Wine, Witches and Song (The Everyday Witches of Wildham-on-Sea Book 1)

by Molly Milligan

  But I was mostly keeping an eye on Vin, who was also hesitating. He came to a complete stop outside Ron’s house. The large ironwork gates were closed. Vin made no move to ring the bell on the stone pillar. He let the paper drop from his arm to his hand and he held it tightly, almost crushing the paper in his fingers as he stared through the gates.

  I didn’t know if Vin had any musical talent, or had been in the folk music club, but his sister certainly had.

  Vin could have written the letter to the newspaper about Ron. Vin could be stirring up trouble or could, perhaps, be trying to frame Ron.

  Why? Either because he thought Ron was guilty ... or because Vin was guilty and wanted to deflect attention.

  I nodded to myself. There was a lot here to unravel. I didn’t go up and talk to Vin because it would have been stupid, and anyway, what would I say? I turned around and headed for home, deep in thought.

  MY MAIN THOUGHT WAS: how do I look into all this without actually officially investigating it, and getting in the way of the real police investigation, and worse than that – upsetting my sister? If I cross swords with her, she will have me for breakfast.

  One does not mess with an older sister. Everyone knows that.

  Especially when that older sister happens to have the powers of arrest.

  I realised, as I began the steep climb up the narrow street that led me home, that my hangover had quite gone, and I felt smugly proud of my turmeric-concoction. I was even starting to feel well enough to face some food. I was just mentally planning a bacon and egg sandwich when I noticed a vision in floaty purple jumping up and down outside my house, and waving at me.

  “Hi, Gloria.” She made me smile in spite of myself. She was uncontained good energy.

  “Jackie! How are you today?”

  “Fine, thanks. Yourself?”

  She smiled back at me, broadly, and her earrings jangled as she bobbed around. I got to my door and unlocked it. She didn’t seem inclined to leave so I invited her inside and offered her a cup of tea, which she readily accepted.

  “What’s the latest on the murder, then?” she asked as she made herself at home on one of the stools at the breakfast bar in my kitchen.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t caught the news yet today.”

  “I thought you were investigating it. I said before that you needed a project and we’d solve it together! We’re a team! I am so excited. Where are you up to with suspects? We should start writing this all down!” She looked around as if she was about to commandeer one wall of my kitchen to lay out a huge board of images and notes, like you see on crime dramas on the telly.

  “Steady on, now,” I said sternly, fearing for my paintwork. “We cannot get in the way of the police. We’ll be arrested ourselves.”

  “You saw a ghost. Are the police going to find out who that was? Do they have a supernatural division? I doubt it.”

  “That’s true.”

  I looked at Gloria.

  She looked back at me.

  She was all open-faced and bright-eyed, and had a look of eager expectancy about her whole being. She was spinning a plaited straw drinks coaster between her fingers, and tapping one foot on the rail of the stool. She was full of a drive to do more than merely exist. She was grabbing life by everything she could.

  She reminded me of how I thought I could be, before I settled into work and everyday life and minor witching. What was the last big magic I’d performed, apart from the scrying the other day? I’d spent the winter sorting out people’s chilblains. It was not a glamourous life.

  “Okay,” I said at last. “Let me tell you some stuff that I know about Vin Paston, and Ron Thompson...”

  She leaned forward eagerly as I filled her in on what Sandra and I had discovered. I explained about the anonymous letter, and the information from Alan the caretaker about the “weird” club at the community centre. I finished by telling her who I’d seen that morning.

  “Vin is definitely a suspect,” she said. “Especially if he was the other person seen following Will that night.”

  “I think he could have been. And he might have sent the letter.”

  “I wonder what it’s all about? Clearly there is a link between Vin and his sister, and also Will. Families,” she said with a smile. “Who’d have them, hey? How is your daughter, by the way? Doesn’t she have a big birthday coming up?”

  “Yes, she’s twenty-one on Friday.”

  “Wow! A biggie. I remember both of mine turning twenty-one. Leanne was in New York at the time. I missed her. At least you get to celebrate with your Scarlett!”

  “Yes. Would you like some cake?”

  “No, thank you. And she’s living in her own place, with her boyfriend, and has a job and is studying ... you must be so very proud.”

  “I am. Have a biscuit, perhaps?”

  Now it was Gloria’s turn to fix me with a stern glare. “Now, I am one of those people who are better at picking up on things after the conversation. You might have noticed I’m not very perceptive when I’m talking to people. That mess with Clare, for example. It was only when I got home and ran through the whole thing again in my head that I realised how rude I had been. I don’t know why I’m like this, but I am. I’ve always been this way. Tactless and oblivious. There it is.” She paused for breath. “However, sometimes I am able to tune into the moment, and right now, I think you’re avoiding talking about Scarlett. You’re not estranged and you don’t have any reason to be ashamed of her. So what’s the issue?”

  I looked out of the window at the rolling waves of the sea. When this house was claimed by the ocean, I’d have nothing left to pass on to my daughter.

  I said, in a small voice, “She’s not magical.”

  “I know. I’ve seen her. She came into the gallery once. She was the spit of you. Beautiful girl. So?”

