Wrapping Up

by A. A. Albright

  Wrapping Up

  Wayfair Witches Book Five

  by A.A. Albright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  Text Copyright © A.A. Albright 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

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  Table of Contents

  1. Three Blind Mice

  2. All Wrapped Up

  3. Mr Sensitive

  4. Bad Cop ... and Seriously Reluctant Cop

  5. Christmas at Cupcakes

  6. Glamorous Gretel

  7. She’s Gonna Find Out Who’s Naughty or Nice

  8. Crafty Ladies

  9. A Tale of Two Holidays

  10. Operation Long Leash

  11.Lonesome Dove

  12. Craving Constance

  13. Back on Unsolid Ground

  14. When Doves Cry

  15. The Green-Eyed Monster

  16. Suits Without Sorcery

  17. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

  18. Strangled

  19. The Nice List

  20. Unmasking

  21. Drunken Mumblings

  22.Sophistiwitch for Men

  23. The Night Before Christmas

  24. Seeing is Believing

  25. A Weredog Christmas Carol

  1. Three Blind Mice

  Ah. I love this time of year. Snow in the air. Cute scarves and hats with bobbles on top. Presents and parties galore. Time spent with those you love.

  ‘Can’t you do that later?’ grumbled Melissa, my supposed best friend in all the world. ‘I’m trying to relax.’

  I took a deep breath, and looked down at her. She was sitting in an armchair by the wood-burning stove, with her familiar, a black cat called Princess, curled up on her lap.

  ‘There’s nothing more relaxing than putting up Winter Solstice decorations,’ I told her. ‘Anyway, I only need you to move for a minute while I put the garland on the mantelpiece. I won’t even ask you to help me – although some assistance, no matter how grouchy, would be appreciated.’

  She kept her eyes on her familiar. ‘Look, if you’re going to insist on being full of the Solstice spirit, then there’s nothing I can do about that. But can’t you put that thing somewhere else and leave me in peace?’

  I took another deep breath. ‘You want me to put it somewhere else? The garland that always goes on the mantelpiece? So where should the garland that always goes on the mantelpiece go, then?’

  Melissa shrugged. ‘I dunno. Anywhere that doesn’t mean me moving from this chair.’

  ‘And I suppose when we want to put the yule log on the fire, we’d better put that somewhere else too? Seeing as you’d have to move out of the way for that, as well? What’s wrong with you today, anyway?’

  ‘Nothing! I’ll get out of your way, all right?’ She stood up and pulled the chair away from the fire. As she did, one of the chair legs caught my garland, pulling it apart.

  ‘Oh, Wanda!’ Melissa’s expression was full of remorse. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that!’

  I looked down at the garland, and fixed a smile on my face. I feel that, if there’s any time to shrug things off, it ought to be at the most wonderful time of the year. Sure, this garland had been woven anew by my own little hands. It took hours of twisting fresh ivy and holly, arranging the sparkly little pine cones just so, tying the tiny bows and creating the perfect Solas spell that would make the whole thing twinkle throughout the holiday. ‘You’ve only crumpled a couple of my bows,’ I said. ‘And undone a small bit of ivy. I can fix it. No big deal.’

  She bent to her knees, helping me smooth out the bows and fix the bits of ivy that had come loose.

  ‘It looks much better now,’ I said brightly. ‘Thanks, Melissa.’

  Her face fell. ‘Stop being nice to me. I’ve been a moody cow. I don’t deserve you being nice.’

  ‘Honestly? You could be the biggest cow on the planet and it couldn’t spoil my mood. This is my first holiday with my dad for years, Melissa. Ain’t nothing gonna bring me down. Even my terrible Southern accent.’

  ‘Oh, good goddess.’ She stayed kneeling, looking at the floor, her face ashen. ‘I am a cow. Actually, no, that’s not fair to cows. I’m sorry, Wanda. Here you are trying to make your dad’s first Winter Solstice at home for years special, and I’m being totally selfish. Well, I’m going to snap out of it. I swear. That batch of biccies you’ve got baking in the oven? I’ll make the next one. And the one after that. Hell, I’ll peel the sprouts for Solstice dinner if you want me to – and I don’t even like sprouts.’

