Witch Is When Life Got Complicated (5 page)

Chapter 7

“If I let you off the lead, you have to promise not to stray too far away.”

The cool breeze had kept most people at home. The only other people in the park were dog-walkers and some young boys riding their bikes.

“I promise, I promise.” Barry strained at the lead.

“Stay close by where I can see you.”

“Okay, okay. I promise. I want to run. Please.”

“Stay nearby. Got it?”

“Got it!”

I unclipped the lead.

“Barry! Wait!”

Within seconds, he'd disappeared behind a clump of bushes in the near distance. I was dead on my feet from my day in the tea room, and now I had to chase after a stupid dog. What was it with me and animals? Why did they all run rings around me?

“Barry!” I reached the bushes.

“Is he yours?” A man was watching Barry and another dog take turns to chase one another in circles.

I nodded, trying to catch my breath. “Sorry about that. He just took off.”

“No problem. You're doing me a favour.” The man smiled—it was a killer smile. “I get to take a break while these two wear one another out. My name’s Drake, Drake Tyson.” He offered his hand. He had a firm handshake.

“Jill Gooder.”

“Nice to meet you, Jill Gooder.”

The man was serious eye-candy. Aunt Lucy had told me that I’d be able to sense what kind of sup someone was, and I was definitely getting a wizard vibe off Drake. Was I right? What was the etiquette? Was it okay to ask? Best not to.

“What’s your dog’s name?” I said.

“Chief. Yours?”

“Barry.”

“Barry?” He laughed. “Sorry. Barry is a great name.”

“No it’s not.” I laughed too. “It’s a terrible name, but I didn’t choose it. He was a present.”

“I haven’t seen you in the park before.” Drake threw a ball, and the two dogs charged after it.

“I only live here in Candlefield part-time.”

“Really? You are a witch though, right?”

“Yes, but I only found out a few weeks ago.”

Drake looked confused.

“It’s complicated.”

“Maybe you can tell me about it sometime?”

“Maybe.”

Drake checked his watch. “Is that the time? I have to go. Chief!”

Instantly, the dog turned back, and within seconds was at his master’s side. Are you watching this, Barry?

“Good to meet you,” Drake said. “Maybe I’ll see you in here again?”

“Maybe.” Definitely if I have anything to do with it.

I watched Drake and Chief until they’d disappeared out of the park gates.

“Barry?” Where was that crazy dog now?

I’d arranged to meet the twins at Aunt Lucy’s. They must have been looking out for me because they came racing out of the front door.

“Can we be bridesmaids?” Pearl yelled.

“Can we?” Amber was even louder.

“Aunt Lucy told you about the wedding, then?”

“Yeah.
She
isn’t very happy about it, but
we
think it’s great. We love weddings. What about you?”

“Can’t get enough of them. Have you been to a ghost’s wedding before?”

“No, but it’ll be fun.”

I wished I shared their confidence. I had grave (pardon the pun) misgivings about the whole thing.

“Tell the twins they can be bridesmaids.” My mother had appeared at my side. “That should give Lucy something to think about.”

Before I could respond, she’d vanished again.

“Who was that?” Pearl said. “Your mother?”

I nodded. “She said you can be bridesmaids.”

“Fantastic!”

“But there’s one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t tell Aunt Lucy until I’m back in Washbridge.”

The clubhouse was a small brick building on the edge of the playing fields. Aunt Lucy had made some phone calls, and arranged for the captains of the two teams to meet me there. The twins had wanted to go with me, but I’d put my foot down and insisted I go alone or not at all.

The two men were waiting for me inside. I instinctively knew which of them was the vampire and which the werewolf even though there were no obvious physical clues.

“I’m Archie Maine.” The vampire offered his hand.

“Jill Gooder.”

“And I’m Wayne Holloway.” The werewolf flashed me a smile as we shook hands.

“We both have a lot of respect for your aunt Lucy, and your late mother, so we were more than happy to meet with you,” Archie said.

“I understand that you are a private investigator in the ‘other’ world,” Wayne said.

