A laugh spurted from my mouth. “It was only a check-up,” I reminded her. “Nothing serious, no extra tests. Although I am getting my flu jab early.” I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t had the flu since I was in my early forties, and that was some time ago.

  Betsy hung her head in her hands. “The thought of even going to dig around in her garden makes me feel sick.”

  “We do it all the time,” I said. “We dig our own gardens.”

  “And what if she catches us?”

  I tapped the temple at the side of my head. “She won’t be in to catch us.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s a teacher. She works all hours of the day. We can go in and come out without any trouble at all.”

  Her grumble grew louder. “Okay, but you said it was something dead.”

  Throwing my hands up, I didn’t quite know what we were going to find. “I have no idea, but she seemed like she wanted to keep it a secret.”

  “And of course, you can’t sleep at night knowing someone’s hoarding a secret.”

  I laughed, snapping my finger at her. “Exactly.”

  “So, what were you thinking?”

  She was just like me. There was no stopping us once we had something in our sights. We needed to find the truth, no matter what it was. If it was a dead animal, we couldn’t have her garden being contaminated, so we were doing her a favour in the long run, and if it was something innocent, which my brain couldn’t process or think of a plea to her innocence, then we would be out of her garden before she even knew we were there.

  “Tomorrow, perhaps after ten,” I said. “We go into her garden with a shovel and gloves, thick gloves, and we find what she’s hiding.”

  “You can pick it up,” she said. “Whatever it is.”

  “It was in a bag,” I added.

  Although it didn’t bring much relief to either of us. The bag only kept what was down there even more of a mystery.

  Before Betsy left, I stopped her at the back door. “Don’t tell Billy,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I wasn’t planning on it. What about Arthur? We may need someone to keep an eye on the garden gate so that she doesn’t come back.”

  “No,” I said in a shot. “After last time, when he ran away. He’s definitely not being our lookout.”

  She chuckled at the memory of Arthur scampering back inside his house when Mona Wilson raised her voice.

  ACT TWO

  We Dug Deeper

  Excitement welled inside me, nervously, like waiting for results in the doctor’s office. I’d been awake since 7:34 A.M. and since then, I sat with a coffee in hand, watching from the chair at my bedroom window.

  I had a view of Agatha’s driveway and her light blue Volvo. It was too early for her to leave, but the curiosity in me told me to wait and watch.

  At 8:15 A.M. an engine grumbled, pulling my attention back to Agatha after I’d spent a few moments gazing over the other homes. She drove off, leaving without a second care in the world.

  Five minutes of watching and a young boy, no older than nineteen approached Agatha’s home. He let himself in, I couldn’t see the door, but he seemed to unlock it with ease. I’d never seen him before in my life. Agatha didn’t have children, she’d never been married, not that I knew, but she was always out and about, so it wasn’t beyond the scope that she could have had boyfriends or husbands—plural. I had no idea anymore.

  I couldn’t even phone Betsy to tell her, it would only rouse Billy’s suspicions, and just like myself, once Billy suspected something, he could be quite resourceful when finding out what you knew. I’d have to wait for her to arrive before telling her about Agatha’s houseguest. But it might work to our advantage.

  Where gardening was concerned, I had a few overalls to choose from. Red, green, blue. Today, I was feeling green, mainly because it was the best to blend in with the greenery.

  Betsy arrived fifteen minutes before scheduled deployment into Agatha’s garden. She wore her leopard print wellies and yellow matching overalls. She gave me a twirl.

  “I knew what you’d be thinking,” she said. “Overalls and boots. Can’t leave a single trace, and if we’re caught—” she gestured to herself. “We look the part of professional gardeners.”

  “Oh, just like—”

  “Doctor Manhattan sneaking into the warehouse,” we said together in synchronisation.

  “And only because he wore one of those vests,” I added. “Clever man.”