  As she spoke, she lifted the garland to the top of the mantel, desperately trying to improve the few remaining bows she’d crushed. ‘There. That looks okay, doesn’t it? I haven’t completely ruined it, have I?’

  I stood back to get a better look. ‘Perfect. But just as a matter of interest, why were you being a moody cow?’

  She grunted. ‘Stupid Agatha’s being a stupid idiot.’

  ‘Oh?’ That really did surprise me. Agatha was far from an idiot. Not only was she the Magical History Professor at Crooked College, but she was also the Acting Minister for Magical Law. An election was expected sometime in the spring, but she was proving so popular in the role that she would probably win. Then again, she had been popular the last time an election was held, and she still hadn’t won. ‘I thought you liked Agatha.’

  Melissa grunted again. ‘I thought I liked Agatha, too. When she took me back on after the ex-Minister fired me, I couldn’t have been happier. But now she’s moving me from her department. She says I should be doing something more suitable to my skills. Not making her coffee or doing her filing.’

  Now I was truly stumped. Agatha’s opinion on what Melissa should be doing sounded perfectly sensible to me. After Melissa graduated from Crooked College, she had been given a job as a Magical Law Clerk at the Wyrd Court. Being a clerk was the first step to becoming a lawyer. But instead of working on anything important, Melissa had spent most of her time running around after the previous Minister. She had hated every minute of it. If anything, Agatha’s decision should have her grinning from ear to ear. Not moping about the way she was. ‘So ... what does Agatha want you to do?’ I asked.

  ‘Clerk for a lawyer. Gain experience in court before I sit the LOL next year. You get extra credit in the exam if you’ve actually clerked for a lawyer.’

  The LOL, in case you’re wondering, is an acronym for Legally Operating Lawyer. ‘Are you serious?’ I asked as I pulled some pins from my pocket and prepared to fix the garland in place. ‘She wants you to do a job that will actually help you pass the LOL? Wow, you’re right. She’s awful.’

  She grunted for a third time. ‘She is, actually. The lawyer she wants me to work for? It’s Mr Rundt.’

  I dropped the garland to the ground, and grunted.

  ≈

  The thing about the most wonderful time of the year, is that it doesn’t just happen by itself. Sometimes it needs a little help. And right then, the help came in the form of cider with cinnamon, and a plate of snowflake-shaped biscuits.

  ‘I can’t believe she wants you to shadow Mr Rundt,’ I said. ‘We hate him. He’s not a lawyer. He’s a ... he’s a ... he’s a worm. That’s what he is. No. That’s not fair on worms. He’s a ... he’s a ...’

  Melissa drained her glass of cider and reached for another
biscuit. ‘You’re telling me. He really is a ... a ...’

  You’ll have to excuse our lack of eloquence. But Mr Rundt really did defy explanation. If I were pushed to describe him, I’d have to say that he was a total you-know-what. As a Wyrd Court appointed lawyer, he was a bit like a public prosecutor. That ought to mean he had the interest of the public in mind, but really, he only had the interest of witches. He had proved time and again that he hated every other supernatural. He went against everything that our coven believed in.

  ‘Maybe she’s hoping you’ll catch him out on something? Something that could get him fired?’

  Both of us reached for the last biscuit at the same time. Melissa broke it in two, and handed me the biggest half. Aw, wasn’t she sweet?

  ‘I thought of that,’ she said. ‘And then I realised how much I didn’t care. I’m going to be sitting there on that bench with him and his cronies while they say the most horrible things, Wanda. People are going to think I’m like him. And do you know what he said when he heard I was being placed with him? He said, “I take my coffee with five sugars and a lot of milk.” Wanda, I’ve gone from making coffee and doing filing for the former Minister, and been demoted to making coffee and doing filing for the worst lawyer in the witching world. I mean, I agree that it’s time for me to work for a lawyer. But him?’