“That’s right. It was my father’s business. I joined him straight from school.”

“And do you think you’ll be able to help us to solve our little mystery?”

“I’ll do my best.” I glanced over to the empty plinth. “Is that where the cup should be?”

Both men nodded, and then between them, proceeded to tell me the story. I didn’t sense any of the animosity that the twins and Aunt Lucy had suggested had built up between the two factions. Perhaps they were on their best behaviour for me.

“I assume you don’t have CCTV?”

“You assume correctly. The club funds won’t stretch to it. There is an alarm, but it goes off every other week, so no one takes any notice of it.”

“Was anything else taken?”

“Nothing at all, but then there’s precious little else to steal.

“Why do you think someone would take the cup?”

“No idea,” Wayne said. Archie shook his head.

“What used to be over there?” I pointed to a rectangular patch on the wall. “A painting?”

“A mirror. It was broken during the raid, so we removed it.”

If I’d been in Washbridge, I’d have probably told them to buy a new trophy and to move on. Life was too short to worry about things like this. But I was keen to make my mark in Candlefield, and this was my opportunity to do just that.

“I’ll see what I can find out, but I don’t hold out much hope.”

“We’d appreciate whatever help you could give us,” Archie said. “And give our regards to your aunt.”

The next day, I was back behind the counter in the tea room where I was slowly gaining in confidence.

“Yes sir, what can I get you? Oh, hello again.”

“I’m sorry I had to rush off yesterday,” Drake Tyson said.

“That’s okay. What would you like?”

“Could I have a pot of tea for two please?”

“For two?”

“Yes please.”

“Would you like anything to eat with that?”

I glanced around the room, trying to figure out who he was with.

“A chocolate muffin and a Victoria sponge, please.”

“Who’s that?” Pearl asked as I watched Drake make his way over to a table by the window.

“No one.” The woman waiting for him was way too beautiful for her own good, with her long blonde hair and red lipstick. I hated her already.

“It didn’t look like ‘no one’.” Amber was at my other side now. “You can’t take your eyes off him.”

“Rubbish. He’s just some guy I met in the park yesterday.”

“And—?”

“And nothing. We just talked while the dogs played.”

“Did you get his name?”

“Drake, I think. I’m not sure. Drake Tyson—maybe.”

“Cool name,” Pearl said.

Drake nodded to me when he and lipstick left. I pretended not to notice.

By the time we closed the shop, I was exhausted. The twins were still fresh as daisies and in the mood to party.

“Come on, Jill. It’ll be fun. We want to show you the Candlefield night life.”

“Sorry, girls. That’s going to have to wait for another day. I need to get back to Washbridge.”

“Spoilsport.” Pearl teased.

Just as Amber was about to lock the door, a woman with a ‘don’t mess with me’ expression walked in.

“We were just about to close, Inspector,” Amber said.

“This won’t take a minute.” The woman glanced around, and when she spotted me, made straight for the counter. “You must be Jill Gooder.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Inspector Maxine Jewell.”

“Pleased to meet you.” I offered my hand, but she ignored it.

“I believe you have been asking questions about the Candlefield Cup?”

“I spoke to Archie—”

“Stay out of it. It’s a police matter, and I don’t want some private eye sticking their nose in. Especially not one from the other world. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.” With that, she turned and walked out of the shop.

“Nice woman,” I said once she was through the door.

“Sorry about that,” Amber put a hand on my shoulder. “We didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”

“Guess that means you won’t be able to help after all,” Pearl said.

“Are you kidding? Now I’m one hundred per cent committed to this case.”

I was back at the office.

“Mrs V, can you try to get hold of—what the?” I stopped dead in my tracks. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“That!” I pointed. “That’s what I mean!”

Blinky was on her lap, his head nuzzling against her bosom.

“This little fellow? He’s such a little darling.”

“You hate cats!”

“I hate the one next door. This little fellow—he’s just so cute.”

Blinky upped the volume on his purring to the max.

“I suppose I’d better feed them.” I started towards my office.

