Witch Is How Dreams Became Reality (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 32)

by Adele Abbott

  The question now was, who was getting all the money, and where was my share?

  It was time that I checked out Candlefield Icons, so I used the ‘doppelganger’ spell to ensure I wouldn’t be recognised. Kathy’s face would do nicely.

  Located just around the corner from the cat rescue centre, it was a much larger shop than I expected.

  “Hi!” The female vampire came skipping across the shop floor. Young and very pretty, she had a very distinctive dress sense, and yet somehow, she managed to pull it off. Who knew that a blue tutu, pink tights and black DMs could work so well?

  “Hi, there. I didn’t even realise this shop was here.”

  “It’s not the best of locations, is it? The owner is hoping to move nearer to the marketplace later this year. Were you looking for anything in particular?”

  “Do you have anything with Jill Maxwell on it?”

  “Who?” She laughed. “Only joking. Of course we do. You’ll find all of it over in that corner, along with all the other famous witch stuff. Did you have anything particular in mind?”

  “Not really. I’ll have a browse if that’s okay?”

  “Sure. I’m Vannie, give me a shout if you need any help.”

  Wow! Let me tell you, it’s quite weird to see your face plastered on t-shirts and posters, but even weirder to see it on egg cups and bum-bags. My picture was everywhere. The only other witch to get more of a look-in was Magna Mondale.

  “Do you see anything you like?” Vannie had come over to join me.

  “I’m spoiled for choice. Do you sell much of this stuff?”

  “Jill Maxwell, you mean? Not compared to our bestselling stuff, but she certainly has a following. More so since she quit the Elite Competition to rescue that dragon. That seems to have struck a chord with a lot of people.”

  “I imagine she gets a cut from everything sold, doesn’t she?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.” Vannie shrugged. “I suppose so. You’d have to ask the owner.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Sylvester. Sylvester Songspinner.”

  “Is he in today?”

  “No. We rarely see him in here.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know where he lives, would you?”

  “No, sorry. Can I give him a message for you?”

  “That’s okay.” I started for the door.

  “Don’t you want to buy any of this Jill Maxwell stuff?”

  “No, thanks. She’s vastly overrated in my opinion.”

  ***

  I’d no sooner magicked myself back to the human world than I received a call from Edward Tucker, landlord of the building where Laurence Forrest lived.

  “Jill Maxwell? You left a message that you were interested in one of my properties.”

  “Yeah, sorry, I lied about that.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “I apologise for the subterfuge, but I thought by saying that I’d have a better chance of getting you to return my call.”

  “If you aren’t interested in renting, what do you want?”

  “I’m ringing on behalf of one of your residents, a Mrs Louise Roach.”

  “Of Bluebell Court? Is she alright?”

  “She’d be much better if her boiler wasn’t on the blink. It’s been like that for weeks.”

  “Why didn’t she call me before now? I pride myself in making prompt repairs, especially when it involves the heating or water. And particularly when it’s one of my vulnerable tenants.”

  “She asked one of your maintenance men to report it when he visited her neighbour’s flat. That was a few weeks ago now.”

  “Hold on while I just double-check.” I could hear him clicking away with a mouse. “I don’t have any reports related to Mrs Roach’s flat. The last time one of my men was at that building was a few weeks ago now.”

  “Were they visiting the Forrests’ flat?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m really sorry, but it doesn’t appear a report was ever filed. I can only apologise. The employee in question had always been very reliable, but then—err—never mind. It’s not important.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “It was all very strange. The guy’s name was Paul Hattersley. He’d been one of my best men—no hint of a problem until that day.”

  “The day he was at Bluebell Court?”

  “Yeah. He’d gone there to repair a sticking window, and when he got back, he said he was quitting. Just like that.”

  “I told him he couldn’t just walk out, that he’d have to work his notice, but he said he couldn’t. Some sort of personal emergency, but he wouldn’t say what. That was the last I saw of him.”

  “I don’t suppose you could let me have Hattersley’s contact details, could you?”

  “Sorry, but I can’t do that. Data protection and all that.”

  “No problem. Please make sure you get someone to look at Mrs Roach’s boiler.”

  “There’ll be someone over there later today.”

  As soon as I’d finished my call to the landlord, I called Sheila Forrest.

  “It’s Jill Maxwell.”

  “Any news, Jill?”

  “Nothing yet. I was wondering if you could get Laurence to give me a call? He is allowed phone calls, isn’t he?”

  “Some, yes. I got him to add your number to his list when I hired you, so there shouldn’t be any problem. What’s it about?”

  “Nothing in particular, just a few things I forgot to ask when I visited him.”

  “Okay, I’ll ask him to call you, but I’m not sure when it will be.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  Chapter 21

  I’d called Mad to ask if she could spare me a few minutes sometime. As it turned out, it was her day off, and she said I was welcome to go straight over there. On the way into the building, I bumped into two of her neighbours, Dorothy and Neil, who were going at it hammer and tongs on the stairs.

  “Hi, you two.”