  It was kind of true. I’d never think twice to suspect someone of being in the wrong place or doing wrong if they looked the part. Like my doctor, if someone else turned up in a white lab coat and told me he was my doctor, I’d take it at face value.

  That was our plan.

  “So, something I need to tell you,” I said.

  She grumbled. “Please, tell me she left for work.”

  “Oh, yes, she did.”

  “Is it serious?” she asked in a whisper.

  I tipped my head from side-to-side. It was both good and bad in my view. “Depends,” I said. “There’s someone else in her house. Probably a nephew, or something. But I’m thinking—”

  “Use him to our advantage.”

  With gardening equipment and gear in hands, we headed next door. I knocked twice. There was no answer. He could have left, he might not have been expecting visitors. I knocked again.

  “Hello?” a voice asked from behind the closed door.

  “Hello, we’re here to do the garden,” I said. “Agatha sent us.”

  “Oh, she did?” he asked. “I best call her and—”

  “Please don’t,” Betsy shouted. “We were supposed to be here yesterday and if she finds out we were late this morning as well, we might not get our full pay.”

  He grumbled from behind the door before unlocking it.

  He definitely wasn’t any older than nineteen. He smiled, but I couldn’t help feeling a little haunted by his pale face. Like he was averse to daylight and the great ball of fire in the sky. He looked back at us in the same way, most likely wondering what two women of our age were doing manual labour for.

  “Don’t mind us,” I said. “We’ll go straight through to the garden.”

  Moving away to let us pass, he nodded. “It’s my aunt’s house. I watch it for her during the day.”

  “Oh, how precious,” Betsy said.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been inside Agatha’s home, but the last time I was here it had looked a lot different. It was all modern with lots of smooth and shiny surfaces. It looked like a show home, not a single thing out of place in the white paradise.

  “Fancy,” I grumbled. “Do you clean as well?”

  He shook his head. “How long will you be?”

  “Fiftee—thirty minutes,” I said with a shrug. I didn’t know how long we’d be. Our one and only goal was to dig up that patch of dirt to find out what Agatha was hiding, and then confront her about it. “Best not tell her we were late.”

  “Or that we came at all today,” Betsy added.

  He nodded. “Okay,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.”

  We wouldn’t need anything, unless he knew what was outside in the garden—and if he did, he wouldn’t have willingly let us out there at all.

  At the back door, before we leapt out into the garden, I noticed two dishes at the side of the door; one with milk, and a second with an uneaten pouch of cat food in. My stomach sank. Perhaps she was keeping them around for old time’s sake. It only reassured what I’d been thinking—this was her cat.

  “Look at this,” Betsy grumbled from behind.

  She was pointing at a schedule on the fridge, pinned in place by magnets.

  “Imagine having your entire month planned out,” I shuddered. Everything was on the board, from early school starts, to a weekly massage. There wasn’t a single note about gardeners or gardening on the calendar. “I hope he doesn’t check this.”

  Betsy grabbed a pen. “I can write it.”

  I pulled the pen from her. “Don’t you even dare,” I said. “Obviously, she’ll know someone’s been then.” I placed the pen back in place on its magnet holder.

  Out in the garden, I looked straight ahead to the bushes at the back of the garden.

  “Where did you see it?” Betsy asked in a whisper, glancing back to make sure we hadn’t been followed out by the nephew.

  I pointed over to the far end of the garden. I saw a small mound of dirt between the two rose bushes. It was only slight, and I wouldn’t have even noticed it if I hadn’t seen her dig it.

  “You’re picking it out,” she said.

  I twanged the plastic gloves on my arms. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

  Betsy made the first plunge into the dirt with her shovel. I made the second. It was like a game of Jenga, each taking a turn to pull up a small patch of dirt, keeping it contained and compact; we’d have to put it all back in place once we were finished.

  Pausing, out of breath, I looked around at the bushes. “They could use a little trim,” I said. “Maybe we—”

  “Not a chance,” Betsy said. “We’re already risking a lot just by being here, and trespassing.”

