The Lockington Legacy: The Gemini Detectives, #1

Chapter 1

O h! He's going to fall . I know he's going to fall.

The hands of the pretty blonde girl flew to her mouth. Her green eyes widened in terror as the figure on top of the precariously placed ladder wobbled and swayed.

No he isn't,  said the pretty blonde girl with the laughing green eyes, standing next to her.

Is it in the right place? The man called down to the two young women watching his efforts from the safety of the pavement below.

Yes, but it's not level, said the first, in an attractive voice with a faint trace of huskiness to it. It needs to go up a bit on the right.

Or down a little on the left. The second girl put in, helpfully.

The sign fitter swore loudly and roundly, much to the amusement of his audience.

It looks good, Linzi.

Well, it will do when it's up there properly.

Twins Linzi and Loren Repton gazed up at the sign swinging ominously over their heads; Gemini Detective Agency it proclaimed boldly, with a flourish of the sign-writer's art.

You've got paint on your nose.

Oh, I shouldn't be at all surprised. Loren rubbed a tissue over the offending spot. Has it gone?

Just about.

Good. Well, I've finished the painting now. We can open for business any time we like.

Great! I wonder what our first case will be?

There you go, the fitter sang out as he descended his ladder. What do you think?

I think that's fine, thanks.

And it only took half an hour for a ten minute job. Loren added.

Harrumph. The man grimaced. I'll send you my bill.

Thank you, Linzi called out to his retreating back as he grabbed his ladder and stumped off down the street. Right. Let's go up.

Loren cast one last look at the sign hanging outside their office in Royal Mews and followed her sister up the stairs.

The 24 year old pair had set themselves up in business thanks, in large part, to a small legacy from their maternal grandmother, though whether she would have approved of the venture any more than their mother did is debatable. Fortunately, their father had given his blessing, but then he was Detective Superintendent Frank Repton of the Stanby Police. Outside of the girls' hearing many words had been exchanged in the Repton household over the issue.

You have to let them try, Pru, the Superintendent had said to his wife. At least give them a chance to make a go of it.

It's not that, Frank. It's the risk, the dangers of the job, that I'm worried about.

Not much chance of that, replied her husband, who knew the serious crime figures for the town. They'll be working on divorce cases and finding lost pets. They'll soon get tired of it.

In the end the argument had been settled by Frank Repton agreeing to keep a watchful, but discreet, eye on them.

I shan't mention it to the girls. Better to let them think they are on their own, without a safety net, he'd said, and there the matter had rested.

Parental approval, or otherwise, lay far from the sisters' thoughts that morning as Loren rustled up coffee in the small kitchenette off the back office. Linzi sat at her desk in the outer room and gazed around in approval. They'd bought the furniture, two desks, two filing cabinets, a computer, and four chairs, from a supplier of second-hand office goods. They were cheap, but not too shabby, and would do for now.

She picked up the mug that Loren had just put in front of her as an odd wheezing noise echoed up the stairs to the accompaniment of slow footsteps.

Are we expecting anyone? Linzi asked.

Loren shook her head. Maybe it's our first customer.

Her face shone with excitement, quickly squashed by her twin.

If they ever make it, she said, as the laboured wheeze got louder. Maybe we should have installed a lift.

Loren grinned and slipped onto the chair behind the second desk. Linzi, meanwhile, picked up a pen and attempted to appear busy. It was important to give the right impression to any new client and project an air of efficiency and competence. She took a deep breath, put a bright, welcoming smile on her face and then wiped it straight off again. Clients would expect a serious demeanour, not a grinning child.

Are you all right? asked Loren, who had observed these facial manoeuvres with amusement.

What? Caught out, Linzi blushed. I wonder who it is.

She pictured rich ladies with cheating husbands, fat bankers with stolen laptops, handsome young men with missing sisters and, perhaps, the occasional murder.

We're about to find out, said Loren.

The wheezing reached the outer door. A tall shadow loomed behind the glass. The door opened. Oh!

Linzi was the first to recover. Hello, there. Do come in.

She pointed to the chair on the opposite side of her desk but, for the moment, the old woman who stood in the doorway holding tight to the handle, made no effort to advance further into the room. She swayed from side to side gazing around her before concentrating on the twins. She craned forward, then leaned back, and using her free hand placed it first in front of one eye and then the other.

Bloody hell! That stuff must be stronger than I thought. I can see two of you.

Great! The twins exchanged glances. Their very first visitor, for she couldn't possibly be a client, was a shabbily dressed, grey haired, drunken old bag lady. The sense of anticlimax hung in the air like wood smoke.

