My husband had been something of a car nut. Not that he lived in the garage and could be found forever tinkering under the bonnet, but he knew his cars and had rebuilt the mark two Ford Escort Mexico all by himself. It took him three years. I remember feeling entirely nonplussed when he brought it home … on a trailer because it didn’t run.
However, when it was finished, even though it wasn’t my kind of car, I had to admit that there was a certain something about it. Now considered a modern classic, the late 1970s car was what I used when my two-seater Mercedes was an impractical choice.
Today was such a day.
Amber was less than happy. ‘Why am I the one going in the travel cage!’ she raged, clawing at the edges as I tried to slide her into it.
‘Because Buster doesn’t fit,’ I explained through gritted teeth. I really needed a pair of those gloves they use to handle barbed wire. ‘And if he did, I wouldn’t be able to carry him.’
Snagging the last paw still hooked around a bar, I stuffed it inside and closed the plastic cage door. From inside came several unrepeatable phrases. One was to do with a dead pigeon and where she would like to put it – there had been no mention of lubricant.
Trotting happily over, Buster sniffed at Amber’s cage where I’d set it on the carpet.
‘Oh, yes,’ he commented. ‘This is much more like it.’
Amber screeched, ‘Felicity!’
Just in time, I flicked out a toe to nudge his back leg. He was manoeuvring himself into position.
‘Buster! Don’t you dare!’
He spun around looking surprised. ‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about.’
I wagged a finger at him as I checked I had everything. ‘You were going to widdle on the cage with Amber in it. Don’t you tell me you weren’t.’
Grumbling at being thwarted, he trotted to the door and waited there for me to catch up.
I got them to the garage, got Archie’s old car warmed up and ready to go, and set off for my boutique in Rochester.
My agenda for the day was filling fast and it had been full before I started to add in additional tasks like solving a crime.
I went the long route, sweeping out through Cuxton and Halling, turning left at the new bridge to cross the river by Peter’s Village. I needed to get back to Aylesford; the scene of the crime, you might say.
It was already after my usual time to arrive at work when I pulled up behind Orion Print again so I paused to call Justin – Archie’s old car has no handsfree system.
‘Felicity,’ Justin blurted. ‘Mindy just arrived with the wildest story.’
‘It’s true,’ I cut him off before he could say anything else. ‘I got arrested last night and released this morning. I’m running a little late, but I’ll be there in about half an hour. I was just calling to let you know.’
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
I replied with, ‘I’ll be fine.’ It wasn’t a lie. At least I didn’t think it was. Nothing really terrible had happened. In fact, looking back at it, the worst part was being spotted by Primrose. I was lucky Vince came along or she might have had pictures of me all over social media by now. I wouldn’t put it past her to email the people in my supply chain anyway and felt certain she would do her best to make sure prospective clients found out about my arrest.
Thinking about the potential damage she might do steeled my will to solve the mystery and clear my name.
Shaking my head to clear it and refocus on what I was doing, I said, ‘I’ll be there soon, Justin. I have to meet with the Couture Bridal Designs at noon and have quite a bit to do before then.’
‘I can take some more on,’ Justin swiftly volunteered. ‘Mindy can help out too,’ he added.
I was sure she could. I ended the call and placed my phone back into my handbag.
‘Ready, Amber?’ I asked. ‘Ready to earn a mackerel?’
‘This is demeaning,’ she growled from the cage.
‘Which bit?’ I enquired, unsure exactly what she might be unhappy about.
‘Helping out,’ she replied snippily. ‘I’m a cat. I’m here to be worshipped. Doing things is not what cats do.’
Sensing that she was just sounding off, I confirmed, ‘But you’ll do it for a mackerel?’
‘It had better be a big one.’
I had to get out of the car to be able to get her cage from the back seat. I set it on the tarmac of the carpark and opened the little door.
Lazily, languidly, she sauntered out; Amber was never one to hurry. My ragdoll cat performed a stretch, making her body seem twice the length it had been, then sat and started to clean a paw.
‘I’ll come back to this spot,’ I told her. ‘Just remember what I need you to do.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she replied. ‘It’s all very easy. Take the mutt and enjoy your day. If you feel like leaving him somewhere, I will take that in reward over a fish any day of the week.’
Buster barked an insult of his own in response but couldn’t get to the cat when he lunged because he was strapped to the passenger seat. The dog harness let him get his front paws on to the driver’s seat before arresting his movement. At that point, he flipped and landed on his back. Now turned turtle on the passenger seat, his little paws waved helplessly in the air.
Amber tutted and walked away.
Righting himself, Buster said, ‘Quick, let’s go! She’ll never find us if we pack up and
