Witch Is Why The Music Stopped (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 19)

by Adele Abbott

  “Are you okay, Jill?” Lionel asked. “You’re really red in the face.”

  “Me?” I gasped. “I’m fine. I must have put on a little too much blusher this morning. That’s all.”

  Lionel found the crumpled leaflet in his jacket pocket, and passed it to me: ‘BeHuman – The Human Experience For Pixies.’ Below that was a phone number.

  “Do you think it could be important?” Lionel said.

  “Whoever put the note in my pocket at the Human World Society obviously did, and it’s not as though I have any better leads. I think I should get in touch with them.”

  “I see one slight problem with that, Jill. You’re not a pixie.”

  “That’s true, but the ‘size’ thing isn’t a problem. Do you think I could pass as a pixie—with a bit of work?”

  “Maybe, with a lot of work.”

  “Okay. I’ll give them a call.”

  ***

  I tried the number on the leaflet, but there was no reply—not even an answerphone. I told Lionel that I’d give it another try the following day, but if that didn’t work out, I’d probably have to admit defeat. I was beginning to hate ‘missing person’ cases. I’d got nowhere trying to locate Brendan Bowlings, and now I’d drawn a blank trying to find Robbie Riddle.

  I was such a super sleuth. Not!

  After I’d magicked myself back to Washbridge, I picked up the car and was on my way home. As I drove past my office building, I noticed that there were lights on in I-Sweat. I thought that strange because it wasn’t one of their late opening nights. I might have dismissed it, but I remembered what George had said about things being mysteriously moved around during the night. I could have pretended I hadn’t seen anything; no one would ever have known. After all, I’d had a lousy day, and all I really wanted to do was get home, and dive into a packet of custard creams.

  But it was no good. I’d never forgive myself if I ignored it, and then found out in the morning that the I-Sweat guys had been burgled.

  After I’d parked the car, I made my way up to the gym. The doors were locked, and I could see through the glass that the reception area was in darkness. But beyond that, there were lights on in the gym. I needed to get a look inside, and I knew just how I could do it. I hurried down to my offices, which were in darkness, and let myself in. Fortunately, Winky was nowhere to be seen when I made my way across my office to the window. He was no doubt curled up asleep under the sofa. After climbing onto the ledge, I cast the ‘levitate’ spell, and then floated around the outside of the building, until I came upon the windows which looked into I-Sweat.

  “What the—?”

  The sight that met me was so shocking that I almost lost focus, and plummeted to the ground. The gym was doing a roaring trade; almost every piece of equipment was in use. And yet, there wasn’t a single human to be seen—the gym was full of cats. I’d been wrong about Winky. He wasn’t under the sofa in my office. He was standing at the far side of the gym, talking to a couple of female cats. It was all beginning to make sense: The leaflets that I’d seen for the Moonlight Gym, and the casual way that Winky had denied that he would be using my office as a gym.

  How long had this been going on? How much money was Winky making on the deal? And how were the cats getting into the gym when the main doors were locked?

  There was no point in making a scene there and then, but I’d be having a few choice words with my darling cat in the morning.

  Chapter 22

  The next morning when I came down for breakfast, Jack was in full-blown panic mode.

  “We haven’t got them a present!” he said. “I’ve been so busy thinking about who’s going to the party that I totally forgot we need to buy them a present.”

  “So, we’ll get them one.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, but what?”

  “I don’t know. How about a subscription to Netflix?”

  “Netflix?” He gave me that look of his.

  “What’s wrong with Netflix?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it, but do you really think it would be an appropriate gift for a golden wedding anniversary?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “The whole point is that you buy something golden.”

  “Says who?”

  “It’s the rules.”

  “No, it isn’t. On Kathy and Peter’s fifth wedding anniversary, I didn’t give them a plank of wood. I bought them a year’s supply of custard creams.”

  “Sadly, I believe you. First off, that is a really dumb present.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And secondly, I bet you ended up eating most of them.”

  That much was true, but I wasn’t about to admit to it.

  “Okay. If you want to get them something golden, go for it. What did you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking maybe a condiment set.”

  “Gold salt and pepper pots?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Sure, why not? I bet they’d prefer the Netflix subscription, though.”

  ***

  It was Jules’ day off.

  “Good morning, Mrs V.”

  “It most certainly is not.”

  Maybe if I didn’t ask, she wouldn’t tell me why.

  “And, I’ll tell you why.” She sighed. “G wants to move to Washbridge.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “You haven’t heard the half of it. She says that we should live together, so that we can share our living costs.”

  “She wants to move in with you?”

  “That’s why she came over. She has it all planned out.”

  “Did she ask how you felt about the idea?”

  “Of course she didn’t. She just assumed I’d go along with it.”

  “Why don’t you explain that you don’t want her living with you?”

  “How am I supposed to do that? You know what G is like. She doesn’t listen to anyone—especially not me.” Mrs V hesitated. “You have to help me, Jill.”

