Witch Is When It All Began (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 1)

by Adele Abbott

  The church was perched on top of the hill. I was almost thirty minutes late. Maybe it would be best if I simply turned around and drove home. It seemed disrespectful to turn up so late. The rain, which had been little more than drizzle when I’d set off, was now much heavier. As I climbed out of the car, I could see a crowd of mourners in the distance. That had to be them.

  “Great!” I’d left my umbrella back at the flat. This day was just getting better and better. I made my way through the gates, and began to walk towards the crowd of mourners. By the time I reached them, I would look like a drowned rat.

  “Step under this.”

  I almost jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t seen the woman approach me. She was dressed in black, and was holding a large umbrella.

  “Thanks.” I dipped under it. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “You must be Jill.” The woman smiled.

  I nodded.

  “I’m your aunt Lucy. We hoped you would come, but we were beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”

  “I’m really sorry. The SatNav couldn’t find Candlefield. I had to go back for the map you sent me.” The excuse sounded lame even to me.

  “Not to worry. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Your mother would have been so happy to know you came.”

  “What about my father? Is he still—?”

  Aunt Lucy shook her head.

  I glanced ahead and could see the mourners were beginning to disperse. The majority of them were taking another path that led to a second set of gates to my right.

  “We’re going back to my house,” she said. “You’re welcome to come. I know the rest of the family would love to meet you.”

  “I—I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet.”

  “Not to worry. There will be plenty of time for you to meet them another day. Now you know where we are, you’re welcome to visit at any time.”

  We walked in silence to the now deserted graveside. I stared down at the coffin.

  “She loved you more than anything in the world,” Aunt Lucy said.

  “How can you say that?” The words were out before I had the chance to filter them. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay.” She smiled. “This must be difficult for you.”

  More difficult than she could know. I wanted to run back to the car, drive home, and forget I’d ever heard from my mother. But first I needed answers.

  “Why did she reject me?”

  “She didn’t.” Aunt Lucy put her hand on my shoulder. “You must never think that.”

  “What am I supposed to think? She put me up for adoption when I was a baby, and then refused to see me when I tried to find her.”

  “That broke your mother’s heart.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Not from where I’m standing.” I tried to control my emotions, but my anger forced its way to the surface. “Do you know what her last words to me were?”

  Aunt Lucy shook her head.

  “She called me a witch! A witch! If she loved me, why would she do that? She could have used her last breath to tell me why she had to give me up for adoption, or at least to tell me she loved me. If she’d done that, maybe I could have forgiven her, but not now.”

  I pulled away. Aunt Lucy tried to grab my hand, but I hurried back along the path to my car. I don’t remember the journey back. I must have been on auto-pilot.

  Rather than go straight home, I called at Kathy’s. She looked surprised to see me.

  “Did you change your mind?”

  “What about?”

  “The funeral. No one will blame you.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Come on in, I was about to make a cup of tea.”

  As I walked through to the living room, I noticed the clock on the wall. Ten o’ clock. The funeral had been at nine-thirty. I hadn’t arrived in Candlefield until almost ten because I’d got lost. How could it be ten o’ clock?

  “Are you okay?” Kathy looked concerned.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” Apart from losing my mind.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. No one will think any worse of you for not going. Not after the way she treated you.”

  “I did go.”

  “Oh? I thought you said it was at nine-thirty? Here, drink this.” She passed me the tea. “Did you meet your new family?”

  “Only my aunt Lucy. She kept trying to tell me how much my mother had loved me. Yeah, right.”

  “What about your father?”

  “Dead.”

  “Oh, Jill. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not like I ever knew him.”

  “What about your cousins and grandma? What were they like?”

  “I didn’t get to meet them. I arrived late. By the time I got there, the ceremony was over. Aunt Lucy did invite me back to her place, but I couldn’t face it. I had to get away.”

  “Maybe you could go back there when you’re feeling up to it.”

  “I’m never going back there.”

  “But they’re your family.”

  “You’re my only family. I’ve managed without them this long. I can manage without them now.”

  “What about the village? What’s it like?”

  “Beautiful. Picture postcard beautiful. I can’t believe I’ve never even heard of it before.”

  Kathy pulled out her phone and fired up Google Maps. “What did you say it was called?”

  “Candlefield.”

  “How are you spelling that?”

  “Candle and then field. One word.”

  “That’s what I thought. Google doesn’t recognise it. Are you sure you’ve got the name right?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well it isn’t on here.”

  “I had the same problem with the SatNav. Very weird. When we have some free time, I’ll take you there. It’s really gorgeous.”

  “Why don’t you stay with us for a few days? I don’t like to think of you all alone after what you’ve been through.”

  I didn’t take her up on the offer. Much as I loved my nephew and niece, I needed my own space and a little peace and quiet. I wouldn’t get either at Kathy’s. Once I was back at my flat, I tried to distract myself with a little TV, but I couldn’t focus. My mind refused to be still; it kept returning to the events of the day. Perhaps I should have gone to the wake. But why? I was an outsider; I wasn’t really family.

