The Water Witch Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Four Book Paranormal Cozy Mystery Anthology (Sam Short Boxed Sets 1)

by Sam Short

  The crows were loud, and I imagined a flock the size of the one that circled above us would make short work of a field of wheat, or whatever crop it was that Gerald grew.

  The red faced farmer continued his rant. “I’ve got the bird watching brigade on me too, telling me I shouldn’t shoot the crows. Bloody twitchers! I’d like to see what they’d say if it was their livelihood being eaten by the buggers!”

  “I’m sorry you’ve got crow trouble, Mr Timkins,” I said, “but can you try and be more careful in the future? I really don’t like the thought of being shot, and I only had my boat painted a few weeks ago!”

  Gerald nodded. “Of course,” he said, “but do me a favour, girls? Don’t go reporting me to the police, will you? I’ve got enough problems on my plate with these crows without the law sniffing around too.”

  None of us were the type of person to go running to the law because of an accident, and nobody had been harmed, although I had an awful feeling that a few crows wouldn’t be seeing another sunrise. “We won’t,” I promised. “You have my word.”

  Gerald thanked us with a wave of his cap, and fought his way back through the hedge as the crows continued to chastise him.

  “Nothing like a little excitement first thing in the morning to get the blood flowing,” said Susie.

  Willow smiled. “I’m ready for more. Come on, Susie, show us our shop!”

  Chapter Two

  “Where’s Jason?” I asked as Susie fished a large bunch of keys from her jeans pocket. “He said he wanted to be here when we saw inside the shop for the first time.”

  Susie opened the door and stood aside, letting me and Willow enter before her. “He was called away to a fire,” she said, “but I’ll show you around, and he said he’ll be back as soon as he can.”

  “Called away to a fire?” I asked. The last time I’d seen Jason he’d been released from police custody after being suspected of murder. Why he’d been called to a fire was anyone’s guess.

  “He volunteered as a part-time fireman,” explained Susie. “It seems he meant it when he said he wanted to do good with his life from now on.”

  All thoughts of Jason fighting fires faded as I looked around the room which was soon going to be my shop. The space was perfect. It had been a VHS rental shop until recently — when the elderly couple who’d owned it had begrudgingly admitted that the bottom had fallen out of the market, and retired to a new home in Portugal. The shelves which had once housed videos would be perfect for wands, cauldrons, and spells, and the service counter still had an old fashioned metal till on top of it. It made a pleasant ringing sound as I opened it, and I promised myself I’d never change it for a modern beeping electronic model. It fitted in perfectly with the vision I had of how the shop would look when it was decorated and filled with stock.

  The path down to my mooring ran alongside the right-hand side of the shop, and adjoining it on the left was the Firkin Gherkin greengrocers, which would be invaluable in helping persuade me to eat a healthy lunch each day. The Golden Wok Chinese restaurant and takeaway was opposite, and the smell of fried onions was already heavy in the street even though it wasn’t quite nine o’clock in the morning. I’d eaten there once, and had vowed never to repeat the experience after discovering that Dennis, the chef, used microwavable rice and jars of shop bought sauces to make his underwhelming offerings.

  The entrance to Susie’s flat was a set of steps at the rear of our building, which led up to a balcony and a bright red door. The balcony was decorated with colourful plants in pots and overlooked the canal a few hundred metres away. If you leaned out over the stone wall and craned your neck, you could just make out the bow of the Water Witch in her mooring.

  Willow span on the spot pointing at shelves and cubbyholes. “We’ll put the goblets on that shelf, and the cauldrons below,” she enthused. “The crystals can go on the shelf near the window where they’ll catch the sun, and we can set up a table to make potions on! It’s perfect!”

  Susie gave a giggle and a wide grin. “I knew you’d love it,” she said. “And I’ve got some good news of my own too.” She opened her bag and retrieved a badge. “It’s a press pass,” she beamed, holding it up for us to inspect. “The Herald liked the work I sold them during the Sam Hedgewick case, and they offered me a position as a journalist! I can work from home, right above you two! No more freelancing for me — I’ve got a job!”

