Witch is How Life Changed Forever, page 4
part #36 of Witch P.I. Mystery Series
“TLN syndrome.”
“TLN? What’s that?”
“It stands for Traffic Light Nose syndrome.”
“Do you have a potion that will sort it out?”
“Not on me, but I do know of one. Now, let me think. Oh yes. Rat hair and thistle. That’s it.”
“Rat hair and thistle? Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Where would I find it?”
“Try Abigail’s Apothecary. Over on the other side of the market, you’ll find a narrow alleyway. It’s down there.” She lay back down. “I really must go back to sleep now because my head’s thumping.”
It was a great relief to get outside into the fresh air.
I followed Rhonda’s directions to Abigail’s Apothecary. The tiny shop was empty except for the young witch behind the counter.
“Hi, are you Abigail?”
“No, I’m Patricia. Abigail died several years ago.”
“I was advised to come here by Rhonda Rules. She told me that I need rat hair and thistle potion.”
“Are you absolutely sure that’s what she said?”
“Definitely.”
“Okay. It’s just that I don’t get much demand for that. Just give me a minute, would you?”
She slid the ladder from one side of the room to the other, then climbed high enough to allow her to reach the top shelf from which she took a small jar. Back at the counter, she passed it to me.
“That will be fifteen pounds and ninety-seven pence, please.”
I handed over the cash. Hopefully, Grandma would reimburse me later.
With the jar tucked safely in my pocket, I magicked myself back to Grandma’s house.
“What took you so long?” she snapped.
“I was as quick as I could be. Rhonda Rules was rather the worse for wear; it took me a while to wake her.”
“Did you get what I asked for?”
“Yes.” I handed her the jar.
“Rat hair and thistle? Are you sure this is what she recommended?”
“Positive. Rhonda said that will do the trick.”
“Okay, you can go now.”
“Just a minute, Grandma.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll give you the money later.”
“It’s not that. I wanted to ask you about the zombie.”
“What about it?”
“A friend of mine has been turned into a zombie-lookalike, and I need to know how to reverse the spell.”
“How am I supposed to know how to do it?”
“You know most spells.”
“That’s true, but I don’t know this one. Have you checked your spell book?”
“Of course I have. That’s the first thing I did.”
“Are you sure your book is up-to-date?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t tell me that you’ve never updated your spell book.”
“I didn’t realise you could. How would I do that?”
“Look at the very last page in the book. There’s a full explanation there. Now, leave me alone so I can focus on this wart, would you?”
***
I magicked myself back to the house, so I could pick up the car and check on Ike, to see how he was doing. I found him in the kitchen.
“I hope you don’t mind me helping myself to corn flakes,” he said.
“Of course not. Our house is your house while you’re here.”
I noticed that one of his fingers had dropped off onto the kitchen table, but I thought it best not to mention it.
“Did you have any luck finding a way to reverse the spell, Jill?” he asked, eagerly.
“I’m afraid not. I’ve spoken to Grandma, but she doesn’t know how to do it. She suggested that if I update my spell book, there might be something in the newer edition. I don’t have time to do it now because I need to get to work, but I’ll do it as soon as I get home tonight. Will you be okay to stay here until then?”
“I suppose so.”
“Don’t go outside, Ike, whatever you do.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. It’s much too dangerous. Is it okay if I watch TV?”
“Yes, but if anyone comes to the door, don’t answer it. And stay well away from the windows. I don’t want you to scare the neighbours. No offence.”
“None taken.”
***
After I’d parked in Washbridge, I took a walk down to Coffee Games. I was going to need some caffeine to get me through the day.
Inside, I found people lying blindfolded on the floor; they all seemed to be holding rolled-up newspapers and magazines. By now, I shouldn’t have been surprised by anything that happened in that shop, but this was particularly weird even by their standards.
Piers was behind the counter.
“What’s today’s game, Piers?”
“Apparently, it’s called ‘Are you there, Moriarty?’”
“How does it work?”
“To tell you the truth, Jill, I don’t really know. It’s all a bit stupid if you ask me. Basically, they have to try to hit each other with newspapers, I think. And they keep shouting out, ‘Are you there, Moriarty?’”
