Squirrel and swan wicked.., p.1
Squirrel & Swan Wicked Things, page 1
Squirrel & Swan Wicked Things
S & S Investigations Book 5
M. D. ARCHER
SWARM Publishing
Copyright © 2021 by M. D. Archer
All rights reserved.
First published in December 2021 by SWARM Publishing.
Auckland, New Zealand
ISBN (kindle): 978-0-473-59235-6
ISBN (epub): 978-0-473-59234-9
ISBN (softcover POD): 978-0-473-59232-5
ISBN (Hardcover Big Print POD): 978-0-473-59233-2
Copyright © M. D. Archer 2021. All Rights Reserved.
Squirrel & Swan Wicked Things is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents, except those clearly in the public domain, are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places or names is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
S & S Investigations
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
Cases Solved
Acknowledgements
Dear Reader
S & S Investigations
Book 1: Squirrel & Swan Precious Things
Book 2: Squirrel & Swan Devious Things
Book 3: Squirrel & Swan Hidden Things
Book 4: Squirrel & Swan Stolen Things
Book 5: Squirrel & Swan Wicked Things
Book 6: Squirrel & Swan Suspicious Things
AND A STANDALONE CHRISTMAS NOVELLA!
Death At A Barbecue
1
Charlotte Babcock had moved house seven times in the past five years. For each move she’d secured the reluctant help of her family—their smiles and ‘no worries’ a little more forced each time—then loaded up the trailer with her piano, her exercycle, and her six-piece patio set. Why Charlotte felt it necessary to take this cumbersome furniture to each change in address—she did not use any of it enough to warrant this loyalty—she could not properly explain nor defend. And this, the discrepancy between her relatively nomadic existence and her unwieldly personal belongings, had been the topic of conversation for most of the family dinner last night, much to the mirth of everyone except Charlotte. Since the occasion for which they’d gathered was Charlotte’s twenty-sixth birthday, she felt a little miffed at the roasting she’d received. Made worse, perhaps, by an awareness of the reason for her higher-than-average number of past addresses: her personality.
“Sulking?” Estelle said into the silence.
Charlotte turned to eye her grandmother warily. It was almost as if she’d been listening to Charlotte’s thoughts.
“You can put away that sourpuss face,” Estelle said. “If you don’t like being beaten at gin rummy, then you should get better at it.” Estelle chuckled to herself.
“Oh.” Charlotte looked down at the cards on the table. Only moments before, Estelle had triumphantly spread out her winning hand. “No, it’s not that.” She absentmindedly started shuffling. “Another game?”
“Don’t you have plans for this evening?” Estelle asked. “Shouldn’t you be off with people your own age? It’s Thursday night.”
“So?”
“Don’t young people—”
“It’s cheaper if I stay in. I’ll never manage a trip to Europe if I don’t save for the rest of the year.”
“But that’s why I gave you money for your birthday. So you could enjoy London without scrimping and saving. It’s such an amazing place. I was about your age when I lived there… wonderful.”
But that was a million years ago, Charlotte thought, a little uncharitably. She did want to see the sights, of course she did, but modern-day London had to be considerably different to her grandmother’s ‘Swinging Sixties’ experience of the city.
“Thanks again. For the money.” Charlotte paused her card shuffling to lean forward and pluck the last cracker from the plate. She scooped up some hummus and popped it into her mouth whole.
“Careful, you’ll choke,” Estelle warned.
Charlotte pushed over the cards. “Your deal,” she said through her mouthful. She picked up the empty plate and the half-full tub of hummus and walked them back to the kitchen. As she loaded the plate into the dishwasher, Charlotte found herself musing over Estelle’s question. Should she be getting ready to go out right now? Should she be concerned that even if she wanted to socialise, apart from a couple of distant school friends and a few university colleagues, she didn’t have anyone she could call?
She picked up the kettle and started filling it with water as her mind sidestepped once again to last night. She replayed part of the conversation, enjoying the resurgence of irritation it brought.
“Why do you even have a piano?” Her older brother Mark had asked, much like he had two years ago as he’d moved the heavy instrument from the trailer to Estelle’s living room.
“I just do,” she’d replied. “I bought it in my last year of Uni, and now I have it. That’s what happens when you buy things,” she’d added, a dig at Mark who preferred not to open his wallet if he could help it.
“But how often do you play?” Mark had gestured at the offending instrument, sitting innocently in the corner of the room.
“What do you care?”
Mark had shrugged. “Whatever. You’ve stayed in one place for nearly two years now, so cheers to that. My back thanks you.”
“Do you like living here?” Mark’s wife Sarah had then whispered, wrinkling her nose at the same time. “Grey Lynn is a great location, but… just you and Estelle?”
