Witch Is Where Rainbows End (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 40)

by Adele Abbott

  “I don’t know, but I do know there’s no way I can afford to pay what they’re asking. I can barely afford to pay the current charge.”

  “Neither can I. I would have to go back to working as a mobile dog groomer.”

  “I’m going to have a word with these jokers.”

  “Will you let me know how you get on?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks, Jill. I’d better get back because I’m halfway through shampooing a Westie.”

  As soon as Farah had left, I called the number on the letterhead, and got the obligatory automated answering system.

  “Thank you for calling Robert Bear & Associates. Your call is very important to us.”

  Translation: We couldn’t give a fig about you or your call.

  “We are receiving an unusually high volume of calls at the moment, but most of your questions will be answered on our website, www.wecouldntgivea.fig.”

  Translation: We still don’t give a fig about you.

  “If you wish to stay on the line, we will be with you as soon as we can.”

  Translation: Zero figs given here.

  That was followed by hold music, which was so bad that I would have preferred to listen to jazz. Every few minutes the music halted, and for a brief moment, there was the hope that I might actually get to speak to a human being. That hope was soon dashed though.

  “All our operators are busy at the moment. Please stay on the line and we’ll be with you as soon as possible. Your call is very important to us.”

  No translation necessary.

  I put up with this nonsense for almost fifteen minutes while getting progressively angrier and angrier.

  And then the line went dead.

  Aaaaaaarrrggghhh!

  I was just about to throw my phone through the window when it rang. Was it possible they’d seen my missed call and were ringing me back?

  Of course not.

  “Auntie Jill?”

  “Hi, Mikey.”

  “You left me a message to call you.”

  “Yeah, thanks for getting back to me. I wanted to ask you a favour.”

  “Err—right?”

  “You’re into social media and all that stuff, aren’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “Winky has gone missing, and I wondered if you knew how to put a post on—err, wherever it is you put a post—so that if anyone sees him they contact me.”

  “Sure, no problem. Do you have a photo of him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you know how to send it to me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Okay. Let me have it and I’ll get the post up in the next few minutes.”

  “Great. I’ll send it straight away.”

  “Later.” And with that, he ended the call.

  Which photo of Winky should I send to him? I had so many. Probably not the one of him dressed as a pirate.

  “Mrs V, I need a favour.”

  “Of course, dear. How much did you want to borrow?”

  “Err, no, I don’t need any money. I need some legal advice.”

  “I’ll do my best, but my expertise is more in the yarn sphere.”

  “I actually meant from Armi.”

  “You realise he’s retired. He’s no longer a practising lawyer.”

  “I know he can’t act in an official capacity, but I wondered if he might be able to give me some advice. Informally.”

  “I’m sure he will if he can. Are you in trouble with the law again?”

  “Nothing like that. Apparently, we have a new landlord who wants to raise the rent by twenty-five per cent. That’s why Farah came over.”

  “That’s outrageous. Can they do that?”

  “That’s what I need Armi to tell me because if that increase stands, we’ll have to move out, and I have no idea where we’ll go.”

  “We can’t allow that to happen. This office is like my second home. I’ll have a word with Armi tonight.”

  “Thanks. Oh, and by the way, I’ve asked my young nephew to put up an announcement on social media asking that if anyone spots Winky, they get in touch with me.”

  “Why would you go and do that?”

  “Because I’m worried about him.”

  “That cat is more than capable of looking after himself.”

  “I just wanted to warn you in case someone gets in touch to say they know where he is.”

  Chapter 16

  If Doug Duggan, the now deceased manager of Candlefield Lido, had been able to uncover who was behind Reptile Holdings, surely a super sleuth such as myself should be able to do the same.

  What do you mean, you wouldn’t bank on it?

  Unfortunately, it would mean a trip to the Candlefield Library archives—not exactly one of my favourite places. To fortify myself ahead of my visit to that dusty basement, I decided to call in at Cuppy C.

  These days, the twins never seemed to be behind the counter. Today, they were both huddled around a table close to the window.

  “Hey, Jill!” Pearl was the first to spot me. “Come and join us.”

  “What are you two planning?”

  “Do you remember we told you we were trying to figure out what to do with the space upstairs?” Amber said.

  “I do.”

  “We’ve come up with our best idea ever.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “We really have this time,” Pearl insisted. “Wait until you hear it.”

  “Go on, then. I’m all ears.”

  “They aren’t all that big,” Amber quipped, and the two of them fell into hysterics.

  “If you’re going to tell me, you’d better be quick about it because I have to go to the library in a few minutes.”

  “Corks,” Pearl said.

  “Corks?”

  “That’s right. Corks.”

  “I’m probably being dense, but I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Did you know Mum collects them?” Amber said.

  “I didn’t until a few days ago. Apparently, she gives some of them names?”