Right on cue, one of the people lying on the floor closest to me, shouted those exact words, and tried to hit the man next to him, with a rolled-up newspaper.
“I think you’d better make that coffee to-go, please. I don’t think I can handle this nonsense.”
“Would you like anything to eat with it, Jill?”
“No, thanks. Not this morning. Just the coffee, please.”
As I walked up the high street, Betty Longbottom came out of her shop and called me over.
“Good morning, Jill.” She wasn’t speaking in her fake posh voice, so I assumed that the TV crew weren’t anywhere around.
“Morning, Betty. You’re looking particularly pleased with life.”
“I am, and it’s all thanks to the TV show. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Since it went on air, the marine centre and shop have been buzzing. Takings are up almost five hundred percent. If it carries on like this, I’ll have to give serious consideration to opening another shop, maybe in West Chipping.”
“That’s great. I’m really pleased for you, but I must get going. I have a busy day ahead.”
“Okay, catch you later.”
It was now official: I was a complete idiot.
Here I was, struggling for cash, and desperate to attract more clients, and yet I’d turned down the chance to be in a reality TV show. Betty had taken full advantage of it, and now her businesses were going from strength to strength as a result. When would I ever learn?
Chapter 5
When I arrived at the office, Mrs V was frantic.
“Whatever’s wrong, Mrs V?”
“They’ve been at it again.”
“Who’s been at what again?”
“Those bugs, or whatever it is that’s been eating my yarn. The linen basket was still half full when I went home last night, but just look at it now: It’s almost all gone, and what’s left is in shreds.” She was clearly upset.
I peered into the basket: it was a real mess. Something had decimated what was left of her yarn.
“Have you actually seen any of the bugs yet, Mrs V?”
“No. That’s the really frustrating part. I’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes going through what’s left of the yarn, but there’s no sign of them. I don’t understand what’s happening, Jill. How can they disappear like that?”
“I have no idea. Maybe if you bought a new linen basket, that would do the trick.”
“If I thought it would do any good, I would, but who’s to say that those little blighters won’t just do the same thing again? I’m never going to get those jumpers knitted in time.”
I felt really sorry for Mrs V, but there was nothing I could do, other than to offer my sympathy.
As soon as I walked into my office, Winky scurried under the sofa.
“What are you up to?” I said.
“Me? Nothing.”
“You’re definitely up to something. Why else would you have dived under there?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing to see here.”
“Very convincing, I don’t think. Get out here.”
He continued to fiddle with something for a minute or so, and then emerged, looking all innocent-like.
“What were you doing under there, Winky?”
“I’ve already told you. I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Whatever it is you’re up to, it had better not cost me any money.”
I didn’t trust that cat as far as I could throw him, but I couldn’t waste any more time on him because I needed to do some research on the Kramer case.
I started by going online and searching The Bugles’ archives where I found several articles related to the murder of Alison Reed. I didn’t learn a whole lot from them that I didn’t already know, but I did find the name of the detective who’d been in charge of the case at the time: Walter Staniforth. A separate search on his name revealed that he’d retired four years ago. The ‘human interest’ article said that he was hoping to have more time for his hobby of fishing, and that he had just moved to a new house in the village of Middle Tweaking.
On the basis of that information, I made a phone call to Myrtle Turtle.
“Turtle speaking.”
“Myrtle, it’s Jill Maxwell.”
“Hello, Jill. I was reading the paper the other day, and something in there put me in mind of you.”
“Really? Was it an article on famous private investigators?”
“Actually, it was an item about a shortage of custard creams.”
“Right. Look, the reason I’ve called is that I was wondering if you might know a gentleman by the name of Walter Staniforth? He was a detective in Washbridge before he retired to live in Middle Tweaking.”
“Yes, I know Walter. He’s been living in the village for a couple of years now, I believe. Why do you ask?”
“I’m currently working on a murder case that dates back five years; a young woman was poisoned. My clients’ son was convicted of her murder and is currently serving time. His parents are convinced of his innocence, and they’ve asked me to look into the case. I’ve just discovered that Mr Staniforth was the officer in charge of the investigation at the time, and I’m hoping to speak to him. Can you tell me anything about him?”