  I needed something to occupy my mind, and I remembered something Mrs V had said some months earlier: ‘There’s nothing quite like it to relax the mind’. She’d been trying to persuade me to take up knitting. I’d pooh-poohed the idea at the time, and certainly hadn’t given her any reason to believe I was interested. That hadn’t stopped her from buying me a ‘starter kit’, which comprised of two balls of wool, a pair of knitting needles and a ‘beginner’s guide’. Ever since then, she’d asked me at least once a week how I was getting on with it. Depending on how I felt, I’d either tell her I’d been too busy or I’d lie and say ‘it’s coming along’. In truth I hadn’t looked at it since the day she’d given it to me when I’d thrown it—now where had I thrown it?

  Twenty minutes later, I found it at the bottom of the wardrobe. Unsurprisingly, the pattern that came with the beginner’s guide was for a scarf. How difficult could it be?

  Are you kidding me? How could there be only forty-five stitches—there should be forty-six. It just wasn’t possible. I’d taken it really slowly this time. It was my fourth attempt, and so far I’d lost stitches every single time. Where did they go? Was there a ‘knitting fairy’ that magicked them away when I wasn’t looking? No wonder Mrs V was border-line crazy. This knitting lark was enough to send anyone bonkers.

  Two hours and no scarf later, I gathered up the wool, needles and beginners guide, and threw them back into the wardrobe. Next time I needed to soothe my nerves, I’d hit the vodka.

  Chapter 6

  My usual breakf
ast comprised a cup of tea and cereal. The morning after the funeral, I had two strong cups of coffee. I needed them just to get me out of the door. The events of the previous day had left me exhausted.

  “Morning, Mrs V.”

  “Morning, dear. Are you okay? You look a little tired this morning.”

  “I didn’t sleep very well. I have a few things on my mind right now.”

  Mrs V looked over her half-moon glasses. “I know just the thing for that.”

  Don’t you dare—just don’t you—

  “Knitting. It’s what has kept me sane all of these years. Do you still have the—?”

  I went through to my office and slammed the door closed behind me. I could hear Mrs V tutting through the glass. One of the reasons I felt so tired was because I’d had a nightmare in which I’d been searching high and low for dropped stitches.

  “Meow!” Winky rubbed against my legs. “Meow!”

  I stroked his head, “Here’s a tip for you, boy. Don’t ever take up knitting.”

  I walked over to the window, and hung my coat on the stand. When I turned around I found Winky sitting on my chair. “Off you get!” I tapped his backside, and he jumped down. “You’ve got plenty of seats to choose from. You can’t have mine.”

  I stooped down to get the ‘Caroline Fox’ folder out of the filing cabinet.

  “Your chair is the most comfortable.”

  I banged my head as I shot back up.

  “Meow! Meow!”

  I stared at him. He stared back—as best he could. Okay, now I was hearing things. I truly was losing my mind.

  Normally, once I’m on a case, I’m laser-focussed, but I’d really dropped the ball this time. With all the upheaval of the previous few days, I’d barely thought about the ‘Fox’ case since Danny Peterson’s visit. Billable hours to-date came to precisely zero. That wouldn’t pay the rent or keep Winky in full cream milk. I did a quick read through of my notes to get back up to speed. I really was beginning to have second thoughts on whether or not I should have taken the case, but it was too late to back out now. I’d made a promise to Danny, and the least I could do was dig around and see what I could come up with. I couldn’t contact Mr Lyon, so decided to start with Mr Lamb, husband of the second murder victim. It wasn’t difficult to find his phone number and address.

  By midday, it was obvious that he had no intention of answering his phone or responding to the numerous messages I’d left for him. That left me with only one option.

  Just my luck. There was nowhere to park within sight of the house, so I had to leave my car several streets away. Trust me to pick the coldest day of the year so far. I managed to find a little shelter from the icy cold wind by leaning against a tree that was on the opposite side of the road to Lamb’s house. I’d already tried knocking on his door, and I’d stolen a look through the front window, but there was no sign of life. I’d also checked the garage, but his car wasn’t there. My plan was to doorstep him when he got back. That was if I didn’t die from hypothermia first.

  It was a nice, quiet neighbourhood. Not the type of place you’d expect to find a murderer—serial killer or otherwise. I noticed an elderly woman staring at me from an upstairs window in the house behind me. She was probably Neighbourhood Watch. Hopefully Mr Lamb would return home before I was hauled away by the police.

  “Mr Lamb?” I chased after him as soon as he got out of the car.

  “I have nothing to say.” He was nothing like I’d expected him to be. For some reason I’d pictured a mild-mannered, accountant type. Instead what I got was a real bruiser who could have passed for a serial killer quite easily. Bald, apart from tufts of hair on either side of his head, he stood about five-eight tall. He was a little overweight, but not what you would call fat. He looked like he hadn’t had a shave for at least a week.

  “Go away!” he snarled.

  “I just want a few words.” I was already back-pedalling.

  “I’m not talking to the press!”

  “I’m not the press.”

