Susie and Jeffrey 145 - 170

 

Susie and Jeffrey

 

Book 11 - Loony Runes

 

S&J go on safari over the river, cross words and swords with an odd assortment of the natives, defy the curse of the demon, and, after the happiness of pursuit, bring back their quarry dead and alive.

"Bye, dad." Glowing with delight, Susie switched off her mobile. "That confirms my theory, Jeffrey."

"What - the torching of your uncle's car?"

"No, the conserving of the coffin. Putting the corpse before the hearse proves it was the squire's body they were after, and not a joyride."

A Susie and Jeffrey novel by Jamie Hayworth

 

 

Susie and Jeffrey 145 - 170

 

Loony Runes

 

 

Chapter 145

"Oh weee, we are the chosen two.
You chose me, and I chose you."

"Your memory is playing tricks on you, Susie," I smiled, as she warbled while we worked at restoring the office to some semblance of order after Mr Unicorn's rampage. "Our relationship began with you making the decisions for both of us."

"Somebody had to take the initiative, Jeffrey. I knew you'd prove backward in coming forward, so I launched myself over the fence and anticipated our mutual attraction," Susie grinned.

"We're lucky it hasn't turned out to be a fatal one," I shuddered, shovelling the last of the broken glass into the wastepaper-basket. "Our heads might have ended up as shattered as the door. A state of disrepair your dad can't fail to notice when he steps over the threshold."

"Yes, that's going to be a bit of a giveaway things haven't been all quiet on the office front," Susie frowned. "Dad may not believe me when I tell him we solved 'The Case of the Hapless Estate Agent' by sitting serenely at our desks all day."

"I'm certain he won't, Susie."

"Then perhaps I should let Denise take the initiative story-wise, Jeffrey. What's your approved version of events?"

"We could spin a yarn about a client losing control of their souped-up mobility scooter," I mused. "It's fast becoming a hazard of modern life, according to the Nutwood Weekly News."

"A plausible explanation, Jeffrey, but I'd like us to get a little credit where credit's due. And we have a duty to play fair with dad."

"How fair, Susie?"

"Fair enough so dad feels deeply indebted to his loyal recruits, Jeffrey. We did put our lives on the line, defending his property and clearing his name."

"I suppose we deserve a modicum of recognition this time, Susie," I acknowledged. "Only don't get carried away and reveal all the secrets of our success."

"I shall be shrewdly selective in presenting the facts, Jeffrey. I'll ensure dad fully values our efforts on his behalf, without being wholly cognisant of what transpired."

"'Cognisant' ... 'transpired', Susie?"

"Yes, Jeffrey - 'cognisant' ... 'transpired' - you're not the only pantologist allowed to show off a modicum of their Reader's Digest word power."

"I respectfully bow to your superiority in the field of trousery, Susie," I curtsied, as elegantly as a tailored mini-skirt permitted.

"But in nothing else - you can't demurely Denise me, Jeffrey."

"Just be cognisant of the less said, the better. It's transpired on more than one occasion that you possess an unfortunate tendency to blurt out any piece of malarkey that amuses you."

"Spontaneous is what I am, Jeffrey. A quality even such a negative person as Uncle Frank admits he finds unusually refreshing."

"Are you positive that wasn't 'habitually distressing'?"

Susie considered the proposal. "Nah, unky's always pulling his hair out - it's another of his many nervous tics."

"Well, we can only hope they don't run in the family," I observed, on spotting Mr Jones' Audi pull up outside. "Because here comes your dad."

"Okay, straighten your metaphorical tie and shine your literal shoes, Jeffrey."

"And you curb your temerariousness and go easy on the flexiloquence, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Come and sit down, dad, and we'll make you a nice cup of tea," Susie cooed. "It'll help you recover from the shock. With one thing and another, you've had a challenging day."

A dumbfounded Mr Jones finished surveying the wreckage and scrutinized his way towards us. "Thank you for the offer, Susie, but my immediate requirement is an explanation of what's happened here."

"Don't get upset, dad - it's only a door."

"That I left you in charge of, Susie. The first occasion I give you some responsibility, and I come back to this - it's unbelievable."

"You aren't more stunned than we were, dad. One minute, there we sat peacefully estate-agenting - and the next - Boom! Bang! A-Bang! - We thought another bomb had gone off. You almost spilt your nail varnish, didn't you, Denise?"

"Anybody would have," I quaked. "They were circumstances under which we had no self-control, Mr Jones."

"Then you'd better tell me exactly what happened, Denise - without any Susieish embellishments."

"Well, sir, we were diligently filing away, minding your business, when a crazy man burst in."

"And he couldn't have chosen a worse moment, dad. The brute interrupted our sales pitch, with us on the brink of offloading one of your more flood-prone bungalows."

"There are only properties conveniently located for the beach on my books, Susie," Mr Jones corrected.

"That's precisely the way I put it, pater. You would have been proud of my patter."

"I trust so, Susie. We don't indulge in estate agent's hype at Jones & Co. We value our clients, and they all respect our integrity."

"Except for the mad beggar who charged up to our desks, arms flailing, threatening us with fists of fury."

"Oh, I didn't realise ..." A concerned look crossed Mr Jones' face. "What did you do, Susie?"

"We ducked, dad ... and dived."

"No doubt," Mr Jones frowned. Susie's grin had alleviated his paternal anxiety, but aggravated his parental scepticism. He bent forward and subjected us both to a close examination. "Neither of you appears to have come to any bodily harm."

"Solely thanks to our bobbing and weaving, dad."

"And the intervention of the very gallant gentleman who sprang to the aid of two flustered females, Susie."

"Plus your computer monitor, Denise - I hope that and the bloodstains on the carpet are covered by the insurance, dad."

"If they're not, sir, any damage is entirely my fault. I hurled the nearest thing to hand at our attacker in a blind panic. I'm sorry for breaching health and safety guidelines."

"Don't worry about it, Denise," Mr Jones smiled. "The customer isn't always right, but I am curious to know what the man's motives were. Can you enlighten me as to that, Susie?"

"Well, dad, it started when Mr Barry Horrocks, a journalist on the case, came nosing around enquiring about 13 Mauldeth Road."

"You didn't mention my connection, did you?" Mr Jones asked apprehensively.

"Of course not, dad - I gave nothing away. We were the ones who did the interrogating. And to cut a long story short, we eventually deduced the victim had already lost his right arm before the murderer went to work on him."

"That explains it!" Mr Jones clapped his hand to his forehead. "I knew the police were overlooking the obvious - a Scaevola, eh ..."

"Was he, Denise?" Susie whispered, while Mr Jones contemplated the ceiling tiles.

"Sort of - your dad's so amazed he's showing off his Latin vocabulary."

Mr Jones came back amongst us. "Carry on, Susie - what else did you discover?"

"That the one-armed wally turned out to be Mrs Pike's brother, Lefty Lofthouse."

"Ah, it's all becoming clear to me now, Susie."

"But only after my skilfully teasing the particulars from the opaque depths of old Barry's cluttered mind. It was textbook analysis, wasn't it, Denise?"

"You're being too modest, if anything, Susie."

"Thank you, Denise. Take up the tale - I don't want to hog the first fiddle."

"Susie's not one to rest on her laurels in the limelight, sir, and, without a second's delay, we sent Mr Horrocks to the police station with our solution to the mystery."

"'Go to jail - go directly to jail - do not pace slow' - were our orders."

"I wasn't in jail, Susie," Mr Jones objected.

"As bad as, dad - and it's down to us you're a free man again. We were the hidden hands and brains behind your release."

"I'm flabbergasted, Susie."

"You've a right to be, dad. I just hope you appreciate the unpaid overtime we put in on the job. These things don't happen by magic, you know."

"Is this true, Denise?"

"Absolutely, sir, and that would have been the end of our interest in the affair if Mr Horrocks hadn't come back here looking for Arnold Schwarzenegger."

"Who?"

"The villain of the piece, dad. The man with the firm handshake - the one you had in your grasp and let slip away."

"It wasn't quite like that, Susie."

"Yes it was - and it would have saved you a ton of trouble if you'd hung onto the fellow."

"Perhaps I should have been more suspicious at the time," Mr Jones conceded. "But it's all water under the bridge now, I'm glad to say."

"Yes, the murky details are best forgotten, dad. Just remember how we rose to the challenge of proving your innocence."

"I will, Susie - you've lifted a great weight off my shoulders. I felt at the mercy of police who couldn't see beyond the ends of their noses."

"You need a vivid imagination to arrive at the lateral thinking conclusion we did, dad."

"As a matter of fact, there's a one-legged chap at the golf club," Mr Jones ruminated. "I wonder why a phantom limb never occurred to me."

"You were under frightful stress, sir," I smiled. "And the evident even evaded the professionals."

"So it did, Denise - including two detective inspectors, a civil chap and a rude blighter."

"And how did things develop at the cop shop after we exonerated you, dad - were they all polite then?"

"A community support officer escorted me out, but with no hint of an apology, and not so much as a 'mind how you go'," Mr Jones complained. "I'd been a model suspect and even bought four tickets for the Policeman's Ball - a magnanimous gesture on my part, under the circumstances."

"If you're still feeling generous, dad, some folk, not a million miles away, deserve danger money for dealing with a unicorn who went bullish on them in a property shop," Susie hinted.

"A unicorn?" Mr Jones puzzled. "Have I missed something - where does that come into it?"

"It was an alias of Arnold Schwarzenegger startlingly revealed to Mr Horrocks, during a refreshment break, in the course of his investigation."

"You seem very well informed, Susie. Have you told me everything?"

"Practically dad - we don't want to bore you with every little nuance. You've enough on your plate taking care of the business."

Mr Jones gazed despondently around the office. "I certainly will have sorting out this mess."

"We might be free tomorrow. Is it double-time Saturday?"

"Why, Susie?"

"Because you'll need someone until you find a replacement for the late Mrs Pike."

"How do you know about her demise, Susie? The police only mentioned it to me just before I left."

"We got it straight from the horse's mouth, dad. Mr Unicorn confessed all to us before he galloped off to collide with his tram."

Mr Jones mulled over the latest disclosures under a furrowed brow. "I passed two burning trams on the way here ... and Mr Unicorn ... that's an odd name ... and why would he confess to you?"

"It's a gift I have," Susie beamed, rekindling her dad's suspicions.

"Tell me, Denise, is that the whole truth? Or is there more to your involvement than meets my eye?"

"It's nothing but the truth, sir. We were just innocent little pitchers with big ears when Arnold Schwarzenegger took to haranguing Mr Horrocks."

"And where is this elusive Mr Horrocks now?"

"Oh, he went out with his hat on," I breezed. "He was ever so happy to return home with the story we gave him."

"I understand, Denise." A resigned smile flickered across Mr Jones' face. "Is there anything else I shouldn't know, Susie?"

"Yes, dad?"

"Is that an unequivocal yes?"

"No, dad, but if you're still curious, you can read almost all about it in the Shoreham Gazette, as transcribed by Barry Horrocks, the Fylde Coast's star reporter. And, rest assured, his will be the only name mentioned."

"One couldn't wish for a more satisfactory conclusion ... could one, sir?"

"It would be presumptuous to enquire further, Denise," Mr Jones acceded, reaching for the phone. "And there are more immediate problems that demand my attention. I'd better arrange to have the door boarded up."

"You know how to prioritise, dad."

"Thank you, Susie - and then, while we're waiting, you can tell me how the rest of your day went."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"And in between introducing numerous prospective buyers to their dream home, we filled our spare time working on our act as the Dinky Doos, dad."

"And you never left the office all day?"

"Not until we had to run for our lives."

Mr Jones retrieved the 'Gone Fishing' sign from the wastepaper-basket. "What about this, Susie?"

"Growing girls can't live on Gypsy Creams alone, dad. We had to venture abroad for some cod and chips in our lunch hour."

"I see ..." Mr Jones nodded and turned to me. "Did you go straight there and back, Denise?"

"Even the most cerebral of detectives need to do a little legwork, sir," I smiled. "So we walked off our dinner with some solvitur ambulando."

"That's Latin for Greek philosopher stuff, dad."

"I haven't forgotten everything I learnt at school," Mr Jones huffed. "I'm not a total ignoramus, Susie."

"I know, dad. The older I get, the wiser you seem. And so perceptive - I couldn't conceal anything of real importance from you."

"All right," Mr Jones yielded, "I'll fall for your flattery, but no more foolish things, Susie."

"Don't worry, dad, the Dinky Doos have ditched 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in favour of 'With My Little Ukulele in My Hand'."

"You know what I mean, Susie."

"Do I dad?"

"Yes, Susie."

"That's okay, then, isn't it?"

"After one last question - what's in the cardboard tube Denise is guarding so closely?"

"Only a bargain that caught her eye on our detour through Barnardo's. You can't resist a steal, can you, Denise?"

"Not when it's a remarkable copy of a Lowry by a talented amateur artist. This is a genuine oil-painting - would you like to see how it looks on the wall, Mr Jones?"

"I'd rather not, Denise. Back-to-backs and factory chimneys are rather down-market for a modern estate agent's - no offence intended."

"And none taken, sir - I don't expect clogs and cloth caps will appeal to mum, either. I'll probably have to hide it away at the back of my wardrobe."

"Never mind, Denise, you can put me down for a private viewing," Susie winked.

Mr Jones raised an eyebrow. "On second thoughts, perhaps I should have a peek."

"Too late, dad - here comes Bob the builder. We'll hop in the car while you give him his orders."

"Very well, Susie, and then we'll drive home in a restorative silence. I want to forget all about the events of the last twenty-four hours."

"That suits us, doesn't it, Denise?"

"Right down to Tasmania, Susie."

 

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"I'm fed up contemplating your knees, Denise - say something interesting."

"We passed 175 lampposts on the way home," I offered, as Mr Jones pulled into the drive.

"Why's that interesting?"

"It's counting, Susie - and curiously - 175 = 1¹ + 7² + 5³."

"Are you taking note of Denise's digitising, dad? You can use it as a selling-point whenever there's a '175' on your books."

Mr Jones ceased meditating on the steering wheel. "Sorry, Susie - I missed that - my mind was elsewhere."

"What's up, dad? You aren't nearly as cheerful as a man saved from the gallows should be."

"Don't exaggerate, Susie."

"Well, something's clouding the uncondemned man's visage. Is it because you've now a ghastly murder scene to dispose of?"

"A residence of character with a unique history is how I shall describe number 13, Susie."

"Change that to 11B, and you'll have no bother."

"If only all life's little difficulties were so easily solved," Mr Jones sighed. "If it's not one thing, it's another."

"What's the nother?"

"It's your uncle again."

"Oh, is that all."

"It's more than enough, Susie."

"Is there no sign of unky buying a new house and moving out?"

"Not until the insurance claim is settled - and then he's talking of rebuilding brick by original brick."

"So you could be stuck with Uncle Frank for months."

"It certainly looks that way," Mr Jones grimaced.

"Oh dear, if he can't be budged, I'll just have to resign myself to remaining in exile at Denise's," Susie smiled.

"'Debt is the money of slaves' was Frank's response after I offered to arrange a mortgage in the meantime. A fine thing to say to an estate agent, especially when he's your own brother."

"Unky lacks tact, dad."

"And that's not all he's missing. I'd scarcely got out of the police station before I had a panicky phone call from him, and it's been playing on my mind ever since."

"It wasn't about me, was it?"

"No, this is one catastrophe Frank can't hold you responsible for."

"That's okay, then."

"You wouldn't say so if you faced the prospect of spending the night listening to your uncle's moaning and groaning, Susie."

"Is it more trouble with Trevor - has he eloped with Charlotte?"

"No - it's not a wedding, but a funeral that's giving Frank grief. A fully-laden hearse has vanished from outside his premises."

"You mean he's lost a body," Susie chuckled. "Hey, that's what I almost said yesterday, dad. Many a true word is spoken in jest, eh?"

"It's not a joking matter," Mr Jones frowned. "There may be serious ramifications. From Frank's gabbling, I gather a high-profile corpse was sleeping in the coffin."

"The mind boggles," Susie grinned. "What do you think, dad - could this turn out to be a publicity stunt by the Zombie Liberation Front?"

"Don't even hint at such a thing to your uncle," Mr Jones spluttered. "It doesn't take much to trigger off Frank's persecution complex, and his misery loves my company. In fact, I'd rather you stayed completely away from him this weekend."

"A burden shared is a burden thirded, dad," Susie beamed, opening the car door. "The Dinky Doos will come over later and lighten unky's mood with a song and a quip, won't they, Denise?"

"Not if I can help it, Susie," I murmured, following her out. "I know your little game, and I haven't the least desire to go a-hearse-hunting."

"Tally-ho, Denise! I'll race you to the first hurdle!" Susie whooped, and gave me a slap on the behind. "View, halloo!"

"Not so loud, Susie," I warned. "Or you could awaken the dead and the fox from his lair in the morning."

 

 

Chapter 146

"We're the chosen two.
Oh, and we, we are the lucky people."

"You can sing that again, Susie," I smiled, after vaulting the dividing fence between our back-gardens and landing safely on my home turf.

"It should be the Dinky Doos theme song, now I'm installed as your permanent lodger, and we have this ..." Susie laughed, twirling the tube containing the rolled-up Lowry. "Who wants to be a millionaire, Jeffrey?"

"Careful - you might flake it, and as the wrongful owners, we're duty bound to take good care of our dubiously acquired masterpiece."

"Just out of academic interest, have you any idea how to sell paintings of an uncertain provenance on the art black market?"

"Don't even google it, Susie."

"I'm only whimsying, Jeffrey - I'd rather keep the prize for now."

"I should think so, Susie. A Lowry's a gilt-edged investment - better than gold, even. And, aside from that, you couldn't put a price on its cultural value."

"Too true, Jeffrey - but it's comforting to know we've accumulated enough capital to be dyed-in-the-wool, red-blooded socialists."

"Don't let our new-found wealth go to your head, Susie," I cautioned. "We must resist the temptation to buy a villa in Tuscany. Lytham St Annes is the furthest south I'd consider for a holiday home."

"That would please dad, Jeffrey. He insists you can't beat bricks and mortar in a prime location for a long-term investment."

"Together with a few surrounding acres - like granddad's retirement smallholding."

"Ready cash is always handy, though. It's a pity our great piece of detective work didn't gain us some more liquid assets, too."

"I wouldn't swap the Lowry. And if we're going to keep it, Susie, you'll have to exercise unusual discretion," I advised, as we started up the path. "No hints and winks about what a hidden treasure I've got in my bedroom."

"You can talk, Jeffrey - after revealing to dad it's a genuine oil-painting and offering a viewing. Why didn't you tell him it was only a cheap print?"

"Your dad's an estate agent, Susie - he must see hundreds of pictures hanging on the wall. He'd have recognised the difference straight away."

"No, he wouldn't - dad doesn't know his Picasso from his El Greco."

"But he is acquainted with Scaevola - you should never underestimate parents, Susie. And even more importantly, we should always stick as close to the facts as possible. No big fibs just because they tickle your fancy."

"Aw, you'll take all the fun out of it, Jeffrey."

"A show of honesty is the best policy - especially with your dad and my mum. Don't forget, they'll always be there to stand by us in an emergency."

"What emergency?"

"The one when we need them to swear they have complete confidence in Susie's and Jeffrey's truthfulness. That's why it's prudent to willingly admit to a few minor misdemeanours."

"I'll say it again, Jeffrey - you really are a calculating little body."

"No - simply a naturally cautious soul, Susie. And I wish you'd follow my example."

"You're Machiavellian. I only hope you appreciate how my trusting of our Lowry to the back of your wardrobe shows the complete faith I have in you."

"Don't worry, Susie, we'll always be equal partners in crime."

"And everything else, Jeffrey."

"In that case, it's my turn to wear the trousers," I asserted, as the light came on in the kitchen, indicating the parental presence. "Get behind this bush and drop yours, Susie."

"Denise, you little hussy - remember where we are."

"Less than ten yards from mum - and I don't want her to see a wanton in this skirt."

"What do you mean? I garnered nothing but compliments when I wore it."

"Well, garner a few more off mum, by jumping into it again."

"You've been happy strutting your stuff all day, Jeffrey, so why are you worried now?"

"I've laddered a stocking."

Susie peered down and gave them the once-over. "You can hardly see the run."

"Maybe, but it won't go unnoticed, and nothing looks more immodest. Come on - let's get swapping."

"What about me?"

"You can go bare-legged."

"So could you. And you'll enjoy the sensuous experience - that skirt has the softest satin lining."

"This isn't the time for frou-frouing," I protested. "Or the place - I'm not used to it outdoors - I've never played hockey."

"Frou-frouing - hockey - what's that non-sequitur got to do with anything?"

"How would I know? I'm new to all this, but I'll feel I'm walking down the street half-naked."

"We're in your garden, Jeffrey, and soon we'll be in your house."

"That's no comfort, Susie. It's one of my recurring dreams. Remember - I made an almost clean breast of it to you outside the chip shop."

"Denise embroidered one of your tales, Jeffrey."

"It was true," I insisted. "And Wednesday's rugby shirt incident has added the top half to my bottom half anxieties."

"You're digressing with your undressing, Jeffrey, and creating a fuss over nothing."

"Why risk it, Susie?" I appealed. "You don't want mum to ground me, do you?"

"You're exaggerating, Jeffrey."

"No, I'm not, Susie. We're swapping shoes, as well."

"We'll be here all night at this rate."

"If you don't argue about it anymore, I won't argue about going back to see your Uncle Frank."

"Okay, Jeffrey, it's a deal. But that's half an argument you owe me." Susie reluctantly began removing her pants. "And you help quiz Uncle Frank about his lost client. I've a feeling we could be on to something big."

"All right," I rashly promised, tossing across the skirt. "Just hurry up - mum's at the window."

"Wearing my own old cast-offs," Susie griped. "The things I do for you, Jeffrey. On your head be it if I get chapped knees."

"They're not as bad as chapped thighs. That's what you suffer rugbying on our swamp of a pitch in the bleak midwinter," I shivered. "Talk about frosty winds may moan - I was glad to be relegated to the rigours of the cross-country."

"Enough of the 'Tom Brown's Schooldays', Jeffrey - you've already got your way."

I smiled and zipped up. "Right, do I look boyish enough?"

"There's barely a trace of lipstick left, you're wearing the trousers, and I'm wearing the high heels. What more could you ask?"

"Of you, Susie - discretion. Mum may prove quite inquisitive, so emulate Hermes - never tell a lie, but sometimes don't tell the whole truth."

"That's a fine line to talk."

"If you find it too difficult, then say nothing and leave the explanations to me."

"I can't stand there like a lemon, Jeffrey."

"No thanks, I'd rather have a banana."

"Come here, and I'll banana you."

"Oooo! Chase me, Susie!"

 

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"Thank you, Jeffrey, you're the perfect gentleman," Susie smiled, as I held open the door and ushered her into the kitchen.

"It's only us, mum," I announced, "and we're bang on time for tea tonight."

Mum turned and gave us the twice-over. "Could that have something to do with you putting in your first full day at work, I wonder?"

"That's right, Mrs Smith - we're the weary hunters, home from the hill."

"Hunters, Susie?" mum frowned. "What have you been up to now, Jeffrey?"

"Nothing, mum - you know how Susie's prone to flamboyant figures of speech."

"That's right, Mrs Smith, it's a jungle out there in the property market."

"So, you didn't have a good day at the office, Susie."

"Some people haven't the manners of warthogs, Mrs Smith. But we were professional enough to take good care of our customers, however awkward, weren't we, Jeffrey?"

"We did our best, Susie, and under very trying circumstances on occasions. Folk can act most peculiar, mum."

"I hope they didn't upset you, Jeffrey."

"No, I'm fine - it was an educational experience. We only encountered one thoroughly obnoxious beast, and he ultimately regretted his offensiveness."

"All in all, it proved most instructive, Mrs Smith. There's more to estate agenting than you'd imagine. It's a man's life composing those euphemisms, isn't it, Jeffrey?"

"Let's not exaggerate, Susie - it doesn't compare with the demands of scrap metal dealing."

"You'd wear overalls for that, would you, Jeffrey?"

"With a hi-viz jacket and a hard hat, mum. I'm conscious of the need to choose the right clothes for the job."

"Like just now?"

"And all day, mum."

"Then why did you swap your skirt for Susie's trousers?"

"Oh, you saw ..."

"Yes, Jeffrey - I witnessed your attempted quick change of gender through the window, but it hasn't been successful. You seem fated for femininity. Denise's longing for lipstick and weakness for a Wonderbra will always betray her."

"I'm in love with the full range of cosmetics and lingerie, actually," I blushed. "And I was quite looking forward to a chic and sophisticated Miss Smith presenting herself for motherly approval."

"After a Princess Bride, Debbie Monroe, and a cosplay Lolita, how come my aspiring little super model got cold feet this time?"

"All that sitting down, crossing one's legs, plays havoc with a secretary's fashion stockings," I pouted. "They were left louchely at odds with my whole career girl persona."

"Really, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, mum - it's surprising how a wiggly run, coupled with a tight skirt and high heels, can make one appear flighty."

"Ah, that explains almost everything."

"Does it, mum?"

"I hope so, Jeffrey - apart from why you're clutching what looks like a pop poster to your bosom. Denise isn't appearing as a gymslipped, star-struck schoolgirl in the next round of 'Guess My Dress', is she?"

"No, this is bluestocking stuff," I declared. "And a first-rate imitation Lowry to boot - not your modern rubbish."

"That's nice," mum approved. "And when you tire of the dark satanic mills, I'll take it to the office. It'll make a welcome change from Pirelli's skip of the month."

"I have offered to share it with Susie as community property. You're a primitive art buff, aren't you, chuck?"

"Indubitably, Jeffrey, and if you'll excuse us, Mrs Smith, I can't wait to see this fake factoryscape adorning my bedroom wall."

Mum arched an eyebrow. "Is that the only reason you're in such a hurry to depart, Susie?"

"No, Mrs Smith - I promised Uncle Frank we'd return in less than a trice. He's having a wee bit of bother at his business and needs our assistance."

Mum arched a second eyebrow. "With undertaking, Susie?"

"It's on the administrative side, Mrs Smith. Somehow Uncle Frank's ended up with more paperwork than bodies. He blames the EU and all those hazardous waste directives."

"I can fully sympathise with him, Susie. I've a mountain of forms to fill in."

"Then we'll leave you to it, Mrs Smith. We had a late lunch, so you can delay our tea until supper. Come on, Jeffrey, let's freshen up before we cheer up Uncle Frank."

 

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"What were you doing with your perfect gentleman and jungle talk, Susie?" I fretted, after we'd retired to the sanctuary of my bedroom. "You'll have mum afraid I'll come swinging home kitted out as Tarzan next."

"She needn't worry - you haven't remotely the figure for the part, Jeffrey."

"But the way things are going, I could turn up in a leopard-skin leotard someday soon."

"That's way too butch for Denise. A baby-doll teddy would be my one-piece choice for the femme Miss Smith."

"And mine - I do have a consummate desire to embrace the ultra-girly when we're role-playing."

"How about this, then? Me, Susie, dashing white huntress - you, Denise, my captive Princess of the Nile - and Uncle Frank, Cheeta. Ooo! Ooo! I wonder what monkey madness led to his losing a top banana."

"I don't wish to know that, Susie."

"You promised, Jeffrey."

"Only under duress while improperly dressed."

"No, you weren't."

"I was ... sort of."

"Are you prevaricating, Jeffrey, or is this the half an argument you owe me?"

"If you like," I smiled, "we could develop it into a full-blown one - best of two mauls and then my submission. After which, you'll ensure Denise is properly dressed and prettified as a lipstick-loving Lolita."

"Later, Jeffrey - it's burial business before petticoat pleasure right now. And we've no time to lose - Uncle Frank is an early-to-bed disciple."

"And we should follow his example, Susie," I yawned unconvincingly. "Gran says two hours before ..."

"It's okay, Jeffrey, you'll still get a good night's sleep. By the time we finish interrogating Uncle Frank, it'll be too late to start coffin hunting."

"Really, Susie? I'd have thought 13 o'clock was the ideal time for prowling around cemeteries with a pick and shovel."

"Something tells the detective in me more than simple grave-robbing is involved in this affair, Jeffrey. Dad said a high-profile corpse was aboard the hearse - there's obviously a big wheel within wheels."

"If you hope so, Susie," I smiled.

"Mark my words, Jeffrey - Uncle Frank's missing body will turn out to be a humdinger of a case."

"Hoping to sniff out the cadaver are you, Susie?"

"I shall deduce its whereabouts using intuitive psychological insight combined with ruthless logic. And I expect more than a little help from you, Jeffrey."

"Okay, Susie," I hesitantly agreed, "but don't blame me if you're disappointed when our interview with your uncle comes to nothing."

"It won't, Jeffrey."

"Still, there's no harm having an alternative plan for in the morning."

"Such as?"

"Tomorrow's the grand opening of the new leaning tower of Nutwood, Susie. We could bike up there and join in the applause."

"The leaning tower of Nutwood - are you taking the Pisa, Jeffrey?"

"It's the rebuilt coastguard station, now architecturally bowing into the wind and waves. We passed it on our way to Heighton School."

"I've already seen our local wonder of the world, then."

"Not from the inside - it's equipped for bird-watching as well."

"That doesn't interest us a peck, Jeffrey - and never will."

"It was just a thought, Susie. Even if your uncle is forthcoming, I can't see you making much progress in the coffin recovery business, and I know how you like to keep fully occupied."

"We will be, Jeffrey - trust me."

"Don't I always, Susie?"

"Then move yourself, it's high time we heard Uncle Frank's corpse troubles straight from the hearse owner's mouth."

"Talk like that will only succeed in upsetting him, Susie," I warned. "Which is the last thing you want to do after recent events."

"Don't worry, before we go, we'll leave unky laughing with a dose of Dinky Dooery."

"It'll need more than a spoonful of funny to calm your uncle down if he finds out we're off searching for his lost distinguished client in the morning."

"You want us to come to unky's aid in his hour of need, don't you, Jeffrey? Especially considering what the poor man's been through lately. If it wasn't for his bad luck, Uncle Frank would have no luck at all."

"I suppose we do owe him something after blowing up his house," I conceded.

"Exactly - and what better way to make amends than saving his professional reputation."

"Your uncle won't see it that way. He'll think we're interfering in his business - and he'll be right."

"And so will we. We'll sort out unky's problem just as we did for dad."

"This is your Uncle Frank, Susie - you haven't had much success assisting him in the past."

"There's always a first time, Jeffrey. Now, surrender my pants, and endearingly Denise yourself for unky's benefit."

"All right, but I'm not wearing that skirt. It's best if I look more immature - 14, going on 12, say. I don't want your uncle matchmaking me with Trevor again - it's most embarrassing."

"You should feel flattered - Uncle Frank sets very high standards for a budding daughter-in-law."

"And I sort of appreciate the compliment - that's why I'm trying to avoid hurting his feelings. Appearing well underage will allow Denise to politely decline the offer, once and for all."

"Whilst giving her a good excuse to dress up as an adorable little girl," Susie teased. "But I'm happy to play along, Alice."

"And I'm happy to be endearingly adorable," I smiled. "So have you an outfit to make me look younger than my years?"

"As if I'd give such a thing wardrobe space," Susie huffed. "Why would I want to appear prepubescent?"

"How about your old school uniform, then - the one on the short side?"

"It'll fit you like a sheath. Although a beribboned, gymslipped Denise will remain a Wonderbra shy of portraying an innocent first-year."

"I'll dispense with the helpers, so Pinky and Perky can modestly give it their best shot."

"Okay - but don't overact by sucking your thumb."

"Only as an emergency measure should your uncle stubbornly refuse to take the hint. Or have you any better suggestions, Susie?"

"You could always simply confess to being Jeffrey."

"No - I'd never betray Denise after seeing myself in her wedding-dress. And I don't want to disillusion your uncle - he's a gentleman who admiringly respects Miss Smith's intelligence."

"Even if unky believed she is officially a boy, he might still prefer her to Charlotte as Trevor's bride. After all - nobody's perfect."

"That's why a born-to-late Denise is definitely the best option, Susie. The one shortcoming is if your uncle proposes a long engagement."

"It's a distinct possibility, Jeffrey. Undertakers are the last people on earth to be deterred by a lengthy wait ... particularly when it's somebody they've already got their eye on."

"If I cuddle Teddy Tubby and talk with a lisp, do you think I could pass for an advanced 8-year-old?"

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Don't fiddle with your tie," Susie admonished, as she finished arranging my hair. "It ruins the whole butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth effect."

"I like to have the ends neatly matching ... there ... perfect. Now do my lipstick - blush red, please."

"Won't that, the high heels, and the maximiser bra defeat the whole object of Denise appearing non-nubile, Jeffrey?"

"I've had second thoughts, Susie. The fashion accessories are an essential aid to staying in character. This gymslip isn't very girlish on its own, and your uncle does tend to bring out the boyish know-all in me."

"Fully feminising yourself hasn't proved an unqualified success in dumbing you down so far, Jeffrey - quite the opposite, in fact."

"I am prone to intellectually overcompensate the more I'm Denised. But it can't be helped," I shrugged, "I just love wearing the full paraphemalia."

"Okay, but I'd advise against adding a teddy bear to the mix. A blossoming schoolgirl nursing a furry animal could easily send the wrong message."

"You're right, Susie - it is a prop too far. I'll just mention my ickle-wickle, baby Tubby casually in conversation. Smooching him may not sit too well with the lip-gloss."

"Come here and pout, Denise."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

I smiled back at myself in the mirror. "You know, Susie, it really makes me think."

"What, Jeffrey - why mirrors can't do left and right properly?"

"No - that's a popular misconception. It's the back-to-front axis that gets reversed and changes the handedness."

"I'll take your reason for it, Alice. So what were you reflecting on through the looking-glass?"

"Why women aren't more successful in politics, Susie. I'd vote for Denise ... and you."

"It's the old-boy network, Jeffrey - they're all masons. And, confidentially, I suspect Uncle Frank is too. His socks are always rolled down over his ankles."

"You don't suppose he's let the local lodge have an under-the-counter body for a secret initiation ceremony, do you, Susie?" I grinned.

"Golly, Jeffrey, is that what they get up to behind closed doors? I thought it had something to do with hopping around half-naked on one leg and plunging a dagger into your chest."

"I can't see your uncle indulging in those kind of antics, Susie."

"Me neither, Jeffrey - but then I can't see him mislaying a corpse either. He treats them like one of the family - or better in my case."

"So why would he confide in you, Susie, about what could develop into a major professional embarrassment?"

"It'll call for subtlety on our part, Jeffrey. Uncle Frank will be super sensitive about having lost a client, so we'll work it casually into the conversation. We don't want to spook him."

"Casually bringing up a missing dead body," I mused. "That could prove a bit of a subtle challenge."

"Leave it to me, Jeffrey. We'll start off light-heartedly passing the time of day, and when unky says he's too upset for inconsequential chit-chat, you slyly sympathise and wonder what's troubling him - and then I'll tactfully pounce."

"Okay, Susie, but can we practise being cat-like on our way downstairs? Mum may not share my fantasy of being a schoolgirl in your secret service."

 

 

Chapter 147

"Show a leg, but don't show a stocking-top," Susie directed, as I trailed behind her along the landing. "And let's see if young Big Ears has dropped any eaves on old Uncle Frank."

"If I'd known we were saying hello to Mikey, I wouldn't have raised my hemline and lowered myself into his age-bracket," I frowned.

"Now we've come visiting, it's only manners to pay our respects to little brother." Susie banged open the bedroom door and charged in. "Hiya, kidda, your favourite sibling has returned, fresh from assuring the future of Jones & Co."

"Why don't you bloody knock?" Mikey hastily shoved a glossy magazine out of sight. "I could have been doing something private."

"Language, Mikey," Susie scolded, "there are ladies present. Pay your respects - but withhold a handshake."

Mikey spun in his chair. "Oh, hi, Denise," he reddened. "Have you come to help with my homework?"

"Not tonight, Mikey."

"Go on - you're dressed for it - and then some."

"Am I?"

"Yes, and I wish our girls sported an outfit like yours."

"You've never said that to me, Mikey."

"Well, you hardly ever wear a skirt, Susie. And you're my sister - I'm not a pervert."

"I'm relieved to hear it. Now, tell us, have you been peeping through any informative keyholes today?"

"You want to know the gory details about Uncle Frank's disappeared body, don't you?" Mikey smirked.

"Yes - and the news is?" Susie encouraged.

"What's it worth?"

"My not searching your desk drawer - plus a small share in our recovery fee."

"From Uncle Frank - you'll be lucky. He wouldn't pay you in milk bottle tops."

"You won't find any cause to complain, Mikey. Haven't I showered you in gifts lately?"

"It's Christmas every day with you, Susie."

"Then spill the gleans."

"I might unintentionally have heard the old grump's lost a hearse carrying a VIP passenger."

"And?" Susie dangled a five-pound note over Mikey's head.

"Nothing else - I can't see why unky's making such a big fuss. Unless the ghoul crawled out of his coffin and drove himself to the cemetery," Mikey laughed.

"Is that all you have to offer?"

"Apart from a game of Zombie Apocalypse - it'll be good practice if you're off in pursuit of the living dead, Susie. I'll only charge 4.99," Mikey grinned, flipping a coin in the air. "Here's your penny change in advance."

"No thanks - we've grown-up business to take care of. Come, Denise, let's away and abandon the unwise child to his media studies."

"Bye, Mikey," I waved. "See you."

"Sunday night after my bath, I hope. That's when I flounder over the maths exercises. How about popping out in your Lolita dress and showing me your books again, Denise?"

"Watch the double entendres, Mikey."

"I will, Susie - while Denise lends a helping hand working out the natural log of pi."

"1.1449729 ..."

"Not now, Denise - enough of this Benny Hillia juvenilia. It's time we ambushed Uncle Frank." Susie dropped the fiver in Mikey's lap and steered me out of the door.

"You've a super bum as well, Denise. I wish my hand was on it."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"... 351353 ..."

"Cease your numbering, Jeffrey - here comes unky."

"And not a moment too soon, Susie - I've almost run out of digits."

"Then meditate on this puzzling statistic instead, Jeffrey. Have you noticed how whenever Uncle Frank enters a room, the whole world suddenly brightens up?"

"I can't honestly say I have, Susie."

"That's because you're in there with him, and not outside. Geddit, Jeffrey?"

"Cease your chuckling, Susie, or someone may suspect we're laughing in the face of his adversity, through the frosted glass."

"Manners maketh the girls, Denise - let's compose ourselves. We have to be professional about this."

"Right from the start - and considering the accumulations of his tribulations, I think sunnily sympathetic is how you should greet your uncle."

"Leave it to me - I know exactly what you mean."

The door slowly opened, and a lugubrious figure mumbled his weary way in. "Shadow boxer ... Shadow boxer ..."

"It sounds as though the old boy's missing his marbles, too," Susie muttered.

"Careful," I cautioned, "he's emerging from his trance."

"Yoo-hoo, Uncle Frank," Susie waved. "Turned out not that nice again."

"Oh, hello, Susie." A visibly dejected undertaker wearily raised his eyes from the carpet.

"How are you, unky - have you had your tea?"

"I forced down a few mouthfuls, in a valiant endeavour not to disappoint your mother," the melancholic man choked. "But the prunes and custard are lying heavily on the steak and kidney pudding."

"Yes, we can see you're not our usual happy-go-lucky mortician," Susie commiserated. "Say something funny to settle Uncle Frank's tummy and lift the glummy, Denise."

"Shoehorn."

"No joy, Denise - you'll have to up the ante for unky."

"Cookery book."

"There's still a black cloud hanging over Mr Gloom's head, Denise. A certain funeral director looks as if he's lost a dodo and found a Lazarus."

"Oooooh ... Nooooh ..." Uncle Frank let out a strangled moan, and his jaw dropped even further. "Why couldn't George keep his mouth shut."

"I thought we were going to subtly lead up to that," I murmured.

"Change of plan," Susie whispered. "I can tell by unky's demeanour he isn't in the mood for pleasantries."

"What are you conspiring about now, Susie?" Uncle Frank spluttered. "And how did you learn of the unfortunate incident? I warned your father not to say a word to anyone."

"Don't blame dad - he's had a lot on his mind today. So much so, that he unburdened himself to us at the first opportunity. In fact, dad thought we might be able to help with your problem."

"You, help!?" Uncle Frank collapsed into an armchair. "George must have definitely gone weak in the head. He's quite aware this could spell ruin for me."

"Hasn't dad disclosed to you how, working surreptitiously behind the scenes, we ingeniously exonerated him?"

"No, he hasn't, Susie. And I wouldn't believe it if he had."

"Well, we did. We saved dad from the hangman's noose and life imprisonment."

"Nobody could ever accuse you of litotes, Susie."

"I should think not, Uncle Frank. I always tell my version of the truth."

"I realised that long ago, Susie."

"And I hope you'll come to realise that we're just the girls you need to resolve your present difficulties. I'm ace at deducing, and Denise is not lacking in feminine intuition."

"Oh, hello, Denise." Uncle Frank squinted across at me. "I nearly didn't recognise you. I struggle to keep up with your costume changes at the best of times."

"Mum's put a stop to all that frolicking, sir. She's insisting I act my age from now on and not be so blooming premature."

"You aren't 16, then?"

"Not exactly - and when mum caught me modelling the maternity wedding-dress, it proved a catwalk too far. My nine-month bump was only Teddy Tubby, but I'm forbidden from playing any incarnation of a bride again until I've graduated from university ... with a PhD ... and bar ... absolute yonks from now."

"Your patience will be rewarded, my dear," Uncle Frank assured. "It's best to wait, and not rush into the penultimate union, until one is wholly ready for the commitment."

"Mum and I emphatically agree with you, sir. Girls should bide their time before saying 'I do'."

"And boys even more so. Take Trevor, for instance, his present behaviour is so infantile he shouldn't marry before thirty-five at the earliest."

"Charlotte may have other ideas about that."

"Please, Susie, don't even suggest such a thing." An anguished expression contorted Uncle Frank's sad physog. "If Trevor had been paying proper attention to his duties instead of day-dreaming over that girl, none of this would ever have happened."

"None of what?"

Uncle Frank ignored Susie's probing and grumbled on. "I was in the middle of giving the boy a piece of my mind when he pretended to have a relapse. Claimed he still had water in the ears - his mother believed him, and they both retreated into a fog of Friar's Balsam."

"I think you'd better tell us the whole sorry story, Uncle Frank."

"No, Susie, it would be a breach of professional etiquette. Client confidentiality is paramount in my business."

"You told dad."

"I was upset then."

"You still are."

"Not that upset, Susie." Uncle Frank rose shakily to his feet. "I'll have an early night and hope for some good news in the morning."

"It's no use burying your head in a pillow," Susie advised. "The corpse won't come lurching back to you carrying its coffin."

"Slumber chamber is my preferred term in this instance, Susie. The Rip van Winkle is a top of the range casket."

"Expecting its occupant to wake up, were you? I suppose it could have been one of Mikey's zombies in there - that would explain the mysterious disappearance."

"Please, Susie - no more," her uncle groaned. "Kindly desist."

"You're taking the wrong tack with your tact," I whispered. "You need to offer some consolation."

"Hey, it's lucky we lost that over-ripe cheese, Denise, or Uncle Frank would be having nightmares about the living dead on top of everything else."

"Susie, control yourself. Taking a hearse for a joyride is not an excuse for schoolboy humour."

"Ah, a joyride - are you sure that's all there is to it, Uncle Frank?"

"According to the police ... when the constable eventually arrived on his bicycle. And then he was no help. It beggars belief the law could adopt such a casual attitude to a stolen body."

"The recently deceased aren't much of a pressure group. It'll be low on their list of priorities."

"You're absolutely right, Susie." Uncle Frank's frustration won out over his discretion. "The officer didn't even raise a notebook, regardless of my repeatedly emphasising the exceptional importance of the sleeper in the conveyance."

"And headquarters only sent round a constable on a bike." Susie shook her head in disbelief. "I'm astounded - you'd have thought they'd have despatched at least a sergeant or two in a panda."

"I did hint that a senior detective should take over the case, but all I received in return was a smirking lecture on car security."

"Locking the hearse's door after the corpse had bolted, eh."

"That will do, Susie. I've had quite enough of the cavalier approach from the laughing policeman. The clown - with no disrespect to the uniform - made perfectly clear his amusement at my plight."

"Sorry, unky, I understand how serious a concern it is for you. If there's anything we can do, you've only to ask."

"Thank you, Susie, I'll bear it in mind. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Wait just a minute, Uncle Frank. We were thinking of paying Trevor a visit tomorrow, but we don't want it to be a wasted journey if he's not up to entertaining visitors."

"There's nothing wrong with the boy apart from his infatuation with that girl."

"To tell the truth, Charlotte isn't one of our favourite people, either," Susie confided. "Perhaps we could put a spanner in her works if we knew more about Trevor's latest failing."

"Failing! I call it sheer incompetence!" Uncle Frank fumed. "Letting a fully-laden hearse disappear from under his nose because he was otherwise engaged."

"Doing what?"

"Browsing the Argos catalogue for a pair of matching his-and-her jodhpurs." Uncle Frank seethed in exasperation. "If I'd ... If I'd ..."

"If you'd had a feather, you'd have brained him," Susie smiled.

"Precisely! Although it pains me to say so, sometimes I'm convinced the boy is a complete nincompoop."

"Then how come you had Trevor minding the shop?"

"My place of business isn't a shop, Susie - I don't sell things over the counter."

"I should hope not. All the same, you were taking a gamble putting Trevor in charge."

"I was desperate. I needed somebody to relieve me while I spent an overdue hour with the chiropractor."

"How is your slipped disc, Uncle Frank - are you still a walking disaster area?"

"I'm soldiering on, Susie - and even had the hint of a spring in my step this afternoon, following Maurice's dexterous manipulations."

"And then, when you returned to your establishment, you had a headache to replace your backache."

"A giant one, Susie - mislaying a customer is the worst catastrophe that can befall a funeral director."

"Have you informed the relatives?"

"Not yet - I'm still hoping it won't be necessary to cause them further distress. I've phoned twice to remind the police of their duty, and they finally assured me the motorway patrols are on amber alert for any sign of an abandoned hearse."

"You deserve more than routine enquiries for your council tax and business rates," Susie declared.

Uncle Frank ran his hand through his ruffled thatch. "Perhaps I'm grasping at straws, but the chief constable could have ordered a low-key operation in an attempt to avoid unfavourable publicity."

"I wouldn't bet your house on it, unky - if you still had a house, that is."

"Thank you for reminding me of my continuing misfortune, Susie."

"Sorry, Uncle Frank, but it seems all the police are going to do is sit on their backsides and wait for something to turn up."

"I'm afraid you may be right, Susie, but I haven't any other option. My reputation lies in the hands of the traffic division."

"You really are in trouble, then, Uncle Frank."

"I know, Susie. Having your client taken for a joyride on the way to his final resting place makes a mockery of a solemn occasion."

"Are the next of kin liable to kick up a big fuss, Uncle Frank?"

"Seeing as their loved one's ashes were destined for the family mausoleum, I expect they won't let the issue rest, Susie."

"Oh, you'd landed a posh job."

"That's putting it mildly." Uncle Frank sorrowfully bowed his head. "The late gentleman was the scion of a noble family."

"Cross out joyriders and make that bodynappers, Denise."

"Oh, do you think they're after a ransom, Susie?"

"A ransom!" Uncle Frank reeled back against the flock wallpaper. "I've never heard of such a thing - it's monstrous. My dreams of displaying 'By Royal Appointment' after my name would be well and truly shattered."

"The Duke of Westminster hasn't fallen headfirst off his polo pony, has he?"

"Not quite, Susie, but the Right Honourable Giles Meares fractured a cervical vertebra last Monday. The Squire of Scronkey is no more."

"The Squire of Scronkey!" Susie rolled her eyes in amazed anticipation. "I do believe we've hit the jackpot, Denise."

"And I do believe I hear mother calling, Susie. It's time her baby was securely tucked up in bed, cuddling Teddy Tubby."

 

 

Chapter 148

"Manners, Denise - what will Uncle Frank think if we desert him in his hour of need?"

"I suspect he may heave a giant sigh of relief, Susie. Your uncle appears badly shaken by your reaction to his revelation."

"How right you are, Denise." Uncle Frank favoured me with a look of approval. "I only wish Susie would display the same maidenly restraint in respect of such a grisly business, rather than indulging in unseemly whooping."

"It was an exclamation of astonishment, Uncle Frank. We'd read about the squire in the paper - and then to discover you're intimately involved."

"That's not quite the way I would phrase it, Susie. I know nothing of the squire's previous existence and little of how he came to meet his eventual end."

"We can't help you much with his social circle. We don't subscribe to Lancashire Life - only the local daily. It reported the squire suffered a broken neck in a freak fall, didn't it, Denise?"