“Not much really, Jill. To tell you the truth, he’s a bit of a funny fellow who hasn’t really integrated into village life. I get on with him okay, but we only normally exchange a ‘good morning’ or a ‘good evening’. We did bond a little over our mutual dislike of tourists who insist on parking on the village green, but other than that, I’ve not really had any meaningful conversations with him. From what other people have told me, they find him rather standoffish, but I think it’s just that he likes to keep himself to himself.”
“Is there any chance you could introduce me to him? He might be more receptive to my questions that way, rather than if I just turned up on his doorstep.”
“I can certainly try, but I’m not promising anything.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
“I’ll make it my business to bump into him as soon as I can, and I’ll let you know how I get on.”
“Thanks Myrtle. I really appreciate it.”
***
I wanted to find out more about the ruby fairy foster scheme, so I called the number on the leaflet.
“Good morning. Ruby fairy foster line, Jessica Diamond speaking, how can I help you today?”
“Hi. My name is Jill Maxwell. I have one of your leaflets in front of me, and I have a few questions.”
“Yes, madam. What would you like to know?”
“I was considering participating in the scheme, but I live in the human world and wondered if that might rule me out?”
“Absolutely not. Quite a few sups who live in the human world have fostered ruby fairies. Provided that your husband or partner is also a sup, which I assume he is, then there’s no problem.”
“Err—right, okay. Could you tell me a little more about what’s involved?”
“It’s quite simple, really. Ruby fairies hibernate for three months out of the year, and while they’re hibernating, they can be susceptible to the elements, and also to a number of rather unpleasant predators. That’s why the foster scheme was created. By finding them safe homes where they can hibernate, we can ensure they’re safe from those threats.”
“I see, and what would I actually have to do?”
“There’s not a lot to do, madam. You simply provide them with a comfortable warm place to sleep for three months.”
“Do I have to feed them or anything like that?”
“No, they don’t need food or drink during the hibernation period. Just a warm place where they can sleep. After three months, when they wake up, they’ll return to their homes in Candlefield and carry on with their lives.”
“I see. That all sounds very straightforward. Would it be appropriate of me to ask what the payment is?”
“Of course. It’s based on the number of ruby fairies fostered. It’s ten pounds PFPD.”
“PFPD?”
“Per fairy per day. That equates to just over nine hundred pounds for the hibernation period for a single fairy.”
“And how many fairies do people normally foster at a time?”
“The average is two, and five is the upper limit.”
“I see. Well, if it’s okay with you, I think we’d like to go for the maximum number. In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“Certainly, madam. Would you like me to put you down for five?”
“Yes, please. Where would I have to collect them from?”
“That won’t be necessary. They’ll be delivered to your place of residence, and collected from there at the end of the hibernation period.”
“Fantastic. And when would all of this take place?”
“If you sign up today, they’ll be delivered to you next Monday.”
“Brilliant. Let’s do it.”
“Okay, madam. If you give me your details, I can get the ball rolling.”
“What was that all about?” Winky asked when I came off the phone.
“None of your business.”
“Come on. Tell me.”
“If you must know. Jack and I have decided to provide a home for some ruby fairies while they hibernate.”
“And why would you want to do that?”
“It seems like a public-spirited thing to do.”
“Nothing to do with the money, then?”
“That doesn’t come into it.”
“Pull the other one. I could see the pound signs in your eyes.”
“Rubbish.”
***
When I stepped out of my office building, the temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees; it was easily the coldest day of the year so far. Which was why I found it so surprising that there was an ice cream van parked at the side of the road, near to the car park. What kind of idiot would try to sell ice cream in this weather?
As I walked past, I spotted a familiar face in the van. Two familiar faces, in fact: It was Daze and Blaze.
“What are you two doing here?”
“Shush!” Daze put a finger to her lips. “You mustn’t blow our cover.”
“Sorry. Who are you after this time?”
“Ice nymphs,” Blaze said. “I hate those guys with a passion.”
