I was halfway across the park when something hit me on top of the head.
“Ouch.” I glanced down and saw the offending object: An acorn. Above me, perched on a branch was a squirrel; he was grinning. “Hey you!” I shouted. “What do you think you’re doing? That hurt.”
“It serves you right.” He sneered.
“What do you mean, it serves me right? What did I ever do to you?”
“This is my territory. Go and find your own acorns.”
“I wasn’t looking for acorns. I was just walking through the park, minding my own business when you threw one at me.”
“That’s what they all say. If you come around here again, you’ll get more of that.”
What a horrible creature. I was sorely tempted to do something unspeakable to him, but I turned the other cheek and carried on through the park. Maybe Mrs V wasn’t as crazy as I’d thought she was. When she’d told me that she and Armi had come under attack from squirrels in their back garden, I’d thought she was nuts. Maybe, she’d been right all along. If so, why had the squirrel population suddenly turned to violence?
Chapter 12
It was Saturday morning, and Jack and I were in the kitchen, eating breakfast. Florence had already finished hers and was in the back garden, playing with Buddy.
When I’d finished eating, I took the bowl over to the sink, and glanced out of the window. “I’ll need to have serious words with that dog.”
“Why?” Jack looked up from his newspaper. “Is he refusing to play ball again?”
“He is fetching it, but instead of running after it like a normal dog, he just saunters up and down the garden at a snail’s pace.”
“Take a look at this, Jill.” Jack pointed to the headlines on the front page of The Bugle, which he now had delivered every morning (for reasons that were beyond my comprehension). “There’s been another bank robbery.”
“Where?”
“In West Chipping. The MO sounds identical to the one in Washbridge. There were two robbers inside the bank, but only one of them was caught. The other one disappeared with all the money.”
“And let me guess, there’s no trace of him on CCTV?”
“That’s right.”
“I didn’t mention this before because I wasn’t sure if it was relevant, but I was talking to Daze and Blaze yesterday. They’re up to their necks in cases at the moment, and one of them is a fugitive—a wizard who goes by the nickname of Romeo. He’s been responsible for dozens of bank robberies in Candlefield.”
“And you think he might have had something to do with the recent ones?”
“Possibly. Apparently, he’s earned himself a bad reputation amongst the criminal fraternity in the paranormal world.”
“How come?”
“He has a habit of skipping the crime scene with all the money, leaving his partner to carry the can. Daze thinks it may have got to the point where no one in the paranormal world is willing to work with him.”
“And she thinks he may have moved over here?”
“Yeah, and I’m going to try and help her to find him.”
“How?”
“I have my methods.”
***
When Florence was four years old, she decided she wanted to go to dance class. I’d tried my best to persuade her that she’d enjoy kickboxing, judo or karate much more, but she (and Jack) were having none of it. Several of her friends from nursery went to dance class, and she wanted to do the same. So, every Saturday morning, Jack or I (sometimes both of us) took her to the dance class, which was held in the village hall. This was the same building that for a short time had been home to the Middle Tweaking Theatre Company.
Although I like nothing better than to see Florence enjoying herself, there can’t be many things that are more boring than watching a load of five-year-olds ‘dancing’ around a village hall. Particularly when that village hall is always cold.
“I really think she’s starting to get the hang of it.” Jack pointed to Florence who was wearing a cute little tutu.
“She’s doing great. Who’s the big girl over there?”
All of the other girls and boys were about the same height as Florence, except this one girl who was at least two or three inches taller than the others. She was a werewolf which caught me by surprise because I hadn’t encountered any other sups in Middle Tweaking.
“I don’t know. I’ve not seen her here before. She must be new.” Jack glanced around at the other parents. “There’s a couple over there that I don’t recognise. Maybe she’s their daughter.”
I followed his gaze, and sure enough the proud parents were both werewolves.
Florence cried out. I looked around, to see her lying on the floor, and was just about to run over to her, when she jumped up and said, “I’m alright, Mummy.”
I turned to Jack. “What happened?”
“The big girl knocked her over. It was clearly an accident. She didn’t mean to do it.”
Ten minutes later, the young werewolf girl bumped into Florence again. This time, though, Florence managed to stay on her feet, and seemed totally unconcerned.
I was livid. I was sure the big girl had done it deliberately, and I wasn’t going to stand for it.
“No, Jill!” Jack grabbed my arm.
“What?”
“You have that look on your face.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can’t use magic.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt her. I was just going to—”
“No! Do you hear me?”
“Okay.” That husband of mine could be such a killjoy sometimes.
***
When dance class had finally ended, the three of us made our way back home through the village.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Florence?” I said. “That big girl didn’t hurt you,
