This is my first attempt at writing a short crime story (with a hint of the paranormal) - I hope you enjoy it!

Closing the front door behind her, Betty Merrifield fixed the security chain across, then hung her wet overcoat and headscarf up on the hall-stand to dry. It was such a relief to be home at last. Today's shopping trip was exhausting. After getting soaked in a heavy downpour, she then had to carry heavy, dripping wet shopping bags onto the bus.
Donning her soft pink slippers, she padded into the kitchen to put the whistling kettle on the gas stove. She was dying for a hot cuppa, and a nice digestive biscuit to dunk in her tea.
As she busied herself in the kitchen, Betty switched on the radio hoping to catch the news. Instead, a male's voice crooned melodiously: Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket....save it for a rainy day! She knew the old tune well, so she joined in and hummed along with it. Her radio was the only link to the outside world, as Betty didn't like televisions. As well as being an unnecessary piece of equipment, and something else to dust, they could also be dangerous! She'd heard that they sometimes caught fire, especially during violent thunderstorms! What if this happened whilst she was out, or during the night whilst she was asleep in bed? No, she was quite happy with her battery-operated radio which she'd bought as a gift for herself last Christmas.
Being rather old-fashioned, Betty didn’t like change. She’d lived in her modest, little Victorian detached cottage for the past fifty-two years, ever since her marriage to her dear husband Harry, who sadly passed away three years ago. She still hung on to her old familiar things. They reminded her of the good old days, when she and Harry had shared so much together.
The gas stove, which she did all her cooking on, was pretty ancient, and according to Betty, they didn’t dry things up like electric cookers did. She tried an electric cooker once when she was first married, but she couldn't get on with it, as things seemed to boil over too quickly, so Harry had to go out and buy a gas one. All electrical goods were taboo. She couldn’t abide electric kettles either, so very few electrical appliances found their way into Betty's home.
Whilst she waited for the kettle to boil, she went back into the hall to fetch her handbag from the hall-stand. She took the twenty pound notes out her purse, then after a quick rummage round, she fetched out a small brown paper bag, neatly wrapped up and sealed over with sellotape, and then replaced the handbag back on the hall-stand.
She took the money and package into the living-room and placed them on the table, wondering whether now was a good time to open the mysterious package she'd found on the seat beside her in the bus. She was almost certain that it belonged to the young, dark-haired woman who'd sat next to her. Her looks were particularly striking. She was an elegant woman, quite tall, and very slim. Her clothes were long and dark, as dark as her beautiful, long, raven-black hair.
Betty was positive the same woman stood behind her in the queue at the Bank, whilst the cashier counted out the two hundred pounds in twenty pound notes she withdrew from her savings. She needed the money to buy that beautiful silver tea-pot she had her eye on in the antique shop. She'd already secured it with a deposit of fifty pounds, but she would have to collect it another time, because today she had to do her usual shopping before catching the commuter-packed bus home.
As they jostled their way down the isle, Betty and the young woman were lucky enough to have found a spare seat.
The woman tapped Betty lightly on the shoulder, and asked politely: “Excuse me, I hope you don't mind me asking, but which stop will you be getting off?” And when Betty answered: “Coldharbour Street,” the woman then said: “I'm actually getting off at Springfield Park, which is the stop before yours, so if you would like to sit by the window, I won't need to scramble past you.” Betty agreed, and settled herself by the window.
As they sat side by side, Betty caught a whiff of delicate perfume; quite pleasant, and probably probably very expensive, she thought.
Neither of them spoke during the journey, but when the young woman alighted from the bus, she called out lightly to Betty: “Goodbye!”

***

Now that Betty was home, she was looking forward to relaxing by the warm coal fire, which was crackling away nicely in the grate.
There was no modern central heating in her cottage, but she was seriously thinking of having a gas one installed before long, now that she was getting older, and her joints were beginning to stiffen up. It would be a lot easier than having to light the fire every time the weather got cold.
She gave a shiver as she listened to the rain lashing hard against the window, and pulled her cardigan tightly around her.