“I’ve never heard of ice nymphs. I’ve had some dealings with wood nymphs recently, and they’ve caused me nothing but grief.”
“Wood nymphs are a pushover.” Daze rolled her eyes. “Just wait until you come across ice nymphs. They’re really sinister creatures.”
I glanced up at the large ice cream cone on top of the van. “Far be it from me to criticise, Daze, but this isn’t the best undercover operation you’ve ever mounted. It’s freezing cold today. Don’t you think people will find it a little suspicious when they see an ice cream van parked at the side of the road?”
“I’m sure they will.” She sighed. “It’s RR admin who are at fault. They’re a useless bunch. We put in a request for a burger van and this is what they gave us. I had a right go at them this morning, but they said the soonest they could get us a burger van would be a couple of days, so we’re stuck with this thing. We stand out like a sore thumb.”
“What exactly have the ice nymphs been doing?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Surely you must have noticed the sudden drop in temperature?”
“I assumed it was a cold snap.”
“It’s been exceptionally mild recently, and the forecast was that it would continue like that for the next few weeks, but the ice nymphs put paid to that.”
“Why would they do that?”
“They’re called ice nymphs for a reason. They can’t survive for long in the warm.”
“Why don’t they go to the North Pole, then?”
“I wish they would, but they like the city life, particularly Washbridge. That’s why they’ve caused the temperature to drop so dramatically.”
“That’s a horrible thing to do. Are you saying the temperature is likely to stay like this until you catch them?”
“If anything, it’s going to get worse. That’s why it’s urgent we track them down.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you happen to see them.”
“What do they look like?”
“You said you’re familiar with wood nymphs. The ice nymphs look pretty much the same except they have icicles hanging from their limbs.”
“Okay. If I spot them, I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks. While you’re here, can I interest you in a cornet?”
“Err, no thanks. I’ll give it a miss.”
***
I was headed for the fast food restaurant where Arnold Kramer had been working at the time of Alison Reed’s murder. I’d telephoned ahead and spoken to the manager, a Mr Jordan Coombes, who had said I was welcome to pop in at any time.
“TLN? What’s that?”
“It stands for Traffic Light Nose syndrome.”
“Do you have a potion that will sort it out?”
“Not on me, but I do know of one. Now, let me think. Oh yes. Rat hair and thistle. That’s it.”
“Rat hair and thistle? Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Where would I find it?”
“Try Abigail’s Apothecary. Over on the other side of the market, you’ll find a narrow alleyway. It’s down there.” She lay back down. “I really must go back to sleep now because my head’s thumping.”
It was a great relief to get outside into the fresh air.
I followed Rhonda’s directions to Abigail’s Apothecary. The tiny shop was empty except for the young witch behind the counter.
“Hi, are you Abigail?”
“No, I’m Patricia. Abigail died several years ago.”
“I was advised to come here by Rhonda Rules. She told me that I need rat hair and thistle potion.”
“Are you absolutely sure that’s what she said?”
“Definitely.”
“Okay. It’s just that I don’t get much demand for that. Just give me a minute, would you?”
She slid the ladder from one side of the room to the other, then climbed high enough to allow her to reach the top shelf from which she took a small jar. Back at the counter, she passed it to me.
“That will be fifteen pounds and ninety-seven pence, please.”
I handed over the cash. Hopefully, Grandma would reimburse me later.
With the jar tucked safely in my pocket, I magicked myself back to Grandma’s house.
“What took you so long?” she snapped.
“I was as quick as I could be. Rhonda Rules was rather the worse for wear; it took me a while to wake her.”
“Did you get what I asked for?”
“Yes.” I handed her the jar.
“Rat hair and thistle? Are you sure this is what she recommended?”
“Positive. Rhonda said that will do the trick.”
“Okay, you can go now.”
“Just a minute, Grandma.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll give you the money later.”
“It’s not that. I wanted to ask you about the zombie.”
“What about it?”
“A friend of mine has been turned into a zombie-lookalike, and I need to know how to reverse the spell.”
“How am I supposed to know how to do it?”
“You know most spells.”