  “She’s always done that.”

  “And you don’t find it a bit weird?”

  “I might. You might. But all the corkers do that kind of stuff.”

  “Corkers?”

  “That’s what they call people who collect corks.”

  “That’s a stupid name.”

  “What do you think, Jill?”

  “About what? You haven’t actually told me what you’re planning on doing.”

  “Oh yeah.” Amber giggled. “We’re going to open a cork museum upstairs.”

  “This is a wind-up, right?”

  “Of course not. Corkers will come from all over Candlefield to see it, and while they’re here, they’ll buy lots of food and drink.”

  “Hmm, I’m not convinced.”

  “You haven’t heard the best part yet.”

  “Which is?”

  “It’s not going to cost us a penny to set this up. We’ll just use all of Mum’s corks.”

  “And Aunt Lucy is okay with that?”

  “We haven’t actually mentioned it to her yet, but she’s bound to agree. She loves to show off her collection.”

  “You’ll still need to ask her.”

  “We will. We’ll do it this afternoon.”

  “And when will the cork museum open?”

  “If all goes to plan, it should be open within a couple of weeks.”

  ***

  Have I ever mentioned that I hate the Combined Sup Council? Well, I do. With a burning passion. Several years had passed since I was, for a very short time, a member of that esteemed institution. During my time on the council, I had tried without success to persuade them to introduce the internet to Candlefield. Since then, nothing had changed—still no internet, which meant the only way to access the archives of The Candle newspaper was by going to the library. Maybe they had introduced microfiche since my last visit—I could always
hope.

  As I approached the information desk, it appeared to be deserted, but then an elf appeared. Then disappeared. Then reappeared.

  “Hi, can I help?” he said in-between bounces.

  A glance over the counter revealed that he had large springs attached to his feet.

  “Hi. I need to take a look at old copies of The Candle. I don’t suppose you’ve transferred them to microfiche, have you?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He sighed. “That’s a particular bugbear of mine. I pushed very hard for them to do it, but the money doesn’t stretch that far.”

  “Are the papers still in that dusty basement?”

  “I’m afraid so. We have made one improvement, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’ve purchased a new chair. It’s much more comfortable than the one that used to be down there.”

  “Great.”

  The chair might have been more comfortable than its predecessor, but it was already covered in dust. By now, I was very familiar with the way that copies of The Candle were stored, so I set about checking all those published in the last twelve months, which was no mean feat when your nose was being assaulted by clouds of dust. I was hoping to find some mention of Reptile Holdings, but I wasn’t optimistic. By way of a backup, I also kept a lookout for any articles relating to controversial new property developments during that same period.

  I’d only been at it for a few minutes when someone coughed. I’d assumed I was alone in the basement—no one else was crazy enough to be down there. When I glanced around, I couldn’t see anyone. Maybe I’d imagined it.

  “Excuse me.” The tiny voice seemed to come from down near my feet. It was only when I leaned forward that I saw the tiny dust-covered creature.

  “Hi.”

  “You’re sitting in my chair,” he said.

  “Who are you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m Barry.”

  “I have a dog called Barry.”

  “Fascinating, I’m sure.” He yawned. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that you’re in my chair.”

  “Sorry.” I stood up. “I had no idea it was yours.”

  “Thank you.” With a huge leap, for someone so tiny, he jumped onto the chair.

  “Do you live down here, Barry?”

  “I do. For almost four years now.”

  “Are you a fairy?”

  “A fairy? Do I look like a fairy?”

  “You do, actually.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’ll have you know that I’m a sprite. A dust sprite to be precise.”

  “You’re definitely in the right place, then. There’s certainly plenty of dust in here. I’m Jill, by the way.”

  “What brings you down here, Jill? Are you a fan of dust too?”

  “Not really. I’m hoping to find some information from these back issues.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll help you.”

  “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. I enjoy a challenge. What are we looking for?”

  After I’d explained the purpose of my mission, he dived straight in. For such a little creature, Barry had no problems skimming through the newspapers. I’d given him half, and he was already further down his pile than I was.

  “What about this one?”

  Residents lose battle to keep community centre open.

  “Maybe.” The article certainly had similarities to the lido takeover. There too, no one knew who was behind the development, which had resulted in the community centre being demolished.

  “Hey, Jill, what do you think about dust?”

  “It makes me sneeze.”

  “I know. Great, isn’t it? You can’t beat a good sneeze. Is it dusty where you live?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “You’re welcome to move in down here with me if you like. There’s plenty of room as you can see. You’d have to bring your own chair, though.”

  “That’s very generous of you, but I couldn’t leave my family behind.”

  “I understand, but if you ever change your mind, the offer still stands.”

  It was almost an hour later when I came across another interesting article:

  Children’s nursery to close. Parents devastated.

  It was a similar story. An unknown company had bought the building, which had housed a popular nursery, and closed it down.