  Mine and Willow’s excited congratulations were cut short by the ringing of the bell above the door as it opened. The bell made a sound a lot louder than the till, but not loud enough to ever become an annoyance.

  “Hello!” said a big man, filling the doorway with his bulk. “I was hoping you could tell me what time the greengrocers opens. There’s no sign in the window, and I’m desperate for some celery.” He rubbed his almost spherical belly with a big hand. “I’m starving!”

  I didn’t like to say it, and I even felt guilty for thinking it, but starving was not an adjective I’d have used for the man. His stomach reached us a full foot and a half before the rest of his body as he closed the door and shuffled into the shop, and his t-shirt cast doubt on his claim he was a fan of celery. ‘I ate all the pies!’ it proudly proclaimed, beneath a cartoon image of a pie, and ‘South of England pie eating champion 2015,’ was emblazoned below.

  He smiled as the three of us read his t-shirt. “And twenty-fourteen, and sixteen,” he offered, with more than a hint of pride in his voice, “but they didn’t do a t-shirt at last year’s competition, they found better sponsors and commissioned an oil painting of me instead. It’s in my bedroom, above the bed. The wife hates it, she says it stops her from falling asleep, but it makes me feel safe. The artist captured the crumbs in my beard perfectly.”

  I narrowed my eyes. His full black beard was currently crumb free, and it appeared to have been combed. It was a pretty nice beard all round, as beards went.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued, his voice remarkably high-pitched for such a large man, but then again, his jeans did seem to be constrictive in the groin area. “I’m Felix Round.”

  Willow opened her mouth to speak, but Felix interrupted her. “I know what you’re going to say,” he declared. “Round by name, round by nature! I hear it all the time!”

  “Erm, no,” said Willow. “I was going to tell you the greengrocers opens at quarter-past nine.”

  “Oh,” said Felix, looking dejected. “I bet you want to know why I’m so desperate for celery though, don’t you? Come on admit it! Look at the size of me… why would I be eating celery? One of you must want to know!”

  Willow had the least tact. “I am slightly intrigued,” she admitted. “Although I’m guessing it’s because you’re on a diet?”

  Felix smiled and shook his head. “Incorrect! It’s not a diet — it’s my secret weapon,” he boasted. “I only eat celery for two days before a pie eating contest. I’ve almost collapsed from hunger in the past, but it does the job — I’ll be half dead from starvation by the time the pies are placed in front of me, and I will smash them! I’m aiming to eat nineteen this year!”

  “But the contest isn’t for four days,” said Susie. “You can’t live on celery for that long. I couldn’t live on celery for that long.”

  It was the first I’d heard of a pie eating contest, but I supposed it hadn’t been top of Susie’s list of things to tell me about when I’d arrived back in Wickford.

  Felix frowned. “I’m forced to extend two days to four days. I must be strong. Dark times are upon us,” he said, lowering his voice. “Rumour has it that The Tank is coming out of retirement after a three year break. I’m going to need to be extra hungry if I want to beat that bruiser.”

  “The Tank?” I said.

  He moved nearer to us, and I took the opportunity to take a closer look at his beard. Definitely no crumbs.

  “The Tank,” he confirmed with a nod. “Winner of the South England pie eating contest for three years running. He once ate
twelve meat and potato pies, and six lamb and mint — in forty-six minutes and twelve seconds. I need to be running on empty if I’m to be in with a chance of beating him. If I win this year I’ll beat his record. So celery it is… for now.” He fell silent for a moment and narrowed his eyes. “Then I will dominate!” he shouted, his belly wobbling and his voice trembling as it rose in volume. “The tank will wish he’d choked on the last pie he ate. I’ll send him back to whatever dark corner of the county he’s crawled out of and I’ll fu—”

  “What’s going on here?” said a loud male voice. “Are you girls okay?”

  Felix’s shouting had disguised the sound of the bell ringing as the door opened, and Jason Danvers stood in the doorway. His tight fire brigade t-shirt moulded itself to his bulging muscles, and the soot on his face was as black as the tattoos which covered his arms. Granny had once or twice referred to him as a badboy, and he certainly looked bad as he leapt into action, taking long strides through the shop with the obvious intent of stopping Felix committing whatever heinous act Jason imagined he was about to.

