I put a handmade bracelet from Gloria in the centre, and began to whisper a hail-and-welcome to the guardians of the four quarters.
I begged for their indulgence and their blessing, and began to weave a hasty rhyme to imbue the bracelet with the power of truth-telling.
Forcing someone to speak the truth is impossible. If we witches could really do it, we’d all be working for law enforcement agencies the world over. But it is possible to encourage someone to speak openly. It was about encircling them with trust – hence the bracelet, it was all about circles – and creating a safer space for them to feel comfortable in speaking honestly.
It wasn’t guaranteed to work but it was worth a shot. This spell, mixed with the alcohol and Gloria’s own stridently tactless brand of flirting, should have some effect.
I gave thanks to the spirits and bid them farewell in turn, and undid my makeshift circle, bit by bit, unweaving what was made but holding the power still in the bracelet, and finally I blew out the candle.
The shriek deafened me.
The whiff of smoke that curled up to the ceiling had been enough to trigger the smoke alarms.
I nearly broke my elbow in my panic to get packed away and out of the bathroom stall. I shovelled it all into my bag – including the pot-pourri, without thinking – and leaped out into the pub’s lounge. Eric came barrelling past me and glared.
“Since when did you take up smoking?”
Before I could answer he had gone into the ladies’, and reset the alarm. When he came out, I said, “Er, sorry about that. I’ve been under a lot of stress.”
“You can get help, you know.”
“For the smoking?”
“For the kleptomania. You’ve nicked my dried flower stuff.”
“Oh god, I am so sorry. I don’t know how that happened.”
I shot back in and emptied out my bag into the dish, picking out the random tissues and a lip balm that had been mixed in with the flowers, and by the time I rejoined Liam and Gloria, I was feeling hot, sweaty and red in the face.
“Don’t say a thing,” I hissed to Gloria.
“Oh, menopause,” she said back, rather too loudly. “We all understand.”
Liam was trying not to laugh by now. Any other man would have fled by this point, and I had to give him – or the whisky – credit that he had stayed, in spite of us.
I kicked her under the table. She managed not to squeal. Instead, like the professional witch that she was, she returned to our plan. “Oh! What a lovely bracelet.”
“Do you think so?” I spun it around on my wrist and then slipped it off, and handed it to her. She examined it and then put it on the bar. It sat in between us all. I could only hope that the spell would work.
Liam, slightly bleary of eye by now, looked at it. He didn’t comment on it. He looked ever so slightly confused, as if he couldn’t work out what he wanted to do next. It was tea time now, and some hardened afternoon drinkers were leaving the pub to find some food.
“Have you been to Wildham-on-Sea before?” I asked, bending all my will on the bracelet and what it now represented.
“Nah. First time. Last time, hopefully.”
“It’s a nice place.”
“Reckon? Yeah, if you’re not being held in a jail cell.”
“So why did you come up here?” I said, risking the outright question at last.
He was looking more relaxed than he had done all afternoon. He kept his eyes on the bracelet as he said, “I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead and all that, but that guy owed me money, you know?”
“Will Howlett?”
“Who else has died? Yeah, I’m talking about Will bleedin’ Howlett. That man was always more trouble than he was worth.”
“What did he do to you?” I asked in a low and sympathetic voice. Gloria stayed silent. She’d done her bit and now it was over to me.
Liam sucked his teeth. “Man, he was a liar and cheat. And I’m not saying I was innocent myself, you know? But what I did, I did for the greater good, you know what I’m saying?”
“What greater good?”
“Well, he needed an audience to attract an audience, you know? So I’m his manager and promoter and it’s down to me to do what needs to be done. When he was starting out, there weren’t that many people interested in coming to his gigs, so I paid them.”
“You paid people to be his fans? Did he know?”
“Yeah, well, he knew at the end. Yeah, he found out. But I reckoned that the more people came to his shows, then there’d be a buzz, and more people would come on their own account, cos they’d wonder what they were missing out on, see.”
“But where did you get the money from to do this?”
“Well, it was to do with his shows, so...”
“I see!” Gloria blurted out. I kicked her again.
I said to Liam, “You basically used the money that you should have given Will, and used it to provide him with a fake fan base.”
“Yeah, but I had the best of intentions. He was going to get it back. Eventually.”
“It’s fraud.”
“Hush! Keep your voice down, will you?”
“Here’s where I am confused,” I said. “You’ve used his money so why did you come up here after him?”
Liam looked down and gave an embarrassed cough. The bracelet was definitely doing its work, because he said, “Well, he did kinda find out, like I said. And he helped himself to what he thought he was owed. He spiked my drink and got into my safe and made off with a lot of it. I mean, like, most of it. And a lot of that money was for other bands I manage. They’re gonna want it back off me and I ain’t got it.”
“In cash?” I said in disbelief. “Cash?”
“Um, so there was cash and there was also my password to my online accounts.”
“One password, multiple accounts?” I said wearily.
“It’s easier.”
“Everyone knows not to do that.”
“What would you know about the internet, grandma?” he said. The bracelet might be working a little too much, I reflected. There was some honesty you didn’t need to hear.