  “But she is my only child,” I said. “She has to be a witch. My mother was a witch. So was her mother. The line is going to be broken. But maybe she’s just a late developer,” I added desperately. I could hear the pain in my own voice and I tried to talk more calmly. I didn’t want to make a scene in front of Gloria. “Magical talent reveals itself at one of the milestone birthdays, right? I was thirteen when it happened but my grandmother had been eighteen. She said that was because of rationing. Everyone developed more slowly. So maybe Scarlett will find her power when she turns twenty-one.”

  “Maybe,” Gloria said, kindly. And that kind voice broke me. I could hear that she was trying to be understanding and sympathetic, but she didn’t believe for one minute that my unmagical daughter was going to discover any real powers in four days’ time.

  “She’s not going to, is she?” I whispered.

  I was still facing out of the window. Gloria slithered off the stool in a rustle of synthetic fabric and came up to my side and put her arm around me. I didn’t mind the smell of patchouli. It reminded me of college, and being young again, and everything that my daughter was currently going through.

  “Will it be the end of the world if she isn’t a witch?” she asked me gently.

  “It will be the end of a line.”

  “And how is that important?”

  “I don’t know. It just feels that it is.”

  “She might have magical children herself,” Gloria pointed out.

  I stiffened. “Really? Do you think so?”

  “It could happen. But I don’t think you should focus on that, actually. It’s not important.”

  “I do feel like a selfish cow,” I admitted. “I know that the truly important stuff is about my daughter’s happiness, and health, and own choices. So why do I feel so bereft about this?”

  “I would say that bereft is the most accurate thing you’ve said,” Gloria told me. “You’re in mourning, aren’t you?”

  “Nobody’s died.”

  “No, you’re mourning the loss of a future that you thought you would see happening, but now you are realising it won’t happen. It won’t ever happen.
And you’re grieving for that loss. I think when I split up from my husband, half of my sorrow was based on that kind of feeling.”

  “You’re on good terms with him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes – that’s what made it harder. There was nothing bad that either one of us did. Neither of us was to blame. It just didn’t work, and my grief was to do with losing the future I had imagined we’d have. Much like you and Scarlett. She’s not a witch, Jackie.”

  I CRIED A BIT, AND mostly that was at my own selfishness for wanting my daughter to be something that I valued, as if she was not already the most precious thing in the world to me. Gloria was warm and listened as I tried to get my thoughts in a line, and somehow, the telling of it – my secret and my secret shame at my silly wishes – made me feel better.

  “If she had magic, life would be easier for her,” I said at one point, and Gloria just laughed at me, and I took a moment to really consider those words.

  Eventually we had talked at it from every possible angle, and I felt much calmer. I still had a sadness in me, and I guessed that I always would have, but now that I recognised it as a strange kind of grief, it was easier to bear.

  Name your enemies and your demons. It does make them easier to fight.

  “One thing I have to ask, though,” Gloria said as she got up to make a fresh pot of tea. She waved me back to my seat. “What does Scarlett think about all this?”

  “You mean, have I somehow added a heap of pressure on her about being magical, and will she now hate me and resent me as she knows she can’t live up to my expectations?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  I smiled wryly. “Oh, don’t worry. Scarlett doesn’t actually believe in magic. I sometimes wonder if that’s why the gift hasn’t revealed itself in her.”

  “Which makes you think that if she starts to believe – if you can prove it to her – she’ll find her talent?”

  “Ouch. But yes,” I said. “I suppose so.” I sighed heavily. “She says it’s all a mix of philosophy, the power of the mind, relaxation, herbalism and wishful thinking.”

  Gloria put a steaming hot mug of spiced herbal tea in front of me. “All those things are terrifyingly powerful,” she said. “And they make up probably ninety-nine per cent of magic.”

  “And the other one per cent?”

  “That’s us,” she said with a grin. “Come on. Buck up. What’s our next move?”

  OUR NEXT MOVE WAS TO get hold of Liam Oyaide.

  It was around four in the afternoon by the time we set out on our mission. We had decided that Will Howlett’s manager might have some insight into the murder or perhaps the relationship between Will and Charlotte. We knew he had been questioned by the police but I was pretty sure he would have been either charged or released by now. As I hadn’t heard that he’d been charged, it was a safe bet that he had been released, although he could be on bail pending further investigation. I wasn’t entirely sure how a murder case went, and I wished I’d listened more carefully to Bernie over the years.

  But we had prepared a little something to persuade the man to talk to us, if we could find him. I carried it in my bag. Hey, we are witches, right?

  We went first to the pub where we knew that Liam had argued with Will. Eric had run the White Horse in the middle of town for decades. He was a slender man, and a complete teetotaller. The pub did basic bar snacks and had a wide selection of real ales. He did not enjoy the tourist season. They brought in more money, but also more hassle. I often thought he should sell up and move to a little village pub – that would suit him much better.

  He greeted us with a limp, sad smile. “Hello, ladies. What can I get for you?”

  We ordered lemonades, and I asked him about Liam Oyaide.