Before returning to the kitchen to check the kettle, she took her folded twenty pound notes over to the mantle-shelf over the fireplace. Fetching down the wooden biscuit barrel next to Harry’s photo, she placed the money inside, then giving it a satisfying pat, she put it back on the shelf.
The shrill whistle from her kettle in the kitchen summonsed her. It meant that she could at last make herself that much needed cup of tea.
She took the tea and biscuit on a tray into the living-room and set it down on the table, then sat herself down. As she leisurely sipped the hot liquid, she picked up the small brown package she'd placed on the table earlier, and after carefully peeling back the tape, she began to examine the contents.
At first she thought it was just a packet of cigarettes, or another box of perfume. But as she took the box out, she found that it was too big, and definitely too heavy for either cigarettes or perfume.
Putting on her reading glasses, she studied the front of what actually turned out to be a box of cards. But these were no ordinary cards. They were tarot cards, and looked brand new!
The cards were unlike any that Betty had ever seen before, and they had unusual pictures on them.
Right at the bottom of the bag, Betty discovered a small card. On it was printed: Angelina - Tarot Reading - : and beneath that, in smaller print, was a telephone number.
After finishing her tea, Betty took the card to the phone in the hall, and dialled the number. A soft voice at the other end answered: “Hello, Angelina speaking.”
“Oh, hello!” said Betty, “I hope you don’t mind me ringing you like this, only I think I’ve got a pack of cards that might belong to you. I found them early this afternoon, and they were in a brown paper package on a seat next to me on the bus. It might have been you who I was sitting next to, and after you got off, this bag was just lying there on the seat. This number was on a card I found along with the box in the bag.”
“Are they tarot cards?” asked the woman.
“Yes, they are. At least that’s what it says on the front of the box” said Betty.
“Well, I can tell you that they do happen to be mine,” said the woman. “They're brand new, and I thought I'd lost them. Is it all right if I come over tomorrow, late afternoon, to collect them? Only it's quite important I have them, because I’ve got a reading the following evening, and I don't want to have to buy another pack. Perhaps you could give me your address.”
“Yes of course, please do come and collect them. If you can make it, say around five o’clock, I will get a pot of tea and a freshly baked cake ready, that's if you would like to have tea with me. If you've got time of course,” she added quickly, not wanting to impose.
“Thank you so much, you are very kind, and I would love to accept your invitation,” said the woman. She then rang off.

***

Bang on five o’clock the next day, there was a knock on the door, and Betty hurried along the hall to open it. Slipping back the security chain, she could see the dark-haired young woman on the other side, so she let her in.
Along with a small shoulder-bag, she was carrying a bulging, stopover holdall, which she set down on the floor in the hallway, ready to pick up on the way out.
“Would you like to take your coat off and let me hang it up for you?” Betty offered.
“Thank you,” answered the young woman, “only I think I'd rather keep it on, because I always feel the cold, and as the weather is pretty nasty out there, my hands have become frozen. They're like blocks of ice.”
“Well, you know what they say, cold hands, warm heart,” Betty quipped. “So let's not stand here in a draughty hallway, come on through and get warmed up. There's a nice warm fire going in the living-room, and I’ve got a large pot of tea ready, as well as that freshly baked cake I promised for you,” she said smiling. “Do you know, I can't remember the last time I had a visitor, so this is a pleasant change for me.”
Betty ushered the young woman into her cosy little room, where she had neatly laid the table set for two, and next to the plate of sliced cake, was the pack of cards.
“Gosh, it’s a real fire.” exclaimed the young woman, making her way over to the fireplace where the flames licked and danced.
“Why yes,” said Betty, “I’ve always kept a coal fire going this time of year. I’m not keen on electric fires, and it’s enough to keep my little home warm.”
“By the way, I’m Betty,” she said. “I think it's much nicer to call one another by our first names don't you think?”
“Oh yes, I agree with you there,” said the young woman with a broad smile. “It's so out of date to use 'Mrs or Miss' these days, so call me Angelina.”
She took off her gloves, revealing long slender fingers. Her well-manicured fingernails were painted scarlet, to match her lipstick. She held her hands out gladly towards the warm, glowing fire, flexing her fingers to regain their circulation.