  “Me? What can I do?”

  “You’re always sorting other people’s problems out. You’re really good at it.” That was true. “I know you’ll be able to come up with something.”

  “I suppose I could give it some thought.”

  She stood up, came around the desk, and gave me a hug. “Thank you, Jill. I knew I could rely on you.”

  No pressure, then.

  Before I could go through to my office, Mrs V remembered something else.

  “You’ll need to order some more copy paper, Jill. We’re all out.”

  “Already? I only bought three reams a couple of weeks ago.”

  “It’s all gone. I checked this morning.”

  “Okay.”

  Moments later, I discovered why we were out of paper. My office was full of origami models: animals, birds, flowers, to name but a few. Winky was on the sofa, churning out yet another swan—they were obviously his favourite.

  “What’s going on, Winky?”

  “With what?”

  “With all this origami?” I was trying to thread a path to my desk without stepping on any of the paper models.

  “I thought you liked them?”

  “I do, but that doesn’t mean I want my office covered in them. You’ve used up all the copy paper.”

  “That reminds me. Can you order some more?”

  “Not for you, I can’t. If you want any more paper for your origami, you can buy some yourself.”

  “Where am I supposed to get the money from?”

  “Hmm? Let me think. How about the money you made from the subscription fees for Moonlight Gym? Or should I say I-Sweat?”

  His expression changed; he knew he’d been rumbled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do. I saw you through the window last night.”

  “How did you get up there?”

  “Have you forgotten that I’m a witch?”

  “That’s not playing fair.”

  “
If we want to talk about not playing fair, how about we start by discussing the fact that you’re selling subscriptions to someone else’s gym?”

  “What harm am I doing? It’s not like anyone else uses the gym during those hours.”

  “How about the cost of the electricity you’re burning, or the wear and tear on the equipment?”

  “Now you’re just nit-picking.”

  “I doubt the owners would agree. They think that someone has been breaking in.”

  “How do they know? Did you tell them?”

  “No. They could tell some things had been moved.”

  “I suppose you’re going to dob me in?”

  “I should.”

  “What cut do you want to stay quiet?”

  “I don’t want a cut of your ill-gotten gains.”

  “What will keep you quiet, then?”

  “Two things. Firstly, you have to have a serious talk to all of your members to make sure they tidy up after themselves, and put things back where they should be. If they don’t, then I won’t need to tell the owners, they’ll set up their own surveillance.”

  “Agreed. What’s the second thing?”

  “It strikes me that your cat buddies must cover most of Washbridge. I need them to be my eyes and ears.”

  “For what?”

  “Nothing specific, but I’d like them to be on call should I need them. For example, if a child went missing, you could get your posse to keep a lookout for them.”

  “Okay. I can organise that.”

  “Right then. We have a deal, but if the owners catch you, you’re on your own. Oh, and one last thing. How do you get into the gym?”

  “That would be telling.” He grinned.

  ***

  I tried the number for BeHuman again. This time, to my surprise, someone answered.

  “Oh, hi,” I said. “I’d like to book for the Human Experience.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  If this was their idea of customer service, I wasn’t impressed.

  “I’m a member of the Human World Society at Pixie Central College.”

  “I see. Sorry, but we have to be careful. The Human Experience is not available to just anyone.”

  “I understand.” I didn’t really. None of this made much sense. “Could you give me any more details? Prices, that kind of thing?”

  “Not over the phone. If you’re interested, the next stage is for you to come in and have a chat. We can go over the details with you then.”

  “That sounds great. When can I do that? I’m very keen to get started.”

  “You’re in luck. We’ve had a last-minute cancellation for six pm today. Could you make it then?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  I gave her my ‘made-up’ pixie details, and she gave me directions to their office.

  ***

  Before I embarked on my pixie adventure, I had an appointment to keep with Jordan Rice’s estranged wife, Sandra. When I’d contacted her, she’d been less than enthusiastic about speaking to me, but in the end, I’d managed to guilt-trip her into sparing me a few minutes for the sake of Amy Rice.

  Sandra Rice still lived in the family home; a modest semi-detached house on the outskirts of Washbridge. I parked on the road outside her house. The blue Fiat on the driveway was a few years old, and in need of some bodywork. She must have been keeping a lookout for me because she answered the door before I had time to knock.

  “Jill Gooder?”

  “Err—I—err—yeah, that’s me.”

  I know what you’re thinking: Jill can’t even remember her own name now, poor girl. In fact, I was a little taken aback because as soon as I saw Sandra Rice, I realised that I’d seen her before—her and her car. She was the woman who had been captured on the restaurant’s CCTV. The woman who had arrived a few minutes before Gordon Rice, and then left just before he did.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Sorry, yes. I just had a funny turn. It must be low blood sugar.”

  “Go through to the lounge. I’ll make us both a cup of tea.”