“That’s true, but I don’t know this one. Have you checked your spell book?”
“Of course I have. That’s the first thing I did.”
“Are you sure your book is up-to-date?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t tell me that you’ve never updated your spell book.”
“I didn’t realise you could. How would I do that?”
“Look at the very last page in the book. There’s a full explanation there. Now, leave me alone so I can focus on this wart, would you?”
***
I magicked myself back to the house, so I could pick up the car and check on Ike, to see how he was doing. I found him in the kitchen.
“I hope you don’t mind me helping myself to corn flakes,” he said.
“Of course not. Our house is your house while you’re here.”
I noticed that one of his fingers had dropped off onto the kitchen table, but I thought it best not to mention it.
“Did you have any luck finding a way to reverse the spell, Jill?” he asked, eagerly.
“I’m afraid not. I’ve spoken to Grandma, but she doesn’t know how to do it. She suggested that if I update my spell book, there might be something in the newer edition. I don’t have time to do it now because I need to get to work, but I’ll do it as soon as I get home tonight. Will you be okay to stay here until then?”
“I suppose so.”
“Don’t go outside, Ike, whatever you do.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. It’s much too dangerous. Is it okay if I watch TV?”
“Yes, but if anyone comes to the door, don’t answer it. And stay well away from the windows. I don’t want you to scare the neighbours. No offence.”
“None taken.”
***
After I’d parked in Washbridge, I took a walk down to Coffee Games. I was going to need some caffeine to get me through the day.
Inside, I found people lying blindfolded on the floor; they all seemed to be holding rolled-up newspapers and magazines. By now, I shouldn’t have been surprised by anything that happened in that shop, but this was particularly weird even by their standards.
Piers was behind the counter.
“What’s today’s game, Piers?”
“Apparently, it’s called ‘Are you there, Moriarty?’”
“How does it work?”
“To tell you the truth, Jill, I don’t really know. It’s all a bit stupid if you ask me. Basically, they have to try to hit each other with newspapers, I think. And they keep shouting out, ‘Are you there, Moriarty?’”
Right on cue, one of the people lying on the floor closest to me, shouted those exact words, and tried to hit the man next to him, with a rolled-up newspaper.
“I think you’d better make that coffee to-go, please. I don’t think I can handle this nonsense.”
“Would you like anything to eat with it, Jill?”
“No, thanks. Not this morning. Just the coffee, please.”
As I walked up the high street, Betty Longbottom came out of her shop and called me over.
“Good morning, Jill.” She wasn’t speaking in her fake posh voice, so I assumed that the TV crew weren’t anywhere around.
“Morning, Betty. You’re looking particularly pleased with life.”
“I am, and it’s all thanks to the TV show. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Since it went on air, the marine centre and shop have been buzzing. Takings are up almost five hundred percent. If it carries on like this, I’ll have to give serious consideration to opening another shop, maybe in West Chipping.”
“That’s great. I’m really pleased for you, but I must get going. I have a busy day ahead.”
“Okay, catch you later.”
It was now official: I was a complete idiot.
Here I was, struggling for cash, and desperate to attract more clients, and yet I’d turned down the chance to be in a reality TV show. Betty had taken full advantage of it, and now her businesses were going from strength to strength as a result. When would I ever learn?
Chapter 5
When I arrived at the office, Mrs V was frantic.
“Whatever’s wrong, Mrs V?”
“They’ve been at it again.”
“Who’s been at what again?”
“Those bugs, or whatever it is that’s been eating my yarn. The linen basket was still half full when I went home last night, but just look at it now: It’s almost all gone, and what’s left is in shreds.” She was clearly upset.
I peered into the basket: it was a real mess. Something had decimated what was left of her yarn.
“Have you actually seen any of the bugs yet, Mrs V?”
“No. That’s the really frustrating part. I’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes going through what’s left of the yarn, but there’s no sign of them. I don’t understand what’s happening, Jill. How can they disappear like that?”
“I have no idea. Maybe if you bought a new linen basket, that would do the trick.”