  I huffed. “Her nephew let us in.”

  It wasn’t technically trespassing, but we were pretending to be someone we weren’t.

  A plastic rustle came as Betsy’s dig hit something. She squealed. “I touched it, I touched it.”

  “Hold your horses,” I said. “I’ll have a look, but if I start screaming you’re going to need to restrain me.”

  “Restrain you?” she shuddered. “I don’t think I have the strength.”

  A white plastic bag in dirt, laid in the hole. It was tied at the top with the handles in bunny ears. The contents didn’t appear dark, everything looked fairly light. Unless the coat of her cat had been white all this time and I never knew.

  “What’s her cat’s name?” Betsy asked as I reached into the hole with one hand and began pulling at the heavy white bag.

  “No idea,” I said. “Sprinkles? Dotty?” The heave was felt in my throat and voice. “But she was a heavy cat.”

  “How many did she have?”

  “One. I know, because I’d complained about it coming into my garden.”

  I pulled the bag out onto the ground. It slouched to one side. I turned to face Betsy. She stood, with her arms cradling a brown and yellow spotted fur creature. A cat.

  My throat tightened. “Is that?”

  “Her cat. I think so.”

  I glanced back at the bag. “So, what’s in the bag?”

  Betsy stepped back, stroking the cat and shaking her head. “You said you’d look inside. I’m not—”

  “I know, I know,” I said, hushing her.

  Anything that wasn’t a dead cat was a bonus. I rolled my shoulders and pulled the gloves tighter around my fingers. There was nothing to be scared of, looking into this bag that was most definitely not the remains of a dead creature. But it had been heavy, and not many things could carry that type of weight.

  “Go on,” she said, turning. “Tell me when you find out.”

  “Make yourself useful and look busy,” I said. “In case her nephew is watching.”

  I pulled the bunny ears from the loose knot. It came away quickly. Letters spilling out across the patch of grass and two escaping back into the slippery slope of the hole. Red words stamped across the white.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Late. Private. Payment now,” I read from the letters in front of me. None of them were open, each sealed shut. Each addressed to Agatha Bell. “I think she’s in debt,” I said.

  “Debt?” Betsy laughed. “How can she be in—” she turned to see the letters. “That’s a lot.”

  “I know,” I grumbled back. “Now I see why she was acting like she’d buried a body. This stuff could kill someone.”

  “You need anything?” a voice called from the house.

  Betsy screamed. The cat jumped from her arms, leaping to the ground.

  I immediately shoved everything with a swipe of my hand into the hole. “Oh, no, nothing,” I said.

  “Need any help shovelling?” he asked

  Betsy hurried over to him. “Do you help you aunt dig?”

  I grabbed a couple letters and shoved them inside my overalls. “Stealing mail is a crime,” I said to myself, pushing the dirt back into the hole.

  Once the hole was full and everything back in place, except the letters I’d taken. We declared the job finished and left without another word. Out of breath from walking next door, I peeled away my overalls and the letters flew out at Betsy’s feet.

  She gasped. “You didn’t.”

  “Yes. I did,” I said, laying down on the sofa. “That’s been an adventure and a half.”

  “I mean, you shouldn’t have taken them.”

  I waved a hand at her. It was what I’d already told myself. “She buried them. It’s not like she’ll notice if a few of them are missing.”

  She sat on the single-seater beside me. “Are we going to open them?”

  “After a light lie down,” I said. “I need to even out my body. I’m feeling light-headed.”

  Betsy placed the letters on the coffee table. “I can’t believe she’s in debt. Her home is beautiful. Maybe that’s why. At least we know she’s not a killer.”

  “At least,” I hummed. It was a weight off my shoulders, although I shouldn’t have put all the letters back. “Do you know how long all that will take to compost?” I whined.

