Witch Is When the Floodgates Opened

by Adele Abbott

“A what?”

  “A book club. I don’t like books—they’re boring. I like to go for walks—to the park. And, I like eating. I’m not really bothered about books.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “The twins have moved him into the box room. He said I was making so much noise that he couldn’t concentrate on his reading.”

  “Okay, you stay here while I go and have a chat with the hamster. I’m sure we can sort this out.”

  The box room wasn’t really big enough to be a bedroom, so it was used for storage. I found the hamster’s cage on a shelf; he had company.

  “Hammy.”

  He sighed.

  “Sorry. I mean, Hamlet.”

  “Hello, Jill. What brings you here?”

  “I’ve just been talking to Barry.”

  “Really? That must have been a riveting conversation.”

  “Who are all of your friends?”

  There were five other hamsters sitting in a circle. Each of them was holding a book—rodent edition, obviously.

  “Just a few like-minded hamsters. We meet a couple of times a week. I suppose you could call it a book club. We like to discuss the merits of various novels. Today we’re discussing War and Peace. Are you familiar with it, Jill?”

  “Me? Err—well—it’s been a while since I—err—no.”

  He looked disappointed; I was beginning to understand how Barry felt.

  “Anyway, was there something else you wanted?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Right. Well, shut the door on your way out, would you?”

  “Sure. Okay. Bye, Hamlet.”

  ***

  I was doing my best to forget about the mess I’d made of the missing vase case. To cheer myself up, I’d helped myself to the largest blueberry muffin that Cuppy C had to offer, but it wasn’t helping. Maybe I was in the wrong career. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a P.I. after all. How could I have made such a stupid mistake? What would my father have thought? He would never have jumped in feet first like that. What made it worse was that I’d let the colonel down. He’d recommended me to Sir Cuthbert. What would he have to say when I saw him next?

  “Are you okay, Jill?” It was Daze. She was by herself today.

  “Hi, Daze. Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “You don’t look it. Mind if I join you?”

  “Sure. Have a seat.” Daze got herself a coffee, but resisted the muffins. Her willpower was obviously much stronger than mine.

  “What’s wrong?” she pressed.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it. Just a case gone bad, I messed up big time. Anyway, enough about me. How are things with you? When I saw you at the Punch and Judy show, you mentioned that you were after a rogue witch. What did you call her? Mona?”

  “Mona Lisa? Oh, yeah. We caught her.”

  “Is that her real name?”

  “No, of course not. I don’t actually remember what her real name is. She’s always been known as Mona Lisa because she has a particular skill set. She’s able to replicate works of art, so that they’re indistinguishable from the real thing. She plies her trade in the human world, and usually stays under the radar.”

  A little bell was ringing in the back of my head. “So what does she forge?”

  “Anything really, but she specialises in statues, vases—that kind of thing.”

  Suddenly, everything was starting to click into place.

  “I don’t suppose you have a photo of her, do you?”

  “Yeah. I have a few on my phone. I can email you one when we’re back in Washbridge. Why do you want it?”

  “Just a hunch I’d like to check out.”

  “I could email you a photo, but I should warn you, she makes your grandma look pretty.”

  ***

  The green Porsche was parked outside Roger Tyler’s house. I had to get this right, if I messed up again, my career as a P.I. would be over for good. Before I got out of my car, I checked the photo which Daze had emailed to me, then I cast the ‘doppelganger’ spell. Daze had been right; Mona was criminally ugly.

  “Where have you been?” Tyler said, when he answered the door to me.

  Exactly the reaction I’d hoped for; now I knew my hunch was right.

  “I got called away.”

  “What do you mean called away? I’ve had a private investigator around here asking questions about the vase. Come inside quick before someone sees you.”

  I followed him into the flat.

  “Where were you?” he said. “Why didn’t you contact me?”

  “I had to leave suddenly. It was a matter of life and death.”

  “I’d have been dead if they’d caught me with the vase.”

  “You should have taken it back!”

  “I would have done, but that dozy butler got up early, and saw it was missing.”

  “What do we do now?” I said.

  “Once I’ve got the duplicate, I’ll leave it somewhere, and give Sir Cuthbert an anonymous tip-off. Once he thinks he has the vase back, he’ll tell the police to drop the case.”

  “I’d better get cracking with the copy then. Where’s the original? Is it still here?”

  “Of course it isn’t! As soon as it was reported missing, I had to move it pronto.”

  “Where is it then? I want to get this over with.”

  “Don’t you think I do?” He took out a scrap of paper, grabbed a pen, and scribbled an address down. “Be there at seven o’clock tonight. Don’t be late, and make sure no one follows you.”

  With that, he practically pushed me out of the door.

  Once I was back in my car, I made a call to Jack Maxwell. Mr Tyler had a big surprise coming to him.

  ***

  I could tell something was wrong when I arrived at the office.

  “What’s wrong, Mrs V?”

