Cat Among the Pumpkins (6 page)

It was a rare thing to see Lavender Stamp delivering the mail. The queen of the High Street Post Office rarely emerged from behind her counter, running her business with an iron claw and making it clear to all who engaged with her that nonsense of any sort would not be tolerated. Her customers feared her; her few friends endured her; and the cats that worked for her lasted as long as her temper would allow. Now, Lavender looked down her bespectacled nose as Hettie and Tilly approached. Admittedly, they looked suspicious, especially at such an early hour: the tartan shopper – already overloaded with what Tilly liked to call ‘tangible evidence’, a phrase
gleaned from one of her books – now bore the extra burden of Tilly herself. Her fall had left her achy and slow, so Hettie had hauled her up onto the top of the shopper, hoping to speed up their progress.

The pavement proved tricky in some places, and there was a bit of a spill outside Hambone’s when the cardboard tubes escaped into the gutter, but now, with home in sight, even Tilly had cheered up and was experiencing a fit of the giggles when Lavender Stamp loomed into view.

‘Miss Bagshot,’ began the postmistress ominously, ‘my wretched girl hasn’t turned up for work this morning, and as you are … er … out and about, shall we say, would you be kind enough to take the Butters’ letters to them?’ She reached into the post bag for a bundle of letters secured with an elastic band and shoved them into Hettie’s chest. ‘Oh, and before you go I have a parcel for you.’ This was said in a rather grudging fashion, as Lavender had never really approved of Hettie and her ‘escapades’; equally, it had to be said that Hettie had never really approved of Lavender Stamp, either, and both cats cherished the mutual indifference. Tilly took charge of the parcel and Hettie forced the bundle of letters into her mac pocket as Lavender stalked off down the High Street with her first delivery of the day, more aggressive than usual and looking forward to ringing Teezle Makepeace’s neck when she finally turned up for work.

Back in their room, a cheery blaze awaited them as if the fire knew the precise time of their arrival home. Hettie unloaded the contents of the shopper onto the table and Tilly limped to her blanket by the fire, hoping that some heat would ease the growing pain in her limbs.

‘I think we’ll have to set you up in my armchair for the day,’ Hettie said. ‘If you’re up to it, I need you to go through some of this stuff,’ she nodded towards the pile of things on the table. ‘You should stay at home in the warm until you feel better. I’ll have to go and see Miss Spitforce’s sister. I can’t put that off any longer – she needs to know, and there’s a funeral to arrange.’ Hettie crossed to her armchair, plumped up her cushion and lifted Tilly’s blanket from the floor. ‘Come on. You’ll be much more comfortable up here.’

Tilly didn’t need to be asked twice, and settled herself in. The heat was getting through to her old bones and she was actually feeling much better, but it was a rare treat to sit in Hettie’s chair and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

Hettie glanced at the parcel that Lavender Stamp had so ungraciously handed over. ‘I wonder what this is? I don’t remember ordering anything. It’s a local postmark. Shall we open it as a treat later?’

Tilly nodded. ‘Why do you think Teezle didn’t turn up for work? She seemed fine when she left here last night.’

‘I got the impression that she was putting a brave
face on it. She’d had quite a shock, finding Miss Spitforce like that. She seems like a good sort who cares about the cats she delivers to – I bet she woke up this morning and just couldn’t handle another day at the coalface.’

Tilly was still giggling at the idea of Lavender Stamp with a miner’s pick in hand when there was a polite knock at their door. Hettie moved to open it as Bruiser let himself in.

‘Mornin’ all! Just popped in to see if yer fancy a bite to eat? I’m in the market for a couple of yer landlady’s sausage rolls. Can I get yer anything?’

Normally, Hettie would have bitten his paw off for a free breakfast but there were things to be done. ‘No time this morning, but you can treat us to dinner later if you like. Wednesday is chicken pie day on the Butters’ specials board, and Beryl’s cream horns are Tilly’s favourite.’

‘Right o,’ said Bruiser, slightly stung by Hettie’s quick response to his half-hearted offer of a sausage roll.

Hettie laughed. ‘I was only joking. We get dinner thrown in with our rent so you’ll just have to stump up for your own, but you’re welcome to eat with us later.’

Bruiser breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that his financial situation was not as healthy as he would like. ‘I’ll ’ave to get meself a bit of work if I’m stayin’
around. If yer hear of anything goin’, I’d be pleased to know about it.’