“If I thought it would do any good, I would, but who’s to say that those little blighters won’t just do the same thing again? I’m never going to get those jumpers knitted in time.”
I felt really sorry for Mrs V, but there was nothing I could do, other than to offer my sympathy.
As soon as I walked into my office, Winky scurried under the sofa.
“What are you up to?” I said.
“Me? Nothing.”
“You’re definitely up to something. Why else would you have dived under there?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing to see here.”
“Very convincing, I don’t think. Get out here.”
He continued to fiddle with something for a minute or so, and then emerged, looking all innocent-like.
“What were you doing under there, Winky?”
“I’ve already told you. I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Whatever it is you’re up to, it had better not cost me any money.”
I didn’t trust that cat as far as I could throw him, but I couldn’t waste any more time on him because I needed to do some research on the Kramer case.
I started by going online and searching The Bugles’ archives where I found several articles related to the murder of Alison Reed. I didn’t learn a whole lot from them that I didn’t already know, but I did find the name of the detective who’d been in charge of the case at the time: Walter Staniforth. A separate search on his name revealed that he’d retired four years ago. The ‘human interest’ article said that he was hoping to have more time for his hobby of fishing, and that he had just moved to a new house in the village of Middle Tweaking.
On the basis of that information, I made a phone call to Myrtle Turtle.
“Turtle speaking.”
“Myrtle, it’s Jill Maxwell.”
“Hello, Jill. I was reading the paper the other day, and something in there put me in mind of you.”
“Really? Was it an article on famous private investigators?”
“Actually, it was an item about a shortage of custard creams.”
“Right. Look, the reason I’ve called is that I was wondering if you might know a gentleman by the name of Walter Staniforth? He was a detective in Washbridge before he retired to live in Middle Tweaking.”
“Yes, I know Walter. He’s been living in the village for a couple of years now, I believe. Why do you ask?”
“I’m currently working on a murder case that dates back five years; a young woman was poisoned. My clients’ son was convicted of her murder and is currently serving time. His parents are convinced of his innocence, and they’ve asked me to look into the case. I’ve just discovered that Mr Staniforth was the officer in charge of the investigation at the time, and I’m hoping to speak to him. Can you tell me anything about him?”
“Not much really, Jill. To tell you the truth, he’s a bit of a funny fellow who hasn’t really integrated into village life. I get on with him okay, but we only normally exchange a ‘good morning’ or a ‘good evening’. We did bond a little over our mutual dislike of tourists who insist on parking on the village green, but other than that, I’ve not really had any meaningful conversations with him. From what other people have told me, they find him rather standoffish, but I think it’s just that he likes to keep himself to himself.”
“Is there any chance you could introduce me to him? He might be more receptive to my questions that way, rather than if I just turned up on his doorstep.”
“I can certainly try, but I’m not promising anything.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
“I’ll make it my business to bump into him as soon as I can, and I’ll let you know how I get on.”
“Thanks Myrtle. I really appreciate it.”
***
I wanted to find out more about the ruby fairy foster scheme, so I called the number on the leaflet.
“Good morning. Ruby fairy foster line, Jessica Diamond speaking, how can I help you today?”
“Hi. My name is Jill Maxwell. I have one of your leaflets in front of me, and I have a few questions.”
“Yes, madam. What would you like to know?”
“I was considering participating in the scheme, but I live in the human world and wondered if that might rule me out?”
“Absolutely not. Quite a few sups who live in the human world have fostered ruby fairies. Provided that your husband or partner is also a sup, which I assume he is, then there’s no problem.”
“Err—right, okay. Could you tell me a little more about what’s involved?”
“It’s quite simple, really. Ruby fairies hibernate for three months out of the year, and while they’re hibernating, they can be susceptible to the elements, and also to a number of rather unpleasant predators. That’s why the foster scheme was created. By finding them safe homes where they can hibernate, we can ensure they’re safe from those threats.”
“I see, and what would I actually have to do?”
“There’s not a lot to do, madam. You simply provide them with a comfortable warm place to sleep for three months.”
“Do I have to feed them or anything like that?”
