Witch Is How Berries Tasted Good (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 26)

by Adele Abbott

  “Sorry. I’ll just take a bottle of water, please.”

  “Three-pounds-fifty.”

  “For a bottle of water? How on earth can you justify that price?”

  “It’s the production costs.” He shrugged. “It’s not like it just falls out of the sky, is it?”

  I slammed the money onto the counter and picked up the bottle of liquid gold.

  “Mickey? Johnny?”

  The two bigxies stood up.

  “I’m Johnny.” He was wearing a shirt, waistcoat and matching shorts—all in a pleasing shade of turquoise.

  “I’m Mickey.” He was more of a stripes man. Blue and white striped trousers and a red and yellow striped top. A strange combination which shouldn’t have worked but somehow did.

  “I’m Jill Maxwell.” I shook hands with them both, and then we took our seats. “Bob Bobb told me that you’d fallen victim to some kind of sabotage.”

  “That’s right,” Johnny said. “It cost me my job.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I’d been working for the same vampire for a little over three months. His name was Damien—he was a bit of a narcissist, but otherwise he was okay. The money was good, and he always paid on time. That particular morning, I was due to start my shift at eight as usual.”

  “You work shifts?”

  “Yeah, the work is always shared between at least two bigxies. There’s only so many hours you can do at one stretch. I was due to start at eight in the morning and work until four in the afternoon. I was running a little early, so I stopped off in the park across the road from Damien’s house. The next thing I knew, it was almost ten o’clock.”

  “You’d fallen asleep?”

  “No. Well, technically, yes, but I’m convinced there was more to it than that. I reckon I must have been drugged. Anyway, when I arrived at Damien’s house, he was livid. He’d had to shave himself ‘blind’ and cut his neck. He didn’t give me a chance to explain; he just fired me on the spot. I haven’t been able to get another job since.”

  “And you’re sure you weren’t just over-tired?”

  “Positive. I’d had a good eight hours sleep as usual. Someone nobbled me, and I reckon it’s those Mimage scumbags.”

  “Is that the company that supplies witches and wizards to act as mirror images?”

  “Yeah. They’re a joke. I saw one of them in action, and he was hopeless. He kept getting his hands mixed up.”

  “What about you, Mickey?” I said.

  “My story is similar to Johnny’s except that I did actually make it to work on time, but it might have been better if I hadn’t.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “I worked for a vampire called Robert. That particular day, I’d been feeling a bit off it all morning. As soon as he started shaving, I knew I was in trouble. I just couldn’t sync my actions with his. It was a nightmare. He sacked me there and then, and to be honest, I don’t blame him.”

  “And you think someone might have drugged you, too?”

  “I’m sure of it, and like Johnny, I reckon Mimage were behind it.”

  “We aren’t the only ones this has happened to,” Johnny said. “I’ve heard of at least another three bigxies that have lost their jobs because of this.”

  “What do you know about Mimage?”

  “They’re a relatively new operation. They opened their office about six months ago. I remember laughing when I first heard about them. Everyone knows that witches and wizards can’t act as mirror images. No offence.”

  “None taken. I saw a demonstration of what you guys do, and there’s no way I could do it.”

  “Mimage rely on picking up work from people who are desperate to find a replacement mirror image quickly,” Johnny said. “I was told by one of the other bigxies, who worked at Damien’s house, that Mimage had contacted him within an hour of me getting the sack. How could they have known about the vacancy so quickly unless they were behind it?”

  “It certainly sounds suspicious.”

  “Will you be able to help?” Mickey said.

  “I’ll certainly try to find proof of what they’re doing. What outcome are you hoping for, exactly?”

  “That you get them shut down before they destroy the livelihoods of any other bigxies.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  ***

  My phone rang; it was Grandma.

  “I’m ready for you.”

  “Sorry?” Why did she always have to be so cryptic?

  “You said you wanted help with your marketing, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I have a small window in my busy schedule, so you’d better get down here pronto.”

  “Couldn’t you have given me a little more notice?”

  “Do you want my help or not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then get down here now.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In Ever.”

  “Which Ever?”

  “Whichever what?”

  “Not whichever. Which Ever?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s no wonder your marketing doesn’t work if it’s as confused as this conversation.”

  “I meant which shop are you in.”

  “Why didn’t you say so, then? I’m in Ever of course; up on the roof terrace. Hurry up.”

  I could feel a migraine coming on.

  “Hi, Jill.” The head Everette, Julie, greeted me at the door. “Your grandmother is up on the terrace. I should warn you that she’s been on the cocktails for a while now.”

  “Great.”

  The temperature on the roof was at least ten degrees higher than it had been on the street. I wished Julie had warned me that Grandma was wearing a bathing costume—it might have prepared me a little for the sight that greeted me.

