I adore breakfast.
I just thought I’d put that out there.
It’s the meal which offers such a wide range of options. Everything from cereal to toast to a full fry-up. And yet, Jack chose to eat sawdust (AKA muesli) almost every day. Sometimes, I had serious doubts about that man.
“Penny for them,” he said.
“I was wondering if I should be getting married to a man who voluntarily eats muesli for breakfast.”
“It’s good for you, unlike that thing in your hand.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a sausage cob.”
“How many sausages are in there?”
“Just a couple.”
“Is that an actual couple, as in two, or your version of a couple, as in as many as will fit in the cob?”
“You’re only jealous.” I took a huge bite.
He screwed up his face in mock disgust, but deep down, I knew he’d swap his sawdust for my sausage cob, in a heartbeat.
No chance, buddy.
“Only four days now until we get married,” he said.
“Three, actually. Today’s Tuesday.”
“I know. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. That’s four days.”
“You’re not supposed to count today.”
“Of course you are.”
“Everyone knows you don’t count today when you’re calculating how many days there are to go until something happens.”
“This everyone of whom you speak. Would that be the same everyone who thinks that a couple can be any number you choose it to be?”
“I can’t help it if you don’t understand the fundamentals of mathematics. Incidentally, I thought I might take a look around the bowling alley today. Do you happen to know if they have CCTV?”
“They definitely do. What are you hoping to learn from that?”
“I don’t really know, but I figure it can’t hurt to take a look at it.”
***
The bowling alley didn’t open until midday, which was just as well because I had a meeting with my accountant, Luther Stone, in the morning.
On the short walk from the car park to my offices, I encountered another six of the now infamous jumpers.
“I think I might be in trouble, Jill.” Mrs V looked worried.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I might get sued.”
“Who would want to sue you, Mrs V?”
“That Waters man.”
“Finn Waters? Why would he sue you?”
“Look.” She passed me a copy of The Bugle.
The headline read: Counterfeit gang traced back to Washbridge.
A quick skim of the article revealed that Finn Waters’ solicitors were trying to track down the source of counterfeit jumpers based on Mr Waters’ design. It seemed that all the counterfeits had been traced to Washbridge and the surrounding area.
“Do you think I’ll go to prison, Jill?”
“Of course not.”
“But I’m guilty as charged. I did copy his jumper.”
“You only made one based on his design, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Just the one.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, then. There is someone who should be worried, though, and that’s the person who created the app, which is responsible for these counterfeits.”
“Your grandmother? Maybe you should warn her?”
“I don’t think so. Something tells me she’ll be okay. She always is.”
Luther was due any minute, and I was still trying to find all the receipts and invoices, which he would no doubt ask for. Why he couldn’t just do my books without those, I’d never know.
“Which do you think?” Winky was holding up what appeared to be two tablecloths.
“What are you talking about?”
“For my dinner date tonight. Which tablecloth do you think says, young, professional and sexy?”
“They’re just tablecloths. It doesn’t matter which one you use.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. A tablecloth can say a lot about a cat.”
So much for Jack’s theory on the profound thoughts of animals.
“You’re insane.”
“Don’t forget to stay clear of the office tonight. I’ll be entertaining my lady friend.”
“Can you remember which one?”
“Of course I can. It’s—err—”
“Trixie.”
“I knew that.”
“Typical man. Now, if you don’t mind I’m trying to prepare for a meeting with my accountant.”
“Oh dear.”
“What do you mean, oh dear?”
“You’re so self-delusional that you can normally convince yourself that this business is viable, but when the accountant confronts you with the cold, hard figures, pop! That particular bubble is well and truly burst.”
“Shut up and go back to your tablecloths.”
As always, Luther was smouldering with sexual chemistry. Of course, now that I was practically a married woman, I barely noticed.
“Nerves beginning to jangle?” he said.
“I’m too busy to be nervous.”
From under the sofa, I heard Winky chuckle, but I ignored him.
“Maria is really looking forward to the wedding. She made me buy a new suit.”
“It’ll be your turn next.”
“I hope so, but that really depends on Maria.”
“Have you asked her to marry you?”
“Not yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“I’m scared she might say no.”
“She won’t, trust me.”
“We’ll see. Anyway, I suppose we should get down to business.”
“Here are the receipts and invoices you wanted.”
“There aren’t many here.”
“That’s everything.”
“I don’t see any fuel receipts.”
“They’re in the car. Probably.”
“We’ve discussed this before, Jill. I need proof of all your expenses to reduce your tax bill.”
