SH03 - Whoops! Someone Is On Our Case Read online

  He rushed up the stairs, but then stopped outside the apartment. He daren’t go inside because if Pretty had eaten Bob, he was a dead man. And, Dorothy wouldn’t kill him quickly; she’d make sure he died a slow, lingering death. Eventually, he realised he had no choice but to face the music, so he slid the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open.

  Oh no!

  His worst nightmare had just come true. The door to the birdcage was open, and there was no sign of Bob. Hardly surprising, seeing as the canary was in Pretty’s stomach.

  What should he do? Was there time to buy another canary before Dorothy got home from work? There wasn’t, and besides, he had no idea where he’d get one. He had no option but to come clean and confess. What was the worst that could happen to him?

  He didn’t like to think about it.

  Every minute felt like an hour as Charlie waited to face his fate. No doubt Neil would have a good laugh at his expense.

  Just before five-thirty, he heard voices—women’s voices. It was Dorothy and Tilly. The door opened, and the two of them stepped inside. Surely, Dorothy wouldn’t do anything too awful to him in front of Tilly. Who was he trying to kid?

  “Hi, Charlie.” Tilly gave him a little wave.

  “Hi.” He waved back. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thanks. Have you been skiving off like Dorothy?”

  “It’s my early finish,” Charlie managed, through dry lips.

  “I did not skive off,” Dorothy said. “I’m working flexi-time.”

  Any moment now, Dorothy would notice the empty cage, and then it would be game over for Charlie, so he decided it would be better to speak up now, and throw himself on her mercy.

  “Dorothy. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Okay?”

  “It might be better to do it in private.”

  “I can leave.” Tilly offered.

  “No, stay.” Dorothy grabbed Tilly’s arm. “I invited you down here for a drink, remember?” She turned to Charlie. “What is it you want to talk to me about?”

  “It’s about Pretty.”

  “That stupid cat. If you’re going to ask if you can keep her in the apartment, the answer is no. It’s against the rules of the lease, and she smells.”

  “It’s not that. Look, I don’t know how to tell you this, but—”

  “Is that the cat that’s always hanging around here?” Tilly interrupted.

  “Yes, it’s a pain in the bum,” Dorothy said. “And it only hangs around here because Charlie insists on feeding it.”

  “It might not do in future,” Tilly said. “I caught it trying to get into my apartment earlier, so I chased it off with a feather duster.”

  “Feather duster?” Charlie stared at Tilly. “Would that be a yellow feather duster?”

  “Yes, why?”

  Just then, the door opened, and in walked Dorothy’s mother, carrying the birdcage.

  “There! His nails are as good as new.”

  “Thanks, Mum.” Dorothy took the cage from her mother. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Charlie?”

  “I—err—it’s nothing.” Charlie felt as though he’d just been given a last-minute reprieve.

  “Come on. Spit it out.”

  “It’s just that—err—a new instructor started at the gym today. Her name is Andy.”

  “That’s—err—great. I’m thrilled for you.” Dorothy shook her head. “Come on, Tilly. Let’s go get that drink.”

  Chapter 4

  Neil checked his phone; it was three am. What was that dreadful noise that had woken him? It sounded like a small animal in pain.

  He switched on the bedside lamp.

  “Ooooh, whoaaa, oooooh.” Socky was slouched in the corner of the room, moaning and groaning at the top of his voice.

  “What’s wrong, Socky?”

  “Ooooh, whoaaa, oooooh.”

  Neil climbed out of bed, and walked over to the ghost. “Socky? What’s the matter?”

  “I wish I were dead.” The ghost wailed.

  “I hate to break it to you, but you are. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Bella has found another beau.”

  “You’ve been dumped?” Neil grinned.

  “I’m pleased you find it so amusing.”

  “Sorry. I know you were fond of what’s-her-name. Lady Arabella Muck.”

  “Markham.”

  “Whatever. Who has she dumped you for?”

  “That’s the worst part. She’s now seeing Horatio Getmore.”

  “Oh dear. So, you’re upset because this Getmore guy is getting more than you are?”

  “Is that your crude attempt at humour? If so, I don’t find it amusing. Getmore owned the bloomers factory on the other side of town. His family and mine have always been sworn enemies. They once tried a hostile takeover of the sock factory, but it didn’t succeed. He’s only taken an interest in Bella because he found out that she and I were walking out together.”

  “What do you intend to do about it?”

  “What can I do?”

  “One thing is for sure: sitting there, wailing and feeling sorry for yourself won’t win Bella back.”

  “What would you know?”

  “I’ll have you know that around these parts, I’m known as a lady’s man.”

  Socky looked Neil up and down. “How can that be true? You have no class, no money, and certainly no looks.”

  “Wow! Well, on that note, you can kiss my backside.”

  “Wait! I may have spoken in haste. Is it true that you have expertise with the fair sex?”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  “Do you think you could help me to win back Bella’s hand?”

  “Definitely, but what would be in it for me?”

