The No. 2 Feline Detective Agency (10 page)

Hettie made her way to the far end of the shop, getting a welcoming flash of gums from Meridian on
her way past. The section she was looking for included some of Hambone’s larger, more expensive items, all looking more than a little shop-soiled and falling under the banner of ‘Electrics’. It was no secret that Meridian sourced her ‘Electrics’ from the backs of lorries, but her customers were grateful for her enterprising nature as the questionable pedigree of the items was reflected in their price. There was a Hoover, a collection of dusty electric fires, a record player with detachable lid, a radiogram in a roll-top cabinet (slightly bashed), and several television sets of varying size. As Hettie located the batteries next to the torches and kettles, she noticed a video machine and remembered Tilly’s description of her close encounter with a cassette in the library van. She was just wondering if Marcia Woolcoat’s cheque would stretch to a ‘back of a lorry’ TV when she heard raised voices from the front of the shop.

‘Get off me yer devils!’

‘Stay still you stupid old cat or my friend ’ere will slit yer throat from ear to ear.’

Hettie shrank back behind the kettles, then – remembering she was a detective – made her way slowly and quietly back up the centre aisle towards the counter. She paused by the mops, buckets and sponges to take in the scene in front of her: two nasty-looking Tom cats were by the till, one of them holding Meridian captive with a knife at her throat, the other emptying the day’s takings into a bag. Hettie moved swiftly into
the gardening section and armed herself with a spade, then took a deep breath and gave out an ear-piercing yowl as she ran towards the counter wielding the spade in front of her. The Tom with the knife was startled long enough for Meridian to wriggle free of his grip and slide under the counter as Hettie waded in with her weapon – first, a sharp jab to the knife cat, then one swift blow to knock the money thief senseless. The contents of Meridian’s till scattered across the counter and, as the rolling change settled, Hettie retrieved the knife from the floor and Meridian from under her counter. She settled the frightened shopkeeper on a floor cushion from soft furnishings, keeping half an eye on the two robbers.

Gradually, the Tom cats regained their senses and squirmed on the floor, nursing their battered heads as Hettie loomed over them with her spade and knife. Only now did she begin to take in the enormity of what had just happened, and how brave and foolhardy she had been, and the knowledge made her tremble. She had barely recovered when the shop door was flung open by a large cardboard box, followed by a giant of a cat. ‘Hello Ma! Sorry I’m late, but I got some good st … Hey! What’s goin’ on?’ The cat looked at his mother on her cushion, then made a lunge for Hettie, who successfully sidestepped him. As he crashed to the floor, he noticed that he had joined a fast-growing band of casualties, finally putting two
and two together as he eyed up the robbers.

Lazarus Hambone rose to his feet and gallantly relieved Hettie of her weapons. ‘Come on now, I’ll deal with them. You look after Ma.’ He led her away from the counter, finding another cushion and placing it next to Meridian’s, and Hettie – grateful and still shaking – took her place on the floor in what had become the recovery area of the shop. Lazarus helped himself to two lengths of strong rope from the chandlery section and bound the robbers together. He dragged them away from the counter, parking them in Meridian’s paraffin and oil department. ‘There you are! That should hold yer till I’ve sorted me Ma out. I shall have a bit of fun with you two later – we’ll be goin’ on a little drive, so don’t make any plans fer the rest of yer lives.’ The Tom cats cowered as Lazarus bolted the shop door and returned to his mother and Hettie, who was beginning to feel a little steadier now that the danger had passed.

‘That’s my boy!’ croaked Meridian, looking up at her son and turning to Hettie. ‘And to think I nearly threw ’im out with the rubbish when he was born – sickly runt of me litter, thought he was dead. I was wrappin’ ’im up in a bit o’ newspaper and he gives out the biggest yowl as the life comes back into ’im. That’s why I calls ’im Lazarus, risen from the dead ’e was.’ Lazarus looked embarrassed as his mother launched into their family history, and cut her short by offering his paw to Hettie as she struggled from the cushion,
keen now to pay for her batteries and leave the crime scene behind.

‘You can’t let her go yet,’ protested Meridian. ‘She’s saved me life! That ugly one would ’ave slit me throat if she ’adn’t smacked ’im. Get her whatever she wants. You pick something nice from me ’lectrics, dearie.’ Meridian encouraged Hettie with her broadest gummy smile as Lazarus returned to his captives to check that the ropes were secure.

Hettie knew exactly what she wanted from Meridian’s ‘’lectrics’ and wasted no time in making her request. ‘Well, if it’s not too much to ask, I would love one of your TVs, and perhaps a set of batteries for my radio?’ Hettie thought she might have pushed her luck with the batteries, but tried anyway and was delighted with the response.

