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

by Adele Abbott

  “Rocky! Leave Rocky alone. Rocky, stop pulling on that lead! Don’t do that, Rocky!”

  You would be forgiven for thinking that I’d found myself one extremely overactive pooch, but you’d be wrong. In fact, I had five dogs: a rottweiler, a pointer, a border collie, a springer spaniel and a dachshund. All of whom were named Rocky. Who knew it was such a popular name?

  When Timz—with the silent ‘Z’, had shown me his computer records, I’d been stunned. So stunned, in fact, that I’d stupidly agreed to his suggestion that I should take all of them for Old Mother Mason to see. If I’d been thinking more clearly, I might have had the good sense to take a photo of them instead.

  “Rocky, don’t do that just there—” Too late. It was just as well Tim—with the silent ‘Z’, had had the foresight to furnish me with a number of doggy-poo bags. I would just have to hope that I had enough.

  Once I’d finished with my poop-scooping duties, I gathered the dogs together as best I could, and then magicked myself over to the headmistress’ office at CASS.

  “Jill?” Ms Nightowl looked somewhat surprised to see me and my canine companions. “You didn’t tell me that you’d swapped jobs?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I assume you’re working as a dogwalker now?”

  “These? No, they belong to Old Mother Mason. Or at least, one of them does. I just don’t know which one. Stop that, Rocky!”

  “I see. I think.”

  “This is the reason she’s been haunting the dorms. Her dog has gone missing, and she’s been searching for him.”

  “Right? But why do you have five of them?”

  “I forgot to ask what breed her dog was. The only thing I know is that he’s called Rocky.”

  “And all of these—?”

  “Are called Rocky, yes. I just wanted to let you know I was here in case you started to receive reports of a strange woman walking around the school with a pack of dogs.”

  “Right, thanks. As it happens, there haven’t been any sightings of the ghost for the last couple of nights. At least none that have been reported to me.”

  “I’ll get down to the dorms and see if I can find her.”

  “Okay. Good luck.”

  I’d just started for the door when the headmistress called me back. “Err, Jill.” She pointed at the carpet. “You’ve left something behind.”

  “Which one of you did that? Sorry, Headmistress. I’ll see to it.”

  I spent the next hour wandering up and down the corridors outside the dorms, in search of Old Mother Mason, but there was no sign of her.

  The dogs were becoming more and more restless, and I suspected it was well past their dinner time. I had no choice but to go down to the cellar and hope I’d find Mason down there.

  Wouldn’t you just know it, all of the dogs were okay with the semi-darkness of the cellar except for the rottweiler.

  “Come on, you big lump, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  The cellar covered a vast area, and it would have taken hours to search it all.

  “Hello! Mrs Mason! Are you down here?”

  The only thing I could hear was my own words echoing back to me.

  Another hour later, my feet were aching, and I was beginning to think I was going to have to take the dogs home with me, but then I heard footsteps.

  “Mrs Mason!”

  “Who’s that?” Her voice came from somewhere in the shadows.

  “It’s Jill Maxwell. We met the other day.”

  Moments later, she came floating through an arch to my right. “What brings you down here? And why do you have so many dogs with you?”

  “I’ve been searching for your Rocky.”

  She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. A few seconds later, a pug came trotting into the room, and began to growl at the other dogs.

  “This is my Rocky.” She scooped him into her arms. “Don’t be rude to our visitors,” she scolded him.

  “But, I—err—when did he come back?"

  “A couple of days ago. He’d been out in the forest, chasing baby dragons, I reckon.”

  “That’s why you haven’t been up to the dorms?”

  “Yes. Like I said the last time you were here, I prefer it down here. Those children are far too noisy.”

  “Right. What am I supposed to do with this lot?”

  Luckily for me, Old Mother Mason was a dog-lover through and through, and she wouldn’t hear of me taking the other dogs back to Pooch Pound. Instead, she decided to adopt all five of them.

  Result!

  ***

  After Saturday, I would no longer need my old banger because I would be the proud owner of a brand-new Jag. Much as I loved my old car, it was time to bid her farewell, so I thought I’d see what I could get for her.

  Not much as it turned out.

  Three of the car dealers I called at laughed in my face. Another, Lance, offered to take it off my hands at no cost, as a favour to a pretty, young thing. Needless to say, I told him where he could shove his offer, how far and how hard.

  In the end, though, I had to accept the inevitable.

  “Is that Washbridge Breakers Yard?”

  “Yep. Wally Bridge speaking. What can I do you for?”

  “I wondered if you’d be interested in my car?” I gave him all the relevant details: make, model, mileage etc.

  “Tenner.”

  “Ten pounds? Is that all you’d give me for it?”

  “Nah, love, you’ve got it the wrong way around. You have to give me a tenner to take it away.”

  That was outrageous. It was an even worse offer than the one I’d had earlier, but it was too late to go back to Lance because I’d already told him where to shove it.

  Oh well, what did it matter? After Saturday, I’d be driving around in my spanking new car.

  “Okay. Ten pounds it is.”