“No, they don’t need food or drink during the hibernation period. Just a warm place where they can sleep. After three months, when they wake up, they’ll return to their homes in Candlefield and carry on with their lives.”
“I see. That all sounds very straightforward. Would it be appropriate of me to ask what the payment is?”
“Of course. It’s based on the number of ruby fairies fostered. It’s ten pounds PFPD.”
“PFPD?”
“Per fairy per day. That equates to just over nine hundred pounds for the hibernation period for a single fairy.”
“And how many fairies do people normally foster at a time?”
“The average is two, and five is the upper limit.”
“I see. Well, if it’s okay with you, I think we’d like to go for the maximum number. In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“Certainly, madam. Would you like me to put you down for five?”
“Yes, please. Where would I have to collect them from?”
“That won’t be necessary. They’ll be delivered to your place of residence, and collected from there at the end of the hibernation period.”
“Fantastic. And when would all of this take place?”
“If you sign up today, they’ll be delivered to you next Monday.”
“Brilliant. Let’s do it.”
“Okay, madam. If you give me your details, I can get the ball rolling.”
“What was that all about?” Winky asked when I came off the phone.
“None of your business.”
“Come on. Tell me.”
“If you must know. Jack and I have decided to provide a home for some ruby fairies while they hibernate.”
“And why would you want to do that?”
“It seems like a public-spirited thing to do.”
“Nothing to do with the money, then?”
“That doesn’t come into it.”
“Pull the other one. I could see the pound signs in your eyes.”
“Rubbish.”
***
When I stepped out of my office building, the temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees; it was easily the coldest day of the year so far. Which was why I found it so surprising that there was an ice cream van parked at the side of the road, near to the car park. What kind of idiot would try to sell ice cream in this weather?
As I walked past, I spotted a familiar face in the van. Two familiar faces, in fact: It was Daze and Blaze.
“What are you two doing here?”
“Shush!” Daze put a finger to her lips. “You mustn’t blow our cover.”
“Sorry. Who are you after this time?”
“Ice nymphs,” Blaze said. “I hate those guys with a passion.”
“I’ve never heard of ice nymphs. I’ve had some dealings with wood nymphs recently, and they’ve caused me nothing but grief.”
“Wood nymphs are a pushover.” Daze rolled her eyes. “Just wait until you come across ice nymphs. They’re really sinister creatures.”
I glanced up at the large ice cream cone on top of the van. “Far be it from me to criticise, Daze, but this isn’t the best undercover operation you’ve ever mounted. It’s freezing cold today. Don’t you think people will find it a little suspicious when they see an ice cream van parked at the side of the road?”
“I’m sure they will.” She sighed. “It’s RR admin who are at fault. They’re a useless bunch. We put in a request for a burger van and this is what they gave us. I had a right go at them this morning, but they said the soonest they could get us a burger van would be a couple of days, so we’re stuck with this thing. We stand out like a sore thumb.”
“What exactly have the ice nymphs been doing?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Surely you must have noticed the sudden drop in temperature?”
“I assumed it was a cold snap.”
“It’s been exceptionally mild recently, and the forecast was that it would continue like that for the next few weeks, but the ice nymphs put paid to that.”
“Why would they do that?”
“They’re called ice nymphs for a reason. They can’t survive for long in the warm.”
“Why don’t they go to the North Pole, then?”
“I wish they would, but they like the city life, particularly Washbridge. That’s why they’ve caused the temperature to drop so dramatically.”
“That’s a horrible thing to do. Are you saying the temperature is likely to stay like this until you catch them?”
“If anything, it’s going to get worse. That’s why it’s urgent we track them down.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you happen to see them.”
“What do they look like?”
“You said you’re familiar with wood nymphs. The ice nymphs look pretty much the same except they have icicles hanging from their limbs.”
“Okay. If I spot them, I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks. While you’re here, can I interest you in a cornet?”
“Err, no thanks. I’ll give it a miss.”
***
I was headed for the fast food restaurant where Arnold Kramer had been working at the time of Alison Reed’s murder. I’d telephoned ahead and spoken to the manager, a Mr Jordan Coombes, who had said I was welcome to pop in at any time.