‘Gawd love us! Chuck that video thing in as well,’ Meridian squawked at Lazarus. ‘Take ’er down and get ’er to pick out a telly, and get it all delivered to ’er door.’

Hettie followed Lazarus to the back of the shop as Meridian scrambled to her feet and began to collect up the notes and coins that had been scattered during the assault, giving both robbers a hefty whack on the shins with her walking stick as she tottered past them. Hettie wished that Tilly could have been with her to choose their TV – it was such a nice thing to do, and Tilly was so much better at keeping pace with technology –
but she did remember one of the things that Tilly had mentioned about the ‘beastly video thing’, as she put it, and hoped that Lazarus could help. ‘Are all these TVs compatible with this video machine?’ she asked, impressed by how knowledgeable she sounded. ‘I understand that some of them don’t get on.’

Lazarus thought for a moment, looking as lost as Hettie, then he brightened. ‘I tell yer what – my mate Poppa knows all about this stuff, so why don’t I get him to bring it round and set it up for you? It’s the least I can do. Would Monday suit?’

Hettie laughed out loud, and – seeing the puzzled look on Lazarus Hambone’s face – responded gratefully. ‘Yes, Monday would be perfect. Thank you.’ She chose her batteries, collected the umbrella which she had leant against the Hoover, and bid Meridian – who had regained her perch and her wine gums – a cheery goodbye, emerging into the High Street just as the heavens opened and the rain poured down. Putting her umbrella up, she decided to pay a call on Tilly at work, and smiled all the way there.

While Hettie was wielding a garden spade at two of the town’s less desirable types, Tilly headed to Cheapcuts Lane to languish in the delights of Jessie’s charity shop. Jessie gave her the guided tour as they shared a round of sardines on toast and, once the cash till had been mastered, Tilly brought her up to speed on the Furcross case and her own new status as Hettie’s official sidekick. Jessie was impressed and pleased for Tilly; she knew that Miss Lambert would be smiling down proudly at Tilly’s advancement, and told her so before she set out for Malkin and Sprinkle to join the backstage chaos that was Cocoa Repel’s autumn fashion event.

Tilly had never run a shop before, but knew it was a big responsibility. She sat on Jessie’s chair and fidgeted, then thought she should look busy in case a customer came in. There was a box of old books under the counter that someone had donated, and she began to sort through them. Their covers were torn and sticky and they all smelt of smoke, but to Tilly they were treasure. She had never owned a book, and although the library offered her plenty to read, she always had to take them back and sometimes that was difficult. She found a couple of Polly Hodges in the bottom of the box and had just put them aside when the shop bells gave warning of her first customer. She sprang up, banging her head on the counter, and emerged looking a little dazed as a mother and three kittens bustled in and banged the door shut behind them. The kittens, thinking they had been let loose in a playground, began clambering all over Jessie’s carefully colour-coded clothes rails, swinging on the scarves and playing hide-and-seek in the boxes of hats and shoes. Tilly stared in horror as the shop was turned upside down. The mother turned her back on her offspring and browsed through Jessie’s winter coat selection as if the kittens were nothing to do with her. To make matters worse, the bells rang again to herald the arrival of two elderly female cats, dressed identically in full-length plastic macs, with orange headscarves tied tightly round their several
chins. Their umbrellas dripped in unison across the floor as they made their way towards the skirt and blouse area, where a kitten had become entangled in a ball of wool and was crying for help. One of the twins prodded the kitten with her umbrella, making it cry even more, and the other did exactly the same, laughing at the young cat’s distress. Suddenly there was a crash from the other side of the shop as a tea set leapt off the bric-a-brac shelf and smashed to pieces on the floor, revealing the other two kittens clinging to the shelf above.

Tilly never lost her temper unless it was completely worthwhile but, as she took in the carnage around her, she decided that now would be a good moment to explore the harsher side of customer relations. Taking a pair of scissors from the counter, she pushed her way through to the now screaming kitten, picked it up by one ear and proceeded to cut it out of its woollen ball; once freed, the kitten ran to its mother and hid under her skirt, still crying. Tilly then addressed the twins: ‘If you wish to stay in the shop, would you please leave your umbrellas at the door. They are dripping all over the carpet, and I am not happy about my customers being prodded with them. You are both old enough to know better.’ She left them open-mouthed with shock and returned to the counter, where she picked up a brush and dustpan and moved to the other side of the shop. ‘I think you’ll find it much easier to clean up the
broken crockery with this!’ she said to the mother, who was still browsing. ‘And as you’ll be paying for that particular tea set, I’ll get you a bag to put the pieces in.’ Tilly forced the brush and dustpan into the surprised cat’s paws and the shop bells sounded again; this time, she danced across to the door in relief as Hettie stepped over the threshold and out of the rain.