Hettie thought for a moment as she added more coal to the fire. Glancing across at Tilly, she noticed that her friend was fast asleep. She suddenly had an idea and looked up at Bruiser who was standing awkwardly in the open doorway. ‘You used to have a motorbike when you lived on the allotments, didn’t you?’

Bruiser’s scarred old face lit up at the memory. ‘Those were the days! My old bike and me doin’ a ton on that road to Much-Purrin’. I came off a few times but I ’ad me leathers then, saved me from all sorts.’

Hettie knew that Bruiser would go on for some time about his biker days if she let him, so she brought his raptures to an abrupt end. ‘Can you still handle a motorbike? Because if you can, I might be able to offer you a bit of work. There’s not much money in it, but enough to buy a dinner or two.’

‘Sounds just the job,’ said Bruiser, straightening himself up and trying to look respectable enough to re-enter the world of employment. ‘All I needs is a dinner and a place that’s warm and dry to lay me bones down at the end of a day, and that shed of yours is as cosy as toast. Where’s the motorbike, and what do yer want deliverin’?’

Hettie laughed. ‘Me, that’s what – to all the places I need to go while I’m working on the new case we’ve just started. As for the motorbike, she’s called Scarlet
and she lives in Hambone’s yard at the moment until I can learn to ride her properly – although I do prefer the sidecar.’

‘Sidecar?’ said Bruiser, shrinking back in horror. ‘She’s got a sidecar? That’s a real girlie cat thing – not proper bikin’ at all.’

The word ‘sidecar’ had woken Tilly from her nap. She sneezed twice and looked across at Hettie. ‘Ooh, I must have nodded off.’ She smiled at Bruiser, who saluted her from the door. ‘I’m sure someone was shouting about sidecars in my dream. I hope Scarlet is all right. We haven’t been for a ride in her this week. Poor Lazarus!’

Bruiser was looking a little confused and Hettie had no time to spare for long explanations. ‘Bruiser has agreed to help us today, so I’ve asked him to drive me about in Scarlet. You can come out with us tomorrow when you’re feeling better. You’ve got to sort through this stuff today.’ Hettie pointed to the mountain of papers and tubes on the table.

Tilly looked disappointed at missing out on a spin in Scarlet, but saw the sense in what Hettie was saying. ‘I’ll get on with it, then – but tell Scarlet that I’ll see her tomorrow.’

After calling in to buy two sausage rolls and order their dinner from the Butters, Hettie and Bruiser strode off down the High Street to Hambone’s. Meridian waved them through the shop into the
backyard, where they were greeted by a mountain of tyres, exhaust pipes and part-built or part-dismantled motorbikes of every sort. As they made their way to the small sales cabin in the far corner of the yard, Bruiser purred with delight at the vision of so many bits of fashioned metal. Lazarus Hambone took up most of the space in the cabin. He was a giant of a cat and the fact that one of his hind legs was now encased in a plaster cast made things extremely difficult. He was resting it on the open bottom drawer of his filing cabinet, which made it impossible for anyone else to fit into the office space.

Hettie stood in the doorway to introduce Bruiser. ‘Sorry to hear about your accident. I have a difficult case on at the moment, and I wondered if I could use Scarlet? My friend Bruiser here has offered to take me out on her.’

Lazarus put down the
Biker Monthly
he was reading and – still seated – reached for a set of keys from the board above his desk. ‘It’s about time you managed the wheels yerself instead of sittin’ in the sidecar with yer friend. Where is she today? It’s not like her to miss a ride out.’

Hettie took the keys from Lazarus’s giant paw. ‘She had to do some work in the office today, but she hopes your leg will mend soon. Is Scarlet parked in her usual place?’

Lazarus nodded, looking Bruiser up and down. ‘She
needs a good strong kick to start ’er up, but once you give ’er a bit o’ throttle she’ll fly. You got any leathers? Not the weather to go without.’

Bruiser admitted that he hadn’t expected to be working for Hettie and had shed his leathers some years ago. Lazarus pointed to the back of his cabin door. ‘Take that jacket. A customer left it months ago and he’s not been back for it. That should keep the wind out. There’s a helmet on the floor down there. You can ’ave the jacket but the helmet’ll ’ave to be a borrow as it belongs to me old ma.’