  “That’s me done,” Barry said. “I didn’t find any mention of Reptile Holdings.”

  “Me neither, but these two articles might be worth following up. Thanks for your help, Barry.”

  “It was my pleasure. Much as I love this basement, it can get a little lonely down here. Will you come and see me again?”

  “Maybe. It all depends what cases I’m working on.”

  Back at the car, I was just about to set off for home when I got a call from Jack.

  “Jill, can you pick up a box of muesli on your way in, please? I’ve just realised we don’t have enough for morning.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer Toffeecandy Pops?”

  “Positive. I’d nip to the store myself, but Wendy and Florence are playing in the garden, and I don’t like to disturb them.”

  “No problem.”

  ***

  “Hello, Jill,” Marjorie Stock was doing another crossword. So far, she’d filled in only two answers.

  “Hi, Marjorie. Have you just started that?”

  “No, I’ve been at it since early this morning. They’re much more difficult than they used to be. Take this clue for example: A seven letter word for an animal that lives in the water, beginning with an ‘O’. I thought it was an otter, but that’s too few letters.”

  “Octopus?”

  “Of course. You’re a genius, Jill. What about this one?”

  “I’d love to stay and help, Marjorie, but I need to get back home.”

  “Of course. Were you looking for something in particular?”

  “Jack asked me to pick up a box of muesli. I assume it’ll be under ‘S’?” For sawdust.

  “Under ‘S’? No, it’s in the ‘M’ section.”

  “Of course. ‘M’ for mush. I should have realised.”

  I grabbed a box and returned to the counter.

  Marjorie was still puzzling over the crossword. “Not East. Four letters beginning with a ‘W’.”

  “West, possibly?”

  “Of course. You’re really good at this, Jill. You should come to my crossword club.”

  “You’re in a crossword club?”

  “Yes. We meet every second Thursday in the month. Would you like to join me?”

  “Thanks, but I don’t really think it’s my scene.”

  “If you change your mind, let me know. We’re always on the lookout for new members, particularly someone with your talent.”

  It was only when I stepped out of the store that I noticed the greengrocers had a new sign: Oranges’ Oranges. Jack had been giving me a hard time recently about what he insisted was my unhealthy diet. Perhaps he had a point. Maybe I should eat more (or even some) fruit.

  The only customers in the revamped shop were two vampires who were eyeing the blood oranges. Behind the counter was a couple in their early thirties; they both had ginger hair and freckles.

  “Hi!” The man greeted me. “Welcome to Oranges’ Oranges.”

  “Hi. When did you take over the shop?”

  “Last week. I’m Craig and this is my sister, Gina. We’re the Oranges.”

  “Orange is your name?”

  “That’s right. Hence Oranges’ Oranges.”

  “I actually met a couple with the same surname several years ago.”

  “Really? It’s quite an unusual name. Maybe it was our parents?”

  “I’m just trying to remember their first names.”

  “Our mum’s name is Rosemary, and everyone calls our dad Pip.”

  “Pip, that was it
. Nice people.”

  “They are,” Gina said. “They helped us to come up with the money for this place. Where did you meet Mum and Dad?”

  “They came to ask me for help with their neighbour.”

  “Hang on,” Craig said. “Are you by any chance a private investigator?”

  “I am, yes.”

  “You’re the one who gave my mum the crystals coated with the anti-witch potion, aren’t you?”

  “I—err—”

  “It’s okay. It worked a treat. Dad and the two of us still laugh about it from time to time.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have billed your parents for it.”

  “Nonsense. Dad considers it some of the best money he’s ever spent, and Mum still swears by it. She’s adamant it’s the only reason she hasn’t had any more problems with her neighbour.”

  “In that case, I don’t feel so bad.”

  “It was only last week that she told me she was getting low on the crystals, so you might be getting another visit from her soon.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Anyway, what can I get for you? Sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Jill, and I’d like half a dozen of these oranges, please.”

  ***

  “Did you pick up someone else’s bag by mistake?” Jack said when he saw the oranges.

  “You’re still not funny. I got these from Oranges’ Oranges.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s the new name for the greengrocers.”

  “Since when?”

  “Last week, apparently.”

  “Bit of a weird name, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a brother and sister. Orange is their surname. And while I was getting your muesli, Marjorie Stock invited me to join her crossword club. She said they’re always on the lookout for exceptional talent like mine.”

  “Yeah, right.” He laughed.

  “I don’t know why you’re laughing. I’ve always had a natural ability for solving crosswords.”

  “Of course you have. Just like I’ve always had a natural talent for the high wire.”

  “Now you’re just being silly. Is Florence still outside with Wendy?”

  “Donna came to get Wendy ten minutes ago, but Florence is still out there. She’s really engrossed in something.”

  “I’ll go and say hello to her.”