“No need to feed this little angel. I’ve already fed him.”

Winky was sitting on my desk.

“Don’t you dare scratch that desk again.”

“Have you seen him?” he screamed. “He’s got that old bag twisted around his little paw.”

“He’s being nice. Maybe you should try it?”

“Nice? Are you kidding me? He’s not being nice, he’s pure evil. Don’t turn your back on him whatever you do.”

“Mrs V seems to like him.”

“She’s welcome to him. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when he tears out her throat and drinks her blood.”

“You’re crazy. Now do you want this food or not?”

I gave Harrison Scott a call and he agreed to see me straight away. Maybe my luck was changing.

Winky was still sulking and refusing his food, but I knew he’d eat it the moment I walked out of the office. Blinky was still on Mrs V’s lap, purring contentedly.

“I’m going to see Harrison Scott. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Jill! Wait a minute!” Mrs V put Blinky gently down onto the floor. “I almost forgot. This came for you earlier.” She took a small package out of her desk drawer.

It was from Aunt Lucy and the twins. The type-written card read ‘Welcome to the family and thanks for helping in Cuppy C’.

I really loved my new family—even Grandma. Okay, maybe not Grandma.

I normally preferred vinyl, but the Ipod, which they’d bought for me, would be great for listening to music in the car. Harrison Scott, the understudy, lived on the other side of town, so I’d have time to listen to a few of my favourite tracks while I was en-route.

BEEP! BEEP!

I managed to steer away just in time. Another second and I’d have ploughed into the on-coming traffic. I pulled into the side of the road; my heart was racing. I must have fallen asleep at the wheel. All of this switching between worlds must have taken more of a toll on me than I’d realised.

Chapter 8

I was so shaken up by my near miss that I called Harrison Scott and asked if we could reschedule our meeting. He was very understanding, and agreed to meet with me the next day instead. I dread to think how I must have sounded on the phone—he probably thought I was drunk, or high. I drove home at a snail’s pace, climbed straight into bed, and slept through until eight o’clock the next morning.

I decided to take a leisurely breakfast. My rescheduled meeting with Harrison Scott wasn’t until ten. Normally I’d have called in at the office first, but instead I left a message for Mrs V on voicemail to tell her I wouldn’t be in until the afternoon.

Tea and toast, with lots of jam. Just what the doctor ordered. Just one problem—no bread! There was cereal aplenty, but I had my heart set on two, or maybe even three slices of toast oozing with butter and covered in strawberry jam.

The early morning sun made for a pleasant walk to the shops. Maybe I’d have my breakfast out on the patio. While I was in the shop, I noticed that custard creams were on a BOGOF offer, so I bought four packets. Today was going to be a good day—I could feel it in my bones.

Spoke too soon.

“Morning, Jill.” Mr Ivers ambushed me as I was unlocking my door. “I hoped I might bump into you.”

Mr Ivers was one of my neighbours—a movie buff who had been known to bore people to death.

“I’m kind of busy right now,” I said.

“This won’t take a minute.”

My hands were full of bread and custard creams, so I couldn’t push the door closed behind me.

“I have to go to work in a minute.”

“Me too,” he said. “I have to be there for nine, but like I said, this won’t take long.”

By the time I’d unpacked my groceries, Mr Ivers was ensconced on the sofa.

“I’m starting a newsletter,” he said.

“That’s nice.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

A good host would have offered him breakfast or at least a drink. I pretended he wasn’t there, in the hope that he’d take the hint—fat chance.

“You probably know that I like to go to the cinema.”

“I think you’ve mentioned it.” A gazillion times.

“So, I have a pretty good handle on most of the new movies.”

“Right.”

“So, I got to thinking. What if I started a newsletter where I review all of the films that I see, so that others can read my take on them?”

“Don’t they have that kind of thing on the Internet?”

Mr Ivers pulled a face as though he had a bad smell under his nose. “I don’t do the Internet. You can’t trust it.”

“So how are you going to email out the newsletter?”