"Yes, Susie, and let's hope we can believe the Gazette when it says foul play is not suspected."

"Is that the official verdict, Uncle Frank?"

"If the post-mortem findings are correct - but I have my doubts. I had the devil of a time arranging the head at the right angle. It's still loose, in the face of my best efforts, leaving the unhappy man with a tendency to nod when you talk to him."

"He isn't half as unhappy as his victims," Susie frowned. "You have heard about them, Uncle Frank."

"The authorities briefed me on the delicate nature of the case. That's why I'm nonplussed by the police's apparent lack of interest in the squire's abduction."

"And I'm tenplussed you let the fiend through your hallowed portals in the first place."

"His crimes are all speculation so far, Susie. Every man is innocent until proven guilty."

"But not every girl."

"This isn't a subject for making debating points, Susie. A man is dead, and he'll never be convicted of any wrongdoing - we must respect that whatever his faults."

"In our eyes, the squire's come-downance made for poetic justice - an invisible hangman caught up with him."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at the affair," Uncle Frank reflected. "And perhaps it's for the best, Fate was not to be denied."

"Ask not for who the bell tolls ..."

"For whom, Susie."

"For youm, Uncle Frank. How come you got the summons - Scronkey's a little out of your territory, isn't it?"

"For understandable reasons, the local firms were reluctant to take on the task."

"Right - not everyone wants to bury a mass-murderer."

"Somebody has to do it," Uncle Frank insisted. "And it's quite an honour to be entrusted with discreetly disposing of even the black sheep of a noble family."

"He did a lot more than blot his escutcheon. You're well rid of the creepy beggar, if you ask me."

"In my profession it behoves one not to be judgemental, Susie. After the game, the king and the pawn go back into the same box. We are all equal in death."

"But the squire is more equal than others."

"Considerably so - and for all his faults, he would have been my first client out of Burke's Peerage."

"And now Burke and Hare have got him."

"With a luxury eternity casket as a valuable extra," Uncle Frank moped.

"Misfortunes seldom come alone, Denise."

"It never rains, but it pours, Susie."

"And it's persisting down on Uncle Frank."

"But volunteering our services as umbrellas won't be welcomed," I muttered. "Let's go home."

"Ah, home - how I miss 'Dunlivin'." Uncle Frank became misty-eyed at the thought. "Call me a sentimental fool, but I feel I've deserted the old abode in her time of need."

"Mum and dad would agree with you."

"Yes, they've been most sympathetic and hospitable."

"And I've given up my room for you."

Uncle Frank patted Susie on the head. "Your contribution to our comfort is highly appreciated by your aunt and me - but, sadly, it's not the same."

"If you're nostalgic for the countryside, sir, you can use the binoculars at the top of the Mount to have a look across the bay."

"Good idea, Denise - seeing the blackened ruins of his house is sure to lift Uncle Frank's depression."

"I had a sweeping panorama of the Lakeland hills and wandering lonely as a cloud, in mind, Susie."

"What you should be concentrating on, Denise, is how we can assist with Uncle Frank's squirey dilemma, not distracting us with Wordsworth."

"I'd rather you forgot about the whole matter, Susie. Your uncommon curiosity only adds to my worries."

"But I've already had an idea, Uncle Frank. Could you have fallen victim of a rival mortician's plot? You are in a cut-throat business."

"Competitive, Susie."

"So, have you checked the coffins in the Co-op window?"

"No, Susie, I haven't called on any of my fellow practitioners. In fact, this latest turn of events has left me completely bewildered. I'm at my wits' end about what to do next."

"Don't worry, things will look up from now on, won't they, Denise?"

"I'm not so sure, Susie. As the great man said - 'It always looks darkest just before it gets totally black'."

"Ah yes, the wisdom of another martyr to melancholy." Uncle Frank slightly brightened at the opportunity to moan and show off his erudition at the same time. "Winston Churchill and his black dog."

"No, it was Charlie Brown and his Snoopy."

"Are you sure, Denise?"

"Absolutely, sir, but it's often misattributed to Mao Zedong."

"That's who I must have been thinking of."

"Yes, thooym are easily confused," Susie agreed. "I put it down to their bald heads and boiler-suits."

"I'm not confused about Winston Churchill and Mao Zedong," Uncle Frank protested.

"Yes, you are - you just said so."

"I said 'bewildered by events', Susie - there's a great deal of difference. I'm not muddled over modern history. Eminent Victorians would be my specialist subject on Mastermind. I hold my own in the general knowledge round, too ... when it doesn't involve pop music and cartoon characters."

"I can well believe that, sir," I smiled. "And if it's any comfort, I think you're bearing up remarkably well under the circumstances."

"Thank you, Denise, but it's a struggle. On top of everything else, I'll be a hearse short tomorrow. Heaven knows where I can lay my hands on one at such short notice. They don't grow on trees."

"They do if you show some initiative like the chap from 'Only Fools and Hearses', unky."

"Fools and hearses!" Uncle Frank expostulated. "You've gone too far this time, Susie. Where does the girl get her ideas from, Denise?"

"An advertising leaflet that came through the letterbox, sir. The enterprise has just started up, here in Nutwood. The man won a grant from the Prince's Trust."

"Royal approval is no excuse for levity, Denise. Undertaking is a serious and responsible profession. What's the fellow thinking of?"

"Using a bright yellow Reliant Robin to pull a matching trailer containing the coffin, Uncle Frank."

"It's beyond belief, Susie. Nobody would choose to go on their ultimate journey in such a manner."

"He's already had his first customer, sir."

"And his last, I hope, Denise."

"Hardly, Uncle Frank," Susie grinned. "Why, only this afternoon, we witnessed another oddball plumping for that way to shuffle of this mortal coil. You have to keep up with the times even if you don't like them."

"Commercialism is rampant everywhere these days, but I hoped we funeral directors would always remain aloof from its more vulgar manifestations."

"Are you sponsoring the town-centre Christmas tree again this year, Uncle Frank?"

"That is a different thing entirely, Susie."

"I suppose so. Surrounding a Norway spruce with 'Jones & Son Funeral Directors' in coloured lights hardly gets folk into a jolly Yuletide spirit."

"Whatever you may think, Susie, it's become an annual tradition. And long shall it continue, even though I have the greatest difficulty persuading the local stone-mason to meet his share of the costs."

"Your reward will be a seat on the council at the right hand of the mayor, Uncle Frank."

"That's another setback I've suffered," Uncle Frank lamented. "The Ratepayers' Alliance were wiped out at the last election."

"Representation without taxation has its disadvantages," Susie sympathised. "Bring back the poll tax is what I say."

"I amazed, Susie - I thought you were an anarchist."

"Having to work for a living gives you an entirely different perspective on things, Uncle Frank."

"Maybe there was method in your father's madness, after all. Did you learn any other important lessons from your day serving the public?"

"Many and various, Uncle Frank."

"I'm most pleased to hear it."

"For instance, it's been brought home to us that there's always someone worse off than yourself," Susie smiled.

Uncle Frank eyed her suspiciously. "Where is this leading, Susie?"

"To the old man we had in the office today, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Isn't that a fact, Denise?"

"He was 94 years old and consumed by racking sobs. We couldn't comfort him, but we listened sympathetically to his troubled tale, sir."

"Dearie me - what misfortune had befallen him?"

"He'd just got married to a 26-year old girl."

"That's more than enough, Susie - I'd rather you didn't continue."

"No, he's quite happy about that side of things, Uncle Frank - and it's done his dislocated coccyx the power of good."

"He'll suffer for it in the end ... and I expect she neglects him in other ways."

"That's what we thought, isn't it, Denise?"

"Yes, but it turned out she's a fine cook, as well. And when she bakes, her apple pies melt in the mouth, warm and sweet."

"And she keeps their new house spotless."

"Is this another of your romances, Susie?"

"No, it's a true story, Uncle Frank. The gentleman is one of dad's most satisfied customers - he's already in positive equity."

"Financially sound, a roof over his head, a wife who can cook, and only six years off a telegram from the Queen. What's this all about, Denise? It appears to me the old chap had nothing to cry about."

"Oh yes, he had, sir - he'd forgotten where he lived."

Uncle Frank unfavoured me with a look of disapproval. "I'm dismayed you let yourself be a party to that, Denise. It's not in the best possible taste."

"I'm sorry, sir - it's a sign of my increasing immaturity. Although it did make granddad laugh - I hope he's not entering his second childhood, too."

"Don't follow in Susie's footsteps, Denise. As you go through life, you'll find the sun doesn't always shine when the sparrows are twittering."

"There's no answer to that, Uncle Frank," Susie grinned. "Except we should have tied the joke around the donkey's legs to see if it fell over."

"You're little malaperts, the pair of you."

"'Malaperts' - do my eyes deceive my ears," Susie goggled. "What are they when they're at home, Denise?"

"13-down in this morning's crossword."

"Was it?"

"Yes, Susie ... 'Swaying male parts cause offence'. You should have paid closer attention."

"I was focusing on 7-up."

"There's no such thing, Susie," Uncle Frank retorted.

"Yes, there is - it tastes like lemonade."

"You're wasting your time with Susie, Denise. She has the attention span of a grasshopper," Uncle Frank snorted. "By the way, did you get 5-down?"

"Yes - it was 'rhadamanthine' - an epithet that must have graced your presence on many occasions, sir. I'm surprised it evaded you."

"My current circumstances aren't conducive to intellectual effort. Even a simple three-letter word proved too much for my spinning brain. 'Shadow boxer' left me completely stumped."

"Dog."

"Dog?"

"Yes, it's a double meaning," I explained. "Perhaps you should temporarily forego the challenge of crosswords and take up cross-stitch, sir. And according to gran, knit one, purl one is also very therapeutic."

"So I'm told, Denise - and with a money-saving end-product - but I couldn't settle to anything until the current situation is resolved." With a low groan Uncle Frank levered his dodgy back off the wall and started towards the door. "You've heard enough of my problems for now - I'm sorry I haven't been very good company."

"We wouldn't have missed it for the world, Uncle Frank. And don't you fret over your little difficulty - just leave everything to us. While the police are proceeding softly, softly catchee corpsee, we won't rest until you've put the squire to rest."

"What do you mean by that, Susie?"

"We plan on venturing over the river tomorrow, and we'll give the local cemeteries a quick tour of inspection. Who knows what dastardly plot we may uncover."

"Please, Susie, you'll only make a grave situation graver."

"That's the attitude, Uncle Frank - pun your troubles away."

"I'm not joking, Susie - this must go no further. I still harbour faint hopes that the squire's body will be quietly returned. Even joyriders must have a conscience about rudely interrupting a deceased's final voyage."

"Don't worry, so have we, Uncle Frank. And what's more we've black belts in diplomacy. We know how to proceed in a delicate situation like this, don't we, Denise?"

"With the day we've all had, Susie, I think we should go straight to bed and have a good night's rest until dinner-time."

"If only I could," Uncle Frank moaned, "but I fear sleep is beyond the wretched creature you see before you."

"Come on, Denise, let's see if we can send unky off to the land of Nod with a soothing lullaby."

"Here's a good one, Susie."

"They call you Mr Pitiful,
This everybody know now.
They call you Mr Pitiful,
Most everyplace you go."

"You're becoming worse than I am, Denise," Susie teased, after Uncle Frank had harrumphed his way out of the room.

"I deserve a good dressing-up, Susie."

"Followed by Miss Jones giving a naughty schoolgirl Lolita a private lesson in maidenly restraint."

"Miss Smith can't wait for you to test her self-control when exposed to an intimate tickling, Susie."

"Don't get overexcited, Jeffrey - we may not have time to fit everything in this weekend."

"That's okay by me, Susie. I won't mind being too tied-up and helpless with laughter to go off in pursuit of a perishing corpse."

 

 

Chapter 149

"A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go,
We'll catch a fox and put him back in the box,
And we won't let him go."

"What luck, Jeffrey! Another home-grown mystery for our next outing as intrepid girl detectives." Susie couldn't contain her enthusiasm as she hurried us down the garden. "I can't wait to open 'The Case of the Hijacked Hearse'."

"Haven't we done enough meddling for today, Susie?"

"Saving dad's bacon - I don't call that meddling, Jeffrey. And we won't start seriously investigating until tomorrow."

"Whatever it was and whenever it is, there's no way I want to go on manoeuvres over the river again. Especially not in quest of a lost body - and especially not dressed as Denise. Mum would never wear it."

"Who said anything about you dressing as Denise?"

"You just did - and, anyway, I wouldn't feel right acting adventurous as plain old Jeffrey. I'm a costumed crime-fighter."

"Leave it to me, Supergirl - we'll easily conjure up a good excuse."

"It's too soon after our last disappearing act, Susie. Mum won't entertain any story you invent - however ingenious. She'll be immoveable."

"And we're irresistible, Jeffrey. View, halloo!" Susie whooped, taking the fence in her stride. "Now for the next obstacle in our path."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"It's only us again, mum."

"You're just in time, Jeffrey." Mum put down the phone as we entered the hall. "I was about to ring you at Susie's."

"Well, here we are," I smiled. "I suppose you've already noticed we've swapped back clothes."

"I didn't know Susie had a precocious little sister." Mum leant forward and fine-tuned my bows. "There, poppet - that's better."

"Thanks, mum - if I'd had your guiding hand earlier, I wouldn't have gone so bold on the lipstick."

"It's a typical schoolgirl error, Jeffrey. So, what inspired you to pose as a junior belle of St Trinian's?"

"Possibly, I wanted to get in the mood for doing some homework with Susie. But I can't swear to the fact - I may have subconscious, hidden motives."

"This isn't a test dress for next week, is it?"

"Definitely not, mum - I know which side my bread is buttered at the old academy."

"Are you sure, Jeffrey?"

"Yes - the inside side. I wouldn't consider such a suggestive costume even on a wear-what-you-wish day for 'Teachers in Dire Need'."

"So why did you sneak out in it without telling me?"

"Ah ... the uniform caught my eye, and before I could squeal 'gymslip' ..."

"You fell into it and magically became fully glammed-up."

"I waved the wand, Mrs Smith," Susie confessed. "We had to urgently interview Uncle Frank, and he only knows Jeffrey as Denise."

"I thought you were helping your uncle, Susie - not interviewing him."

"We did both. It suddenly struck me Uncle Frank would make the ideal subject for my psychology project on job dissatisfaction. Don't mention it to unky, though, because he hasn't to know he's a classical case study."

"Is that fair, Susie?"

"I'll respect his anonymity, and Uncle Frank loves moaning about his profession. He's invited me to spend the day with him taking notes so I'll fully empathise with a funeral director's undying struggles."

"If Denise goes along to keep you company, she'll have to tone down the make-up and be modestly attired in a smart two-piece with sensible shoes."

"Not flatties, mum - I need the high heels to remind me to give my bottom full sway."

"And a little less deportment would also become a Miss, Jeffrey. I shall have to take my new daughter more firmly in hand. From now on, I'll supervise her public appearances."

"Perhaps I should stay home, then, mum - I wouldn't be happy looking dowdy."

"You won't, Jeffrey. I've some wonderful ideas for Denise."

"Can we begin by turning her into my elegant personal assistant for tomorrow, Mrs Smith?"

"That's the very thing I had in mind, Susie."

"Super, Mrs Smith, because I'd find it a bit creepy on my own. Uncle Frank's inclined to chat with his clientele - and if one of them should answer back ..."

"I don't want Jeffrey having nightmares as Denise," Mum shuddered, and put her arm around me. "I'll need to talk to your uncle about this, Susie."

"It's too late now, Mrs Smith - he's retired to bed, absolutely shattered. His house blowing up has exacted a heavy toll - physically and mentally."

"It would have to wait, anyhow - I'm on my way out. But for you disappearing, Jeffrey, I'd already be there."

"Where, mum?"

"Our Connie's - I'm spending the night."

"Oh, mum - I'll miss you - I was hoping ..."

"I'm sorry, Jeffrey - it's a family emergency, and I may not be back until Sunday."

"What's the matter now, mum?" I frowned, as Susie smiled and sneaked a sly thumbs-up.

"Your Uncle Ted's suffering from exposure."

"Not again, mum - I thought he'd learned his lesson after his traumatic encounter behind the cricket pavilion in July."

"That was entirely due to a weak bladder and a regrettable misunderstanding. It's the last place in Nutwood you'd expect to confront a plain-clothes policewoman."

"I still can't believe he escaped with only a caution."

"Perhaps your uncle's a mason, like Uncle Frank, Jeffrey."

"No, Susie - Uncle Ted claimed he'd suffered an adverse reaction from washing down his hay-fever pills with Sanatogen. But I doubt that defence will stand up in October."

"Well, if he needs them to make the swelling go down, Jeffrey."

"Either way, Susie, he'll get his comeuppance ..."

"That's enough, you two. Especially you, Jeffrey - when you're dressed like a young lady, please behave like one, and not a ladette."

"Sorry, mum," I blushed, from under lowered lashes.

"Charmingly done, darling," mum smiled. "Now, no more off-colour remarks."

"Thanks, mum," I curtsied. "I'll take care not to get caught doing it twice."

"And as for your Uncle Ted, it isn't that kind of exposure on this occasion."

"You mean he's graduated to mooning people on the bus, mum?"

"It's not funny, Denise," mum reprimanded. "This could have been a life-and-death situation. Your uncle tumbled in the dock and almost drowned. And what's worse, he still hasn't stopped shivering."

"But he's all right now, apart from the hypothermia."

"No, he's in shock and feeling proper poorly."

"Swallowed a gallon of seawater, has he?"

"He must have done. Connie says he went under four times. What with that and the concussion."

"Oh, he hit his head on the way in, did he?"

"No, Jeffrey - he pulled the man who threw the lifebelt down on top of him. Luckily for all concerned, a trawler heard their cries for help."

"What a tale of woe," Susie grinned. "When the crew got them aboard, I bet they were gutted."

"I'll have to remember not to say that to Connie," mum smiled. "She doesn't appreciate being cheered up at the best of times."

"Then why do you have to stay overnight, mum? Can't you just drop off some vinegar and brown paper and a mustard poultice?"

"I'm baby-sitting, Jeffrey. They're keeping Ted in for observation, and Connie insists she won't leave his side for fear he tumbles out of bed. She's still haunted by the loss of their tortoise."

"That was her own fault for imagining it would make a nice companion to the pot one on the mantelpiece."

"You can't blame your aunt - she thought Krusty was hibernating."

"And it thought Spring had come when they turned up the gas-fire. Has she told the twins yet?"

"No, and don't you mention it, Jeffrey. As far as they're concerned, Krusty has gone South for the winter, not West for eternity."

"Why doesn't she buy them another for Christmas, Mrs Smith? They'll never notice the difference."

"Connie insists you can never get two tortoises the same, Susie."

"Their shells are like snowflakes to her, are they, mum?" I grinned.

"Don't go all silly, Jeffrey, or I'll worry about leaving you home alone."

"In that case, mum ..."

"We'll behave highly sensible in your absence, Mrs Smith," Susie beamed in. "We've heaps of coursework to keep us busy tonight and all day tomorrow, haven't we, Jeffrey?"

"We should make it our top priority, Susie."

"Whatever you two do, just be sure the house is still here when I get back."

"We can guarantee that, Mrs Smith. It won't move from this spot - and neither will we," Susie promised, taking my hand and crossing our fingers.

"I'll trust Denise not to walk down the aisle at Aldi, wearing her wedding-dress. Confine yourself to cosplaying and a little light housework when you're bored with acting the saucy schoolgirl, Jeffrey."

"I already am, mum - this gymslip is way too plain for our liking. Being fancifully Lolitafied as Susie's upstairs-downstairs maid is Denise's number one choice for the weekend."

"Have fun, then - if you run out of things to dust, see how you enjoy doing the ironing." Mum gave me a kiss, and picked up her keys. "I have to go now, but I'll bring you back a nice surprise."

"I'd much rather you stayed home and kept a watchful eye on my domestic efforts, mum."

"Wait until you see Connie's beauty pageant costumes, Jeffrey. She saved each one in expectation, but, sadly, it's been boys only with her."

"The same as with you, mum?"

"Not quite, Jeffrey." Mum happily stroked my hair. "My dressing up Denise in those beautiful frocks will be a belated mother-daughter treat for us, won't it, baby?"

"Yes, mum - and the sooner the better. I want to spend tomorrow modelling the complete collection."

"I can't manage that, Jeffrey. Connie's crisis has to come first."

"Aw, mum - after building up my hopes of a Saturday secure in satin."

"Patience, my love - we're all looking forward to tiaraing Denise as the new Miss Nutwood, aren't we, Susie?"

"Eventually, Mrs Smith - and if you pass by Bustop, Denise has let slip she would really like a baby-doll teddy for the swimwear section."

"I can see her in it now," mum smiled. "It's apparent you're becoming ever more open and enthusiastic in embracing your feminine side, Jeffrey."

"You're absolutely right, mum. In fact, my sheer fondness for total girlishness may be spiralling out of control. Are you sure it's safe to desert me while I'm adrift in a sea of silk and lace?"

"Now you're being silly again, Jeffrey," mum frowned. "I can rely on you to keep Denise's frillies and frolics in check, can't I, Susie?"

"Completely, Mrs Smith - however many layers of underskirts Denise aspires to, she'll have me wearing the trousers."

"Even so, mum, do you think it's wise to leave a child in such a hysterical state, without a mother's strict supervision?"

"I'm sorry, Jeffrey - I'll have to abandon my little sweetheart to her whims. But I'm certain neither of us need worry, with Susie in loco parentis."

"Susie can't make pobbies like you, mum."

"You'll be fine, Jeffrey. If Denise has an overwhelming attack of the vapours, Susie can put her to bed in the Janet Reger sleep set I bought in a moment of madness."

"The balm before the morn," Susie whispered in my ear, before smiling triumphantly at mum. "I'll take special care of Denise, Mrs Smith, and make sure she does my bidding."

"Very good, Susie - bye for now."

"Byee, Mrs Smith."

"Bye, mum."

Mum playfully tweaked my cheek. "You have a nice quiet day swishing around the house tomorrow, honeybunch."

"The chance would be a fine thing," I muttered, as the door closed, and the way opened for Susie's schemes.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Full marks to your Uncle Ted for taking a dive, Jeffrey - things couldn't have worked out better for our purposes."

"I assume you don't mean mum having me parade as a Miss Lingerie Princess."

"You can do that any time, Jeffrey."

"But not on Saturday - that's already spoken for, despite my desperate over-Denising."

"Don't be a sore loser, Jeffrey - you've the prospect of some delightful future additions to your wardrobe, and we can seize the present opportunity for another adventure."

"By rushing headlong into more trouble, Susie."

"Not when we've the rest of the night to carefully plan our strategy and all day tomorrow to carry it out unhindered."

"What strategy is that, Susie?" I enquired, looking over her shoulder at the blank sheet of paper on the table.

"The one we're going to come up with now. If we can solve the mystery of a missing arm, a whole body should prove a piece of cake."

"More like a hard nut to crack - we haven't a clue where to start."

"Ah, but I have, Jeffrey." With a flourish, Susie wrote down - 'Contact Steve Spooner' - and doubly underlined it. "We can kill two birds with one stone and give him a hand while we're over in the late squire's territory."

"Why would we do that, Susie?"

"Didn't Steve say he had a hot new lead?"

"That may just have been reporter talk to impress us."

"No, he must have latched on to the plot to reclaim the squire's body. We'll join forces and swap some of our insider knowledge about the case in exchange for what he's found out."

"It could be a dangerous game, playing the girls who know too much."

"Steve will never suspect we were instrumental in the squire's downfall."

"You might let something slip."

"Have I ever, Jeffrey?"

"There's always a first time, and we've already given Mr Spooner enough reasons to excite his curiosity about us. Why risk him discovering anything else?"

"Because it's all connected, Jeffrey. Find Steve Spooner, and the missing coffin won't be far away. Hell, for all we know, he may have taken the squire's place in it by now."

"We'd best take a screwdriver with us, then, Susie."

"You can scoff, Jeffrey, but the thieves didn't steal Uncle Frank's hearse for a joyride - they were after the squire's body. And we've a good idea why - they're members of his coven."

"What if it's as you also said, Susie, and they're just common criminals hoping for a ransom?"

"Don't dissemble, Jeffrey. It should be clear to you that dark forces are at work - sinister ones, even. Have you seen 'The Wicker Man'?"

"Now you're really letting your imagination run riot, Susie. Over Wyre isn't a remote Scottish island cut off from civilisation ... though, to hear mum talk ..."

"And didn't you tell me witchcraft is rampant in the villages, Jeffrey."

"Only the white kind, and only among the parish council, Susie - and I only read it in the Gazette. Knowing Mr Horrocks, it'll probably turn out to be one of his silly season stories."

"It doesn't sound so silly after our encounter with the squire, Jeffrey. He planned on sacrificing us instead of a goat or two."

"He was mad, Susie, and keen on killing young girls. All the rest is deluded hocus-pocus."

"Not to his followers - they'll be raring to have a black mass over his body and dance with Beelzebub."

"That's even wilder speculation, Susie."

"But you have to admit it's a possibility, Jeffrey."

"A very remote one - and definitely not the kind of thing an ace detective would put at the top of their list."

"I haven't closed my mind to other more down-to-earth explanations."

"Such as?"

"Well, if you want to be conventional - the squire could have swallowed something valuable before he died."

"You're still in the realms of fantasy, Susie."

"No, I'm not, Jeffrey. Suppose the slimy toad swallower had just come back from Amsterdam with a stomach full of diamonds, and he died before they'd taken their natural course."

"It's highly unlikely the squire had breakfast at De Beers."

"Okay, what's your preferred explanation?"

"The mundane one - a couple of lads thought stealing a hearse for a joyride would be a lark."

"With Uncle Frank's deluxe coffin and the squire's body in it?"

"They'll have dumped them in a ditch. That should be at the top of your list, Susie. But don't bother, someone's probably already reported their macabre find to the police."

"Any other helpful suggestions, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, we'll have tea and supper rolled into one. Fish, chips, and mushy peas - it'll be a treat."

"How can it be a treat? We have them every day."

"And twice on Fridays. On your feet, Susie, it'll help with the brainwork."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Are you fully refished now, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, and ready to play detectives, Susie. Shall we take down each other's particulars - or would you rather forcefully restrain a naughty Lolita for tickling offences?"

Brrruuurp ... Brrruuurp ... Brrruuurp ... Brrruuurp.

"Unky business before monkey business." Susie's eyes lit up in expectation. "Want to bet that's Steve Spooner seeking more of our invaluable advice?"

"No." I leapt off the bed and beat Susie to her phone.

Brrruuurp ... Brrruuurp ... Brrruuurp ... Brrruuurp.

"Or, better still, a desperate plea for help as something wicked his way comes. Don't just stand there - answer it, Jeffrey."

"At the tone leave your message - we'll get back to you. Beep! Beep!"

"Is that you, Miss Jones?"

"Beep! Beep!" I pressed the mute button and looked across at Susie. "We don't want to be disturbed, do we?"

"Yes, we do Jeffrey. Give it here, before he rings off."

"Then on your own ears be it, Susie," I grinned, passing her the phone. "Make yourself comfortable - it's not Steve - it's Mr Horrocks."

"I wonder why he's calling."

"Whatever it is, I hope you're wide-awake. You may have let yourself in for an interminable bed-time story while he meanders his way to the point."

"Are you there, Miss Jones?"

"Yes, Mr Horrocks."

"At last - I've had no end of trouble deciphering Spooner's scrawl on the back of your photo. They don't teach penmanship like they did in my day."

"Did Steve ask you to ring us?"

"No, he's disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Susie gave me another thumbs-up.

"Without a trace - I'm told no one at the office has heard from the boy since last night, but they don't seem to give a hoot. I've been trying his mobile all evening, and he's not answering."

"Oh, are you worried he's in trouble?"

"I'm the one who's in trouble. The young scallywag's put me in a very difficult position, otherwise I would never have dreamt of rummaging through his desk."

"And did you find a clue to what he's doing?"

"No, but I came across your number and rang on the off-chance you've some idea of his whereabouts."

"All we know is Steve's going his own merry way on the squire story, and decided to turn off his phone for operational reasons."

"Then he's deliberately lying low - the crafty, young so-and-so. And here's me thinking I had a trusted colleague - a team player. It's just not cricket."

"What isn't?"

"Tomorrow's football match - Spooner's supposed to be deputising for our broken-ankled sports reporter. And now management expect Barry Horrocks, their senior crime correspondent, to stand in for the stand-in."

"With your reputation around town, they'll probably invite you for colourful cocktails and prawn sandwiches in the directors' box."

"It's an away game, Miss Jones."

"You'll have to settle for a meat pie and a mug of Bovril in the visitors end, then."

"I'll need something more substantial than a snack after the journey I have to make."

"Is it a long way to go?"

"They're sending me to Hull and back. One could almost believe there's a conspiracy against Barry Horrocks, and the high-ups are colluding with that scheming little weasel, Spooner."

"Can't a man with your superior powers of imagination save himself a trip and listen to it on the radio?"

"I'm supposed to be on the radio - as the guest summariser. What am I going to say? I'm a crown green bowls man - I know beggar all about football."

"Haven't you a few Stanley Mathews' on the Golden Mile anecdotes in your repertoire?"

"I once went to an auction where the original Mrs Mathews disposed of all his memorabilia. He'd dribbled off with an ex-Miss World ... or was it a current Pan's Person? Anyway, he blamed it on his vegetarianism. With that and his advertising Brylcreem, I dubbed him the fifth Osmond."

"So you practically wrote the great man's life story. Use that to establish your credentials, and then keep repeating - 'At the end of the day this game needs a goal'."

"What if somebody scores, Miss Jones?"

"Then you trot out - 'One goal is never enough' - that should see you through."

"Let me jot those down ..."

"Is there anything else we can do for you?"

"No, that's all. If I can't collar Spooner before the train leaves in the morning, I'll have to make the best of a bad job."

"Why don't you tell the top brass you're too busy spinning out today's triumph with an in-depth follow-up - surely it's a big enough scoop?"

"I've tried convincing the editor I should hold myself available for Granada Reports and North West Tonight, but he's remained deaf to my pleas."

"Well, best of luck - I hope it's a 4 - 5 to Shoreham."

"Thank you, Miss Jones, and please ring me if you hear anything from Mr Spooner. My mobile number is 744 ... 905 ... 2454 - have you got that?"

"My secretary has noted it down - 744 ... 905 ... 2454."

"Right - bye for now. And don't forget to call if that ungrateful traitor gets in touch with you. A man of my age and susceptibilities shouldn't be crossing the Pennines at the crack of dawn on a misty autumn morning."

"Ta-ra, Mr Horrocks - stock up with a few more cliches, and you'll be okay. Here, Denise, have you a parting word of cheer for our reluctant football pundit?"

"Don't despair, sir - remember it's a game of two halves."

"Ah, I can use that, as well. Thank you, Miss Smith."

"You're welcome, sir. Keep your eye on the ball."

"I'll try. Good-bye, Miss Smith - and you Miss Jones."

"Bye." Susie put down the phone and gave me her I-told-you-so look. "What do you deduce from that, Jeffrey?"

"Mr Horrocks is as sick as a parrot at being second substitute."

"And?"

"For some obscure reason, Susie, you're over the moon."

"Because now we know for sure Steve has fallen foul of cold-blooded people practising the old religion."

"You mean folk who play poker with the pope."

"Admit it Jeffrey, Steve's unexplained absence adds weight to my coven theory."

"You think they've spirited him away."

"Or summoned up a demon to do their dirty work for them. I warned Steve to beware the passing of the runes."

"What's that got to do with it? No one's mentioned runes."

"I have - last night and just now - it's another manifestation of my nascent, psycho-detective powers."

"I won't argue with you there, Susie."

"And what's more, Jeffrey, I have a funny feeling you may be acting as my familiar."

"Then let's retire to my bedroom where a cheeky schoolgirl will attempt to inspire you to ever greater heights of transcendency."

 

 

Chapter 150

"That's enough petty pleasure for the present, Jeffrey - it's time we resumed the grave business at hand."

"Do we have to, Susie?" I demurred, sitting up next to her and adjusting my tie. "Haven't I humoured you enough for tonight?"

"This is no joke, Jeffrey." Susie solemnly buttoned her top. "Steve Spooner is another who didn't take me seriously, and look what's happened to him."

"What?"

"He's a captive of the coven, after I warned the headstrong young fool to be careful and take sensible precautions."

"You think Steve's a headstrong young fool, do you, Susie?"

"Definitely, Jeffrey - don't you?"

"I'm not the best judge - I lack your expertise in character assessment, Susie."

"Thank you, Jeffrey."

"Before you can truly know others, you have to know thyself."

"Is that an oblique reference to my resolve in pursuing this matter, Jeffrey?"

"I wouldn't dream of suggesting you're the least bit impetuous, Susie."

"I should hope not. We have to work together on the case, Jeffrey."

"Okay, but first help me with a frivolous change of costume. I suddenly feel inspired to put on the kettle and make us a pot of tea while you're sagely considering Steve's reckless ways and other cryptic issues."

"I'll zip you unescapably into your maid's dress later, Miss Polly. At the moment, I'd prefer an academic contribution from a good little schoolgirl to the problem at hand."

"All I can offer is don't be such a conclusion jumper, Susie. You've no evidence for your theory - it's just wishful guesswork."

"Informed guesswork, Jeffrey - and I'd stake our Lowry on it. My explanation is the only one that fits all the facts. Steve wouldn't voluntarily stay out of touch for twenty-four hours."

"Unless Mr Horrocks is right about his motives, Susie. An ambitious lad like Steve wouldn't welcome an away-day to Hull to report on a goalless draw. That's not going to get him a call from the nationals."

"Okay, Jeffrey, if you're convinced I'm wrong, nothing untoward will come of our expedition, so you can't have any objection to us enjoying an invigorating autumn hike in the country."

"You mean like last time when you never stopped complaining about your tortured tootsies, Susie."

"Thanks to your propensity for trotting everywhere on Shanks' pony, Jeffrey, they're now fully run-in, and I'm raring to go."

"There's a lot of ground to cover, Susie. Have you any idea how we'll even begin to locate a stolen hearse and its contents?"

"Elementary, my dear Jeffrey - we find Steve Spooner. You can be sure whoever's nabbed him has also napped the squire's body."

"And I suppose you've already a plan for that?"

"We follow in Steve's footsteps. He'll have motored around cross-examining people, and we'll do the same."

"Only without a car - that doesn't sound very practical. Although you do bump into all sorts of folk at bus-stops, and some of them might have an interesting tale to tell."

Susie pondered for a moment. "We can dispense with the driving, Jeffrey. Instead, we'll concentrate our efforts on combing the squire's patch and asking the locals lots of provocative questions."

"Such as?"

"The sort that leaves them in no doubt we're determined to find Steve Spooner and the squire's body. Our aim will be to panic the guilty parties into making a reckless move against us."

"Unfortunately, Susie, in the unlikely event your theory is correct, the strategy has some merit."

"What do you mean 'unfortunately'? It'll enable us to rescue Steve and repossess unky's casket all in one go."

"If your approach does succeed, it'll land us in big trouble. I don't fancy being chased by a bunch of bucolic Satanists wielding sharpened pitchforks. Have you allowed for that possibility, Susie?"

"Obviously, Jeffrey, after the success of my plan, you'll come up with an equally good one to see us safely home with our prizes."

"You've thought of everything, Susie," I congratulated her. "And where are you proposing we start our Spooner hunt?"

"The nearest villages to the squire's place, and our first task will be to track down the old goat named Billy who gave Steve his hot new lead. You haven't forgotten that significant clue, have you, Jeffrey?"

"No, but I hoped you might have, Susie. Three can disappear as easily as one."

"If you really think I'm barking up the wrong end of the broomstick, Jeffrey, why are you worried?"

"Because it stands to reason that our nosy-parkering around is bound to upset someone. Asking folk if they're members of the local witches' circle isn't the height of diplomacy."

"We shall be doubly subtle, Jeffrey."

"How does that work, Susie?"

"First off, to help us pursue our enquiries with an air of authority, we'll print out some personalised cards."

"It's a bit early for Christmas, isn't it?"

"You know what I mean, Jeffrey." Susie leapt from the bed and sat down at the computer desk. "Professional business cards are required, so we can pass ourselves off as whatever takes our fancy."

"Why do you always want to complicate matters, Susie?" I sighed. "We're too young to pass for any kind of professionals. Folk will know in an instant they're fake."

"Not if we choose something out of the ordinary, but highly respectable, that people aren't too familiar with."

"Like what?"

"Teenage archaeologists - an occupation that'll give us a good excuse to go digging into everybody's past."

"You must be joking - archaeologists don't tout for business. And even if they did, why would anyone confess all to them?"

"Because, Jeffrey ..." Susie beamed with pleasure as further inspiration struck. "We could hint they've a chance of appearing on the telly. That's a guaranteed method of getting folk to divulge their innermost secrets."

"The programme's been cancelled."

Susie was undismayed. "Well, I never watched it, anyhow, and I've already had a better idea."

"Does it involve wearing a uniform?"

"I suppose a hard-hat wouldn't go amiss. We'll pose as trainee geologists - that will give us another good excuse to snoop around unearthing facts."

"Yeah, you can wield a miniature hammer, and I'll tote a dinky little drill."

"It'll provide the perfect cover story, Jeffrey. There's one company wanting to use the old salt-mines for gas storage and another preparing to start fracking."

"That's a sure-fire way to arouse the local nimbies, Susie. I doubt they'll give you the time of day before running us into the river."

"It's easy to criticise, Jeffrey. Let's hear your preferred occupations."

"If you want to go poking around in graveyards, Susie, wouldn't it be wiser to say we're doing some weekend genealogical research on our family tree?"

"I suppose it's okay as a fall-back position, Jeffrey, but it's a bit dull, and we'll have more fun my way. Fire up the printer, and we'll enrol in the junior branch of the Scronkey Psychical Research Organisation as well."

"Young SPROGs, eh - that should guarantee folk take us seriously, Susie."

"I haven't finished yet. If we feel the need to intimidate anybody, we can employ the big bazooka and switch to impersonating ..."

"Let me guess - TV licence inspectors. And we'll carry a mysterious little black box, which can double up as an ectoplasm detector."

"Brilliant, Jeffrey - that'll put the fear of God into them."

"Sometimes, Susie, you put the fear of God into me. I need to cocoon myself in the reassuring folds of Lolita's silken petticoats and rustle up a comforting cuppa."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"We've made a good job of that, Jeffrey." Susie smiled with satisfaction and tucked all, bar one, of our freshly-minted business cards into her wallet.

"I still think my 'Homicides and Car Washing' has a lot to be said for it," I maintained, bobbing to serve the tea, whilst wondering if a comprehensively titivated little maid from school had the means to distract Susie from her ends.

"Okay, furl your parasol and pop this down your shameless decolletage." Susie shoved the reject across to me. "Even cosplayed up to the ninety-nines, I wouldn't try to get away with that."

"And what if someone inspects the colourful backs of your favoured efforts? They might raise an eyebrow or two - and a smirk."

"I improvised with the only suitable material you had available, Jeffrey. I'm nothing if not resourceful."

"You may have to be, Susie."

"Starting now, Jeffrey - is there anything else you've stored away we can adapt to our cause?"

"How about my bridal lingerie?"

"Okay, if you really feel the need to wear it tomorrow."

"Why wait - couldn't a honeymoon Denise, with her veil thrown back, play your captive Princess of the Nile?" I appealed, picking up the tray and balancing it on my upturned hand. "See - I'm already walking like a Japanese Egyptian."

"One fantasy at a time, Lolita."

"But Denise wants to be shackled and ravished by her dashing white huntress."

"Don't try to carnally divert me Jeffrey - I'm in meticulous planning mode."

"It was only a thought," I sighed. "Look, I've borrowed some of mum's jewellery - will it suit an exotic Princess?"

"Pay attention, Jeffrey - we have to decide what we can take with us to ease our passage and offer some protection."

"I'd still rather stay a hundred percent safe at home, modelling my burgeoning wardrobe for you, Susie. This outfit's having a good airing, but we mustn't neglect the wedding-dress - it may attract moths."

"You've no need to worry on either account, Jeffrey. I'll see Denise doesn't emulate Miss Haversham, and since you're adamant there's a mundane explanation for everything, our expedition will only result in an unexciting ramble over the river."

"Just like last time, Susie. We had a narrow escape then, and we weren't even looking for trouble. I'd rather we didn't run any more risks of becoming sacrificial victims."

"You, of all people, don't believe in black magic, do you, Jeffrey."

"Of course not, but the problem is if we meet another maniac, like the squire, who does."

"We'll easily outsmart any simple, misguided country folk."

"Armed with scythes and shotguns."

"They'll be a bunch of cream puffs compared to Mr Unicorn, and we had him whizzing up and down like a pony on a merry-go-round."

"We were lucky."

"And we always will be, Jeffrey - you've nothing to fear. Now, can we continue making arrangements for Armageddon?"

"I led a quiet contemplative life before I met you, Susie. Are you sure I couldn't interest you in stamp collecting?"

"Now you're trying to intellectually divert me, Jeffrey."

"No, I'm not. I'm endeavouring to widen your leisure horizons. Philately's always appealed to me as a hobby. I find its whole ethos calming and strangely comforting."

"Fondling sticky little pieces of paper, and not even knowing who's licked them," Susie grimaced. "Ugh!"

"I use a pair of tweezers."

"That's typical of you, Jeffrey - you delight in the ever so fiddly. If it's not false eyelashes and filigree earrings, it's something with lots of ball-bearings rolling around inside."

"Oh, that's given me an idea, Susie. We could ..."

"Later, Jeffrey - forget your bike maintenance and penny blacks for the moment."

"I'll have to soothe my nerves by smoothing my satin skirts over my silk stockings, then," I pouted. "Unless you'd like to lend a steadying hand, Susie."

"We mustn't overplay Lolita's frou-frouing - she needs to concentrate on the vital equipment aspiring anti-Satanists should carry."

"Why would you think I'd know anything about that, Susie?"

"You seem to be well versed in everything else, Jeffrey. When you weren't reading the exploits of Scaevola, did you dip into Stephen King's books?"

"No, but from what I've heard he isn't so hot on devil worship. Dennis Wheatley is the man you want to consult for black magic."

"You're a fan of his works, are you?"

"Definitely not, but Rickman is."

"The boy at school, who breeds the locusts?"

"Yes, give the creepy ghoul half a chance, and he'll regurgitate the plots in every last detail. He really believes in the stuff."

"Ah, that explains this last week," Susie laughed. "The rotter's probably put the curse of an interesting life on us."

"It wouldn't surprise me at all. He claims the Nutters on his mother's side come from a long line of white witches. If social services ever get wind of it, there'll be hell to pay."

"We're likely to confront something a lot more devilish than social services and white witches, Jeffrey. Tomorrow's mission may prove no country picnic."

"That's why I'm apprehensive, Susie. The tales granddad has told me about what goes on out in the wilds amongst the haystacks."

"Don't start, Jeffrey - I'm not falling for another shaggy granddad story."

"This one's true, Susie. Granddad was born in the shadow of Pendle Hill."

"You told me he hailed from Burnley."

"It's almost next door, and, anyway, that's beside the point, because he's had second-hand experience of supernatural powers."

"Go on, Jeffrey." Susie sat back and smiled. "But I'm taking it all with a huge pinch of salt."

"Well, you see, his best friend suffered a witch's curse after he winged the woman-next-door's cat with his air-rifle."

"The cruel beast - it's awful the way some people treat dumb animals."

"It was only in retaliation after he found out why his prize rhubarb tasted funny, Susie."

"I hope this isn't some silly custard tart joke, Jeffrey."

"It's a lot less appetising than that, Susie. The next morning, the chap woke up to find his effigy nailed to the front door."

"And I suppose he suffered an instant heart attack."

"No, but a week later he had to make an emergency dash to the hospital."

"Why, what happened?"

"His wife was having triplets."

"I should never have listened."

"And the same day his asparagus withered and died - how do you explain that, Susie?"

"I don't, Jeffrey. Now, suspend the Dinky Dooery and stop twiddling your ribbons - we need to act super serious in our planning for tomorrow's excursion."

"Do we really have to get involved? The stolen hearse will probably have run out of petrol by then and been abandoned on the hard shoulder."

"Only after they've first removed the body for their necrophiliac purposes."

"I hope you mean nefarious."

"One thing could very well lead to the other, Jeffrey. Who knows what potential hazards we may face? 'Be prepared' - that's my motto."

"That's fine in theory, Susie, but how do we combat your coven summoning up Beelzebub riding a fire-snorting, big black stallion?"

"No problem, we'll mark out a magic pentagram on the floor, stand in the middle of it, and take them on from there. Satisfied, Jeffrey?"

"Perfectly, Susie - and eager to assist." I swirled my skirts and pleasurably flounced over to the dressing table. "I can supply a stick of chalk for your utility bag, but getting some silver bullets for the Uzi may prove more difficult. Although I did see some garlic bread at Aldi, perhaps we should make our sandwiches with that."

"Rest assured, there isn't any danger of a vampire biting your lovely, lace-collared neck, Jeffrey."

"I can cross the TCP off the list, then."

"There's no need to be flippant, Jeffrey."

"I'm not, Susie. Because if the squire had been a vampire, he'd already have been dead, and we couldn't have killed him."

"We didn't kill the squire, Jeffrey. He suffered a fortunate accident that we happily happened to innocently witness."

"Then at least we're agreed he's not a vampire."

"No, but by the time the coven have worked their devilish magic on him he could be resurrected as a zombie," Susie grinned.

"Do wooden stakes through the heart work for them? I've a broken cricket stump in the shed."

"I suppose you could bring that along, Jeffrey - it's easier to handle than a cricket bat."

"We are joking, aren't we, Susie. We may come across some reet queer folk on our travels, but we definitely won't encounter any species of the undead."

"Better safe than sorry, Jeffrey - we could do with a few unconventional, concealable armaments. It's prudent to take all reasonable precautions when you're dealing with the unknown unknown."

"In that case, Susie, I'll borrow mum's Jif Lemon from the kitchen. She won't need it again until next Pancake Tuesday."

"What good is a Jif Lemon, Jeffrey?"

"A well-directed squirt of a hundred percent juice will make even the deadest of the undead's eyes water profusely, Susie."

"Organic mace - I like the idea, Jeffrey. With that, we can safely leave the truncheon at home. It makes an unsightly bulge in my bag, and it's a trifle heavy to lug around all day."

"There's a relief - at least, this time, we won't run the risk of being arrested for carrying an offensive weapon. The police may not believe one of their missing batons is our first line of defence against the local zombie hordes."

"Right, the Jif Lemon it is," Susie decided. "Have you anything else legal and useful stowed in your bottom drawer?"

"No, I've already sacrificed the stink bombs and itching powder - not to mention my trusty golf umbrella. This parasol's cuter, but not half as formidable a weapon."

"Stop twirling it and fussing with your frock, Jeffrey. And Denise doesn't have to be continually refreshing her lipstick."

"I can't help myself, Susie. She feels soooo feminine as a cosplay Lolita. I'll tell you what - I wouldn't mind having a session strapped into a flower swing, dressed like this. Whoooooossshhh! Hooray, and up the petticoats rise!"

"Come back down to earth, Jeffrey."

"I have, Susie. This is my roundabout way of informing you all I've got left of my ancient collectibles is the seebackroscope, and I don't want to risk losing that, too."

"Okay, we'll take your modern, miniature binoculars instead. They'll prove more effective, anyhow."

"You mean for spotting witches flying on their broomsticks? Hey, perhaps they turned Steve Spooner into a frog, and he's hopped it."

"Who knows, Jeffrey?" Susie grinned. "But one way or another, I'm sure tomorrow will hold lots of surprises."

"Let's not strut in where angels fear to tread, Susie. After the adventures we've had today, what we need is a good night's rest. Things may look very different in the morning."

"You won't, Jeffrey, if you're going to sleep fully dolled up as a pretty little maid from Japan."

"That darned, jammed zip is a nuisance, isn't it, Susie?" I smiled, swirling my skirts yet again. "But I think you've got the hang of it now."

"When I do let you loose, Jeffrey, you're so skittish I'll have to put you straight to bed in your mum's Janet Reger sleep set."

"I'm rather hoping you will, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"No more amusing Pinky and Perky, Jeffrey - it's time we snuggled up for a lullaby."

"This is an apt one, Susie."

"Rockin', rollin', ridin',
Out along the bay,
All bound for Morningtown,
Many miles away."

"But Knott End's only a hop, step, and spit by ferry, Jeffrey. We'll be hot on the trail before you can say Old Nick."

"You never give up, do you, Susie? You just can't wait to go from Dinky Dooery to Scooby Dooery."

