Witch is Why It Was Over

by Adele Abbott

  “What’s she going to call it?”

  “Kathy’s Bridal Shop.”

  “That’s a great name, but then she always did have a wonderful imagination.”

  Huh?

  “Mrs V, can I ask you a question?”

  “As long as it doesn’t involve geometry. I was never very good with shapes.”

  “Err—no, it’s not geometry. Hypothetically speaking, if Armi was to say that he wanted to talk about the future, what would you think he meant?”

  “That’s exactly what he did say. Just before he proposed.”

  Oh bum!

  “What’s up with you?” Winky said, as soon as I walked into my office. “You look like you’ve just—err—I was going to say: seen a ghost, but you do that all the time. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just had a bit of a shock.”

  “Did they put up the price of custard creams again? I can remember how traumatised you were the last time.”

  “No, nothing like that. Jack might be about to ask me to marry him.”

  “That can’t be right. Not even he’s that crazy.”

  “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t he want to marry me?”

  “You’re pretty weird.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You talk to cats.”

  “That doesn’t make me weird.”

  “You’re a witch.”

  “There is that.”

  “You should come clean and tell him.”

  “That I’m a witch? I can’t. The rogue retrievers would take me back to Candlefield.”

  “Only if they found out.”

  “I can’t take that risk.”

  “Coward.”

  “Shut up. I didn’t ask for your opinion anyway.”

  “Fair enough. Just don’t forget you’re taking me to the Will reading later.”

  ***

  Just after eleven, Mrs V popped her head in the door.

  “There’s a Mr Dewey here, Jill. He wonders if you might spare him a minute.”

  “Certainly. Send him in, would you?”

  I’d first heard of Stewey Dewey from Harry and Larry who ran Spooky Wooky, a tea room in Ghost Town. For a long time, they’d believed that Stewey had been responsible for their deaths, but I’d discovered that he had in fact injured himself trying to rescue them. Now the three of them were good friends, and the last I’d heard, they were going to open a new bakery here in Washbridge.

  “Stewey, good to see you again.”

  “You too, Jill. Thanks for sparing me a few minutes.”

  “Have you come to tell me that the bakery is open, and I can claim my free muffins for life?”

  “If all goes to plan, we should open within a month.” He laughed. “Of course, you realise I was joking about the muffins for life?”

  Joking? Nooo!

  “Yes, of course.” I forced a smile. This day was going from bad to worse. “What brings you here today?”

  “We’re planning the grand opening, but we’ve got a bit of a problem, which we’re hoping you might be able to help us with.”

  Sheesh! He tramples all over my muffin dreams and now he wants my help?

  “If I can, I will.”

  “The thing is, Harry and Larry really want to be present at the grand opening.”

  “I should think so too. What’s stopping them? Surely they can get someone to look after Spooky Wooky for a few hours, can’t they?”

  “That’s not the problem. They want to really be there, if you know what I mean?”

  “Sorry. You’ve lost me.”

  “They want other people to be able to see them, so they can join in with the celebrations. As I understand it, they can attach themselves to me, but then I’d be the only one who could see them. They thought that you might know of some way to help them.”

  “The Spookberry potion would do what they want, but it’s only available under licence. Even if they could get hold of some, I don’t see how it would help.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Don’t you think it might alarm people if they just turn up out of the blue? They’re supposed to be dead.”

  “They were planning to wear disguises, and to use make-up so they looked less—err—ghostlike, but if we can’t find a way for everyone to see them, there’s no point.”

  “I have a few contacts over in GT. I’ll ask around to see if there’s any way they would be able to get a licence for Spookberry, just for the grand opening.”

  “Would you, Jill? That would be fantastic.”

  “Don’t make any promises to Harry and Larry. I’d hate to build up their hopes in case I’m unable to deliver.”

  ***

  “Come on! Hurry up! We’ll be late.” Winky was pacing back and forth.

  “There’s plenty of time. The solicitor’s office is only a couple of minutes from here. I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come with me.”

  “I’m going with you, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Okay, on your head be it.” I went over to the cupboard, and took out the cat basket.

  “I’m not getting in that thing.”

  “You have to. I can hardly walk in there with you in my arms, can I?”

  “I suppose not.” He climbed into the basket. “The indignity of it all.”

  “Where are you taking the cat, Jill?” Mrs V looked up from her holiday brochures.

  “I—err—I’m just taking him to the vets for flea treatment.”

  “Manky old thing. I don’t know why you put up with him.”

  “I don’t have fleas,” Winky said, as we made our way downstairs. “Why didn’t you tell her where we’re really going?”

  “I’m not sure she would have understood. I’m not even sure that I do.”

  The offices of Blake, Lake and Makepiece were close to those of my old friends: Armitage, Armitage, Armitage and Poole.

  “Hi. I’m here for the reading of the Shoesmith Will.”