“I won’t be emailing it. I’ll print and hand-deliver it.”

“So, you’re going to hand-deliver the newsletter every month?”

“Every two weeks.”

Even better. Where do I sign?

“And it’ll only cost three pounds,” he said.

“Per year?”

“Per issue.”

“How many people have signed up for it so far?”

“I only started canvassing yesterday.”

“Right. So how many?”

“Most people are very busy; it’s difficult to catch them.”

“Right, so how many?”

He checked his notepad. “One.”

“Would that one be you?”

“Yes, but as soon as people see what they’re going to get for their money, the numbers will rise. Look!”

“What’s that?”

“This is the first newsletter. Let me show you.” He patted the seat next to him on the sofa.

As I saw it, I had two choices: Curl up on the sofa next to the world’s most boring man and listen to him drivel on about every film he’d seen in the last two weeks or—.

The spell worked a treat. Mr Ivers was fast asleep—his newsletter was on the sofa beside him. I took my cup of tea and jammy toast out onto the patio, where I enjoyed the early morning birdsong. This was the life.

By nine-thirty, I’d changed and was ready to leave.

“What?” Mr Ivers jumped when I shook his shoulder.

“It’s nine-thirty.” I pointed to the clock.

“Nine thirty?”

I had to stifle a laugh when I saw the panic-stricken look on his face. “You fell asleep.”

“I’m late,” he said, as he gathered up his notebook and newsletter.

“Bye, Mr Ivers.”

“What about the newsletter? You didn’t sign up.”

“Can’t be all that good if it sent you to sleep, can it? See ya.”

Another bullet dodged.

I still had plenty of time, so I gave Aunt Lucy a call.

“Hi, Jill, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, thanks.”

“When are you coming over again?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve got a big case on at the moment, but I’ll get over there as soon as I can. Have there been any more developments on the Candlefield Cup?”

“Nothing. The two sides are still throwing accusations back and forth.”

“Hopefully, I’ll be able to help when I get back there. Anyway, the reason for my call was to say thank you to you and the twins, for the Ipod. You didn’t have—”

“What Ipod?”

“The one you sent me for helping out in the tea room?”

“I didn’t send it.”

“Maybe the twins did?”

“I’m certain they didn’t.”

“It came to my office yesterday. I was listening to it when—”

My blood ran cold.

“Jill? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I just—”

“What is it?”

“I was listening to it yesterday in the car when I fell asleep at the wheel and almost crashed.”

“The Dark One,” Aunt Lucy said.

I smashed the Ipod into a million pieces, and threw it in the bin.

Harrison Scott was a hipster/hippy hybrid. His glasses probably cost more than my car. No one should ever wear flip flops with fungus toe. He insisted on making me a cup of herbal tea, which I donated to the pot plant when he wasn’t looking.

“How did you and Bruce Digby get along?” I asked.

“I hated him.”

On the fence then? “Any particular reason?”

“He was talentless, obnoxious and overbearing.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Did you kill him?” Don’t ask, don’t find out.

“You get straight to the point. I like that. No, I didn’t kill him, but I admit I’ve often dreamed of doing it.”

“Do you have any idea who might have wanted him dead?”

“It would be easier to tell you who didn’t, but it looks like Milly beat us all to it.”

“You think she intended to kill him?”

“Milly is a lovely person, but she’d fallen for Digby’s ‘charm’.”

“You knew about their affair?”

“It was an open secret. She was pretty torn up when he ended it.”

“Do you know for sure that he was the one who ended it?”

Harrison nodded. “Milly told me.”

“Do you know why?”

“She didn’t say. He’d probably moved on to the next in line.”

“Any idea who that might have been?”

“No. Pick any one from ten.”

“Have you had any run-ins with the law, Mr Scott?”

“Certainly not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you referring to the parking ticket fiasco?” He laughed. “Guilty as charged. You’ve been talking to Hargreaves, haven’t you?”

I shrugged.

“Of course you have. Only he would be petty enough to bring that up. Is that why you’re here? Did
he
tell you I murdered Digby?”