"That's enough banter for now, Jeffrey. Start counting teddy bears - it's the early birds who will get the wormy squire."

"Up with the larks - for a lark, eh?"

"The first ferry's at eight o'clock, so we need to set the alarm for six."

"Then it's time you turned out the light, Susie. We'll need to be fully alert if we cross words with the Devil's disciples."

"When, Jeffrey - and it's swords we'll be crossing."

"Don't count your headless chickens, Susie."

"They'll have already sacrificed them, Jeffrey," Susie smiled, and kissed me goodnight. "Sleep tight, Denise - your Buffy's here to make sure the vampires don't bite."

 

 

Chapter 151

"Oh, I like to rise,
When the sun she rises,
Ear-ly in the morning."

"There - I'm as ready to go as I'll ever be," I announced, buttoning up my clingy lurex tank-top. "How do I look, Susie?"

"Almost as eye-catching as in the sleep set, Jeffrey - and so are Pinky and Perky."

"Good - even though I'm not wearing a skirt, I want to appear amply Denised."

"You always do - but perhaps you should reconsider your choice of outfit. It's a far wolf-whistle from that of an elegant personal assistant."

I swivelled and admired myself in the mirror. "Everything appears fine to me," I smiled, patting my shiny pink hot pants. "Observe how they exactly match my lipstick."

"And your nail varnish."

"It's all colour coordinated, even down to the dainty little watch. I hope your uncle won't mind you passing his birthday present on to me."

"He'll have to agree Denise was born to wear it, Jeffrey."

"So what fashion mistake have we committed, Susie?" I pouted.

"None as a page three pin-up, Jeffrey, but people might bat more than an eyelash at our business cards with you dressed like that."

"I wouldn't feel girlish enough in your trouser-suit, Susie. And, anyhow," I contended, "I think I'm every pink inch the junior genealogist."

"It's the junior cut-offs that worry me," Susie frowned. "They're a couple of centimetres too cheeky for a serious apprentice."

"They're snug, but not constricting." I bent over and touched my toes. "See, I have a full range of movement."

"You're asking for it, Jeffrey."

"Feel free, Susie."

"Not now, Jeffrey, I'm in professional mode. I only wish you were."

"Oh I don't know, Susie - footballers used to sport their hair this long and their shorts this tight."

"Are you sure, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, ask mum - it's what first attracted her to dad."

"All the same, it's not the image we're striving for. It's important people take us seriously."

"I don't mind staying in the background while you do the questioning, Susie."

"Be honest, Jeffrey, your heart's not really in this mission, is it?"

"I'm taking precautions, that's all. This is the closest Denise could get to athletic kit because I reckon however your witch hunting turns out, we'll end up hot-footing it away from someone you've wittingly provoked."

"Make that hot-panting it in your case. They're so bottom-hugging I can see the embroidery on your underwear."

"You won't complain if we get chased by a homicidal coven," I predicted. "Reading my labels will provide just the added incentive you need to keep closely astern."

"Bless your little Marks & Sparks, Denise," Susie grinned, giving me a smack on the rear. "There - that's all you're getting for now."

"It'll be more exciting in a tight skirt, over your knee, anyway," I smiled. "Should I slip into something less comfortable?"

"Give over, Jeffrey - you were bad enough last night. It didn't work then, and it won't work now. I'm ready for the off, and nothing will divert me."

"But wouldn't it make sense to see if there've been any new developments first?" I suggested. "For all we know, the police could have solved the case while we slept."

"I doubt it." Susie deliberated for a moment before taking out her phone. "But I suppose there's no harm in giving dad a call to get an update on the situation."

"And it'll save our embarking on a fool's errand," I encouraged, as Susie paused half-way through dialling the number.

"This'll give dad a chance to find another little task to keep us harmlessly occupied. Is that what you're angling for, Jeffrey?"

"I'm only trying to save you going on a wild corpse chase."

"With no ulterior hopes?"

"None at all," I blinked. "Anyway, you've an easy get-out from any parental request - just explain we're already filling in for mum at the scrapyard."

"Okay ..." Susie slowly keyed in the remaining numbers. "But you back me up if dad tries to enlist us again."

"Don't worry, I'll swear mum's had a genuine family emergency. Now look lively - he's answering."

"Morning dad, how are things chez Jones this morning?"

"Magnifique, Susie, after a solid ten hours sleep, I almost feel as if yesterday never happened."

"Is Uncle Frank similarly refreshed?"

"He didn't sleep a wink, but he was a man reborn when the police called to report they'd found the hearse."

"Oooooohhhh."

"Don't sound so disappointed, Susie," I murmured.

"Although his renaissance only lasted for the briefest of moments."

"Why - did the thieves scratch the paintwork?"

"It's worse than that. The traffic patrol found the vehicle a smouldering wreck in the middle of a field."

"Ooooohhhhhhhhh ... has someone done Uncle Frank's work for him?"

"It doesn't appear so - there were no signs of the coffin or human remains."

"Good - then all is not lost."

"Now Frank's expecting a ransom demand. I don't know where he got that idea from, but he says it's his last faint hope."

"Tell old unky to keep his spirits up. Something unforeseen may come to his rescue - just like they did for you, dad."

"So what are your plans for this morning, Susie? I hope the devil won't be finding mischief for idle hands."

"Definitely not, dad - Mrs Smith had unexpectedly to go round to her sister's, and she's left us holding the fort this end. Saturday's a busy day in the scrap metal business, isn't it, Denise?"

"That's right, Mr Jones," I confirmed, as Susie held out the phone. "It's all down to Uncle Ted falling in the dock and suffering a severe concussion."

"Did you hear that, dad? Uncles are a blooming nuisance, aren't they?"

"Yes, Susie, and I half believe your story."

"Okay, dad, we'll see you later and tell you the unbelievable half. Bye for now."

"Good- bye, Susie. Bye, Denise - don't let Susie lead you astray."

"I'll try my best not to, Mr Jones."

"Bye, dad." Glowing with delight, Susie switched off her mobile. "That confirms my theory, Jeffrey."

"What - the torching of your uncle's car?"

"No, the conserving of the coffin. Putting the corpse before the hearse proves it was the squire's body they were after, and not a joyride."

"Perhaps they just decided not to compound their crimes," I argued. "Illegally disposing of a man's mortal remains isn't a misdemeanour, it's a felony."

"You're on a loser, Jeffrey. All we've learned from Uncle Frank, and Mr Horrocks, and now dad supports my version of events to the hilt. And let's not forget Steve Spooner told us he was onto something big."

"Don't rely on anything Steve says, Susie. He's a sophisticated reporter hoping to bedazzle two naive young schoolgirls."

"Speak for yourself, Jeffrey."

"I will - and I propose we stay home to repair my broken bike. Mum's away, so I'll bring it into the kitchen where we'll be nice and cosy."

"How can you even consider being cosy?" Susie snorted. "This is our golden opportunity to get in Uncle Frank's good books."

"I'm already too much in your uncle's good books for my liking."

"I won't mind taking all the credit when we deposit the squire on the old curmudgeon's shop step," Susie generously offered. "What better way to have unky eat every harsh word he's ever spoken about me and be in my debt for life?"

"If, by some miracle, you do recover your uncle's missing coffin, I'll give it a fortnight before you've completely dissipated his gratitude."

"It'll still prove well worth it. So let's get going, Jeffrey, the game's afoot again."

"Don't you mean a-corpse this time?"

"That's the attitude," Susie grinned. "Now, no more dilly-dallying - we'll cycle along the prom and catch the ferry to Knott End."

"I'd rather walk, Susie. Your familiar has a premonition you might hijack a ride at some point on our travels, and then two more of my bikes will have gone East."

"Okay, we'll bus it - I'm always ready to oblige your little whims, Jeffrey. Is there anything else you want to do before we venture forth?"

"Yes - first check with Mr Horrocks to see if Steve has turned up yet. It's ..."

"744 ... 905 ... 2454," Susie smirked, and keyed in the numbers. "I can remember things off the top of my head too, Jeffrey. It's a prime asset for an ace detective."

"Aspiring detective," I smiled, as contact was established on the hotline.

"Barrack Horrocks, special correspondent, speaking."

"Hello, Mr Horrocks, it's Susie Jones - any news of Steve?"

"Nobody's heard a dicky-bird - how about you?"

"Nothing at all."

"Well, it's too late, anyhow. I'm already on the train, Hull bound, dribbling my way through back issues of FourFourTwo. What a come down for a man who's sharpened the pencils of Hannen Swaffer."

"Cheer up, Mr Horrocks - you might have a murder on the TransPennine Express."

"If only, Miss Jones ... I'm sorry, I'll have to abruptly sign off. The other passengers are shushing me - and I'm not sure my press-card entitles me to travel first class. So it's a whispered good-bye for now."

"Ta-ra, Mr Horrocks - we may have a story for you when you get back," Susie gleefully returned the phone to her bag. "Your last hope of a quiet day's modelling is dashed, Jeffrey. Over Wyre, here we come!"

"We'll be strangers in a strange land, Susie," I warned. "So when we get there, let's tread carefully. We don't want to give the game away."

"Yes, we do, Jeffrey - that's a vital part of my plan. This isn't a classic deducing, amateur detective case - it's a hard-boiled, nosy-parkering private-eye one. We'll get results by leaving folk in no doubt we can't be put off the scent."

"Won't that make us sitting ducks, Susie?"

"Yes, Jeffrey - and with any luck, it'll flush our quarry into the open."

"If it does, they'll react a sight more dangerously than bunny rabbits, Susie. And if it doesn't, even innocent folk may take exception to your enquiries."

"I'm not going to come straight out with 'Where's the nearest coven?', Jeffrey."

"So what will be your approach?"

"First, I'll see how people react when I innocently ask about Steve. Then, if I detect the slightest anxiety on their part, I'll pursue the matter with less tactful questions and hope to annoy them into an act of indiscretion."

"I've every confidence you'll succeed in that, Susie. But how will we tactfully bring up the subject of Steve in the first place?"

"I think we should be his cousins, Jeffrey. We expected him to meet us off the ferry, but he didn't turn up."

"And what's the reason for our little excursion? People are sure to ask. Young girls don't flock to Knott End on Saturday mornings in October."

"How about Steve arranged to take us bird-watching? A fascinating hobby enjoyed, year round, by folk of all ages. We can masquerade as members of the RSPB."

"Should I bring my Observer's book along for documentary evidence, Susie?"

"No, we don't want to burden ourselves with superfluous equipment, Jeffrey. Your binoculars will suffice as proof of our ornithological intentions."

"Okay, Susie - and let's hope we spot Steve alive and twitching."

"We will, Jeffrey. Now, no more delaying tactics - remember who's in loco parentis."

"Mum must have mangled her Spanish, Susie - I wouldn't dream of describing you as a crazy padre."

"Suficiente, Jeffrey! You look pretty in pink, so it's time to let Denise fully take over and wholly man-up. You never can tell - we may have to cross beliefs with a mad priest before the day is done."

 

 

Chapter 152

"That's more money thrown away," I complained, after Susie had charitably invited the taxi-driver to keep the change. "We could have waited for the next bus - or better still walked."

"We've no time to waste, Jeffrey, and it's a legitimate business expense. Uncle Frank will happily reimburse us when we present him with the squire's body and our bill."

"You are joking, Susie - we'll never get paid. That's the only thing we will have in common with Jim Rockford."

"Quit moaning and look on the bright side."

"What's that?"

"We won't get bashed on the head, and we won't have to tip the captain before we go ashore."

"Just you wait and see," I griped, as we strolled across to the ferry entrance. "We'll be shamed into making a contribution to the RNLI."

"Cheer up, Jeffrey," Susie smiled, on reviewing the list of fares. "We've saved a pound by not bringing our bikes, and you can conserve another fifty pence by pretending to be fourteen."

"Let's try for double or quits, Susie," I proposed, linking arms and escorting her under the fluttering Union Jacks onto the slipway.

"Okay, Jeffrey, we'll give it our best shot. There are enough grown-ups in the world."

"Too many, by my reckoning, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Thank you, my little lovelies, for an admirable donation," The crewman grinned, saluting us down the gangplank, as we disembarked at Knott End. "You're a credit to Brown Owl."

"No change out of another fiver," I sighed, on our ascent up the long jetty, in the wake of the other passengers. "We could have saved our breath trilling 'We're Brownie Guides' at the ticket office."

"Don't be so stingy, Jeffrey - these lifeboat flags are a valuable adornment," Susie smiled, pinning them into place.

"I trust you're keeping careful note of our generosity, Susie."

"It's money well spent in a good cause."

"We've done our bit for today, then. So try not to indulge in any more hand-outs, in any cause. Back on-board, I thought for a moment you were going to offer a reward for a sighting of Steve Spooner."

"I casually spread the word amongst our shipmates that we were in quest of birding badges, first-class, and hoping to team up with cousin Steve, a seasoned twitcher."

"And oh, how they laughed at my mini-binoculars and your impression of Woody Woodpecker."

"That's beside the point, Jeffrey. Just remember - it's Steve, coffin ... coffin, Steve - find one, and we'll find the other."

"I only wish you'd be a little more discreet about it."

"Letting folk know we're determined to trace Steve is all part of my strategy to put the cats amongst the coven. Our stirring the pot will spook the witches into revealing themselves to us. A cunning plan, I thought we'd agreed."

"So cunning it would be illegal to hunt it with dogs, Susie."

"Thank you, Jeffrey, and with any luck, it'll ensure we meet the evildoers halfway."

"Before that, there's somebody we don't want to meet any which way. When we get to the top, turn left and quick march along the prom."

"Why - who are we giving a wide berth to?"

"Captain Haddock - the old salt we dumped in the briny. Unless you're anxious to reimburse him for the loss of a leaky rowing-boat and the waterlogging of his Fair Isle sweater."

"Don't worry, the jolly Jack-tar will have already long forgotten that minor incident."

"More likely, he's still brooding over it. Come on - heads down and hurry up." I took Susie's arm and rushed her through the exit gate. "Now - where do we sleuth from here, Sherla?"

"We'll have a second brekky at that place over the road and pump the owner for any local gossip."

"Just watch out for Captain Haddock enjoying a full English."

"If he is, it'll give us a chance to test dad's pet theory, Jeffrey."

"And what's that, Susie?"

"There isn't any greater pleasure than avoiding someone you know in a supermarket."

"Or in this case - The Mud Flats Cafe."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"There's not much I fancy, Jeffrey," Susie sniffed, after inspecting the menu in the window.

"Tesco burgers with everything. Low in fat, but high in Shergar - they're Champion, Susie."

"You can lead a horse to slaughter, Jeffrey, but you can't make it beef. I wouldn't feed them to a dog."

"Granddad did once, Susie, but that's another story."

"I'm a fool to ask, Jeffrey. But don't keep me in suspense - what happened?"

"It's the only time he's ever seen an Alsatian with a paw down its throat."

"We'll play it safe and stick to something simple, then." Susie opened the door and ushered me forward. "Quick sashay, Denise, before you succeed in putting us off altogether."

"I hope we haven't wandered into ye olde ghostly tea shoppe, Susie," I murmured, as we manoeuvred our way between the empty tables.

"Not quite, there's our first sign of life."

"Sorry to keep you waiting - I'm all of a tizz this morning," a flustered woman announced, on surfacing from behind the counter. "What's it to be, my darlings?"

"Can we have beans on toast for two, please," I smiled.

"Coming right up - but would you do me a favour while I'm getting it?"

"Happy to oblige," Susie beamed. "How can we help?"

"Keep an eye out for my little Joey Belshaw, will you? He's gone missing."

"What does he look like?"

"He's blue with a white face and black spots."

"Ah, I deduce Joey's a budgie. Call the Sweeney, Denise."

"The Sweeney - what's the ..."

"The Sweeney Todd - the flying squad," I hastily explained to the lady. "Susie can't help larking about."

"Well, she shouldn't - this is a serious matter. Joey could have fluttered out of the door and taken off down the street into the arms of seagulls."

"He didn't fly past us," I reassured the upset woman. "When did you last see him?"

"Ten minutes ago - I was vacuuming under his perch. It's all my fault - I sneezed, and the next thing I knew, he'd vanished."

Susie nodded sympathetically and leant forward. "Joey might have gone with the suction," she gravely whispered. "Have you looked in the dust-bag?"

A little tear rolled down the woman's face. "I don't dare. Joey-boy's been my sole companion since Mr Belshaw's untimely departure."

"We'll be happy to have a delve around in the detritus for you while we wait," Susie offered.

"Oh, if you would - the hoover's in the corner under his cage."

"Leave it to us. Come on, Denise, let's get exhuming."

"Are you sure?" I whispered.

"Yes, how better to have the lady beholden to us ... and we are here bird-watching."

"Okay, but show some tact if Joey's dust to dust-bag," I muttered, on the way over to the scene of his last known sighting.

"Don't I always?"

"No, Susie," I declared, unzipping the cover of the vacuum cleaner and releasing the innards. "But see if you can diplomatically put down that tablecloth."

"I fear the worst, Jeffrey. There's a feather over there on the floor."

"And a beak here," I gulped, shaking out the hoover's recent acquisitions to reveal a vivid patch of blue, lying flat on its back, feet in the air, and covered in fluff. "We need look no further for Joey."

"That's one deceased budgie, Jeffrey."

"Gently break the news of his passing to the lady, Susie, and then we'll do the decent thing by old Joey."

"Save the empty bean tin," Susie called into the kitchen. "We've found a new tenant for it."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Oh, you'll never get to Heaven
In a baked bean tin,
'Cos a baked bean tin's
Got baked beans in."

"Sorry, Mrs Belshaw," I apologised, as the lachrymose woman served us a delayed breakfast. "No disrespect - it's just a little ditty we sang in the Brownies."

"My uncle's an undertaker, so we made a proper job of it," Susie assured. "We buried Joey, with full budgerigar honours, alongside the rose bush. Denise used her nail-file to engrave an extra neat inscription on the little fellow's cuttlefish bone, and I duly erected it as his headstone."

"Thanks ever so much. I couldn't bear to look my poor boy in the face again after what I did to him."

"Don't blame yourself," Susie burbled, through a mouthful of beans. "We know only too well accidents with animals will happen however much you love them."

"So it seems. Old Mrs Millichope lost her tom-cat in the tumble-dryer last week."

"These things happen in threes," Susie claimed. "We hear there's been a human death by misadventure, as well, lately."

"If you mean the squire - I won't shed any tears on his account. By all that's unholy, he deserved what befell him."

"You must have had your doubts about his behaviour for quite a while," Susie intimated. "I don't expect he deceived you with his airs and graces."

"I had the swankpot in here once, and I told him straight - 'Don't wave your fork at me with a sausage on it'. He apologised, but a real gentleman would still have left a tip."

"You obviously saw through the squire's pretensions right away," Susie flattered. "Did anything make you suspect he might have a darker side - such as the company he kept?"

"The fiend had a lovely pair of Labradors, but he couldn't fool me. When I heard he'd visited the ballet, I knew he was up to no good."

"But something more inappropriate must have made you believe he wasn't totally trustworthy," Susie implied. "A lot of respectable people go to the ballet."

"Not with a twenty year old milkman," Mrs Belshaw hissed through pursed lips. "I hope I don't need to enlighten you any further, my dears."

"Ah, they were devotees of the musical theatre. Well, each to his own - Denise and I are more your farceurs."

"It's no laughing matter," Mrs Belshaw frowned. "Outsiders think this is a quiet little village, but they'd be shocked to know what's fermenting just below the surface."

"Bodies?" Susie suggested.

"Don't ask. My old mum gave me some good advice ... 'If you know nothing, keep it to yourself'. I shudder to think what went on up at Parrox Hall."

"Parrox Hall - I don't like the sound of that, Denise."

"You both steer well clear of the squire's evil place - it's a house of sin. We, in the Pilling Brethren, never approved of him and his kind."

"The Pilling Brethren - are they some kind of Puritans?" I asked.

"The only kind, lovey - we hold faithful to the one true message."

"What's that?"

"Prepare to meet thy doom."

"All we've come equipped with is a pair of mini-binoculars and a Jif lemon," I blinked, and comforted myself by dunking a toast soldier in my tea.

"The end of the world is nigh," Mrs Belshaw enthusiastically continued.

"We're not worried," Susie grinned. "We've built our ark."

"Now all we're waiting for is the two giraffes," I smiled.

"We may be strict, but we can still appreciate a joke," Mrs Belshaw chuckled. "Even so, despite our preaching a doctrine that combines the promise of eternal life with the love of small animals, we're a minority cult. Mossags prefer to stick to the old religion."

"Catholicism?" Susie probed.

"Some of them."

"And others - witchcraft?"

"That's not something young girls should be discussing. People around here are very sensitive about the topic - especially after what's happened."

"You're right," Susie shivered. "It's giving us the trembles just sitting here, isn't it, Denise?"

"I don't know how the subject came up, Susie."

"Steve Spooner and his horror tales are to blame. We should never have listened to him."

"Who's Steve Spooner - is he one of those investigating the wicked doings at the hall?" Mrs Belshaw enquired.

"He's been investigating here, there, and everywhere. Steve's a leading reporter on special assignment for the Shoreham Gazette," Susie revealed. "We were supposed to meet him for breakfast. Did he drop by earlier?"

"No, I've only had my regulars in this morning. The police didn't even call round for a chat and their bacon butties."

"You'll have seen more than enough of them this week, I expect," Susie surmised.

"Yes, although they tell some fascinating stories, and it's been a nice end of season bonus. Not that I don't feel for the poor victims - but that's life."

"You can't blame a body for taking advantage of a body," Susie agreed. "Folk still have to eat."

"I wonder if the police have gone for good, or they just don't work weekends," Mrs Belshaw mused. "It'll affect my ordering - I've never served so many black puddings."

"Are you sure Steve Spooner didn't do battle with one?" Susie pressed. "He's been following in the plodhoppers footsteps, covering the squire's dirty deeds. He must have popped in to ask a few questions."

"A lot of folk have this last week - what does he look like?"

"An overgrown newspuppy - you can't miss him," Susie smiled. "He sports a big camera around his neck and is forever snapping away."

"Oh, that one's Mr Spooner - you should have said sooner."

"It's coming back to you now, is it?"

"It's never been away. I remember he took a picture of Joey for pet of the week."

"And what else?"

"That's all. Would you ask your friend to send me a copy? I can put it in Joey's cage - he never did chirp much."

"Will do - as soon as we find Steve," Susie promised.

"If my Joey had been a bit more vocal," Mrs Belshaw sighed, "he might not have ended his days in the hoover."

"Our Steve's forever twittering, but he may be another on the way to dusty death," Susie frowned. "Can you recall his mentioning a chap named Billy something - who's possibly a bit of a goat?"

"I hope whiskery Billy Bloggs hasn't been spinning your Mr Spooner his tall tales. The old scallywag's always looking to bend an unsuspecting ear in return for a free drink."

"That fits," Susie encouraged. "Where does Mr Bloggs live?"

"Under any convenient haystack. And he wonders why I won't have his kind in here - but he keeps on trying."

"Have you seen Mr Bloggs this morning?"

"No, I've missed his gurning face at the window for a day or two now. Funny that - perhaps he's finally got the message that tramps aren't welcome in a respectable establishment."

"Any idea where we'd find Mr Bloggs?" Susie persisted.

"Scrounging around - he delights in being of no fixed abode. Unchristian though it is, I hope he's finally moved on to pastures new."

"And we'd best be setting off on his and Steve Spooner's trail," Susie announced, pushing away her empty plate. "Thanks for the meal - it was lovely."

"Thank you," Mrs Belshaw flushed. "It's nice when someone appreciates your cooking."

"Oh, we did, and we're fuelled for the day now." Susie handed over a ten-pound note. "Keep the change - and is there anything else you'd like to tell us before we go?"

"Be alert, be vigilant - because your adversary the devil, like a roaring lion, walks about, seeking who he might devour."

"We'll bear that in mind," Susie vowed. "Have we any words of wisdom to offer in return, Denise?"

"Two cups of tea are too many, but the first one is never enough."

"I hope you're only half right," Mrs Belshaw laughed. "A poor old soul like me has to make a living."

"We'll leave you to it, then," Susie smiled. "And say ta-ra, for now."

"Good-bye, and thanks for your help with my little pal Joey. I'll really miss his cheerful fluttering every time I use the hoover."

"Never mind, you can always get another. They're not like tortoises, are they, Denise?"

"No, replacements are readily available. But I'd advise something bigger and better."

"Right - that's the best way to avoid any future unfortunate accidents. Any recommendations, Denise?"

"Yes, Mrs Belshaw should go in for a Dyson Tornado next time, Susie. I understand they're much more feather friendly."

 

 

Chapter 153

"Instant success, Jeffrey," Susie enthused, as we set off along the main road into the village. "Mr Bloggs is almost certainly the man Steve got his fateful lead from."

"I hope so - his name cost us a whole tenner," I grouched. "When, by rights, it should have been Mrs Belshaw tipping us for funeral services rendered."

"The haystack information we gleaned is worth the money, Jeffrey. We've learnt it's Billy the Tramp we're after, not Billy the Goat."

"But his recent non-appearances could mean we've have reached a dead-end before we've even begun. Mr Bloggs might already be resting under the great hay-rick in the sky - together with Joey the Budgie and Steve Spooner. Things happen in threes, you know, Susie."

"Don't say that, Jeffrey - I'm still hoping to bring back Steve alive and clicking."

"No one's heard from him for 24 hours, Susie. That could have a sinister explanation."

"You're changing your tune, Jeffrey. Are you belatedly coming around to my way of thinking?"

"Not entirely - perhaps Steve's had an everyday accident. Cracked paving stones account for more people than crazed devil-worshippers."

"No way - reading between Mrs Belshaw's lines should have persuaded you there really is a coven at large on the Moss."

"And I suppose the ketchup stains on her tablecloth indicated to you she's one of them, Susie."

"I suspect everyone, and I suspect no one, Jeffrey. But a word to the wise - don't let the vicar fool you."

"Did I miss something, Susie - which vicar is this?"

"Any vicar - the Vicar of Bray has nothing on these trendy modern chaps. They've become extremely accommodating in their belief systems - so be on your guard."

"Don't worry, I'm paranoically suspicious of all people in positions of authority."

"You have the makings of a great investigative reporter, Jeffrey - just try and show a bit more enthusiasm for this job."

"Okay, what's next on your agenda, Susie? Where do we go from here in our search for Steve and the missing coffin?"

"I'm wondering if the coven stole the squire's body for a black mass burial ritual on All Hallow's Eve."

"That's 29 days away - they'd have to keep the corpse on ice until then. Are we off searching for someone with a big fridge, Susie?"

"Or possibly a farm shop with an industrial freezer, Jeffrey. But first let's carry on enquiring after Steve, while nosying through the village."

"Don't go asking direct questions about witches," I advised. "It'll get us funny looks and make folk wary."

"Only those with something to hide, Jeffrey. And I'll sense their unease - I'm a human lie-detector."

"And a genius in all things psychological."

"You speak the truth, Jeffrey," Susie grinned. "Now, where's the best place to start?"

"Not at the pub," I warned, and guided her across the road away from 'The Lamb and Scythe'. "Let's try the newsagent and convenience store - a local shop for local folk."

"I'm way ahead of you, Jeffrey." Susie bounded along the pavement, pulling me after her. "The place is likely a hive of gossip, and Steve's sure to have paid them a visit."

"Not so fast, Susie - remember what I said. We should adopt a casual approach. You never know who we could be talking to."

"'To whom we could be talking', Jeffrey. Casual doesn't mean sloppy, according to Uncle Frank."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Give over poking around in there," I muttered, "or someone will think we're a couple of shoplifters."

Susie looked up and gave the man behind the counter a wave. "Just browsing through your comestibles."

"I've been on my feet since five marking up papers, and I'm due a tea and Jammie Dodger break. Do you want to buy something or not?" the newsagent impatiently enquired.

"Go and get your magazine, Denise," Susie directed, propelling me forward, before returning to her examination of the contents of the frozen food cabinet. "That'll give me time to have a rummage in here for your favourite fish fingers."

"Good morning, sir," I smiled, on presenting myself at the counter. "We won't keep you long."

"So what's it to be, sugar - Sugar?" the generously proportioned fellow laughed. "Or are you a Candy girl?"

"Certainly not - I'm a student of serious literature, seeking the Japanese Journal of Ornithology," I professed, endeavouring to give the lie to my hot pants and ensure another five pounds wouldn't fly away on Susie's fantasy expense account.

"Is that one of those anime mags?"

"No - it's about birds."

"Yeah, with big eyes and little noses - and beautiful ..."

"Feathers."

"Feathers - that's a new one on me. Are you sure you've got the title right?"

"Yes - I spotted it on Amazon, but I believe in supporting the high street."

"I can order it for you if you like, but it may take a week or more to come through."

"Oh, that'll be too late - we're only here for the day. I'll have to save my money."

"So you don't want anything," the man glared.

"No, I'm sorry to have wasted your time," I apologised, and looked round for support. "Where are you, Susie?"

"In here, Denise."

"Hey, you, come out of my stockroom!"

"Oops - I took a wrong turning." Susie smilingly emerged and shut the door behind her. "Nobody there, Denise."

"That's enough, Susie - we're trying the gentleman's patience and not adding to his business."

"It's okay, Denise." Susie arrived and plonked a packet of frozen peas on the counter. "We'll prop up the corner shop with these."

"Japanese magazines and frozen peas - what's your game?" the man demanded, eyeing us warily.

"We're going bird-watching with our cousin, Steve Spooner," Susie beamed. "I expect he's already checked in with you."

"I've never heard of any Steve Spooner. And if I had, why should he check in with me?"

"Because he's also known as Henry Boot, the nature correspondent of the Shoreham Gazette," Susie fancified. "So Steve's bound to have honoured their Knott End representative with a courtesy call while he's over here on an exploratory ramble."

"Well, he didn't. And what's more, I know the current Henry Boot, and the Henry Boot before him. They're both customers of mine."

"But what you don't know is, there have been severe cutbacks at the Gazette," Susie declared. "Steve is now multi-tasking as the all-new, improved Henry Boot the Third. So, are you sure you haven't seen Mr Spooner?"

"Absolutely! But I've seen through you - and Missy, here, all made-up, trying to look older than her years."

"Playing the pretty princess is no reason to doubt Denise's integrity."

"That still leaves plenty of reasons to doubt yours."

"If you won't believe me, perhaps my sister can convince you. Let the doubting Thomas have a squint through your birding binoculars, Denise."

"My pair of Aldi 10 X 25s won't impress him one dioptre, Susie. Admit it - we've been rumbled."

"You certainly have!" the man barked. "I know what you're up to. That was a Japanese porn magazine little Miss Innocent tried to buy."

"How dare you, sir!" Susie protested. "We're convent girls."

"In a pig's trotter, you are! I'm onto you. You're agent provocateurs from trading standards, aren't you?"

"We could have agreed to help them out," Susie craftily conceded. "We're not allowed to say, but tell us about Steve Spooner, and we'll overlook any minor transgressions."

"There aren't going to be any transgressions - minor or otherwise. You're not tricking me into selling under-18s a marker pen. I've been caught that way before. Get out of here and sniff around somewhere else."

"They'll only send in a less sympathetic team when you've an inexperienced assistant behind the counter," Susie warned. "It's best you cooperate fully with us, and we'll help you in return."

"How?"

"Denise will give you a hint what new banned substances the council are cracking down on this month."

"Fire away, then."

I beckoned the storekeeper closer. "Be very careful who you sell eggs and flour to. They're having an October clampdown in the run-up to Halloween."

"And not before time - it's nothing but a nuisance - hardly worth the increased pumpkin sales. Now, what about these frozen peas?"

"The decision rests with you," Susie winked. "Are you going to let us buy them?"

"I'm sorry they're not for sale to unaccompanied children."

"Well done, we can honestly tell our supervisors you've passed with flying colours in the subjects of hazardous vegetables and dubious magazines."

"Good - have you finished?"

"Officially, but can we have two lottery tickets before we go, please?" Susie winked with her other eye.

"No, you're underage."

"Excellent! Make a special note of the gentleman's point-blank refusal, Denise."

"I've five-starred the rebuff - and you, sir," I smiled at the newsagent.

"You've made my day," he retorted. "Is that finally it - or will there be anything more, ladies?"

"Not at the moment - we've ticked all our boxes, haven't we, Denise?"

"And then some, Susie."

"So - are you going to leave me in peace?"

"For now, but remain on your guard," Susie advised. "A callow youth may wander in wanting to purchase a crossbow - ask to see his driving licence."

"A crossbow?"

"Yes - finding one alongside the dead body of your squire has rung alarm bells at trading standards."

"That had nothing to do with me. I only sell catapults - but not to you - and never with frozen peas."

"You must have heard rumours across your counter, though," Susie hinted. "No doubt, you've swapped a few eerie tales about the squire and his friends."

"I ignore that sort of loose talk and mind my own business - and you'd best do the same."

"Come on - we've done you a favour - share a bit of local scandal in return," Susie cajoled.

"You keep well away from the squire and his kind. Sex mad he was, by all accounts. He'd have had a frog if it stopped hopping long enough ... if the milkman's to be believed."

"The bluebeard's dead, so we're safe from him now - or have there been sinister manifestations from beyond the grave?"

"You're as bad as that young fool, Gavin. If you're interested in strange goings-on, have a word in his ear. He'll keep you entertained for hours if you give the silly gobbin half a chance."

"Now you're talking," Susie enthused. "Where will we find this Gavin?"

"He'll probably find you. Gavin's always out and about hoping to make contact with an alien or two. You can't miss him - he's a 6 foot 3 clothes-post, with knees like knots of cotton."

"And what about Billy Bloggs the tramp?" Susie pressed. "We'd like to meet him, too."

"Haven't seen the boozy bum all week - he's probably on the paint-stripper again. The stuff he drinks would take the stripes of a zebra."

"Do you sell a lot of it?"

"Don't be so blooming cheeky. Go on - hop it, and pester some other poor beggar."

"We'll be happy to oblige if you tell us the way to Billy Bloggs' haystack," Susie grinned.

"You speak to Gavin - he's as sharp as my arse, but he'll know where to find Bloggsy, for all the good it will do you. You won't get any sense from either of them. They're a pair of coconutters, a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic."

"You mean a trifle peculiar," I suggested.

"More than a trifle - Bloggsy's bonkers, and Gavin's a member of the gullible club ... if you want to be kind. He's swallowed all the old rogue's romances and added to them. The lad's convinced there are fairies, pixies, and God knows what else at the bottom of everyone's garden."

"He sounds just the man we're looking for," Susie smiled. "Thanks a lot - and keep a lookout for a couple of boys wearing artists' smocks."

"Artists' smocks?"

"And French berets," I added. "They'll be testing your compliance with the aerosol paints directive next week."

"Come on, Denise, it's time we were out of here. We've already exposed too many council secrets."

"Bye - enjoy your Jammie Dodgers," I waved, and hurried Susie back down the aisle before she changed her mind.

"Hey, just a minute, your frozen peas have melted over this Daily Mail. It's all wet and soggy - you'll have to buy it."

"Are you mad?" Susie admonished, as she closed the door. "If you sell us that, the Guardianistas in the Health and Safety politburo will move you to the top of the Enemies of the People hit-list, for corrupting young minds."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"You could have put it slightly more tactfully, Susie," I reproved, after we'd beaten yet another hasty retreat, this time from the Arts and Crafts Collective.

"What are corn dollies if they aren't effigies, Jeffrey? And they were displayed next to broomsticks and witches' hats."

"You've come within a cheeky question of getting us thrown out of every shop on the row - and that takes some doing."

"They can't all know nothing."

"Would you admit to being best pals with a mass murdering Satanist, Susie?"

"I only suggested it in a roundabout way."

"And they all took offence straight off the bat."

"Which proves they have something to hide, Jeffrey."

"No, it doesn't."

"But they can't all not have seen Billy Bloggs - that's highly suspicious in it itself."

"I shouldn't imagine he's a regular in the barber's or the florist's, Susie. Although I suppose he might rumba with the lady in the dancewear shop."

"The next one along is our best bet yet - Mr Bloggs might outfit himself there."

"Okay, but drop the junior geologists - that doesn't help for starters."

"How was I to know we'd be dealing with a bunch of nimbies, Jeffrey. I'd welcome an oil-well in your backyard."

"Just leave it to me in here, Susie," I ordered, as she marched up to the door of the Oxfam shop. "If we can manage to hang around long enough to have a lucky find, our journey won't have been entirely wasted."

 

 

Chapter 154

"What did you buy a packet of ball-bearings for, Jeffrey?"

"Fifty pence, Susie."

"And the other reason?"

"Because they were there," I smiled. "They'll fit my bottom bracket ... and perhaps have other less conventional uses."

"Such as?"

"Who can tell - but isn't it amazing the things that turn up in charity shops?"

"Like a 14-in-1 tool."

"It's in pristine condition."

"The mobile phone isn't."

"Mum's been nagging me to get one."

"It's broken."

"Sold as seen, for spares or repair. It'll give me an opportunity to experiment with putting the circuit-board in the oven at gas-mark 6 for five minutes."

"You're a charity shopaholic, Jeffrey - you'll buy anything. What use is a book on weeds?"

"Vagabond plants, if you please, Susie," I corrected.

"I wandered lonely down our back garden
when all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden dandelions."

"And your pick of the throng,
Was the sweet flower, Susie Jones."

"See, it's already inspired us. I got a bargain."

"There's no disputing that, Jeffrey. But the book's a waste of money - you won't read it."

"Yes, I will," I insisted, zipping the volume into my floral backpack. "I identify with their rugged individualism. And after overenthusiastically performing my domestic duties as a Lolita, a renewed interest in the great outdoors of the back-garden will balance things up with mum."

"Hardly, Jeffrey - not when it has to compete with you playing the parlour-maid and soubretting 'I Enjoy Being a Girl' while deftly feather-dusting the delft."

"A momentary lapse, Susie - sometimes I just get Denised away. We'll need to act a little more tomboyish from now on."

"Starting with parading in your Aunt Connie's gorgeous frocks."

"I can't disappoint mum, but I have to be careful not to give her the wrong impression. That's why I decided to wear hot pants today, and not a ra-ra skirt."

"So what about last night's serving-wench encore? You were swishing and curtseying at every opportunity."

"Well, mum wasn't there, and I want to make the most of it when I'm dressed for the part."

"Next up - spiking the lawn with your high heels whilst twirling the parasol, I suppose."

"You'll see - Adam was a gardener, you know. And, anyhow," I asserted, "this volume will make a nice shelf companion to 'Food for Free'."

"Such as nuts and berries, Jeffrey."

"And roots, and leaves, and fungi. I haven't actually tried any of them, but it's always reassuring to know there's something to fall back on in case of a supply crisis."

"Like a fish, chips, and mushy peas shortage?"

"You can scoff, but a little country lore might prove a useful conversational gambit with a man of the hedgerows like Mr Bloggs - if we ever run him to earth."

"We will, Jeffrey. We're looking for a tramp under a haystack, not a needle in one."

"So have you the slightest idea in which direction we should proceed, Susie?"

"Not precisely, Jeffrey - but we have to start somewhere or we'll get nowhere. And when we do find Steve's informant, I won't be offering his grass weedy wisdom as an inducement to talk. I plan on greasing his undoubtedly already oily palm with a fiver."

"Mr Bloggs probably eschews all things material as a matter of principle, Susie."

"We'll be safe offering him a tenner, then."

"No, stick to a fiver ... and you may soon have the chance." I pointed up the road. "Guess who's hopped over that stile right on cue."

"He's a Gavin, if I ever saw one, and he's galumphing this way. Smile, Denise," Susie beamed, waving at the string-bean of a stranger bearing down on us. "We want to make the right first impression."

"Let's make sure we haven't got the wrong person for openers," I cautioned. "The newsagent didn't say anything about him being a weekend soldier."

"Hey there, you with the stripes on your arm," Susie called. "Are you who we think you are?"

"Hi, I'm Gavin - Gavin Chuff - that's Chuff with a double 'f'." The gangly youth, sporting a pair of patched-up glasses and a mish-mash of combat gear, raised his forage cap to us. "Do you know me?"

"Your reputation goes before you," Susie grinned.

"Really?" Gavin gawped.

"Like your shadow - only that's behind you at the moment. But we're still pleased to meet you both. I'm Susie and this is Denise. Have you time to spare from your military manoeuvres, Sergeant?"

"They're not actually military manoeuvres, and I'm not actually a sergeant," Gavin sheepishly admitted, giving us the three-fingered scout salute before standing at ease. "But I am president of the local Ufology Society, amongst other things."

"So we see," Susie gaped. "Gordon Benetton - if you're wearing that outfit for a bet, you've won."

"No, I really am Gavin Chuff, and this is my dawn patrol uniform. I'm a bit late this morning - I overslept - but I don't think I've missed any incidents of vital importance."

"You couldn't have with all that equipment you're carrying," I observed.

"My life may depend on it," Gavin declared, falling in alongside as we resumed our meandering. "You have to be prepared for any eventuality in the extra-terrestrial business."

"There's no disputing that," Susie agreed. "What's the divining rod for?"

"Seeking out Earth energy - I'm also a part-time paranormalist if it's cloudy. But when it's not, watching the skies is my number one priority. Knott End-on-Sea won't be taken by surprise." Gavin looked up and tripped over his camouflage trouser bottoms. "Ooops!"

"Mind how you go," I warned.

"I'm okay - it's one of the hazards of the job - that, and rabbit holes, and cowpats."

"You get out into the fields a lot, do you, Gavin?"

"I roam everywhere, Susie - it's a big area for one man to cover."

"You're the only member of the society, then."

"I've a colleague in the paranormal branch." Gavin lowered his voice. "It's all related, you know."

"Yes, you can't have the other without the other," Susie concurred.

"That's what I tell Gareth, but he still spends most nights indoors, swotting up on the supernatural, instead of coming out and dowsing for ley-lines."

"So he lets you do all the legwork."

"Gareth needs to think. He's a conspiracy theorist and an intellectual, Susie."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, his sister wears green nail-varnish and works in the library."

"You can't argue with that, Denise."

"I wouldn't want to, Susie - or anything else Gavin's disclosed."

"Gareth will be pleased to hear you're supportive of our cause. He moans about it being two seekers of the truth against a village of unbelievers."

"Gavin and Gareth," I mused. "It appears you fit so well together."

"We do - until I met Gareth, I'd nobody to share my Fruit and Nut with. I was always the odd one out."

"You could have fooled us," Susie winked.

"I'm not - the thing of it is ..." Gavin pulled on his ear, and his face flushed. "I felt like ... I don't know how to explain it ..."

"The crust on the sliced bread of life," I offered.

"That's right - always cast aside and the last to be chosen," Gavin blinked forlornly.

"Never mind, you found another crust waiting for you at the bottom," Susie smiled.

"And now we're brothers-in-arms against the doubters," Gavin brightened. "It's on the cards we'll amalgamate our resources under one big umbrella."

"That should be cosy."

"And it'll cut down on the administration. Although Gareth is pretty keen on that side of things - he keeps all our records in triplicate. I know it's important, but I wish he'd spend more time in the field with me."

"Perhaps he isn't too enthusiastic about the uniform," I hinted.

"No, Gareth rather approves of that on the quiet, but he has to be careful not to upset his sister. She's a pacifist vegan on account of her sinus trouble."

"Ah, we understand," Susie nodded. "Sniffy, peace-loving, macrobiotic librarians are fearsome creatures."

"And she's also a cultural snob," Gavin griped. "She sneers at my enthusiasm for Heinlein."

"Too carnivorous and militaristic, is he?" I wondered.

"I suppose so, but that's no reason for Gareth to take her side. I nearly fell out with him for laughing at me for crying over the climax of 'Podkayne of Mars'."

"The heartless beast," I sympathised. "It's no joke being blown up by a nuclear bomb."

"Neither is drawing a moustache and specs on the front cover. Gareth said it was a protest against the exploitation of semi-naked women - but she was only dressed like you, Denise."

"I'm shocked at the narrow-mindedness of a fellow scientist," I pouted. "How about you, Susie?"

"I'm appalled at the brother of a librarian defacing a book. I hope you severely reprimanded the blighter, Gavin."

"Not exactly - but I didn't let Gareth get away with it."

"I should think so," Susie nodded. "What did you do?"

"I bought another copy featuring an even more artistic portrayal of Poddy - provocative, but very tasteful. Denise could have posed for it."

"Thank you," I blushed, fastening a stray button as Gavin's eyes furtively darted over my mini-binoculars.

"Your field-glasses are nice and portable, Denise, but wouldn't you rather have a big pair of 12x60s, with fully-bloomed optics, like mine?"

"No, these suit me fine, Gavin," I smiled. "I already have 20/10 vision."

"Is that good?"

"Denise is so sharp-eyed she could be a TIE fighter ace," Susie grinned.

"I wish I was," Gavin sighed, fingering his thick horn-rims. "I'm short-sighted - but Gareth isn't. Although he's brainier than me and reads a lot more than I do."

"Well, remind the puritan professor not to judge a book by its cover," I frowned.

"I will - and guess what, Denise - in the revised edition, Poddy doesn't die at the end."

"You obviously weren't the only one to get upset by an author playing God, Gavin."

"That's right Denise, so the laugh's on Gareth, but he doesn't know it yet. Just wait until I deliver my withering riposte."

"Good on you," Susie cheered. "But apart from those minor literary differences, you're soul-mates, are you?"

"Yes, we've doubled up on a tandem and in a sleeping bag - head to foot, of course."

"Don't psychoanalyse them, Susie," I murmured. "We've heard enough."

"That's okay - it was in the Cubs. Akela paired us off, and we've been close ever since, like David and Jonathan. What's more, by a weird coincidence Gareth has two 'b's to go with my two 'f's."

"Where are Gareth's two bees - in his bonnet?" Susie grinned.

"No, in his last name - he's a Chubb to my Chuff. And it doesn't stop there - we have other things in common."

"So, it's chumms all round with a double 'm'," Susie chuckled.

"Yes, we play badminton and table-tennis together," Gavin enthused. "We were the highest finishing guests in the Young Farmers' league mixed doubles. They were in a bit of a fix because they had an uneven number."

"You're two up on us there, but we're aces at hockey and rugby, aren't we, Denise?"

"We can trip with both feet, Susie."

"Me too - Gareth enrolled us in the morris dancing society when he saw their new costumes." Gavin pirouetted in an attempt to demonstrate a Flying Arkwright. "Ooooooooooppps!"

"Keep them knees stylish, or you'll do yourself an injury," Susie warned, as we skipped aside, giving Gavin a clear run to land on his bottom.

"Ooooowwwww!"

"Are you okay?"

"Sorry, I'm a bit handicapped by my tackle," Gavin apologised, springing up out of the gutter. "But you get the picture."

"In spades," Susie laughed. "By the way, what do you carry one for?"

"Digging an emergency foxhole - and other personal requirements."

"Don't ask, Susie," I whispered.

"Pardon." Gavin adjusted his glasses. "I didn't quite catch that, Denise."

"I was wondering how you kept up with the news of visitors from other worlds. Do you google it?"

"Twice a day - and I subscribe to UFO International Monthly - that's the authoritative source."

"Does Knott End gets much of a mention?"

"None at all, Denise - so it's down to me to raise its profile as a local hotspot."

"A task which would daunt lesser men. But by all accounts, you're one in a million," Susie smiled.

"Gareth says I've the nose for the job. In fact, it's a king amongst conks when it comes to detecting aliens," Gavin boasted, sniffing the air with his bony proboscis.

"It's an orific work of art," Susie agreed.

"But it has misled me on occasions - I've had some hair-raising encounters."

"What with - aroused beasts of the field?"

"Occasionally, but mostly with courting couples."

"Same difference," Susie allowed.

"I suppose so," Gavin giggled. "And introducing myself as a leading member of the local parapsychology and UFO societies doesn't cut much ice with either lot ... especially when I'm wearing my balaclava."

"Never mind, a prophet's always without honour in his own country," I consoled.

"But don't get the idea I haven't had my successes," Gavin asserted. "I've seen plenty of lights in the sky."

"We all have," Susie twinkled. "They're stars."

"That's not a mistake I would make," Gavin insisted. "I've got the constellations on my bedroom ceiling, and I'm saving up for one of those computerised telescopes."

"We're sorry we doubted your credentials," I apologised. "You obviously know your stuff."

"And important folk recognise the fact - I've been consulted by the local radio more than once for an opinion on strange sightings. Have you heard my interviews?"

"Not lately," I confessed. "Contrary to appearances to the Poddy, I've been busy revisiting Proust."

"Well, keep tuned in - I've a promise of a regular slot in future when the clairvoyant can't get in due to unforeseen circumstances."

"Actually, Gavin, as fate would have it, ours isn't just a casual meeting," Susie divulged. "We're reporters looking to pick your brains."