  “What’s that?” The receptionist pointed at the basket.

  “It’s a cat.”

  “It’s only got one eye.”

  “Really?” I glanced around the floor. “It must have fallen out.”

  “Very amusing. Why have you brought it with you?”

  “He’s one of the beneficiaries of the Will.”

  “He can’t come in here.”

  “But he’s one of the benef—”

  “It doesn’t matter. No animals are allowed. Are you his owner?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Then you can go through, but you’ll have to leave the cat outside.”

  “What if he gets eaten by a dog?”

  She shrugged; she was obviously a cat lover.

  “Sorry, Winky,” I said, once we were back outside. “I’ll leave you in this alleyway. You should be safe here.”

  “No chance. I’m coming in with you.”

  “You heard what the woman said.”

  “Make me invisible.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a witch, aren’t you? Make me invisible, and carry me inside.”

  “Don’t you think that might look a little odd?”

  “Not if you put me in your bag.”

  “It’s not big enough.”

  “Of course it is. That handbag of yours is enormous. Just don’t close it.”

  “I’m not sure about this.”

  “Come on. We’ll miss the reading.”

  Something told me I was going to regret this, but I took him out of the basket, cast the ‘hide’ spell, and put him in my handbag.

  “See, no cat,” I said to the receptionist, who was probably trying to work out why my handbag was gaping open.

  Inside the solicitor’s office, several people were seated on the two rows of chairs that had been laid out in front of the desk.

  “When’s it going to start?” Winky whispered.

  “Be quiet. You mustn’t speak.”

 
; “Pardon?” The woman two seats away looked puzzled.

  “Nothing. Sorry.”

  Five minutes later, the solicitor took his seat. “Ladies and gentlemen—”

  “And cat,” Winky chipped in.

  “Be quiet!” I shushed him.

  “Thank you for coming in today. I will now read the last Will and Testament of Roland Shoesmith: To my two darling daughters, Coral and Laurel, I leave two million pounds each.”

  “Two million?” Winky gasped. “I told you he was rich.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Pardon?” The solicitor looked at me.

  “Sorry, I just sneezed.”

  The reading of the Will took almost thirty minutes. Winky was right about one thing: Shoesmith had been loaded. In total, I calculated he had left at least nine million pounds to various relatives, friends and charities.

  “And finally, to my long-lost cat, Marmaduke, who I was forced to give up for adoption, I bequeath the collar he wore when he belonged to me.” The solicitor looked up. “That concludes the reading of the Will.”

  “A grotty old collar?” Winky said. “Is that all I get for all my pain and distress?”

  “Marmaduke?” I laughed.

  “What?”

  “You were called Marmaduke.”

  “Who cares?”

  “I think you should revert to your original name. Marmaduke suits you.”

  “Shut up. I want to go home.”

  I was just on my way out of the door when someone called me back. It was the snotty receptionist.

  “You forgot this.” She was holding a large brown envelope at arm’s length, as though it was full of something unspeakable. “It’s the collar.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  After reversing the ‘hide’ spell, we made our way back to the office.

  Once there, Winky jumped out of the basket, and disappeared under the sofa to sulk.

  “You forgot your collar, Marmaduke.”

  “You can keep it.”

  “No, it’s yours.” I pushed the envelope under the sofa. “And don’t worry. You can keep my twenty percent cut.”

  Snigger.

  Chapter 10

  Poor old Winky, or should I say Marmaduke? He’d been so sure that he was going to inherit a small fortune, but all he’d ended up with was a tatty old collar. I shouldn’t laugh because I’d stood to collect twenty percent of his inheritance, but then I’d never really expected it to amount to anything.

  Marmaduke? LOL.

  What? If Kathy can say OMG, then I can say LOL.

  It turned out that the current concierge at the Nexler Building was the same one who’d worked there at the time of Stephen Bradley’s murder. His name was Lucas Broad, and he’d agreed to speak to me.

  There was only one man seated behind the huge reception desk on the ground floor. Dressed in an immaculate navy-blue suit, he greeted me with a smile.

  “Good afternoon, madam.”

  “Lucas?”

  “No, I’m Joe. Can I help?”

  “Actually, Lucas is expecting me. Is he around?”

  “I can get him for you. What’s your name, please?”

  “Jill Gooder.”

  Joe disappeared through a door marked ‘Private’, and returned moments later, trailed by a taller man who was wearing an identical suit.

  “Hi, I’m Lucas.”

  “Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.”

  “No problem. There’s a meeting room over there where we can talk.”

  He led the way across the large reception hall, and then held open the meeting room door for me. “Please take a seat. There’s water if you’d like some.”

  “I’m okay, thanks. As I mentioned on the phone, I’d like to talk to you about Stephen Bradley’s death.”

  He nodded. “I’m happy to answer any questions you may have.”

  “Had you been working here long when it happened?”

  “A little over six months. I’d just completed my probation period.”

