Witch Is When the Floodgates Opened

by Adele Abbott

  “Is that the vase which was stolen?”

  “It is, but do you see anything else you recognise? In the background?”

  Terry looked a little closer. “That’s my plate.” He tapped the photo with his finger. “I had no idea it used to belong to Sir Cuthbert.”

  “Surely you must have seen it in the house?”

  “I spend most of my time in the kitchen. The only time I go into the house is when Lady Phoebe wants to discuss menus with me.”

  “Could I ask how you acquired it?”

  “I buy most of my pieces from the same two or three shops. That particular item I bought from Antony’s Antiques.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “In Winminster, about fifty miles from Washbridge.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how much you paid for it?”

  “Not at all. It was just over three thousand pounds.”

  “Thank you very much for your help. I’ll be in touch.”

  “What about the plate?” Terry said. “Was it stolen too? If so, I have to return it to Sir Cuthbert.”

  “Hold on to it for now. I’ll be in touch when I know more.”

  Chapter 12

  I’d no sooner got back to my flat than there was a knock on the door. I didn’t want to see Betty again because she was obviously annoyed at me, and I definitely didn’t want to see Mr Ivers. I’d had enough of him to last me a lifetime. But what if it was Luther? I thought we’d hit it off rather well. I’d better check just in case.

  “Kathy?”

  “Gee, Jill. Don’t look so pleased to see me.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Which of your many men friends were you expecting?”

  “I don’t have many men friends.”

  “I suppose it all depends on your definition of many. In my book any more than one is many.”

  “Did you want something?”

  “To be invited in would be a good start.”

  “Sorry, come on in. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “That would be great, and a few custard creams wouldn’t go amiss.”

  I made tea for us both, and we settled down in the living room.

  “So what brings you here?”

  “I actually came to have a moan about your grandmother.”

  “I did warn you that going to work at ‘Ever’ was a bad idea.”

  “I’m beginning to think you were right. I don’t mind hard work, but she keeps coming up with all these new initiatives, and then leaves me to run them. And now, she’s in the back office all the time, busy with her election campaign. I didn’t even realise there was an election in Washbridge.”

  “Why don’t you tell her you want more money for all the additional responsibility?”

  “I did.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She laughed at me.”

  “You could always threaten to resign.”

  “I don’t want to quit. I like the job, and the money’s okay. It’s just that she drives me mad.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  We spent the next half an hour pulling Grandma to pieces, and talking about all the things we’d like to do to her.

  “There’s an arts and crafts show next week,” Kathy said. “Lizzie’s going to take some of her beanies.”

  “Please don’t tell me she’s taking the Frankenstein ones.”

  “They’re hybrids. They show a vivid imagination.”

  “They show a warped mind, if you ask me.”

  “We’re not sure which one to enter: the donguin or the kangadillo.”

  “Why don’t you teach Lizzie to knit? She could make a scarf or a hat. That would be a nice thing to enter into the competition. People will think there’s something wrong with her when they see those beanies.”

  “I’d rather she had a vivid imagination than be so uptight that she spent all of her time cataloguing them, and arranging them in alphabetical order, like you used to do.”

  Kathy stared at the empty plate. “Are there any more custard creams?”

  “No, sorry,” I lied. “Those were the last ones.”

  I thought Kathy would never go. What? Of course, I loved her, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t pleased to see the back of her sometimes. And besides, I was desperate for a custard cream. I’d kept three hidden in the Tupperware box because Kathy would have scoffed the lot.

  I’d just taken the box out when there was another knock at the door. Oh, no! Had she forgotten something? I quickly slid the custard creams under the sofa.

  No one was there; the corridor was deserted. I stepped outside. “Ouch!” What the—? Something had stung my bare foot. I looked down, and there on the carpet was some kind of slimy creature.

  A jellyfish!

  Someone had put a jellyfish on the floor, right outside my front door. And I knew who. There was only one person in the building who had an unhealthy obsession with sea creatures, and that was Betty Longbottom. The evil little fiend! This had to be her idea of revenge because she’d seen me come out of Luther’s flat. It was hardly my fault that Luther found me irresistible. She should get back with Norman; he was perfect for her.

  Ouch! It really stung. Just wait until I saw Betty again; I’d have a few choice words to say to her. Now, how do you treat a jellyfish sting? I’d better go check on Google.

  What? No! Surely that couldn’t be right.

  ***

  Mrs V looked perplexed when I arrived at the office.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Jill. I did tell them they should wait until you arrived, but—”

  “Who’s they? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t really know. It’s all very strange. Perhaps you should take a look.”

  I could just about squeeze through the door. My office was full of equipment. There were lighting stands, reflective screens, and a tripod with a camera on it. The photographer and his assistants had all their attention focussed towards the leather sofa where Winky was sitting.

  “What’s going on?” I shouted.

  The photographer turned to me. “Do you mind?”

  “Pardon me, I’m so sorry. Who are you, exactly?”

  “I’m Dartagnan.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny. Now, what’s your real name?”

  “That is my real name.”

  “And are these two the other musketeers?”