"What for - the school magazine?"

"No, the Shoreham Gazette," Susie huffed. "We're working on a story with Steve Spooner, under the supervision of the renowned Barry Horrocks."

"Hey, I've heard that name before."

"I'm not surprised - Mr Horrocks is a legend in his own lunchtime."

"I meant the Spooner chap. Old Billy Bloggs showed me a tenner he got from him."

"That confirms it, Denise - Mr Bloggs is the man we need to question."

"Confirms what?" Gavin puzzled. "I hope Billy didn't steal the money."

"No, it was a reward for information received, and since following up the lead, Steve's mysteriously disappeared," Susie confided. "In ufologist speak - he's vanished off the face of the Earth."

"By Roswell!" Gavin exclaimed. "An alien abduction! My nose knew something strange had blown up. It detected a whiff of cordite and slurry in the air from the East."

"Calm down," I appealed. "Steve Spooner's investigation is concerned with beings a lot less remote and much more primitive."

"You mean ..."

"Yes, your recently deceased squire and his acolytes."

"Acolytes?"

"Don't confuse him, Denise - call a coven a coven."

"A coven?"

"A satanic ring - you must have heard the gossip, Gavin."

"People are saying nothing, Susie, especially now the police are involved. The squire met with an inexplicable fatal accident, you know."

"Hey - one of those can kill you."

"And there's talk of skeletons and mummified bodies being discovered at the hall, Susie. That would put the case categorically under Gareth's jurisdiction."

"Never mind Gareth - have you any idea what goes on around here at the dead of night?"

"I've listened to Billy Bloggs' folk tales and his stories of seeing weird apparitions."

"Weird apparitions - they sound promising," Susie encouraged.

"Not really, despite what Gareth says, all I've found in the morning are scarecrows and Chinese lanterns."

"There must be more to it this time because after Steve talked to Mr Bloggs, he told us he had a hot new lead on the squire's crimes."

"And then he went missing?" Gavin gulped, and shot an anxious glance over his shoulder.

"Yes, so what could your friend, Mr Bloggs, have told him?" Susie prompted.

"Anything that took his fancy - and Billy's not really my friend."

"But you know where to find him."

"Sort of."

"You don't sound very 'to boldly go' all of a sudden," Susie frowned. "What's changed your tune?"

"Gareth's expecting me, and I'm already late for our daily debriefing. I'd better run - he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Help us," Susie urged, "and then you really will have something to report."

"I don't want to encroach on Gareth's territory."

"What's the matter, Gavin? I thought you were the intrepid ears, eyes, and legs of the team," Susie chided.

"If there really is a coven, I might disappear as well," Gavin wavered. "You say Mr Spooner's vanished, and I haven't seen Billy Bloggs for a couple of days. It could all be part of a plot to eliminate those who know too much."

"Don't worry - we'll look after you, won't we, Denise?"

"Yes, he'll be as safe as your uncle's house with us, Susie."

"And you can't say fairer than that. Right, Gavin, are we ready for the off?"

"Wait - what did Denise mean just now about your uncle's house?"

"Uncle Frank lives in a castle - between two banks - in Switzerland."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. And to prove it - we've got you a present. Give Gavin the Swiss army knife that we brought back from our skiing holiday, Denise."

"But what if I get a stone in my little pony's hoof, Susie?"

"It'll have to limp - finding Steve Spooner takes precedence."

"Okay," I sighed, offering up the 14-in-1 tool. "Here, Gavin - take good care of it - it's a limited edition for sergeants and above only."

Gavin hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, it'll hang nicely from the spare clip on your belt. And you'll have more use for it than me - I haven't got a little pony, only a tubby teddy."

"Thanks, Denise, it was my birthday last week, and I've been wanting one of these to go with Gareth's Austrian navy sewing kit."

"And by accepting our favour, we've hired you as a personal paladin for the rest of the morning," Susie decreed. "Fair exchange, Gavin?"

"I suppose there's no harm in my showing you where Mr Bloggs is camping. But keep your eyes peeled for suspicious characters along the way."

"Denise has elevated her 20/10 vision to a state of maximum perception," Susie reassured. "Now, off you march - and we'll be right behind, protecting your flanks from any hostiles."

"Just a minute." Gavin raised his glasses, and inspected the cutting-edge addition to his inventory. "Hey, this isn't from Switzerland - it says 'Made in China' on the handle."

"But the blade's genuine Damascus steel," I indicated. "That's what those funny foreign squiggles denote."

"Denise is a cosplay buff - you can trust her in all things Oriental, Gavin. You've got a real bargain there, so no more havering, and lead on MacChuff."

 

 

Chapter 155

"We lost our way with a starship trooper.
Hand in hand, we're drifting through space."

"I'm beginning to have my doubts about Gavin's navigational skills, Susie," I whispered, after we'd dropped behind our guide to have a private word. "He's using a compass, and we haven't left the main road yet."

"I fear our Sergeant Chuff may be lacking the right stuff, Jeffrey. He's definitely dragging his army boots."

"To a standstill - he's marking time."

Gavin turned and indicated the upcoming bus-stop. "Do you mind if we make temporary camp there? I'm due my elevenses, and it's important I maintain peak energy levels so I'm always fully alert."

Susie consulted the dial of her Barbie watch on my wrist. "Not yet -it's only ten."

"When I'm on active service, I synchronise to GMT."

"Then it's still only nine."

"Are you sure? I use the 24-hour clock." Gavin thrust out his arm. "That dinky little pink thing suits Denise, but this is a brushed-steel, fake Rolex Oyster. It's twenty hundred hours in Tokyo, and I'm hungry - my stomach's rumbling."

"Hold up your hand, Denise." I obliged, and Susie put her ear to Barbie. "Ah-so, it's raining cats and dogs in Osaka. You'd better sit down and tuck in before the divine wind arrives, Sergeant."

"Roger - copy." Gavin lolloped over to the bus shelter, removed a towel from his pack, and brushed off the bench. "You'd be surprised what folk use these for when they think no one's around."

"Your attention to basic hygiene whilst in the field does you credit," I approved.

"I follow all the correct military procedures, even down to the packing of my lunch-box."

"We'll take your word for it," Susie grinned.

"You won't have to - here's the proof of the pudding." Gavin extracted a container, decorated with sticky-back plastic, from a hidden recess in his trousers and removed the lid. "Just a tick."

We gazed in awe as Gavin took out the contents and unwrapped several layers of kitchen foil and greaseproof paper. "He must have learned a few survival hints from Blue Peter, Denise."

"They're obviously all-weather refreshments, Susie."

"Spot-on - don't tell anyone, but these are what the SAS use for emergency rations," Gavin confided.

"Put muscles on your spit, do they?"

"I don't know about that, Susie, but they make my mouth water," Gavin drooled, as all was revealed. "Do you fancy a Jaffa Cake?"

"Not when you're on duty."

"How about you, Denise? They're lovely and remind me of flying saucers."

"No, thanks," I demurred. "They may be VAT-free, but they're too rich for my taste."

"You should eat them slowly and savour every morsel." Gavin stuck out his little finger and began delicately nibbling at the chocolate. "I work through the layers one by one."

Susie raised an eyebrow at his effort. "That's the SAS technique for when they're on royal duty at the Queen's garden party, is it?"

"The SAS are always prepared to adapt to any situation - like me. I can bolt my food when circumstances demand." Gavin abandoned his gourmandising and took a giant bite. "Thee ..."

"That's right, don't mind us - we won't take offence if our fearless zombie hunter talks with his mouth full and splutters a bit."

"Thombies, Thuthie!" Gavin gagged, expelling half of his Jaffa Cake. "Nobody mentioned zombies."

"You mean with all your paraphernalia you aren't equipped to dispatch the living dead."

"No, I'm ruddy not ... and neither is Gareth."

"That's a bit of a let-down, Denise."

"Not if we only have to deal with the dead dead, Susie."

"Hey, what's going on?" Gavin demanded. "You never mentioned anyone being dead. Who are you really after?"

"Billy Bloggs - and you were supposed to be taking us directly to his last-known haystack, not stopping for a picnic every five minutes," Susie complained.

"I'm doing my best, but the more I hear, the more I suspect you aren't telling me everything."

"Only because we won't know everything until we talk to Billy Bloggs."

"But what if the rumours are true, Susie, and there is a gang of devil-worshippers on the loose?" Gavin gawped. "Gareth did see something with a horrible pair of staring eyes and big ears, swaying at the window one dark and stormy night last week."

"Rationally explain that to Gavin, Denise."

"It could have been the Scronkey wonky donkey, you talked the hind-leg off, Susie. Then again, it could have been his own reflection."

"That's what I said, but Gareth crossed his heart and hoped to die."

"Chin up - there's no bad moon rising now. It's broad daylight, and we're waiting at a remote bus-stop, surrounded by open fields. So we're definitely not in any immediate danger, are we, Denise?"

"There's nary a crop-duster in sight to spray us with bullets, Susie."

"Crop-duster! Bullets!" Gavin looked around in alarm. "What else are you hiding?"

"Nothing - it's just Denise's little joke. She's a closet Hitchcock fan."

"Ah, I get it - 'Psycho'! Gareth was keen on that - and 'The Birds' ... until a seagull dive-bombed him in the back-garden. It pecked his ear, and he couldn't sleep for a month after."

"Gave him nightfowls, did it?" Susie grinned.

"And a phobia about pigeons," Gavin chuckled. "He won't go near them now. Which is peculiar - because they're nothing like seagulls."

"It's what we psychologists term transference."

"Gareth would be interested in that, Susie. He claims he can read my mind."

"And I can read folk like a book. And the lines on your furrowed brow tell me you've been deliberately dilly-dallying on our way."

"No, I haven't," Gavin protested. "I just wanted to take stock before we leave the road. That's Parrox Hall over behind the trees - the house of ill-repute."

"We know," Susie frowned. "We once had a guided tour of the late, unlamented squire's place."

"Billy will be more than glad to see the back of him and his crossbow. Some landowners are quick to take the law into their own hands when it comes to public footpaths."

"The squire's slings and arrows can't hurt us now, so up you get, Sergeant." Susie pulled Gavin to his feet. "After three Jaffa cakes and with a pair of loyal lieutenants in tow, you should be prepared for anything the enemy can throw at you."

"I am." Gavin repacked himself, sniffed the air, and waved us forward. "Follow me - Billy's through that gate and across the field."

"We should have brought our wellies, Susie," I grimaced, on surveying the route. "It's cowpat alley in there."

"Don't dismay, Denise - when the going gets tricky, the tricky get going."

"I love it when you quote Nietzsche, Susie."

"Then eyes down, knees up, Supergirl, and let's all yomp together."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Perhaps the SAS really do survive on Jaffa cakes, Susie," I muttered, as we quick marched in Gavin's wake.

"Our reluctant hero's found his first wind from somewhere, Jeffrey. And about time, too - we've been getting nowhere fast all morning."

"My ears are burning," Gavin called out. "Are you talking about me?"

"We were just saying, we've got ourselves a regular Hawkeye for a scout," I fibbed.

"And you're doubly safe with me, because I'm not only pathfinding, I'm scanning the horizon for any hostile activity at the same time."

"Is there no end to the boy's versatility, Denise? He'll be dancing on ice next."

"You ain't seen nothing yet - watch this." Gavin hunched his shoulders and pulled the peak of his cap down over his face. "I can prance like an ostrich."

"He's not joking, Susie," I gawked, as Sergeant Chuff proceeded to demonstrate his party piece, goose-stepping around in ever increasing circles, with bottom stuck out and arms akimbo. "The Big Bird resemblance is uncanny."

"Hell, Denise, all he needs is some plumes stuck up his backside, and we could be on safari in the Serengeti."

"With Daffy Duck."

"Shush - don't ruffle his feathers. You'll hurt his feelings."

"Good, isn't it?" Gavin squawked.

"Excellent," I approved.

"You're not the only ones to be impressed - Gareth's always wanting me to do my ostrich to his emu."

"Struthio - that must be a sight to behold," Susie whistled.

"It is - and so is my big finish."

"Careful," I warned. "Don't bury your beak in a cowpat."

"I won't - this is the culmination of the mating dance. Whooooooooooo!" With an ear-splitting yell, Gavin leapt two feet in the air, and came to a panting halt. "Ooooooeeer!"

"Are you okay?" I asked. "You don't look it."

"I'm fine - just a bit dizzy. I'll be as right as rain once the world stops spinning."

"Oh, on guard, Denise, Gavin's putting his cap back to front. The excitement's gone to our ufologist's head. He's preparing to kiss Poddy, his out-of-this-world cover-girl made flesh."

"No, I'm not," Gavin spluttered. "I'm assuming my man-in-black persona for our meeting with Billy Bloggs. Get a load of my next instant transformation." Gavin carefully removed his sticky-taped horn-rims, and replaced them with a pair of designer sunglasses. "How's that for cool?"

"I'd swear you were someone slightly famous," I marvelled.

"Terrific, aren't they?" Gavin smirked, turning his head to reveal another piece of Elastoplast wound round the left arm of his replacement shades. "I got them at the Lifeboat Sunday bring-and-buy sale."

"You'd be fashion icon," Susie smiled, "if you had a legionnaire cut and your London britches didn't keep falling down."

Gavin blushed and hitched up his camouflage trousers. "Sorry about that - they're weighed down with my vital equipment."

"You could leave some of the more bulky stuff at home," I suggested.

"No, that would leave me fatally exposed, and then I might really get caught with my pants down."

"But why do you need to lug a great big spotlight around in the middle of the day?" I queried.

"It's to dazzle any Martians I might meet."

"Blimey, really?" Susie goggled.

"This is classified information," Gavin whispered, "so keep it to yourselves. Their third eye is hypersensitive to a beam of high intensity photons."

"And are there many in the neighbourhood?" Susie probed.

"Droves of them - if you don't believe me, ask Mr Horrobin."

"Who's that?"

"The vicar - he's the one who identified them when I told him about their antennae."

"What did I say, Denise - we'll have to interview the good reverend, anon."

"Don't let Mr Horrobin know I sent you," Gavin warned. "I'm sworn to secrecy. In his position, he has to keep his extra-terrestrial interests hush-hush."

"We're investigative journalists - we never betray our sources," Susie assured. "We've also a deadline to meet, so I hope you're not leading us on a wild ostrich chase."

"What do you mean?"

"I've scanned the horizon as well, and I can't see a straw in the wind of Billy Bloggs' haystack."

"That's because he lives in a tent."

"Then why didn't you say so before, instead of letting me rabbit on about haystacks."

"I thought it was just your way of talking. It didn't seem important."

"Is there anything else unimportant you haven't told us about Mr Bloggs' domestic arrangements?" Susie huffed.

"Only that Billy's moved into a brand-new bivouac with all the modern conveniences."

"Where did he get that from?"

"I didn't like to ask. If people leave things lying around, Billy tends to pick them up. Or perhaps he wangled more money from your Steve Spooner than he let on."

"We'll soon find out once we have the chance to question him," Susie asserted. "How much further is it?"

"Across the next field, in the shelter of that copse."

"What are you grinning at, Denise?"

"Tents, tramps, and copses - and we're three on a hike together. There's something almost Famous Fiveish about this, Susie. I wonder if Mr Bloggs will extend a welcome by brewing up some hot chocolate in his billy-can."

"That sounds fine, Denise - providing he hasn't got a big, shaggy mongrel for a pet. One of them woofing over to greet us would really make our day."

 

 

Chapter 156

"We should never have doubted Gavin's sense of direction, Susie," I smiled, on espying a green dome nestling beneath the overhanging bushes. "We've nearly reached our objective."

"But there's no sign of life, Denise. After hiking all this way, I just hope Mr Bloggs is at home having a long lie-in."

"He will be," Gavin assured. "Billy has night-time appointments - if you know what I mean."

"He steals stuff."

"Only from those who have more than he has, Susie."

"Mr Bloggs should be spoilt for choice, then."

"But Billy never overdoes it - he visits again later when the need arises."

"It seems he's the ideal man to ask what everyone's getting up to under the cover of darkness, Denise."

"You'd best not mention the burglary aspect, though, Susie. He may prove a little sensitive about that."

"I won't embarrass the man, Denise. I shall refer to such activities as his nocturnal missions."

"You'd better wait here." Gavin halted ten yards from the tramp's newly-acquired home. "Billy likes folk to respect his privacy."

"Then trespass up there, Gavin, and let the king in his castle know he has visitors bearing fivers."

"Okay, Susie, and when you join us, don't mention the fragrance."

"We'll diplomatically hold our tongues and not our noses," Susie promised. "Now, proclaim our presence - we haven't all day."

"That's funny," I remarked, as Gavin negotiated the rise to the entrance of Billy's bivouac.

"What is, Jeffrey?"

"A rabbit just ran out of the tent."

"Bugger, if he's gone a-roaming."

"He can't have wandered far - his boots are neatly lined-up, muddily present and correct. Plus," I sniffed, "there's a composty smell drifting down."

"Gavin's highly sensitive proboscis doesn't seem to have noticed. What's he doing?"

"Give him a shout."

"Is Mr Bloggs ready to receive guests?" Susie called.

"Just a minute - he's nodded off after his meal." Agent Chuff exchanged his sunglasses for his horn-rims, leant into the tent, and tapped the tramp's shoulder. "Wake up, Billy - it's me, Gavin - wake up."

"The old boy appears to be sleeping soundly, Jeffrey. I wonder if he's had a snootful."

"Let's hope it's only an excess of country air."

"Blow reveille, Sergeant," Susie ordered.

Gavin crouched down and gave Billy a shake. "Come on - rise and shine."

"He's still getting no response, Jeffrey."

"I've a bad feeling about this," I muttered.

"Wake up, Billy." Gavin shook harder. "Wake up!"

"Oh, watch out!" I cried.

"Aaaaawwwww!" Gavin shrieked, stumbling backward, as Billy's body pitched forward and pursued him down the slope. "Heeeeeeeeeelllllppp!"

"Oh, there they go, Jeffrey - a pair of rolling stones gathering on the Moss."

"Not anymore - Mr Bloggs has come out on top."

"Get off!" Gavin screamed, through the undergrowth of Billy's unkempt beard. "I can't breathe."

"To the rescue, Jeffrey, before we have two corpses in the coppice on our hands."

We rushed over, grabbed a three-striped arm each, and pulled the Chuff out from under the human scarecrow. "You're okay now, Sergeant," I comforted him.

"What's the matter with Billy?" Gavin gasped, as he sat panting on the grass. "I couldn't wake the old boy up."

"Brace yourself for a shock, Gavin. Mr Bloggs has popped his clogs," Susie announced. "He's deceased from head to toe."

"Are you sure?" Gavin blenched, and risked a peek at the nearest part of Billy's anatomy. "His feet seem healthy enough."

"Those are a dead man's turned-up tootsies," Susie maintained. "It's irrefootable. And he looks like death cooled down this end - didn't you notice?"

"Billy can't be completely dead," Gavin objected. "When he was on top of me, something still felt very much alive."

"Probably rigor mortis setting in. Trust me - my uncle's a top undertaker, so I can guarantee Mr Bloggs is long gone. He's as stiff as a board."

"Uuuurrgghh!"

"What's the matter, Gavin? You looked distinctly dischuffed."

"That means I've touched a corpse, Susie, and it was all clammy."

"Touched it - you almost had conjugal relations with the beggar."

"Aaaaawww - I knew it!" Gavin wailed, and promptly expelled his elevenses. "Oh, God!"

"Are you having a funny turn?" I enquired, as a look of horror swept across Gavin's face.

"Yes - Billy poked me with his big thingy."

"Don't be daft," Susie scoffed. "Mr Bloggs couldn't even raise a little finger - unless he's become a zombie."

"Aaaahhh! I kissed the living dead ... Oooooeerrr ..." Gavin's eyes rolled up into his head, and he fainted clean away.

"So much for the SAS diet," Susie snorted, after we'd put Gavin into the recovery position. "The first scent of bad breath and our hero goes awol. Perhaps he should try switching to Jammie Dodgers."

"One thing about Jaffa Cakes, though," I mused, stepping over the pool of chocalately orange blancmange. "They come up looking almost the same as they went down."

"Leave the whimsying until later, Jeffrey - we've work to do."

"We're not burying a second deceased, are we, Susie? We'll need a much bigger hole than for Joey."

"You know what I mean, Jeffrey. Mr Bloggs' unexpected departure lends more support to my theory. Come on, let's see if the coven left any clues as to how they perpetrated the dastardly deed."

"There are no signs of violence - let's not rush to judgement," I cautioned, as we examined the prostrate body. "Maybe it's just a coincidence, and he died a natural death."

"From fright - when something unearthly appeared out of the woods."

"You're spectrelating, Susie."

"You won't say that if we find someone passed Mr Bloggs the runes and a demon paid him a visit."

"Yes, I will - that's ridiculous. You and your runes - once you get an idea in your head."

"You can't deny the squire practised weird black magic, Jeffrey, so some sort of curses are bound to be involved."

"It's more likely Mr Bloggs was killed by a stray meteorite."

"Let's have a look, then." Susie bent down and turned over the corpse. "Don't tell me that's natural, Jeffrey."

"Who knows what he was thinking about in his last moments," I blinked, as we stared at the big bulge in the tramp's pants.

"They must have overdosed the poor old beggar on an aphrodisiac concocted from ram's horn and eye of newt."

"You've not only got the wrong end of the stick, you've got the wrong stick, Susie," I scoffed, as a shaft of light suddenly illuminated Mr Bloggs' nether regions. "There's a torch down his trousers, and it must have been set on flash in the commotion."

"Well, that's a bit of good news for Gavin when he comes round. Now the question is, Jeffrey - should we turn it off to save the battery?"

"Never disturb the victim, Susie - isn't that the number one rule in crime scene investigation?"

"You're correct regarding matters of procedure as always, Jeffrey. We'll leave him flashing in peace and have a root through his tent."

"The same applies to surrounding evidence, Susie. We should touch nothing. In fact, I'd rather we didn't even look. Let's disappear over the hill and far away while we have the chance."

"Don't worry, we're going to dump this discovery on Gavin. Getting involved with the police will only hinder our efforts."

"But it might help Steve Spooner if he really is in danger. Shouldn't rescuing the living be our prime concern?" I argued, on following Susie up the bank.

"It could already be too late, but Gavin can tell the cops Steve went missing after Billy Bloggs shared a mysterious secret with him."

"That's a bit vague."

"We might have a further clue to Steve's disappearance under our very noses." Susie drew back the flap of the tent and peered inside. "So let's get scrutinising."

"There's no evidence of foul play," I concluded, after we'd made a quick inspection of the tramp's last resting place. "Which means the police will probably think Mr Bloggs just led Steve on for the sake of a tenner."

"That's okay by us, Jeffrey - we don't want the law interfering, anyway."

"Perhaps there's nothing for them to interfere in Susie."

"You shouldn't give up so easily, Jeffrey."

"All we've learnt is Mr Bloggs probably enjoyed a tin of mushroom soup for his supper, Susie."

"Someone could have slipped a toadstool into his billy-can, Jeffrey. It's exactly the sort of mischief witches are well spelled in."

"Oooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeer!"

"That unearthly cry is Gavin returning to duty, Susie, not a banshee."

"Then let's go and give Sergeant Chuff his new orders."

"Ooooooohhhh, where am I?" Gavin moaned, as we approached the pair of bodies.

"Back amongst the living, we hope," Susie smiled, helping him sit up.

"What happened?"

"Billy Bloggs gave you a nasty surprise."

"Oh, keep the corpse away!" Gavin sprang to his feet like an ostrich possessed. "I don't want to be a necrophiliac."

"Calm down, Gavin - your virtue's still intact."

"Are you sure, Susie? I remember now - we had a coming together, and the whole world lit up for me."

"That's right - you mutually flashlighted each other," I explained. "Your torches clashed, and Mr Bloggs' got turned on. Look over there."

Gavin put his hands up to his eyes and squinted through his fingers at Billy's illuminating pants. "Oh, what a relief! I thought I'd excited him. I don't know how I could have broken the news to Gareth."

"Why would you want to tell him anything about it?" I queried.

"Because I have to make an official record of every encounter that occurs on patrol." Gavin pulled out a filofax from one of his many pockets, readied a biro, and then hesitated. "What time is it, Denise? My watch has stopped."

"Barbie says it's 10:37 precisely. But when you make your report on Mr Bloggs, leave her, and Susie and Denise out of it. I have a notion Gareth will find that version of events less disconcerting."

Gavin sucked on his pen and considered the proposition. "You're right - it'll be easier all round if I just put down the essentials. Gareth doesn't need to know every minor detail."

"And neither do the authorities," Susie emphasised. "We're supposed to be undercover reporters, so you stay here and ring the police while we make ourselves scarce."

"No way, Susie," Gavin yelped. "I'm going with you. I'm not hanging about next to a dead body."

"You'll be okay - it can't hurt you."

"No, but the boggarts might."

"What boggarts?"

"The ones Billy told me he had to hide in a ditch from. Perhaps they finally got him - and I could be their next target."

"No, you couldn't. Boggarts are like Martians - they shun the daylight."

"How do you know?"

"Denise has read a book on them, and she assures me boggarts are definitely creatures of the night."

"But it's dark in the wood," Gavin shuddered. "Whatever killed Billy might still be lurking in there, waiting for its next victim."

"You're being silly," I chided. "Mr Bloggs was an old man with an unhealthy lifestyle. It looks for all the world as if he had a heart attack or a stroke."

"But what about the others? The squire's accident - and the same day a bull ran itself into the ground. How do you explain those strange deaths, Denise?"

"Obviously, they were dispatched by a pair of marauding black panthers. Two cool cats who then vanished into thin air. Isn't that right?" I smiled at Susie.

"Stop your teasing, Denise. Gavin's a country boy - he doesn't believe in urban myths."

"Yes, I do. I'm sure something is watching us right now with its evil, yellow eyes," Gavin trembled. "I wouldn't want to stay here by myself - if you know what I mean."

"We understand, don't we, Susie."

"Exactly, Denise."

"Not that I'm really scared, but it isn't everyday one encounters a dead body."

"Speak for yourself."

"What do you mean, Susie?"

"Just that when you've an uncle who's an undertaker, this is nothing out of the ordinary."

"It is to me. I'm shivering with shock. I could do with a hot Ribena."

"Okay," Susie conceded, "you can come with us and report Mr Bloggs' passing, in person, at the police station. They'll probably reward you with a cup of cocoa and a sticky doughnut."

"Yes, that's best." Gavin was already striding back across the field before Susie had finished.

"Come on, Denise, or we'll be left holding the hobo."

"Anyhow, PC Cork always ignores my phone calls," Gavin complained, when we fell in step alongside. "I think he's envious of these sergeant's stripes. He's never once come out to investigate a sighting of strange lights in the sky."

"Then this is your chance to show him you're not the boy who cries Martian," I encouraged. "You can take all the credit for being a public-spirited citizen if you don't mention me and Susie."

"I suppose being the sole finder of a body would enhance my reputation somewhat," Gavin reflected.

"A lotwhat - and a man endeavouring to keep Knott End safe from aliens needs to have the trust of those in high places, doesn't he, Susie?"

"Definitely, Denise."

"The authorities have pooh-poohed my efforts up to now, but things will be different after this. I can apply to be a special constable again."

"They'll fast-track you if they've any sense," Susie declared. "Just keep our names out of it. Denise is only fourteen, and she's supposed to be at her piano lessons."

"That's a coincidence - Gareth practises the flute Saturday mornings. His mother's keen on him following in her footsteps and joining the marching band, but I don't think his heart's in it. It's like my dad wanting me to play for Accrington Stanley."

"Parents - what would you do with 'em?" Susie laughed. "Ours are hoping we'll be the first girls in the family to open their own nail bar."

"Or even a chain of ironmongers," I smiled. "That's how ambitious they are for us, Gavin."

"And you can do both. I was impressed with how you coped with the situation back there."

"Thank you very much, kind sir," Susie bowed.

"In fact, you can join our club if you like."

"Which one's that?" Susie grinned.

"Either of them - we have honorary girl members - but only two so far."

"That's already a nice balance - four's company, six will be a crowd."

"Jackie and Jill haven't been back since the first meeting - and they both had crew-cuts. Won't you consider it?" Gavin appealed.

"How about joining a club that will have us as members, Denise?"

"I'll have to check with my mum, Susie - she's keeping a tight rein on me lately."

"Show her these." Gavin dug out two leaflets from an inside pocket. "They're for the Preesall Institute for the Paranormal and the Pilling United Ufologists - the PIP and the PUU."

"On first thoughts, they don't sound right for us, do they, Denise?"

"No, but we appreciate the offer."

"Then you could be open to persuasion?"

"Not now, Gavin - this is the parting of our ways." Under his attentive eye, I vaulted over the stile onto the roadside verge. "It's time for you to report Mr Bloggs' changed circumstances to the authorities - just remember to forget all about us."

"And don't mention boggarts or witches, either," Susie warned. "You never know who's listening."

"PC Cork, I hope."

"Guard your words, even with him, Gavin. You can't trust a soul. The constable might wear a different helmet off-duty."

"You mean he could be one of them, Susie?"

"Well, he ain't one of us, is he, Denise?"

"He might not even be of this Earth, Susie."

"And neither are Gareth and I sometimes," Gavin chortled, giving me the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Poddy."

"Na-noo, na-noo," I nodded.

"May the farce be with you," Susie waved.

"Whooo-whooo!" Gavin whistled, as he disappeared round the bend on the road to Knott End. "Whooo-whooo!"

"Now he's a choo-choo train, Jeffrey."

"It takes all sorts, Susie," I smiled. "I'm sure Gavin will get on famously with any aliens he stumbles across."

"I'll give our Martian manhunter the benefit of the doubt, Jeffrey, and classify his life-form as basically harmless, but slightly eccentric."

"And he tried his best for us, although it led to a dead-end. So, where next, Susie?"

"Preesall church, Jeffrey - it's not far from here. You can see the spire poking up above the trees."

"All right, but when we get there, I'd rather wait outside, Susie. My last religious experience left me crying in the chapel."

"Really, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, Susie - some mad fool kept splashing water all over my head."

"This isn't the time or place for Dinky Dooery, Jeffrey." Susie grabbed my bottom and steered me down the road. "Put on your little Miss Thoughtful cap, and let's pay the vicar a surprise visit."

"Okay, but it may get us nowhere if Mr Horrobin's a true believer in aliens like Gavin."

"Martians with antennae or Satanists with horns? We'll soon find out if the vicar's concealing any other secrets in his canonicals. Come on - sing as we skip."

"Meet me on the steps of the village church.
I kissed you on the boat,
But that was so long ago ..."

 

 

Chapter 157

"We're knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door,
Knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door."

"Halloo! Halloo!"

"There's still no one answering, Susie," I muttered, as we changed our tune and beat out 'O Come All Ye Faithful' on the solid brass, fox-head knocker of the ancient vicarage. "Perhaps the good man doesn't work Saturdays."

"Don't despair, Jeffrey - the sign outside the church definitely said 'God Is Always In'."

"And I did see the curtains moving in a mysterious way. It could be the vicar fears we're junior Jehovah's Witnesses."

"Or trainee TV licence inspectors. Keep knock, knock, knocking on Heaven's door, Jeffrey - I've an idea," Susie grinned, retreating to the carefully tended vegetable patch and breaking off a monstrous stalk of broccoli. "This should do the trick."

"We won't receive much of a treat for taking liberties with a very reverend's lovingly cultivated brassicas."

"Just you wait and see," Susie smirked, bounding back up the steps. "Say 'Hello' to the thing from another world, Jeffrey."

"Aw, don't do that, Susie."

"It's a poor substitute for a triffid, Jeffrey, but this might put the wind up his holy cassock." Susie thrust the knobbly tentacle through the letterbox. "Come out, Earthman! The Martians are invading your privacy."

"Waving that about will be like a green rag to a papal bull, Susie."

"Then we'd better have some music to soothe the savage beast. Join in, Jeffrey."

"The Martians have landed in Preesall,
And they're wearing flat caps on their domes,
And they've paid all their subs to the working-men's clubs,
Because Preesall reminds them of home."

"That's enough, Susie - stand back, I hear the stomp of angry hooves."

"Who's out there!" The mock alien appendage was snatched inside, the door swung open, and we were greeted by a muscular Christian brandishing a broccoli spear. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Good morning, vicar," Susie beamed. "Mr Horrobin, I presume."

"Ah, girls - you're not what I expected." The vicar composed himself and summoned up a beatific smile. "I am, indeed, the Reverend Nicholas Horrobin - please forgive my less than charitable welcome."

"No, it's our fault," I apologised. "We suffer from the impatience of youth."

"We'll say no more about it, then. But, really, that is no way for young ladies to behave," the vicar chastised, before returning Susie's battered broccoli. "My Harvest Festival gift to you, and I hope you'll make proper use of it this time."

"We'll take it home for mother to boil. That'll go nicely with our baby carrots at Sunday dinner, won't it, Denise?"

"I only wish we were more deserving of the church's blessing, Susie. There are wretched folk in MacDonald's who've never seen a vegetable on their paper plate."

"Quite," the vicar coughed. "Now, to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" He paused and searchingly appraised us. "I can't recall seeing either of you at a service. Are you new members of my flock?"

"No, we're Susie and Denise - just visiting for the day."

"So, how can we at St Cuthbert's be of assistance - are you interested in brass rubbing?"

"We're interested in everything," Susie avowed. "But at the moment, we're on the trail of a lost sheep, and we believe he may have wandered through your pasture."

"I'm afraid you have me completely mystified, my dear."

"Steve Spooner is the stray in question, and we come seeking your guidance to his present whereabouts," Susie elucidated.

"And who is Mr Spooner?"

"The Shoreham Gazette's top investigative reporter who's inexplicably vanished while delving into the murky goings-on associated with your notorious squire."

"I see ... and how are you involved with this Mr Spooner?"

"We're his interns, and," Susie conspiratorially lowered her voice, "the last people he spoke to before setting off for a perilous witching-hour rendezvous."

"If what you say is true, shouldn't you talk to the police, and not to me?" the vicar smilingly suggested. "PC Cork is the man you want - he's the local constable."

"It's a bit early for making things official. Steve might be purposely remaining incommunicado for selfish journalistic reasons," Susie backtracked. "So for a start, we're aiming to pick up his trail."

"And what makes you believe he passed this way?"

"Any reporter worth his salt would undoubtedly drop in on the local vicar to share his wisdom and the local intelligence."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but Mr Spooner is a stranger to me."

"That's a setback," Susie sighed. "But we thought it worth a try, especially after hearing Gavin Chuff's high opinion of you."

"Ah, Master Chuff, a naive young man with a vivid imagination. I hope you haven't been leading him into temptation."

"On the contrary," Susie grinned, "the ex-Wolf Cub in camouflage clothing led us down a long and winding road."

"Where to, may I ask?"

"O'er the fields and through the woods - while we talked of many things," I volunteered.

"But not cabbages and kings, I'll wager."

"Magic, Martians, and machinations did tend to dominate the conversation," Susie admitted.

"I'm afraid Gavin's juvenile fantasies are typical of many of today's youngsters," the vicar lamented. "It's most worrying where they get their ideas from."

"You mean when a man stops believing in God, he doesn't believe in nothing, he believes in anything," I frowned.

"Ah, my child, it appears you may belie your contemporary apparel," the vicar approved. "You're familiar with the works of Chesterton?"

"Since I wasn't a little girl in the Brownies," I blinked. "I know 'The Secret People' off by heart."

"And what else have you learned from the great G K?"

"'To get enough, desire less'. That's true wisdom, isn't it, Susie?" I smiled.

"It's certainly up there with 'Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese', Denise."

"My word, you are a bright little pair, aren't you?" Mr Horrobin paused, thoughtfully turning over his cross. "I hope you didn't make too much fun of Gavin and his ridiculous ramblings."

"Ridiculous ramblings?" Susie arched an eyebrow. "Gavin gave us the impression you didn't rule out the existence of Martians on the Moss."

"My mind, like the door of my church, is always open. But not," the vicar laughed, "so open my brains might fall out. Gavin tends to interpret a polite nod of the head as unquestioning agreement."

"But it seems you're always ready to lend a sympathetic ear to his tales," Susie argued.

"I'd be failing in my ministry if I didn't try to gently guide sinners back onto the straight and narrow path. Although I have to admit I do find the boy's flights of fancy somehow amusing."

"And sometimes enlightening?"

"About what?"

"Oh, unusual nocturnal activities," Susie intimated. "Gavin's a mine of information - although he doesn't always know it."

"And Mr Spooner interviewed him, did he?"

"No, Steve got his facts straight from the tramp's mouth ... as we hoped to."

"I take it you're referring to that wily character Billy Bloggs. I wouldn't put too much store by anything he says."

"He's a man who observes all the local phenomena, however bizarre, so we've been told," Susie countered.

"And delights in spinning crazier yarns than Gavin. But there's method in Billy's madness - he pays for his refreshments with his preposterous inventions."

"Steve took this one seriously."

"Mr Bloggs can also appear very plausible when it suits his purpose. I'd bear that in mind if you speak to the old rogue."

"We will - but we're having great difficulty accomplishing that simple task," Susie complained. "Gavin's attempts to contact Mr Bloggs came to nothing. Perhaps you could point us in the right direction, vicar?"

"I shouldn't propose this to two young girls, but if you spend an hour sitting on the bench outside 'The Stoat and Rabbit', either side of twelve o'clock, your patience may well be rewarded."

"We've already wasted half the morning going round in circles," Susie frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Nothing is certain in this life except death and taxes."

"You don't suppose Mr Bloggs is dead, do you?" Susie hinted.

"And why should I think that?" the vicar smiled.

"No one we've spoken to has seen him lately. It's odd that such a ubiquitous character is proving so elusive," Susie claimed.

"Billy is a law unto himself - he often drops out of sight for days at a time."

"You're well acquainted with his ways, are you?"

"I know he sometimes shops for his supper in my vegetable garden - and even the offertory box. But I turn a blind eye."

"The action of a true Christian, sir - just like us," Susie smiled.

"And I hope you will follow my example and practise what I preach."

"We already do. We're all in favour of forgiving those who trespass against us, aren't we, Denise?"

"Our record speaks for itself, Susie."

"I'm glad to hear it, young lady."

"Of course, it's only fair if they have something to forgive us for first," I added.

"We also believe it's better to dish it out than receive a pie in the face," Susie grinned.

"You'll have to pardon me for not holding forth on the virtue of turning the other cheek, but time waits for no man." The vicar ostentatiously consulted his watch. "Now, have you any further questions?"

"Yes, do your horticultural endeavours extend to planting devil's feet in the crypt?" Susie impishly enquired.

"Is that some kind of joke?"

"No, we're super keen gardeners, too. Show the vicar your book on weeds, Denise."

"I think Mr Horrobin's in a hurry to go. He won't be interested."

"Of course, he will," Susie insisted. "He's a vicar with a vegetable patch. It's love thine enemy, and all that. Do you poison the intrusive little vagabonds with chemicals, your reverence?"

"No, my invaluable sexton uses a flame-thrower," the vicar smirked. "We find fire is much more effective - it leaves absolutely no trace."

"There's a possibility, Denise. Perhaps Billy Bloggs has self-combusted - that would explain his absence."

"Honestly, Susie, I don't think you should utter such indelicacies," I cautioned. "Remember where we are - not everyone appreciates black humour."

"Or black masses, eh, vicar? We've heard tell the old ways linger on around these parts and that the squire's body has been stolen from the undertaker's for a secret ceremony."

"The last few days have been full of foolish gossip and irresponsible reporters giving it credence in sensationalist newspapers."

"Are you sure that's all there is to it?" Susie questioned.

"Yes," the vicar asserted. "The desire for their fifteen minutes of fame brings out the worst in people. The squire is dead and gone, never to return - trust me."

"We can't but take a man of God's word for it," Susie accepted.

"Giles Meares was one very bad apple in our little barrel," the vicar emphasized. "Everything else is empty talk and folk being wise after the event. Mr Spooner and his ilk will have a lot to answer for."

"I'm sorry if Steve has been one of the worst offenders in stirring the cauldron," Susie apologised. "But he thought he was onto a big story."

"Perhaps Mr Spooner has had an attack of conscience and is now hiding his head in shame."

"No, he hasn't got either, and neither have we," Susie confessed. "But we're sorry if we troubled you."

"I'll attribute it to the exuberance of youth."

"That's very gracious of you, sir," I acknowledged.

"Thank you, my dear. This has proved a most enlightening conversation, but I really must go now. The Circle of Friends coffee morning beckons. Would you care to join us for refreshments - or are you non-believers?"

"Well, we don't believe in Martians, do we, Denise?"

"I think we may be disciples of the Alien God of Marcion, though, Susie."

"If you say so, Denise. Is that okay with you, vicar?"

"I'm sure we could engage in an interesting theological discussion on the subject."

"Undoubtedly, sir," Susie agreed. "You have a meeting of Christian souls to attend while we have the saving of Steve Spooner's heathen hide to deal with. So we'll bid you adieu for the present."

"Godspeed, and I wish you every success in your quest, my intriguing little heretics. I've no doubt our paths will cross again." The vicar stepped inside and dismissed us with a blessing before the door slammed shut.

"Do you think it accidentally slipped out of his grasp, Susie?"

"It must have done, Jeffrey, after my ever so diplomatic conduct of the Anglican inquisition," Susie smirked.

"At least you stopped short of accusing the right reverend of drowning Mr Bloggs in his fount," I allowed, as we made our way out of the churchyard.

"You may be onto something there, Jeffrey. Old Billy could have been smothered in his sleep - that would leave no marks. The vicar's a big strong chap - with a faithful sexton to lend a hand holding Mr Bloggs down."

"And if they used the fire next time to incinerate Steve Spooner along with the weeds, we might as well go home now, Susie."

"Seriously, Jeffrey, what did you make of the good Mr Horrobin?"

"A man who, as gran would say, was laughing behind his face, Susie."

"He had cruel lips, Jeffrey. I bet the fellow wouldn't be last to cast the first stone."

"His rope sandals got him off on the wrong foot with me, Susie."

"The rev did look a touch druidic. And he is a smart-ass - he knew what you were talking about, Jeffrey."

"Thank you, Susie. To one who strives to be redeemed through knowledge even back-handed compliments are welcome."

"So what is a Marcionist, Jeffrey?"

"They don't accept the Old Testament, Susie."

"That's okay by me, Jeffrey - it'll save us a host of moral dilemmas. And, as a bonus, we can consume animals that walk on all fours and have paws."

"My granddad knew a man who was so poor he ate his cat, Susie."

"Did he enjoy the repast after flouting Leviticus?"

"Not much - he couldn't afford to season it. And an accompanying bag of chips remained but a distant dream."

"That's pitiable, Jeffrey."

"You don't know the half of it, Susie. As a child, the chap had to line his shoes with cardboard from a cornflake packet ... out of next-door's bin."

"Boom-boom, Jeffrey! We, Marcionists, aren't the same as Manicheans, are we?"

"Heaven forbid anybody should accuse us of being such, Susie."

 

 

Chapter 158

"I don't suppose the parish council has a session on Saturday morning," Susie speculated, as we passed the village hall. "We might get a lead from them if they really are a coven."

"Their next meeting is advertised on the notice board for the thirty-first."

"Halloween, eh - that may be significant, Jeffrey."

"It does seem a bit strange having it on a Sunday," I agreed. "But members of the public are invited, Susie."

"But not to the secret conclave that follows. What we need to do is find one of those councillors and put a tail on him."

"Won't he already have a forked one?"

"Not on display to the world, Jeffrey - it'll be discreetly tucked down the back of his trousers. We'll have to resort to more practical means of identifying our targets."

"They're hardly likely to walk around wearing pointy hats or ride on broomsticks, Susie."

"I'm well aware of that, Jeffrey, so we'll ask who's who at the village Post Office."

"Matthew Hopkins, you should be witch-finding now," I smiled. "Susie Jones could teach you a thing or three about inquisiting."

"I saw that smarmy beggar in 'The Silence of the Lambs'," Susie grinned. "He was a fussy eater, like you, Jeffrey. Only it was liver and kidneys with him, not cod and chips."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"You might want to put your search for parish councillors on hold, Susie," I indicated, as we rounded the corner on our way back along the main road. "Look what's up ahead."

"That must be Steve's car!" Susie whooped with joy when she caught sight of the white, thoroughly modern mini, emblazoned in scarlet with the 'It's Got To Be Read' slogan of the Shoreham Gazette.

"If it is, they've given Steve something with four wheels and thirty years on from a Reliant Robin. That must have rankled with Mr Horrocks' belief in his own seniority."

"This is no time to be considering petty, professional jealousies, Jeffrey. Come on!" Susie urged, breaking into a run. "We're hot on the trail at last."

"Make that lukewarm," I amended, as we pulled up beside the deserted vehicle, "unless Steve's hiding under the backseat."

"We'll soon find out." Susie already had her hand on the door. "It isn't locked, Jeffrey - that's suspicious."

"Maybe Steve just forgot."

"Or he was forcibly removed."

"Let's not jump to delusions, Susie."

"Then get in, and we'll have a forensic search in the glove compartment. Steve may have left some notes."

"That's a relief," I smiled, after I'd slid over to the passenger side. "Everything smells deodorant fresh. For a moment, I dreaded we might discover a putrefying body in the boot."

Susie looked up from her scientific rooting. "No such luck, but here's a sheet of Steve's doodlings. And, better yet, there's a list of names on the other side."

"Who are they?"

Susie scanned the piece of paper. "I don't know - but we'll easily track them down."

"Like we easily tracked down Billy Bloggs."

"This time they won't be living under canvas out in the wilds, Jeffrey."

"Even if they are more domesticated, it'll still involve a lot of traipsing around."

"No, it won't - because there's also a second prize." Susie dangled her find under my nose. "Where's the mini key - geddit, Jeffrey?"

"I wish you hadn't, Susie."

"Don't be a wuss, Jeffrey. Now we've got wheels, it'll speed up our following in Steve's footsteps."

"We can't drive around in this, Susie."

"Why not, Jeffrey?"

"Face it, Susie, you don't look anywhere near seventeen - even in long trousers. You passed for a Brownie earlier," I reminded her, as she turned the key in the ignition.

Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

"I was method acting then."

"And if you career into a policeman now, we're sunk, and we'll be on the next ferry home."

Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

"Come on, my little friend!" Susie banged on the steering wheel. "There's plenty of petrol in your tank."

Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

"Give up - it's not going to start."

Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

"Something's wrong with the engine, Jeffrey."

"Good - so we know why Steve abandoned ship - that leaves us with one less mystery to solve."

Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

"Or one more - I've an ear for these things, and this doesn't sound like a natural breakdown to me. I suspect a vital part has been deliberately removed."

"Possibly the rotatey disker, do you think, Susie?"

"That or the carbonator, Jeffrey."

"They won't have either of them in the Post Office, so it's definitely a garage job. Let's get away from here before somebody reports us for loitering with intent to joyride."

"Okay, we'll lock the doors and keep the keys. You never know - it might start next time."

I hopped out and rested my hand on the bonnet. "That's funny, Susie - this still feels warm. The car hasn't been parked here long."

"And it smelt more like aftershave than air-freshener inside, Jeffrey. We must have missed a person or persons unknown by only minutes."

"That would blow a big hole in your theory if it was Steve."

"It can't have been - it wouldn't make sense. And, anyway, he's a Boss man in the fragrance department, like dad."

"Even so, perhaps we should wait around for a while and see who comes back, Susie."

"It'll be a waste of time. I've already deduced the coven moved Steve's car here because they didn't want it found parked near their secret headquarters."

"And have you also deduced they wouldn't have acted so careless as to leave a list of relevant names for you to discover?"

"They're infidels not infallibles, Jeffrey. It won't be the last mistake the body-snatching bozos make. And we'll take advantage ..."

Buuuuzzzzzzzzzz! Buuuuzzzzzzzzzz!

"Deuce, there goes your text alert, Susie. Perhaps it's a recall to base."

"Don't get your hopes up, Jeffrey. Dad doesn't text - his thumbs are too big." Susie extricated the phone from her bag and read out the message. "SOS ... SS. What about that, Jeffrey?"

"This means nothing to me,
Oh, Vienna."

"Oh, Kuala Lumpur, it does! SS - stands for Steve Spooner."

"And the SOS - what's that text-speak for?"

"You know perfectly well, Jeffrey - Steve's desperately calling for our help. But at least he's still alive."

"You mean his phone's still alive, Susie."

"Don't be so negatively logical, Jeffrey."

"There's something positively irrational about this, Susie. Why get in touch with us, and not the police?"

"Obviously, he hasn't got their number handy."

"999 isn't that hard to remember - and why be so brief?"

"Steve probably only had time had to tap out the message with a pencil in his mouth."

"As he struggled to free his hands in a cellar full of rats."