Hettie quickly assessed that the course of true shopkeeping had not run smoothly for Tilly. By now, the elderly twins were pulling and tugging at the same skirt and spitting at each other; the crockery smashing kittens were being smacked by their mother as she trampled more of the broken tea set into the carpet; and the third kitten had wet itself, adding to the umbrella puddles on the floor. After her rescue mission in Hambone’s, she couldn’t help but feel that it was a case of out of the frying pan into the fire. The noise was deafening, as those who had been smacked screamed and those who were cross shouted, but Tilly – now her dander was up – did seem to be getting things under control. The kittens were rounded up and put out in the rain as their mother grudgingly swept up the broken crockery and paid for it, leaving the pieces on the counter as she left. The twin harridans had discovered two identical skirts further up the rail and – in full view of anyone brave enough to watch – were squeezing themselves into them, having cast off their wet macs 
and headscarves. Tilly and Hettie retreated to the relative safety of the counter, and Hettie kept a watchful eye on the pensioners while Tilly put the kettle on. The twins eventually decided on the skirts and two pairs of identical fur-lined ankle boots, synchronising the opening of their purses and the handing over of exactly the same coinage from each. Hettie felt that she should step up to the plate by providing matching carrier bags from Jessie’s pile of reusables; her efforts met with a shared appreciation as the cats snapped their purses closed, picked up their bags and shuffled to the door. Once outside, Hettie couldn’t help but admire their timing as both umbrellas were raised simultaneously, disappearing as one from view and leaving Jessie’s shop a little richer, if somewhat picked over.

‘What a nightmare,’ observed Hettie as she hugged her tea. ‘How on earth does Jessie put up with such odd cats treating her shop like a jumble sale every day, not to mention a nursery? She must have the patience of a saint.’

Tilly giggled at the thought of Jessie’s saintliness, remembering some of the more irreverent comments that she had made regarding the Methodists across the road. ‘Did you see anything nice in Hambone’s?’ she asked.

‘Not really. Bit of a non-event,’ lied Hettie, who found it almost impossible to keep a secret. ‘Old Ma
Hambone is still on her perch, and I had the honour of meeting one of her many sons – a giant called Lazarus, nice enough but as dodgy as the shop itself. And there was nothing that caught my eye.’ She saw the joke in what she had said, but covered well by engrossing herself in a box of stray buttons on the counter.

Tilly finished her tea and tidied the skirt rail, which had received a number of direct hits from the terrible twins. The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully. Perfectly nice cats came and went, some making small purchases, others just browsing or dropping off bags and boxes of unwanted items for Jessie to sort through at her leisure. By the time Tilly came to cash up, she was pleased to see that she had taken over twelve pounds. As instructed, she carefully removed the takings and deposited them in a bank bag next to Miss Lambert on Jessie’s mantelpiece in the back room. Then she and Hettie locked up for the day and posted the keys back through the letter box.

The High Street looked fresh and sparkly as the sun put in a late appearance, making the day’s puddles shine like glass. As Hettie and Tilly passed Hambone’s, Meridian was dragging in her display buckets, ready to shut up for the day, and she caught Hettie’s arm. ‘I won’t forget what you done today, dearie. Us Hambones always pays our debts.’

With her now familiar smile, she retreated back into the shop and Tilly watched her go, puzzled.
‘What did she mean?’ she asked as Hettie quickened her step, buying herself time to answer the question.

‘Oh, I just fetched a garden spade for her while she was busy at the till. I can’t think why she’s being so grateful, but you know what she’s like. She’s probably overdosed on wine gums.’ Hettie could feel her ears getting redder, as they often did when her imagination ran away with her, and she hoped for once that Tilly wouldn’t notice things in that mild, quiet way of hers.

As soon as they got back to their room Tilly sprang into action, dragging the tin bath from the yard and putting it in front of the fire. They took it in turns to fill and boil kettles of water until the bath was half full, and Tilly poured some washing-up liquid into the water, stirring it round to make bubbles. Hettie had never been too keen on bath night, being an advocate of the lick-and-promise school of hygiene, but it had been a taxing and difficult week and the idea of a long hot soak was beginning to appeal to her. She pulled off her clothes and tested the water, then climbed into the bath, sinking slowly down as the warm water engulfed her and sneezing as the bubbles reached her nose. Tilly took a pair of towels from one of the drawers in the staff sideboard and joined Hettie. They indulged themselves for some time, one at each end, until Hettie reluctantly left the bath’s comforting warmth. She wrapped a towel round her and dripped across the floor to the top filing cabinet drawer, where she kept her best clothes. With
the recent excitement, she had had no time to consider what she might wear for their evening out, and – as it was a fashion event – she wanted to push the boat out.