  “Would you like one of these?” She took a sip of a green cocktail.

  “No, I have to drive. How many have you had?”

  “Not enough. I’m celebrating the launch of ForEver Young cream.”

  “I take it that it was a success, then?”

  “What do you think? We can hardly keep up with demand.”

  “That’s all well and good, but what will you do when all the returns come in?”

  “What returns? What makes you think there’ll be any returns?”

  “Come on, Grandma. You know as well as I do that the infomercial is a complete con. As soon as people try it for themselves, and realise it doesn’t work, they’ll all request a refund.”

  “Jill, Jill, Jill.” She tutted. “Will you never learn?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve failed to take into account the ‘self-delusion’ spell.”

  “The what? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “That’s because I only invented it a few days before the launch. It’s included in every jar of cream sold.”

  “What does the spell do?”

  “It convinces the user that the cream has had just the effect they were hoping for. When they look in the mirror, they see a younger version of themselves.”

  “That’s—err—that’s—”

  “Genius?”

  “I was going to say despicable.”

  “Thank you. I am rather proud of it. Now, I suppose we should turn our attention to the travesty that is your business. What exactly is the problem that you’re hoping my marketing expertise can help you with?”

  “I need to find a way of attracting more customers. Preferably paying ones.”

  “Is there another type? Come and sit down next to me, and we’ll get started.” She pressed a button on the table next to her.

  “What does that do?”

  “It summons all of the greatest thinkers in Candlefield.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course not.” She broke down in hysterics, and was still laughing when Julie appeared with another green cocktail.

  “Did she just buzz you?”
I asked.

  “Yes. She had that button put in a couple of days ago. I reckon I’ve lost half a stone, walking up and down the stairs since then.”

  “That will be all.” Grandma took the cocktail and then dismissed Julie with a wave of the hand. “So, Jill, talk me through your current marketing strategy.”

  “I have a small ad in Washbridge Pages.”

  “In what?”

  “You know. The phone book thingy they deliver to everyone.”

  “Which everyone throws straight into the bin. How much business does that generate?”

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “You must have some idea. Surely, when a new customer comes to your office, you ask how they heard about you?”

  “Sometimes. When I remember.”

  She sighed. “Any other advertising?”

  “Not really. It’s mainly word of mouth.”

  “So, to summarise, you advertise in a publication that virtually no one reads, and have no idea if it generates any business or not?”

  “It sounds bad when you put it like that.”

  “Tell me about your social media presence.”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “You’re on Facebook, obviously.”

  “I’m not, but Winky has a page on Feline Social.”

  “Your cat?”

  “Does that count?”

  “What do you think? How about Twitter, Instagram, LinkedIn?”

  “I’ve heard of some of them.”

  “There’s no wonder your business is struggling. How do you think people find goods and services these days? I’ll tell you: it’s all done online. If your business doesn’t have a strong social media presence, you may as well pack up and go home.”

  “Okay, but I’m not really sure how to go about it.”

  “Quelle surprise. Fortunately for you, I have two gurus who handle all of my social media.”

  “Great. Will they sort something out for me?”

  “Of course. I’ll just tell them to sort it out, shall I?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Give me strength. It doesn’t work like that. It’s also going to require a lot of input from you.”

  “But I’m really busy.”

  “No, you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t be here asking for help with your marketing. Their names are Dom and Nic.”

  “What’s the other one’s name?”

  “I’ve just told you.”

  “You said: Dominic. What’s the other guy’s name?”

  “One of them is called Dom. The other’s name is Nick.”

  “Oh, right. I thought you meant—”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’ll get in touch with them and have them contact you ASAP.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “I think we’re done here.” She lay back on the sun lounger. “Tell Julie to bring me some crisps up, would you? And none of those awful cheese and onion ones she gave me last time. How am I supposed to attract the gentlemen if my breath smells of onion?”

  ***

  After leaving Ever, I decided to call it a day, and drove home. I’d no sooner parked on the drive than I heard the familiar tooting sound of Mr Hosey’s train, Bessie. My instinct was to rush into the house, but seeing as he’d come to the rescue on my wedding day, I figured the least I could do was pass the time of day with him.

  “Hello there, Jill.” He brought the train to a halt in front of our house.

  “Hi. I haven’t really had a chance to thank you for helping out the other day.”

  “My absolute pleasure. In fact, it worked out very well for me too.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve been inundated with enquiries from couples, hoping to hire Bessie for their big day.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Sorry, Jill, I’d love to stick around and chat, but I have a meeting with someone who is going to set up an online presence for Bessie: Website, social media, that kind of thing.”

  “Right, bye then.”