"Precisely, Jeffrey."

"Or someone's pinched his phone and is having a joke texting all his contacts."

"You don't believe that."

"I wish I did - because there is a more sinister explanation."

"Such as, Jeffrey?"

"Perhaps I'm paranoid, Susie, but it could be a ploy to draw us on, and make it more likely we'll follow up on the list you so opportunely found."

"Crikey, Jeffrey - that would mean my plan has worked, and we've aroused the coven's interest."

"On the whole, I'd rather contend with paranoia, Susie."

"Fear not, I know the perfect cure, Jeffrey - a reassuring visit to the library where you can sniff a few musty old books."

"All right - but no more impertinent questions that'll get us thrown out before I complete my aroma therapy."

"I promise to be on immaculate bibliophile behaviour and avoid premature ejection," Susie grinned. "Now best pink ankle-sock forward, and first stop the reference section to look up the addresses of Steve's suspects in the telephone directory."

"How do you know they are suspects - or that's even Steve's handwriting, Susie?"

"I don't, Jeffrey."

"From what I've seen of it, there's more to that list than meets your eye, Susie."

"But this is the only clue we've got, Jeffrey, so we'll have to follow wherever it leads."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo!"

"Even without the aid of my trusty seebackroscope, I sense we're the ones being tailed, Susie."

"Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo!"

"I blame your hot pants, Denise." Susie took a quick glance over her shoulder. "It looks as though the new kids in the village have attracted the attention of a local wolf."

"Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo!"

"Hurry up, and let's cross over," I urged, on hearing our admirer quicken his pace.

"Wait, girls, I want to talk to you," the lad howled, loping after us.

"Can't stop," Susie called. "We have to get to the library before it closes."

"What do you want to go there for when Snatch Foster is here," he wheezed, circling in front and leeringly blocking our path.

"Because we're bent on improving our minds - now would you step aside, please," I politely requested the pasty-faced youth confronting us.

"And I'm as bent as a sickle, darling - so you're girls after my own heart," he laughed from within his dirty white hood.

"No, we're bloody not," Susie snorted. "So bugger off, banana brain."

"The name's Snatch."

"Okay, bugger off, Snitch, you Snotty Oliver."

"It's Snatch, honeybuns," he snivelled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "And who are you? I've never seen you in this neck of the woods before."

"That's because we're fresh from our Swiss finishing school."

"Pull the other one - you don't sound a bit foreign."

"What do you expect us to do - yodel?" Susie mocked.

"Hey, you're a cheeky-bum, but I bet you haven't got an asbo, like me."

"No, we don't."

"Don't what?"

"Like you."

"Yes, you are," he smirked. "See, I catch on fast, and that's not all we have in common. I saw you do the car just now. What did you nick?"

"Nothing - we were locking it up for a friend," Susie asserted. "I've got his key."

"Only 'cos the divvy left it in the ignition. Come on, hand over the goodies, or it'll be the worse for you," he threatened, lifting his top to display the bone-handled knife stuck down his pants. "It's sixty-forty when you're on Snatch's patch."

"And you're on a loser's pitch, Snitch. Get out of our way, or an asbo will be the least of your worries," Susie warned.

"I'm in the clear on this one. And reporting a crime will go down a treat with my probation officer," Snatch crowed, taking out his phone. "Give us the key, or I'm calling the police."

"So I was right," Susie accused. "You are a snitch."

"And no more Mr Nice Guy." Snatch checked the coast was clear, and advanced towards us. "I guess I'll just have to take what's mine."

"You mean these?" Susie dangled the keys in front of him.

"And your money and mobiles."

I slipped my hand into my bag. "Will you settle for our liquid assets?"

"Hold it, Denise - why should we hand over our hard-earned cash to this poltroon?"

"Because I've spent all mine," Snatch guffawed.

"Then I think we should give the gentleman what he richly deserves, Susie."

"Okay, let him have it, Denise."

"And be quick about it, Peaches, or I'm giving your fruits a squeeze," Snatch rasped.

"Me first - see how you like this juicy offering!" I cried, directing a squirt of my Jif Lemon into Snatch's hungry eyes.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"

"Stings, doesn't it, Snitch?"

"Aaaaarrrgggghhhh! I'll bloody kill you for that."

"Take evasive action, Susie," I yelled, skipping to one side, leaving Snatch snatching at thin air.

"Grab his hood, Denise!"

"Geroff, you little tarts!"

"Ready, Susie!"

"Say goodnight, patsy!" Susie whooped, as we each yanked on a drawstring.

"Oooooowwwwwww! You're breaking my neck!" Snatch screamed, tumbling forward out of control. "Oooooohhhhhhhhhhh!"

"Sorry," I apologised, before we knocked his legs from under him with a synchronised double trip.

Thuuuummmmppp!

"Aaaaaarrrrggghhh!" Snatch hit the ground nose first. "Uuuuuuuurrrggghh!"

"Well done, Denise, we've whacked the wally on the head with a paving stone."

"You've had it now!" Snatch cursed, rolling over with blood streaming down his face. "Two can play at that game."

"Come on, then, put up your dukes," Susie challenged. "We don't know you well enough to wrestle."

"You will - when I've finished with you."

"Pshaw!" Susie scoffed. "We've had a double breakfast, and we're ready for anything."

"Are you ready for this!" Snatch spat, staggering to his feet and unsheathing his weapon. "I'm going to pierce your ears for starters."

"Oh, Susie, giving away my 14-in-1 tool has left us dangerously deficient in the mutual deterrent department."

"Snatch is wielding a damn sight bigger blade, in any case, Denise."

"Our lifeboat flags are definitely outgunned, Susie. Da doo run run!"

 

 

Chapter 159

"This way, Jeffrey - there's a car coming."

"It's a taxi! Flag him down, Susie," I cried, racing into the road, frantically waving my arms.

"We've da doo done done it, Jeffrey. Get ready to jump aboard."

The vehicle screeched to a halt, and the disconcerted driver reached across and opened the passenger door. "Here, what's going on? I could have run you down."

"Move over, Rover - two cats are coming in." Susie swiped aside the swinging doggy mascot, and we bounced onto the front seat.

"There's more room in the back."

"It's okay, drive on," I instructed, slamming the door behind me. "The gentleman chasing won't be joining us."

"I should hope not - that's Frankie Foster." The cabbie regained his composure and accelerated away, to the accompaniment of Snatch's frustrated pounding on the bodywork. "It appears you've upset the village bad boy."

"We had a slight misunderstanding, that's all," Susie smiled. "Which led to Mr Foster's unfond farewell."

"What happened to his face?"

"He tripped over an uneven kerb. But instead of making a claim against the council, the unlucky rascal cursed us for giving him fair warning, didn't he, Denise?"

"Snatch heard, but heeded not - like the ancient gladiator. And quite more contrarily, he took against our presence right from the start. I can't imagine why, sir."

"I can - the lad's a thieving menace. He'd steal a pile-sufferer's bicycle saddle."

"If he did, we hope Susie's and Denise's thank-yous for their rescue will ease the pain."

"It's my back that gives me gyp," the man grimaced. "But you don't want to hear about my troubles."

"Oh, we like to listen, don't we, Denise?"

"That's the best way to learn something, Susie."

"Well, I'm Colin Varley, your friendly, village taxi-driver - weekends and holiday relief only."

"Luckily for us, Denise, our very own Colinvar drove out of the West," Susie beamed. "You should sport a banner with a strange device, instead of a nodding dog, brave sir."

"I'm no young knight - only an old bald serf," the driver ruefully laughed, rubbing his billiard ball pate. "My flowing locks are long gone."

"Nobody would notice under a helmet," Susie grinned. "And the beard provides outstanding compensation."

"But, alas, I'm afraid my steed is not the best. The truth is we're both slightly broken-down," our champion confessed. "Still, never mind, one can but dream."

"Breathes there a man with soul so dead," I murmured.

"How very apt, Denise."

"I thought so, Susie."

"My, you are two well-read girls - I imagined Sir Walter Scott had long since vanished from the school curriculum."

"Denise is an avid book collector. She'll give anything shelf space - the obscurer the better."

"That's an unusual hobby for one so young."

"Not as unusual as collecting asbos and carving knives," I shuddered.

"Don't worry, you're safe from mad Frankie Foster - we've left him far behind," Mr Varley assured. "Now, is there any place in particular you'd like me to drop you?"

"Maybe." Susie unzipped her bag. "Can you pull into the next lay-by and have a look at our prospective itinerary?"

"No sooner said than done."

We rattled to a stop on the rutted verge, and Susie showed Mr Varley the list of names. "Do you know any of these people?"

"I've served them all," Colinvar grinned. "Originally as a greengrocer, then as a window cleaner, and currently as a taxi-driver."

"We've a friend, Ernie, who used to moonlight as a window cleaner, haven't we, Denise?"

"Yes, but circumstances forced him to reluctantly lay down his squeegee and hang up his shammy leather."

"I had to retire after my accident." Mr Varley shifted in his seat and grimaced again. "That's why I need this beaded cover to massage my back."

"Oh, did you fall off your ladder?" Susie sympathised.

"No, I tore a muscle on the tug-of-war team."

"You really are a Jack-of-all-trades," I marvelled.

"Just like Ernie, Denise."

"I hope not, Susie. Ernie's dodgy ventures always lead to trouble."

"But an escort as versatile and mature as Colinvar could be just the man to assist us. You're well informed about the local comings and goings, aren't you, sir?"

"I have to admit I've always taken a keen interest in what's happening around me. Mind what you say to Colin, folk joke, or you'll end up featuring in one of his ramblings."

"Are you a part-time ranger in the country park as well?" Susie smiled.

"No, I was referring to my literary ramblings when I'm wearing my Henry Boot hacking-jacket, in the guise of the country matters correspondent of the Shoreham Gazette."

"That's a coincidence, after our conversation in the newsagent's, isn't it, Denise?"

"It certainly is, Susie."

"You've been talking to Cecil, have you?"

"Yes, and he boasted of Henry the Second being his most distinguished customer," Susie flattered.

"Wait until I see the grumpy old so-and-so," Mr Varley chortled. "He's always the first to give me stick if he thinks I've taken poetic licence in spinning a yarn."

"Your column's been missing the last few weeks, sir. Have you been on holiday?" I asked.

"I'm sad to say you may have read the last of Henry Boot. My alter ego has fallen victim to the latest round of cutbacks at the Gazette."

"It's a crying shame," Susie lamented. "Is nothing sacred?"

"It seems not - a hundred year tradition cast aside in the pursuit of profit."

"We hope you aren't too bitter at your treatment, because we'd like your help in tracking down one of the Gazette's last remaining reporters, Steve Spooner," Susie disclosed.

"A reporter now, is he? I thought he was the junior photographer."

"He's been promoted, and everybody's having to multi-task under the new regime," Susie explained. "It's possible Steve may have inherited your nom de plume."

"I remember Mr Spooner taking my picture when Henry Boot moved to the Saturday magazine section." Mr Varley wistfully stroked his greying whiskers. "Although they never used it - my image didn't fit in with their trendy new relaunch, I suppose."

"As beards go, it's very neatly manicured," Susie complimented him.

"I have to keep it in check for the wife. But you can't win - tidying it up cost me my place in our local folk group - 'Goats Don't Shave'."

"I'd say Mr Varley's better off out of that, wouldn't you, Denise?"

"Definitely, Susie - gran's always warning against sticking anything smaller than an elbow in your ear."

"Thanks for the advice," Mr Varley chuckled. "And in return, I'll try to assist with Steve Spooner. Where are you expecting to find him?"

"We don't know," Susie admitted. "All we do know is he might have interviewed the people on that list about the squire's exploits."

Mr Varley cast his eye over the names again. "I can't see why - none of them had any time for the scoundrel."

"Is one of them the St Cuthbert's sexton?"

"No - they aren't even members of the congregation."

"How about the parish council?"

"Not a soul."

"Oh ..." Susie let her disappointment show. "I can't understand it - Steve was sure he'd unearthed a new lead on the squire's crimes."

"Spooner's not rehashing that old coven story, is he? One woman claiming she's a white witch and can read the tea-leaves is what it amounted to until Barry Horrocks blew the tale up out of all proportion."

"Ah, you know Mr Horrocks, too," I smiled.

"And his methods - I shared a room with him every week in Kirkham open prison."

"Just visiting, we presume," Susie grinned.

"Yes, we both taught the creative writing course, although Barry interpreted it a little differently to me."

"He does tend to favour his own unique style," I allowed.

"If he was reporting the squire's misdeeds, he'd have the whole village belonging to a secret society."

"Yes, we found Mr Horrocks prefers to exercise his imagination and concoct his own unique version of events," I agreed.

"And where did you meet the old romancer?"

"Oh, our paths accidentally crossed one fine day, and when Mr Horrocks learned we ran the school newspaper, he was generous enough to offer us the benefit of his vast experience," Susie improvised.

"Is that how you come to know Steve Spooner?"

"Yes, he's Mr Horrocks' loyal assistant. Barry was temporarily indisposed, so Steve got first crack at the killer squire story. And now here we are trying to follow in his journalistic footsteps," Susie concluded.

"Surely, gruesome multiple murders aren't appropriate material for an adolescent audience."

"Definitely not," I declared. "But Susie's persuaded herself that Steve's in trouble and needs our help."

"I'm not the only one concerned, Denise. Mr Horrocks is also worried about what Steve's getting up to behind his back."

"And where is Mr Horrocks?"

"He's recuperating on a day's excursion to Hull. And while he's away, we thought it would be a nice gesture to spend our Saturday putting his mind at rest," Susie smiled.

"Why did he choose Hull - has he relatives there?"

"No, it was a management decision - need we say more?" Susie winked.

"About Steve Spooner, yes - I'm not quite clear what you think has happened to him."

"All we can tell you is he hasn't been heard from for the last twenty-four hours."

"A whole day, eh - then it might be a case for the police. Have you thought of informing them?"

"It isn't that long," Susie hedged. "Steve could have had an assignation after his assignment. We aren't too au fait with his personal life, are we, Denise?"

"Which is all the more reason why we should content ourselves with enjoying a quiet day in the country, Susie. Your wanting to make an adventure out of everything could land us in trouble."

"I take it Denise doesn't share your enthusiasm for pursuing Mr Spooner, Susie."

"She's disenchanted because our first line of enquiry involved a long trek and led only to a dead-end."

"And what was that, may I ask?"

"The supposed resting place of a Mr Billy Bloggs," Susie frowned. "It seems Steve paid him for some interesting information, but we were frustrated in our attempts to communicate with the happy wanderer."

"I'm not surprised," Mr Varley nodded. "If Billy has come into funds, he'll have retreated to his secret den to drink them away undisturbed."

"You're familiar with Mr Bloggs' habits, are you?" Susie probed.

"I've known the old rogue since Adam was a lad. Some of his folk tales, suitably cleaned up, have found their way into my pieces."

"I hope you gave him credit."

"I did, but, unfortunately, it always went to poor Billy's head via the bottle," Mr Varley sighed. "And when it got there, it encouraged him to invent ever taller stories. So unless Steve Spooner really has taken over as Henry Boot, he's wasted his money."

"And you think we've lost nothing by not questioning Mr Bloggs," Susie suggested.

"In more ways than one. Billy's blether would have cost you dear just to be run around the houses. Speaking of which, it's time I was back on the road again."

"And us - whatever Denise says."

"So, where can I take you?"

"If you're for hire, to meet the people on the list we found in Steve's car -it's all we've left to go on."

"You're not giving up, then."

"No, we're convinced Steve needs our help, aren't we, Denise?"

"Well, he might ..."

"Dispel those lingering doubts, Denise - don't forget the text message."

"I haven't, Susie."

"Was that from Mr Spooner?" Mr Varley enquired.

"It could have been sent using his phone," I conceded.

"Denise never take things at face value," Susie smiled. "The little puzzler sees cryptic clues everywhere."

"Steve does have an eye for the girls, Susie. He could have decided to cover his tracks and take an unofficial holiday this weekend."

"Perhaps you should listen to Denise. I'll have to charge for ferrying you around," Mr Varley advised. "Though I can offer you a special rate."

"It's okay - we're on expenses, aren't we, Denise?"

"Fantastic ones, Susie."

"Still, folk may prove reluctant to talk, so it's likely you'll waste more money with me than you saved by not meeting Billy Bloggs."

"We'll risk it. We're not as green as we look. We have a refined interviewing technique, don't we, Denise?"

"You can hear between the words, Susie."

"And see deep into their souls."

"You're a student of human nature, are you?" Mr Varley smiled.

"My uncle's an amateur psychiatrist."

"And her aunt's a professional chiropodist."

"Is that why you're so sure something's happened to Steve Spooner?" Mr Varley grinned.

"We're convinced some of the squire's followers have been active on his behalf," Susie divulged. "We've heard from a reliable source that the dishonourable Giles Meares was bodynapped from the funeral parlour."

"That's a new one on me," Mr Varley whistled. "I thought I'd heard every rumour under the sun this last week. But, then again, you girls are proving quite a revelation."

"And we consider this one could be a vital element in Steve's disappearance, don't we, Denise?"

"Hardly vital, Susie - the squire is dead."

"You're nit-picking, Denise. Find the missing corpse, and Steve won't lie far away - that's my theory."

Mr Varley engaged in more beard scratching. "So you're convinced there's a link."

"Aren't you?"

"Even if it's true about the squire's body, I'm a great believer in coincidence."

"Corpses of mass murderers don't just go missing," Susie insisted.

"I'm afraid I can't help you there, although I'll do my best to run down the folk on the list for you - but not literally," Mr Varley laughed.

"Thanks very much - we won't forget you at tipping time," Susie promised. "And you'll be helping rescue Steve from the clutches of the coven."

"You're making me feel a real hero," Mr Varley smiled, picking up the radio mike. "I'll just call base to let them know I'm on the job ... Colin, here, Sandy - I have two passengers - indeterminate destination."

"Okay, but don't be late for your four-thirty appointment."

"I won't - over and out." Mr Varley signed off and turned to Susie. "Right, who's first on the list?"

"Percy Rigsby - I hope he won't prove as elusive as Billy Bloggs."

"No, you can't miss him - he's a big lad."

"How big?" I asked.

"Bigger than his waders," Mr Varley warned. "And fish and fowl aren't the only game he poaches - he also has a roving eye for the younger ladies. You take care."

"I think Mr Varley is trying to tell us something, Susie."

"Especially you, my dear," Mr Varley coughed. "Your sporty attire may excite Percy's fevered imagination."

"Oh, I wouldn't want that, Susie."

"You can stand modestly to the rear Denise. So no more reservations, and let's get moving."

"Then into the back, girls - it's not an emergency now - and we'll be ready for the off."

"After you, Denise, and don't forget to fasten your seatbelt. Exploring these country lanes may result in a bumpy ride."

"That'll come as no surprise at all to me, Susie."

 

 

Chapter 160

"Now we're getting somewhere," Susie enthused, as we scrunched along the weed-choked cinder path of the allotment to the shed at the far end. "We'll be plumbing the depths of Percy Rigsby before you can say monkey-wrench."

"We don't want to hear his life-story," I cautioned. "Just stick to the point, or it could cost us a fortune. The meter's still running while Mr Varley's waiting."

"He hasn't got a meter."

"That makes it even worse. He can charge what he likes to take us on a circular tour of the villages at his unspecified special rate."

"Don't be so cynical, Jeffrey - the gentleman's proved most obliging."

"And don't you be fooled by his charm, Susie. Old Colinvar is no knight errant - he's a taxi-driver. And one who could spin out this fare until teatime if he takes as long to locate the other folk on the list."

"It's not been easy for the man, Jeffrey - he had to enquire after Mr Rigsby in three pubs and a betting shop."

"And now here we are - at the bottom of Uncouth Lane. I suspect he knew where our quarry was lurking from the very first, Susie."

"We should give Mr Varley the benefit of the doubt. Offering to chaperone us into Mr Rigsby's lair was a knightly gesture."

"Which you impetuously refused."

"I don't want any witnesses cramping our style."

"Well, be careful."

"I will, Jeffrey. And observant - have you noticed the freshly dug earth? You know what that could mean."

"Mr Rigsby has been lifting his main-crop potatoes."

"My thoughts exactly," Susie grinned, halting at the door of our destination, which sported a giant horseshoe knocker. "But, you have to admit, this is a blooming big shed to house only a spade and fork. I wonder if he also stores a flame-thrower in here."

"It's three cobbled together," I concluded, after surveying the T-shaped eyesore. "And it looks as though he's planning a further extension."

"Mr Rigsby is obviously a shed fanatic, like you, Jeffrey."

"Then he won't take kindly to folk disturbing his peace, so that's another good reason not to outstay our welcome."

"I've got the message, Jeffrey, but I want to have a snoop behind his fertiliser sacks. You never know what we might find."

"This man's shed is definitely his castle, Susie. He won't invite us in to share a cup of tea and crumpets."

"We'll see ..." Susie grasped the knocker and banged on the door at a canter.

Clippety-clippety-clop! Clippety-clippety-clop!

"Rein it in," I advised.

Clippety-clop! Clippety-clop!

"Hold your horses - I'm finishing my dinner," an angry voice bellowed from within.

"Ah, at least Mr Rigsby's still in the land of the living," Susie rejoiced, and pounded on at a gallop.

Clippety-clippety-clop! Clippety-clippety-clop!

"Bloody well stop it! You'll have the roof caving in."

Clippety-clippety-clippety-clop! Clippety-clippety-clippety-clop!

"Don't use the whip on it," I warned. "The nail's working loose."

"Oh, bugger!" Susie exclaimed, as the horseshoe came off in her hand.

"What the hell's going on out there!"

"Now you've done it," I scolded. "Bang goes our invite to partake of Mr Rigsby's cucumber sandwiches."

"It's not my fault there's shoddy workmanship wherever we go," Susie huffed, hammering on regardless. "He should have used a screw."

Clippety-clop! Clippety-clop!

"I'll swing for you!"

"Well, now's your chance to tell him - here he comes. Stand clear - it opens outwards."

The door flew past us and clattered into the side of the shed, to reveal an occupant whose ramshackle appearance matched his habitat. "What's your bloody game?" the bone-meal and beer-scented heavyweight demanded.

"Sorry about this, Mr Rigsby." Susie handed over the knocker. "For want of a nail, your mount came adrift in the final furlong."

"You little hooligan! Give it here," the big man frothed, the fresh gravy stains on his waistcoat iridescent in the afternoon sunlight. "That's my good luck charm."

Susie dropped the horseshoe into his hand. "Don't worry, I held it the right way up, so none has run out. Everything's fine."

"No it's bloody not - you're bloody disturbing me, aren't you?"

"Only to bring you a present, Mr Rigsby," Susie beamed.

"I'm not buying anything - I'm self-sufficient."

"And you enjoy the vegetables of your labours - we can see that. The set-up you have here also mightily impressed Steve Spooner."

"Who?"

"The reporter you talked to from the Shoreham Gazette," Susie smiled.

"Did I? What's that got to do with a present?"

"Mr Spooner has sent his special messengers with a reward for the information you supplied. Get it out, Denise."

"Ah, I remember him clearly now," Mr Rigsby decided, as I unzipped my bag. "Pleasant young fellow and very well spoken - how much is it?"

"Mr Spooner wouldn't insult you with money," I frowned, handing over my book on vagabond plants.

"Why not?"

"Because it's the thought that counts." I flinched at the grimy paw, with fingers like pork sausages, creasing its way through the virgin white pages. "Steve racked his brains before settling on a suitable gift."

"Well, he needn't have bothered," Mr Rigsby grumbled, while pocketing his prize. "What use is this to me? I don't grow weeds."

"It's know your enemies. Steve considered it highly appropriate after the informative discussion he had with you," Susie ventured.

"Somebody has to stand up to the council busybodies. I told the interfering buggers - a rat in the wild is a clean creature. And those asbestos sheets aren't doing no one no harm no way. It's a lot of fuss over nothing."

"You're obviously being harassed by a hindrance of jobsworths," Susie sympathised. "But despite their worst efforts, Mr Rigsby has created an amazing layout here, hasn't he, Denise?"

"This could be a cultural heritage site, Susie." I smiled across at Mr Rigsby. "Have you ever thought of entering for shed-man of the year, sir?"

"Never - I'm not one of those amateur, la-di-da hobbyists. I'm a professional muck and boots man."

"Nobody could doubt it," Susie nodded. "You have the appearance of a son of the soil who keeps his ear close to the ground."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Steve told us how you knew everything worth knowing about country life - including the outside story on your notorious squire's misdeeds."

"I had that rum bugger's number from day one. Renovating the church roof and holding a garden party for the whole village didn't fool me for a minute. The snobby sod thought he and his cronies owned every pheasant, rabbit, and trout on their land."

"So, who were his special friends?"

Mr Rigsby stared suspiciously at Susie. "You're as nosy as that Spooner chap. What's this really all about?"

"We're in search of Steve. He was supposed to meet us off the ferry today, but he's gone missing."

"If he has, it's his own fault - everyone isn't as patient as me. I warned the lad about letting sleeping dogs lie. Folk round these parts want to be left in peace and not pestered with bloody stupid questions."

"We realise that, so we're being highly selective and only speaking to the leading lights of the community," Susie cajoled. "We tried the vicar first, but ..."

"You're wasting your time there - he's a barmy bugger, even for a God-botherer."

"You aren't his secret sexton, are you?"

"No, I'm bloody not. I've enough bloody digging to do - and you're keeping me from it. What's with all this nonsense?"

"We're here because the reverend's heavenly ministrations provided no clues to Mr Spooner's situation," Susie confessed. "So we've come to consult a more down-to-earth source. I bet you hadn't any trouble discerning what Steve's plans were."

"I discerned he had the notion I'm a poacher," Mr Rigsby snorted. "Asking me if I roamed the woods at midnight, the cheeky young pup."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That I've better things to do after a hard day on my allotment."

"And anything else of interest?" Susie pressed.

"Follow me," Mr Rigsby smirked, easing his bulk out of the doorway, "and I'll show you what I showed your Mr Spooner."

"Come on, Denise."

"Slow down," I hissed, trailing after Susie as she eagerly stalked in Mr Rigsby's size-thirteen welly steps. "Remember Mr Varley's warning - I don't want to be first in line for a fondling."

"Then keep close behind." Susie plunged on, checking her stride only after we'd rounded the side of the shed. "Pooh, Jeffrey," she whispered, "I fancy this Adam the gardener's squeezed out a silent but deadly one."

"Oh no, he hasn't, Susie," I muttered, on hearing the frenzied scratching and manic giggling accompaniment to the increasingly musky odour. "Let go of your nose and tuck your trousers in your socks."

"There you are." Mr Rigsby squelched proudly to a halt in front of a row of cages. "Polecat ferrets - magnificent little beasts, aren't they?"

"They stink like skunks," Susie sniffed.

"That's the smell of wild honey. Mr Spooner was so overcome by it I offered to sell him a pair. They make the most affectionate pets," Mr Rigsby laughed, holding up a hand with the tip of the middle finger missing. "Would you be interested?"

"If we could inspect the goods first."

"What are you thinking, Susie?" I spluttered. "Mum would never have one of them in the house."

"We'll talk her round."

"You won't talk Monty the python round. He's already eaten Mickey the monkey."

"Don't worry, Denise, these little mongeese will be more than a match for Monty."

"Zip certainly will," Mr Rigsby boasted, moving along to the commotion in the furthest cage. "Wait there while I calm him down."

"Have you gone mad, Susie?"

"Play along, Jeffrey."

"What - with a ferret?"

"Yes - if you get the chance. And then wave it menacingly in my direction - that will give me an excuse to run for cover."

"Mr Rigsby will have the RSPCA after us for whirling his ferrets in the air, Susie."

"We are the RSPCA, Jeffrey - among other things. Just keep our ungracious host occupied so I can beat a hasty retreat and have a quick shufti in his shed."

"You're not leaving me here, on my own, surrounded by wild beasts."

"You'll be okay. I'm sure your granddad has had something to say about how to handle a ferret."

"With motorcycle gauntlets, Susie."

"Shush - he's on his way back."

Mr Rigsby came grinning towards us, wrestling a writhing cylinder of black and white fur. "Now, which of you little ladies wants to cuddle Zip?"

"Denise," Susie volunteered. "She's studying to be a vet, and her granddad's a smallholder."

"Then you hold this, my dear." Mr Rigsby offered up his struggling companion. "There's no need to be nervous - Zip's hand-raised - he doesn't usually bite."

"Pass him over." I grasped the ferret by the loose skin at the back of his neck and dangled it in front of Susie's face. "Worship at the paws of Sredni Vashtar - for he is a vengeful, merciless god."

"Don't, Denise - I've ferretophobia."

"You're exciting his bloodlust, Susie. Zip can smell your fear. Run, rabbit, run!"

"Aaaaawwwww, you little minx, Denise!" Susie screamed, and turned tail. "I'm off back to the front."

"Don't you go in my shed," Mr Rigsby shouted after her. "It's out of bounds to visitors."

"I'm not hanging around anywhere near your premises. I'll wait for you at the taxi, Denise."

"It's quite safe, Susie," I called, as she careered round the corner. "All you need do is give a ferret a good scruffing - like this." I shook Zip from side to side, and the squirming animal obligingly responded with a wide yawn before suddenly going limp. "And, hey presto, it's a pussy in your hands."

"Well, there's a turn-up for the book," Mr Rigsby gawped. "You've sent the rowdy beggar to sleep."

"It must be a gift, as Susie says," I smiled, cradling the comatose creature in my arms.

A gleam came into Mr Rigsby's eye. "I wouldn't be surprised if you couldn't soothe all sorts of savage creatures, Denise. Are you keen on snakes?"

"Not in the least."

"But I thought you had your very own python."

"No, it'd be anaconda to me. I just made it up because I didn't want a ferret. I still don't - here take him back."

"Ah, you haven't done any snake handling yet," Mr Rigsby sniggered, ignoring my efforts to return Zip. "This will be a real treat for Percy junior."

"No, it won't," I insisted. "I once chopped the head of a rubber one. I've an aversion to slippy, slithery things."

"Don't fret - I promise mine is nice and warm to the touch."

"I'd still rather you left it lying back there."

"But little Percy's already popped up here in front," Mr Rigsby leered.

"I think I heard Susie calling," I gulped. "I'll have to be off."

"There isn't any rush - two's company. Now that we're alone, a charming young girl can raise the spirits of a lonely old man," Mr Rigsby grunted, loosening the belt of his over-size corduroy trousers.

"Feeling a bit bloated, are you?" I enquired.

"Extensively so," Mr Rigsby guffawed.

"You shouldn't rush your meals," I advised. "Chewing each mouthful 36 times is said to work wonders."

"That sounds the ideal remedy, darling. Let me show you my very own tame python, and then you can begin the cure by giving it a stroke."

"Not at the moment, thanks." I averted my eyes and edged away. "I was terrified, as a child, by a wriggling eel when a big boy yanked a hook from its throat. They have red blood, the same as us, you know."

"This big boy's jerking won't cause you any nightmares, sweetie-pie. Come on, get a grip," Mr Rigsby urged, pulling up his shirt. "We can do each other a favour. I'll see you're never short of fresh eggs, and in return you manipulate my sausage."

"Oh, why didn't you say?" I reached over and grabbed his sagging waistband. "If that's what you want, I know someone who'll be more than happy to oblige."

"Wait a minute - put down Zip."

"I'm going to. Hold still!"

"No - not there!"

"Rabbits, boy!" I cried, dropping the ferret into the black hole of Mr Rigsby's nether regions. "Flush 'em out!"

"Aaaahhhhhh!" Mr Rigsby shrieked, as Zip disappeared into the voluminous expanse of material. "I'm not wearing my reinforced, winter long-johns."

"Never mind, I have it on good authority he hardly ever bites."

"Aaaaarrrrgggghhhhhhh! Pull the mad beast off!"

"Oh, something must have upset your friend - and yanking him off will only make matters worse. Grin and bear it, while I fetch the RSPCA."

"Don't leave me!" Mr Rigsby implored, as he fell writhing to the ground in a desperate attempt to remove the aroused ferret from his trousers. "Once the little devil gets the taste of blood ..."

"Sorry, I have to go - this time I really can hear Susie calling. Bye for now - I hope you have a bumper crop of Japanese onions." I turned on the heel of my pink girly trainer and hastily exited path right, spurred on by a volley of cries and curses from behind.

"Come back and put the bugger to sleep again!"

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Aaaaarrrrgggghhhhhhh! Send for the fire brigade!"

"What's that distant screaming, Jeffrey?" Susie queried, on my meeting up with her at the knockerless door. "It sounds as if Mr Rigsby is in some distress."

"Percy had an accident with his percy after he was careless with his Zip."

"Oh dear - that must have been painful."

"I've no sympathy for the lustful Lothario. Guess what he wanted me to do, Susie."

"I already have, Jeffrey, and I'm shocked. I should never have left you alone with the dirty old letch, but that's not the sort of behaviour you expect from a man with three sheds to his name."

"Standards are slipping everywhere, Susie - just like Mr Rigsby's trousers."

"You didn't kick him in the goolies, did you?"

"No, his Zip caught some loose flesh in its teeth, and the tears to his thighs brought tears to his eyes. It's what I believe is called a character-building experience in some circles."

"I'm glad you can see the funny side, Jeffrey, and I'm sorry to have put you in such an embarrassing position. But I had to seize the opportunity when old Percy played into our hands back there."

"My hands, Susie - I was the one left holding the ferret - and nearly something else."

"But you managed to leave the ferret holding him."

"Luckily for you - because if Rigsby had known you were a Miss Jones, he'd have forsaken me in a flash and chased you into his parlour."

"Where, thanks to my plan, I've had a good rummage around."

"Then I hope your curiosity is satisfied."

"For now, Jeffrey - the shed's clean in a dirty fashion. There was no sign of Steve, or the squire, or a flame-thrower, or anything suspicious - except the dubious remains of a pork pie."

"Not even a pet dragon - or a broomstick to sweep up all these leaves, Susie?"

"That's a thought, Jeffrey - we'd better check the compost heap for foreign bodies on our way out," Susie decided, veering off to the right.

"First a man's shed and now his compost heap - is nothing sacred?"

"Pooh!" Susie grimaced, on lifting the bin lid. "It's full of feathers, fur, and fish heads."

"Plus unlucky rabbits' feet - so, all we've learned is that Percy Rigsby is a Lancashire poacher. We really are wasting our time and money, Susie. And, to cap it all, I sacrificed a good read before I'd read it."

"Just be happy you've been instrumental in furthering somebody's education, Jeffrey."

"In more ways than one, Susie. Now, give us both an all-over spray of your Obsession before we return to politer society."

 

 

Chapter 161

"Screams, Colin?" Susie regarded our driver in wide-eyed astonishment as we climbed into the taxi. "We didn't hear any screams, did we, Denise?"

"Not exactly screams, Susie, but we were alarmed by Mr Rigsby failing to keep his peacock under proper control."

"A peacock?" Mr Varley gawped. "How long has Percy had one of them?"

"He never said, but Mr Rigsby is very attached to the thing," I smiled. "And he's become so proud of his pet, he wants to show it off to the world."

"But he's keeping the poor creature in conditions that wouldn't meet with the approval of the RSPCA," Susie complained. "Mr Rigsby's lucky we'll be too busy to report him for his transgressions."

"Why," Mr Varley asked, turning and resting his arm on the seat, "have you learned something new about Mr Spooner's activities?"

"No, we met with yet more disappointment in our quest," Susie admitted.

"Old Percy proved uncooperative, did he?"

"Mr Rigsby tried his best to remember," I allowed. "And even insisted on taking us round the back to see if it would stimulate his synapses."

Mr Varley shook his head. "I warned you about his reputation with the ladies."

"Yes," Susie nodded, "we found Mr Rigsby had a somewhat rough and ready approach to life and love, didn't we, Denise?"

"He was as charming as a sticky doorknob and displayed a total lack of couth," I frowned.

"Shambling proof that Man isn't Nature's last word," Susie grinned. "But we shouldn't judge the old reprobate too harshly. It's futile attempting to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear ... unless you want a deaf pig."

"You're right, Susie. For all the male chauvinism Mr Rigsby displayed, his unbecoming conduct ultimately proved harmless."

"Except to himself, Denise - when he endeavoured to impress you with a display of freestyle ferret-legging."

Mr Varley whistled in wonder. "Percy must have been smitten. I've never known him do that before, even after eight pints and with encouragement from Dolly Clackett."

"Mr Rigsby suffered for his exhibitionism in the end," I smiled. "But he bit his lip and took it like a trooper."

"And though sorely tried, Mr Rigsby was big enough to share a little of his country lore with Denise," Susie acknowledged.

"And what would that be?" Mr Varley wondered.

"Man with blood-crazed mustelidae down trousers must entertain only pure thoughts," I smiled.

"And in exchange, we told Mr Rigsby how best to preserve his bruised turnips," Susie chuckled.

"I take it we won't see Percy in the pub tonight, then, unless he limps along for a medicinal brandy," Mr Varley laughed.

"But I hope we'll soon be seeing the next on the list - it's a Miss Pettigrew. That's assuming you can deliver us directly to the doorstep this time," Susie hinted.

"Ah, Miss Pettigrew - Barry Horrocks' phony psychic."

"Are there any other kind?"

"Who can say?" Mr Varley smiled.

"We can," Susie winked. "But we're willing to play the game if it'll persuade her to talk."

"You won't have any problem with that. Miss Pettigrew's a woman who knows it all - and a great deal more besides. Her spiritual insights are mostly a shrewd recycling of the local gossip."

"So how about sharing a juicy tidbit you've picked up on your travels?" Susie invited. "It'd be nice to have a little tittle-tattle to start the crystal ball rolling with Miss Pettigrew."

"I never repeat what folk confess from the privacy of my backseat," Mr Varley declared. "It wouldn't be ethical."

"Go on, break your taxi-driver's oath, just this once, and be a devil," Susie coaxed.

"If you want to ingratiate yourself with her, take along a little present from the local patisserie. Miss Pettigrew claims a few fancies raise her mystical awareness."

"Apart from fishcakes, what other sort of bakeries are good for the brain, Denise?"

"Something with plenty of eggs in them, Susie."

"Okay, we'll invest in a bag of macaroons. They have the lightness of being about them, and won't sit too heavily on a transcendentalist's stomach."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"How about that for advanced psychicry, Susie? Miss Pettigrew's opening the front door before we've opened the front gate."

"It'll save our knuckles a knock, knock, knocking, Jeffrey."

"Come up, come up - I've been expecting you," the bird-like woman warbled from the entrance of her thatched nest.

"It seems our visit really has been anticipated," I muttered.

"Spooky, Jeffrey," Susie joked, as we made our way through the rampant garden. "Watch out for boggarts lurking in the undergrowth."

"This bed's in need of a few blasts from a flame-thrower. I wonder if Miss Pettigrew's mistaken us for teenage sextons. It's a pity we haven't a card for that, Susie."

"If only you'd settled on 'Herbicides and Path Washing', Jeffrey. But never mind, we'll play it by ear."

"So, you've arrived at last - and about time too," the lady greeted us, from under the cottage eaves. "I've been waiting for you all morning."

"Miss Pettigrew, isn't it?" Susie smiled. "You were number two on the list."

"That's not good enough," the woman shrilled. "They assured me I'm their top priority."

"Who did?"

"BT - I was on my way into the village to call them again."

"Ah, all becomes clear, Denise - we've got our wires crossed."

"I know that," Miss Pettigrew clucked impatiently. "And I want you to get on with uncrossing them. I've already missed my knit-and-natter meeting through your tardiness. I'm out of touch with everyone, and I urgently need to talk to my spirit guide."

"Now we're on the same wavelength," Susie beamed. "That's why we're consulting you."

"So, what are you going to do about it?" Miss Pettigrew demanded, straining her far-seeing eyes down the path. "Where's your van - and your ladders?"

"We haven't come to fix the ..."

"I won't listen to any more excuses," Miss Pettigrew insisted, cutting Susie off short.

"You try, Denise."

"We're ..."

"Not another word - or I'll report you to your supervisor."

"But we aren't from BT," I protested. "Do we look like telephone engineers?"

"You are dressed a little casual, but it is a Saturday. I suppose I should be grateful you're speaking English. My friend Maude called out the doctor last weekend, and they had to converse in sign language."

"That's awful," I sympathised. "It could easily have led to a fatal misunderstanding."

"Not quite fatal, but an appointment to have your ears syringed isn't much comfort when you need a carbuncle lancing."

"That must have been an unwelcome inconvenience," Susie commiserated. "I trust your friend wasn't too indisposed by her indisposition."

"She was prostrate. Maude couldn't sit down for three days until things came to a head and the boil burst. Still, it's some small comfort that she saved on prescription charges."

"Letting nature take its course is often the best remedy," I agreed.

"It may have been in Maude's case, but my telephone isn't going to heal itself. It's time you did something about it."

"Even though we speak the same language, you'd be better off with a Polish plumber," Susie advised.

Miss Pettigrew looked askance. "What do you mean by that, young lady?"

"We aren't actually from the maintenance department," Susie explained, smartly changing tack. "This is a preliminary visit from call centre personnel to elicit the relevant facts and then assess your requirements."

"I've already given the details to six different people. Fix my phone, or ..." Miss Pettigrew checked no one else was in earshot. "Shoot off back home."

"Oh dear, Denise, we've provoked yet another rhyming couplet of BT rage."

"Fully justified, as always, Susie, and we, at the sharp end, are the ones to suffer when the helpline sours customer relations."

"I think we should deploy the sweetmeats in our defence - hand them over, Denise."

"Here you are, Miss Pettigrew." I crossed her palm with the confectionary. "A peace offering from your favourite telecommunications company - a baker's dozen of 'The Flaky Pastry's' finest. I hope you aren't superstitious."

Miss Pettigrew clutched the bag and peered inside. "Macaroons - my favourites - but I won't be fobbed off. I want some immediate action, or I'm closing the door on you and registering a formal complaint."

"No, don't do that. We'll break the rules and have an unofficial look to see whether we can't fix the fault for you," Susie offered.

"But if you're only girls from the call centre, and not properly qualified," Miss Pettigrew hesitated. "I wouldn't want you making matters worse."

"Quite honestly, you've a better chance of being successfully reconnected by us than the boys from the boffin shop. Denise is not just a pretty face - she has more than one ribbon to her pink bows."

"Don't make promises we can't keep, Susie. We're ill-equipped to deal with any problems. I haven't brought my three-eighths spanner with me."

"You'll manage without, Denise - you're a little wiz at the biz. You diagnose the trouble and improvise a repair while I find out all we need to know from Miss Pettigrew."

"I suppose I could ..."

"Just come in and see what you can do - but I'll sue for any further damage," Miss Pettigrew warned, stepping aside and shooing us along. "It's through there, in the living-room."

"Make a show of mending it," Susie whispered, as we went on ahead. "And take your time - it'll give me the chance to conduct a thorough interrogation."

"Pardon, my dear."

"I was saying to Denise, perhaps Miss Pettigrew's renowned psychic gifts can help us with our own little personal difficulty."

"Are you seeking spiritual guidance, my child?"

"In a way - we're following in Steve Spooner's footsteps. Do you remember him?"

"Thursday at four o' clock - the gentleman from the newspaper. I'm a great favourite of all at the Gazette, and Mr Spooner was another most impressed by my readings. Is he a friend of yours?"

"An absent one - and we're hoping you can reunite us."

"Ah, it's a lost object you're looking for."

"We like to consider Steve more of a subject."

"Either way, I'll do my best to connect with his life-force. Take a seat, but mind pussy - Pyewocket's my window into the world beyond."

Susie side-stepped the sprawled-out, overfed tabby and sat down at the table. "Right - we'll leave Denise to fiddle with the phone while you do your turn for me."

"I'm not in show business, young lady," Miss Pettigrew reproved, taking the chair opposite. "My talents are too unique to be exploited for personal advantage."

"I quite agree," Susie assured her. "We won't press you for the winner of the Grand National."

"Good - I'm glad that's understood. Now, will you ask your colleague to put the kettle on? I don't want to get up again, once I've sat down."

"Denise is always happy to serve, Miss Pettigrew. At home, we have to literally tie her down to prevent her from perpetually playing house."

"Mother says I've metaphorically a lot to learn about domestic duties, Susie."

"Don't be so modest, Denise. When dressed for the part, your virtuoso performances with a feather-duster and hostess trolley are something to marvel at."

"Wearing my maid's cap makes a nice change from my technical hat," I smiled. "Is it a cup of tea you want, Miss Pettigrew?"

"Yes, milky with two sugars - use the big mugs."

"No sugar in mine, Polly," Susie grinned, as I wolly-doodled off into the kitchen.

"They're not for you, young lady - they're both for me. I have to continually guard against dehydration. Out of the body experiences are extraordinarily draining."

"Sorry, I thought you were going to read my tea-leaves."

"I'm not an amateur," Miss Pettigrew declared, sweeping aside a velvet cloth to expose the centrepiece of the table. "I'm a visionary - I use a crystal ball to penetrate the veil."

Susie leaned forward and gazed into the giant, glass globe. "Uh-oh - the cat ate the goldfish."

"I won't warn you again, young lady," Miss Pettigrew glared.

"Sorry - sometimes I just can't help myself. But I'm truly astonished at what you're able to achieve with such basic equipment. It's as simple as that, is it?"

"Of course not," Miss Pettigrew huffed. "Only the chosen few can tune into the right frequency. Don't be alarmed if I go into a trance when I receive the vibrations."

"So it's karma and not Kardomah with you," Susie smiled.

"I don't know what it is. I've never questioned my powers - just accepted them. It all started when I was a little girl."

"Did you have an invisible friend as well as a kitty?"

"More than one ... I'll tell you about them while we wait for the spirits to commune with me."

"Before you try to home in on Mr Spooner's present location, I'd like to hear what gems of information you imparted to him yesterday."

"And you shall - after I've related my own amazing stories. Some involve the contributions I made to the safety of the highest in the land. I never tire of repeating the tales."

"We had more low-life disclosures in mind."

"These are much more interesting and dramatic."

"Perhaps we should wait for Denise, then. In the meantime ..."

"Can you hear me in there, dear?" Miss Pettigrew called.

"You're coming through at level seven," I replied. "Carry on - we're sitting comfortably on the edge of our seats."

"Then, I'll begin ..."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"... and I received a personally signed letter from Her Majesty thanking Pyewocket and me for the warning."

"At last, Denise," Susie gasped in relief, as I waitressed back into the room. "Miss Pettigrew must be dying of thirst after that non-stop express saga. I don't know how she fitted all the words in."

"Unbelievable is the only adjective for it, Susie. Such revelations make our own adventures seem pretty small beer." I dipped gracefully and delicately set down the mugs of tea. "I hope these are to your satisfaction, ma'am."

Miss Pettigrew took a sip from each. "Excellent, my dear, and most daintily dispensed."

"Thank you," I bobbed. "Mother insists I behave as a refined young lady when I'm abroad. I only wish I'd come out in my petticoat dress, and not these silly shorts, then I could have primly curtsied for you."

"I've already seen you as your true self. I instantly divined you are a sweet, old-fashioned girl and that you'll make somebody a wonderful little helpmate one day."

"Denise already has," Susie winked.

"Oh, surely not," Miss Pettigrew fluttered. "Even her shocking-pink lipstick can't disguise the fact she's a totally innocent young thing."

"I was only married to Susie in a little act we put on for family and friends," I blushed. "And I barely did the part justice."

"Don't be so modest, Denise. You made such a beautiful bride, we eventually brought the house down."

"Of course," Miss Pettigrew smiled, "I knew it couldn't be for real, otherwise I would have picked up her conjugal vibrations."

"You really do have the most amazing powers," Susie whistled.

"I know, my dear. Now, excuse me while I sample one of your macaroons. People don't appreciate how energy intensive clairvoyance is."

"We understand," Susie nodded, "constantly dreaming of plane crashes and earthquakes must be downright exhausting."

"And it's harrowing waiting for them to happen. Sometimes I'm on tenterhooks for months, but they always come to pass in the end."

"It's uncanny," I marvelled. "Predicting the Concorde accident thirty years before it happened puts you in the Nostradamus league."

"Yet, we see through a glass darkly," Miss Pettigrew mumbled, whilst devouring another macaroon.

"Who - window cleaners?" Susie goggled.

"Second sight is not a subject for levity," Miss Pettigrew admonished, treating herself to a third macaroon and then unselfishly feeding a stray piece of her fourth to the cat.

"Sorry, we shouldn't make light of the shadowy world beyond," Susie apologised.

"Just remember, Dame Fortune will not be mocked. Now, you've both done enough talking - when are you going to mend my phone?"

"Right this minute," I promised, and skipped across to the sideboard.

"While Denise gets on with the job, could we get back to what you told Steve Spooner?"