“Ah yes! I see that those are definitely my cards,” she said, going back to the table. After a short pause, she said: “Now I hate to tell you this, and I don't want to appear rude, especially as you've gone to all this trouble of baking an absolutely delicious looking cake, but I shan’t be able to stop too long, because I’ve got to be at my sisters tonight, and I don’t want to miss the five-past six bus.”
“Don't worry my dear. Of course I don't mind you telling me you can't stay long.” said Betty, a little disappointedly. It wasn't often that she was able to entertain anyone these days; keeping much to herself. “At least have a cup of tea and a piece of cake with me before you go. Is that why you’ve brought that big bag with you, to stay with your sister?”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Angelina. “Unfortunately, my car is at a garage undergoing repairs at the moment. It’s so inconvenient to have to go by bus everywhere.” Betty nodded in agreement, not because of the lack of a car, which was something else she didn't have, not being able to drive, but buses could be a drag at times, especially when they didn't turn up on time. Then her eyes strayed over to the cards. The look didn't go unnoticed by Angelina.
“Would you like me to do a very quick reading for you whilst we have tea?” she asked Betty.
“Oh yes please, that would be fun! I’ve never had my fortune told or anything like that,” said Betty, feeling excited at the prospect of finding out what the future might hold for her: she would be interested to know what Angelina could see from the cards.
A space was cleared on the table, and the two sat opposite each other, then Angelina took the crisp new cards out their box, and started to shuffled them, keeping her dark eyes fixed on Betty, as she sat with a look of expectancy on her face.
“Now I want you to take just three out, and I would like you to choose the ones you feel drawn towards, then place them face down on the table, so that I can't see them.”
Before turning the first card over, Angelina took a sip of her tea, and gave a slight grimace.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, “but I clean forgot to tell you, I take sugar in tea.”
“I’m the one to be sorry,” exclaimed Betty apologetically, getting up from her chair, “I should have brought the sugar bowl in, only I don’t take sugar myself, and because I don’t get many visitors, I clean forgot to fill it. I shan’t be a tick.”
After she’d left the room, Angelina quickly turned the cards over which Betty had chosen. They showed the five of cups, meaning misery, the seven of swords, which meant deceit or a thief, and then the powerful death card.
Not wanting to send the old girl into a fit of panic if she found out that she'd chosen such woeful cards, Angelina picked out three replacement cards, then carefully arranged them in the same spot where Betty had placed her own choice, putting them back into the pack. Quickly rummaging through her shoulder-bag, she took out a small piece of paper which had been neatly folded into a thin funnel shape. Carefully undoing it, she emptied the contents of a fine white powder into Betty’s tea, then after giving it a quick stir with a teaspoon, she went over to the fire and threw the empty paper onto it. As she watched it flare up, then curl into a black cinder, a sinister, twisted smile of satisfaction crossed her beautiful face. But before she could return to the table, Betty entered the room with the sugar bowl.
“Is that your husband?” Angelina asked, turning her back from the fire and gesturing towards the the silver-framed photograph on the mantle-shelf, portraying an elderly man.
“Yes it is,” sighed Betty, as she set the sugar bowl on the table. “That’s my dear Harry. The photo was taken about a year before he died, and I've placed it right next to my savings, where he can keep an eye on them for me,” she said with a wistful smile, totally unaware of the disclosure she'd made about her savings.
“When Harry passed away, I was so heartbroken that I just wanted to die too, so that I could be with him. We had known each other since we were children, and I still miss him terribly.”
“I’m so sorry!” said Angelina, feigning sympathy as she made her way back to the table. “That's so sad, and I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Oh well,” said Betty, “You wouldn't have known. I suppose time will heal, but it’s taking an awfully long time. Now let’s have our tea before it gets too cold,” she said, quickly changing the subject.
“Good idea,” said Angelina with a quick smile, as she picked up the first card for Betty's reading. “Let's see what the cards have to say!”
Whilst Betty drank her tea, Angelina turned over the card which Betty thought she'd chosen.
“This is a good card, and it’s the six of pentacles,” said Angelina brightly. “It means that your finances are good, and you will have enough money for your needs, but be careful not to dish out any to scroungers.”