  “I realise that it’s a long time ago, but I’m hoping you might still remember the events of that day.”

  “I’m never likely to forget them. It’s without doubt the worst day of my career to-date. I still feel responsible.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I was the only one on the desk that night, so it was up to me to monitor who came into the building. The murderer must have got past me somehow, but I still have no idea how.”

  “Did your employer blame you?”

  “No, but that doesn’t stop me feeling like it was my fault.”

  “You’re assuming that the murderer came from outside the building. Isn’t it possible that it was actually someone who worked here?”

  “There were very few people in the building around the time that the murder took place. The police interviewed everyone who was here, and cleared them all.”

  “Did the building have CCTV installed back then?”

  “Yes. There were cameras on every door on the ground floor: front, back and side. No one could get in or out of the building without being caught on it.”

  “I assume the police studied it?”

  “Yes. Everyone who was seen entering the building could be accounted for.”

  “What about Thomas Bradley? Stephen’s partner?”

  “He was caught on CCTV leaving the building before the murder took place.”

  “I didn’t think they had an exact time of death. How could the police be sure that Stephen Bradley wasn’t already dead before Thomas left?”

  “Because Stephen was caught on one of the internal CCTV cameras, sometime after Thomas had left the building.”

  “Where was he seen?”

  “There were internal cameras on some of the fire doors. Stephen Bradley walked past one, on his way to the toilet.”

  “Did you know Stephen Bradley?”

  “Only to say good morning or good night to. Like I said, I hadn’t been in the job very long at the time.”

  “Do you have any theories as to what might have happened?”

  “No, but it isn’t through lack of trying. I’ve been over the events of that night a million times, and I must have watched the CCTV almost as many times. I’m still no wiser.”

  “I appreciate you taking time out of your day to talk to me.” I handed him my card. “Would you call me if you think of anything else? Anything at all.”

  “Sure.”

  I stood up and started for the door.

  “I still have the DVD, you know,” he said.

  “Sorry?”

  “When the murder was reported, I copied the day’s CCTV footage, so I’d be able to study it at home. I’ve watched it so many times that I’ve almost worn out the disc.”

  “Where is it?”

  “At my place. I haven’t looked at it for years, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, just in case. Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes, please. If you bring it in, I’ll pick it up from you the next time I’m passing.”

  ***

  I’d no sooner left the Nexler Building than my phone rang.

  “Jill, it’s Alicia.”

  “Hi.”

  “I’ve discovered where all those witches are working. The ones that Ma Chivers recruited.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “They’re in a small industrial unit on the Flawton Industrial Estate. Do you know it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a couple of miles outside Washbridge. Just off the main road to West Chipping.”

  “What has she got them doing?”

  “I don’t know. I daren’t go near the place because if she sees me, I’ll be done for. I’m going to try to speak to some of the witches who are working there. If I have any luck, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  What was I supposed to make of the ‘new’ Alicia? Had she really turned over a new leaf? I still had my doubts. I would have to be on m
y guard because this could all be an elaborate charade designed to gain my trust.

  ***

  I figured that the best person to ask about Spookberry licences would be Constance Bowler. She’d agreed to spare me a few minutes, so I magicked myself over to her office in Ghost Town.

  “Thanks for seeing me, Constance.”

  “No problem. It’s been a quiet week so far. Not that I’m complaining.”

  “I wanted to ask you about Spookberry licences.”

  “What about them?”

  “Larry and Harry who run the Spooky Wooky tea room have entered into a joint venture with someone in the human world.”

  “How did that come about?”

  “It’s a long story, but basically Harry and Larry used to be rivals with a guy named Stewey Dewey. Before they died, that is.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m not sure if you know, but Harry and Larry died in a fire, which for many years they believed Stewey had set. It turned out that he hadn’t, and in fact, he’d been injured trying to save them. The three of them are now the best of friends.”

  “Hence the new venture?”

  “Exactly. Harry and Larry want to attend the grand opening in the human world.”

  “Can’t they just attach themselves to this Dewey character?”

  “They can, but they’d like the other people present to be able to see them.”

  “I think I see where this is going. Spookberry?”

  “That’s right. Stewey asked if I could help. I told them that they’d need a licence and said I’d ask you how they could go about getting one.”

  “They’re out of luck, I’m afraid. It’s my understanding that licences aren’t granted to individuals or for ‘one-off’ events such as this. They’re only granted to businesses who have legitimate reasons to need them for their interactions with the human world.”

  “That’s a little disappointing.”

  “To be honest, I think it’s a poorly thought out policy. In fact, it’s that very policy that is the reason for the black market trade in Spookberry. If the authorities would lighten up on the restrictions, the crooks selling it would be put out of business. And of course, there’s no quality control for the product sold on the black market. There have been quite a few horror stories, I can tell you. Harry and Larry will need to find a licensed business that would be willing to help out.”