  “Hey, Jill.” Dorothy’s face was red with rage. “Sorry, this idiot has got me so riled up that I didn’t see you there.”

  “Take no notice of her, Jill,” Neil said. “She’s overreacting as usual.”

  “How am I overreacting? My mother is going to have a fit when she comes over next week.” Dorothy turned to me. “This fool left the window open and my canary has escaped.”

  “You were the one who opened his cage door,” Neil protested.

  “Only because I didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to leave a window open overnight.”

  “I’ve explained the reason for that. It was sweltering the evening before.”

  “You could have closed the window when you went to bed.”

  “When did the bird go missing?” I asked.

  “It’s a couple of weeks ago now,” Neil said. “I don’t know why she’s still banging on about it.”

  “You know very well why I’m banging on about it. My mother gave me the canary, and she’s not going to be very impressed when she finds out he’s gone.”

  “Couldn’t you just buy another one?” I suggested.

  “That’s what I told her,” Neil said.

  “I might have to do that.” Dorothy sighed. “But Bob was a bit of a character. I reckon Mum will know if we get a substitute.”

  “Did you say Bob?” This was starting to ring a familiar bell.

  “Stupid name, I know,” Dorothy said. “I didn’t choose it. He came with it.”

  “He wasn’t by any chance a bit of a ladies’ man, was he?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “Err, just an educated guess. I used to keep canaries myself when I was a kid.”

  “We’d better get going,” Neil said. “I’m doing a show later.”

  “I heard you were a part-time magician now.”

  “Yeah, it’s fun. I mainly do kids’ parties.”

  “Are you his assistant, Dorothy?”

  “Work with this idiot? Not l
ikely.”

  “I hope your canary turns up.”

  “Come in, Jill.” Mad had a towel wrapped around her head.

  “That’s quite the look you’ve got going there.”

  “My mum’s having a dinner party tonight, so I thought I’d better make an effort.”

  “Deli? A dinner party?”

  “I thought she was joking when she told me, but apparently, she’s got new neighbours and she’s trying to impress them.”

  “I’m surprised you agreed to go.”

  “She didn’t give me much choice. She’s still guilt-tripping me because I didn’t let her know I was moving back here. I can probably still wangle you an invitation if you like?”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

  “I don’t blame you. You said you needed some advice.”

  “Yeah, I could have picked your brain over the phone, but then I wouldn’t have got a drink, would I?”

  “Is that your idea of a subtle hint?” She grinned. “Tea or coffee?”

  “Tea would be lovely.”

  Once we had our drinks, I told Mad about Old Mother Mason, and her recent reappearance at CASS.

  “And now I’m supposed to find her dog, Rocky, but I don’t have a clue where to start. I thought you might be able to give me some advice.”

  “If this was a dog lost in the human world, what would you do?”

  “Probably start by checking with the dog rescue centres.”

  “There you go, then. You’ve answered your own question.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Are you saying there are dog rescue centres in the ghost world?”

  “Why wouldn’t there be?”

  “No reason, I guess. It just hadn’t occurred to me. But the dog has been living in CASS with Old Mother Mason for centuries.”

  “So what? He probably just wandered off and got lost.”

  “It’s worth a try. Do you happen to know where the dog rescue centres are?”

  “The main one is Pooch Pound. It’s near GT Gardens. I’d start there and if you draw a blank, ask them to point you in the direction of the others.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  The search for Rocky would have to wait until tomorrow because I was starving, and I wanted to grab dinner before my visit to Feline Cruises AKA Cruise Time.

  ***

  “Just talk me through it again.” Jack was loading the dishwasher. We’d just finished the meal he’d lovingly prepared.

  “It’s quite simple. I’m going to investigate this cruise operation because I think there’s something dodgy going on.”

  “Really? Cruises for cats? What could possibly be dodgy about that?”

  “Winky is all set to hand over his money this weekend.”

  “What do you think is going on?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out. When I was there yesterday, I overheard them say that something would be happening tonight, something they didn’t want me to know about. I intend to find out what that is.”

  “Will this entail you turning yourself into a cat?”

  “Maybe. I won’t know until I get there.”

  “What kind of cat will you be?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “I’m just trying to picture you as a cat. I see you as a Persian.”

  “You’re getting all weird again.”

  “Or maybe a Birman.”

  “Enough with the cats. Let’s change the subject.”

  “Okay. You haven’t forgotten it’s the poetry recital tomorrow have you?”

  “I’ve been trying very hard to.”

  “I wish I could be there to see you.”

  “And how would you explain that there were two versions of you?”

  “I could say we were twins.”

  “Or you could just do the recital yourself instead of making me do it.”

  “He’s your tortoise. I’m not reading that rubbish.”

  “If you really loved me, you’d do it.”

  “Haven’t you learned by now that kind of emotional blackmail doesn’t work?”

  Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door.

  “Who’s that?”

  “It might be Bertie.”

  “Who’s Bertie?”

