Page 22 of Match Point in Crumbleton
‘This one?’ she murmured, not holding out much hope that the very first one she tried would actually work.
‘Eureka!’
It turned easily and the door swung open with no effort at all.
‘Okay that was too easy,’ she muttered, peering inside.
The grubby sweatbands and old shorts didn’t look any more appealing than they had with the doors closed. She’d been right about the net being decidedly tangled… and the balls were more motheaten than she’d originally thought. In fact, they were practically bald.
Crouching down, Cath started to inspect the lower levels of the display case that had been hidden behind all the junk.
‘So, this is where all the fluff went!’ she muttered, reaching in and gingerly shifting a cloud of yellow fibres that had clearly once belonged to the bald balls on the shelf above.
Underneath, there were a couple of wooden-cased rackets that had probably been originally used as a backdrop before they’d tumble into the rest of the mess. Cath shifted them aside, only to reveal a couple of rusty old cogs that looked like they might belong to the ancient piece of machinery behind the cabinet. They certainly bore splatters of matching white paint.
‘I wonder…’ she said, turning them over. Could the machine possibly have been used to paint the court lines?
Cath shrugged and peered right to the back, only to find a velvet plinth. The green cloth had faded around the edges, but there was a circular patch of dark green right on the top—an echo of something that had sat there for years before being moved.
Lost? Stolen? Sold? It was anyone’s guess!
Right in the middle of this circle sat a scrap of paper—curled and yellowing at the edges. Cath could just make out a few letters of faint, spidery handwriting. It felt crispy between her fingertips as she reached for it and then gingerly eased back the curled edges to read it.
Sir Anthony Cheswell Cup – loaned to the antiques shop.
‘Which antiques shop?!’ said Cath. She could only assume the note was referring to the one next door… but that was just a guess. Probably a decent guess though, right?
‘Well, there’s only one way to find out!’ she said, popping the paper back on its plinth and straightening up again with some difficulty.
There wasn’t any point in locking the case back up. Cath would have to empty it anyway to clean and rearrange its contents at the very least… though it was likely that process would involve a big black bin-liner somewhere along the way!
‘Anthony Cheswell, Anthony Cheswell,’ she muttered, heading back towards the door. The name was familiar. Wasn’t that the eccentric businessman Heather and Andy had been talking about? The one who’d built the Dolphin and Anchor?
Cath shrugged. She couldn’t remember… but she was definitely going to investigate. Somehow, she didn’t fancy diving into yet more boxes of junk. Getting to the bottom of this little Crumbleton mystery was far more appealing right now!
Pushing the museum door open a crack, Cath checked the coast was clear and that she wasn’t about to walk straight out into a crowd of visitors. Then she sidled out onto the cobbles and quickly locked up behind her before jogging the couple steps to the antiques shop. There, she paused to have her first proper look at the window display.
‘Bingo!’ she said in surprise.
Well, it hadn’t taken much to solve the mystery of the whereabouts of the cup – it was right there in front of her! It was huge and silver, and the name of the competition was engraved across its slightly tarnished curves.
Around its heavy, circular black base, there were several smaller silver shields, each one engraved with the names of dozens of winners, along with a year. One of the shields was only half full, and the last name on the list was E. Barker. It was dated 1988.
Cath hot-footed it towards the door and excitedly pushed her way inside.
‘Can I help you?!’
The slightly scary demand brought her up short. There was nothing warm or welcoming about it. In fact, it was the kind of voice that would cut through a thunderstorm and miles of thick sea fog.
‘Erm… hi!’ said Cath, her voice sounding weedy by comparison. She smiled at the woman glaring at her from the other side of the shop. Cath’s first impression of her was something along the lines of “larger than life”. From her booming voice to her interesting dress sense – an orange waistcoat over a floral shirt and green and white striped culottes – there was nothing in the least bit subtle about her. She was eyeballing Cath suspiciously from behind a pair of old-fashioned men’s glasses—the kind that were black on the top and clear at the bottom.
‘I’m… erm… I’m Cath?’
‘You don’t sound too sure about that!’ proclaimed the woman.
Cath cleared her throat and decided to try again… this time with a bit more certainty.
‘Yep – definitely sure,’ she said. ‘I’m Cath Walker. I’m the new curator next door.’ She paused again, not entirely sure whether she wanted to ask about the trophy after all. Maybe she could just wimp out and slink back to the museum.