I replied, snippily, “My generation invented the internet, actually. Anyway, that’s irrelevant. So he basically cleared you out of money. And did you tell all this to the police?”
He hung his head even further. “Nah, course not.”
“Why not? It’s a really obvious reason for why you and Will were arguing.”
“Yeah but it’s still a reason for murder, too, isn’t it? As well as giving me even more motive, it will ruin my business if it gets out. All the other bands I manage will ditch me, you know?”
“Without the money, you’re going to be ditched anyway.”
He put his head in his hands and groaned. “True, that. I’m screwed.”
I wanted to say something positive to him, but then I reminded myself he had caused this mess in the first place though his dishonesty.
“Karma bites, doesn’t it?” I said, and nodded at Gloria. He didn’t see, but she did. She picked up the bracelet and tucked it away.
“Jackie, look at the time! I think we need to stop bothering the lovely Liam and get home.” She patted his arm. “Don’t you worry. I am sure that the universe will deliver to you exactly what you have earned.”
He groaned again. He knew he was in for a rough time. And he knew it was his own fault.
Gloria leaned over the bar and paid Eric to make a strong coffee for Liam. We waved goodbye and headed back out into the rush-hour traffic.
“Well?” she said as we stood on the pavement.
“Well,” I replied. “Well, well, well.”
“Do you think he’s a murderer?”
“No. I think he’s a colossal idiot.”
“Me too. Fish and chips?”
“Go on, then. That bracelet spell really worked, didn’t it? I’ll speak to Bernie tomorrow.”
Chapter Seven
I think the Fates decided I
really did need to pay for all the drinking I’d been doing, and I was hit with a second hangover that evening. Perhaps it was just an extension of the first one. Whatever it was, it laid me low and I crawled off to bed quite early.
But the next morning, I was up and able to complete my morning walk, and I felt fresh and new again. I crunched along the shingle, and came to the spot where I’d found the body. The rocks had been dispersed now, and no one would know that it had happened here. I paused for a moment in reflection. I listened to the sea, as Evangeline had instructed. Was that a faint song? It was ripped away by the waves and the wind.
Will Howlett had been a complicated man and I was sure he had taken some secret to the grave with him.
But someone else also knew the secret. I shivered. I turned and looked across the sea, which was flat and smooth today. Evangeline Dot had been plaguing my dreams and I was convinced she was now cursing me. I’d have to go and speak to her soon. I had knots and warding spells all around my bed, so she couldn’t do me any real harm, but we witches were all supposed to be on the same side. It didn’t sit right with me that she had taken against me.
I had no idea why she would want to curse me, but perhaps she was just bored.
When I got home, I took my phone out onto the decking and gave Bernie a call. She picked up straight away, and I told her exactly what Liam had told us the previous night.
She grumbled with exasperation. “That’s what we were suspecting, but we didn’t know the details. He should have just told us.”
“But doesn’t it make him more of a suspect, like he said? He was worried you’d see it as a reason for him to kill Will.”
“Not really,” she said. “It explains the argument between them. But he was definitely not one of the people who followed Howlett that night. We have cleaned up the CCTV and we think, now, it was probably Ron Thompson and Vin Paston on it.”
“Working together?”
“It’s impossible to say.”
“Right. Oh,” I said. “Any word on that book?”
“It’s still being analysed. Now they’ve got it, they don’t want to give it back. Apparently the museums people are very excited. But I don’t think they get out much, so it doesn’t take a lot to excite them.”
“What do you know about fraud and the folk music club?” I asked.
“Good god, how can they be involved in any fraud? What, like a harp that is moonlighting as a guitar or something?”
“That doesn’t make sense. It’s not even funny.”
“I’m a police officer not a comedian. What fraud – oh, look, I’ve got to go.” Bernie’s voice wavered in and out for a moment. “Is it police-level fraud? Should I be properly concerned?”
“I don’t think so. And it’s historic, not current. I’ll find out more.”
“Good. While you’re investigating that, you’re not poking into the murder. Thanks for the Liam tip-off. I’ll be mad at you later about that.”
“What, why?”
“Because I am deeply suspicious of how you found all this out. Right now, I don’t want to know.”
Bernie ended the call abruptly.
I went back inside, sat down at my desk and started to work. I didn’t want to, but I had to. I had an email from an editor accepting a pitch I’d sent them about six months ago – suddenly my idea was relevant and “on message” to their magazine’s current focus. It was an article I’d proposed about a local care home which was partnering with farms to bring animals into the gardens for the residents to pet and look at. It would be a fun thing to write, so I spent a happy hour making phone calls and arranging to go out and talk to people about it. Many of the care home residents were ex-farmers or countryside folks, and they adored the sheepdogs and goats and even the hens that were brought in on a weekly basis. I was particularly tempted by the promise of a llama.
It was going to be a real feel-good story and just the thought of it made me smile.
I broke for lunch and then carried on until mid-afternoon. I sent some invoices and chased up some that were long-unpaid. Basically, I was doing everything I could to keep my mind occupied and off the matter of the murder.