"My readings are usually strictly confidential. Members of the British Union of Mediums are sworn not to divulge their clients' personal details."

"But we urgently need to make use of your rare gifts," Susie flattered. "This is an emergency - Steve's vanished without a trace."

"I'm not surprised." Miss Pettigrew beckoned Susie closer. "I said to him - 'Young man, I can foresee you going to hell and back'."

"Are you sure that wasn't Hull?"

"I hope you're not being facetious again," Miss Pettigrew scolded.

"No - Steve should have been well on his way there by now. And it is a hell of a journey according to his stand-in."

"Not compared to the rocky road Mr Spooner was determined on going down. I warned about taking an interest in such things as are best left unsaid."

"You mean like the squire," Susie breathed in a conspiratorial whisper.

"And the devil and all his works."

"So what exactly did you tell Steve?"

"To follow the path of righteousness and have no dealings with misguided folk."

"We'd like to meet some of these misguided folk and ask them if they've led Steve on."

"They surely have," Miss Pettigrew sombrely intoned. "Because I already knew Mr Spooner would ignore my advice. And now he's gone over to the dark side, aren't you afraid the same black fate will befall you?"

"Not in broad daylight, Miss Pettigrew. And we promise we won't dance with the witches at midnight if you communicate a few suspicious names."

"I'm above spreading rumours, my girl. I have a reputation to consider."

"Then take a look in your crystal ball," Susie encouraged. "That way, you'll be relaying facts."

Miss Pettigrew covered her head and peered into her mystic sphere. "It's no good," she announced, "the conditions are unfavourable today. The veil refuses to lift."

"You must need refuelling - have another couple of macaroons."

Miss Pettigrew surfaced and demolished numbers five, six, and seven before refocusing. "It's becoming clearer now. I see black spots and grey clouds swirling around."

"Is that all?"

"It's a portent of things to come."

"Like a thunderstorm?"

"Interpret it as you wish."

"Did you hear that, Denise? I think we've had a long-range weather forecast."

"Or a myopic psychic seeing floaters," I murmured, shimmying back to the table and parking myself next to Susie.

"What did you say, my dear?"

"I was reporting to Susie that I'd fixed the loose wire in the phone."

"And you succeeded without the proper equipment, Denise."

"My nail-file proved sufficient, Susie. A practical girl should never venture anywhere without one."

"How's that, Miss Pettigrew? We've done our bit, and you're on-line again."

"And not before time. Now, you'll have to excuse me - I have an urgent call to make to my milkman. I'm short three nutty yoghurts and a carton of clotted cream."

"Before you engage in a dairy dispute, and as a reward for our unofficial services, what's the whisper on these people?" Susie took out the list and turned the side with the names to Mrs Pettigrew. "Are any of these the dubious characters who might have sent Mr Spooner astray?"

"Where did you get that from!!!?" Miss Pettigrew recoiled in terror from the sheet of paper.

"Steve's car - here - have a closer look."

"Keep away!" Miss Pettigrew took further evasive action and nearly toppled out of her chair. "Who passed that on to you?"

"Nobody - we found it in the glove compartment."

"Then you might still be safe if you replace it immediately. Off you go! I can't risk sharing the destiny it holds."

"So the veil's finally lifted." Susie dropped the list in front of Miss Pettigrew. "What's it telling you?"

"Protect your mistress from the evil forces, Pyewocket!" Miss Pettigrew shrieked, snatching up the cat and clasping the startled feline tightly in her lap, before jabbing a bony finger at us. "Be gone this instant - and take that cursed paper with you!"

"Why - what's the matter?" Susie smiled. "It's only a list of names."

"Not those, you young fool - look at the writing on the back."

Susie picked up the sheet and turned it over. "You mean these scrawls? They're only Steve's doodlings."

"Doodlings, my eye!" Miss Pettigrew screeched. "Do you know nothing, girl? They're runes! Your Mr Spooner's doomed if he accepted them."

Susie stared at the array of symbols. "So that's what runes are, Denise."

"You don't say, Susie - now there's a surprise."

"And a horrifying one for somebody," Miss Pettigrew quailed. "Now it all makes sense to me."

"What does?" Susie asked.

"The verse that popped into my mind after I bade goodbye to Mr Spooner."

"And turns no more his head,
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread."

"I told you so, Denise - Steve's fallen victim to a demon."

"Don't try and take the credit," Miss Pettigrew hissed. "I saw it first, cloaked in my ball - even though the monster worked to obscure my vision."

"Never mind who has precedence - it's turned out exactly as I predicted. What do you think of that, Denise?"

"I'm voting for Coleridge with regard to the verse - but the occult is beyond my ken."

"Nevertheless, you believe in my powers, don't you, dear?"

"Implicitly, Miss Pettigrew," I nodded.

"Then heed this warning. Don't go down in the woods today ..."

"Or you'll be sure of a big surprise," Susie chimed in. "First it was 'The Ancient Mariner', and now it's 'The Teddy Bears' Picnic'. It'll be lines from my grandfather's forehead next."

"You silly girl!" With a flick of her wrist, Miss Pettigrew dismissed Susie and turned to me. "Your friend can mock, but I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, after you've been so kind as to mend my phone. Pay regard to my words - or you're next in line to be a devil's plaything."

"Don't worry, Denise - it's all blooming nonsense. The woman's having an attack of the heebie-jeebies."

"No, I'm not," Miss Pettigrew wailed. "We're trying to save your souls, aren't we, Pyewocket?"

"Don't bring the cat into it," Susie woofed.

"Pyewocket is no ordinary feline - he's my shield against the ungodly."

"How about we leave the runes with you, then?" Susie proposed, pushing them across the table. "You probably have a guardian angel looking after you, as well."

Miss Pettigrew sat on her hands. "You're not passing them to me."

"Not even in another bag of macaroons?"

"No!" Miss Pettigrew bawled. "Now get out of here before you visit evil on this bungalow."

"Don't worry about it - we won't." Susie recovered the runes and sprang to her feet. "Come on, Denise - I don't need a moth-eaten moggy or an upside-down goldfish bowl to make it crystal clear we've overstayed our welcome."

"You cheeky girl - Pyewocket's a pedigree half-Persian and that's genuine Waterford glass," Miss Pettigrew spluttered. "You and your managers haven't heard the last of this visit."

"Don't blame Susie - if you've any complaints about the service, write a letter to the chairman of BT," I advised.

"That'd be the waste of a stamp, Denise - we can all prophesy the answer Miss Pettigrew will receive."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Did you learn anything useful from our visit, Susie?" I enquired, as we made our way down the garden path.

"Well, now we know two cups of tea aren't more than enough and little old ladies can eat more than one imagines, Jeffrey."

"You forgot to mention folk harbouring primitive superstitions. What a performance back there, Susie."

"Funny you didn't mention I'd been carrying demon bait around with me, Jeffrey."

"You said they were Steve's doodlings, Susie. How was I to know any different?" I blinked. "And I did warn you about opportunely finding the list."

"You don't believe in this sort of thing, do you, Jeffrey?"

"Loony runes - of course not, Susie."

"Not even a little bit?"

"It's a matter of principle."

"Here, then." Susie paused at the gate and passed over the list. "Your principles are stronger than mine, Jeffrey. You look after it from now on."

"Why bother there are only a couple of names left. I'll dump it in the next litter bin."

"No, Jeffrey, to avoid the curse, you're supposed to slip it to some poor unsuspecting boob."

"You have done - you've handed it on to me."

"For temporary safe-keeping."

"Oh - you mean I should tuck it down between Pinky and Perky?"

"Yes, but only until we find out who gave the runes to Steve."

"Or deliberately left them for us to find - that's another possibility."

"Either way, we'll sneakily return the gift before the sun goes down and let the spell rebound on the diabolical devil."

"Don't be daft, Susie - there is no spell. If people could summon up demons, you'd have seen them on YouTube riding unicycles and eating live kittens."

"But they're real in this person's mind, Jeffrey, and my plan will give him a few sleepless nights. That'll teach the bugger for trying it on with us."

"If we do meet up with anyone, Susie, he won't have only runes to worry about. Going by past experience, there's a good chance he'll fall victim to some sort of bizarre accident whilst in pursuit of us."

"That's a most reassuring thought, Jeffrey."

 

 

Chapter 162

"Our expenses are going to be horrendous, if nothing else, Susie," I griped, while crossing the road to our waiting taxi. "We won't see any change out of a hundred pounds at this rate."

"Don't exaggerate, Jeffrey - and, anyway, it's all in a good cause."

"You mean the Colin Varley benevolent fund. Look - now we're paying him to be asleep at the wheel. That really goes against the grain."

"Wakey-wakey!" Susie whacked the driver's window on her way to flinging open the rear door. "Rise and shine - or Denise will start clocking your meter."

"What the hell!" Old Colinvar came to attention and bashed his hairless head on the windshield. "Ow!"

"Whoops - you should keep your seatbelt fastened even when napping. You never can tell who might run into the back of you."

"Sorry, I just nodded off for a moment."

"Keep alert and keep alive - that's the first rule of driving, isn't it, Denise?"

"Perhaps Mr Varley had an unavoidable late night, Susie."

"You weren't aroused by any strange nocturnal disturbances, were you, Mr Varley?" Susie quizzed, as she settled in alongside me.

"No, it must have been an early morning wake-up call from Mr Rigsby's peacock, not a warlock in the woods," Mr Varley chortled.

"That's a pity - we could use a pointer in the right direction."

"I take it you fared no better with Miss Pettigrew, then, although she has claimed to have the powers of a white witch."

"Well, they went missing today. Denise had to fix her phone before she could do any long distance communicating."

"Only to be expected, I'm afraid. Since you're strangers here, Miss Pettigrew's heard no gossip concerning you, so she had nothing to reveal."

"Except about this." I dangled the list of names over Mr Varley's shoulder. "Here, take a look."

"There's no need." Mr Varley waved the sheet of paper away and started the engine. "I'm already heading for the village hall. Harry Higginbotham's the next in line if I remember rightly."

"You do." I withdrew my arm and sank back into the seat.

"Were you trying to pass on the runes, Jeffrey?" Susie whispered.

"No - just testing."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Crikey, Jeffrey," Susie laughed, when we entered the village hall. "They're all dressed in britches and bowlers."

"With feathers in their caps and bells on their elbows. We've intruded on the local morris men."

"A harmless excuse to don funny costumes or a cover for a coven, Jeffrey?"

"You're letting your imagination run away with you again, Susie."

"Don't you be so sure, Jeffrey. There's something distinctly sinister about grown men voluntarily showing off their knobbly knees."

"Try and keep it to yourself - the one wearing the big chief's head-dress is hopping across."

A sweaty, florid-faced fellow jingled to an accomplished halt in front of us. "'Ello, I'm 'Arold 'Igginbotham - the 'H's are silent," he grinned.

"You're just the man we're looking for," Susie beamed.

"Why - are you interested in joining our merry band?"

"Is it open to girls?"

"We've been directed to be inclusive and diversive if we're to have any hope of securing lottery funding," Mr Higginbotham puffed. "Can you limbo, by any chance?"

"When arabesquing in her tutu to the strains of 'Sheena is a Punk Rocker', Denise appears amazingly flexible."

"And you're quite a talented contortionist yourself, Susie."

Mr Higginbotham brightened. "You could be the answers to the Majestics' prayers."

"The Majestics?"

"That's us - the Majestics - the first of the new-wave morris men."

"Oh, do you dance to roots music?" Susie smiled.

"We have been flirting with Jimmy Shand this past month."

"And kilts?"

"No, we must draw the line somewhere, or the whole thing becomes meaningless. But try telling that to the grants committee," Mr Higginbotham snorted. "Preserving old English customs isn't top of their multi-cultural agenda."

"You need to get the power of the press behind you," Susie advised. "I hope you mentioned your problem to Steve Spooner when you had the opportunity."

"Steve who?"

"Spooner - he's a reporter on the Shoreham Gazette."

"Oh, the chap with two left feet. I tried to interest Mr Spooner in our cause, but all he wanted to talk about was the life and times of the squire."

"So what did you tell Steve?"

"That I had the squire down as a wrong 'un from the very start. Never trust a man who does not dance, girls."

"Who first gave us those pearls of wisdom, Denise?"

"Saint Vitus, wasn't it, Mr Higginbotham?"

"It may very well have been. But whoever it was, he proved right about the squire, and there's nothing more to be said."

"Yes, there is," Susie persisted. "When did you discover the squire couldn't dance?"

"At his Nudefest - but I only attended because the other lads outvoted me. They were curious to have a peep behind the scenes."

"And did you see any evidence of the squire's shenanigans?"

"That's not a fit subject for young girls to concern themselves over," Mr Higginbotham frowned.

"We couldn't agree more - it gives us the collywobbles to even have a passing acquaintance with such things," Susie shuddered. "But the fact is we've lost track of Mr Spooner, and we wondered if his chat with you had sent him off in any particular direction."

"Only to 'The Shovels and Tripe' - that's the place for unsavoury stories. But it turned out he'd just come from there, so I advised him to try again nearer closing time when the regulars would be better lubricated."

"And you've no idea where Steve went after he left you?"

"None at all." Mr Higginbotham irritably shook his head. "Why are you asking all these questions - what's Mr Spooner to you?"

"Steve's our cousin," Susie fibbed.

"Once removed," I added. "We aren't that close."

"He could be twice removed by now, Denise - and permanently. But don't get upset, we're closing in on him."

"Well, it all makes no sense to me, and practice calls before I stiffen up. If you are interested in helping with our folk revival, I suggest you talk to some of the younger members." Mr Higginbotham bade us a jingle-jangle of a farewell, before galleying round and triple stepping away. "Too-ra-loo-ra-la!"

"And too-ra-loo-ra-la to you with bells on," Susie waved at his retreating, independently-sprung buttocks.

"Not having much detecting success, are we, Sherla?"

"Damn - I forgot to ask if he pranced with a flame-thrower, Jeffrey. But, never mind, we're spreading the word, and maybe putting the wind up somebody's sails."

"All we've managed to do so far is get Mr Higginbotham pointing his stick in our direction, Susie. Let's go before he sets a crack troupe of morris men on us."

"Wait a minute - look at the mismatched pair he's sending across to do battle."

"Oh, it's Gavin."

"And who's that trailing reluctantly in his wake, with a bottom lip stuck out like a bike pedal?"

"Hi, Susie! Hi, Denise!" Gavin beamed on arrival. "Fancy meeting you here. This is my paranormal brother-in-arms, I told you about. Say 'Hello', Gareth."

"Hello, Gareth," we chorused to his colourfully arrayed, but glum-faced chum. "Good afternoon."

"No, it's not - we're behind schedule," the chubby Chubb sulked back. "You've paid your respects, so can we go now, Gavin? We haven't time for idle chatter."

"You'll have to forgive, Gareth - he's been having a bit of trouble breaking in his new yo-yo."

"That's okay - we realise how upsetting getting in a tangle can be for a young man, don't we, Denise?"

"He could always try using a shorter string or standing on a box, Susie."

"If that's a feeble attempt at a joke, I'm not amused," Gareth glowered.

"You're a cheerful Charlie," Susie chided. "We expected a pal of Gavin's to be a bundle of fun."

"What's Gavin been saying about me?" Gareth challenged.

"Lots of things," Susie smiled.

"But all complimentary," I hastened to add. "And Gavin emphasised you're the deep-thinking one."

"When you aren't being the life and soul of the party acting the emu to his ostrich," Susie grinned.

"You told them that!" Gareth spluttered. "How could you, Gavin? You know very well I'm only rehearsing my ground-breaking, foot-together jump."

"It could be an emu trying to fly, though."

"No, it couldn't," Gareth seethed. "I wish you'd take our morris dancing more seriously, Gavin, and not make a mockery of it."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Gavin huffed.

"In your army uniform - it's a travesty. Where are your white bloomers?"

"I didn't have time to change after reporting Billy Bloggs' death to the police."

"That's no excuse for not swapping those combat boots for something more appropriate."

"PC Cork was very thorough. I had to tell him almost everything," Gavin explained, with a wink in our direction.

"And stop flirting - it's common."

"I'm not, Gareth - I'd something in my eye."

"Phooey - you're besotted with ..."

"You aren't wearing clogs either," I smiled in. "And you've left your bowler hat at home."

Gareth looked down his nose at me. "My plans for the Majestics' revamp are considerably more avant-garde than that."

"And where's your whiffle stick - does tradition count for nothing?" Susie joshed.

"I've dispensed with the rude accessories, and I'm in the process of evolving to a higher level."

"Then revolve on the dance floor, and let's see you do your superior stuff."

"I'm not making an exhibition of myself for cheeky girls," Gareth pouted.

"Go on, they're playing your tune," Susie urged, as the first notes of 'Celtic Side-Saddle' came over the speakers.

"Yes, Gareth, show Susie and Denise a few steps like Mr Higginbotham suggested."

"I don't want them interfering with our partnership, Gavin."

"There's no need to worry," I assured. "We're only here for the afternoon."

"And we're feminist lesbians eight days a week, anyway," Susie assured.

"Lesbians?"

"Yes - so by celebrating our diversity, you'll be assisting with Mr Higginbotham's fight for funding."

"I don't understand."

"Course you do," Susie winked. "Your sister's a librarian, isn't she?"

"Don't try using Jocasta against me," Gareth warned, before turning indignantly to confront his chum. "Have you been criticising Jokey's literary aspirations again, Gavin?"

"No, Gareth, honest - I just mentioned her many charms in passing."

"You shouldn't discuss our personal affairs with strangers. Sometimes, Gavin, the more ... the more ..."

"The more what?"

"The more we are together, the happier we will be," Susie chirruped, and gave me a kiss. "Go on, Gareth, make up with Gavin."

"That settles it!" Gareth stamped his foot in pique. "I'm not teaching you anything. Blow, Mr Higginbotham and his lottery application."

"Never mind, Susie - watch me." Gavin began to bounce around in a circle. "I've worked in a few of my ostrich moves."

"Ah, I've got it. Come on, Denise." Susie pulled me out onto the floor and began gyrating. "Take your partners ... Dosey Doe!"

"No, no, no," Gareth wailed. "That's all wrong."

"Get over here and show us the right way, then," Susie waved.

"Come dancing, come dancing,
Have yourself a ball.
Why not come dancing?
It's only natural?"

"But it isn't, silly," Gareth scolded. "You bend your arm like this."

"Like what?" Susie queried.

"Like this."

"Oh, like who's pinched my roll of lino."

"Yes, that's better," Gareth grudgingly approved. "Now follow my lead and keep your bottom tucked in."

"I see - you walk like mi nana. How are you doing with your bum, Denise?"

"Very nicely, Susie, but you have to be light on your feet for this lark."

"It's the Gay Gordons all over again, Denise."

"It's certainly more Peter Pan than the Cloggies."

"Whoops, sorry, Gareth," Susie apologised, as she caught his shin a glancing Heckmondwycke with reverse spin.

"Ow! You did that on purpose," he yelped.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. Just you wait - I'll pull your hair."

Gavin grabbed Gareth's arm. "Don't make a scene," he pleaded, "Mr Higginbotham's watching."

"So what?"

"So you'll get us banned again."

"Oh, we wouldn't want that. Let's show Mr Higginbotham what a good instructor Gareth is, Denise."

"We'll do our best, Susie," I smiled, and inspired by my hot pants took her by the hand.

"See my baby jive.
See my baby jive.
Wo-oh wo-oh wo-oh,
See my baby jive ..."

"No! No! No!" Gareth squealed. "That's even worse than before."

"Change the tune, Denise."

"I got a girl, named Sue,
She knows just what to do.
Tutti Frutti, aw rutti,
Tutti Frutti, aw rutti,
A whop bop-a-lu, a whop bam boo!"

"Stop it! Stop it!" Gareth screamed.

"What's the matter?" Susie laughed. "We've bowled Mr Higginbotham over - he's lying there giving us the double knees-up."

"You're bloody daft - and your terpsichore is a travesty." Gareth cocked his snoot. "Come, Gavin, we're going."

"Just a minute, Gareth," Susie appealed, "we've something here that will fascinate you."

"No, you haven't."

"Wait until you see it. They're right up your chosen field of study."

"Are you being funny again?" Gareth scowled suspiciously.

"No, this is deadly serious. We'd appreciate your expert opinion."

"What about?"

"Show Gareth your hieroglyphs, Denise."

"Are you sure, Susie? They might frighten someone of a nervous disposition."

"Get them out, Denise - a fearless psychic researcher can handle a shock or two."

"You keep them to yourself," Gareth flushed. "I'm not interested in that kind of thing."

"Yes, you are," Susie insisted. "Gavin told us you've an insatiable curiosity about the unknown."

"Can't you keep the least thing to yourself, Gavin Chuff?"

"I only praised your pioneering paranormalist endeavours, Gareth."

"That's right - and we've some old black magic to intrigue you." Under Gavin's intent gaze, I modestly removed the list of names from my cleavage and displayed the reverse of the sheet to Gareth. "What do you make of those?"

"They're runes!" Gareth leapt in the air like a stung emu. "Where did you get that?"

"We found it in the car of a missing person," Susie disclosed. "It may be a clue to the mysterious circumstances surrounding his disappearance. What's your reading of them?"

"You're playing with fire," Gareth croaked, his eyes popping, frog-like, out of his head. "Dabbling in the occult is a dangerous occupation for amateurs. You could unleash forces beyond your control."

"Then you'd better examine them professionally," Susie inveigled. "It's the least a renowned psychic would do."

Gareth cautiously leant forward, hands behind his back, while I held out the sheet of paper. "That's near enough - I can see them okay."

"So, what do they mean?" Susie pressed.

"Well, runes are symbolic stuff."

"That's not much help in our fight against the armies of the night."

"Hey, I know what they are," Gavin grinned. "It's like in the film 'The Curse of the Demon'. Remember, Gareth - you hid behind the sofa."

"Shut up, Gavin."

"It's in the trees, it's coming," Gavin howled. "It's coming!"

"Will you shut up!"

"And you've never been out in the woods with me since, Gareth."

"Gavin Chuff - you know very well I'm reconstituting my filing system. And anyway the film was a travesty."

"Yet another travesty," Susie laughed. "Is that your noun du jour?"

"For your information, Miss Smarty Pants, I've read the original story - 'The Casting of the Runes' - and with the lights out."

"How did you manage that - have you cat's eyes?"

"You'll wish you had - and nine lives," Gareth flared. "Because what your friend's got there will wipe the smiles off your faces. I wouldn't want to be in her shoes, carrying that spell around."

"Don't believe a word of it, Denise - Gazza would jump at the chance if you were sporting high-heeled clogs."

"Don't you 'Gazza' me," Gareth glared. "I'm an intellectual. I've started a novel, and my sister shares her eggless salad sandwiches with a member of Mensa."

"Sorry, old pop."

"That's enough!" Gareth linked arms with Gavin. "We're going - and we're leaving you to look fearfully over your shoulders," he crowed.

"We really should have brought your seebackroscope along, Denise."

"Whatever that is, it won't do you much good when something comes crashing down from a great height, like in the book."

"Been there, done that, haven't we, Denise?"

"Many times, Susie, many, many times."

"Well, next time Asmodeus will get you - and it'll be a lot worse than even in the film."

"Then you'd better stick with us," Susie smirked. "Don't you want to squint through your fingers at a real live, dead demon?"

"No, I bloody don't. Come away, Gavin - they're doomed."

"This boy's a proper Cassandra, Denise."

"It'll be the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse next, Susie."

"Mark my words," Gareth prophesied. "Death and destruction are on their way."

"So it's not all bad news," I smiled. "Famine and pestilence are out to lunch."

"Yes, you forgot about them, Gareth."

"Oh, shut up, Gavin, and say good-bye to your Poddy. She'll soon wish she had been blown up by an atomic bomb."

"Shame on you, sir," Susie snorted, "trying to scare the hot pants off Denise."

"Jocasta wouldn't be seen doing her yoga in such scanties. And Jokey's got a CND badge - so sucks to you both and your lifeboat flags."

"I'm sorry - he doesn't mean it," Gavin apologised, frowning at his partner. "Gareth can be highly strung at times."

"It's okay," I smiled, "we understand."

"And don't worry, if you're out in the woods at night - I'll be on patrol," Gavin volunteered.

"Who dares wins," Susie saluted.

"Leave them to their fate," Gareth hissed, linking Gavin's arm. "Mr Higginbotham's waving, and we need to urgently practise our lollipops, or we'll never be in sync."

"I have to go - bye for now - but I'll keep an eye out for you."

"Thanks, Gavin, you're a sergeant and a gentleman," Susie grinned.

"And you, Gareth - take care a giant pigeon doesn't poop on your head from a great height," I called, as the unlikely lads jounced away like an animated figure 10.

"Doesn't Denise look great in her Poddy outfit, Gareth?"

"I've warned you about that type of girl, Gavin - she isn't a lady, like Jocasta. And, anyhow, they're lesbians."

"Did you hear that, Jeffrey? The cheek of the chubby bugger."

"But he's right, you know, Susie."

"Then give me your hand, Denise - it's time we danced away in style."

"One step, two steps, three steps, four,
The pretty girls are on the floor,
Swinging up and swinging back,
Driving all the young lads mad."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"That Gareth's a real charmer," Susie laughed, on our way back to the taxi. "He must make friends wherever he goes."

"He did come over as a bit stuck-up," I agreed.

"A bit - the snooty beggar thinks his backside is a perfume factory."

"Ah well, it takes all kinds."

"And Gareth's a true Liquorice Allsort."

"That'd make him a Bertie Bassett, then."

"Spot-on, Jeffrey," Susie laughed. "I wondered who he reminded me of, besides an awkward Annie."

"At least our little expedition is keeping you amused, Susie, even though we aren't making much progress."

"You let us become too easily distracted, Jeffrey. Sometimes, I think you're doing it on purpose."

"I couldn't possibly comment, Susie."

"I suspect you'd have been happy to jive away the rest of the day in there."

"If you'd like to see some extra high kicking, how about revisiting the dancewear shop?"

"Why - do you want to swap your hot pants for a ballet skirt?"

"No, I had ideas of going home and you zipping me into another of their costumes."

"Not now, Jeffrey - but just out of interest - was it the revealing and alluring ensemble in the window that caught your eye?"

"Of course, Susie - it's ideal for our purpose."

"What have you in mind, Jeffrey?"

"Denise be limbo, Denise be quick,
Denise go unda limbo stick."

 

 

Chapter 163

"Tell Colinvar who's next on the list, Denise."

"It's the last on the list, Susie, and it's not a 'who', it's a 'where' - Hackensall Hall."

"And what does our local country correspondent know about that?" Susie wondered.

Mr Varley twisted in his seat. "Hackensall is old Norse for Haakon's burial place."

"Whooooooooooo!" Susie hooted. "Does that mean it's got a ghost?"

"More than one according to the brochure," Mr Varley laughed. "The Hall's a mini stately home - open to visitors, but only in the summer. Don't be disappointed if you're left on the outside, looking in, when we get there."

"We'll take our chances, won't we, Denise?"

"No doubt, Susie."

"Away we go, then." Colinvar revved up his moaning warhorse, and we set off again down our long and winding road.

Susie leant over and whispered in my ear. "Maybe the coven are planning to reunite the squire with one of his long-dead ancestors."

"The gentleman did claim to be a direct descendant of Geoffrey the Crossbowman."

"But, luckily for us, not as deadly a shot."

"And we may need to be blessed with more good fortune, Susie, because Hackensall Hall is within screaming distance of Parrox Hall, the squire's house of horrors."

"Twin shrieks, eh, Jeffrey."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"'Closed to Visitors'." I read out the sign, as we swung into the grounds of Hackensall Hall. "It appears we're too late for the guided tour, Susie."

"Not to worry, Denise, I'm sure they'll make a pair of junior newspussies welcome for afternoon tea."

"You'll have to make that a quick cuppa if you don't want to be stranded here," Mr Varley advised, pulling up on the forecourt. "I can only wait until half past four."

"Then look lively, Denise, and let's see if Steve is being held prisoner deep in the vaults of Hackensall Hall."

"Or perhaps he's fallen captive to the charms of the lady of the manor," I smiled. "That'd be an unexpected development, wouldn't it?"

"It certainly would," Mr Varley grinned, "because there isn't one."

"Is this place home to another solitary squire, then?" Susie queried.

"I've never served the owner in any of my capacities, so I can't tell you much about the fellow," Mr Varley admitted. "But I hear he decamps to winter quarters abroad around this time of the year, and you may well find the place is completely shut up."

"If we do, and all else fails, the practice we've had, we can raise the dead to let us in, can't we, Denise?"

"I sincerely hope not, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"For ace detectives, we don't have much success knocking on doors," I bemoaned, following a fruitless five minutes shuffling our feet on the front steps of the hall. "Or much luck - this bell doesn't work."

"We'll use our initiative, then, Jeffrey."

"We're not free-climbing up there," I objected, as Susie turned from studying the ivy-covered wall.

"We won't need to, Jeffrey. I feel a sense of history about this old pile. I suspect there's the entrance to a priest's hole concealed somewhere at the back."

"Have you any idea what you're talking about, Susie?"

"An emergency exit from the days of Cavaliers and Roundheads, Jeffrey. This area was a Royalist stronghold, and Catholics have always believed in resorting to a last gasp get-out. Come on, let's make a quick recce."

"We aren't breaking in again," I protested, trooping off after her. "Mr Varley will be a witness to our crime this time."

"He won't see, Jeffrey - but we'll see what we shall see."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"I've seen a total of 88 bars on the windows, Susie," I reported, when we'd completed our circumnavigation of the building. "And 88 is ..."

"Two fat ladies worth - don't you think that's a curious as well as interesting fact, Jeffrey?"

"Not if the lord of the manor leaves it empty for long periods - or he employed Ernie as an odd-job man."

"You're always one for the most mundane explanation."

"And I hope that's what you'll come up with to account for Mr Varley's disappearance," I frowned, following my precautionary glance across the courtyard.

"Why - has he skedaddled off to his half-four fare?"

"Definitely not - take a look over there." I pointed to the open door of the now empty taxi. "We're missing a driver."

"You're right, we're left, Colinvar's gone," Susie agreed. "But perhaps he's only mundanely answering an urgent call of nature."

"Well, I ain't going into the bushes searching for him," I shivered, as the sky darkened and a chilly breeze sent the fallen leaves skimming over the gravel. "He may be another Percy Rigsby ... or Uncle Ted. The devil knows what concoctions Mr Varley takes for his bad back."

"In that case, you'd better stay here, safely by my side, Jeffrey, while I give our lost knight a clarion call."

"Don't be surprised if he doesn't answer, Susie. This place gives me the shudders."

"Mr Varley! Mr Varley! Where are you, Mr Varley?" Susie cried.

Ke-wick twoo, Ke-wick twoo.

"I wonder if animal impressions are another of Mr Versatility's many talents, Susie?"

"Colinvar! O Colinvar! Wherefore art thou, Colinvar?"

Ke-wick twoo, Ke-wick twoo.

"Give up, Pussycat, before we have an owl in our hair. We need an alternative strategy."

Susie considered the problem for only a moment. "We're left with no choice, Jeffrey. It's up the downpipe and in through the bathroom window."

"I'd rather we tried a few more tunes on the knocker first. Maybe Mr Varley had more success gaining entry than we're having."

"You think it's possible he knew the secret rap, do you?"

"It's probable someone did, Susie," I argued, on hearing a sudden ominous creaking. "Look - the wind's blowing the door open."

"Then what are we waiting for? Gird up your hot pants, Jeffrey."

"Okay, but remember - fools rush in."

"Fold those wings, angel." Susie picked up speed, marched across the porch, under the arch, and into the oak-panelled hallway. "Cooeee, anybody home - dead or alive?"

"Getting no reply is highly suspect," I cautioned, as Susie plunged deeper into the gloomy mansion. "Especially since it smells as if something's cooking."

"You can be sure of that, Jeffrey."

"Then let's proceed with the utmost vigilance." I flicked a switch on the wall, and our surroundings appeared even darker in the dim glow of the ancient bulb.

"Dad would describe this place as unspoilt and having a lot of potential, Jeffrey."

"I only hope we don't bump into a laughing cavalier with his head tucked underneath his arm."

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Susie yelled. "There's no hiding place from the TV licence inspectors. We've cased the joint and seen your aerials."

"I'm in here." A cultured voice echoed down the passage way. "Waiting to receive you."

"The power of the BBC," Susie exulted, and hurried along to the room at the end. "A visit from their humblest representatives can put the wind up the toppest people in the land."

"There's no doubt someone's in for a shock," I predicted, pushing open the door.

"We've wiped our feet," Susie announced, as we stood on the threshold. "Can we come in?"

"Ah, what a delightful surprise!" We were greeted by an immaculately clad, middle-aged gentleman sporting a silver-topped cane and a thin-lipped smile under a luxurious handlebar moustache. "Two beautiful, young girls in the first flush of youth. Is there anything so sad?"

"Sad?" Susie puzzled.

"All that disappointment, disillusion, and decay to come."

"Where did the man get those barmy ideas, Denise?"

"I suppose his pessimism could be the result of reading too much Schopenhauer in the wee small hours, Susie."

"There's a bod who can prove a downer even for the most inveterate optimist. Are you feeling okay, squire?"

"Perfectly - and please don't address me as 'squire'."

"Then it's Mr Hackensall, I presume," Susie beamed.

"Hackensall is the name of the estate. My forebears ..."

"Oh, one more than Goldilocks - we should be extra careful in all that follows, Susie."

"If you'll kindly let me finish," our host harrumphed. "I'm Sir Guy Fawcett."

"Say hello to the famous Russian tap-dancer, Denise."

"And he's brought a nasty chesty cough with him, Susie."

"We'll Dinky Doo pun pun somebody to death yet, Denise. Do you get our drift, your sirship?"

"Yes, I've got you both, and I find it most amusing," Sir Guy smirked.

"I think a sinister double meaning may lurk behind the aristocratic facade, Susie," I muttered.

"I had the bugger sussed from the off, Jeffrey," Susie whispered. "Something's rotten in the estate of Haakon - probably the squire."

"I told you there's a funny smell."

"If you're talking about me behind your hands, it's extremely bad manners."

"Sorry," Susie apologised. "We were just discussing how we should proceed to our best advantage."

"A good start would be explaining why you've honoured my home with a visit."

"We're from the BBC licence enforcement inspectorate. Here ..." Susie delved into her bag. "Would you like to examine our credentials?"

"This says 'Geologists and Fracking Experts'," Sir Guy glared, and turned the card over. "With what seems to be the ample posterior of one of Donald McGill's buxom beauties on the back."

"We're working undercover, and the BBC believes in one hundred percent recycling of executive communication media," Susie smiled. "Can we see your TV licence, please?"

"I don't have a television - it's for the great unwashed."

"That and 'I only watch Sky' are the favourite excuses of Guardian readers, but they won't hold up in court. You've three aerials and a big dish on your roof. Tell the suspect what ensues, Denise."

"We call in the detector van, don't we, Susie?"

"Correct, but to avoid squandering licence payers' money, we should first personally search the place for illicit devices."

"You'd like to take the guided tour, would you? At this time of the year, it's by appointment only, but I'll be more than happy to make an exception in the BBC's case," Sir Guy yielded. "This way, please, girls."

"Have you shown anybody from the Shoreham Gazette around recently?" Susie insouciantly enquired, as we followed our host through into a billiard room, housing a full-size snooker table. "A friend of ours works there."

"You're referring to that amiable lad, Mr Spooner, I suppose."

"Yes, he's the one. We expected to meet him in Knott End today, but he's abandoned his car and vanished into thin air."

"I can't believe any red-blooded male would stand up two such charming young ladies. Your photos scarcely do you justice."

"Our photos?" I queried.

"On Mr Spooner's phone - he absentmindedly left it behind. My associates were most enamoured with the portraits. Their sole disappointment will be that you haven't come arrayed in the full splendour of your bridal gown."

"I only wear it on special occassions."

"But this is one, my dear," Sir Guy leered. "And your wedding-dress and veil would have made it even more so."

"Will Steve be attending the ceremony in his top hat, white tie, and tails?" Susie asked.

"Would you like to invite him?"

"Yes - where is he now?"

"The devil only knows. But from what you say, and his not coming back for his phone, I fear something untoward may have happened to your inquisitive young friend."

"Sir Guy seems to be more than one jump ahead of us, Susie," I warned, and began edging towards the rack of cues.

Susie nodded in acknowledgement before blithely carrying on with her interrogation. "While Steve was here, he must have posed some awkward questions about the squire, which, perhaps, you were reluctant to answer, Sir Guy."

"No, my dear, quite the contrary - I proved most cooperative in relation to the exploits of my wayward neighbour."

"Make that a mass-murdering, wayward neighbour."

"And my second cousin and much valued business partner," Sir Guy disclosed, with a glimmer of a smile. "Giles' tragic passing and the revelations about his extra-curricular activities have come as a tremendous shock to me."

"I'd say you're bearing up pretty well under the circumstances," Susie observed. "You don't look like a man nursing a broken heart under your yellow waistcoat."

"I'm endeavouring to remember Giles as the English country gentleman he always aspired to be."

"Get away."

"No fox was safe from him. The sound of the hunting horn set the Meares' ears twitching and nostrils flaring."

"And his other harmless hobbies were serial killing and devil worshipping," Susie snorted.

"Wiser men than Giles have been seduced by the glamour of evil. Even Milton unwittingly made Lucifer the hero of his great work."

"Did he, Denise?"

"'Paradise Lost', Susie."

"Yes, but it went to extra time."

"'Better to rule in Hell, than be a slave in Heaven' is the motto on our family crest. Although, I have to confess, Giles rather took it to extremes."

"As did the bodynappers who removed his coffin from the hearse and brought him back here to rest," Susie declared.

"Is that so?" Sir Guy gave his moustache a double twiddle. "You seem unusually well informed about my cousin's present whereabouts."

"And you don't seem at all surprised," Susie countered.

"Now, why do you suppose that would be?"

"Because you're the one who arranged it."

"Do tell me more, my little busybody," Sir Guy invited.

"You first," Susie insisted. "Where's Steve Spooner?"

"Safe and sound - as you'll soon see for yourselves."

"Is that dead safe and sound?" I wondered.

"Dear me, no - I'm not a mad murderer. Mr Spooner is merely being detained incommunicado for turning up in the right place at the wrong time."

"And now we've done the same," I smiled.

"Ah, but we expected you," Sir Giles smirked. "I admit we were disturbed at first when you began asking questions around the village. But thanks to our scheme you've been kept harmlessly occupied."

"Are you sure?" Susie questioned.

"You're here looking for Mr Spooner instead of reporting his disappearance to the police, aren't you? I'd say our tethered goat strategy has worked to perfection."

"You won't be so smug when you find you've got a couple of tigers by the tail," Susie threatened.

"Hardly, my dears."

"How about Puss-in-Boots and Felix the Cat, who've come to run away with the Spooner?" I offered.

"Much more fitting - after all, it is your curiosity that has caused me a trifling inconvenience."

"Only trifling - then why bother going to all this trouble?" Susie challenged.

"My colleagues aren't as sanguine regarding you as I am," Sir Guy sniggered, before laughing out loud.

"Is it that funny?"

"Forgive me, my dear - I inadvertently made an ironic little joke, but it was in execrable taste."

"Should we take umbrage, or not, Denise?"

"No, Susie - it'll be less use than a parasol, let alone my golf umbrella, if fire and brimstone rain down upon us. I have an idea Sir Guy is implying some devilishly bloodthirsty folk are in the vicinity."

"You've only yourselves to blame. Our plans were at a delicate stage, and the Master of the coven became quite alarmed at your unhealthy interest in Mr Spooner and the squire."

"And he was right to be so," Susie asserted. "You can't steal a corpse from Jones & Son and expect to escape the consequences. It's worse than a crime - it's a fatal mistake."

"You're echoing Talleyrand, Susie."

"Devious minds think alike, Denise."

"I only hope we prove as resourceful in getting out of here, Susie," I hinted, casually rolling the white across the snooker table towards her. "Or this could end unpleasantly for someone."

"You've really no cause for concern, girls," Sir Guy coldly smiled.

"But you have," Susie advised. "The police won't rest until they find the squire's body."

"By which time, I will have departed. First to Switzerland, and then to ... who knows where in the big wide world."

"You do presumably."

"Of course - I have it all arranged down to the last air-ticket. I'm an eminently practical man."

"Unlike your crazy, criminal cousin."

"Chalk to Giles' cheese, my dear. Although I plead guilty to expediently appearing otherwise to his curdled disciples."

"Only appearing?" Susie scoffed.

"You don't imagine I believe any of that lunatic nonsense, do you?" Sir Guy guffawed. "What bloody clap-trap!"

"But you found it useful when you wanted to persuade the squire's followers to steal his body for you," I suggested.

"Needs must when the devil drives. And who better to do my dirty work?" Sir Guy gloated. "I spouted some of Giles' satanic mumbo-jumbo, and those weirdos swallowed it whole."

"Wanting a dead body for a weekend house guest is pretty peculiar in itself," Susie accused.

"Rest assured, my motive for saying a personal good-bye to Giles involves a quest for strictly earthly riches."

"What did I say, Denise? That slimy bugger of a squire swallowed a load of diamonds to go along with those toads."

"Nothing quite so fanciful, my dear, but I congratulate you for being on the right track."

"What other filthy lucre can you hide in and around a body, Denise?"

"I don't want to know, Susie. It's too gross for me - let's go home," I pleaded.

"Not yet, my dear." Sir Guy moved to one side and closed the door. "Stay awhile, and I'll broaden your outlook on life."

"No, thanks - this whole thing is silly."

"You wouldn't think it so silly if you knew the full story."

"Yes, we would - we're just silly, impetuous girls," I pouted, from within easy reach of a finely polished snooker cue. "Who are ready to act impulsive and force Mr Fawcett to give way, aren't we, Susie?"

"Not yet, Denise, we've reached the point in the plot where the arch-villain strokes his white Persian - or in this case his black moustache - and revels in his cleverness."

"And after that, things may become a little fraught for us, Susie."

"Calm down, my little pink kitten. If you behave nicely, I've no intention of putting you in a sack and drowning you."

"You'd better not have," I blinked. "We've a taxi waiting outside."

"With our very own valiant knight of the road in the driver's seat," Susie emphasised.

"Varley won't come to your rescue - another far more imperative fare has taken priority."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Susie declared. "We haven't paid off old Colinvar yet."

"He won't complain. Money is the last thing on Mr Varley's mind at the moment."

"But not on yours, I assume," Susie ventured.

"The ruinous upkeep on this place is a constant worry," Sir Guy complained. "Just between ourselves and the taxman, my precious cousin's timely exit has saved the proud name of Fawcett from the ignominy of bankruptcy."

"One man's accident becomes another man's fortune, eh," Susie grinned.

"Quite, my dear - but I suspect chance played no part in Giles' fall from disgrace. I often wonder whom I have to thank for anticipating my plans for the unholy rascal."

"Trip forward, Denise ... don't blush unseen, and leave all the quizzing to me."

"So, what is the valuable secret the squire's not taking to the grave with him, sir?"

"Can't bright girls like you guess?"

"Can we, Denise?"

"Isn't Switzerland the place where folk keep a secret stash of Toblerones squirrelled away under their own personal alp for safe keeping, Susie?"

"You've hit the needle in the eye, Denise. The squire probably has the number of a Swiss bank account tattooed on an intimate part of his anatomy."

"The inside of his right arm to be precise. Giles always boasted no one would prise the secret out of him except over his dead body. And I'm pleased to have proved the mistrustful bugger correct."

"And I've been proved correct, too, Denise. My theory has been vindicated."

"I don't understand why the squire didn't just remember the number, Susie. My library card and pin is 23 digits and I can recite it backwards."

"A fellow who'd lost as many brain cells as Giles in his rake's progress couldn't risk a king's ransom to the vagaries of their memory," Sir Guy sneered. "Fortunately for me."

"But not for us, Susie - I wish we hadn't pursued the matter. Sir Guy won't want to take the slightest risk of the police getting to know what we know."

"You really are a little worry-boots, child. None of us are in any danger. I've thought of everything. Out there in the kitchen, Giles' still faithful minions are even now obliterating the relevant information."

"Isn't desecrating the dead a criminal offence?" Susie frowned.

"Where I'm retiring to, I very much doubt it," Sir Guy snickered. "They engage in some most colourful local customs. However, before I set forth on my travels, I need to remove you from circulation for the next 48 hours."

"I don't like the sound of that, Denise."

"Neither do I, Susie - although it's a cut below having our circulation removed by the coven."

"If you lie back and think of Disneyland, I promise you'll enjoy the experience," Sir Guy smirked, opening the drinks cabinet. "Would you care for some Madeira, my dears?"

I shook my head. "Nothing stronger than diluted water for us, thanks."

"I don't want to press the matter, girls, but it'll help you sleep and make the affair much more civilised all round."

"Then you'll be disappointed, because we're two little savages, aren't we, Denise?"

"Who still have our principles, Susie."

"Do you, my dear?"

"Yes, but not to live or die by," I conceded. "If you don't like them, we have others. Although there's no compromising on our Band of Hope pledge."

"Well, if you won't join me in a drink, I have alternative, not so pleasant, means at my disposal to deal with disobedient little snoopers."

"Let's not fall out over a TV licence," Susie scolded. "We can avoid any fuss if you agree to pay by credit card."

"If you're from the BBC, I'm Rupert Murdoch."

"Old Digger's talking out of his expensively tailored trousers, Denise. Read him his rights."

"Don't bother - you've played your games long enough. It's time we did it my way and got down to the serious business."

"It's still not too late to surrender yourself into our custody," Susie offered.

"We'll talk about running up the white flag in the gunroom." Sir Guy raised his cane and indicated the far door. "After you, ladies."

"How about being a sport and giving us a start - say a couple of miles?" I proposed.

Sir Guy advanced towards us. "But this is the course to follow if you're anxious to be reunited with Mr Spooner."

"We've had a drastic change of plan, haven't we, Denise?"

"I certainly have." I wrenched a cue out of the rack and prepared to meet the enemy halfway. "On guard, Sir Knight!"

Fawcett nervously backed up against the wall. "You're making things worse for yourselves, my dears. I only have to ring for the servants."

"No, you don't!" I cried, clouting Sir Guy on the knuckles as he reached for the bell-rope.

"Ouuuuccchhhhhh!"

"Give the rotter hell, Denise - they don't like it up 'em!"

"How are you at taking pot-shots, Susie?"

"There's one sure way to find out." Susie snatched a ball off the table and hurled it at Sir Guy. "Cop that, you coconut!"

"Missed, Missy!" he crowed, throwing up his stick and ducking under the missile.

"You spoke too soon!" I riposted, seizing my chance to break the cue over his unguarded head. "Whack-O!"

"Ooooowwwwwww!"

Susie followed up with a left and right salvo. "Surprise! Surprise! Your little dear turned out to be bambidextrous."

"Aaaaaaawwwwww!"

"Here - this'll put you back in the pink."

"Ooooooooooofffffff!"

"You've winded the blowhard, Denise."

"You'll pay for that," Fawcett gasped. "I'll feed you to Giles' friends."

"Stomach this!"

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"

"Your turn, Susie - I potted him in the middle pocket."

"Fore!"

"Ooooowwwwwww!"

"And again!"

"Aaaaarrrgggghhhh!" Sir Guy howled.

"We got him bang to rights," Susie whooped, as Fawcett collapsed in a heap after suffering another direct hit on the noggin. "He took the blows and did it our way."

"Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhh ..."

"It's another victory for clean living, Susie - Sir Guy's struck his colours."

"I black-balled the bounder right above the nose, Jeffrey."

"You well and truly snookered the cove, Susie."

"I expect I'd be pretty good at golf as well, Jeffrey."

"It is a game of confidence."

"And it involves a lot of driving - I've an eye for that sort of thing."

"Somebody may wake up with a couple of rainbow ones." I stepped forward and gave Sir Guy a cautious toe-poke. "I think we've knocked him into the middle of next week, Susie."

"I jolly well hope so - it'll teach the supercilious basket a lesson."

"What lesson's that, Susie?"

"Pretty girls can be dangerous, Denise."

"And acquisitive, Susie." I dropped a threesome of souvenirs of our visit into her bag. "These could come in handy if we have another devilish confrontation."

"They're a bit heavy, Jeffrey."

"All the better to stun with, Susie - and what's more they might be valuable antiques into the bargain."

"Balls, Jeffrey! I'd rather have a companion for my Uzi. Let's take a peek at Sir Guy's arsenal before we go a-hunting for Steve."

 

 

Chapter 164

"It's all clear this way." I checked outside the opposite door, while Susie lingered to admire the weapon collection lining the wall of the gunroom. "Come on, there's no time to lose."

"It's a shame everything's locked up, Jeffrey. An equaliser might come in useful if we have to wrest the squire's body from whatever ritual his coven are intent on performing."