  Neither of us knew the correct time, but we knew it would have been a long time, and it could have done all number of things to the garden.

  Betsy made a pot of tea, not the coffee I’d asked for. She placed it beside the letters and poured it into two cups. “If you become like Billy, we’ll have to build a wall to connect our homes.”

  While we lived next door. Our homes were detached, all the houses inside the village were detached homes. It helped keep boundaries in place for gardens and driveways.

  After a couple of moments staring at the letters on the table. I reached out and grabbed one.

  “This is illegal,” I said aloud, locking eyes with Betsy.

  “But if we can help, we need to know what she’s struggling with.”

  I nodded. We had no idea what Agatha was going through, but this could shed light on the situation, and we were definitely there to help if she needed it—even if she didn’t, we couldn’t let her go under.

  “It’s got her name on it and everything,” I sighed, slipping the nail of my thumb beneath the lip of the envelope and slicing it open with one swift movement of my hand. Now we had the letter. I leaned back into the sofa away from it. “I don’t know if I can,” I told her.

  “Just get it out.”

  After being the instigator in all of this and wanting to jump down the rabbit hole, I felt somewhat scared to peek. I pulled the letter from the envelope and the first word I saw at the top in all block red capitals was ‘OVERDUE’.

  My heart raced, almost as if it was a letter addressed to me.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  I flipped the letter around and showed her.

  “Goodness, I think I need more sugar in my tea.”

  I cleared my throat. “Dear Agatha Bell. I’m contacting you from Skyline Lounge Gambling.”

  “Gambling?”

  She didn’t strike me as the woman to gamble. Oh. My head turned fizzy. I took a cup in my shaky hand and pressed it to my lips, sipping on the hearty tea. “What would Doctor Manhattan do?” I asked.

  “Finish the letter.”

  True. He’d get through the entire letter and see what the damage was.

  I skimmed, reading aloud the parts that shocked me the most. “You owe £5,432—your club account and any credit extended to you must be repaid with interest.” I passed the letter to Betsy and grabbed a second from the pile of three.

  “Her house will probably end up repossessed,” she said in a gasp. “I always heard that gambling was an addiction, like—” she shuddered. “Like all them documentaries. They ruin lives, don’t they?”

  I opened the second letter. “Quinten Quarry Credit Services.” My throat tightened. “Doesn’t sound good.” I passed the letter to Betsy.

  “We’re informing you of the outstanding balance on your credit card. The amount due is £2,309. It must be paid today.”

  We shared a familiar shudder. “Perhaps we should talk to her,” I said. “Offer her in for some tea. You worked at a bank before, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “Oh, Delia,” Betsy said rolling her eyes. “Almost twenty years ago. Billy has always handled the finances.”

  “But what would you tell her--”

  “To see someone about it,” she said. “I never worked in loans or mortgages. She could pay this off with a remortgage, perhaps.”

  I reached for the final letter. It was from a different company, their logo stamped in the corner of the envelope. “How much debt do you think she’s in?”

  “How many letters were they?” she asked.

  I couldn’t quite honestly say how many were there for certain. I shrugged. “Too many.”

  “Twenty thousand?”

  “Letters?” I chuckled. “Or debt.”

  Betsy rolled her eyes and tutted. “Debt.”

  “If they’re all like this. Maybe.”

  I pulled the letter out. “Bailiffs,” I said in a breathless gasp. “Please contact our customer service team to organise payment of £4,940 today.”

  “Who’s lending her all this money?”

  “She’s a teacher,” I said. “She’s got job security. You know, a stable income. Course, people are lending her money. They think she’ll pay it back. Instead, she’s running herself and these letters into the ground.”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said. “Agatha has always been quiet and kept herself to herself. She’s never been a bother before. If anything, she’s the dream neighbour.”

  I hummed in agreement. It was true. Agatha had never caused trouble before, she’d never been at the centre of attention. But right now, she was all we could think of; all we had on our minds.

 

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