It wasn’t that I was deliberately avoiding it, but I knew my subconscious would work better if I left it alone.
By around three in the afternoon, I had caught up with my work, and I took a break, with a cup of tea and a slice of toast out on my decking in the early spring sunshine. I listened to the sea – but it still had no message for me, in spite of Evangeline Dot’s odd urgings.
Liam had not killed Will. Nor had Ron. I was sure of it.
That left me with Charlotte and Vin Paston, either alone or together.
Unless there was another suspect out there, I thought. Damn. That would upset the whole thing.
It was quite probably Vin on the CCTV, Bernie had said. Even so, that wasn’t enough to convict him unless more evidence was found. “Probably” was no way to send someone down for murder. That was a task for the forensics people, not for me.
But I wanted to tease out the connections between the murderer and the victim. I wasn’t a fan of the frivolous use of magic – too much meddling for silly reasons will always bite you on the bum, eventually – but I felt I had a good reason for my next move. I could discover more connections, I thought, but first I needed a favour from a friend.
I called Sandra.
She agreed to my request, and I set out from my house, walking briskly with the fire of a new mission speeding me along.
I DECIDED TO WAIT UNTIL the sun had gone down. The chill and darkness of night time made my senses heightened. Don’t ever underestimate the power of things feeling “a bit creepy.” It’s a useful trick to get your mind into an otherworldly state, more open and receptive to strange things.
There was light rain now falling outside, so the ritual was going to have to be done in my kitchen. What? Yes, I am a fair-weather witch. It’s hard to focus when you’re shivering and rain’s dripping off the end of your nose. I turned off all the lights, and kept the curtains open. The low clouds cast a grey shadow over the paler sea, and it was not pitch black outside.
Sandra had been very helpful. I had asked her for the anonymous letter that had been sent to the paper. I didn’t tell her why – she would have been sceptical – but I intended to cast some paper magic to determine who had sent this letter, and if I was very lucky, why they had sent it.
Of course we could make guesses – spite, truth, a mixture of both – but I wanted to be sure.
Now I had the actual letter that had been sent, I could feel for the connections between it and its maker. There was only one problem – I had only ever performed this spell on hand-written notes before. I was half-afraid that all I’d get with this one, would be a strong psychic impression of a home printer.
Still, it was worth my best shot, and I laid out the four quarters on a mat I kept for the purpose of small, table-top rituals. I didn’t have any altar or shrine in my house – unlike Gloria, who had half a wall in her place dedicated to the god and goddess – but instead I would work my magic anywhere in my home.
I lit a small candle at each compass point, along with the items I was using to mark the places, and an extra candle, coloured red, at the south. I hummed as I worked and then welcomed the guardians to my circle. I laid out a braided rope around the circle to make a tight, secure space in which to place the letter.
I also had a piece of paper the same shape and size of the original one. I tore it into three and made it into a plait, concentrating hard as I worked.
Then I cupped my hands around the plaited rope of paper, and asked aloud for insight into who had made the letter that lay beneath the plait. I hadn’t spent any time working up a fancy rhyming chant, but I did have a cadence to my words, I suppose. Then I undid the plait, very slowly, while imagining the undoing of the secrets in the letter.
I stared into the central candle flame and let the visions come.
Vin Pas
ton’s face floated up. He stared right at me, with such a challenging directness that I went cold. His animosity to me broke my concentration and the vision faded quickly.
Vin Paston wrote the letter. Well, that made sense. I couldn’t tell anyone non-magical about this revelation. I knew they’d just say that I’d seen what I expected to see. I knew, deep in my heart, that Vin was involved in the murder so sceptics would say that seeing his face was only my mind confirming my existing bias.
I knew differently.
I undid the circle and thanked the powers for their help and attendance, and I went to bed very thoughtful indeed.
BERNIE CALLED ROUND at a ridiculous hour in the morning the next day. I was up, and about to head out of the door on my walk. She was looking tired, and I wondered if she’d been up all night.
“No,” she said, “but it feels like I have. This murder case is becoming a bag of snakes. Leads that look promising turn out to be dead ends. Other hints come out of nowhere. Evidence is totally lacking. Courtroom quality evidence, anyway. I’m unravelling.”
“Vin Paston is involved,” I told her. “Maybe with or without Charlotte. Or someone else, I don’t know. But he is involved.”
“I agree,” she said. “But we’ve interviewed the both of them, and there is nothing concrete to tie them to the actual murder.”
“What about that book?”
“Ah yes! You were right about it being the murder weapon, which has put us in something of a strange position.”
“How so? Come in, have a coffee.”
She agreed and followed me into the kitchen. “When an object has been identified as a murder weapon, we perform a whole barrage of tests on it, and it’s kept securely until the trial is over, at the very least. But then – especially in the case of guns and knives – we generally destroy them.”
“Of course. Sounds sensible.”
“But this book was used to knock Howlett unconscious. And it’s a priceless and unique mediaeval manuscript. We can’t just destroy it.”
“How was he actually killed?” I asked, steeling myself for the gory details.
Wine, Witches and Song (The Everyday Witches of Wildham-on-Sea Book 1) Page 8