Bruiser offered his thanks and eagerly pulled on the leather jacket, which was a perfect fit. Grabbing the helmet from the cabin floor, he crossed the yard to where Hettie was standing next to a bright red motorbike and sidecar. His eyes lit up. ‘Cor blimey! What a beauty! I take it all back – nothing girlie about her. She’s a goddess on three wheels. I can’t wait ter get her fired up.’

Hettie was pleased at Bruiser’s enthusiasm. She pulled back the lid to the sidecar and clambered in. ‘We’d better get going. You’ll have to wheel her through the double gates at the back of the yard.’

Bruiser took charge of the bike and guided it out through the gates onto the road. ‘Where’re we goin’ first?’

‘Cheapcuts Lane. There are some flats at the bottom, and we have to call at number seven.’ Hettie
closed the lid on the sidecar, settling herself down in the plush comfort of Tilly’s homemade cushions and pulling the tartan travel rug around her. Bruiser crammed Meridian Hambone’s helmet on his head, kicked Scarlet into life, and sped off.

The journey in Scarlet was exhilarating, although Hettie almost revisited her rustic ham stick on the roundabout at the bottom of Sheba Gardens. Bruiser had enjoyed his first circuit so much that he repeated the manoeuvre three times before taking the exit road that would bring them in at Cheapcuts Lane. The small flats at the bottom of the road looked cold and unwelcoming, and this part of the town was to be avoided unless you enjoyed fighting or similar anti-social behaviour. It wasn’t so much that the residents were poor; it was more a case of their refusing to comply with rules that had been laid down by others; they were perfectly happy with the way things were, and had collectively decided to rail against anyone whose agenda was to make the world a better place.

Bruiser brought the bike to a shuddering standstill outside the flats, attracting immediate attention from a legion of kittens that appeared from nowhere and proceeded to bounce up and down on the roof of the sidecar, much to Hettie’s dismay. Bruiser rose to the occasion by offering his fiercest hiss and spit routine, which held the hordes at bay long enough for Hettie to clamber out onto the pavement. Looking round,
she tightened the belt on her mac as if preparing for battle. ‘I think you should stay with the bike in case this lot get any ideas about borrowing her.’

‘Right-o,’ said Bruiser, pleased not to be parted from his new toy. ‘Any bother, though, and you just gives me a shout. I was brought up near here, and I know how it all works. Yer gives as good as yer gets, and yer gotta earn respect – that’s the way of it.’

Hettie was grateful for the advice but felt rather overdressed in her smart designer mac. She knew that the information she was about to deliver would not endear her in any way to this area of the town, but the sooner it was done, the better her chances of catching the killer who was still at large.

The door to number 7 was scratched and grimy; the paint had peeled some time ago and the letterbox was just a hole in the door; there were no trimmings and no pride, just a way of getting in and out of what looked to be little more than a box connected to other boxes. There was no bell or knocker, either, so Hettie thumped on the door as politely as she could and waited.

It was some time before she heard a shuffling from inside, followed by the appearance of two eyes looking through the letterbox hole. Hettie bent down to show herself in the hope that the door would eventually be opened.

‘I don’t want anything you got, so clear off!’ said
the letterbox that had now turned into a mouth.

Hettie stood back and shouted at the door. ‘I need to speak with Miss Mildred Spitforce. Is she at home? I have some distressing news for her.’

The eyes returned to the letterbox and then the mouth again. ‘Maybe she is or maybe she isn’t, and who might you be?’

‘I’m Hettie Bagshot of the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency, and I must speak with Miss Spitforce urgently. Can you help?’

Hettie was tiring of her conversation with the door and was just about to scribble a note to stick through the letterbox when she heard the sound of bolts being drawn across. The door resisted to start with, but eventually swung back to reveal a thin and feeble version of Mavis Spitforce, and Hettie wasted no time in delivering her message. ‘Ah, I can see that you are Mildred Spitforce and I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your sister Mavis is dead.’

Hettie was hoping that she might be invited into the flat to discuss the finer points of Mavis’s death with her sister in private, but no invitation was forthcoming. Instead, Mildred Spitforce threw back her head and laughed. ‘Bad news, you say? Why, it’s the best news I’ve had in years. Miss High and Mighty gone for good? Now that really
is
a cause for celebration.’

Hettie had been warned by Teezle Makepeace that there was no love lost between the sisters, but
she hadn’t expected her news to bring such joy and she was keen to wipe the smile from Mildred’s face. ‘I think you should know that your sister was murdered, and I am at present investigating who might have done that.’