  “Look at these,” she said. “This is just a small fraction of them. I’ve had dozens of letters from irate motorists who were late getting to work on Scarves Around Washbridge day. They say it was my fault that they were late, and they’re threatening to sue me. And it’s all because of that stupid scarf your grandmother tied across the road.”

  “You mustn’t let it get to you. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “These people don’t know that. They see me as the face of the event, and assume I was responsible. I’m going to tell the organising committee that I won’t do it again next year.”

  “You mustn’t do that. You can’t let Grandma win; that’s just what she wants. She only did it so you’d quit, and she’d be able to open the event next year.”

  “I don’t care. This has spoiled it for me. I used to look forward to Scarves Around Washbridge. It was fun to see all the scarves wrapped around lamp posts and telegraph poles. But now, the only thing people will remember is the traffic chaos it caused.”

  “What do you intend to do with the letters?”

  “I shall reply to each one individually, and apologise.”

  “You really don’t need to go to all that trouble.”

  “It’s the least I can do, Jill.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m really sorry it happened.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. We both know who was responsible.”

  What’s wrong with misery guts out there,” Winky said, in his usual compassionate manner.

  “Mrs V is upset because she’s being blamed for something that wasn’t her fault.”

  “Oh, cry me a river. She should be grateful she doesn’t have something really serious to worry about—like I do.”

  “What do you have to worry about apart from whether or not I remember your full cream milk?”

  “Have you forgotten my fur situation already?”

  “As if I could forget something so important.”

  “I’m not sure you appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

  “Trust me, I do.”

  “Well then, you’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve found a potion which is guaranteed to restore fur.�
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  “I’m absolutely delighted. I’ve been losing sleep over it.”

  “It was quite expensive, but it’s okay—I used your credit card.”

  “You did what?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t mind under the circumstances.”

  “My credit card is already maxed out. Where am I meant to find the money to pay it off?”

  “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you find some clients?”

  “I’ll have you know I’m working on a case right now.”

  “Well, chop-chop. You’d better get started. You have fur restorer to pay for.”

  Chapter 18

  The Scoots had given me the name and phone number of the couple who used to live across the road from them: a Mr and Mrs Nutt. I rang the number and spoke to Phillip Nutt, but he said that there was nothing to tell. They’d decided it was time for a change, so had sold up and moved on. Something in his voice told me there was more to it than that, but even though I pressed him, he wouldn’t say any more, and he refused to meet with me.

  I tried again a couple more times, using burner phones so he wouldn’t recognise the number. The next day, on the third attempt, I got lucky. It was Patricia Nutt who answered the phone this time.

  “Hi, my name’s Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator.”

  “Didn’t you ring my husband yesterday?”

  “Yes I did.”

  “He isn’t here at the moment, but he’ll be back shortly. He said you wanted to talk about Palm Close.”

  “That’s right. The Scoots came to see me.”

  “Walter and Liz? They were great neighbours. We were sorry to leave them behind.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve spoken to them recently, but they’ve been having a spot of bother.”

  “What kind of bother?”

  “Before I get into that, can I ask why you decided to leave Palm Close?”

  There was silence for the longest moment. When she did eventually speak, she fed me the exact same lines as her husband had earlier: it was time for a change, it was time to move on.

  “Mrs Nutt, I’m sorry to press you, but I think there’s more to it than that. And I believe that whatever it is you’re holding back may be connected to the problems that the Scoots are now experiencing.”

  She hesitated. “Phillip doesn’t like me to talk about it. He wouldn’t be happy if he found out that I’d spoken to you.”

  “Would it be possible for us to meet somewhere? Just for a few minutes.”

  “I suppose so, but my husband must never know.”

  “I understand. Where would be a good place?”

  “Somewhere in the city centre. My husband works on the outskirts of Washbridge, so it’s unlikely he’d see us there.”

  “What about a coffee shop? Are you a fan of percussion?”

  “Percussion?”

  “Never mind.” On reflection, I decided the instruments might be too much of a distraction—probably better to meet her somewhere a little quieter. “There’s a small coffee shop close to my office—maybe we could meet there?”

  “Yes, okay. When?”

  “Could you make it this afternoon at say three o’clock?”

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  I gave her the name of the coffee shop, and we agreed to meet later that day.

  ***

  That afternoon, I arrived at the coffee shop ten minutes early; Patricia Nutt was already there. She’d found a corner seat as far away from the window as possible.

  “Patricia?” I said.

  She nodded.

  “Would you like another drink?”

  “No, I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “Thanks.”

  I got myself a coffee and joined her. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “That’s okay. I’d like to help the Scoots if I can.”

  “Where are you living now?”

  “In an apartment in the Westside development. It’s very nice, but not a patch on Palm Close. I loved that house. I had thought we’d live there for the rest of our lives.” She took a sip of tea. “What kind of problems are the Scoots having?”

  “They think their house is haunted.”

  I thought she might be shocked or even burst out laughing. Instead, I got the distinct impression that she wasn’t surprised in the least.

