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you.”
    “Unfortunately, Dorothy and I don’t get on very well.”
    “I see.”
    “You know how it is. Children don’t like to think of their parents having a love life. Dorothy was used to having Dolly all to herself. When I came onto the scene, it rather put her nose out of joint. To keep the peace, we’ve kept our relationship very low key. But now Dorothy’s gone to live in the human world—well, that changes everything.” He grinned.
    “I see. Have you moved in?”
    “No. It’s a little early for that, but we certainly see a lot more of each other.”
    “Where is Dolly? Is she still at the artists’ retreat?”
    “No. She came back yesterday—much re-energised from the experience. When I left her just now, she was in her studio. She’s got a commission today.”
    “A paid commission?”
    “Yes. A vampire couple are having their portraits done.”
    Oh dear.
    “Anyway, I’d better get going,” Nigel said. “I promised Dolly I’d be back in time to make drinks for everyone.”
    “Right. Well, it was nice to meet you, Nigel. Bye!”
    I went back to the bench. A couple of minutes later, my phone rang.
    “Is that Jill Gooder?” A squeaky little voice said.
    “Squeaking, I mean speaking.”
    “I was given this number by your Aunt Lucy.”
    “How can I help?”
    “My name is Tuppence Farthing.”
    What a great name!
    “I own the thimble shop in Candlefield. I don’t know if you know it?”
    “The Finger?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “I’ve never been in, but yes, I know where it is.”
    “We’ve had a spate of thefts recently. I’ve spoken to the police, but to be honest, they don’t seem very interested in the theft of a few thimbles. But, it’s rather important to me that we get it resolved. Your Aunt Lucy suggested that you might be able to help.”
    “Of course. Would you like me to pop in?”
    “Please, if you could. We’re busy stocktaking today, so perhaps tomorrow or the day after?”
    “I’d be happy to.”
    Thimble theft? I got all the high profile cases.
     
    ***
     
    I’d promised Ms Turtle that I’d go over to Middle Tweaking. She was apparently going to show me everything she knew about being an investigator.
    Snigger. Poor old dear.
    I would no doubt have the murder solved in no time, but I’d be sure to do it in such a way as not to embarrass her. And, I’d obviously let her take some of the credit. I was big-hearted like that.
    The drive to Middle Tweaking in daylight was most enjoyable. On my way there, I drove through Lower Tweaking. And from what Kathy had told me, I understood there was a Higher Tweaking on the other side of Middle Tweaking. Lots of Tweaking going on, apparently.
    Middle Tweaking was picture postcard beautiful—complete with village green and duck pond. It was exactly what you’d expect of the English countryside. There were no identikit high street shops to be found. Next door to The Old Trout was the butcher’s shop, and on the other side was the post office where the murder had taken place. On the opposite side of the street was a fishmonger, a pharmacy, and what appeared to be a small souvenir shop. A village like that would no doubt attract its fair share of tourists. The houses, including several thatched cottages, were all very quaint.
    There was a young woman with a pram, walking down the street. I asked if she could give me directions to the old watermill.
    “Ah, you’re looking for Myrtle.”
    “Ms Turtle, yes.”
    “You need to carry on straight through the village. The old watermill is on the right. You can’t miss it. It’s a large grey building.”
    I thanked the woman, and drove on down the road. Sure enough, the old watermill was unmistakable. I parked my car next to an old Morris Minor, which I assumed belonged to Ms Turtle. But she’d come to Washbridge on the bus, so perhaps she was a little too old to drive now?
    There was a large brass knocker on the door. When I pulled it back and released it, a thunderous