Letting go of the door, the woman shuffled forward in scuffed-toed shoes with worn down heels. Her stockings gathered and wrinkled around her ankles below a mismatched assortment of skirt, blouse, cardigan and coat in colours as varied as the garments themselves. A bright pink scarf hung around her neck. Still peering from one to the other of them, she sat down.

Oof. Bloody long way up them stairs. I can still see two of you.

We're twins, said Linzi.

Ah! The woman nodded her head, causing the long strands of greasy and wiry hair to fall forward over her face. When she looked up a pair of intelligent blue eyes stared directly out at Linzi with an earnest scrutiny, taking in the well shaped head, square brow and determined chin of the poised young woman opposite. So, this is the Gemini Detective Agency, then? Clever. Yes, very clever.

Yes, that's us. I'm Linzi and this is my sister, Loren. What can we do for you, Mrs...?

Eh?

What's your name?

Oh. Magda.

Linzi wrote this down on a clean sheet of paper.

And what's your surname, Magda?

As if the answer to this had for the moment escaped her, Magda peered around the office, perhaps in the hopes that a close search of the premises would reveal the missing name. She took her time before replying.

That would be Barlow.

Magda Barlow.

Linzi added this to the page in her clear, neat hand.

Warm in here. Magda smiled, unwinding but not removing her scarf. She still appeared to be shaking and the girl wondered if it were the result of the Dts.

What can we do for you, Mrs Barlow? Linzi asked, again.

You can call me Magda. I could do with a drink. The old woman licked dry, cracked lips and gave a gap-toothed grin.

Linzi had vague memories of watching old films where the hard-boiled Private Investigator always kept a bottle of Scotch in a desk drawer to be brought out after a bad day. Sadly, it wasn't something that either of the twins had thought to include when they'd drawn up a shopping list of office supplies. Then again, they hadn't thought their first client would be an alcoholic old bag lady, either.

I'm sorry, said Loren, who had been thinking along the same lines. We don't have any alcohol on the premises.

Bless yer 'eart. Could you not manage a nice cup of tea, dear?

Oh, I think we can do that, said Loren, with a smile to excuse her earlier faux-pas. How do you like it?

White with two sugars, please, dear.

While her twin departed to make Magda's tea, Linzi tried again to discover why she had called. She suspected it was only the chance to sit in a warm office and have a hot drink and her heart sank. They had invested too much into the venture for it to turn into a day centre for the down-and-outs of Stanby.

Why have you called on us today, Mrs Barlow?

Eh? The woman dragged her attention back from surveying her surroundings. Well now, I do have a little job for you, as it happens. I been watching you do up this old place for a week o' two, now. You ain't half changed it.

You know it?

Oh, yes. Used to work here meself, years ago. Was an accountant's back then, Davies and Andrews.

If the tattily clad crone in front of her had once been gainfully employed, how come she'd fallen on such hard times, Linzi wondered.

What did you do here? she asked.

I were a bookkeeper. This were my office then. The bosses worked back there.  She nodded in the direction Loren had gone. It were quite dark and dingy with lots of old wooden furniture and steel filing cabinets, not light and airy like you've got it.

Here we are.

Loren walked back into the room carrying a bone china cup and saucer which she placed, very carefully, on the desk.

Oh, ta, love.

Magda reached out for it with a shaking hand that caused the girls to exchange a nervous glance, but she grasped the handle firmly and lifted it to her mouth where, much to the surprise of the twins, she took a dainty sip.

Very nice, thank you. She continued to hold on to the cup with red, chapped, and somewhat grimy hands. I don't suppose there'd be a biscuit to go with it, would there?

No, sorry. I'm afraid we don't have any.

Loren apologized and made a mental note to buy a packet, or even several, on Monday. She and Linzi could always munch on them while mulling over their cases.

So, Linzi prompted, for the umpteenth time.

Magda looked down into the cup and back up at the girls. Then, as if the fact that she'd been provided with a hot drink had somehow decided her, she at last told them what she wanted.

I'd like you to find my dog. He's my best friend, he is, and all I've got by way of company these days. For a moment her face drooped with sadness. I miss him summat terrible, I do.

A missing dog? Was that all? Linzi, who'd been fantasizing that they'd be asked to investigate the old woman's lost inheritance, came rapidly back to reality.

What sort of dog is it?

Well, he ain’t a pedigree, that's for sure. I wouldn't say he was even any one breed. He's pretty much of the Heinz variety really, but on a foundation of wire-haired terrier, if you catch my drift. Magda moved a strand of her own wiry hair away from her mouth and drank more tea. He goes by the name of Skip, 'cos he's got a damaged hind leg and only walks on three feet.

Linzi wrote this down. I take it that Skip isn't micro-chipped? she asked

Might be. Magda appeared doubtful. If I knew what that meant.

Never mind. And where did you last see him, Mrs...er...Magda?