And this was the bit Charlotte found annoying. No one could seem to fathom why she, a twenty-something, would choose to live with her eighty-seven-year-old grandmother in her large but old-fashioned Grey Lynn villa. But the reason was blindingly obvious: because she didn’t have to pay rent. The rest of her family had obviously forgotten what it was like to be a student with almost no income. Perhaps even more annoying was how everyone seemed to have also forgotten that Estelle had broken her hip two years ago. She’d needed someone to look after her and everyone else had been suddenly overwhelmed with their own commitments. It had been Charlotte who stepped up to take on the role. And what better way than to move in and be right there on site to look after her. But when Charlotte reminded them of this, they seemed to either ignore her or change the subject.
As Charlotte switched on the electric jug, she stepped closer to the kitchen door to call out, “Cup of tea?”
There was no reply.
“Estelle?”
Charlotte frowned, straining her ears for her grandmother’s response.
“Estelle!” she called out one more time.
Instead of a reply came an ominous thump.
CHARLOTTE AND HER mother Karlene both stood as the doctor returned to the living room. As soon as Charlotte had found Estelle collapsed on the floor, awake but seeming woozy, she’d called Estelle’s doctor and then her mother. Dr Quinn, who lived in the same neighbourhood, had appeared promptly if not entirely happily.
“Well?” Karlene said.
“She’s fine. Resting now. A dizzy spell and some nausea.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Karlene asked. “Is it serious?”
“I’m not sure yet. Are you aware this is not an isolated incident?” The doctor’s gaze moved over to rest on Charlotte.
“What?” Karlene gasped. “Charlotte, you didn’t say. How long—”
“Karlene,” Charlotte shushed her mother. “You don’t need to worry.”
The doctor frowned. Charlotte caught the look but wasn’t sure whether it was due to the shushing or because she’d called her mother ‘Karlene’. But she’d always done so. At least, as long as she could remember. She didn’t even know why; it was just the way things were.
“I’ll have her come in and run some tests but it’s probably nothing to worry about. Her blood pressure is low.” The doctor started to move towards the door.
“Thank you so much, Dr Quinn,” Karlene said, hurrying after her. “So it’s nothing serious?” she asked again as the doctor paused at the door. Charlotte hovered just inside, watching.
“She’s coming up to ninety years old.”
“Well, I know that.” Karlene smiled. “But—”
“I’ll schedule her for a full medical as soon as we can fit her in.”
“Fabulous,” Karlene replied, her voice climbing to an unnatural pitch.
“Next week, most likely.” Dr Quinn nodded brusquely. Her nut-brown hair was cut in a sensible bob that didn’t seem to move with her head. Charlotte found herself wondering whether she used hairspray or her hair was just like that. Charlotte’s own hair, a sort of muddy blond colour, tended to drift around her head uncertainly,
“And thank you so much for the house call, I know they aren’t really done these days.”
“Sometimes they’re necessary.” The doctor gave Karlene a tight smile. “But I am just down the road,” she added, unconvincingly.
“And you’ll send us the bill, of course,” Karlene said, even less convincingly.
Finally, Karlene shut the door and, after taking a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, turned to glare at Charlotte.
“This has been happening with some frequency?”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. Just a few tummy upsets here and there.”
“Enough to call the doctor?”
“Last time, you were away.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Karlene scolded.
“She said not to, okay? She didn’t want you to fuss.”
“Fine, but there’s making an unnecessary fuss and then there’s real health concerns,” Karlene said. “We have to keep an eye on this. Charlotte, you must call me the moment she has another turn or complains about feeling unwell. She might have to move in with me.” Karlene lifted her chin but grimaced, her martyrish words somewhat ruined by her expression.
“What difference would living with you make?” Charlotte rolled her eyes and turned to walk down the hall. “I’m going to go check on her,” she called over her shoulder.
Estelle lay on her bed with her eyeglasses on and her daily planner resting on her knees. She appeared to be going through her schedule. When she saw Charlotte approaching the bed, she pursed her lips. “I’m fine,” she said tetchily, but not outright angrily.
“Do you want anything? I was going to have some non-dairy ice-cream.”
She threw her eyes skyward. “All that sugar? I’ll be up all night.”
“Just thought I’d ask.”
For a moment they were both silent, Estelle seeming to be absorbed in her planner.
“Since you’re looking at your schedule, Julian and I are off to the vegan food and lifestyle fair this weekend. I won’t be back until Monday.”
Charlotte’s uncle Julian was the only other non-meat eater in a family quite dedicated to meat, and they’d gone to several vegan and vegetarian food events together.
“Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember. It’s right here in the calendar and I’m not an imbecile.”
“Right.”
Estelle’s mood generally existed on a continuum from somewhat content to downright hostile so Charlotte didn’t let this brusqueness bother her.