  “Where and when can we collect it?”

  I gave him the address. “Do you work weekends?”

  “We never close, love.”

  “In that case, can you collect it on Saturday afternoon?”

  “No problem. Consider it done.”

  Chapter 25

  “Go on,” Jack pleaded. “Pretty please.”

  “I’m not doing it while you’re here. Go upstairs.”

  “But I want to see you turn yourself into me.”

  “No, it’s freaky enough having to do it at all, but I’m definitely not going to do it while you’re watching.”

  “Go on, Robert, please.”

  “Get upstairs!”

  “Spoilsport. I can still watch you leave through the bedroom window.”

  “Not if I use magic to tie you to the bed.”

  “That sounds like it could be fun.”

  “You’re impossible. Just go away!”

  But before he could, something somewhere beeped.

  “What was that?” Jack glanced all around.

  I checked my pocket, and just as I suspected, the Z-Call button was glowing orange. “I need to make a phone call.”

  “What’s going on, Jill?”

  “Hold on.” I called Z-Watch.

  “Z-Watch. Ike Cann speaking.”

  “Ike, it’s Jill Maxwell.”

  “Passphrase, please?”

  “Crazy just got crazier.”

  “Hi, Jill. What can I do for you?”

  “My Z-Call button just went off.”

  “Did it? Hold on a minute while I check.”

  “Okay.”

  “What’s going on?” Jack mouthed.

  “Zombies, I think.”

  “Jill?” Ike was back on the line. “The monitor shows there’s a single rogue Z in your vicinity. I can have someone over there in a couple of minutes.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll see to it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. Thanks, Ike.”

  “What’s happening?” Jack demanded.

  “It looks like you’re going to have to do th
e poetry recital after all.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s a herd of zombies headed this way. I have to stay here and deal with them.”

  “Oh no you don’t. This is just a hoax, isn’t it? It’s your way of getting out of the recital.”

  “I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Come and see for yourself.” I led the way into the kitchen, and just as I’d hoped, there in the field, in the distance, was the zombie Ike had told me about.

  “I can’t see anything.” Jack was staring out of the window.

  “Over there!” I pointed.

  “Oh yeah. I can only see one, though.”

  “Up to now, but the others won’t be far behind. If I don’t stop them, the street will be overrun by the time I get back from the recital. And to be honest, I don’t fancy being married to a zombie.”

  “What? Do you think they might—err—turn me into one?”

  “That’s kind of what they do.”

  “I’ll do the recital. You stay here and get rid of the zombies.”

  “Are you sure? I’m happy to do the reading.”

  “No, I’ll do it. Where is Rhymes’ book?”

  “On the hall table.”

  “Okay.” He gave me a quick peck on the lips. “Will you be alright here?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

  I waited until I’d seen Jack leave, and then made my way out into the back garden. By now, the solitary Z was much closer.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I shouted to him. “I almost feel bad about having to do this.”

  But I did it anyway, and the lightning bolt soon despatched him.

  I never thought the day would come when I was pleased to see a zombie, but this one had done me a real solid. I’d been dreading the poetry recital, but thanks to the Z, I now had the evening to myself.

  Snigger.

  ***

  I had my feet up on the sofa, and a box of chocolates and a glass of wine on the coffee table next to me; life was sweet. The only thing that would have been better was if I could have seen Jack, reciting Rhymes’ poetry. I had considered making myself invisible and sneaking into the recital, but I couldn’t trust myself not to laugh.

  I should have spent the evening watching mindless TV, but I couldn’t get the Forrest case out of my mind. In particular, I was intrigued by what I’d discovered about Paul Hattersley. On three separate occasions, he’d walked out of jobs where, until that point, he’d been considered a model employee. On each occasion, he’d claimed a personal tragedy had left him with no choice but to quit. Either the guy was the unluckiest man in the world or something more sinister was behind his sudden exits.

  I fired up my laptop and searched the local newspaper headlines, in Newcastle and Liverpool, for the dates around the time that Mr Hattersley had done his disappearing act. What I found was very interesting indeed.

  In Newcastle, one week after Hattersley had walked out of Rhodine Estates, the headline in the Newcastle Chronicle read: Husband arrested for brutal murder of wife.

  I traced the story through the following months up to the point where the man, Harry Douglas, was convicted of his wife’s murder. He was sentenced to life imprisonment. As if the story wasn’t already tragic enough, the couple’s only child was reported as having been taken into care.

  And there was more.

  A couple of weeks after Hattersley had walked out of his job in Liverpool, the Liverpool Times ran a headline that read: Husband arrested for wife’s murder.

  Ron Ploughright was eventually convicted of beating his wife, Carol, to death. After the trial, the article quoted his sister, Irene Sutherland, as saying that an innocent man had been jailed, and that she would continue to fight to prove his innocence. The article also mentioned that the couple’s only child, a girl named Chelsea, was going to be cared for by the sister.

  There were too many coincidences now to ignore.

  On a whim, I searched the Liverpool phone directory for anyone called Sutherland. There were five in total, but none with the initial ‘I’. Still, it was worth a punt.