“That’s very interesting, only I’ve just managed to save up for something I really want,” said Betty, casually glancing over to the biscuit barrel on the mantle-shelf. “I don’t believe in borrowing you know.”
Angelina turned over the next card with a slight frown on her face.
“Hmm...I'm slightly concerned with this card, because it shows the tower, which could mean a shock, or bad news. Do you suffer from an illness, or know someone who does?”
“No,” said Betty, looking slightly alarmed. “I’m in the peak of good health at the moment, although I do have a slight heart murmur, but nothing that the doctor says I should worry about just yet anyway. Most of my relatives have passed away, and others are living abroad somewhere, so I don't hear from them very often, and all my best friends have either died or moved away.”
Angelina gave a sympathetic look, and made a mental note of Betty's every word. As she turned over the next card, she let out an audible gasp.
“Oh my goodness! This is a bad showing,” she said, almost in a whisper, but loud enough for Betty to hear. “It’s the Devil card, and it couldn’t be much worse I’m afraid.”
Betty drained the last dregs of her tea, and set her cup carefully back in the saucer. Her hand was slightly trembling as she anticipated bad news from her new friend sitting opposite her, who was casually reading out her fate.
Suddenly, she felt a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead, and beads of moisture formed on her upper lip. Her heart started to pound at an alarming rate.
She looked across the table at Angelina, but all she could see was a dark blur, and the room started to spin around her, making her feel sick and dizzy. What on earth was happening?
Then a wave of pain spread quickly through her body. She clapped her hands over her ears as a loud roaring sound pounded through her head, making it throb. She felt as though her skull was about to split in half.
“I’m afraid I’m not feeling too well...in fact I feel dreadfully ill!” cried Betty, clutching her chest as the pain intensified throughout her body. She gave a stifled cry, pressing her knuckles hard into her abdomen as though trying to stem the pain. “I’m having a job to breathe!” she whispered hoarsely, as numbness crept into her limbs. “I feel very weak and faint! Oh please help me! she cried out in desperation, and then she started to choke on her own vomit.
Angelina watched in cruel fascination, almost mesmerised, as Betty’s eyes flickered like a moth at a candle, then rolled upwards. She clutched the tablecloth, dragging it towards her. Her mouth turned into a grimace, and froth started to ooze from the corners as she gasped her last breath. Then as her eyes glazed over, her lifeless body slumped forward in the chair.
Angelina quickly got up from the table. She had to act fast.
From her handbag, she took out a pair of washing-up gloves, then collecting up the china-ware off the table, she took them into the kitchen and placed them in the sink. After giving them a good wash, she took one set of china, then after wiping them thoroughly dry with a clean tissue taken out of her handbag, she found the cupboard where Betty kept her cups and saucers, and placed them inside. She left the other set to drip-dry on the draining board. Taking off her washing-up gloves, she replaced them with a pair of soft linen ones, and used them to meticulously dust around her chair, and anything else she might have touched. Now for the more important task, and the reason why she was here.
Going over to the fireplace, Angelina eagerly fetched down the biscuit barrel, and whisking off the lid, she was delighted to find what she was looking for. She took out the neatly folded notes Betty had put there earlier that afternoon.
It was all too easy: she'd read Betty's glance like an open book, when she gazed so wistfully at the biscuit barrel whilst mentioning “Harry” and her savings. An absolute push-over!
“The silly old biddy should have been more careful,” she murmured scornfully under her breath.
Two hundred pounds was not a bad days’ work. Some of her ‘clients’ had a lot less than that for the picking, and this one was so much easier than most. Sometimes she had to spend a whole lot longer in her search, going through drawers, tins, boxes, and some old dears still hid their money under the mattress, bless them!
She had to make sure that everything looked tidy and in order, to make it look as though Betty had died from natural causes. It was quite normal for old people to suddenly pop off through a heart attack. After all, old people had to die sometime.
Angelina then took a last look at the lifeless body of Betty.
“Look at it this way,” she said coldly and without remorse, “you did tell me that you wanted to be with Harry, and now your wish has come true , so you won’t be needing this!” she said, stuffing the notes into her bag.