“Can’t you just stick a figure in for them?”
He sighed. “It doesn’t work like that. You’ll need to let me have them next time.”
“Okay. Will do. How are the books looking, generally?”
“Would you like the good news or the bad news?”
“The good. Definitely the good.”
“There isn’t any. You’ve made a loss for the third consecutive month.”
“That’s not possible.”
“The figures don’t lie. You’re going to need to do something about this and fast.”
“What do you suggest?”
“It comes down to one thing, really. You need more clients. More cases to bill.”
“It feels like I’m already working to full capacity.”
“That simply isn’t reflected in your billing. Are you doing a lot of pro-bono work?”
“Occasionally.”
“Maybe you should cut back on that. And you need to think about some kind of marketing campaign. Something that will bring in the punters. Do you know anyone in marketing?”
“I do as it happens.”
Much as I liked Luther, his visits always left me feeling down in the dumps. Surely, just once he could tell me how well the business was doing? Was that too much to ask?
Unfortunately, I knew he was right; I did need to raise the profile of my business somehow. The thought of having to ask Grandma for help filled me with dread, but she had proven time and time again that no one knew marketing better than she did.
***
Deloris Shuttlebug was back from her short break, and she’d agreed to spare me a few minutes. She lived close to Candlefield Leisure Centre in a delightful house that was shaped rather like a pear.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Shuttlebug.”
“Come in, come in, and please call me Deloris. I’m always happy to talk about Cuthbert; he was a darling man, and I miss him terribly.”
“You have a lovely house.”
“Thank you, dear. Cuthbert designed it himself—he had a passion for pears.”
“And exotic animals, I believe?”
“Yes, they were his first love.” She laughed nervously. “Apart from me, I hope. Now, before we start, we must have a drink. I have tea and coffee, but I’m rather partial to hot chocolate myself.”
“A hot chocolate would be nice. It’s ages since I had one.”
The hot chocolate was delicious. So too was the huge slice of chocolate brownie.
“Desdemona Nightowl told me about your late husband’s interest in exotic creatures.”
“Desdemona is such a dear. She was so very kind to me when Cuthbert passed away. Are you interested in exotic creatures too?”
“Not really, but I am trying to identify a particular creature that was found close to CASS. Ms Nightowl mentioned a manuscript?”
“It was his life’s work. He was so disappointed when he couldn’t find a publisher who was prepared to take a gamble on it. These days, it seems like they’re only interested in books by celebrities. It’s a crying shame. It covers hundreds of creatures, including pictures of most of them.”
“Photos?”
“A few, but in most cases, they’re illustrations that Cuthbert drew himself.”
“He must have been multi-talented. Could I take a look at the book?”
“Why don’t you take it away with you? That way you can study it at your leisure.”
“Are you sure that’s okay?”
“Absolutely. Cuthbert would be thrilled it’s being put to some use rather than gathering dust in the attic.” She stood up. “I’ll go and get it for you now.”
***
After magicking myself back to Washbridge, I put the manuscript in the boot of my car, and then drove to Wash Bowl—Jack’s second home. The place was practically deserted with only two lanes in use.
The man behind the counter looked a bit like a bowling ball, with his round face and huge nostrils.
“My name is Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator.”
“Sorry?”
“Is it always so noisy in here?”
“This is nothing. You should hear it when all the lanes are going.”
“I said, I’m Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. Do you know Jack Maxwell?”
“Shirtz? Of course. He’s one of our best customers.”
“What did you call him?”
“Shirtz. On account of how many bowling shirts he has.”
“Really? That’s very interesting. Well, Shirtz and I are getting married on Saturday.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Tommy.” He offered his hand. “Are you thinking of taking up the sport?”
“Me? No. It’s not really my scene, and besides, we already have enough bowling shirts in our house. No, the reason I’m here today, is Bill Mellor’s murder.”
“Terrible business. I was on duty the night he died. Bill was a fantastic bowler. He’d won the North of England Cup for the last three years in a row, and was favourite to win it again this year.”
“Did you know the others who were bowling with Bill and Jack that night?”
“Chris Jardine pretty much keeps himself to himself. I know Graham Hardy, obviously, because he works here part-time.”
“Oh? Doing what?”
“A bit of everything, really, but mainly helping with the machinery—maintenance, that sort of thing. In return, he gets free bowling and a bit of cash-in-hand. He’s been struggling a bit since he lost his job. Graham’s a mean bowler too. He’s been runner-up to Bill in the North of England Cup for the last three years. Is it true what I heard—that Chris Jardine murdered Bill?”