  “Yes, he’s been staying here. He took one of our single rooms at the back. The budget one with the shared bathroom. I was surprised,” Eric said. “I thought everyone from London was made of money. Especially those in the music business. He dresses pretty smartish, you know.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Well, he’s packing up to leave, but I don’t think the police want him to go just yet. It’s a bit awkward. I don’t want the negative attention but I could hardly throw him out. He is technically innocent.”

  “Technically?” I said. “Do you think he’s guilty?”

  “Well, he’s guilty of something – ah! Well, here’s the man himself.”

  We all jumped, and I wondered if he had heard us talking about him. He came down the stairs to the side of the bar, from the residents’ area, and caught us staring at him.

  He rolled his eyes and sighed, and ordered a double whisky.

  He was very tall, and even more slender than barman Eric. He was very black with a shining bald head and a morose attitude. I suppose that anyone who had been questioned by police on a murder charge was going to be feeling down in the dumps.

  “Cheer up, love,” Gloria warbled. “You look like a dog’s just been sick in your shoe.”

  The comment was so random that we all relaxed a little. He didn’t raise a smile, but he did at least look in our direction.

  Gloria took his glance as an invitation to sidle a little closer to him. “You’re Liam Oyaide, right?”

  “Yeah.” He had a rich East London accent that reminded me of soap operas. “I guess I don’t blend in that well, right?”

  “I know everyone in this town,” she said.

  “That sounds like a threat.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that! Oh, you silly man.” She actually patted his forearm. I winced. This was like that business with Clare all over again. How could she get away with it?

  “Silly man?” he repeated, somewhat shocked.

  She just giggled at him. Somehow, that made it all alright. “So, tell me about that poor Will Howlett of yours.”

  “He is not – he was not mine.”

  “Oh, he was! Don’t you be shy, now. You’re a music guy, aren’t you? A manager? You’re something big in the music world, anyway.”

  “Are you for real?” he said. He looked over the top of her head and made direct eye contact with me. “Is she for real?” he asked me. “Are you her carer or something? Maybe it’s a joke?”

  “No, she’s genuinely just like this,” I explained. “All the time. I am so sorry.”

  “Man.” He shook his head and stared into his rapidly-diminishing drink.

  “Let me get you another,” Gloria said, and nodded at Eric.

  Liam turned and rested one elbow on the bar, and cocked his head to one side. “Why? Why you doing this? I don’t even know you, and you don’t know me, even if you do ‘know everyone’ in this town. I’m only here until ... until I can leave.”

  “Have another drink.”

  “Yeah, but why? Oh my days. You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you? Then you and her are going to have your wicked way with me or something? Is that what passes for entertainment in this place? I’ve seen The Wicker Man. I know that was Scotland but...”

  Gloria looked at me and said, in a low voice, “That’s an idea. Shall we?”

  “Gloria!” I screamed at the same time that Liam said, firmly, “No!”

  She shrugged it off. And he took the drink and had a large gulp of it. He set the glass down on the bar. “Okay, so what is your game then?”

  “We want to talk to you. You’re here all alone and it can’t be easy.”

  “Nah, you’re vultures, wanting to dig into the murder and that.”

  “Oh yes,” Gloria said. “That, too.” She smiled broadly.

  He was still shaking his head in disbelief but there was a beginning hint of a smile on his lips. The whisky, then, was doing its work.

  That would lay the path open to our secret weapon.

  “You pair are persistent, I’ll give you that.”

  Gloria thrust out her hand. “Gloria. And this is Jackie.”

  He took our hands in turn and said, “Liam, but you already know that. You la
dies not drinking?”

  “Are you buying?”

  “No.”

  Gloria shrugged and ordered three more whiskies from Eric. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Liam. “Steady now,” he said in a low voice.

  “Oh, if you can’t have a little fun on a Monday night, when can you?”

  “It’s not even night. It’s barely five o’clock. Normal people are still at work.”

  “Such rules don’t apply to us artistic types.”

  And so we proceeded to get poor Liam Oyaide very, very drunk.

  When he started on his third whisky, I slipped off to the ladies’ loos. I had drunk half my whisky and needed to get this spell started before I got drunk. I regretted accepting the drink from Gloria – after the previous night’s antics, I had already vowed to never drink again – but it was necessary to get into Liam’s good books and to not arouse suspicion. Well, okay, more suspicion.

  I locked the door of a stall and set out my paraphernalia on the shelf at the back where there was a stock of spare toilet rolls and a dish of pot-pourri. That was a lucky find. It meant I could pretty much conduct a whole ritual here. I hadn’t intended to, but I realised I could cobble something together.

  I’d never done a magic spell in a public lavatory before. I wouldn’t recommend it, in all honesty. It’s a little cramped and the comings and goings of other people make chanting a bit precarious.

  I lit the small tea-light and set it at south, using my phone to check which direction was correct. It was actually an app for Muslim worshippers to always find Mecca, but I found it pretty useful myself. The pot-pourri became air for the east, and a small bottle of water was west. I always carried a refillable bottle. I could have used the toilet bowl itself, but I do have standards.

  I had to dash out into the sink area to scoop a little earth out of a pot plant that was placed by the sinks, and I took that back into my stall to stand for north.