  If Bessie was about to get a social media presence, then I’d better get my backside in gear and do the same.

  Chapter 9

  Jack and I were eating breakfast at the kitchen table.

  “Don’t forget I’m going to be late home tonight,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “I’ve forgotten,” he lied. “Tell me again.”

  “I have to take Winky somewhere.”

  “Where?” He grinned.

  “You know where.”

  “I honestly don’t remember. Is it to the vet?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you taking him, then?”

  “To speed dating, as you very well know.”

  At that, Jack totally lost it, and almost spat muesli across the room.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

  “Sorry.” He managed to compose himself eventually. “You’re absolutely right. There’s nothing remotely strange or funny about you taking your cat to speed dating.”

  “I sometimes regret telling you that I’m a witch.”

  “I’m so glad you did. If I have a rough day at work today, all I have to do is think about you taking your cat to speed dating, and that’s bound to cheer me up.”

  “I expect you to have dinner ready for me when I get home.”

  “Of course I will, my sweetness. You’ll no doubt be starving after all your cat-chauffeuring duties.”

  “You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face when I turn you into a rat.”

  “You can’t do that. Have you forgotten our no-magic pact?”

  “You obviously didn’t read the small print, did you? I refer you specifically to the unless my husband is being a pain in the bum clause.”

  “You’ve just made that up.”

  “Have I, though? Are you sure about that?”

  When it was time for Jack to leave, he said, “You wouldn’t really turn me into a rat, would you?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t.”

  “Phew. You had me worried there for a minute.” He gave me a peck on the lips. “See you tonight.”

  “I might turn you into a cockroach, though,” I said after he’d gone through the door.

  “Why are you talking to yourself?”

  I spun around to find Grandma standing behind me. “You scared me to death.”

  “Who are you going to turn into a cockroach?”

  “Err—no one. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to tell you that I’ve arranged for Dom and Nick to come and see you this afternoon.”

  “Couldn’t you have phoned to tell me that?”

  “I could, but then I wouldn’t have got a cup of tea, would I?”

  “I have to leave for work in a minute.”

  “You’d better get the kettle on quick then, hadn’t you?”

  It was pointless arguing, so I made us both a cup of tea.

  “No biscuits?” Grandma said.

  “Err—I think I’m out of them.”

  “Really?” She magicked the cupboard door open. “What are those then?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten I bought some yesterday.”

  When I offered her the packet, she grabbed three.

  “Steady on. They have to last me all week.” I pulled the packet away.

  “Don’t be so tight-fisted. I’ve only had a couple.”

  Hoisted by my own petard.

  “You really shouldn’t magic yourself here like this. What if Jack had seen you?”

  “I’d have used the ‘forget’ spell on him of course.”

  “I don’t want you using magic on my husband.”

  “That, from the woman who was thinking of turning him into a cockroach.”

  Touché.

  ***

  One day, I would wake up and find that my world had normalised, and that all the crazy had disappeared
.

  Today, however, was not to be that day.

  “Mrs V, why are you holding a toy steering wheel?”

  “It’s the only one I could find.” She pressed the little red horn in the centre of the wheel. “I’m not sure where to get a full-size one.”

  “I wasn’t really questioning why you have a toy steering wheel, as much as why you have one at all.”

  “Armi thinks I should learn to drive.”

  “Really? At your—” I thought better of it when I saw her expression change.

  “At my age? Is that what you were going to say?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just that you’ve never shown any interest in driving.”

  “That’s true, but Armi seems to think it would be good for me. He said it would open up the world, and I suppose he’s right. I could go anywhere.”

  “Have you booked driving lessons yet?”

  “No. Armi wanted to, but I said I’d like to get used to the controls first. I thought I’d start with the steering wheel and then progress to the pedal thingies.”

  “I assume you’ll go for an automatic?”

  “Armi said it might be best. What do you think?”

  “He may be right. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it then.” I started towards my office. “Oh, just one thing. If we happen to have any clients—”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll hide the steering wheel under the desk.”

  “That might be best.”

  “Have you seen what that nutjob is doing now?” Winky was sitting on the sofa.

  “I assume you’re referring to Mrs V?”

  “Who else? What’s with the steering wheel?”

  “She’s planning on taking driving lessons.”

  “You can’t allow her to do that. The roads are dangerous enough already. I almost lost one of my nine lives the other day on my way back from the Cat Hole.”

  “What’s the Cat Hole?”

  “One of my favourite watering holes.”

  “Did you look both ways before crossing? I know what cats are like for running out into the road.”

  “I’ll have you know that I was on a tiger crossing at the time.”

  “You mean zebra crossing, don’t you? Or pelican.”

  “I know what I mean. Tiger crossings were here long before those two imposters came along.”