Round the back of Nelson Place. He shot off down an alley. She finished her tea and replaced the cup on its saucer.

When was this? Loren put in.

On Wednesday evening. I've searched for him, gone round there regular, I have, and called him, but he ain't there. Abruptly, she stood up and wrapped the scarf around her neck and throat. Right. Thanks for the tea.

You're welcome, but where can we contact you if we have any information? Linzi asked.

Oh, dunna worry, I'll be back. I've every confidence in you. And, if you find Skip before I return, he don't take much looking after.

She winked at them before stepping out and pulling the door closed behind her.

Well, I'll be damned! Linzi threw her pen down and leaned back in the chair. She expects us to find a mangy old cur and then kennel it until she returns. And she hasn't said a word about paying us.

Loren laughed. Oh, I think we can forget about that. Do we forget about the job, though? You have to admit she's quite a character.

Isn't she just?

She did seem concerned about her dog, poor woman. She's probably lonely without it. I think we should take it on, don't you?

I think she'll be back either way. Linzi rapped her pen against pursed lips. I've a feeling we haven't seen the last of Magda Barlow.

BEFORE HER MARRIAGE to the then Sergeant Frank Repton, Pru Repton had rejoiced in being the Honourable Prunella Hartshorne. Being born into the impecunious lower orders of the landed gentry did much to prepare her for the scrimping and saving that would be required of her once the honeymoon was over and she had moved into the marital home, a modest four-bedroomed detached house on the Sheffield Road. The only difference from her earlier life, and the one thing she could be said to miss most, was the pony running around the paddock at the end of the drive. Determined that her daughters should never have to suffer the same privations, she had always envisioned them as high-earning businesswomen or, better, married off to the same class of person she had herself so happily left behind. It came, therefore, as no surprise to the twins that their mother deplored their choice of business venture and, on more than one occasion, had said so, volubly and with that air of pained disappointment familiar to youngsters everywhere.

So, on the Sunday after they had opened for business at the Gemini Detective Agency, when their mother led them into the living room with the ominous words, Come in here, please, I'd like a word with you both, the twins feared the worst.

I'd like a glass of sherry before lunch, I think, Linzi. Get one for yourself and Loren while you're at it, please, dear.

Linzi complied with this request, crossing to the drinks cabinet and uncorking a bottle of fino, though she poured rather less into her mother's glass than she did in either Loren's or her own. It will help to fortify us for what's to come, she thought, twisting her mouth into a wry grimace.

Shall I take one through to dad?

No, leave him. He's in the kitchen cooking lunch. He's got a beer in there if he wants one. Now, how have you two been? Pru took the glass. Everything all right in Stanby? I hope you are eating properly.

Fine, thanks.

Driving to their old home that morning, the girls had debated whether to tell their parents about their first client, but decided against it in the end. The thought of mother's derision if she knew they were searching for a bag lady's lost dog was not to be borne.

Take a seat, girls, said Pru, lowering herself into a leather wing-back chair at the side of the fireplace. The sheath dress in which she had clad her still trim figure, rode up her thighs as she did so, revealing a pair of shapely stockinged legs. She patted a stray lock of ash-blonde hair back into place and winced as her daughters plonked themselves down.

After over twenty five years of marriage, and with the girls now departed to their own flat in the centre of Stanby, Pru had recently redecorated the room in soft pastel colours and Liberty prints. It gave a delicate, more feminine feel to the bold-hued lounge that they had grown up in. A lot of the furniture had changed, too. Whilst their mother could hardly be said to have yet embraced the local Ikea store, with the exception of the two chairs either side of the fire, the sofa, coffee table and drinks cabinet were in a lighter style than the heavy dark wooden items they had replaced.

Now then, you know my feelings on this venture of yours...

Yes, Mum, said Loren, quickly. Mrs Repton had made her displeasure clear on an almost daily basis.

Nevertheless, although it's against my better judgement, you might be able to help a friend of mine.

Oh, who's that?

Lady Lucinda Lockington.

What? Old Lucy Locket? said Loren.

Pru hid a smile behind a stern countenance. Yes, though I suggest you don't call her that when you visit tomorrow. She is in a state of great agitation by the sound of things.

What's gone off? Linzi curled her legs up to the side on the roomy sofa.

I'm not altogether sure, at least not about the details, but Lucy mentioned a serious theft.

Then why hasn't she gone to the police? Loren wanted to know. She didn't need to see Linzi's face to know she would be thinking exactly the same thing. Lady Lucy Lockington was the sort of woman who, rather than dial 999 or the local police station, would phone one of her cronies and demand that her Detective Superintendent husband investigate personally.

Well, quite. That was my first suggestion. Pru Repton waved a hand, the long ringed fingers splayed out. "I assumed