  “The exact same thing happened to us. If someone had told me a year ago that this could happen, I’d have laughed in their face.”

  “Did you actually see any ghosts?”

  “We both saw something. Something very scary. We simply couldn’t stay there any longer. We had to get out.”

  “What about the house? It can’t have been easy to sell it.”

  “It was surprisingly easy. We’d no sooner made the decision to leave than we were approached by a solicitor, acting on behalf of an anonymous buyer.”

  “Did you ever find out who that was?”

  “No, we still have no idea, but they gave us a fair price, so we sold. As far as I know, the house is still empty.”

  This was a familiar story. Something definitely wasn’t right.

  “Will you be able to help the Scoots?” she said.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll do my best.”

  “I hope for their sakes you can. I’d hate to think they’ll be driven out like we were.”

  I thanked her for her help, and promised not to let her husband know we’d spoken.

  ***

  “Remind me again why we’re doing this,” Pearl said.

  “You know why.” I was sick of hearing the twins moaning. “It’s to help Grandma.”

  “But why are we helping Grandma?” Amber said.

  “Girls.” I sighed. “We had this same conversation last night, and again this morning. She’s standing for election to the Town Council, and she’s asked us to help.”

  “When does she ever help us?” Pearl said.

  “You two have short memories. Don’t you remember when Best Cakes opened, and you asked her for marketing advice?”

  “You mean when she made us dress up as cupcakes?”

  “Yes. But it worked, didn’t it?”

  “I suppose so.” Amber huffed.

  “You really are ungrateful. Look, it won’t take long. All we have to do is hand out these leaflets.”

  “But it’s freezing out here.”

  “Stop moaning. The sooner we finish the sooner we can go back inside.”

  “That’s easier said than done.” Pearl sighed. “Nobody wants one. And can you blame them?”

  It was true. Nobody did. It didn’t help that Grandma’s face was plastered across the front. The universal reaction so far had been: ‘Ugh, no thank you’.

  “Look, I tell you what,” I said. “We should split up.”

  We were standing in the market square; we’d been there for about half an hour.

  “Pearl, you take that side of the square. Amber, you take the other side. I’ll stay here. Hand out your leaflets, and when they’re all gone, we can meet back here.”

  “How come,” Amber said. “You get to stay here?”

  “Yeah, could it have anything to do with the cake shop right behind you?”

  “What cake shop?” I tried to sound surprised. “I didn’t realise there was one.”

  “So, you didn’t realise that the blueberry muffins you’ve been staring at for the last fifteen minutes were in a cake shop? What did you think it was, a pet shop?”

  “I hadn’t noticed any blueberry muffins.” I lied.

  They both laughed.

  “Of course you hadn’t,” Amber said. “Just so you know, I’ve counted them, and when I get back, if there are any missing, we’ll know you’ve had one.”

  The girls marched off in opposite directions. I waited until they were out of sight, and then dashed into the shop to buy a muffin and a cup of hot chocolate. I wasn’t particularly thirsty, but I needed something to warm my hands on.

  “Wuu lie leeft?” I said through a mouthful of muffin.<
br />
  The young wizard looked at me, totally confused. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  I swallowed the rest of the muffin. “I said, ‘would you like a leaflet’?”

  “Definitely not!” He’d just noticed the photograph of Grandma on the front.

  “It’s about the election.” I tried to push one into his hand.

  “I don’t care.” He backed away. “That photo will give me nightmares.”

  “That’s my grandmother you’re talking about.”

  “In that case, my advice to you, is never grow old.”

  That set the pattern. For every two I gave out, I got one back again. And, I’d completely given up on the posters. Every time I put one up, someone came along and tore it down. I was getting nowhere fast. My pile of leaflets didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. I had to come up with a plan.

  Then I saw it.

  No one need ever know.

  I glanced around to ensure the twins couldn’t see me, then I sidled slowly over to the bin. With my back to it, I felt for the opening, and then dropped the leaflets in.

  Whoops!

  Ten minutes later, the twins came back. They both still had a pile of leaflets.

  “We’re wasting our time,” Pearl said.

  “Nobody wants these.” Amber shook the pile of leaflets.

  “I had no problem getting rid of mine.” I showed them my empty hands.

  “How did you do it?”

  “I just used my natural charm, obviously.”

  They both eyed me suspiciously.

  “One of those muffins has gone.” Amber pointed to the shop window.

  “Really?” I turned around to look. “Well, it definitely wasn’t me. I’ve been too busy handing out leaflets.”

  “Yeah, we believe you,” Pearl said. “Not.”

  ***

  Drake had booked a table at ‘Blue’, a restaurant in Candlefield. It wasn’t one I’d heard of, but then I’d still only scratched the surface of the sup world. On arrival, I discovered that most of the exterior was in fact painted red: the walls, the door, the window frames, and even the sign. Colour me confused! See what I did there? Colour me—oh, never mind. My humour is wasted here.