As the fire crackled merrily away, Hettie paraded her finery, seeking Tilly’s approval. First came the full length purple and gold kaftan, worn at numerous music festivals and bearing grass stains as proof; then the sailor trouser suit, complete with bell bottoms and oversized collar, which didn’t seem to fit any more and was hurriedly set aside as a possible summer outfit for Tilly or, at worst, a donation to Jessie’s shop. By now, Hettie was getting desperate, but then her paw fell on the matador outfit at the bottom of the drawer.

This fashion statement had been made for her several years back, when she entered the Southwool fancy dress parade and carried off first prize, having performed her paso doble on the May Queen’s float after one too many glasses of something Spanish and fizzy. She struggled into the black culottes and white blouse with frilly front and back-turned cuffs, then added a bright red cummerbund which hid a multitude of sins. The final touch was a black crêpe waistcoat with red silk lining, and Tilly clapped her paws in delight as Hettie paraded round their room, giving out the occasional ‘
olé
’ and using her bath towel as the incitement for an imaginary bull, spearing the fire with the poker as she went in for the kill.

Tilly finished her bath and ladled the water into
the sink with their milk pan before laying out her new best blue cardigan and a pair of red woollen tights to complement the black patent-bar sandals that Hettie had bought for her last birthday. Twenty minutes later, they stepped out into the High Street feeling fabulous. Poppa drew up in his van, wearing black tie and looking every bit the handsome escort, and the three cats sped off into the night, full of excitement and looking forward to their free dinner at Malkin and Sprinkle.

Poppa dropped the girls off at the main entrance, leaving them to fight their way through an expectant crowd which hoped to catch a glimpse of Cocoa Repel or her movie star mother. Cocoa’s fashion event had created a great deal of interest in the town, and tickets sold out instantly as the evening promised an excellent dinner, a top band and a discount on any of the garments shown. The great and the good had turned out in full force, and Hettie and Tilly were swept up the escalator to the second-floor ballroom in a wave of posh frocks and sparkling jewellery. The ballroom boasted a high-domed stained-glass ceiling with dancing cherub cats circling round it, and had a glittering beauty that was rarely noticed during normal shop hours, when the room was used as a restaurant and display area for special events. Tonight, the displays had been put away and replaced by a stage and catwalk that ran three-quarters of
the way down the room. It was decorated with early autumn flowers and flanked by a host of small dining tables, laid up and ready to receive the guests.

Mr Malkin and Mr Sprinkle stood either side of the escalator to welcome everyone, while a number of their staff collected tickets and showed the audience to their tables. Hettie had no pockets in her outfit, so Tilly had been entrusted with their passes and, as they neared the top of the escalator, Doris Lean from pre-packed meats scrutinised their tickets to make sure they weren’t fakes. Hettie noticed the ‘what are the likes of you doing here?’ look on the shop assistant’s face and made a point of sharing a few extra words with Mr Sprinkle, as if they had known each other for years. When the niceties had been exchanged, Doris marched Tilly and Hettie grudgingly to a table at the bottom of the catwalk, close to a roped-off area where a small dais had been set up for the band. By now, Tilly’s eyes were threatening to pop out of her head and even Hettie’s mouth remained slightly ajar in the wonderment of the occasion, but she adopted a casual air for appearance’s sake, and especially for the benefit of Doris Lean who – once the guests were seated – would be spending her evening in toilets and cloaks.

Tilly sat on her paws for fear of touching anything she shouldn’t, and marvelled at the shiny cutlery in front of her. The snow-white napkins had been folded into conical peaks and there was a set of silver salt and pepper pots, but the best thing on the table – which
held Tilly’s eye for some time – was a silver dish of butter curls.

Poppa appeared minutes later, having successfully parked his van in a side street, and was just in time to partake of the first round of drinks. Tilly opted for a pink milkshake, full of bubbles and topped with cream and chocolate hundreds and thousands. Hettie and Poppa chose the more sensible option and relieved the waiter of two glasses of champagne which they downed in one, insisting on a refill before he moved on. ‘Decent gig this,’ noted Poppa, picking up the menu card. ‘The food looks good, too. There’s prawns to start, in some sort of sauce I can’t pronounce, then there’s pork and lamb kebabs with salad pittas and another sauce I can’t pronounce.’ Tilly released her paws and climbed onto the table to reach the top of her milkshake, licking the cream and chocolate off the top. Hettie discreetly drew her attention to the napkin, and Tilly did her best to wipe away her excesses as Poppa continued to entertain them with the menu. ‘We’ve got a choice of puddings – there’s creamed rice with chocolate crispies or sticky toffee pudding with a sauce I can’t pronounce.’