  I drew a blank on the first three, but then—

  “Hello?” The man barked into the phone.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you. I’m looking for Irene—”

  “Irene, it’s for you.” He dropped the receiver.

  Moments later, someone else picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Is that Irene Sutherland?”

  “Speaking. Who is this?”

  “You don’t know me, but my name is Jill Maxwell. I believe your brother was jailed for—”

  “Are you the press? If you are, you can do one. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

  “I’m not the press. I’m a private investigator, based in Washbridge. I’m currently working on a case that has similarities to your brother’s. A woman has been murdered, and her husband, my client’s son, has been charged with her murder.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with Ron.”

  “Maybe nothing, but there’s a chance, and it’s only a slim chance I must emphasise, that the same person could be responsible for both murders.”

  “Who is he? Who did it?”

  “I can’t say anything else until I know more about your brother’s case.”

  “What do you need? I know everything there is to know about it. I should do, I’ve lived and breathed it ever since it happened.”

  “This is going to seem like a really weird question, but did your brother own his own property or did he rent?”

  “They rented. He and Carol had a flat near the city centre.”

  “Do you know who the landlord was?”

  “I have no idea. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Is there any way you could find out?”

  “Ron is due to call me in the morning. He calls me first thing every Friday. I suppose I could ask him.”

  “While you’re speaking to him, ask him if he recalls a maintenance man visiting the flat just before the murder, would you?”

  “Okay, but I still don’t understand how any of this is relevant.”

  “Call me tomorrow after you’ve spoken to your brother, and I’ll explain everything then.”

  ***

  I’d just settled down to watch TV when the door opened, and in walked Jack.

  “You’re back early. Did you get cold feet?”

  “No, I gave the reading, and then made my excuses and left. I told them it was police business, so no one asked any questions.”

  “How did the recital go?”

  “How do you think it went? That tortoise is the worst poet ever.”

  “What did the audience make of it?”

  “That’s the weirdest part: They all seemed to lap it up; they couldn’t get enough of it. I’d only intended reading one poem, but they insisted I read another four. I’d still be at it now if I hadn’t told them that duty called.”

  “You’re a star.” I gave him a kiss.

  “Never mind the soft soap. If you ever drop me in it like this again, Jill, I will be forced to kill you. Speaking of which, how did you get on with the walking dead?”

  “It was touch and go for a while. I’ve never seen so many zombies, but I managed to come through it unscathed.”

  “I’m ready for a nice sit down and a glass of wine.”

  “You deserve one. I’ll pour you a glass.”

  But before I could, there was a knock at the door.

  “It must be a zombie.” The colour drained from Jack’s face.

  “Don’t be daft. Of course it isn’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because a zombie wouldn’t knock.”

  Despite my reassurances, Jack tucked in behind me as I went to answer the door.

  “Mrs V? Armi? What a pleasant surprise.”

  “I know I said we’d come around tomorrow night, but we’ve just be
en to look at another house a few miles away. Is it okay for us to take a quick look at the cuckoo clock now?”

  “Of course, come on in.”

  “I was just about to have a glass of wine,” Jack said. “Would you care to join me?”

  “I’ll have one, please,” Mrs V said. “But not for Armi, he’s driving, aren’t you, my little gingerbread man?”

  “I am, dewdrop. A glass of water would be nice, though.”

  “I’ll see to those,” Jack offered. “Jill, you can show our guests the clock.”

  “And your new carpet,” Mrs V chipped in. “I’m looking forward to seeing that.”

  Oh bum! What colour had I said it was? Red? No. Brown? No. Blue? Yes, that was it. I quickly cast a spell, so that when our guests walked through to the lounge, they would see the ‘new’ carpet.

  “I thought you said it was green, Jill?” Mrs V looked puzzled.

  “Did I? I meant greeny blue.”

  “It’s navy, though, isn’t it?”

  “Err, yeah. I suppose it is. Do you like it?”

  “It’s lovely, and so is the clock. Doesn’t it look handsome on the wall?”

  “It’s fantastic,” I said, summoning up as much enthusiasm as I could.

  “I think it’s amazing how you’re able to make something so intricate and beautiful, Armi.” Jack was back with the drinks. “I wish I could do something like that.”

  “Don’t be so modest, Jack,” I said. “You have your own special talents.”

  “Like my bowling, you mean?”

  “Actually, I was thinking more about your poetry.”

  He glared at me, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was planning how to kill me and then dispose of the body.

  “I didn’t know you wrote poetry, Jack,” Mrs V said.

  “I don’t. Jill is pulling your—”

  “He’s actually just got back from a recital of his work, haven’t you, darling?”

  “I—err—”

  “Why don’t you read some of your poetry for Mrs V and Armi?” I grabbed the book that Jack had dropped onto the coffee table and handed it to him.

  “They don’t want to hear that,” he protested.

  “Of course we do, don’t we, Armi?” Mrs V took a seat on the sofa.

  “Definitely.” Armi sat next to her.