“He’s been charged with the murder, but we don’t believe he did it. That’s why I’m investigating, and why I’m here today. Jack said you had CCTV.”
“Yeah, inside and out.”
“Is there any chance of burning me a DVD of the footage from that night, so I can study it properly on my laptop?”
“Sure. Why don’t you help yourself to a drink while I’m doing it?”
***
Now, whenever I arrived home, I had to do a quick scan of the street for clowns.
What? No, of course I wasn’t afraid of them. I just—err—well, I just had better things to do than get caught up in conversation with someone wearing a red nose and ridiculously long shoes.
Fortunately, today, the street was a clown-free zone, but I did notice someone at the house next door to Breezy and Sneezy. A woman was struggling to carry something from her car, so being a good neighbour, I made my way over there to help.
“Do you need a hand?”
She looked up, and I could see now what she was carrying: A large reel of cable.
“Thanks. That would be great. This is much heavier than I thought.”
I grabbed one end, and between us, we easily got it into the house.
“Thanks, you’re a life saver. I’m Pauline Maker.”
“Jill. We live just across the road.”
“Nice to meet you. Shawn was supposed to collect the cable, but he had to visit his mother.”
“Shawn?”
“He’s my husband.”
“I live with Jack. We’re getting married on Saturday.”
“Really? Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you met the clowns next door?” She blushed. “Oh dear. I hope you don’t think I was being mean. They really are clowns.”
“It’s okay. I’ve already met Sneezy and Breezy.”
“Would you like a cup of tea, Jill? It’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks. Maybe another time. I really should get going.”
“Okay. Thanks again for the help.”
“No problem.”
Jack was already home.
“Hello, Gorgeous.” He welcomed me with a kiss. “Had a good day?”
“Not bad, Shirtz.” I grinned.
“Who told you?”
“Tommy at Wash Bowl. He burned me a copy of the CCTV from Tuesday night. I thought we could look at it together after dinner.”
“Okay. Did I just see you across the road at the new neighbours’ house?”
“Yeah. Their names are Pauline and Shawn. Hopefully these two turn out to be okay. We’re overdue some normal neighbours, what with the clowns, the cosplayers and Mr Ivers.”
After dinner, Jack and I sat at the kitchen table with the laptop, to watch the CCTV from the bowling alley.
“Tommy was really helpful today.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“He told me that he’d paid for his holidays last year with the profit from your bowling shirt purchases.”
“You’re so funny.”
“This is the view from the camera that covered your lane.” I pointed to the screen. “There you are.”
On screen were four figures: two standing on the far lane, two on the near one.
“Look at Bill, laughing,” Jack said. “That was after I’d missed a spare in the first frame.”
To ensure we didn’t miss anything, we watched the recording at normal speed. It was pretty boring—not helped by the fact that Jack insisted on describing every shot in detail.
“Chris did well to make that spare. That was the turning point in the match.”
“Really?” Yawn. “Where did Graham just disappear to?” I pointed to the screen.
Jack thought about it for a few seconds. “Oh yeah, I remember. The balls got stuck so Graham went around the back to clear them.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“More often than it should. The equipment at Wash Bowl is really old. They could do with getting it all replaced, but I doubt they can afford it. It’s not so bad when Graham is with us because he can go and sort it out. Otherwise, we have to press the ‘call’ button and wait until someone gets around to doing it.”
I restarted the recording, and after a few minutes, we saw Graham Hardy go over to the seats, and take his phone out of his jacket pocket. Moments later, he spoke to the others and then left.
“I assume that’s when Graham told you he had to leave, to go and see his brother?”
“Yes.”
When the on-screen match was over, I switched to the second CCTV recording, which covered the car park.
“That’s us.” Jack pointed at the image of three men walking into view.
“Look,” I said. “Chris is giving Bill a cigarette.”
The Jack on screen climbed into his car and drove away. Moments later, Bill and Chris went their separate ways. It was eerie to think that only a few minutes after that, Bill would be dead.
“It’s so sad,” Jack said. “Bill had been so happy when I left him. Did you spot anything on that footage?”
“No, but I think I’m going to give it another run through.”
“I have an early start in the morning, so I’ll have to leave you to it.”
We kissed, and Jack went up to bed. I grabbed a couple (that’s my version of a couple, obviously—snigger) of custard creams and a cup of tea, then settled down to view the footage again.
This time, I spotted a few things that warranted further investigation.