There was something else she needed to do.
Snatching up the cards from the table, she took them over to the fire and threw them in, along with the paper bag with her calling card. She watched triumphantly as they blazed away in the roaring fire, her dark eyes glinting in the fire-light, then, almost instantly, the black, charred remains were drawn up the chimney, to disappear into the aether without trace.
It was unlucky to use the same cards twice, and she didn’t want to take any chances, after all, chance was her game!
She went back into the kitchen and turned the gas cooker on low. Elderly people were always having accidents with gas and fires she mused.
Before leaving the house, she picked up her stopover bag, then quickly whipped off her wig of long black hair, to reveal a head of golden blonde curls. The wig belonged to the local drama group, where she often took part as an actress. Her acting skills came in use sometimes, it helped to calm her nerves in a tight situation, and this time she did really well!
She pushed the wig into the bag, then dusting round the doorknob with her linen gloves to remove any trace of her fingerprints, she stepped outside and gently closed the door behind her, oblivious to the gentle chinking sound made by the safety chain dangling loosely on the other side.
A back-draft from the closing door caused one of the burning tarot cards from the fire to be sucked out from the grate, where it fell onto the red carpet, igniting it.
As the carpet started to smoulder, blue smoke curled upwards as the card of judgement slowly burnt to a cinder.
Walking briskly along the pavement, Angelina pulled her collar up against the strengthening wind, wishing she'd worn her heavier coat. She had about a mile or so yet before reaching the first bus-stop.
In the distance, she could see the dark form of a lone figure waiting in a bus shelter, and as she approached, she could see a rather portly lady, huddled up into her overcoat in an effort to keep warm.
The lady turned her head when she heard Angela's fast approaching footsteps. She had a round, smiley face, and apple-red cheeks. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with a hint of humour, yet she wasn't the sort to stand any nonsense from anyone.
A heavy shopping bag stood wedged between her stout legs, leaving her hands free to carry two bulging carrier bags.
“My goodness, it looks as though you could do with a pack-horse for all those big heavy bags of yours,” said Angelina laughing.
“More like a pick-up truck,” responded the well-built lady, giving a deep belly- laugh.
Angelina glanced at her watch. “Isn't the bus due yet?” she asked.
“Yes, but it's nearly always about ten minutes late, especially when it stops to pick up the factory workers, so it won't be here just yet I'm afraid.”
As they stood chatting to pass the time, they saw a flashing blue light suddenly appear. It was an ambulance being driven at great speed, closely followed by a police car wailing loudly, and not far behind, a fire engine.
The two women watched in amazement at the spectacle as all three vehicles sped past.
“Oh dear, there must have been a really bad accident somewhere. It's very unusual to see all three services at the same time,” said the portly lady.
“Something pretty dreadful must have happened,” said Angelina. “I hope it’s not fatal,” she added, with a note of mock concern in her voice that sounded almost convincing, even to her. The excitement of a real-life drama gave her a thrill.
As they both stood for a while, each in their own thoughts, the bus arrived. It was crowded out with mostly factory workers, leaving very little room for the two women about to board.
After Angelina had helped the older woman onto the bus with her bags, and lifted her large, heavy shopping bag into the trolley bay, they managed to find two seats at the front. As they weaved their way towards them, Angelina ventured to ask the woman where she lived. When she replied: “Mulberry Lane, that's where I shall be getting off.” With the same, well-rehearsed line, Angelina suggested that she should sit next to the window, because as her stop would come first, she didn't want to clamber past her. The lady smiled sweetly and thanked her for being so thoughtful.
“I usually get an earlier bus home after shopping,” the woman said to Angelina, “but something told me to try my luck at bingo tonight; which was being held at the town hall, so I did, and guess what?... I hit the jackpot!”
Bingo! thought Angelina to herself, as a wicked smile started to spread discreetly across her face.
“Congratulations.” she said to her fellow passenger. “Perhaps you can now afford to buy your own chauffeur-driven car to do your shopping in.”