  I looked down at my bigger biscuit piece, and slid it across to her. ‘I think you need this more than I do,’ I said. ‘But chin-up, Melissa. It’s the most wonderful time of the year. And nothing is going to ruin it.’

  She nibbled nervously on the biscuit. ‘You’re scary when you’re determined, do you know that? Hey, Princess! What’s going on over there?’

  I followed her eyes to her familiar. Princess was hissing at the coat stand by the back door. A moment later, my mother’s familiar, Mischief, joined in with the hissing.

  We sprang up from our chairs and walked to the coat stand. At first we could see nothing, but then I noticed three tiny white blurs, running out from a pair of wellies on the ground. I screamed out as they ran up my leg.

  Just as Princess was about to follow them, Melissa plucked the cat from the floor.

  ‘Wh-where are we?’ asked one of the tiny creatures. Now that they were no longer blurry, I could see that they were, most definitely, three white mice.

  ‘It feels lumpy,’ said another.

  ‘Feels more cushiony to me.’

  ‘Yeah. Or maybe like a balloon.’

  ‘Ahem.’ I picked them up in my hands. ‘You’re on my boobs, idiots. What’s wrong with you? Are you blind?’

  The three of them looked all around. ‘Who said that? Was that the Wayfarer? Wayfarer? Is that you? Wayfarer? Our witch has been murdered. We need your help.’

  Oh. So they were blind. Three blind mice. Wonderful.

  2. All Wrapped Up

  I settled the three mice on the kitchen table.

  ‘So,’ said Melissa. ‘Who was your witch?’

  ‘Who said that?’ It was the biggest of the three speaking.

  ‘I said that,’ she said. ‘Go on. Tell Wanda why you’re here.’

  ‘Are you Wanda?’

  ‘No, I’m not Wanda. I’m Melissa.’ She pointed to me. ‘She’s Wanda.’

  ‘They can’t see where you’re pointing,’ I said.

  ‘Oh. Good point. I’ll just make us a cup of tea then. So as not to confuse things.’

  As she ran off to fill the kettle, I took a better look at the latest familiars to arrive in my life, and wondered what they’d be able to tell me about their witch’s murder.

  It sounds like such a great power, right? Every time a witch is murdered, their familiar hangs on for a little while to help me catch the killer. But the universe does like to have its jokes, and along with my gift, it had chucked a great big Ha, Ha my way – because, so far, not a single familiar had actually seen who murdered their witch. And three blind mice? Well, I doubted they were going to be the ones who changed the pattern.

  They were cute, though, I’d say that much for them. And, whilst they were all white, there were definite differences. One of them had a curly tail. Another had enormous ears. The third was just plain fat.

  ‘What are your names?’ I asked.

  The one with the enormous ears said, ‘Winnie calls me Big Ears. I’m not sure why.’ Okay, so judging by the sound of the voice, Big Ears was male.

  The one with the curly tail said, in a sweet, feminine tone, ‘She calls me Curly. I don’t know why, either.’

  ‘She calls me Dumpling,’ said the fat mouse, in a deep, manly voice. ‘I think it’s because I like dumplings.’

  ‘Okay, and Winnie is your witch? What happened to her? There haven’t been any murders reported for a few days.’

  ‘It only happened a little while ago,’ said Dumpling. ‘She sounded like she was choking. We didn’t see who did it. We smelled this horrible perfume, or maybe cologne. It made Curly sneeze, whichever it was.’

  ‘It did.’ She nodded. ‘My poor nose is still twitching.’

  ‘At first, we just heard footsteps in the kitchen,’ Dumpling went on. ‘And Winnie said, “Oh, it’s you. I’ll just stick the kettle on.” Then ... we heard that horrible noise. That choking noise. We ran around, looking for Winnie but ... when we got to her we could tell she was gone. So we came here. Well, after a few wrong turns, anyway. First we ran into the wrong house and a woman started screaming and swishing what sounded like a knife at our tails. We smelled your bat, then, and we found the right house. It’s common knowledge that you have a Lesser-Known Mango Bat as your familiar. That kind of bat has a very strong, fruity scent. Easy to track.’

