“A gold bracelet belonging to Christine Ridings.”
“Where was it taken from?”
“The Nomad girls’ dormitory again.”
“I’ll be honest with you, headmistress, so far, I haven’t come up with any meaningful leads.”
“I’m sure you’re doing your best, but if this continues, I’ll have to call in the Candlefield police. I’d rather avoid that if I possibly can.”
“How would you feel about my going undercover in the Nomad dorm?”
“What do you mean by undercover?”
“If I posed as a pupil, I’d be able to witness the goings on in that dorm more closely.”
“I don’t think that will work.”
“I could use magic to make myself appear to be the right age.”
“I don’t doubt that you could, but there’s no way we’d be able to explain the sudden appearance of a new pupil. New starters are only allowed to join the school at the beginning of a new term. The thief would be bound to realise something funny was going on.”
“Right. Better scrap that plan then.”
“From what you’ve just said, Jill, it sounds like you think it was an inside job.”
“It’s certainly looking that way. Can you give me a few more days before you call in the police?”
“Of course, but please keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
As I walked back to my office building, I spotted a man who was wearing the same horrible jumper as Finn Waters had sported at The Sea’s The Limit. A little further along the street, a woman was wearing an identical jumper. By the time I’d reached my offices, I’d counted ten more people wearing them.
“Look, Jill.” Mrs V held up her version of the same jumper. “What do you think?”
“I think Grandma’s app must be very popular.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’ve just seen loads of people wearing the very same jumper. They must have been at The Sea’s The Limit, and used the app to download the pattern. What I don’t understand is how everyone managed to knit them so quickly.”
“They probably did what I did and used the wap to speed things up.”
“Hold on a minute. I thought the wap—err—app just produced a pattern based on the garment you’d photographed.”
“That’s all the basic wap does, but the premium version actually knits the jumper for you.”
Now it was all starting to make sense. Until then, I hadn’t been able to work out why Grandma would invest time and money into producing something that was being given away for free. “How much does the premium version cost?”
“It’s subscription based. It costs nine-ninety-nine per month. It’s a bargain when you consider how much time it saves.”
“And how exactly does it work?”
“Once you’ve used the basic wap to capture the pattern, you have to put the wool and knitting needles in a dark room, and then you click on the ‘Knit Now’ option.”
“What happens then?”
“I’m not really sure. You have to leave the room, or it won’t work.”
“I bet.”
“You wait outside the room for ten minutes, then when you go back, hey presto the jumper is all done. It’s like magic.”
“It most certainly is.” I started to walk towards my office, but then remembered something. “Mrs V, did you manage to order the new sign?”
“I did, dear. At least, I think so.”
“Aren’t you sure?”
“Mr Song is a very strange man, isn’t he? All the time I was trying to have a conversation with him, he insisted on singing.”
“I did warn you.”
“It might be as well if you give him a call yourself, just to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll do that.”
When I’d discovered that the only prizes at the cat show were certificates and rosettes, I thought Winky would do his nut, but he’d been as proud as punch. In fact, he’d already put his certificate and rosette up on the wall.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d win?” he said.
“You did.”
“And did you hear what the head judge said about me?”
“I did.” He was going to be unbearable from now on.
“While I think about it, you weren’t planning to work late tomorrow night, were you?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“I’m having a lady friend over for dinner. I’ve asked her to come to see my rosette and certificate.”
“Not your etchings, then?”
“Sorry?”
“It doesn’t matter. Who’s coming over?”
“Daisy. No, wait, it’s Judy.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He thought about it for a while. “No, I’m wrong. Judy couldn’t make it tomorrow. It’s Trixie. Definitely Trixie.”
Unbelievable.
Just then, Kathy came charging into my office; she didn’t look a happy bunny.
“I’m sorry to burst in on you, Jill, but if I’d stayed in the shop for another minute, I would probably have murdered your grandmother.”
“What’s she done now?”
“It’s bad enough that she opened a bridal shop right next door to mine, but now she’s ripping off every idea I come up with. Last week, we ran a twenty-per cent off promotion on wedding albums, so guess what?”
“She did the same?”
“She offered thirty per cent off them. It’s not just that—she’s stealing our ideas too. We’ve just introduced a new range of environmentally friendly confetti. It took me forever to source a supplier, and I spent ages putting together a window display to feature the new range. This morning, when I walked past her shop, guess what? She’s got exactly the same confetti, front and centre of her window.”
“That’s despicable. No one likes a copy cobra.”
“You mean, copycat.”
“I think you’ll find it’s cobra.”
From the sofa, Winky nodded his approval.
After Kathy had eventually calmed down and left, I called the sign company.
“It’s A Sign. Sid Song, singing.”
“Mr Song, hi, it’s Jill. My PA, Mrs V, called the other day about getting my current sign replaced.”
“You’re the private investigator, aren’t you?” he warbled.
“That’s right.”
“Change of name to Maxwell?”
“Correct.”
“It’s all in hand. It should be installed next week.”
“That’s great. Thanks.”
Chapter 15
I adore breakfast.
I just thought I’d put that out there.
It’s the meal which offers such a wide range of options. Everything from cereal to toast to a full fry-up. And yet, Jack chose to eat sawdust (AKA muesli) almost every day. Sometimes, I had serious doubts about that man.
“Penny for them,” he said.
“I was wondering if I should be getting married to a man who voluntarily eats muesli for breakfast.”
“It’s good for you, unlike that thing in your hand.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a sausage cob.”
“How many sausages are in there?”
“Just a couple.”
“Is that an actual couple, as in two, or your version of a couple, as in as many as will fit in the cob?”
“You’re only jealous.” I took a huge bite.
He screwed up his face in mock disgust, but deep down, I knew he’d swap his sawdust for my sausage cob, in a heartbeat.
No chance, buddy.
“Only four days now until we get married,” he said.
“Three, actually. Today’s Tuesday.”
“I know. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. That’s four days.”
“You’re not supposed to count today.”
“Of course you are.”
“Everyone knows you don’t count today when you’re calculating how many days there are to go until something happens.”
“This everyone of whom you speak. Would that be the same everyone who thinks that a couple can be any number you choose it to be?”
“I can’t help it if you don’t understand the fundamentals of mathematics. Incidentally, I thought I might take a look around the bowling alley today. Do you happen to know if they have CCTV?”
“They definitely do. What are you hoping to learn from that?”
“I don’t really know, but I figure it can’t hurt to take a look at it.”
***
The bowling alley didn’t open until midday, which was just as well because I had a meeting with my accountant, Luther Stone, in the morning.
On the short walk from the car park to my offices, I encountered another six of the now infamous jumpers.
“I think I might be in trouble, Jill.” Mrs V looked worried.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I might get sued.”