  “Huh?” He looked confused.

  “Dartagnan—musketeers?” No? Just me then.

  “This is Elizabeth and Eliza, my two assistants. We’re here to photograph Winky.”

  “But why?”

  “I’ve been commissioned to work on the new Children’s Eye Patches catalogue, and Winky has been kind enough to offer to model a new range which has been specifically designed for the pet section.”

  “Is there a pet section in the Children’s Eye Patches catalogue?”

  “There will be, and that’s mainly down to Winky. I understand from the owners of the company that other cats have seen Winky on FelineSocial, and as a result, that side of the business is now booming. That’s why they plan to launch a new catalogue, with an additional section, specifically for pets. And Winky has kindly agreed to model the new range.”

  “When you say he’s agreed to do it? How exactly did he do that? He’s a cat.”

  “I believe it was all arranged by email. With his owner, I assume.”

  Winky had been at my computer again.

  “Is he getting paid?”

  “Err—well, that’s nothing to do with me. That’s between him and the owners of Children’s Eye Patches.”

  “I only ask because I am his agent.”

  Winky gave me a look.

  “I negotiate all his contracts: book sales, film rights, modelling eye patches—”

  “Sorry, I didn’t realise. Well, as I said, you’ll have to take it up with the owners of the company.”

  “Trust me, I will. I have to look after the
interests of my client.”

  I spent the next fifty minutes watching Winky modelling a number of eye patches. Some of them were quite fetching. I particularly liked the red and black striped limited edition.

  ***

  The nearest car park to Antony’s Antiques was about a quarter of a mile away, but it was a beautiful day and I wasn’t in a hurry. I hadn’t walked far when I heard a commotion. A cat came sprinting around the corner, closely followed by four dogs. The poor thing looked terrified. I watched it run down an alleyway with the dogs in hot pursuit. I followed and saw that it had come to a halt with its back to a wall. The alleyway was a dead end, and the walls were way too high for it to jump over. It was well and truly cornered. The pack of dogs was moving towards it—barking, teeth bared. The cat’s fur was on end; its tail raised. It was spitting at the dogs, but I could tell by the look in its eyes that it was terrified. Any second now, one of the dogs would pounce, and then they’d all attack. I glanced around to make sure there was no one around, and then cast the ‘illusion’ spell. Suddenly the dogs stopped in their tracks, and instead of barking, they began to whimper, as they slowly backed away. When one of them turned tail and ran, the others followed. They’d all seen a lion roaring at them.

  The cat looked stunned.

  “Here pussy, pussy, pussy.” I put my hand out to stroke it, but it scratched me, and ran away. Charming, but then if anyone should know better than to expect gratitude from a cat, it should be me.

  Antony’s Antiques was a small shop in a street full of similar shops. This was apparently Winminster’s antiques quarter. As I walked through the door, a bell rang, and a funny little man with long grey hair in a ponytail came scuttling out.

  “Good morning. How can I help you?”

  “Are you Antony?”

  “I prefer Tony.”

  “Oh right. It’s just that the sign says—”

  “Ah yes. My partner’s name is Ann, Ann Jessop. We combined our names: Ann and Tony to make Antony. See?”

  “Err—yeah.” Clear as mud.

  “So, how can I help you, young lady?”

  “My name is Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into the theft of a vase from the home of Sir Cuthbert Cutts.”

  “Oh yes. I know Sir Cuthbert and his wife, Lady Phoebe.”

  “May I show you a picture of the vase?”

  “Certainly, but I must stress that we are very careful about checking the provenance of all the items we sell.”

  I showed him the photo.

  “I haven’t seen anything like that.”

  “What about the item in the background?”

  “The plate? Yes, I do recognise that. In fact, I sold it to one of the employees from the Hall. Terry Brown, the chef.”

  “Can you tell me how you came by it?”

  “Of course. It was sold to me by Lady Phoebe herself.”

  Something very strange was going on here.

  ***

  It was tambourine day at Coffee Triangle. It had been ages since I’d shaken one, so I thought why the heck not? I’d treated myself to a latte and a blueberry muffin. What? I had to keep my strength up; it took a lot of energy to shake a tambourine. Although I say so myself, I had been one of the better tambourine players at school, and I still had the knack. I’d just finished shaking it when I heard a familiar voice. Jack Maxwell? What was he doing here? I peeked around the side of the booth, and there he was. I was about to go over and join him for a tambourine duet when I realised he was with someone. A very attractive redhead. Before I could duck back out of sight, he spotted me, and came over.

  “Hi, Jill. Are you here for a quick shake of a tambourine?”

  “Tambourine? I had no idea they even did that sort of thing,” I lied. “It all seems a little silly. I just came in for a coffee.”

  “It’s great fun. You should come here on a Friday. It’s drum day.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve heard quite enough drumming lately from my nephew, Mikey. Look, I don’t want to keep you, Jack. I can see you’re with someone,” I said, pointedly.

  “That’s Deirdre. She’s the paranormal consultant I told you about.”

  “The one that you didn’t want to waste your time on?”