  Dizzy, my bat familiar, was currently up in the attic. I wasn’t sure what he’d think of being referred to as fruity. But seeing as he ate nothing but mangoes, it was to be expected. As for the familiars who were in the room ... they were having far too much fun, considering this was a murder investigation. Mischief, my mother’s familiar, sidled over to the table and said, ‘It must have been the Browns’ house they went into first.’

  ‘The closest house to ours is owned by a farmer and his wife,’ I explained to the mice. ‘You must have frightened Mrs Brown when you ran into her kitchen. She’s normally a lovely woman.’

  ‘Sure, for a farmer’s wife,’ Mischief continued, sniggering. ‘But that’s the thing about farmers’ wives. They often try to cut tails off with carving knives.’

  ‘Why is someone laughing? Who said that?’ asked Curly.

  I glowered at the cat. ‘Enough of your mischief, Mischief. So. Mice.’ I returned my attention to them. ‘Where does Winnie live? I need to get there as soon as I can.’

  The mice moved closer to one another and began to confer. A moment later, Dumpling said, ‘We don’t know. It was quite the distance. As we said, we followed the scent of your bat.’

  I resisted the urge to groan. They were doing their best, poor things, considering they were grieving. It wasn’t like Winnie was that common a name among witches. I glanced over at Melissa. ‘How many Winnies do you know?’

  Melissa let out a low whistle. ‘Winnie. Oh, dear. At least a dozen, and that’s just in Riddler’s Cove. How about a coven name or a surname?’

  The three mice began to look so darned guilty I wanted to cuddle them. ‘We don’t know that, either. Everyone just calls her Winnie.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘We can still narrow it down. Like ... do you live closer to the sea or further out into the countryside? Or ... is Winnie old or young?’

  There were another few seconds of deliberation. ‘She has grandkids,’ Big Ears said when they’d finished. ‘They pet us. They’re very nice. We think the house is up in the hills. There’s lots of forest around.’

  Well, that was something to work with. Just as I was about to ask them more, Christine walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Mince pies,’ she announced, holding a cardboard box in the air. ‘As promised.’

/>   ‘Who’s that?’ asked Curly. ‘She sounds new. Did she just get here?’

  ‘That’s Christine. Melissa’s mother. Another member of the Wayfair coven.’ I gave Christine a wave.

  ‘Yeah. My mother who left to get mince pies three hours ago,’ said Melissa. ‘I wonder, what could have kept you so long in Caulfield’s cakes? Wouldn’t have been because you were actually making lovey dovey talk with Kevin Caulfield the whole time, would it?’

  Christine gave her daughter a mock-stern stare. ‘Is that any way to talk to your mother? I can always bring the mince pies back, you know.’

  As entertaining as their mother-daughter bickering could be, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it today. ‘There’s been a murder, Christine,’ I said, nodding to the mice on the table. ‘Their witch is called Winnie. We know she lives somewhere near the woods, or maybe even in the woods, but that’s all.’

  She rushed to the table, and the mice began to sniff the box like crazy. Dumpling was even salivating a little.

  ‘Would you like some?’ Christine asked.

  As they nodded eagerly, she passed a mince pie their way. Blind or not, they had no trouble finding food and eating it. They had the whole pie finished in under a minute, so Christine gave them another.

  ‘What about Winnie Maxwell?’ Melissa suggested, bringing three mugs of tea to the table. ‘She lives in Edgeton Wood.’

  Christine shook her head. ‘I just saw her in Caulfield’s. Oh, there’s Winnie Lynch. She lives in the Wandering Wood. Actually, scratch that – she died four months ago. Natural causes. There’s Winnie Plimpton, though. She lives in Foundling Forest.’

  ‘It can’t be her. She just went on honeymoon,’ said Melissa.

  It seemed like there were as many forests as there were Winnies in Riddler’s Cove. ‘The mice say she has grandkids. Right, mice?’

  They nodded. ‘Nine grandchildren. And lots of friends, too. Everyone loves Winnie.’

  Christine’s palm hit the table. ‘Well then it must be Winnie Wywood from Wywood! Everyone loves Winnie Wywood.’