The Better Mousetrap by Tom Holt Page B

me,’ he repeated, ‘but that doesn’t look terribly safe. Would it be all right if—?’
    ‘Who the hell are you?’
    George Sprague’s briefings were always delightfully rich in minor details. ‘Kevin Thompson,’ he said, ‘I’m, um, Mrs Thompson’s nephew. It’s the cat again, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes. Look, do you think you could just shut up and let me do this? I don’t mean to be rude, but I do need to concentrate.’
    ‘Actually—’
    ‘Go away.’
    Oh well, Frank thought. And you’ll never know I’m just about to save your life.
    He took the plate and the spoon out of the carrier bag. She’d be furious, of course. She’d assume he’d done it to make her look stupid. It didn’t matter, needless to say. He’d probably never have anything to do with her ever again, so who cared what she thought?
    ‘Here kitty,’ he sang out, tapping the spoon against the edge of the plate. ‘Here kittykittykittykitty.’
    The cat lifted its head and looked at him.
    ‘Kittykittykitty.’ Tap, tap, tap. ‘Din-dins. Here, kittykitty.’
    The cat gave him a look that’d have scarred a more sensitive man for life, but it got to its feet, ran lightly along the branch, hopped down onto a lower one, darted past the girl, brushing her face with its tail as it did so, and ran down the tree trunk to the ground. He put the plate and spoon back in the bag. The cat trotted past the foot of the ladder and vanished through a cat flap in the back door.
    ‘Oh look,’ Frank said. ‘He’s come down all by himself.’
    The girl still had her back to him, which was probably just as well. He had an idea that she wouldn’t be happy when she came down off the ladder. He turned to go, and took a long stride onto the flower bed, trying hard not to tread on any intentional vegetation.
    He heard a thump.
    There are some noises that aren’t good, ever. The thump was one of them.
    He looked back. The girl was lying on the ground. The angle of her head to her spine was definitely wrong, as though she’d been drawn by a clumsy amateur. She was lying on top of the ladder, which was flat on the ground. There was no sign of the tree.
    Oh, Frank thought.
    He tried to remember the original storyline, as set out in George Sprague’s briefing. The old lady was due to come out of the house at any moment; probably not a good thing if she saw him there.
    He glanced quickly at the back door, but couldn’t see it. The reason being, there was a tree in the way.
    It was back.
    Oh, he thought.
    Part of his brain said: got to be Practical, then, rather than Effective. Effective magic could make her think that the tree had suddenly vanished, causing her to topple off the ladder and fall to her death, but it wouldn’t be able to persuade the ladder. But the ladder’s lying on the ground with her on top of it. Therefore, someone must have physically removed the tree and then put it back a split second later. Furthermore, put it back about ten inches off to the side, so it wouldn’t zap back into existence on top of her dead body. Definitely Practical, then, rather than Effective. Also, according to what Dad used to say about the two different types of magic, extremely difficult to do and a lot of effort to go to when a perfectly simple bit of Effective would’ve achieved the same result.
    The rest of his brain said: Oh Jesus, she’s dead. And the tree just sort of vanished—
    Frank heard a door open, and crockery smash. Time - he felt really guilty about running away like this, but you had to be sensible - he wasn’t there.

CHAPTER FIVE
    ‘Murdered’, Mr Sprague said slowly. And then: ‘So what?
    Frank frowned. ‘I thought it might be - well, you know. Relevant.’
    ‘She’s still dead, even if it wasn’t an accident. We’ve still got to pay out. Or have we?’ A flicker of hope lit up Mr Sprague’s face, and he scrabbled through the pages of the policy document. ‘Bloody small print,’ he added, reaching for his glasses. ‘Ah, here we