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Authors: Mandy Morton
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still dark, but the frost had been a hard one and the window looking out over the Butters’ backyard was iced in beautiful patterns.
‘Jack Frost has been busy,’ she said brightly, rinsing the dirty cocoa mugs ready for their morning tea. ‘I hope Bruiser is OK in the shed.’
Hettie rubbed her eyes and sat up. ‘I’m sure he’llbe fine. He was very pleased to have some shelter, and he’d demolished our dinner before turning in for the night. I bet he got more sleep than I did.’ She accepted her tea gratefully, wrapping her paws round it to feel the heat. ‘We’ve got a difficult day ahead of us. I suppose we should see the sister first, although I’d rather have a better look round Miss Spitforce’s before the relatives start turning up.’
‘Let’s go now then,’ said Tilly enthusiastically. ‘It’s very early and we could grab anything interesting and bring it back here before anyone else gets a chance. We could take my tartan shopper.’
The thought of getting up at this time and venturing out into the cold winter’s morning held no joy whatsoever for Hettie, but she had to admit that it was a very good idea. ‘You’re right – we could get all the crime scene stuff out of the way. I’m keen to take a look at anything Miss Spitforce was working on. This book that Irene Peggledrip mentioned and that family history hobby she had – I wonder if she ruffled some feathers there?’
Tilly downed her tea and leapt into action, choosing her warmest cardigan and socks. Hettie struggled from the comfort of her armchair and pulled on yesterday’s clothes, which still smelt faintly of paraffin. They banked the fire up, equipped themselves with a torch each, put on their business macs, turned up their collars and stepped out into the hallway to be confronted byBetty and Beryl Butter hauling the first batch of rustic sticks from the oven.
‘Whatever’s up?’ asked Betty, fighting off a hot flush. ‘We’re not used to seeing you two about at this time.’
‘We have an early house search to do,’ Hettie replied, trying to sound important.
‘Well, won’t the house still be there later?’ Beryl forced a tray of bridge rolls into the empty oven. ‘Stay there,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll be back in a tick.’ She disappeared into the back of the shop and returned minutes later brandishing one of the rustic sticks filled with ham. ‘That should sort the pair of you out. Our old mother used to say that leaving the house without breakfast makes a cat repent all day.’ Betty nodded in agreement at her sister’s borrowed wisdom and placed the food in Tilly’s tartan shopper. Delighted with their unexpected breakfast, Hettie and Tilly set off for Whisker Terrace, long before most of the townsfolk were awake.
It was a rare thing to see the Dosh Stores in darkness, and there were no lights on in the rest of the terrace either. Hettie unlocked the door to Miss Spitforce’s kitchen, pleased to be getting on with the investigation without the prying eyes of the community. She moved to the window to pull the blind down and shone her torch round the room, relieved to see that everything was how she had left it the night before. The daggerlay with the discarded tea towel on the table; the orange silk shroud and witch’s hat were in a heap on the floor; and she hoped that Mavis Spitforce had remained similarly static since she last saw her.
‘I think we should make sure that all the blinds and curtains are closed before we start work,’ she said. ‘We don’t want anyone seeing a light and disturbing us. You take the rooms upstairs and I’ll do down here.’
Tilly followed Hettie into the parlour, where Miss Spitforce appeared to have spent a peaceful night. The room was icy cold, as if the corpse preferred it that way. Tilly shivered and looked for the door to the stairs, eventually finding it behind a faded velvet curtain. She clambered up the steps, torch in paw, and was faced with a choice of
‘Jack Frost has been busy,’ she said brightly, rinsing the dirty cocoa mugs ready for their morning tea. ‘I hope Bruiser is OK in the shed.’
Hettie rubbed her eyes and sat up. ‘I’m sure he’llbe fine. He was very pleased to have some shelter, and he’d demolished our dinner before turning in for the night. I bet he got more sleep than I did.’ She accepted her tea gratefully, wrapping her paws round it to feel the heat. ‘We’ve got a difficult day ahead of us. I suppose we should see the sister first, although I’d rather have a better look round Miss Spitforce’s before the relatives start turning up.’
‘Let’s go now then,’ said Tilly enthusiastically. ‘It’s very early and we could grab anything interesting and bring it back here before anyone else gets a chance. We could take my tartan shopper.’
The thought of getting up at this time and venturing out into the cold winter’s morning held no joy whatsoever for Hettie, but she had to admit that it was a very good idea. ‘You’re right – we could get all the crime scene stuff out of the way. I’m keen to take a look at anything Miss Spitforce was working on. This book that Irene Peggledrip mentioned and that family history hobby she had – I wonder if she ruffled some feathers there?’
Tilly downed her tea and leapt into action, choosing her warmest cardigan and socks. Hettie struggled from the comfort of her armchair and pulled on yesterday’s clothes, which still smelt faintly of paraffin. They banked the fire up, equipped themselves with a torch each, put on their business macs, turned up their collars and stepped out into the hallway to be confronted byBetty and Beryl Butter hauling the first batch of rustic sticks from the oven.
‘Whatever’s up?’ asked Betty, fighting off a hot flush. ‘We’re not used to seeing you two about at this time.’
‘We have an early house search to do,’ Hettie replied, trying to sound important.
‘Well, won’t the house still be there later?’ Beryl forced a tray of bridge rolls into the empty oven. ‘Stay there,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll be back in a tick.’ She disappeared into the back of the shop and returned minutes later brandishing one of the rustic sticks filled with ham. ‘That should sort the pair of you out. Our old mother used to say that leaving the house without breakfast makes a cat repent all day.’ Betty nodded in agreement at her sister’s borrowed wisdom and placed the food in Tilly’s tartan shopper. Delighted with their unexpected breakfast, Hettie and Tilly set off for Whisker Terrace, long before most of the townsfolk were awake.
It was a rare thing to see the Dosh Stores in darkness, and there were no lights on in the rest of the terrace either. Hettie unlocked the door to Miss Spitforce’s kitchen, pleased to be getting on with the investigation without the prying eyes of the community. She moved to the window to pull the blind down and shone her torch round the room, relieved to see that everything was how she had left it the night before. The daggerlay with the discarded tea towel on the table; the orange silk shroud and witch’s hat were in a heap on the floor; and she hoped that Mavis Spitforce had remained similarly static since she last saw her.
‘I think we should make sure that all the blinds and curtains are closed before we start work,’ she said. ‘We don’t want anyone seeing a light and disturbing us. You take the rooms upstairs and I’ll do down here.’
Tilly followed Hettie into the parlour, where Miss Spitforce appeared to have spent a peaceful night. The room was icy cold, as if the corpse preferred it that way. Tilly shivered and looked for the door to the stairs, eventually finding it behind a faded velvet curtain. She clambered up the steps, torch in paw, and was faced with a choice of
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