“He said you’d threatened to kill him.”

“I never actually threatened to kill him. I might have said I wished he was dead because I did. And I’m not sorry he’s gone.”

Before setting off back to the office, I gave Fiona Digby another call. I’d tried several times before, but hadn’t been able to get past her voice mail.

“Hello?”

“Mrs Digby?”

“Who is that?”

“My name is Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into the murder of your husband.”

“Isn’t that the police’s job?”

“Of course, but I often work alongside them.” Maxwell would kill me if he knew I’d said that.

“I’ve told the police everything I know.”

“If I could just have a few minutes of your time?”

“I’m busy today.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“I’m busy tomorrow.”

“How about next week? Any day, to suit you?”

She sighed. “Will it take long?”

“Ten minutes. No more. I promise.”

“Monday then. Midday.”

“Thank—”

She’d hung up.

“Did you get my voice mail?” I asked Mrs V when I got back to the office. Blinky was curled up, fast asleep, on top of the linen basket. She must really have taken a shine to him if she trusted him to be so close to her beloved yarn.

“I haven’t had time to check voice mail,” she said. “Something urgent came up.”

“To do with the Digby case?”

“The what?”

“The murder case I’ve been working on.”

“No, nothing like that. The lagoon blue has been discontinued.”

It sounded like some kind of code. The type of thing secret agents would say when identifying themselves.

‘The monkeys are high in the trees today.’

‘The lagoon blue has been discontinued.’

“Sorry?” I said. “Lagoon blue?”

She sighed and looked at me as though I was the stupidest person on planet earth. “Lagoon blue!” She held out the smallest ball of wool I’d ever seen. “I’m only three-quarters done, and they’ve discontinued it.”

I was slowly putting the pieces of this cryptic conversation together. “You’ve run out of blue wool—”

“Lagoon blue.”

“You’ve run out of lagoon blue wool, and now they’ve discontinued it.”

“So inconsiderate of them.”

“Couldn’t you use a different blue? One that was close to—?”

She gave me the kind of look she usually reserved for Winky.

“Sorry,” I said. “Silly idea. How come you didn’t buy enough before you started?”

“Normally I would have, but lagoon blue has been available for years. It never occurred to me that they’d sabotage me like this.”

Strong words, but who was I to argue. The world of wool was a mystery to me.

“I’ve phoned every shop I know.” She sighed. “No one has any.”

“That’s a shame.” It was hard to sound sympathetic when in truth I didn’t give a monkey’s.

“
You
could find some for me.” She looked at me, her eyes suddenly full of hope.

“Me? I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“You’re a private investigator, aren’t you? You find people and things.”

I’d once investigated a case of sheep rustling—did that qualify me? “I’m not sure I’d be any use.”

“Please, Jill. It’s an emergency.”

“You could always call wool search and rescue.” I laughed.

She didn’t.

“Sorry, bad joke. I’ll see what I can do. No promises though.”

Lizzie now had seven beanies. Either she got way too much pocket money or they were breeding.

“Kathy,
you
know about knitting, don’t you?” I said.

“I knitted a jumper—once—if that counts.” Kathy was picking up Lego again.

“Yeah, for Peter. I remember. I need your knitting expertise.”

“I don’t have any knitting expertise. Don’t you remember how the jumper turned out? One sleeve ended up longer than the other.”

“I thought that was deliberate.”

“Why would I make one sleeve longer than the other?”

“Peter
is
a funny shape.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Pete’s arms, thank you very much.”

“So where do you think I could I find some rare yarn?”

“Rare yarn? Have you been overdoing the custard creams again?”

“I’m serious. Mrs V has run out of lagoon blue wool, and thinks I’ll be able to source some.”

“Where?”

“That’s what I hoped you would know.”

“Sorry. Not a clue.”

“You’re a great help.”

“No problem. Anyway, enough of Mrs V and her wool. I have news.” A huge grin appeared on her face. I recognised that grin. It was the kind of grin that said she was about to drop me right in it. Like the blind date with the nose picker.