Witch Is When Life Got Complicated (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 2)

by Adele Abbott

  “Jill, you have to help Milly,” Kathy said.

  Milly Brown, still dressed in her duchess costume, had been led away by two police officers.

  “She’ll be okay. It was obviously some kind of freak accident. They’ll let her go once they’ve taken her statement.”

  “Can’t you at least talk to Jack?”

  “Jack? You make it sound like he and I are on first name terms.”

  “I thought you were.”

  “Not unless me calling him an asshat counts.”

  “He has to show you some respect after what happened in the ‘Animal’ case.”

  You would have been forgiven for thinking so. After all, I had single-handedly solved three murders for him. But no—not as much as a thank you.

  “He won’t listen to anything I have to say.”

  “You’ve got to try, Jill, please. Milly isn’t strong enough to be locked up. She’ll have a nervous breakdown.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not promising anything.”

  I called in at the police station the next morning.

  “There’s a woman down here asking for you,” the desk sergeant said into the phone. “Says her name is Jill Gooder.”

  The sergeant raised his eyebrows, and I could only imagine what Maxwell had said to him.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll tell her.”

  “Did he invite me up for drinks?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Did he say he’d be right down to see me?”

  “Wrong again.”

  “Did he say I should go and—?”

  “More or less.”

  At least I’d tried.

  I’d never seen Mrs V so excited. She was humming, and tapping her fingers.

  “What have you done to him?” I said.

  “What have I done to who?” The humming stopped, but she continued to keep the beat with her fingers.

  “What have you done to Winky?”

  Winky was the crazy, one-eyed cat I’d adopted from the cat re-homing centre. Yes, they had seen me coming (which was more than Winky had—sorry, bad taste).

  “I haven’t done anything to the stupid cat. He’s in your office—stinking the place out as usual.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her. I couldn’t think of any other reason she would be so happy. I walked through to my office.

  “Winky?”

  He half opened his good eye, for all of two seconds, before going back to sleep.

  “Why are you so upbeat then?” I asked Mrs V who was still beaming ear to ear.

  “I’m always happy.”

  She just hid it well. “Something must have happened—come on, spill the beans.”

  “Well, seeing as you asked, I’ve reached the regionals.”

  “That’s nice. Regionals of what?”

  “The knitting competition. What do you think?”

  “Scarf category?”

  “Scarves, seven feet in length.”

  “That’s great. Congratulations.” I guess.

  “The winner gets a gold cup. If I win, I’ll keep it here, so I can look at it every day.”

  “That’ll be—err—nice.”

  “I’ve bought a ticket for you.”

  Alarm bells began to ring. “Ticket? For what?”

  “The regional finals, of course. I knew you’d want to be there to support me.”

  “You don’t want me there.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Nah, you don’t.”

  “I do. You’ll be my lucky mascot.”

  “It’s not really my thing.”

  “Your dad would have come.”

  She had to play the ‘Dad’ card didn’t she?

  “When is it?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ve checked your diary, you’re free.”

  “I am? Great. Guess I’ll be there then.”

  My phone rang. Caller ID showed Kathy. Maybe I’d ask Mrs V if she had a spare ticket for the regionals. It was the least I could do to repay my sister for the night at the theatre.

  “I thought you were going to get Milly out!” Kathy yelled.

  “I warned you that Jack Maxwell wouldn’t listen to me. Don’t worry, they won’t charge her with anything.”

  “They already have. With murder!”

  Not even Maxwell was that stupid. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. It’s on the local TV.”

  Strike that. He was that stupid and then some. “Leave it with me; I’ll get onto her lawyer.”

  “You have to help her, Jill.”

  It didn’t take me long to find out who Milly Brown’s lawyer was. A call to his office revealed that she had indeed been charged with murder, but was already out on bail. Her lawyer said it would be okay for me to meet with her the next day.

  Every time I looked at my desk, I wanted to cry. The once beautiful, polished surface was now scarred by the scratches that Winky had inflicted on it in a moment of rage. He’d been angry, and although he’d never admit it, a little jealous when he’d discovered I had a dog, Barry, in Candlefield. I’d tried to get the desk repaired once already, but the man had been chased off by Winky.

  I had to try again. “Hi, is that Greendale Polishers?” Theirs was the largest advert in Yellow Pages.

  “Yes, madam,” a sing-song voice on the other end said. “How can we be of assistance today?”