  “I still have a stockpile of socks secreted in this building.”

  “I’m not interested in your socks. Don’t you have any valuables hidden away anywhere? Jewellery, maybe?”

  “The only thing I had was the gold, but that was stolen, as you know.”

  “Looks like you’re out of luck, then.”

  The ghost began to wail again.

  “Enough with that awful noise!” Neil shouted. “Maybe there is something you can do for me in exchange.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Perhaps you can help with my magician act.”

  “Tobias Fotheringham has a wealth of experience in many areas, but alas not in the art of magic.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m sure we can make it work.”

  “What about winning back Bella’s hand?”

  “I’ll need to give that matter more thought. You’ll have to leave it with me for a day or so, but in the meantime, no more wailing. I need my beauty sleep.”

  ***

  Morning arrived at least one hour too early for Charlie’s liking. He would have killed to stay in bed a little longer, but he daren’t be late for work because Draycott wouldn’t think twice about sacking him.

  The shower brought him around a little, but he was still a bit groggy when getting dressed. That may have explained why he managed to overbalance while putting on his trousers. He’d managed one leg okay, but the second one had somehow got snagged. Before he knew it, he’d overbalanced. Instinctively, he’d put out a hand to try to stop his fall, but Newton’s second law had been his undoing.

  “No!” He screamed, as the desk tipped over, and with it the microphone, magnifying glass, and thimble houses, which shattered into a thousand pieces.

  There was no way that those delicate little fairies could have survived that crash. He’d killed them; he’d killed Bunty and Greta. Overcome by grief, Charlie buried his head in his hands.

  Hold on a minute.

  A great sense of relief washed over him when he remembered that the fairies were taking a mini-break in London, but that feeling didn’t last for very long.

  “Bunty is going to kill me.”


  Their houses had been completely destroyed. Where would they live when they returned from their holiday? Greta would no doubt understand that it was an accident, but Bunty didn’t have an understanding bone in her body. He would have to buy replacement houses for them before they got back. What about the furniture? He grabbed the magnifying glass, and checked the floor. He was in luck; the majority of it was still intact. He could salvage that, and offer to pay to replace the rest.

  Charlie hurried out of his bedroom.

  “Dorothy, do you have any tweezers?”

  “Since when did you pluck your eyebrows?”

  “It’s not for my eyebrows.”

  “Gross! You’re not using them for hair anywhere else on your body.” She pulled a face.

  “I need them to pick up the fairies’ furniture. I’ve just knocked their houses over.”

  “Are the fairies okay?”

  “Greta and Bunty are on a mini-break in London, thank goodness.”

  Dorothy grabbed her handbag, found the tweezers, and handed them to Charlie. “What about the thimble houses?”

  “Smashed to smithereens.”

  “You’re so dead when Bunty finds out.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  Fifteen minutes later, he had recovered all the undamaged furniture, and placed it in a matchbox. Now all he had to do was find new thimble houses before the fairies returned.

  No pressure then.

  Charlie handed the tweezers back to Dorothy.

  “I think you’ve missed a bit.” Neil pointed to Charlie’s thick eyebrows.

  “Shut it, Neil. I’m not in the mood for you this morning.”

  “Dorothy told me about the fairies’ houses. You’re so dead.”

  “I wish everyone would stop saying that. It’s not like I don’t know.”

  “Shush!” Dorothy put her finger to her lips. “The human’s coming.”

  “Why don’t you use her name?” Neil said.

  “Morning, everyone.” Susan came out of her bedroom.

  “Morning, Susan,” Dorothy said, and then turned to Neil. “Happy now?”

  “Are you okay, Charlie?” Susan poured herself a bowl of cornflakes. “I thought I heard you shouting earlier.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I tripped up when I was putting my trousers on.”

  “I heard some noises in the night too.” Susan joined the other three in the lounge. “It sounded like someone crying. Was it any of you?”

  All three of them shook their heads.

  “Probably Charlie’s stupid cat.” Dorothy pinned him with her gaze.

  Neil didn’t mention Socky’s early morning wailing to the other sups; he was too busy trying to work out how he was going to reunite the ghost with his lady friend.

  “Guys.” Dorothy stood up, as though she was about to make an announcement. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “You’ve found a fella at long last?” Neil suggested.

  “Shut up, Neil. As you know, Mum came over last night.”

  “She spends more time here than we do.” Neil interrupted again.

  “Put a sock in it, will you, Neil?”

  “Let her speak.” Susan nudged him.

  “Thank you, Susan. As I was trying to say, Mum came over unannounced. She was here when I got home from work.”

  “How did she get in?” Charlie asked.

  “I’d given her a spare key.”

  “That was a brilliant idea,” Neil said.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. Anyway, when I got home, the first thing she did was ask where her picture was.”

  The other three flatmates glanced at the spot on the wall where it sometimes hung.

  “What did you tell her?” Susan asked.

  “That we’d taken it down because we’re going to decorate.”