  “He’s the local reporter for TenPin Monthly. I told you about him yesterday.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember.” Actually, I didn’t. As soon as Jack mentioned anything bowling related, I tuned out. “Just remind me why he’s coming?”

  “To interview me, of course.”

  But, as it turned out, it wasn’t Bertie.

  “Good evening.” The man at the door was wearing a white coat and hat. “I hope I’m not disturbing your dinner. My name is Billy Bass. I’m a mobile fishmonger.” He pointed to the white van parked on the road in front of our house. “I wondered if I can interest you in having fresh fish delivered to your door?”

  Before I could tell him to sling his hook, Jack got in first.

  “We already have someone who delivers fish to us. Terry Salmon, do you know him?”

  “Of course. I’d be the last person to criticise Terry, but the quality of his fish is poor, and his prices are ridiculous.” He handed Jack a leaflet. “I’ll leave you this to study, and if you decide you’d like top quality fish at rock-bottom prices, just give me a call.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Jack said, and then closed the door.

  “He was a piece of work, wasn’t he?” I led the way back to the kitchen. “For someone who didn’t want to criticise his competitor, he did a pretty good hatchet job on Terry.”

  “I guess all’s fair in love and fishmongering.” Jack laughed at his own joke. “I might as well at least take a look at what he has to offer.”

  “I should be making tracks.”

  “Have you decided what kind of cat you’re going to be?”

  “No, I haven’t, and even if I had, I wouldn’t tell you. Enjoy your interview with Bertie.”

  ***

  When I arrived at the offices of Cruise Time, I was rather surprised to find that they were closed. Perhaps my visit the previous day had spooked them? I was just about to magic myself back home when I heard meowing—a lot of meowing. It seemed to be coming from behind the neighbouring unit, which had no sign on the front, and from the outside at least, appeared to be empty. Gingerly, I edged around the building, and peeked around the back.

  There was a line of some twenty or so cats, queuing to board a coach. Seeing them aboard, were the witch and wizard who I’d encountered the previous day.

  “All aboard,” the wizard said. “It’s only a couple of hours now until the ship sets sail.”

  The cats all looked excited to be embarking on the holiday of a lifetime. It appeared that the coach was about to ferry them to the coast where they’d board their cruise liner. Perhaps I’d been worrying over nothing.

  And yet, I still had a niggling doubt in my mind. I had originally planned to turn myself into a cat, but instead, I went with invisibility. As soon as the last cat was on the coach, I sneaked on board.

  A few minutes later, the wizard climbed onto the coach and closed the door behind him. “Everyone ready?” The cats nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, off we go.” He gave the driver the thumbs up, and the coach pulled away.

  No sooner had we started to move than I sensed the wizard was casting a spell. Although I couldn’t make out what it was, the effect was plain to see: All of the cats fell silent and stared ahead through glazed eyes.

  The coach didn’t even leave the industrial estate. Instead, it took a circular route around it, and then returned to the unit from which it had left only a few minutes earlier.

  The wizard opened the door, and the cats filed off the coach. Waiting there to greet them was the witch. “Welcome to the cruise ship Whiskers. Please come on board.” She opened the back door to the unit, and the cats filed inside. Still invisible, I hurried off the coach and followed them.

  The
cats, who were still out of it, were seated on rows of benches, facing a huge screen.

  “Welcome passengers, one and all.” The wizard had taken up a position facing the rows of seats. “I’m Captain White. On behalf of Feline Cruises it is my pleasure to welcome you aboard this luxurious ship. We will be setting sail shortly.”

  Moments later, the large screen came to life with images of a blue ocean. As the cats stared silently at the screen, the wizard and witch made their way to the door.

  I followed them.

  “That’s the best one yet,” the wizard said.

  “And no sign of that nosey parker from yesterday.”

  “I told you there was nothing to worry about. Just make sure you keep them supplied with food and drink every day.”

  “Okay. How long is this one?”

  “Just five days.”

  “We took a record number of bookings yesterday.”

  “I know. At this rate, we’re going to need another unit.”

  I’d seen all I needed to see.

  Once I was some distance from the unit, I reversed the ‘invisible’ spell, and gave Daze a call. She’d finished work for the day, but said I was welcome to nip over to her place.

  ***

  “Come in, Jill. I was just going to have a beer—non-alcoholic, obviously—do you want one?”

  “Not for me, thanks.”

  “Come through to the living room. I need to sit down; my feet haven’t touched the ground all day. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “I may have some customers for you.” I told her about the cruise scam and how the wizard and witch were fleecing unsuspecting cats out of their cash.

  “I’ve seen something like this before.”

  “Really?”

  “It was a few years ago. A wizard who went by the name of—err—what was it now? Oh yes, Fabian, Fabian Frostmore. Hold on a minute, let me just check something.” She took out her phone and made a call. Moments later, she’d confirmed her hunch. “He was released from prison two months ago. It didn’t take him long to get started again.”

  “Was he doing the same thing last time? Cats and cruises?”

  “No, it was dogs then. Canine Cruises, if memory serves. How did you happen to stumble across this lowlife?”