“Well, perhaps a bit of a car, and maybe a part-time retired driver will do for me,” she said with a chuckle. “I could do with a companion since losing my husband a year ago, but at least I do get to meet people quite often. Now I can’t wait to get home to make myself a nice cup of tea, and then put my poor aching feet up.”
“Me too,” said Angelina, giving a wry smile. The glint in her eye betrayed a cunning mind already calculating great expectations. “Here we are, I think this is my stop coming up,” she said. “It was so nice meeting and talking to you, and good luck with your win.”
“Why thank you my dear, and who knows, perhaps we shall meet again someday - Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” Angelina called back. “Maybe we will meet again, one day.”
Then just as the young woman got off the bus, the portly lady noticed a brown paper bag on the seat next to her. Thinking that the woman must have dropped it as she got up, she picked it up and placed it on her lap. Looking out of the grimy window, her mind started wandering.
She thought it rather odd that such a well-dressed young woman like that should travel on a bus: didn't she own a car? Her appearances indicated that she couldn't have been hard up. But why was she wearing those awful linen gloves, and not nice fashionable ones? They looked a bit dusty and grubby. And besides, young ladies didn't wear gloves these days. There was something strange about the young woman which made her feel uneasy. Then there was this brown package lying in her lap. It was almost as though the woman had purposely placed it on the seat, and not dropped it accidentally as she'd first thought.
There's only one way to find out what all the mystery's about, she thought to herself as she gingerly opened it up to see if there was anything important or valuable inside. She was astonished, yet somewhat amused, to find a box containing a pack of tarot cards, and a small business card with a woman’s name and telephone number on it.
As she held the box in her hands, she started to experience a strange sensation going through her body like an electrical current, and when she closed here eyes, visions began to appear, and they almost took her breath away.
She could see hordes of money, in the form of twenty-pound notes, floating gently down like confetti; tea-cups crashing to the floor, splintering into a thousand pieces; fire raging furiously, like the Devils pit, and then a mask of death as the ultimate end of all that was innocent in this terrible scene of destruction set before her in those dreadful images. Then finally, she could see coming towards her in a swirling smoke, the outline of a frail old lady, arms out-stretched, drifting towards her Her deathly opaque eyes were pleading for justice and mercy.
The portly lady gave a gasp of horror and opened her eyes. She had never experienced anything as terrifying as this before.
Hastily placing the box back into the bag, she carefully contemplated the situation.
She would pay that young woman a visit, and soon! But first she needed to go and see her good friend, Inspector Brooks, just in case, especially as there had been a spate of mysterious murders committed recently. Only a couple of months ago, an old-age pensioner was found dead in his own home, and the police suspected foul play. At first, they'd thought the poor old gent had fallen onto the brass fender of his fireplace, and crushed his skull, causing his death. But on closer inspection, they found that his body had actually been dragged over to the fender to make it look as though he'd had an accident, but there was no trace of blood on it, and they were still searching for the murder weapon. They also found fresh indents in the wooden floor-boards which could have been made by high-heeled shoes, so a woman could be a suspect. Then, when they went to remove him, they'd found a tarot card lying beneath his body. Realising that the old man wasn't the type to be interested in that kind of pursuit, plus the fact that they couldn't find any sign of more cards of the same on the premises, they thought that this was very suspicious. When Inspector Brooks handed it over to her, to see if she could throw light on the case (he'd often called on her for help in unnatural (or supernatural) causes of death), she felt similar vibrations as she was getting now, of an evil force at work. Even more disturbing, there was a distinctively strong scent coming from the card found at the scene when she held it to her nose, and she knew, without a shadow of doubt, it was the same unforgettable perfume that the young woman in the bus was wearing.
“It looks as though I might have picked up on something really sinister, yet interesting this time,” she mused quietly under her breath. “And I'm beginning to wonder if there's a connection with this pack of cards here, and the one Inspector Brooks found near the old man's body, or is it just a coincidence? Even so, I shall have to watch my back if I'm going to delve more deeply. I will give the young woman a ring and invite her over to tea so that she can collect her pack of cards, and see how she reacts to any questions I might ask her. But there's just one thing I won’t be telling her.... that I’m a Medium!”