  “You always were a good liar.” Neil grinned.

  “The problem is that the next time she comes over, she’ll expect us to have done it. If we haven’t, she’ll realise I was lying, and why.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Charlie asked.

  “That we have to get this place decorated before she comes again.”

  “What will that cost?” Susan said.

  “I’m already broke.” Charlie pulled out the linings of his trouser pockets.

  “I know someone who could do it cheap,” Neil said.

  “Who?”

  “Robbie Clark. I used to go to school with him. He has his own decorating business. I reckon he’ll do me a good deal. I doubt we’ll get it cheaper anywhere else. Shall I get in touch with him, and get him to give us a quote?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Dorothy nodded.

  The others agreed.

  “How’s Washbridge’s leading reporter?” Neil asked Susan. “Are we going to see you on TV again anytime soon?”

  “I doubt it, but I am working on a couple of new stories.”

  Dorothy yawned.

  “Give us the scoop, then.” Neil encouraged Susan.

  “I’m not sure either of them will amount to anything, but you never can tell. The first one is related to missing persons.”

  “I love missing person novels,” Neil said.

  “You get that novels are works of fiction, don’t you?” Dorothy grinned.

  “Of course I do. Real life stories about missing persons are even better. Go on, Susan.”

  “There’s been a spate of missing person reports in and around Washbridge over recent months.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Dorothy shrugged. “People go missing all the time, everywhere.”

  “True, but statistically, there are far more cases in Washbridge than there should be. Greg is arranging for me to interview the partners of some of the people who have gone missing.”

  “Him again?” Neil said. “What does he have to do with it?”

  “That’s where the crazy part of the story comes in. All the people I’m going to be interviewing seem to be under the same delusion: they all think that their partners were—” She hesitated. “And, I know how crazy this must sound. They believe their partners have been taken back to the paranormal world.” She waited for the laughter, but the three flatmates were all staring at her, stony-faced. “Crazy, eh?”

  Dorothy was the first to recover her composure. “I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with stupid stories like that. You’ll ruin your reputation.”

  “I’ll have to be careful. I’ve told Greg that I’m only interested in the missing person angle.”

  “You said that you were working on two stories?” Neil thought it best to change the subject.

  “The other one is about drugs.”

  “What’s the angle?” Charlie asked.

  “There’s some suggestion that drug dealers are moving off the street, and hiding behind the façade of respectable high street shops.”

  “I don’t get it,” Dorothy said.

  “If what I’ve heard is true, they are selling drugs out of small, high street shops such as florists and newsagents.”

  “Sounds unlikely to me,” Neil said.

  “You may be right. It’s early days, but I’m going to follow it up, and see where it leads.”

  “Where do you even start with an investigation like that?” Charlie asked.

  “I need to identify shops that have dramatically increased their footfall with no obvious explanation as to why. If you guys know of any, let me know, would you?”

  Susan was the first of the four to leave for work. As soon as she was out of the door, Dorothy collared the other two flatmates.

  “I told you that having a human here was going to be trouble.”

  “Are you talking about the missing person story?” Charlie said. “It doesn’t matter who she talks to, there’s no way she’s ever going to buy into the idea that the missing persons have been sent back to some other, supernatural world.”

  “Charlie’s right.” Neil nodded. “Still, it might be be
st if we encourage her to focus on the drug story.”

  “No, we shouldn’t!” Dorothy bit his head off. “It isn’t drugs that are causing the increased footfall in those shops. Those shops are selling blood.”

  “How do you know?” Neil asked. “Oh, wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  “You’re selling blood from the bookshop, aren’t you?”

  “Shut up, Neil. Susan might come back.”

  “This is too funny.”

  Chapter 5

  Neil had decided to go into work a little later than usual because there was something he needed to do first. Dorothy and Charlie were none too impressed that he hadn’t bothered to mention it earlier because now they would have to catch the bus if they wanted to get into town on time.

  “You could have told us last night,” Dorothy said on her way out.

  “Sorry. It totally slipped my mind.”

  What Neil had said about his friend, Robbie Clark had been true: They had been at school together, and Robbie did now run a decorating business. But Neil had no intention of using his services, although he did need a quotation from him.

  He made a call.

  “Robbie. It’s Neil.”

  “Wow, you’re a blast from the past. How’s it swinging, pal?”

  “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  “Still working in that fancy dress shop?”

  “I’m the manager now.”

  “Good for you. Did you want to go out for a beer or something?”

  “Maybe another time. Look, the reason I called was to get a price from you.”

  “For what?”

  “We’re thinking of getting the main living area redecorated. I wondered how much it would cost.”

  “I’d need to come around and take a look.”

  “Sure. When could you do it?”

  “I could come over tonight if you like.”

  “Sound. You know where it is, don’t you?”

  “You’re in the old sock factory, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. Third floor. What time?”

  “Six?”

  “Great. See you then.”

  Was he a genius or was he a genius?