Cat Among the Pumpkins Read Free

– wrapped warmly in her dressing gown – returned to her catnip.
    Tilly had never been able to get on with catnip, which was a shame because the numbing properties would have helped her arthritic paws; on the rare occasions when she had taken a puff from Hettie’s pipe, it just made her cough or feel sick. Hettie, on the other hand, thrived on the possibilities brought about by the mind-expanding qualities of her evening pipe, a habit gained from time on the road with her band in that almost-famous life. Her folk country-rock treatment oftraditional music had left her fans spellbound, although it had to be said that most of them indulged in an evening pipe – or in some cases an all-day one – and none of her keenest followers would have considered listening to Hettie’s music without the added bonus of blowing some smoke first.
    The cats sipped their cocoa thoughtfully and it was Hettie who broke the silence. ‘What I find odd is that everyone assumes Milky Myers murdered his own family and just disappeared, never to be seen again except as a ghost on Halloween or by a stray kitten who happened to glance up at the window of an empty house. And Irene Peggledrip has lived in that old house for as long as I can remember – she doesn’t seem too worried about its history, in spite of her weird parties. And what about this cat from Much-Purring? That’s a strange village at the best of times, full of halfwits with their trousers tied up with string. He had the opportunity to kill the whole of the Myers family and still be home in time for a big lunch. Maybe he killed Milky as well and no one has found the body, or even bothered to look for it.’
    ‘Do you think he ate a scotch egg for lunch?’ asked Tilly, trying to keep pace. ‘That would liven the evidence up a bit.’ They laughed at the ridiculous turn the story was taking, and the clock on the staff sideboard ticked towards midnight, the magical hour on Halloween when the dead rose from their gravesand purveyors of dark arts stepped into the light. If there was any truth in the legend, Milky Myers would be having a very busy night.
    Tilly banked up the fire, ate the last warlock tart and settled down on the fireside rug, pulling her blanket over her to keep the draught out. Hettie knocked her pipe out on the hearth, then settled back in her arm chair to watch the flames dance in the grate and cast their shadows round the room. All was well in the confines of their cosy world, and within minutes the only sound to break the silence was the contented snoring of two warm and well-fed tabby cats.

CHAPTER TWO
    Tilly always awoke to the roar of the Butters’ bread ovens, grateful for the warmth which they brought to the small back room. The baking day began at four in the morning, and the twin ovens worked hard to produce Betty and Beryl’s famous breads, pies and pastries. The sisters had learnt their craft at their mother’s kitchen table in Lancashire and had headed south with the small legacy she left them, investing in a run-down shop which was now the jewel in the crown of the town’s high street. Being from the north, they had a keen work ethic, a no-nonsense approach to business, and an unpatronising kindness to thoseless fortunate than themselves. For obvious reasons, Hettie had been a long-standing customer of theirs, and when money was short they had always ‘seen her right’ with an extra pie here and there. When the great storm took her shed, the Butter sisters cleaned their back store room out and offered it to her as a bolthole; later, when fate brought Tilly to Hettie’s door, the bolthole was miraculously transformed into a comfortable home, a safe haven in which to weather the storms that life chucked at them.
    Tilly loved those first waking moments of each day and the security that her new life had brought her. The past had dealt some bitter blows: cruel, friendless winters; extreme hunger; and, at times, a worthless existence which could