  “Course you aren’t. That’s what they all say.”

  “It’s true.” I slid my hand into my inside pocket and pulled out a card. “Look.”

  He glanced at the card. “P.I? You don’t look like a P.I.”

  Which when translated meant ‘you’re not a man’.

  “My name’s Jill Gooder. I’ve called several times today and left messages.”

  “I don’t listen to my messages any more.”

  “Right. Of course. I understand. Look, I’m working for Danny Peterson.”

  “Who? Never heard of him.”

  “He’s the boyfriend of Caroline Fox.” The name seemed to register with Lamb. “She was murdered a few days ago. He thinks her murder might be connected to your wife’s.”

  “Because of her name? The police told me the Bugle article about a serial killer was nonsense.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. That’s what I want to find out.”

  Mr Lamb’s demeanour had softened—enough for me to feel comfortable taking a few steps towards him. “Could we go inside to talk about this?” My nose and ears were freezing.

  He looked back at the house, and then at me again. “Okay. Come in. But if I find out you’re press—”

  Once we were inside, Mr Lamb dropped the aggression, and even offered me a coffee.

  “Biscuit?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to appear rude, but the biscuits were all mixed together. I had to suppress a shudder. “No, thanks. Got to think of my figure.”

  “You women. My wife was always on a diet.” He picked up a framed photo, and handed it to me. The woman was beautiful, and certainly had no need of a diet.

  “That was taken last Christmas.”

  I could hear the hurt in his voice.

  “She was beautiful,” I said.

  “Much too beautiful for an ugly brute like me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” It definitely was. Mr Lamb had been punching well above his weight.

  “It is true. She was much too good for me in every way. I couldn’t believe my luck when she said she’d go out with me. When she agreed to be my wife, I couldn’t have been any happier.”

  I smiled. Words seemed inadequate.

  “Then someone stole her away from me. If I ever lay my hands on him, he’ll wish that he was dead.”

  “Have the police said if they have any leads?”

  “They seem clueless. Every time I ask what’s happening, they say that they’re ‘pursuing a number of lines of enquiry.’ What does that mean? It’s all double-talk. I’d been thinking about doing the same thing—contacting a P.I., but I didn’t know where to begin. Are you any good?”

  “You’d have to ask my clients, but yes, I like to think so. My father was a P.I.”

  “Family business eh? That’s nice. Maybe you could work for me too?”

  “If it turns out the cases are connected, then I guess I will be doing—in a manner of speaking. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?”

  He nodded.

  “What can you tell me about the day your wife was murdered?”

  “It was just a normal day. Trisha had been to the book club at the library—she went there every Wednesday afternoon. She loved to read. Not me—I’m more of a TV kind of guy. Most nights, if we weren’t going out, I’d watch TV while Trisha read her books. She liked Romance novels. I offered to watch TV upstairs, so as not to disturb her, but she said that once she was engrossed in a good book, all other sounds faded into the background.”

  “What about the days leading up to her death? Anything out of the ordinary? Anything at all?”

  “Nothing. We lived a fairly routine kind of life. Boring, you might say. Trisha did the weekly shop, went to the gym, and visited her brother.”

  “Do you have a contact number for him?”

  “It’s on my phone.” He flicked through his list of contacts until he had it. “There you go.”

  We talked for over an
hour. Most of that time, I spent listening to Mr Lamb reminisce about the woman who had been the love of his life. His soul mate.

  As I left, I promised to keep him posted on events. He offered to pay me, but I declined. I didn’t feel right about taking two payments for the same case. I was pleased to have made contact with Mr Lamb, but I didn’t feel that I’d learned anything new. From what he’d told me, there was no obvious reason why anyone would have wanted to kill his wife. The more I thought about it, the more it felt like a senseless, random attack, which was precisely how the police were treating it from all accounts.

  On the drive home, I felt my phone vibrate. I ignored it until I arrived back at my flat. There was a voice mail from Jack Maxwell: ‘I told you to stay away from the Fox case, and yet you paid a visit to Mr Lamb today. I won’t tell you again. Stay out of police business. All you are doing is hindering our enquiries.’

  Who did he think he was? I pressed ‘delete’.

  Even though it was only four o’clock, I decided to call it a day. I was feeling pretty frazzled, and there had to be a few perks to being your own boss. I called Mrs V to make sure there was nothing that needed my attention.

  “Only that damn cat. He’s driving me insane.”

  I didn’t ask why. Mrs V and Winky would have to sort out their differences by themselves for once.

  Back at my flat, I decided what I needed was a lazy, self-indulgent evening. That meant a hot bath, followed by a takeaway pizza, a glass of wine, and an enormous bar of chocolate. Just what the doctor ordered.

  Before I had a chance to put my plan into action, there was a knock on the door. Much as I loved Kathy, I prayed it wouldn’t be her. I just wanted some ‘me, myself, I’ time.

  “Jill Gooder?” The badge on the young man’s jacket read ‘Lightning Couriers’. His hair certainly looked as though he’d been struck by lightning.