“Why don’t I pop in Saturday afternoon,” Karlene said loudly, now standing in the doorway.
“You’re assuming I have no plans, are you?” Estelle said.
Karlene frowned. “I thought—”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. You’re always fussing about. A visit isn’t necessary. Tell Dustin as well, please. I don’t expect either of you to “pop in” on your “elderly” mother this weekend.”
Charlotte suppressed her smile. Estelle loved using air quotes and did so whenever possible, even if not always appropriately.
“If that’s what you want,” Karlene said, still seeming uncertain.
Estelle made a shooing gesture. “I’m going to retire for the evening. You can go.”
“Er, right then,” Karlene said. “See you both later.”
Charlotte watched her mother retreat from the room, then turned back to Estelle. Her hands had dropped to her lap and her eyes blinked slowly. It seemed as if only her crotchety mood was keeping her awake.
“You’ve got to stop summoning the doctor every time I feel a bit faint.”
Charlotte pursed her lips. “But I worry. And it’s only been three times. Thrice.”
“I’m changing the locks next week. I’m sick of everyone coming and going as they please.” Estelle said, her voice slowing as her lids closed once again.
Charlotte kept watching until Estelle nodded off, then slipped her eyeglasses off her face and placed them, as well as her planner, on her nightstand. She crossed the room and paused at the door to turn out the light. It was only when she stepped out to the hall that she realised her mother was virtually crouched outside the door, eavesdropping.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Karlene turned away. “Nothing.”
Charlotte glanced back at her grandmother then returned her gaze to Karlene, now hurrying down the hall. She rolled her eyes. If Charlotte was a bit of a ‘weirdo’, it was no mystery why.
2
Friday afternoon, in the main office of S & S Investigations, Paige leaned back in her chair to let it swivel in lazy circles. “You know what I was thinking?” she said, setting down her mug of coffee. Sophie turned in her own chair and waited for Paige to voice her thoughts. With Paige, it could be anything.
Paige and Sophie were taking a break from paperwork to have a cuppa and a muffin from the Thank You basket they’d received from a grateful client. S & S Investigations was finally in the black; finally in the delightful situation of having several clients on the books and a healthy sum in the bank. Their first nine months of operation had been a little rocky, with the near constant threat of running out of money, but after their most recent case and a little good publicity, they’d had a decent stream of actual paying clients.
“We should get Walkie-Talkies,” Paige said. She straightened to eye Sophie, trying to gauge her reaction. “For like, close-range operations.”
Sophie met her gaze. “OMG yesssss,” she said, a grin spreading across her face. “I love Walkie-Talkies. It was one of the reasons I wanted a sister or brother as a kid. So we could play on them.”
“Done,” Paige said happily, leaning forward to open a browser on her laptop.
“How much are they, though?” Sophie added quickly. “Tell me before you buy them.”
“Soph, relax. We for once have money in the bank.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean we should spend it on expensive, indulgent gadgets for which we probably have little use day-to-day.”
“That’s boring,” Paige said.
“Boring but fiscally responsible,” Sophie replied. “Someone has to be,” she added under her breath.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
Sophie continued to sip her peppermint tea as she went back to the invoice for the spousal cheating case they’d recently finished. These kinds of jobs were turning out to be the bread and butter of their agency, but they’d agreed to limit how many of them they actually took on, because it was a bit of a bummer to be so intimately involved in crumbling relationships. Watching them sink or burn or self-destruct was both depressing and horribly intimate.
From the street outside came a sudden loud clattering bang, the sound of metal dropped on concrete. Sophie jumped, nearly spilling her tea.
“Are you okay?” Paige said, eyeing her warily.
Sophie blinked slowly and took a deep breath. “Yeah. I guess. I’m still jumpy.” She gave Paige a small smile. “Obviously.”
Now mid-March, it had been weeks since her nasty incident with Josh, and Sophie was finally getting into a pattern of restful sleep. But she could still suddenly be gripped by panic; a terrifying and irrational certainty that something bad was going to happen.
“Maybe you should see someone?”
“Yeah, I might,” Sophie said noncommittally. She knew all too well the benefits of using psychological techniques to cope with trauma, or even just to deal with day-to-day anxiety. But it was one thing to know something and another to take action. Because Sophie felt as if properly talking about it might open up the wounds that were only just beginning to heal.
“And what about….” Paige trailed off and eyed Sophie.
“No, Roman hasn’t replied to my message,” Sophie said, her mouth turning down.
She and DS Roman Leconte had finally, finally, after months of pining and yearning, shared a kiss. They’d spoken the day afterward and exchanged several texts in the following week, but her most recent messages had not been returned.
“You should ring him.”
“An actual phone call?” Sophie’s eyes widened.
“Yes. Suck it up, Sophie. It’s important. Isn’t it?”
“It is.”