"Let's not get too ambitious, Susie," I cautioned, when she eventually came across and joined me. "Escaping with Steve in tow will be a job well done."

"Half done, Jeffrey - and the half that won't impress Uncle Frank one rusty coffin nail."

"Have you any idea how we'll manage to transport a luxury slumber chamber, containing a corpse, out of here?" I questioned, as we started off down the passage. "It must weigh quite a bit."

"The squire was only a skinny little bugger, and we'll have Steve to share the load. What's the problem?"

"We haven't found either of them yet, for one thing. Isn't it wiser to phone the police, and let the law take over?"

"No way, Jeffrey - we're getting all the credit from Uncle Frank. I won't be satisfied until we bring back the squire dead, and ..."

"Aaaaawww ... Ooooowww ... Uuuuuhhh."

"Shush - I can hear live moaning."

"Let me out ..."

"That's Steve - and it's coming from in there." Susie darted ahead and unlocked the door. "Whoops! Catch a falling Spooner."

I sprang forward, and we each grabbed an arm as Steve lost control of his limbs and toppled from the broom closet. "Aaaaahhh ..."

"He's out to the world, Susie. Lower him to the floor."

"Easy does it, Jeffrey - he's as limp as a noodle."

"Ghnnnggh ... Ghnnnggh ..." We put Steve on his side, and he lay there driving a mob of pigs to market. "Ghnnnggh ... Ghnnnggh ..."

"Mr Spooner's alive and snoring, Susie, but he won't be any help carrying a coffin."

"We'll dump him in the taxi, and then come back and see if we can find Mr Varley and the squire."

"This is getting awfully complicated," I muttered, as we took a wrist apiece and dragged Steve along.

"We can't leave the poor beggar at the mercy of the coven, Jeffrey."

"I think we may have to for now, Susie. Listen - someone's coming up from behind."

We glanced back down the passage to see a heavily armed Sir Guy Fawcett emerge from the gunroom. "Where are you, my interfering, little bunnies?"

"We obviously didn't hit the swine hard enough, Jeffrey."

"There you are! Stop - or I fire!"

"He's taking aim, Susie."

"I hope we left him with double vision, Jeffrey."

"It might not do us any good, Susie - the blighter's got double barrels. It's time for plan B."

"Abandon Steve, Jeffrey!"

"I'll teach you to trespass in my garden."

"Run, Susie! Mr McGregor thinks it's rabbit season."

Baaaaaaannnnngggg!

"Come back!" Sir Guy bellowed. "Or the next one won't be a warning."

"No practice shots - that ain't fair," Susie yelled.

Baaaaaaannnnngggg!

Smaaaaassssssshhhh!

"Look out!" I cried, as the chandelier above our heads responded to a direct hit. "The sky's falling in."

Craaaaaassssssssshhh!

"Now you've done it, Nimrod!" Susie turned and shook her fist at the incensed hunter. "You know this means war!"

"That's fine with me!" Sir Guy thundered, preparing to loose off a second salvo. "I'm the one with the shooter!"

"And it's a bloody big bazooka, Jeffrey."

Baaaaaaannnnngggg!

"Keep on running, Susie."

Baaaaaaannnnngggg!

"Never touched us, mother!" we Dinky Dooed in unison, and accelerated away.

"He's reloading again, Susie, but at least it's not a machine pistol this time."

"Full speed to the emergency exit, Jeffrey."

"I only hope there is one."

"Stop - or I'll blow your bloody brains out!"

"Oh no, you won't - we're jumping the gun," Susie whooped, as we bounced off the wall after executing a flying right turn at the top of the passage.

"There's daylight at the end of the tunnel. Faster, Susie!"

We raced on to the French windows, flung them apart, and burst through into the wide-open rear grounds. "Which way, Jeffrey?"

Baaaaaaannnnngggg!

"Any which way oot the hoose, Susie!"

"We're a scampering target, Jeffrey. The mad bugger's going to have a clear shot at us," Susie panted, when we reached the middle of the lawn.

"Swing left, Susie, and make for the visitors' toilet block."

Baaaaaaannnnngggg!

We disappeared round the corner just before the brickwork, above where our heads had been, exploded into dust. "He's finding his range, Jeffrey - this is getting too close for comfort."

Baaaaaaannnnngggg!

"Into the Ladies, Susie."

"We'll be trapped there, Jeffrey. I don't think Sir Guy's knightly enough for an 'Engaged' sign at the door to deter him."

"I'm counting on the gent throwing caution to the wind and using the wrong bathroom, Susie. I've a plan BB in my knapsack, so cunning you could have thought of it."

"I hope it's genuine Bugs Bunny standard because we'll be confronting Yosemite Sam with both barrels blazing."

"This way - let's hide behind the cubicle at the far end."

"That seems as mad as a March hare to me, Jeffrey. We really will have no place to go."

"Shush - he's arrived outside. Get down."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Susie murmured, as a wild-eyed Sir Guy came charging through the door.

"Where are you, my little buggers?"

"Hurry, Jeffrey! Give him the full works - this is no time for half-measures."

"Then here goes everything!" I exclaimed, and launched a salvo of my secret weapons across the polished tiled floor.

"Ball-bearings!"

"Quarter inchers - the ideal size to get under someone's unsuspecting feet."

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The shiny metal spheres ran true and homed in on the slippery soles of Sir Guy's patent leather shoes. "Contact, Susie!"

"Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh!"

"He's taking a tumble, Jeffrey."

"Noooooooooooohhhhhhhhh!"

"There he flies, Susie. The old bird's up in the air."

"Aaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwww!"

"Arse over elbow - he's no Fred Astaire, Jeffrey."

Thuuuuuuummmmmmppppp!

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!"

"Or Gene Kelly, Susie."

Craaaaaaaaaaaaccccccccckkk!

"More like Humpty Dumpty - now's the time to break cover and hit the man while he's down, Jeffrey."

"Uuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ..." Sir Guy visibly deflated before Susie could deliver a follow-up blow.

"We've already separated the bounder from his breath, Susie. I believe we need take no further action," I pronounced, as we stood over our victim. "He's lying awfully still."

"The scoundrel's departed sooner than he expected, Jeffrey."

"Sir Guy's knocked himself into Kingdom Come, Susie."

"He should be so lucky. The bugger will most likely have gone to keep second-cousin Giles company, stoking the boilers in Satan's Palace."

"It wouldn't surprise me if things turn out that way, Susie."

"And this way, Jeffrey - either old Fawcett's double-jointed or broken necks run in the family."

"Our third in total, Susie. It's a bit of a relief really - I feared number three might have been someone we knew and slightly loved."

"As well as confirming my triple trouble theory, Jeffrey, it shows it's true what they say."

"What's that, Susie?"

"The lavatory is the most dangerous room in the house ... or is it the kitchen?"

"Wherever's the most plausible location for a domestic mishap, we're not moving him. The authorities will have to pick the pellets out of a 'dead in the ladies' loo, clasping a shotgun' tragedy."

"Perhaps we should relieve Sir Guy of his weapon, Jeffrey. It may come in useful."

"No, we don't want to risk incriminating ourselves," I warned, and set to work retrieving the scattered ball-bearings. "It seems only fair to leave the police puzzling about a second freak accident."

"When they find nothing he could have tripped over, but his moustache, folk could really believe black magic is at work."

"Mammon was definitely Sir Guy's god of choice, Susie. Look - he's wearing a money belt."

Susie bent down and lifted one of the flaps. "Kruger rands, Jeffrey!"

"South African gold and a Swiss bank account - I wonder if there's also a villa in Tuscany, Susie."

"Even if he's lacking exotic bricks and mortar, you can't fault Sir Guy's financial acumen, Jeffrey."

"He certainly knew how to go bankrupt, Susie."

"And we'll take advantage of his foresight, Jeffrey. These will provide an unexpected bonus." Susie took out a coin and flipped it in the air. "Heads we keep it, tails we try again."

"Gold is the money of kings. Perhaps we should hand them in as treasure trove, Susie."

"Don't be so bourgeois, Jeffrey. According to Lenin, it's okay to steal what's already been stolen."

"If it has - we don't know that for sure."

"Either way, we deserve some compensation - how about a couple each? The gentleman did put us to a lot of trouble."

"Much effort, much prosperity," I smiled. "That's according to Euripedes."

"Okay, we'll take a dese, and make it threes apiece, Jeffrey. We don't want to appear greedy."

"And we don't want to weigh ourselves down, Susie. We may have more running to do before the day is out."

"They're not that heavy, Jeffrey - let's take the lot, just in case Uncle Frank doesn't cough up for our expenses."

"I suppose seizing the ogre's pot of gold happens in all the best fairytales, Susie - but we are robbing the dead."

"I think of it more as Bugs Bunny opportunely helping himself to a few stray carrots."

"Well, when you assay it like that, Susie."

"Here you are, then, Jeffrey."

"Ain't we little stinkers, Susie," I grinned, as we exchanged a golden handshake.

 

 

Chapter 165

"Steve couldn't have gone far, Jeffrey."

"He shouldn't have gone anywhere, Susie," I frowned, after we'd retraced our steps along the passage. "He should still have been back there, snoring unpeacefully."

"Perhaps the sound of gunfire awakened his reporter's instincts, and Steve got up and sleepwalked to the frontline."

"Or someone spirited him away."

"It could have been old Colinvar - he's another who's mysteriously disappeared."

"And we might join them if we aren't careful, Susie. Going by what Sir Guy said, the body-snatchers are probably skulking in the wings, watching our every move from behind the oak panelling."

"Mere underlings, Jeffrey - they'll be fluttering around like headless chickens now we've doubly decapitated their leadership."

"They won't know Sir Guy's had a fatal accident, Susie."

"Only because they would have run for their lives, with their tails between their legs, on hearing the first gunshot."

"You hope."

"And not without reason - this place is as quiet as the grave. All we have to do is find the squire's body, put it back in Uncle Frank's box, and exit, unpursued by a coven."

"Not forgetting to take Steve with us."

"And Mr Varley, Jeffrey - so, come on, it's time to explore our way to the kitchen. We could kill three birds with one ball-bearing."

"You make it all sound so easy, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Somebody's cooking with gas," Susie sniffed, on our entering the banqueting room.

"This whole affair has the distinct smell of sausages about it."

"Porky ones, I think, Jeffrey ... and do I hear the trot of cloven feet?"

"Shush, Susie, we're about to have company. Quick - down behind the table."

"You should have let me bring the shotgun, Jeffrey," Susie muttered, as we watched and waited for the door to open.

"Flight not fight is our first option, Susie. Get ready to run."

"Only as a last resort, Jeffrey."

"Hello - anybody there?" An enquiring voice heralded the entrance of a familiar figure, wearing an unfamiliar, hooded robe.

"It's Colinvar," Susie hissed. "And it looks as though the Renaissance man is giving the monastic life a whirl."

"That isn't a turn-up for the bell, book, and candle," I whispered. "What's our next move?"

"This!" Susie sprang to her feet. "Hi, Mr Varley, we wondered where you'd got to. Did you drop in for a chat with old friends in the servants' quarters?"

"Hello there, Susie - I've been searching for you." Mr Varley threw back his cowl, closed the door, and slowly shuffled to the opposite end of the table.

"You look totally knackered. Is it too many midnight meetings, or is your back playing you up?" Susie grinned. "If you want to reclaim a place on the tug-of-war team, you should try sleeping in a coffin - my uncle swears by it."

"That's no way to greet the bearer of glad tidings," Varley reproved. "You'll be pleased to hear I've found Mr Spooner alive and well."

"Don't be surprised if there are bad tidings to follow, Susie," I murmured.

"Ah, you're here too, Denise. So we're all together again and ready to continue our journey, but I hope you won't mind if we take a slight diversion first."

"Are you going to give us the grand tour, in the absence of the official guide?" I asked.

"Something like that," Varley smiled. "Your efforts on Mr Spooner's behalf shouldn't go unrewarded. And am I correct in assuming you're also curious about the fate of our squire?"

"Dead right - we expected a member of the coven to lead us to his corpse, didn't we, Denise?"

"I had more than an inkling, Susie."

"Then, perhaps, it won't come as a shock to learn we've arranged for you to play a leading part in the ultimate rites," Varley announced.

"Actually, we're having second thoughts on the matter now," I wavered. "And we don't want to keep you from your four-thirty appointment."

"I've already kept it," Varley smirked. "So I can give my undivided attention to the first stage of your enlightenment."

"Actually, we're not that keen on local history," I decided.

"I'm sure I can arouse your interest. When you see what the Hall has to offer, I promise you won't be disappointed."

"But you might be with our reaction," Susie declared.

"I haven't been up to the present, my little lambs," Varley boasted. "Since we parked Mr Spooner's car conveniently in your path, you've proved most cooperative in following our instructions to the last letter."

"Don't you believe it," Susie disputed.

"You believed my SOS text message from desperate Steve Spooner."

"No, we didn't - we suspected it was a fake."

"But you never suspected we arranged for Snatch Foster to shepherd you into the safety of my passing taxi," Varley scoffed.

"Save your gloating," Susie glared. "Sir Guy has already blabbed about wanting to keep us harmlessly occupied."

"And I hope you enjoyed your encounters with some delightful village eccentrics whilst falling naively into our trap."

"On the contrary," Susie countered, "you've unwittingly brought us to our prime objective, the stolen coffin and its contents. So we aren't the mugs who've done the falling."

"Oh, but you have - we've got you exactly where we want you."

"It seems your knight with the shining crown is revelling in revealing his true colours, Susie. What have you to say about that?"

"Varley's a varlet, Denise. He's not one of us - he's one of them. Mr Varley is first among the squire's witches."

"Warlocks, Susie."

"Language, Denise - the strategy may have been risky, but my stirring up a horned-one's nest approach to achieve our objective has worked a treat."

"I feared it might, Susie, but I have to admit you've been proved twice right over the motive for the squire's bodynapping."

"So I have, Denise - a secret hoard and a secret ceremony - I must be doubly psychic."

"And too smart for your own good," Varley taunted. "Although you have displayed some remarkable initiative. In particular, how did you learn the squire had returned home?"

"Sorry, we can't help you there," Susie apologised. "It's a professional secret - client confidentiality and all that."

"But I'm anxious to know these little details. We wouldn't want our new Master to have any more unexpected surprises."

"They're the best kind," Susie smiled. "But don't worry about it - your big cheese is past caring. Sir Giles fell over his shotgun and kicked the lavatory bucket."

"Oh, dear," Varley tutted. "Is that what those bangs were? Pray, don't distress yourselves - Fawcett was far from our Master. Who cares if you turned his own weapon on him."

"We don't shoot people," Susie huffed. "We're much more inventive than that. You wouldn't believe what we have in store for you."

"Brave words, little lady," Varley laughed.

"You won't be so amused when you view Sir Guy's body. He's not a pretty sight."

"He never was - and if the scheming rogue really is dead, he's no great loss."

"Sir Guy felt the same way about your lot. He planned on doing a bunk and leaving the coven to face the music," Susie retorted.

"In fact, he may already have double-crossed his partners in crime and called in the police as a farewell gift," I bluffed.

"I'm sorry to dash your hopes," Varley snickered. "But we've nothing to fear from that direction. We've always known Fawcett wasn't a true believer and only wanted to use us for his own mercenary ends."

"The bloody cad - what's the world coming to, Denise?"

"It's self, self, self, Susie."

"And beggar your necromancing neighbours, Denise."

"Ingratitude is always to be deplored," Varley lamented. "But that's life - Fawcett has served his purpose, and we'll not be the least disappointed if things have worked out the way you say."

"They have," Susie affirmed.

"Then Fawcett died in the line of duty, leaving us with a safe roof over our heads and two more pawns to replace him in our magic circle."

"Magic circle, eh," Susie grinned. "Let's see you pull a rabbit out of your hood, then, Mr Merlin."

"No rabbits, but how about these?" Varley took a pair of crude woollen dolls out of his pocket.

"What are they supposed to be?"

"Puppets of a pair of poppets."

"We're not impressed, are we, Denise?"

"Nah, my gran can knit better stuff than that using her fingers and baling twine."

"And they lack hanks of our hair and fingernail clippings."

"Shush, Susie, we don't want Mr Varley assaulting us with a pair of giant scissors."

"I've no need to, my little maiden. They've already done their work and brought you to our rendezvous."

"Conkers!" Susie snorted. "You ferried us here in your taxi. Don't you remember?"

"I am merely the instrument of a higher authority. You were destined to take part in our thanksgiving from the moment we saw your photos on Mr Spooner's phone."

"I knew those pictures would bring us nothing but trouble, Susie."

"It's fate, Miss Smith," Varley leered. "You shouldn't have been so eager to play the child bride. But, rest assured, the charms of one so young and nubile will not go to waste."

"I suppose you believe in the power of runes, too," I challenged. "Were they your emergency back-up?"

"So, you've learned you're the subjects of our latest experiment in the black arts."

"We've known about it all along," I claimed.

"And much good it's done you," Varley scorned. "I hope you appreciate the honour of being the gathering's first offerings to Asmodeus."

"You amateurs are the ones who'll suffer," Susie predicted. "We consulted a diabolic expert, and he assures us demonic dabbling invariably rebounds on folk who use it for their own devilish ends."

"We've made no mistakes with the spell," Varley crowed. "The runes are in your possession, and you've no unwitting dupe to pass them on to."

"Watch out a paper aeroplane doesn't come gliding your way," I advised.

"That won't do you any good," Varley sneered. "Didn't your expert explain that the beneficiary has to voluntarily accept the present of the runes?"

"And you've really swallowed all this baloney?" I mocked.

"You'll see - now you're the chosen ones."

"The chosen ones - that sounds familiar, doesn't it, Denise?"

"I thought we were the chosen two, Susie."

"Ones, two, bumps-a-daisy - it's all the same to us, Denise."

"The Master will be displeased with your impertinent attitude," Varley glowered. "But, otherwise, you really are a cut above our previous victims. You will add glamour to our glamour. And I do believe you're virgins in all respects."

"We're not, are we, Susie," I whispered.

"Pretty much, Denise, but I think we'd better keep quiet about it."

"Are you disputing the fact?"

"Well, we aren't nuns," Susie confessed. "Although we've had a bit of fun behind your veil, haven't we, Denise?"

"So much so, we may already be married in the eyes of God. Would that disqualify us, Mr Varley?"

"It doesn't show in your faces, so you're still eligible. We need to have a rather looser definition nowadays - morals aren't quite what they used to be."

"You can say that again in forks," Susie complained. "What happened to your good old-fashioned devil-worshippers - the sort that only wanted to slit a goat's throat?"

"Careful," I cautioned. "Don't go putting ideas into simpletons' heads."

"We'll see who are the simpletons when you meet the Master."

"Oh, we're not too keen on that. What is it your gran says, Denise?"

"'Get thee behind me, Satan'. But I'd rather have the fiend out front where I can see him, Susie."

"And your wish will soon be granted," Varley threatened. "You haven't lived until you've died."

"Apart from you being totally bonkers, is there any particular reason you're doing this?" I queried.

"We require a sacrifice. Nothing makes a coven's fortunes grow like spilled blood."

"What does he mean by that, Denise?"

"Perhaps they're having trouble with their crops in the fields, Susie."

"Even so, it's a bit of an over-reaction to a failure of the black pudding harvest, Denise. Can't we offer a less drastic solution?"

"Granddad claims the answer's in the soil - and plenty of well-rotted manure."

"There should be no shortage of that around here. Wouldn't that be a more eco-friendly offering, Mr Varley?"

"Don't blaspheme, girl! These are dangerous times for us all. We have to renew our vows. Giles being struck down by unknown forces is a sign we must appease the Great One's anger."

"Couldn't the squire have just tripped over his shoelaces?" I suggested.

"Not when wearing riding boots."

"Then perhaps he fell off his pale horse," Susie offered. "But if you take my advice, Mr Varley, you should worry more about the earthly retribution coming your way. It's what did for the jolly old squire, I can assure you."

"Nonsense, girl!" Varley snarled. "The broken neck coming out of a clear blue sky was a dreadful warning of divine displeasure."

"Then you'd better have a look in the lav," Susie directed. "There's a follow-up message from on high, delivered via Sir Guy. His head's also back to front, after another great fall."

"And you claim you were the cause of it?"

"I suppose we shouldn't take all the credit - the slippery old bugger's feet suddenly went from under him, didn't they, Denise?"

"Just like that, Susie."

"It was bloody mysterious, come to think of it," Susie frowned. "Maybe there is something in the theory of incurring the Devil's wrath."

"And he's sent us you to atone for our sins," Varley rasped. "The angels of death shall die."

"You're doing it again, Susie, putting ideas into impressionable folks' heads."

"There's no chance of that, Denise - the man's a raving loony."

"Loony am I!" With a wild look in his eye Varley advanced towards us. "Come here, my little sacrificial lambs."

"Prepare to take evasive action, Denise - our bald knight is so mad his scalp's standing on end."

"Scooby Doo - where are you?" I appealed, as we considered our options. "What next, Susie?"

"How about we have a game of hide-and-seek? Denise. Close your eyes and count to a million, Mr Varley."

"I'm sorry, girls - playtime is over."

"Then let's whistle for the police, Susie - start dialling 999."

"I wouldn't advise that." A gleaming billhook appeared from behind Mr Varley's back. "Or my grim reaper will have the first and last word."

"It looks as if something wickedly sharp is coming our way, Susie. And it won't stop at pricking our thumbs."

Varley ran the palm of his hand over the blade. "How right you are."

"Your unchivalrous behaviour towards us will jeopardise any future emoluments, sir," Susie warned.

"I'll be satisfied with your phones for the present," Varley scowled, menacingly raising his weapon. "Come now - don't delay - or I'll slice your hearts out in a trice."

"You can really go off people, Denise. This is not the conduct one expects from an ex-greengrocer, former window cleaner, and current cabbie."

"I'm wondering what happened to nature boy and all things bright and bootiful, Susie."

"My Henry wasn't a sentimentalist - he was a red in tooth and claw man," Varley enthused. "And a fervent admirer of the old country traditions - did you read my column on the classical technique of pig-sticking?"

"I deduce that's an unveiled threat, Denise. How should we respond?"

"They aren't possessions to die for, Susie. We'd better surrender them," I gulped, meekly taking out my charity shop bargain and tossing it over. "Allez-oop! Catch it if you can!"

"No problem, my dear - I also spent 25 successful years keeping wicket for the Preesall Sloggers." In one fell swoop, Mr Varley plucked the phone out of the air and pouched it. "Another one to add to my collection - and now yours," he nodded to Susie.

"Should I let him have it, Denise?"

"We'd better."

"Okay." Susie sent her mobile skidding across the table. "Oops, sorry - I forgot you can't get down as low as you used to," she apologised, on the phone beating Varley's left hand to the edge and plummeting to the floor. "For some reason, I've had a rush of adrenaline."

"Don't worry, we've a sure cure for that." Varley's smirk was replaced by a grimace as he gingerly stooped to retrieve the wayward handset. "Aaaahhhhhh ..."

"Our tender knight should book an appointment with Maurice, Susie. But as an emergency measure, kindly provide some immediate relief."

"Have at thee, Colinvar!" Susie yelled, leaping forward and arcing her bag onto the top of Varley's exposed bald head. "How's this as a cure for your dicky back!"

Craaacccccckkk!

"Bonker him, Susie!"

"Here's another offering from a poppet to a muppet."

Craaacccccckkk!

"Aaaarrrggghhhh!"

"That'll teach the old stumper not to take his eye off the balls, Denise."

Thuuuummpppp!

"Oooooohhhhhh!" Varley went down for the count and measured his length on the Axminster. "Uuuuuuuuhhhh ..."

"Paid in full," Susie cried. "You can stop fretting about our transportation expenses, Jeffrey."

"Bravo, Susie!" I cheered. "Who needs a pistol when you've a cannon at your command?"

Susie weighed the improvised cosh in her hand. "They sent the creepy clown to bye-byes, all right, Jeffrey."

"I hope you haven't chipped them, Susie. Those vintage billiard balls are real ivory - a collector's item, thanks to the elephant shortage."

"You and your bric-a-brac, Jeffrey - you'll be after a moose's head next."

"Only if one turns up in the RSPCA shop."

"Well, I'm not lugging it home," Susie grinned, scooping up her mobile before checking on Varley, with a none too gentle kick in the ribs. "It appears old Colinvar's out to lunch and won't return any time soon."

"We still shouldn't hang around here. Come on, let's practise some footpaddery after the skullthuggery."

"Just a minute." Susie bent down and rifled through Varley's robe. "Ah - 'Property of the Shoreham Gazette' - this must be Steve's phone."

"Good - we don't want to leave our pictures lying around for any other third-parties to speculate over. Take it, and let's go."

"Wait - don't you want yours back as well?"

"No thanks, on closer inspection, I've decided repairing it will be more trouble than it's worth. And since Mr Varley has spent the afternoon chauffeuring us around free of charge, it seems only fair to leave him a parting gift in return."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes - apart from the screen having a hairline crack to match Mr Varley's, mum may not approve of my cooking microchips in her new oven."

"A wise decision, but we'll take these in its place," Susie smiled, extracting Varley's car keys. "And speaking of cooking, Jeffrey - something smells mephitic. I wonder what the Satanists are having for tea."

"Goat's brains on toast would be my guess Susie."

"Tuesday school dinners - let's follow our noses and see if you're right, Jeffrey. Who knows what baddies we may find?"

 

 

Chapter 166

"Wouldn't it be more prudent to get out while the going's good, Susie?" I argued, when we arrived at the kitchen door.

"It's our responsibility to put a stop to this fiendish nonsense, Jeffrey. Today devil-worshippers are rampant in Windmill Land, tomorrow it could be ..."

"Poundland - it's piled high with bargain Halloween stuff at this time of the year."

"They take themselves seriously, Jeffrey, and so should you. We were three billiard balls from being brides of Beelzebub back there."

"That's two good reasons we should make a strategic withdrawal, Susie. And I won't even object to you driving the taxi."

"We'll execute an orderly retreat in due course, Jeffrey."

"Why not right away?"

"We've to pick up Steve, and then we'll snoop our way back to the front of the house - after a slight diversion to see what's cooking."

"Okay, but no more rushing in where Satanists may be lurking."

"I'm in stealth mode as of now, Jeffrey - let's get circumspecting."

"Then, shush." I eased open the door and peered through the gap.

"Is anybody in there?" Susie whispered.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"The squire."

"I blooming well knew it, Jeffrey!"

"He's laid out on the table, and ..."

Susie burst past me into the room. "Come on ..."

"... the coffin's underneath."

"... this is our chance to snatch back Uncle Frank's distinguished client before they reanimate him."

I cautiously shadowed Susie's rash dash to the centre of the kitchen and joined her in contemplating the corpse. "He's already doing a credible impression of the living dead. It's a bit spooky, isn't it?"

"That's unky's deluxe mausoleum job, Jeffrey. You could stand the squire in Harrods front window, and folk would hardly blink an eye. They'd think he was the Joker and ask for his autograph."

"He does look larger than life, Susie - good enough for Madame Tussaud's, even."

"I wouldn't want to sit next to the blighter on the bus, though."

"Me neither. In fact, I think he's already melting in the heat. The kitchen's a daft place to keep a cadaver ... unless," I gulped, "they're planning to ..."

Susie took a step closer to the body. "They've already started on him, Jeffrey - and there may be method in their madness - the squire's right arm has gone walkabout."

"That's the one with the bank account details tattooed on it. Fawcett said something about obliterating the information."

"Our second case, a second tattoo, and a second phantom arm," Susie mused. "What's the probability of that, Jeffrey?"

"Vanishingly small, I should imagine, Susie. But given that there's now a Bayesian possibility someone might sneak up from behind and bop us over the head with the soggy end, we should be on our guard at all times."

"And on the look-out for a chance to get the number from the beast. How do secret Swiss bank accounts work, Jeffrey?"

"I don't know, Susie, but I've an idea where the missing limb is," I sniffed, glancing over at the cauldron bubbling merrily away on the stove.

"There it is!" Susie exclaimed. "I can see a hand of glory sticking up. That's a lot of trouble to take just to get rid of a few digits."

"Perhaps they've been watching too many of those cookery programmes on the telly."

"You don't think they were inspired to make the squire the dish of the day, do you, Jeffrey?"

"More like the remains of the day, Susie, if he's on the menu for their thanksgiving."

"Or their last supper, Jeffrey. Suppose they really are a weird cannibalistic coven - that's pretty unpleasant."

"On the other hand, at least they're not flesh-eating zombies. We should be thankful for small mercies, Susie."

"We still wouldn't want an invite to their Christmas party. Let's have a quick look at that number and then we can beat a hasty retreat."

"Weighed down with the squire and the coffin, of course."

"And we'll throw his arm in the box if it isn't too far gone, Jeffrey."

"Okay, but I'm not picking it out," I grimaced, as Susie peeked into the simmering stew.

"Eeaaaw, they've already chopped it into little pieces, Jeffrey. Even Uncle Frank couldn't restore this bleeding piece of squirth to pristine condition."

"Never mind that - can you see the account number?"

"No, only the perishing flesh - are tattoos boil-proof?"

"Give the pot a stir if you want to find out."

"Here goes." Susie took hold of the ladle and swirled it around. "Whee, there it is!" she cheered, as the inside of the upper arm floated into view. "Take note, Jeffrey."

"9598 ..."

"Hey, what are you doing in my kitchen!" an irate voice railed at us from the outside door.

"Oh, we've been caught with our fingers in the cauldron, Susie," I wailed, on swinging around to be confronted by an agitated butter-ball of a fellow.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" he demanded, from under his stainfully off-white chef's hat.

"We're trainee sorcerer's apprentices," Susie beamed. "Ordered by the great panjandrum to give you a hand with the arm."

"What the ..." Our baffled interloper regarded us with a suspicious and then an approving eye, before swaying unsteadily into the room. "Yes ... it's about time we had some new recruits."

"And here we are," Susie smiled, "reporting for cookhouse duty."

"I've been telling the bigwigs the coven needs fresh, young blood and I need help for long enough." The man grabbed a bottle of wine off the table and took a hefty swig. "Doctor's orders - I've dangerously high cholesterol, but none of the smug buggers gives a toss."

"And I expect they leave the real hard work to you," I frowned.

"They've always some excuse not to bend their backs. The arrogant snobs take old Cookie for granted, and they're the very devil to please. In all my years at sea, I never met a fussier crew over their food. You can't make caviar out of newts' eyes - that's what I say. How about you?"

"Some folk are never happy unless they're complaining," I offered.

"You wait - they'll find fault with the squire. He tasted a little bland to me. I don't know - perhaps his worship needs more seasoning." Cookie gazed enquiringly at us. "What do you think?"

"We'll take your expert word for it," Susie grinned, emptying a packet of salt into the pot. "Is that about right?"

"It's never right," Cookie moaned. "That's been the story of my life."

"Oh, we're sorry," I sympathised.

"You don't know the half of it," the chef groaned, imbibing another dose of medicine. "When I cook it, they don't want it. And when they want it, I can't get it. And when I get it, they won't eat it. And when they eat it, they say I can't cook it."

"That is a circular tale of woe," Susie commiserated.

"Well, now they'll have someone else to blame if the gravy doesn't move about. You get on with that - the flour's in the top cupboard - while I sample the sherry."

"Actually, we're just here to do the waitressing," I explained. "So would you mind going out on deck for ten minutes while we slip into our maids' uniforms?"

"Cookie's not leaving his kitchen. Find somewhere else to change."

"But this is the only warm room in the place," I protested.

"And our costumes are on the scanty side," Susie winked. "The Master chose them himself - complete with high heels and feather-dusters - direct from Ann Summers."

"The randy bastard!" The chef's eyes lit up. "Are they topless?"

"It's a surprise - you'll have to wait and see," I smiled. "But, I promise you, watching us buff each other's pair of spectacles is quite a prospect."

"And the Master is eagerly anticipating our fanning his ardour, so you'd best not stand in the way," Susie advised.

"All right, I'll take a stroll for five minutes if you'll give me a sneak preview of your act when I come back," Cookie slavered.

"You can have a front-row seat at our rehearsals. But before you go, would you mind helping us get the squire into his coffin?" Susie appealed. "The Master wants him propped up at the head of the table, for us to disrespectfully limbo under."

"Bugger! I'm always the last to be told about things." Cookie griped, taking another gulp from his bottle. "Oh, excuse me - I'm forgetting my manners - would my new comrades like to join their chef in a little light refreshment?"

"No thanks," I demurred. "We only drink barley water."

"As good girls oughta," Susie merrily rhymed.

"Very commendable, you'll make admirable assistants," Cookie burped. "Now, pass me the meat cleaver - I haven't taken out his heart and liver yet."

"Hold hard," Susie ordered. "We can't let you slice the main-brace."

"Why the hell not? They're the juiciest bits."

"Tell the man, Denise."

"The pathologist didn't put everything back after the autopsy, sir. He kept the foul, black heart for his personal collection."

"The bloody ghoul - I need another drink," Cookie dribbled. "The bosses will blame me for the missing parts - you see if they don't."

"It's probably for the best," Susie consoled. "They wouldn't have been in prime condition, with the squire pumped full of more preservatives than Tutankhamen."

"But what am I going to make my stock with?"

"How about some OXO cubes?" I suggested. "They'll never know the difference."

"But I will," Cookie spluttered, after a further generous measure of his remedy. "I'm cordon bleu, and this is bloody haut cuisine."

"No, it's not - it's bloody cannibalism," Susie admonished.

"A consummation not devoutly to be desired ... and bloody unhygienic," I scolded.

"He'll be well boiled." Cookie guzzled down the remains of the bottle. "Who are you little skivvies to tell me what to do, anyway," he sniggered, lurching towards us. "Many's the cabin boy I've ..."

Susie took up arms and rapped him on the forehead with a runcible spoon. "You know perfectly well eating people is wrong."

"Don't do that - I like you. Give uth a kith," he slurred. "And I'll let you have a nibble of my special mushroom consomme."

"No, thanks, we're already spoken for - the coven has strict rules about that sort of thing. It's droit du seigneur, isn't it, Denise?"

"Senoritas in our case, Susie. And you'd better take care, Mr Cookie."

"Why's that, luscious lips?"

"Because the Master also has the right to kill not more than two serfs and refresh his feet in their warm blood and bowels if he feels a bit miffed or his chilblains are playing him up."

"I'll run the risk for some rum, bum, and concertina."

"Whatever could he mean, Susie?"

"Don't ask, Denise."

"It's a naval expression, duckies - come aboard and tickle my fancy. Don't be stuck-up swankers, like the old squire here," Cookie drunkenly chuckled, prodding the corpse in the belly with his cleaver. "Not so high-and-mighty now, are you, my old fruitcake?"

"Guuuurrrrggghhhhh!" The squire belched, and catapulted bolt upright, like a zombie-out-of-the-box. "Uuuuurrrrggghhhhh!"

"View, halloo!" Susie whooped. "Giles Meares' body ain't a-moulderin' in the grave."

"Aaaaaaaaawwwww, Gawd preserve us!" Cookie recoiled in horror from the crazily jerking dummy. "He's alive and kicking."

"Now you've done it," Susie accused. "You've triggered a premature resurrection. There'll be a gnashing and grinding of teeth when he finds out you're responsible for ruining his afterlife."

"Look - you've already got his dander up," I cried, as the squire's remaining arm shot out in front of him.

"Heil, Giles!" Susie hollered.

"Oh, he's going to haunt me!" Cookie croaked.

"There's a lot worse to come," I warned. "He'll remove his socks next, and the smell will be awful."

"Forgive me, Master," Cookie begged. "I didn't mean it."

"Oh yes, he did," we chorused.

"It wasn't my idea, anyway," Cookie sobbed, falling to his knees. "The toffs made me butcher you - I'm your humble servant."

"Don't listen, squire," I exhorted. "Look at him - he's praying."

"You're in league with the pope," Susie charged the blubbing man.

"No, I'm not. I only attend church for weddings and funerals - and the free buffets."

"The greedy traitor deserves a trident up the backside," Susie decreed, giving the corpse a thump between the shoulder blades. "What do you say, squire?"

"Uuuuuuuurrrggghh!" The body nodded enthusiastically in response. "Yuuuuuuuuurrrhhh!"

"The master has answered in the affirmative, Susie."

"Then ready the toasting fork for the heretic's marshmallows, Denise."

"No, not that," Cookie screamed.

Susie pointed a finger at him. "You've made your bed of betrayal, now you must toss and turn on it."

"Ooooooeeer, it's my cholesterol - I'm having one of my funny turns. Oooooooooohhhhhh! Get me a ..." Cookie wailed, before crumpling unconscious to the floor.

"They're going down like ninepins, Susie."

"Falling like flies, Jeffrey - it must be something in the wine. It didn't do Cookie any good, but he certainly enjoyed taking his medicine."

"He may well have exceeded the sated dose, Susie."

"Whatever, Jeffrey - that's another one out of the way, and we haven't finished yet." Susie picked up a rolling pin and handed me a frying pan. "Let's dispatch this other zombie once and for all."

"He's already, dead, Susie."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"So how come he's rolling his eyes and gurgling?"

"It must be the heat and excess stomach gasses."

"Then break out the Alka Seltzer, Jeffrey."

"How about a squirt of Jif Lemon?"

"That'll only make matters worse. And what if he sticks like this? We'll never get the lid down on the bugger."

"I don't fancy having a one-armed, grinning cadaver as a backseat passenger, Susie. You wouldn't want to see that face in your rear-view mirror."

"Then, there's only one thing for it." Susie seized the squire's shoulders. "Hold onto his feet, Jeffrey."

"Careful, Susie - he may explode."

"Here goes!" Susie took a determined breath and yanked the squire backwards. "Bingo!"

Craaaaaaacccckkkk!

"Watch out - something's coming adrift!"

"Ooooops!"

Boooiiiiinnnnngggg!

"Now you've done it," I cried. "His head's off! Somebody in Hackensall Hall has been at him with a hacksaw."

Bumpity-bumpity-bump!

"Whoops, Jeffrey - there it goes - dead on target."

The squire's bonce bounced across the floor and kissed into Cookie's mouth, just as he came round. "Oh, God help me - the sod's wearing lipstick!" Cookie screamed, before again retreating into the safety of oblivion. "Oooooohhhhhhhhhhh ..."

"It appears Uncle Frank has been over-enthusiastic with his client's cosmetic enhancements, Jeffrey."

"Even so, the squire's not going to bear close inspection after this, Susie."

"No one will notice if it's a closed casket funeral. He's dead straight again, so we can put him back in the box and deliver Uncle Frank an early Halloween present."

"Be practical, Susie - we can't cart a coffin all the way back to Nutwood. And what about Steve - we may have to carry him as well?"

"Something will turn up, Jeffrey - it always does. Remember - the longest journey begins with the smallest hop, as Bugs Bunny says."

"Okay," I sighed, and helped drag the Rip van Winkle out from under the table. "But at the first sign of trouble, we drop it and sprint."

"Right - grab his feet again, and we'll put old Gilesy back in bed."

"Precisely does it, Susie."

"Left a bit, Jeffrey."

"He's all lined up, Susie - drop the Squire of Scronkey."

Plooooooppppppppp!

"A perfect fit, Jeffrey."

"Not quite - haven't we forgotten the party of the second part?"

"Hold on." Susie hopped over and picked up the head by the hair. "Alas, poor Squirrick - We shew him to Hell. Now, how do we make an invisible mend, Jeffrey?"

"Stick it down his collar and hope for the best," I instructed.

"Here goes." Susie twisted the nut home. "Necko! Everything's clicked into place - just like Lego. On with the lid, Jeffrey, and we're ready for the off."

"If it's not live bodies we're carrying, it's dead ones. Are you sure you won't change your mind, Susie?"

"Not after we've come this far, Jeffrey. Grab hold - and lift."

"1 ... 2 ... 3 ... Man up, Susie."

"What oh, Jeffrey! We're on our way."

"Hush, Susie, it's a corpse we're stealing not a silver cow creamer."

"Retrieving, Jeffrey - not stealing. Bally well get it right, for goodness sake."

 

 

Chapter 167

"Whoa, Susie." I shuffled to a halt halfway along our escape route. "There's a plaintive moaning emanating from the next room."

"It could be a beast with a sore head, Jeffrey."

"But one who's still capable of turning a doorknob and possibly wielding a weapon."

"Then let's get ready to retaliate first."

"Hands free, Susie." We lowered the coffin to the floor and waited.

"Oooooooooh."

"Here he comes, Jeffrey."

"Prepare to swing your bag again, Susie," I whispered, as the door creaked open. "If Varley's got his second wind, he'll prove even less amenable to reason."

"Ooooooeeer, mother."

"He doesn't sound that threatening, Jeffrey."

"And his looks reveal there's no need to whack him, Susie."

"Uuuurrgghh." The hunched figure shielded his eyes and whimpered his way into the light.

"Hello, Steve," we chorused.

"Susie and Denise," Spooner gasped, staggering forth, before slumping back against the wall. "What are you doing here?"

"We're rescuing the Gazette's finest, of course," Susie beamed. "I hope you can stand on your own two feet this time."

"This time?" Steve echoed, with a blank expression on his face.

"Yes, we've already saved you once, but we were rudely interrupted," Susie explained.

"I don't remember," Steve groaned, slowly swaying towards us. "I feel numb all over - what's happened to me?"

"You've been incarcerated," I informed him.

"Oh my God!" Steve's hand shot between his legs. "I haven't, have I, Denise?"

"No, you were caged, not spayed - locked up."

"Where?"

"In Hackensall Hall."

"Are you sure? I feel as though I've been to Hell and back."

"You missed that train and Mr Horrocks has gone in your place," Susie grinned.

"What - is Barry here, too?"

"Don't confuse him, Susie."

"I'm not confused," Steve protested.

"Yes, you are. You're not thinking straight - you've probably got concussion or something." Susie raised her hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"A lot," Steve blinked. "My eyes are okay, but you're both talking nonsense." He blinked twice more. "Is that a coffin I see before me?"

"Yes, and we have to disappear with it before more of the Devil's brigade arrives."

"I don't understand, Denise."

"You will eventually - grab a handle and help us carry it."

Steve gallantly got a grip. "I'll try, but I feel as weak as a kitten."

"Ready, steady, lift," Susie commanded.

"Hey, this is heavy," Steve grunted. "Is someone in there?"

"It's top secret," Susie confided. "All we can say is heads would roll if the gentleman were to get out."

Steve flinched. "It isn't one of the undead, is it?"

"No, he's so dead the bugger would give the graveyard the willies," Susie assured.

"Then, I'm carrying a corpse," Steve gulped.

"Yes, that's why we put him in the coffin," I elucidated.

"This is a waking nightmare, Denise - nothing makes any sense."

"Come on, pull your journalistic wits together, Steve," I urged. "It's time we were away from here."

"But what are you doing with a body - and where are we going?"

"Just move it," Susie directed. "While you wobble along, we'll fill in the blanks."

"It won't help - everything's so hazy. I can't even think as straight as Barry Horrocks."

"Don't worry, Steve - it's only temporary," Susie smiled. "Thanks to us, your brains haven't been permanently scrambled."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"And that's a quarter of our half of the story, Steve," I concluded, on arrival at the front door. "But it's strictly off the record - we don't want any official credit for your deliverance."

"I'm not altogether sure what I've been delivered from. The last thing I can remember is ..." Steve screwed up his face in concentration. "I've forgotten ..."

"It'll all come back to you when the witch's brew wears off," Susie reassured him.

"Which witch's brew?" Steve spluttered. "I haven't been drinking."

"Then it's something you've eaten," Susie insisted. "There's no bump on your head, so you must have been drugged."

"Drugged?"

"Yes, did you accept a plate of mushroom soup from a strange man?" I asked.

"Now you come to mention it ... Ooooooeeer ..." Steve buckled at the knees and collapsed to the floor. "I feel so tired ... Zzzzzzzzzzz ... Zzzzzzzzzzz ..."

"That's done it, Susie. Our bedtime story has sent him back to dreamland. Now we've two Rip van Winkles on our hands."

"Never mind, we can come back for snoozing beauty. But first things first - let's get the squire out to the taxi."

"Here's hoping there are no more surprises in store." I kicked open the front door, and we emerged into the fading evening light.

Neeeeiiiiggghhhhhhh! Neeeeiiiiggghhhhhhh!

"Bloody hell," Susie exclaimed, as at the far end of the carpark, we beheld a two black-horse-powered hearse. "Where did they come from, Jeffrey?"

Neeeeiiiiggghhhhhhh! Neeeeiiiiggghhhhhhh!

"I don't know, Susie, but they didn't drive themselves here. There must be more friends of the squire prowling around."

"So at least they intended to give the beast's left-overs a proper send-off after dinner, and not take them home in doggy-bags."

"They won't be so generously disposed towards us. We'd better steal silently away before we run into the new arrivals."

"Then let's stroll nonchalantly across the courtyard, Jeffrey."

"If we're spotted, we'll be hard-pressed to act nonchalant carrying a coffin."

"I can't see a living soul - can you?"

I took another quick look round. "No, it's all clear for now, Susie - zombies included."

"Okay, we'll toddle along, and if anyone pops out of the bushes, asking awkward questions - we're student bailiffs."

"And we're on work experience, repossessing a novelty sideboard."

"Exactly, Jeffrey - and the detachable legs are inside."

"Right, Susie - off we go."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Made it, Jeffrey." We arrived at the rear of the taxi, and juddered to a halt. "We're as good as home. Put the coffin down while I get Varley's keys out of my pocket."

"It won't be that easy, Susie," I hissed, after we'd grounded the casket. "We have a problem."

"Why - what's the matter, Jeffrey?"

"There's somebody hunched down in the driver's seat, and he's watching our every move in the mirror."

"Another member of the coven we'll need to immobilise - I wonder who it is. My money's on the minister being a two-faced Vicar of Bray."

"We'll soon find out, Susie - he's breaking cover."

"I'm ready to tinkle the ivories again, Jeffrey."

The front door of the car swung open, and a black garbed figure, wearing a white dog-collar, rose from the depths. "Meet the Master, Susie. It seems old Nick serves Old Nick."

"What a surprise, Denise! You could knock me over with a juggernaut."

"Are you taking my name in vain?" the Reverend Nicholas Horrobin admonished, looming over us.

"Yes, and we've just voted you man of the year," Susie announced. "Are you going our way, your left reverend?"

"We're all going nowhere at the moment," The vicar proclaimed, snatching the car keys from Susie's hand.

"That was bloody rude, revvy."

"It'll teach you not to flaunt your illegal acquisitions, my girl."

"We didn't steal them," Susie huffed. "Mr Varley entrusted them to our safe-keeping when he became temporarily incommoded."

"And did my devoted sexton's mishap have anything to do with you?"

"Grave digger is one calling old Colinvar left off his CV, Denise. I hope it aggravated his back."

"We should just thank God, the Jack-of-all-trades didn't bring his flame-thrower along to the party," I shivered.

"We'd still have put his fire out," Susie grinned. "And in more good news, vicar, we can also reveal Sir Guy is permanently inconvenienced in the bog, but Cookie's only conked out on the kitchen floor."

"So I've discovered. Perhaps you'd care to explain what's been going on inside?"

"Pay attention - I've just told you. Don't hang around here asking silly questions when folk are silently crying out for your spiritual and physical help."

"It won't do the incompetent fools any harm to wait."

"You know best, vicar, but they're in dire need. We smote our foes with mighty smites," Susie smiled. "And left them bewitched, buggered, and bewildered."

"Don't concern yourselves - I can bear the suffering of others with considerable fortitude."

"Still, the Master's first duty should be ministering to his flock," Susie reminded him, "and not bothering with two little stray lambs."

"You and the squire are my first priority. It seems I arrived in the nick of time," the vicar laughed, "or he may have been lost to us forever. And that would never do - Giles belongs to the coven in life and death."

"Any ideas on how we could amicably resolve the ownership of the squire's earthly remains, Denise?"

"We might lend the vicar our Mr Meares if he's come to bury the geezer and not braise him, Susie."

"That's another one worthy of a pink bow-tie, Denise. How did it go down with you, rev?"

"From what I've seen, dinner's postponed for the moment," the vicar glowered. "And if I really do have you to thank for the disruption, you'll more than make up for it in due course."

"Don't be like that," I pouted. "We'd offer you an After Eight mint, only we've got none."

The vicar licked his lips. "There are other ways you two little wantons can satisfy our appetites."

"It sounds as though we won't be wanting long, Denise."

"This is another fine mess of pottage we've landed in, Susie."

"I expect we'll find a way to cope, Denise. And look on the bright side - this is a heaven-sent opportunity to prevent the man at the top getting off scot-free with his crimes."

"Since you've brought up the subject of misconduct," the vicar glared with unrighteous indignation, "would you be so good as to inform me why two apparently innocent young girls are intent on stealing a coffin?"

