Free Cat Among the Pumpkins by Mandy Morton

expected, it hadn’t moved – but Hettie noticed that it was changing colour, becoming somehow translucent and empty. She thought back to what Irene Peggledrip had said about Miss Spitforce not being there any more, and understood exactly what she meant: the bright, talkative, elderly cat that she had shared tea with several weeks ago had indeed gone, leaving behind no more than a husk in her own image.
    Quietly, Hettie set to work on the desk drawers, trying not to disturb the perfect order of bank books, statements and other financial papers. It occurred to her that Mavis had been quite a rich cat, and she wondered who in the family would benefit from her death – if, indeed, she had left her wealth to them in the first place. The question was answered by the third drawer down. Inside, there was a tin box full of sovereigns, a coin that Hettie had only encountered in the town’s museum; underneath it was a long document, folded and tied with blue ribbon. She untied the ribbon, guessing that this was the last willand testament of Mavis Spitforce. At a glance, she could see that there was a list of beneficiaries, with several small bequests to friends. Delirium Treemints, she noted, was to inherit the willow pattern tea set, having no doubt acquired quite a reputation for the dispensing of beverages, despite her unsteady paws. Balti Dosh was promised an entire collection of true crime books to feed her thirst for all things morbid, and the rest of the books were to go to Turner Page for the new library, soon to be opened at Furcross House.
    Hettie continued to read through the list of names, hoping that something or someone would leap out at her, but there was nothing – nothing, that is, until the final page. The main beneficiaries were both called Spitforce – Mildred and Lavinia. Mildred was now the owner of the tin of sovereigns, and Lavinia had been left a sizeable sum of cash which was to be used to buy a house. So that was the sister and niece accounted for, but it still didn’t explain what instructions Mavis had left for her own home in Whisker Terrace. Hettie turned to an attachment clipped to the final page, and there was her answer.
    The codicil was dated 20th October, just twelve days ago. Hettie took in the details, and her gasp of surprise coincided with an almighty crash from above which continued down the stairs. Tilly made an ungainly entrance into the parlour, pursued by a number of out-of-control cardboard tubes; she satdazed for a moment in the middle of Miss Spitforce’s hearth rug, rubbing her arthritic paws, but rallied quickly on coming face-to-face with the cold dead eyes that stared out at her from the chaise longue.
    Hettie abandoned the will and helped her friend into the kitchen, which was considerably more cheerful than the parlour. She was keen to share her recent revelation, but made sure first that Tilly hadn’t suffered any lasting damage. Thankful for the knitted tea cosy that had kept the tea hot, Hettie poured two very strong mugs of it, putting a sugar lump in each and adding an extra one to Tilly’s to account for the shock. The milk from the fridge was in short supply, but Miss Spitforce could hardly be blamed for that; the biscuit tin, however, was full and Hettie selected a pawful of chocolate fingers, hoping that they might cheer both Tilly and the tea up a little.
    ‘There’s been a breakthrough in our investigation,’ she began as Tilly sucked on a chocolate finger soaked in tea. ‘I found the will, and guess who gets most of the money and the house?’
    ‘The sister or the niece,’ Tilly said, going for the obvious. She knew she was wrong, but she wanted to give Hettie the joy of surprise.
    ‘No, not a bit of it,’ Hettie said triumphantly. ‘Miss Spitforce added a bequest a couple of weeks ago leaving a small fortune and her house to Irene Peggledrip!’
    Tilly missed her mouth with the final chocolatefinger, nearly poking herself in the eye with it. ‘Well,