  “I did say that, didn’t I? To be honest, I’m becoming a bit of a convert. Deirdre isn’t your normal run-of-the-mill paranormal consultant.”

  “Why? Because she’s attractive, and has big boobs?” Had I really said that out loud?

  “How shallow do you think I am?”

  “You’re a man—of course you’re shallow.”

  “If you must know, Deirdre and I were discussing dancing.”

  I laughed. “Is that what you call it?”

  “It’s true. We share a common interest in dance.”

  “You mean you like to boogie?”

  “Not that kind of dancing. Ballroom dancing. You know: waltz, quickstep, foxtrot, that kind of thing.”

  “You? Ballroom dance?”

  “Sure. Why not? I actually have medals for it, and it turns out so does Deirdre.”

  “Me too,” I lied.

  “Really?”

  “Heck yes. Dozens of them. I’ve lost count.” Before he could press me for details, I figured I should steer the subject away from dancing. “So? You buy into this paranormal mumbo jumbo now, do you?”

  “More than I did. I guess that’s down to Deirdre. She’s brought a very scientific approach to bear on the investigation.”

  “I just bet she has.”

  “You shouldn’t scoff. Just because you don’t understand something, it doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

  “You’ve changed your tune!”

  “That’s down to Deirdre. She’s made me see there’s more to this world than we can see, hear or smell.”

  “Smells fishy to me,” I said under my breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m very pleased for the two of you. I’m sure you be very happy together. Anyway, I have to go. I have cases which aren’t going to solve themselves.”

  I watched him walk back over to Deirdre. What? Of course I wasn’t jealous. Jack and I were just friends. He could see whoever he wanted. If he chose to waste his time on a redheaded bimbo with big boobs, that was his business. I was totally cool with it. Totally.

  Chapter 13

  I had a meeting arranged with Sir Monty and Lady Bunty who were close friends of Sir Cuthbert and Lady Phoebe. According to Sir Cuthbert, their knowledge of the local antiques trade might prove useful.

  Their house, which was a few miles to the north of Washbridge, was surrounded by extensive grounds through which ran a narrow road. I left my car around the back of the house in what was clearly the staff car park. The cars parked there were in stark contrast to those on the front where I’d spotted a Rolls Royce, a Bentley and several sports cars. I understood, from what Sir Cuthbert had told me, that Sir Monty was something of a collector of cars.

  I was greeted at the door by a butler, who told me his name was Arbuthnot, but that I should call him ‘Not’.

  “This way, madam,” he said. “Sir Monty and Lady Bunty are expecting you. They’re in the green room.”

  “Thank you, Not.” Huh?

  He led the way up a grand staircase, and along a corridor resplendent with paintings and tapestries.

  “Here we are, madam.”

  I was a little confused because the green room turned out to be predominantly purple.

  “Miss Gooder!” A short, elderly man with a monocle and a walking stick, hobbled towards me. Behind him, seated on a chaise longue, was an elderly lady dressed in what I can only describe as lots of feathers. I assumed it was some sort of housecoat, but the overall effect was that she looked like she’d been swallowed by an ostrich.

  “Pleased to meet you, Sir Monty,” I said.

  “Likewise, my dear. Sir Cuthbert said you’d be calling. This is my wife, Lady Bunty.”

  The ostrich got up and
came over to shake my hand.

  “Now,” Sir Monty said. “Before we start, would you like a glass of sherry?”

  “Could I possibly have a cup of coffee instead, please?”

  “Of course. Milk and sugar?”

  “Milk and one sugar, please.” I thought it best not to confuse him with fractions.

  ‘Not’ was despatched to fetch the drinks.

  The elderly couple were charming. Sir Monty was as mad as a box of frogs, and Lady Bunty was only a couple of tadpoles behind him. But they knew their antiques, and seemed to be familiar with the pieces owned by Sir Cuthbert and Lady Phoebe.

  “Have you had anything go missing yourselves?” I asked. “Any break-ins?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Lady Bunty said. “We have a very good security system here. I’m rather surprised that Cuthbert has had this problem. I assume it’s an inside job.”

  “We’re not sure at the moment. Do you often socialise with Sir Cuthbert and Lady Phoebe?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘often’. We see them about twice a year. No more than that. But then we did see—”

  “Bunty!” Sir Monty snapped.

  At that precise moment, we were interrupted by the return of ‘Not’ with my coffee.

  “Please go on, Lady Bunty,” I said. “If you think it would help?”

  “She really shouldn’t have said anything,” Sir Monty said. “I hope we can rely on your discretion?”

  “Of course. Anything you tell me will be treated in the strictest confidence.”

  “Bunty and I went to Ascot for Ladies Day. On our way back home, we stopped off at one of our favourite restaurants, the Tudor Fox in Winminster. Do you know it?”

  I shook my head—it was probably way above my pay grade.

  “As we were making our way from the car park, we spotted Phoebe Cutts coming out of an antique shop.”

  “Yes.” Bunty picked up the story. “I was just about to call to her when I realised—” She hesitated. “She wasn’t with Sir Cuthbert. She was with a much younger man. He’d been waiting outside the shop for her.”