  There were photographs of Sandra and Jordan on the sideboard.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a biscuit?” She offered the biscuit tin again. “What about your low blood sugar?”

  “It’s okay. I’m fine now, thanks.” I had absolutely no desire to eat her contaminated biscuits: Ginger nuts and chocolate digestives in the same tin? What was she thinking?

  “I’m sorry if I came over as reluctant to help. Amy is a lovely person; I can’t imagine what she’s been going through.”

  “That’s okay. I just want to ask you a few questions about your husband.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you mind telling me why the two of you have separated?”

  “Jordan’s gambling is out of control. I’ve lost track of the number of times that he’s promised to stop, but he can’t. He spent all of our savings and more. I couldn’t take it any longer, so I told him he had to move out.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I know that you met up with Gordon Rice on the day that Douglas died.”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “It was captured on the restaurant’s CCTV.”

  “Oh no.” She lowered her head.

  “How long have you been seeing one another?”

  “For about three months.”

  “Did Jordan find out? Is that why he moved out?”

  “No, he doesn’t know anything about it. And, he must never find out.”

  “What would he do if he did?”

  “Jordan has a temper.”

  “Has he ever been violent towards you?”

  “No, but he’s come close to it a few times.”

  “Was Gordon with you all the time you were at the restaurant?”

  “Yes, of course. Why?”

  “Are you sure about that? He didn’t nip out—just for a few minutes?”

  “No. We were together all the time.”

  Sandra Rice was still shaken when I left her. She was no doubt worried that her husband might find out about her affair with his twin brother. The question was, had she lied about Gordon? Had he been with her all the time they were at the restaurant, or was she covering for him?

  ***

  It had been over an hour, and Maddy was still working on me. Shrinking to ‘pixie’ size had been easy enough, but that was only the start. Maddy had got me to try on several of her outfits before finally deciding on the green dress. And then there was the hair and makeup.

  She took a few steps back to admire her handiwork.

  “You’ll do,” she pronounced with less enthusiasm than I’d hoped for.

  “Will they believe I’m a pixie?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I think so.”

  She wasn’t exactly filling me with confidence.

  “It’ll have to do. If I don’t go now, I’ll be late for the appointment.”

  “Good luck, Jill.”

  I had a feeling I was going to need it.

  The address I’d been given was a small office in the commercial sector of Pixie Central. The door had nothing on it other than a number, and there was no sign outside to indicate who or what was inside. I was getting increasingly bad vibes about this.

  I tried the door, but it was locked, so I knocked. The sound of footsteps confirmed there was someone in there. Moments later, the door was unlocked, and a pixie, dressed in a smart pinstripe suit appeared.

  “Yes?”

  “Flo Feathers.” It was the name that Maddy and Lionel had come up with for me. They’d insisted that ‘Jill’ wasn’t sufficiently pixie-like.

  He glanced up and down the corridor, presumably to check I hadn’t been followed. “Come in.”

  The only furniture in the tiny office was a desk and two chairs.

  “I’m Frankie For
est. Please take a seat.”

  “Thank you.” Inwardly, I gave a sigh of relief. I appeared to have passed the ‘pixie’ test.

  “What made you decide to contact us, Ms Feathers?”

  “I’ve always been fascinated by humans, and the human world. It is my greatest desire to go there—to live there. That’s why I joined the Human World Society.”

  “You’re somewhat older than the other students I’ve seen from the college.”

  Cheek! “I’m a mature student.”

  “I see.”

  “How much do you know about our organisation?”

  “Only what people at the society have told me. I believe you can make it possible for pixies to live in the human world?”

  “That’s correct, but I should warn you that it doesn’t come cheap. The fee is one thousand pixie dollars.”

  “That’s fine.” I had no idea what the exchange rate between human money and pixie currency would be, but I could worry about that later.

  He spent the next thirty minutes quizzing me about my background and my reasons for wanting to live in the human world. Fortunately, I’d spent some time with Maddy and Lionel practising my responses to all the questions I was likely to face.

  “Okay, Ms Feathers. I’m very pleased to confirm that I am able to offer you a place on the Human Experience.”

  “Really? That’s fantastic!”

  “You’ll need to report back here tomorrow at two pm. And bring the cash with you.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Is that too early for you?”

  “No, tomorrow is fine. Do I need to bring anything else?”

  “No.” He stood up. “Just one final thing. You mustn’t tell anyone what you are doing, or where you are going. Not even friends or family. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 23

  I’d changed back into my own clothes, reverted to human size, and magicked myself back to Washbridge. At least the Robbie Riddle case was looking a little more promising now. That was more than I could say for the other two cases I was working on. Had Gordon Rice killed his older brother? The CCTV coverage of him entering the factory was pretty damning, and yet Sandra Rice still insisted that he’d never left the restaurant. His apparent lie about the phone call he’d received from Douglas was also working against him.