finding a pie or a saveloy anywhere on the premises.

In spite of its being a one-cat show, the queue moved swiftly. Hettie’s hunger reached fever pitch as the smell of freshly fried fish and chips engulfed her, and she eyed the newspaper parcels of successful customers with murderous intent as they swaggered out of the shop. At last, her turn came and she boldly delivered her request of cod and large chips, three times. Tilly stood poised at the salt and vinegar bar to add the condiments as Elsie slapped the still-sizzling cod and three generous shovels of chips into the middle of a sheet of newspaper. By coincidence, the paper was the edition of the
Sunday Snout
which carried the details of their triumphant Furcross case; Tilly hesitated to pour vinegar all over the picture of Hettie, but pushed on in the knowledge that they had several copies somewhere at home.

Armed with their precious cargo, they skipped from the fish shop and made short work of their walk home, where it would be true to say that Elsie Haddock’s fish and chips were despatched in less time than it took to boil a kettle.

‘Well, we can’t put Irene Peggledrip off any longer,’ sighed Hettie after a long and intense cleaning of paws and whiskers. ‘I’ll pop round and order pies for supper and meet you both by Scarlet.’ Hettie pulled her business mac from its hook and grabbed her warmest scarf; she left by the back door, only to return seconds later agitated and annoyed. ‘We won’t be going anywhere just yet. The alleyway is blocked. And you’ll never guess what’s bloody blocking it?’

Tilly exchanged a nervous look with Bruiser, who leapt into action. ‘Well, whatever it is I’ll fix it!’

Hettie and Tilly followed him out into the yard and the three cats peered down the alleyway that led to the High Street as a giant woolly monster scraped and shoved its way towards them. Tilly shrank back behind Hettie as Bruiser prepared for battle. ‘Come on!’ he shouted. ‘All paws on deck. Let’s shove it back before it gets into the yard.’ He flung himself at the obstruction which was making very good progress along the passage, and Hettie and Tilly added their weight to his charge. The monster rebuffed them all by bouncing Bruiser backwards and creating a painful pile-up of claws and fur.