  Felix whimpered, and I stepped between the two men. “It’s okay!” I said, placing a hand on Jason’s chest. “He was just telling us a story, he got himself over excited.”

  “It’s hunger pangs,” said Felix, shrinking under Jason’s gaze. “I get a little edgy when I’m hungry. The doctor said I’ve developed diabetes, but you can’t trust the quacks, can you? What can one little blood test really tell a doctor about the intricate workings of the human body? I was told I wouldn’t see Christmas twenty-ten if I didn’t cut down on yak’s milk, but look at me. I’m still here, and as strong as an ox!”

  The door opened again, and in hurried a short thin woman with a scowl on her face, bright green polish on her fingernails, and a hairdo so large it bounced as she walked. “Felix, what on earth are you doing?” she said, taking the big man by the hand. “You only came in to ask what time the shop next door opens. I’ve been sitting in the car waiting for you.”

  “Sorry, darling,” said Felix. “The young ladies were interested in hearing about the pie eating contest. You know how I like to talk.”

  Felix dwarfed his wife, and she sighed as she turned her husband towards the door. “Nobody wants to hear about your wretched competition, Felix. And I wish you wouldn’t wear that t-shirt everywhere. It’s not clever to show off about giving yourself heart disease and diabetes.”

  “I don’t have heart disease,” protested Felix, as he followed his wife. “And as you know, sweetheart, I’m dubious about the diabetes diagnosis.”

  His wife sighed. “I do wish you’d listen to the doctor, Felix. I’m worried sick about you, and you don’t seem to care!”

  “Look,” said Willow, pointing through the window and relieving the tension. “It’s Mr Jarvis. He owns the greengrocers. Go and get your celery, Felix, and we wish you luck in the competition. We’ll be rooting for you.”

  I considered relieving the tension even further by pointing out Willow’s possible pun, but I wasn’t quite sure if celery was a root vegetable or not.

  “Celery?” said Jason, watching the oddly matched couple leave the shop.

  “Long story,” I said, as the door closed behind them.

  Jason wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’ve got a story too,” he said. “A story which I think you’ll want to hear.”

  Chapter Three

  Willow carried a large glass of water from the small kitchen in the rear area of the shop, and Jason drank it with long thirsty gulps. He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and leaned against the serving counter, sweat beading on his forehead.

  “That fire I just got called to,” he said, “was strange.”

  “Strange?” I said. “In what way?”

  Jason took a breath and looked at us in turn. “Some thugs rolled a burning car over a cliff in the quarry. Luckily someone was walking his dog and reported it, or the fire would have spread to the trees.”

  “Idiot kids,” said Susie. “Probably from Covenhill. I’d hate to think we have young adults like that in Wickford.”

  “That’s not what was strange,” Jason said. “What was strange is that a goat wearing a balaclava came galloping out of the trees and attacked the firemen, me included.”

  “A goat?” said Willow casually.

  Jason nodded. “Yes, a goat. A goat which I’m almost certain is the same goat that attacked me on your boat.”

  “I thought you said it was wearing a balaclava?” I said, mentally piecing together the jigsaw of what had happened in the quarry that morning, and it wasn’t a difficult puzzle to put together. “How can you be sure?”

  The goat had to be Boris — another animal which had fallen foul of Granny’s witch dementia. The goat wasn’t actually a goat — well, the body was, but the mind was that of certified acupuncturist Charleston Huang, which had accidentally been transferred into the animal. Charleston Huang was quite happy being trapped in the goat, and his body, along with the mind of the actual goat, was languishing in a form of magical stasis in Granny’s guest bedroom, beneath her most expensive summer duvet.

  Granny had promised she was going to burn Charlestons’s car when she’d thought the police were looking for him. It seemed she’d followed through on her promise, and had enlisted the help of Boris.

  Jason looked at me with amusement playing on his face. “Really?” he said. “Are you trying to tell me that a balaclava wearing goat which attacked me today, isn’t the same got which attacked me on your boat?”