"We'll give you three guesses," Susie winked.

"Don't tell me your elusive Mr Spooner is in there."

"No, Steve's only sleeping peacefully behind the door."

"So you've found your missing sheep."

"And the stolen goat," Susie smirked. "And right where we anticipated - keeping each other company. Our expedition has proved a total success."

"And I believe we owe it all to your good offices," I smiled at the vicar. "Your list and your driver brought us here - eventually."

"Yes, you do have me to thank," Horrobin gloated. "After our opening encounter, I thought a guided tour of village buffoons might amuse you until we were ready to commence the serious business of the night."

"Now it's served your purpose, would you like the list and its inscription back?" I offered, unzipping my pack. "I may still have it available - unless I've inadvertently mislaid the thing."

"No thank you, my child - the runes have yet to complete their task."

"But if I've lost them."

"Have no fear - that piece of paper can never be lost. At the appointed time, the runes will find their way back to the rightful owners and deliver a just reward."

"Okay, I'm not one for surprises, but I suppose it's only manners to accept a gift in the spirit it's given. Is there anything we can do for you in return?"

"If you'd take up your burden again, you can oblige me by carrying the coffin over to our waiting transport."

"Hoping to honour the squire with a memorable last journey, are you?" Susie grinned.

"And, with your help, now even more so."

"What do you think, Denise?"

"We may as well cooperate for the present, Susie."

"Here we go again, then, Denise. Grab a handle, and let's get lugging."

"Look on the bright side, Susie- we'd have struggled to get the coffin in the taxi, anyhow."

"About that," the vicar enquired, as we set off towards the horses and carriage, "now we're working together, you really should explain to me why you wanted our squire's body. I feel I may be missing something of importance."

"Oh, you most definitely are," Susie assured, "a moral compass, for a start."

"It's your motives we're discussing, young lady. Just how did you become involved in this?"

"We're Smith and Jones of International Rescue, commissioned to recover one hijacked deluxe slumber chamber plus its contents and return them almost intact to the injured party."

The vicar shook his head. "I find that hard to believe."

"Please yourself, but we're the ones with the Giles-in-the-box," Susie declared. "We have his carcass."

"But," the vicar patted the keys in his pocket, "with no hope of getting it out of here."

"We're pretty resourceful," Susie claimed. "I'm sure we can find an alternative means of spiriting the squire away."

"Don't get any clever ideas - I'm a man of violence who's quick to anger," the vicar warned, before striding ahead to let down the carriage tail-gate. "Now, if you'll please hoist the dear departed up onto his temporary resting place."

"Bend at the knees and then straighten everything, Susie."

"Oops-a-Gilesy, Denise."

With one smooth action, we thrust our load aboard. "Expertly done, Susie," I congratulated her.

"Perfectly executed, as always, Denise. How about that for an example of professional pall-bearing, your rev?"

"Thank you, girls, you've been most helpful," the vicar approved, stepping forward and shoving the coffin further along the flatbed. "At the end of the day, I shall be sorry to lose you despite the difficulties you've caused."

"We're always happy to serve," Susie smiled. "Any other requests in the interim?"

"You may keep me entertained for the next few minutes while my menials tidy up indoors. I'd rather we left no clues to our presence after Sir Guy's welcome departure."

"From what he told us, the old knight errant wasn't a big fan of your lot, either," Susie remarked.

"Fawcett could have proved a problem, but his expedient passing has lifted a weight off my mind. A blessing in disguise, dare I say?" the vicar sniggered.

"Like poor old Billy Bloggs' demise - or perhaps that was a deliberate work of the devil," I suggested.

"Then you did meet the nosy nuisance - it seems you were economical with the truth at our earlier interview and failed to confess all."

"We haven't just fallen off the mistletoe tree," Susie smirked. "We knew your devilish dabbling had done for Mr Bloggs."

"Not quite accurate, my dear - somehow a bottle of bad spirits came into the poor soak's possession, and his nature took its course. No hellish intervention was required."

"But with Sir Guy suffering an identical accident to the squire, one could almost believe there are dark forces at work," Susie reflected.

"One should always consider more down-to-earth possibilities first." The vicar gave us a long hard stare. "Fawcett has a broken neck, Varley has a cracked head, and Cookie is babbling incoherently. What have you to say about that?"

"It's been a funny old day, hasn't it?" Susie smiled.

"Extraordinarily - but perhaps you should inform me precisely how those events came to pass."

"Don't look at us, sir," I replied, wide-eyed. "A bigger girl did it and ran away."

"But it's your own fault for employing berk and no hair as body-snatchers," Susie grinned.

"Most amusing, I'm sure," the vicar snickered. "Under other circumstances, you'd be a refreshing addition to our fairly staid circle."

"I'm afraid we'd have a major conflict of beliefs," Susie frowned. "We play life with a straight bat."

"And what is your philosophy, my dear?"

"The Greek stuff is Miss Smith's department. Which ancient school of thought are we adhering to at present, Denise?"

"We're Pyrrhonists, Susie. We believe things are no more this than that, or both this and that, and neither this nor that."

"A very succinct summing-up, Denise - I hope this has made that perfectly clear where we stand on this and that, vicar."

"Then there's no chance of my tempting you to take a holiday from reason and go dancing with the Lady and her followers."

"Definitely not, vicar - we're rationalists, except on pyramid-numbered Fridays," I smiled.

"When we're daughters of the Enlightenment," Susie beamed.

"My beliefs go back even further than the Greeks, to old Babylon. I'm not bound by conventional moral judgements. There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

"Ah, Hamlet - be careful you don't see ghosts, too," I cautioned.

"There are more things in heaven and earth ..."

"We prefer to stick with the practical stuff. Never a borrower or a lender be. You can't go wrong there, can you, Susie?"

"Hang on, Denise - that's not a sentiment I'm entirely happy with. How about you, revvy?"

"We take payment in kind." The vicar considered for a moment. "And if you are truly happy to serve, perhaps I could offer a last minute bargain. Are your souls for sale?"

"What are your terms, sir?" Susie queried.

"You'll find them very reasonable - compared to the alternative."

"Is this an offer we can't refuse, Denise?"

"Do we get three wishes, Susie? Because if we do, I'd like to give February its two days back."

"How typically unselfish of you, Denise."

"I'm afraid wishes, however altruistic, aren't part of the contract," the vicar regretted. "But if there are any other questions you'd like answered."

"Yes," I blinked. "Is the Universe unfolding, or has it already unfolded?"

"For things metaphysical, you'll have to consult a far higher authority than me."

"Go on, then, Denise, tell us the answer. Which one is it?"

"Both, Susie."

"Aw, no fair, it was a trick question."

"Not for a Pyrrhonist."

"It still doesn't make sense to me, Denise."

"That's because all theories of the universe are absurd," I smiled.

"I believe I discern excessive intellectual arrogance in you, my dear."

"I can't deny I've learned a lot since this morning."

"But soon you may pray you didn't know now what you didn't know then."

"The man's talking in riddles, Susie."

"You're too kind, Denise - I wouldn't be surprised if we've the most delusional loony of all on our hands."

"Reality leaves a lot to be desired, as you would have eventually discovered. And you will have me to thank for sparing you that inevitable disappointment."

"Honestly, Susie, I think the vicar may be less of a loony and more of a psychopath."

"Or a sociopath, Denise."

"What's the difference, Susie?"

"Not much, but it's a bit easier to spell sociopath. And, in my professional opinion, we've an irredeemable one here."

"You know nothing, girl," the vicar ranted. "Judge not the men whose souls are on fire, for they are beyond good and evil."

"Barmy and with illusions of grandeur, Denise. I'm afraid there's no hope for the wicked."

"He's missed his way, Susie - he should have gone into politics."

"Or banking."

"Words won't hurt me, but sticks and stones will break your bones," the vicar threatened. "You'll regret spurning my generous offer."

"You've nothing to offer because you'll never get away with any of it," I warned. "We aren't the only ones hunting you down. The coffin was instantly reported missing, and the police have scrambled their helicopter and poached a couple of sniffer dogs."

"And a fully-equipped, semi-detached sergeant from the SAS is reconnoitring the area, as we banter," Susie advised. "So you can wave good-bye to your bishopric."

"Oh dear - it appears all is lost," the vicar laughed. "What do you suggest?"

"There's a revolver in the gunroom," I offered.

"Never!" the vicar cried. "What's the odds? Not victory, but battle, delights the noble heart!"

"You are mad - but we'll see to it you die happy," Susie vowed. "Do unto others, before they do it unto you is our motto."

"Fine sentiments, my child - it's your misfortune you have nothing to back them up with."

"That's what you think, vicar," Susie disputed. "Have a look over your shoulder - a representative of the fourth-estate cavalry has arrived, direct from the broom closet, mighty iPad fully-charged."

"Really, my dear - what do you take me for?"

"An idiot."

"Why, you little ... I'll ..."

"Too slow!" Susie dodged away from the vicar's upraised arm. "And too late! Cheer on our saviour, Denise."

"Yoo-hoo, Steve!" I waved at the figure dazedly stumbling across the courtyard towards us. "We're ready to go. Thank God, you got here in time."

"God is dead!" the vicar boomed. "I'm not falling for that old trick."

"You're going to be as stunned as Dawkins," I prophesied.

"We sacrifice to Lucifer!"

"There must be something against that in the Bible, your reverence," I suggested.

"One would go mad if one took the Bible seriously," the vicar cackled, wildly throwing up his arms. "But to take it seriously one must be already mad!"

"I think somebody's missed their medication today, Denise."

"Not to worry - they'll soon receive a hard dose of undesired reality, courtesy of the press corp."

"Come on, Steve," Susie urged. "Hurry up and garrotte the ungodly with your camera cord."

"Ooooooeeer, I'm seeing black horses now," Steve wailed. "And a man in black - are you real?"

"Who's there?" The vicar spun round as Spooner grabbed at his shoulders for support.

"Little me," Steve giggled. "Who are you?"

"I'm ..."

"Swing the ivories while his rev's otherwise engaged, Susie!"

"Try these for size, you devil's spawn!" Susie's ball-filled bag cannoned of the canonical cranium.

"Aaaaaarrrrggghhh!" the vicar howled, staggering backwards.

"You were right, Denise - he has been stunned."

"You hit a reverend," Steve gawped in amazement, as the dazed cleric circled away, clutching his head in his hands. "Are you okay, sir?"

"Don't help him - I have not spoken yet," I cried, pushing Steve aside and delivering a jet of Jif into the parson's peepers.

"Oooooooowwwww!"

"Amen to you, sir - from one of the secret people."

"Now you've squirted his holiness in the eyes, Denise," Steve gawked. "What's going on?"

"You are - get aboard!" Susie ordered.

"But I'm tired and I want to go beddy-byes ..." Steve slid down the wheel of the hearse and instantly began snoring. "Ghnnnggh ... Ghnnnggh ..."

"Hell, Jeffrey, if it ain't dead bodies we have to lug about, it's live ones."

"And we've no time to waste, Susie. Look what's coming from the rear of the hall."

"They must be the other members of the coven, and they're hopping mad."

"They aren't members of the Majestics morris dancing society that's for sure."

"Then let's get out of here while we still can. Grab Steve, Jeffrey."

"1 - 2 - 3 - Susie - lift!" We hoisted up Spooner and unceremoniously bundled him onto the hearse.

"Let's go, Jeffrey!"

"Have you ever driven a two horse-power vehicle, Susie?" I asked, as we raced round to the front of the carriage.

"Can't say I have, Jeffrey."

"Never mind," I encouraged, when we'd climbed up into the somewhat precarious seats. "I have an idea once you crack the whip, Dancer and Prancer will know exactly what to do."

"I blinking hope so."

"Get down, you little heathens!" Mr Horrobin lurched towards us as he struggled back to an even keel.

"What's up, rev?" we chorused.

"Stop! Stop!" The vicar forgot his battered bonce and streaming eyes, dashed in front of the hearse, and threw out his arms. "Halt - Asmodeus commands thee!"

"To be here, or to be there - we're off, you barmy bugger. Catch us if you can!" Susie whooped. "Hi-ho, Silver! Whip-crack-away!" The steeds took the hint and whinnied into gear. "We're off at a canter, Jeffrey!"

"Beelzebub and all his hordes will pursue you!" the Reverend Horrobin raved, before scuttling for cover as we bore down upon him. "Damned are those who dare resist, or touch our Lord's Anointed."

"What did I tell you, Jeffrey? Old Nick is a modern-day Vicar of Bray!" Susie exulted, and gave a blast on the horn. "Tally-ho and view halloo!"

"Don't overexcite the horses, Susie," I cautioned. "Take it at a trot until we get round the flower beds."

"It's okay, Jeffrey - everything's under control now. We're bringing them back dead and alive - next stop Nutwood."

"Are you sure, Susie?"

"Almost, Jeffrey, but it wouldn't do any harm to say a little prayer for our deliverance."

"We may need a big one, Susie," I fretted, on glancing over my shoulder. "Old Colinvar's fit to drive again, and the vicar and his minions are piling into the taxi."

"Don't worry, Jeffrey, once we get onto the narrow country lanes, they shall not pass."

"I hate to mention it, Susie, but we aren't out of the woods or the grounds yet. And we have to overcome the slight problem of the gates being firmly shut."

 

 

Chapter 168

"Whoa! Whoa!" Susie yelled, heaving at the reins. "Slam on the brake thingy, Jeffrey."

"I have done - and we're slowing. Get ready to jump down and run for it, Susie."

"So near, and yet so far, Jeffrey. We may have to phone the police and let them take all the credit."

"Hold on - there's more trouble ahead. Someone's creeping about outside, cutting off our escape."

"It's Gavin!" Susie cried, as a combat-ready, camouflaged figure sprang to attention. "Reinforcements have arrived."

"And at the critical moment, too. Open the gates, Sergeant Chuff," I instructed. "On the double - and be quick about it!"

"Is that Susie and Denise?" Gavin squawked, adjusting his horn-rims and incredulously peering up at us.

"Yes - now move yourself," Susie commanded, "or we won't be for much longer."

"Or you, a Gavin, either," I warned. "Your Martians are closing in fast, bent on the destruction of interfering Earthlings, so we'd best hightail it out of here."

"Golly!" Gavin was galvanised into action and sent the iron gates flying apart. "What are we going to do? I've left our tandem at home."

"Ride with us, of course," I called. "Stand clear - we're driving through."

"Giddy-up, there." Susie coaxed the horses forward. "Come on, Gavin - climb aboard. We're ready to race with the devils."

"I thought they were Martians."

"They're both. Don't hang about, Gavin," I appealed. "Jump on the back and ride shotgun."

"I'm not alone, Denise - Gareth's with me. He's hiding in the bushes."

"Tell him to get up here, as well. If he keeps his head down, a bunch of Satanists will be having battered Chubb and chips for supper."

"Did you hear that, Gareth? We have to go."

"I wish I'd never come," Gareth moaned, emerging waxen-faced into the light of the rising harvest moon. "This is all your fault, Gavin, wanting to play Sir bloody Galahad."

"No, it's not. You had your coat on the moment you thought I might be secretly rendezvousing with Susie and Denise in the woods."

"Gavin Chuff, what are you suggesting?" Gareth spluttered.

"Nothing - it's funny, that's all, you wanting to join me on patrol tonight."

"There's nothing funny about it," Gareth huffed. "I was only worried you'd land in trouble - and you have."

"Can't you settle your differences later?" I pleaded. "Just hop over here before we leave you behind. There's room for two more on top."

"Come on, Gareth."

"We won't be safe riding with them, Gavin. They're doomed - the silly boobs are carrying the runes, don't forget."

"The flesh-eating Martians chasing us will have you on the menu before any demon appears," Susie forecast. "Those boys would cook the Queen's corgis given half a chance."

"Quit dithering and make up your minds before it's too late," I urged, as the taxi skidded to a halt, and three men leapt out. "They're coming to get us, and it'll be the devils take the hindmost."

"Follow me, Gareth." Gavin clambered onto the back of the hearse, dragging his reluctant chaperone up after him.

"Ooohh, you've torn my sleeve!"

"The coven will soon be tearing you limb from limb if we don't vamoose," Susie shouted. "Look slippy - the steeds are spooked. I can't hold them at a walk any longer."

"We're fully loaded, Susie. Give the horses their heads," I ordered. "The fiends are almost gasping down our necks."

"Away there, you black beauties! Giddy-up!"

"Faster, Susie, or we'll be playing hunt the sacrifice with the giddy goats."

"I'm doing my best, but these chargers are stuck in a stately trot. I don't think they've ever raised a gallop to the graveyard."

"Here they come, Gavin," I cried, as the leader of the pack flung himself at the tail-gate. "Prepare to repel boarders."

"Help!" Gareth screamed. "The beast's got hold of my foot."

"Hit the swine, Gavin!" I hollered.

Whaaaaaaaaackkkkkkk!

"Aaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!"

"Did you see that!" Gavin hooted, on successfully dispatching the frustrated attacker into the road. "I SAS chopped the top of the enemy's head."

"You were just like the Karate Kid," Gareth squeaked in amazement. "Did you hurt your hand?"

"Never felt a thing," Gavin grimaced. "It's all in the technique."

"Well done, Gavin, that's sent the whole gang scuttling back to the taxi," I cheered, as we finally engaged top gear. "You've given us a flying start - now hang on tight."

"Hey, is this the handle of a real live coffin, Denise?"

"Yes - and with a real dead corpse inside."

"No it's outside," Gareth screeched. "I've just touched it."

"No you haven't - that's Steve Spooner - and he's only sleeping," I assured. "Make yourself useful, and don't let him fall overboard."

"Grab his arm, Gareth."

"He'll be better off out of here, Gavin, and so will we. We're on a death ride," Gareth whined. "I really wish we'd stayed in tonight. I've never seen the moon so big and scary."

"We see a bad moon rising.
We see trouble on the way.
We see earthquakes and lightnin'.
We see bad times today."

"Oh, don't tempt fate," Gareth pleaded. "Look - the moon's falling down on top of us."

"No, it's not," I asserted. "It's an optical illusion."

"It's more than that," Gareth howled. "It's a sign the runes are working their black magic."

"Don't worry," I reassured him, "nothing's going to happen. Right, Gavin?"

"I don't know," Gavin wavered. "Gareth says he saw a glowing light when we came through the woods. Maybe it wasn't only marsh gas."

"Definitely not," Gareth insisted. "It was a shimmering ball of fire - a dire warning a demon is on the prowl for its chosen victims."

"Will you stop going on about those blooming runes and bloody demons," Susie protested. "It's a load of rubbish. I'm sitting right next to Denise, and I'm not a bit bothered."

"I still want to get off," Gareth wept, after we bounced alarmingly over a pothole. "If Asmodeus doesn't gobble us down, you're going to kill everybody with your crazy driving."

"You cheeky, chubby basket! Take the reins, Denise, while I go back there and bop him one."

"Later, Susie - we need you up front. The taxi's coming at the speed of dark and gaining on us."

"The horses won't go any faster - they're already snorting as hard as they can. Think of something, Denise."

"Have you brought your spotlight along, Gavin?"

"Yes - I'm never without it."

"Then now's your chance to start dazzling Martians."

"Got you, Denise." Gavin released the death-ray from his belt. "Here goes." A brilliant white beam stabbed through the dusk, illuminating Colinvar's manic face behind the wheel. "How's that?"

"He's swerving - keep your super trouper on him, Sergeant," I urged.

"Hey, is that really Mr Varley and the vicar in there, Denise?"

"Yes - the reverend and his sexton have been playing for both sides."

"Double agents, eh - this is exciting, isn't it, Gareth?"

"I feel sick! I've seen those wild staring eyes again, and they're madder than ever."

"And that's PC Cork fulminating on the backseat," Gavin yelled. "He's one of them too! No wonder the bounder always binned my reports - the man's a mountebank."

"That takes the Jaffa Cake," Susie exclaimed. "You can't trust anybody in authority these days."

"Oh, we've fallen foul of the law as well as the church," Gareth wailed. "What are we going to do, Gavin?"

"I'm leaving it to Susie."

"Hey, Denise, we should head for the bridge. Aren't witches supposed to be unable to cross running water in pursuit of their evil ends?"

"That's the way to go, Susie. I only hope Constable Cork is a solitary bent copper, and they won't want to risk running into a police patrol on the main road."

"We won't get that far," Gareth panicked. "They've lowered the sun-visor, and they're gaining on us."

"What next, Denise?"

"Getting safely around this corner would be a good start. You'll have to slow up."

Susie hauled on the reins. "Left hand down a bit - half-revs, it is, Number One."

"Pull harder, Susie, or we'll be voyaging cross-country."

Snaaaaaaaaaaapppppppp!

"Ooops, Denise - the tension's proved too much - we've lost our steering. Change of strategy - no change of direction - I'm giving Dancer and Prancer their head."

"Euuuhhh - I've lost my stomach," Gareth whimpered, as the horses hurdled a ditch and we bounced straight through the ragged hedge into a misty no-man's land of rough fields. "What's happening, Gavin? I'm not looking."

"I don't know - just keep your head between your legs and brace yourself."

"Aaaahhh, another jolt like that, and we're finished, Gavin. It's worse than you jumping off the see-saw when I was at the top."

"The mud broke your fall, and I didn't do it on purpose, honest, Gareth."

"Yes, you did - and now you've landed me in an even worse mess. This is the end!"

"Stop bickering, back there, and get a grip," I called. "We're in for a rugged ride."

"Wooooh!" Susie yelled. "This brings a merry melody to mind, Denise."

"Oh, the Nutwood Stage is a-splashin' on through the rills
Where the devil arrows are thicker than porcupine quills.
Dangerous land, no time to delay,
So whip crack-away, whip crack-away, whip crack-away!"

"Oooo! I can just see you donned in buckskins, boots, and a scout cap, Miss Kappelhoff."

"You're my best gal, Denise."

"They're both raving mad, Gavin."

"It's a catchy tune, though, Gareth."

"This is no place for a bloody sing-song."

"Ten green bottles hanging on the wall ..."

"Will you two bloody shut up!" Gareth screeched, as the carriage careered on out of control. "Where the hell are you taking us?"

"Not there," I promised.

"That's all you know," Gareth sobbed. "These are the old salt-mine workings. It's deadly dangerous even walking over them in daylight - there's subsidence everywhere."

"All according to plan," Susie assured. "Girls can see better in the dark - we're more feline."

"And we do eat a lot of carrots," I added. "Don't worry, Gareth, you're in the capable paws of a brace of Bugs Bunnies."

"And we, sacrificial lambs, will soon be plummeting down a deep, dark rabbit hole to meet a mob of demons," Gareth bleated. "We're doomed from here to eternity."

"Baa, baa, baa - don't be such a Whiffenpoof," Susie snorted. "The buggers will never catch us."

"Yes, they will," Gareth snuffled. "We've no escape ... it's hopeless," he despaired.

"Say not the struggle nought availeth," I rallied, as a flash of lightning lit up the horizon. "Westward, look, the land is bright."

Booooooooooommmmmmmmmm!

"Oh! What's that?" Gareth quailed.

"Just an odd clap of thunder," Susie breezed.

"It came out of nowhere," Gavin gaped. "There's not a cloud in the sky."

"The boy's right, Denise - we witnessed a bolt from the black."

"We're cursed!" Gareth shrieked. "It's the runes - the runes!"

"Never mind the runes - we've got more immediate problems," I reminded him. "Where's the taxi, Gavin?"

"They're still following - but rebounding worse than we are, and swerving all over the place."

"Good - keep on dazzling them."

"I am - but it seems they'll stop at nothing."

"And neither will we," Susie resolved, as our transport lurched alarmingly to starboard.

"Because we can't," Gareth groaned, burying his head in his hands.

Booooooooooommmmmmmmm!

"Whoops! Hold tight, everybody," I yelled, on seeing one of the hearse's wheels spin past.

Baaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnngggggg!

"What's happened, Denise?"

"We must have gone over an old brine well and shattered an axle."

"Three wheels on our wagon,
And we're still rolling along ..."

"Oohhhhh!" Gareth squealed. "The ground's opening up back here."

"If a demon does rise from the depths, Denise, get behind me - I won't let it ravish you."

"Don't worry, Susie - there's no danger of my having to hide under your trousers."

A-Baaaaaaaannnnnnnnngggggg!

"Ooooooffff!"

"Ooooooffff!"

"What now, Denise?"

"Another wheel's gone its own way, Susie."

"Two wheels on our wagon,
But we're still rolling along ..."

Craaaaaaaaaasssssssshhhhhhhh!

"And that?"

"The coffin's disembarked. We've lost our cargo, but still have a full complement of passengers."

"Fasten your seat-belts," Susie shouted, as we bounced over yet another deep crevice. "Prepare for a pancake landing."

Crrruuunnnnnnccccccccchhhhhh!

"One wheel on our wagon,
And we're still rolling along ..."

"But we're falling apart at the seams, Susie."

Craaaaaaaaaacccccccckkkkkkkkk!

"And there go the horses, Denise - shafts and all."

Buuuuuuuummmmmmpppppppp!

"No wheels on our wagon,
Now we're not rolling along."

"End of the line - all change," I announced, as the carriage belly-flopped to a halt with our pursuers nearly upon us. "We've hit rock-bottom - make ready to abandon ship, Gavin."

Susie turned in her seat and yowled in frustration. "Bloody hell - here come the coven. We'll have to surrender our booty on the penultimate lap, Denise."

"It's no use crying over split axles. Let's get Steve and run for it while we have the chance."

Booooooooooommmmmmmmm!

"Wait, Denise - something's happening to the taxi. They're going boot over bonnet!"

"It's disappearing!" I exclaimed. Illuminated by a giant flash of lightning, the big black car nose-dived out of sight before our very eyes. "Would you believe it?"

Booooooooooommmmmmmmm!

"Oh, the Eastern World, it is exploding," Gavin cried, from amid the wreckage around him.

"It's a blooming miracle!" Susie whooped, as a giant mushroom cloud of dust rose into the air. "The heathen buggers have been swallowed up into the bowels of the Earth."

"Aaaww, we're on the eve of destruction," Gareth bawled, huddling behind the coffin.

"Not us, them," I rejoiced. "They've completely vanished - summoned to the last rites. The misguided fools should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque if they wanted to avoid a one-way trip to the Underworld, Susie."

"What a load of maroons! Old Nick and his imps got what was coming to them."

"And where they've gone, there'll be plenty of salt to put on those would-be devils' tails."

"It's more poetic justice, Denise, but we've no time to stand around congratulating ourselves. Let's get back to business and check on our fellow travellers."

"Are you all okay, Sergeant Chuff?" I anxiously enquired, when we arrived at the rear of the remains of the hearse.

"We're fine," Gavin reported, "now Gareth's got up the last of his custard creams."

"Are you sure? He's quivering like an aspen."

"It beats sitting in your bedroom triplicating, though, doesn't it, Gareth?" Susie grinned, just as a vast sheet of flame shot up out of the ground.

Booooooooooommmmmmmmm!

"Oh, God," Gareth moaned. "Hold me, Gavin - the Earth's moving!"

Booooooooooommmmmmmmm!

"Wow, how about that for a firework display, Denise?"

"Magnificent pyrotechnics, Susie, and we've learned another important lesson tonight."

"What's that, Denise?"

"The nimbies are quite right - this really is an unsafe place for gas storage."

Booooooooooommmmmmmmm!

"And it seems the vicar wasn't far wrong about men whose soles of the feet are on fire."

"Wherever they've gone to their unjust rewards, they won't be coming back in a hurry, Susie."

"Glory, glory, what a hell of a way to die," Gavin mumbled.

"I knew it," Gareth gulped. "The demon's totally annihilated them - that could have been us."

"But, it wasn't," Susie snorted. "So much for your curse of the runes."

"No - it's definitely what did for them," Gareth insisted. "There was thunder and lightning, and earthquakes, and hellfire. The spell must have boomeranged for some reason."

"Doomeranged," Susie laughed. "I suppose they did receive their comeuppance by falling down into a pit of iniquity - that would explain the sulphurous smell in the air. What do you think, Denise?"

"Their dabbling with dark forces certainly brought the coven something unexpected. There's always a catch in it when you sell your soul to the devil."

"The same thing happened to Aleister Crowley - the wickedest man in the world." Gareth forgot his woes and was seized with a sudden fervour. "Dennis Wheatley warned him against summoning up Pan."

Susie raised both eyebrows. "You don't say - did he get blown to bits?"

"No, but someone was found with their head twisted backwards - just like the squire."

"Really," Susie whistled, "who would credit such happenings in this day and age?"

"They're occurring all the time," Gareth enthused. "The papers aren't allowed to publish the real stories, but I read about it on the Internet."

"Then it must be true," I agreed.

"The Lizard people are out to gain control of the human race - just google David Icke."

"And today's events can only add weight to the theory," Susie smiled.

"Definitely," Gareth nodded, "although it's hard to convince people at the best of times. And without documentary evidence, I doubt they'll believe us in this case," he frowned.

"Then say nothing," I advised.

"But the explosions," Gareth fretted. "Everyone will have heard them - there'll be an enquiry. How are we going to explain all this?"

"We're not," Susie declared. "We're stealing silently away."

"And what if they find the bodies? Dazzling them like that, Gavin and I could be up for manslaughter - or even murder," Gareth gulped.

"Nonsense!" Susie snorted. "At the very worst, we acted in self-defence, didn't we, Denise?"

"As Shakespeare nearly so aptly put it, Susie. The land is burning. Pursuers followed nigh. And either they or we must lower lie."

"Exactly, Denise - there you are, Gareth, justification from a fellow bard. Take a leaf out of his book and turn base tragedy into high art - not forgetting to change the names to protect the innocent."

"Golly, yes! I'm going to write an anonymous paper on this in triplicate triplicate - in longhand - in real purple ink."

"Before you take up your quill, would you and Gavin do us a favour and take care of Steve Spooner?" I requested.

"He's your friend."

"But our first priority has to be safeguarding the coffin and its contents. Repossessing them is the principal objective of our mission," Susie confided.

"We don't want to be party to a body-snatching, as well," Gareth complained. "Who's in the coffin?"

"It's a state secret," I whispered. "We thank you for being instrumental in frustrating the Lizard men's plans for his afterlife."

"You mean ..."

"We can't say more, but it shouldn't be difficult for two consulting psychic experts and film buffs to guess," Susie hinted.

Gareth exchanged a knowing look with his colleague in the supernatural UFO field. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Gavin?"

"That they intended the revival of the dead, Gareth."

"Like in 'Plan 9 from Outer Space', Gavin."

"Exactly - are we right, Denise?"

"I'm not allowed to deny it."

"Go on," Gareth begged, "you can tell us. Are you men in black?"

"We can merely admit to sometimes being girls in tasteful dark tweed," Susie winked. "But you mustn't mention the fact to anyone."

"Not even Mr Spooner."

"No, it's for your ears only, Gavin," I emphasised. "You and Gareth will both have the privilege of knowing something nobody else knows. You're sworn to secrecy."

"Gosh, Gavin, when I file this, I'll have to mark the folder - 'For Our Eyes Only' - in big red letters."

"It's a shame we won't get a badge, though, Gareth - like we did for self-denial week."

"Never mind, Gavin," I consoled, pinning my lifeboat flag on him. "You can wear this with pride."

"Oh, thanks, Denise."

"And here's one for his loyal partner in the paranormal," Susie grinned.

"Thanks," Gareth blushed.

"I think our valiant allies also deserve a small contribution towards Gavin's telescope from a grateful government, Susie."

"Let's hope these carats will help them see in the dark, Denise."

"Here you are, Gavin - a little extra glitter for a right bobby-dazzler," I smiled.

Gavin stared goggle-eyed as we each dropped a Kruger rand into his hand. "Are they for real?"

"Agent's special emergency issue," Susie declared. "We're authorised to buy your silence."

"And what about Steve Spooner?"

"He could pose a security risk, so when he wakes up, it's your job to convince him it's all been a bad dream."

"Say you found him lying in a patch of half-eaten mushrooms while you were on patrol," I suggested. "Make sure he's grateful to you - it's useful to have a friend in the press."

"Steve's Shoreham Gazette car is parked on the main road into Knott End," Susie added. "You can't miss it - here are his keys and phone - see he arrives there safely."

"Will do, sir," Gavin saluted.

"That's the living sorted out, Denise. Now, let's retrieve the dead, and endeavour to complete our assignment."

"Just a minute," Gareth coughed. "Can I ask you something before you go?"

"Feel free," Susie grinned.

"I've been thinking about why that spell backfired on them ..." Gareth hesitated.

"You've got a theory, have you?"

"You're not teenage witches, are you?" Gareth gulped.

"Well, some folk do find us charming," Susie beguiled. "And this may give you a further clue. Are we ready to enchant the boys, Denise?"

"Okay," I smiled. "Let's exit stage left with a song."

"We look like angels,
Walk like angels,
Talk like angels,
But were they surprised.
We're little devils in disguise.
Oh, yes, we are,
Little devils in disguise."

 

 

Chapter 169

"How about we say another little prayer for our transport home, Jeffrey?" Susie proposed, whilst we sat by the river bank and reflected on what to do next.

"It can't do any harm to ask, Susie."

"We may already have had a spot of divine intervention back there, putting the spoke in the coven's wheels. "

"Not necessarily - the fire that consumed them could have come from an entirely different source."

"How do you mean, Jeffrey?"

"Didn't I mention that I passed the runes on to Mr Varley in the back of that broken phone, Susie?"

"No, Jeffrey, it must have inadvertently slipped your devious little mind."

"And they were voluntarily accepted, just as the spell requires."

"Returned to sender, eh, Jeffrey? Old Colinvar should have been beware of the meek bearing gifts."

"Yes, Susie - Mr Varley had the runes on him when they took the plunge into the salt-mine. It makes you wonder, doesn't it?" I mused.

"I thought you pooh-poohed the whole idea of the curse of the demon, Jeffrey."

"Better safe than sorry, Susie."

"As in, we're safe, and old Colinvar's sorry."

"Exactly, Susie."

"So you weren't really scared back there, Jeffrey?"

"Just keeping everyone company."

"Bit of a thrill while it lasted, though, wasn't it?" Susie grinned.

"The happiness of pursuit," I smiled.

"Topped off by the perfect climax."

"And now, in the cold light of evening, all we have to worry about, apart from our logistical difficulties, is what the police and papers will make of recent events."

"'Local Worthies Perish in Fracking Earthquake Gas Tragedy' - how's that for a headline, Jeffrey?"

"The number one choice, I trust. Instead of a red devil, the vicar will be thought a green martyr by the local nimbies."

"It couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke - except the one in here." Susie gave the coffin a thump. "Although, at the end of the day, I can't see Stagecoach letting us on the bus with him."

"We'll have to keep well away from the road. Walking along carrying a coffin is just asking to be pulled over for questioning."

"Then we'll go cruising down the river, Jeffrey. I'm sure Uncle Frank's finest will float like a Norway spruce, even with two extra passengers on deck."

I looked out over the narrow ribbon of water separating us from Nutwood. "It's low tide, Susie. We'll have to squelch through a lot of mud before we can launch the squire."

"I'm willing to sacrifice yet another pair of designer trainers for the cause, Jeffrey. This time I can put them on expenses."

"This time they're from Aldi, Susie."

"But Uncle Frank's not to know that, Jeffrey. Ship ahoy, let's get launching."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"All aboard, Susie."

"Hoist the mainsail, Jeffrey."

"We haven't got one - so start splashing energetically and don't stop until I give the order," I commanded, pushing off the coffin into the almost still river. "We wouldn't want to risk drifting out to sea again."

"Aye- aye, Captain," Susie saluted, and accompanied by a cortege of crows and seagulls, we embarked on the misty return voyage.

"We are paddling, we are paddling,
Home again cross the sea.
We are paddling quiet waters,
To Nutwood, for our tea."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Made it, Susie," I sighed with relief, as, with no incidents to report in the captain's log, we beached the coffin opposite the lower lighthouse.

"Easy-peasy, Jeffrey - we'll have to give surfboarding a try."

"Luckily for us, there aren't the waves for it around here. You'll have to settle for kitesurfing or sailboarding, and, either way, you can leave me watching from the shore."

"No sense of adventure that's your trouble, Jeffrey," Susie grinned.

"Adventuring our way into the cover of the shelter, away from any prying eyes, will suit us just fine for now."

"Okay, let's go."

"First ring your Uncle Frank to come in his hearse-mobile and pick up the squire. We don't want to be left high and dry, holding a corpse."

Susie took out her phone and dialled home. "I can't wait to see the expression on the old buffer's face when he opens the box, Jeffrey."

"Just get him here as fast as possible. You know what happened on the last occasion we were standing around in the dark waiting for Godot."

"A kerb-crawler wouldn't be attracted to two delightful young girls carrying a coffin, would he, Jeffrey?"

"You never can tell these days, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"You have to agree I was short and sweet and to the point, Jeffrey."

"It's only a pity your uncle didn't believe you, Susie."

"But Denise backed me up and persuaded unky I was telling the truth."

"No, I didn't - he's worried you're leading a prospective daughter-in-law astray."

"Well, Uncle Frank will be coming like a badminton racquet out of hell - that's all what matters. So heave-ho, my hearty," Susie grinned, as we raised the coffin yet again, "and we'll smuggle our contraband into town."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Uh-oh, trouble ahead, Susie," I muttered, after we'd slogged our way through the marram-grass covered sand dunes to below the seawall. "One man and his floppy-eared dog have just arrived and are spying on our every move."

Susie eyed the figure leaning over the railings. "We'll have to ready a story for Customs and Excise, then, Jeffrey."

"Hello - what have you got there?" our spectator called down the concrete ramp leading to the esplanade.

"Only an interesting piece of driftwood," Susie breezed. "Make way - we're coming up."

"Bloody Nora - it's a coffin!" the man gawped, when we reached the top. "If that's been washed overboard, you'd better report it to the police."

"It's okay - we were kidding," Susie smiled. "We haven't been beachcombing. We're students from the Nautical College, and this is a rag week stunt."

"Gone wrong," I confessed, as we lowered our burden onto the shelter seat. "We lost the sail and had to abandon ship short of the Isle of Man."

"You must be mad - I've never heard of such a foolhardy idea."

"We had an escort, but their engine broke down," Susie lamented. "It unexpectedly flooded."

"And you say you're from the Nautical College?"

"That's right," I nodded. "We're learning to drive an oil-tanker."

"An oil-tanker?"

"Yes, and a damned big one," Susie emphasised. "Those three-point turns in the Suez Canal are a hell of a challenge."

Our inquisitor frowned and regarded us with ever increasing suspicion. "That's an expensive looking coffin to use for a prank."

"It's the Titanic of the range - unsinkable and guaranteed seaworthy," Susie explained. "Like the one in 'Moby Dick'."

"A Titanic Moby Dick ..." The man furrowed his brow. "A little bird tells me there's more to this than meets the eye. Oscar certainly thinks so - he's never stopped sniffing at that coffin."

"Down boy!" Susie tapped the inquisitive spaniel on the nose. "Roll over and play dead."

"Don't do that," his owner scolded. "Oscar's only remembering his schooling. He's an ex-trainee cadaver canine. Unfortunately, he showed a little too much enthusiasm for wallowing in his finds."

"Ah, so he wasn't up to the job."

"Shush, you'll hurt Oscar's feelings. He moped for a month when he failed his guide-dog assessment, too."

"What a coincidence - we're supporting them with our coffin cruise." Susie held out her hand. "Would you care to make a donation?"

"Not at the moment - I've done my bit for charity, giving Oscar a good home. What with the price of meaty chunks in gravy, this old lad eats better than I do."

"Then why is he trying to chew on the coffin?" I queried.

"Because he can smell something fishy - and so can I. What's in there?"

"A corpse - what else," Susie deadpanned.

"Now, now, young lady, talk like that could land you in serious trouble. Let me have a closer look." The man bent down, slipped a hand under the coffin, and tested its weight. "Here, I felt something move."

"Don't - you'll have it over," Susie warned.

"Ooooowwwww!" The man jumped back shaking his hand. "I got stung!"

"Uugh! There's the culprit," I quivered, as a squashed jellyfish dropped to the floor. "The jammy devil's bequeathed you a kiss after dying."

"I hope for your sake it's not one of those Portuguese ones," Susie shivered. "But you've already gone a funny colour."

"Oh, God, what should I do?"

"Better let Oscar give your hand a lick," I advised. "Dog spit's full of antibiotics."

"Here boy, choccy treat." Oscar gave the proffered digit one lick and yelped away. "Aaargh, it's worse than ever."

"Try a tourniquet," I suggested.

"And then will you suck out the poison?" the man appealed.

"Not after a dog's licked it," I grimaced. "You can only imagine where his tongue's been."

"But you said ..."

"No, I didn't."

"Then call me an ambulance."

"I'm sorry we have to go now, Mr Bulance," Susie apologised. "Here comes our senior tutor, Captain Bligh, to pick us up."

The man stared glassy-eyed across the road. "He's driving a hearse."

"Don't worry, Anam - it's not for you. The captain's usually a strict martinet, but on this occasion, he's fully entered into the spirit of things hasn't he, Denise?"

"I sincerely hope so, Susie."

"Don't leave me - my finger's throbbing - and I feel faint."

"You'll be okay," I assured, as we took up our burden for final delivery. "Oscar will look after you."

"See, he knows exactly what to do. I'm sure he'd make a great St Bernard, given half a chance," Susie grinned, as we departed, leaving man's best friend joyfully wagging his tail and slavering over his master's flushed face.

 

 

Chapter 170

"I think he's still in shock, Susie," I whispered, after we'd slid the squire into the back of the Bentley.

"Come on, Uncle Frank, say something," Susie coaxed. "Even if it's only 'Wait until I tell your father about this'."

"I don't believe it!" Uncle Frank finally managed to croak. "You really have got the coffin."

"And the dishonourable gentleman is in there, as large as death," Susie beamed. "You can put your socks back on and stop biting your toenails."

"Is it true, Denise - is the squire all right?"

"As well as can be expected, sir - under the circumstances."

"He couldn't be better for your purposes, Uncle Frank. Bring 'em back dead is our motto."

"Show a little decorum, please, Susie."

"You shouldn't complain after the job we had pulling your squire on out of the fire."

"What fire? The coffin's all damp and covered in sand."

"And so are our feet - we had to daringly improvise your Rip van Winkle's river crossing."

"The squire's not waterlogged, is he, Susie? That might adversely affect his cremation."

"Worry not, Uncle Frank - you can be proud of a fine piece of coffinmanship. The squire's as dry as his bones. Here - have a squint."

We raised the lid, and Uncle Frank anxiously peered in. "He's exactly as I prepared him for his final journey. Praise be to Saint Joseph!"

"And our skilful seamanship - which wasn't the only initiative we had to display, was it, Denise?"

"Not by a long way, Susie - we were HP-like in our resourcefulness."

"And that isn't a tenth of the story, Uncle Frank. If you knew the dangers and difficulties we had to overcome."

"I can't imagine."

"Well, just for starters, we risked a fate worse than death - and then death itself - to snatch back the squire for you."

"What can I say, Susie?" Uncle Frank's eyes welled up with emotion. "I don't know how to thank you. I only wish I'd worn my top hat so I could take it off to you."

"Before you and the squire get carried away - just a word of warning. You shouldn't let anyone inspect the body too closely," Susie cautioned.

"Why not?"

"Because there is a teensy bit missing."

"A bit missing?" Uncle Frank swayed alarmingly.

"Don't panic - it's only an arm."

"Only an arm!" Uncle Frank choked. "What - his whole arm?"

"Yes - but that shouldn't pose a major problem for a top-class embalmer like you."

With an effort, Uncle Frank regained his equilibrium. "There's a limit to the cosmetic restoration even an expert cadaver artist can achieve, Susie."

"Your shop's adjacent to an old-established gentlemen's outfitters, isn't it?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Susie? It's not a ..."

"Not a what?"

"Never mind," Uncle Frank sighed, and bit his lip. "Yes, I'm next door to Snoddie's, but how does that help?"

"They're bound to have a spare arm or two knocking about the place."

Uncle Frank considered for a moment. "I suppose so - and he is a fellow Rotarian."

"That's okay, then. It's a right one, by the way, but a left will do in a pinch."

Uncle Frank ran his fingers through his hair. "This is too much for me, Susie. What kind of monsters would mutilate a corpse?"

"You don't know a 666th of it," Susie frowned. "But for our last minute intervention, they would have had the squire's head in the centre of the dinner table."

"I don't understand."

"To put it indelicately - you're lucky we haven't brought back the squire cheekless with the core of a Cox's Orange Pippin stuck in his mouth."

"You mean they were going to eat him!" Uncle Frank collapsed against the hearse. "This whole affair is a nightmare, Susie."

"And stampeding horses are a part of the story, too. But the less said about that, the better for all concerned."

Uncle Frank looked at me in alarm. "What else is Susie hiding, Denise?"

"Nothing that will affect you, sir," I stressed. "But it'll save a lot of awkward questions if you tell the police the coffin mysteriously turned up on your establishment's doorstep."

"And give the old van Winkle a good polish before you phone them," Susie instructed, "just in case they have an idea to dust it for fingerprints."

"Why on earth ..."

"Because you can't be too careful with our handling of stolen goods, sir. It might reflect badly on us, and you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"I appreciate your concerns, Denise, and I share them." Uncle Frank resolutely returned to standing on his own two feet. "I'll take the eternity casket and its contents straight back to the chapel of rest and buff everything up with three coats of natural beeswax before the salt-water stains it."

"Off you go, then," Susie urged. "And don't lose your customer again."

"Certainly not!" Uncle Frank double-locked the back of the hearse and hurried round to the driver's door. "I won't let the bothersome beggar out of my sight until he's safely consigned to the fiery furnace."

"A highly appropriate end for the squire and all his coven, don't you agree, Denise?"

"Heartily, Susie."

"What was that about a coven?" Uncle Frank flinched, as he settled in his seat. "Need I worry about more villains coming calling?"

"No, they've already gone to a worse place," Susie assured.

"But don't ask where," I advised.

"I won't, and I'll make sure no one else does, too. My fellow masons will ensure this matter is buried without any further publicity."

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, Denise, and thank you, Susie."

"You're welcome - we are family, after all," Susie winked. "Bye for now."

"Good-bye, girls," Uncle Frank half-smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow, after the funeral - I'm bringing it forward, a Sunday or not."

"Ta-ra," we chorused.

"And keep the squire's collar tightly buttoned," Susie advised. "His head's slightly looser than it was originally."

"I'll lend him my spare dicky-bow." Uncle Frank managed a full smile, let out the clutch, and we waved the purring Bentley away.

"Impossible mission accomplished, Jeffrey."

"And happily, Susie, no awkward questions were meaningfully pursued."

"It went very smoothly, Jeffrey. The old boy was melted mortician's wax in our hands. He scarcely raised the proverbial eyebrow."

"Actually, Susie, I think your uncle is in a state of deep befuddlement."

"When he comes out of it, I hope he remembers who saved his bacon and his long pig."

"And I hope that closes 'The Case of the Hijacked Hearse', Susie."

"Apart from Uncle Frank never forgetting he is eternally in my debt, Jeffrey."

"I wouldn't lend our Kruger rands on it, Susie. Knowing you, knowing him, your uncle's gratitude may prove shorter-lived than you envisage."

"It's a lying shame we had to conceal the truly heroic efforts we put forth on his behalf, Jeffrey."

"Although our modest labours haven't been without compensation, Susie. Virtue has reaped its own golden reward."

"Fair recompense, Jeffrey, considering I neglected to mention my ruined shoes - plus our other legitimately incurred expenses."

"We'll write them off to experience, Susie ... and we did dodge one hell of a taxi fare."

"Oh well, you can't have everything - where would you put it all?"

"In a Swiss bank," I offered.

"Incidentally, did you get a good look at that account number, Jeffrey?"

"Only a fleeting glance, but it sufficed."

"So you remember it?"

"Need you ask, Susie."

"Then write it down and consign it to your bottom drawer - it might come in handy later."

"How so?"

"With all the skiing stuff they sell at Aldi, we could be tempted to take an alpine holiday one day."

"Klosters?"

"Money will be no object, Jeffrey."

"After that, we deserve another good dressing-up, Susie. I'm fed up with being a tomboy. It's time your dashing white huntress tightly laced her captive Princess of the Nile into my bridal underwear."

"A few high kicks, and you'll pass for a chorus-girl, Jeffrey. Come on, we'll limbo the last mile home. My feet are still as fresh as daisies."

"Okay, Susie, let's give them another workout," I smiled, and, linking arms, we danced tunefully away along the promenade.

"Oh, my heart skips a beat
When we walk down the street,
I feel a trembling in my knees.
And just to know you're mine
Until the end of time,
Makes my heart skip a beat."

 

 

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