  “Maybe,” said Susie. “Plenty of people keep goats, Jason. It’s really not unusual, especially in rural areas of the country.”

  Jason narrowed his eyes and licked his lips. “Talking goats?”

  Susie had no answer.

  “Not this again,” I said. “The police told you that was all in your imagination. When the goat bit you… down there, you hallucinated because of the pain you were in — you imagined the goat had spoken to you.”

  Susie and Willow nodded their agreement, though both of them knew full well that Boris had indeed hurled insults at Jason before he’d dragged him from his hiding place on my boat.

  “That doesn’t explain today,” said Jason, shaking his head. “He spoke to me again. I know he did! He called me a ‘diabolical yellow helmeted moron.’ I had to take my helmet off and hit him with it to stop him biting through my water hose.”

  I laughed. At least I’d tried to laugh, but it came out as a snort. “Smoke inhalation,” I proclaimed. “It has to be. You breathed in too much smoke and imagined the goat was talking.”

  Jason raised his eyebrows. “What is it with that goat?” he said, “and what is it you’re hiding from me?”

  “Nothing,” I said. Certainly not the fact that Willow and I were Witches, along with everyone else in my family. “You’ve overheated, Jason. Come on, I’ll sign the rental contract for the shop and then you can go home and lie down. You look like you need a long shower and a rest.”

  Jason nodded. “The animal welfare people are out looking for the goat anyway. They say he could suffocate if they don’t find him soon and remove the balaclava.”

  Willow and I swapped glances as I signed the paperwork for Jason, and my sister whispered in my ear as Jason took his empty glass into the kitchen. “So, Granny and Boris are arsonists now?” she said. “Do you think we should go and find out what’s going on?”

  ****

  Willow and I locked the shop up and said goodbye to Jason and Susie — refusing the offer of a lift from both of them, and began the walk to Granny’s cottage. Ashwood cottage was high on a hill to the west of Wickford, and Willow and I took deep breaths as we climbed the steep and narrow country lane that led us there.

  Birds sang and bees buzzed, and I smiled to myself as the sun warmed my face. Only Willow grabbing my arm with fingers that dug deep into my flesh, dragged me from my happy daze. “Watch out!” she screamed, as she pulled me into the hedge along
side her.

  The loud roar of an engine was followed by a flash of red as a large pickup truck sped past, barely avoiding us as we squeezed ourselves against the prickles of the hedgerow. The pick-up came to a screeching halt, and the smell of burnt rubber and diesel smoke hung in the air, filling the narrow lane with toxic fumes and masking the pleasant scent of wild flowers.

  A man leaned out of the driver’s window and waved at us. “I’m so sorry, girls!” he shouted. “Are you both okay?”

  “We’re fine,” I said, brushing twigs from my short red summer dress, and checking my Doctor Martens for scuffs. “Just watch where you’re going in the future.”

  He leaned further out of the window, his blond hair and thin face barely visible through the cloud of smoke the engine spewed out. “Will do,” he said. “You have my word.”

  His word didn’t seem to count for much. He sped away with a squeal of rubber and a scream from the engine, and as he rounded the next bend, some of the loose load in the back of his vehicle spilled over the tailgate and onto the sun warmed tarmac. Neither Willow or I had any requirement for a pile of straw and a few ragged t-shirts, so we kicked the straw off the road and carried the t-shirts with us, throwing them in the rubbish bin at the bottom of one of the farm tracks that led off the lane. Our good deed for the day.

  The walk to Granny’s house left Willow and I hot and sweaty, and I began to think that Mum had a valid point when she continually insisted I needed a car. Especially since I’d decided to move my shop off the boat and into a proper property. I decided to put it at the top of my list of priorities.

  The lean-to attached to the side of Granny’s bright yellow cottage was suspiciously devoid of wood. It had been stacked high with freshly cut timber which had concealed Charleston Huang’s car, but the logs had been scattered, and fresh tyre marks indicated a vehicle had recently been moved. Willow and I needed no more evidence to prove that it had been Boris and Granny who were guilty of arson that morning. Not that we’d had any doubts in the first place.