  “I need someone to repair my desk. It’s scratched.”

  “We can certainly help with that. How did it come to be scratched?”

  “A cat.”

  “Is the desk in your home?”

  “No, in my office.”

  “You have a cat in your office?”

  “Yes.” What’s so unusual about that? I bet a lot of people have cats in their office. “How quickly can you do it?”

  “We could get someone to you tomorrow.”

  “That would be great.”

  I gave her the address, and agreed a time. “Just one more thing,” I said.

  “Yes, madam?”

  “Do your operatives wear safety clothing?”

  “They wear overalls.”

  “Are they scratch-proof?”

  “They’re standard overalls.”

  “Right. Of course. Are any of them cat lovers?”

  “Sorry?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure it’ll be okay. Thanks. Tomorrow it is then.”

  Mrs V was so busy admiring her potential-prize-winning scarf, that she didn’t notice me standing by her desk.

  “Mrs V.”

  “Jill! You scared me to death. You shouldn’t creep up on people like that!”

  “Sorry. I just wanted to let you know that someone will be coming tomorrow to repair my desk. Can you make sure Winky doesn’t scare them off this time?”

  “How am I meant to do that?”

  “I don’t know. Can you keep him out here while the man does his stuff?”

  “Out here? With me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With my yarn?”

  “It’s locked away in the linen basket.”

  I’d bought the basket after Winky had ransacked the mail sack that had previously housed Mrs V’s yarn stash.

  “Can I tie him up?”

  “No, you can’t tie him up.”

  I spent the next hour finding out everything I could about the Washbridge Amateur Dramatics Society. They had their own web site, which looked like it’d been created by a ten year old, back in the nineties. I’d almost forgotten just how annoying animated gifs could be. On the front page, in huge red letters, were the words ‘All performances cancelled until further notice’.

  The page titled ‘current production’ provided a full cast list for the play I’d been forced to endure. That might come in helpful. I clicked on a link marked ‘Company’. This page listed every member of the society—front and back stage. It was a much more comprehensive list, which included all of the amateur thesps as well as the back stage staff.
One name in the list of actors caught my eye—Jack Maxwell.

  The intercom buzzed.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Jill?”

  “I’m here, Mrs V.”

  “Jill?”

  I gave up, and walked through to the outer office. Mrs V was still hitting the ‘talk’ button.

  “This thing’s broken.” She gave it one last thump.

  Aunt Lucy gave me a sympathetic smile. “I hope you don’t mind me turning up out of the blue. If you’re busy—”

  “No, it’s fine. Come on through.”

  “What happened to your lovely desk?”

  “He happened!” I pointed to Winky who was curled up, fast asleep on the leather sofa.

  “He looks so peaceful.”

  “Don’t be fooled. He’s a monster.”

  Winky opened his good eye long enough to give me a ‘look’.

  “The intercom was working fine,” Aunt Lucy said, as she took a seat.

  “I know. Mrs V’s hearing is getting worse, but she won’t do anything about it. Anyway, what brings you here today?”

  “It’s your mum.”

  “What about her?”

  Since my birth mother had died, her ghost had appeared to me on several occasions. I’d found it a little scary at first, but I’d slowly got used to it.

  “She’s only gone and got herself a man friend.”

  “Can she do that? I mean—with her being dead and all.”

  “She can and she has. Hussy!”

  Aunt Lucy suddenly spun around in her chair, and shouted at the wall, “I might have known you’d show up!”

  “Sorry?” I was confused by her reaction.

  “You did it on purpose! Just to spite me!” Aunt Lucy yelled.

  I had no idea what she was talking about, and even less idea why she was shouting at the wall.

  “Aunt Lucy?”

  “Sorry, Jill. I might have known she’d make an appearance.”

  “Who?” Then the penny dropped. She’d been talking to my mother. Ghosts can only make themselves visible (attached) to one person at a time. My mother’s ghost was usually attached to me. She must have made herself visible to her sister, Aunt Lucy, so the two of them could argue.

  “I’m sorry about this, Jill.” Aunt Lucy stood up. “She might as well tell you herself, now that she’s here.” She turned back to face the wall. “Don’t worry! I’m leaving. Goodbye.” And then back to me. “Bye, Jill.”

  “Bye.”

  Once she’d left, I turned to the wall and said, “Mum?”

  Chapter 3

  “Jill? Why are you talking to the wall?” My mother laughed.

  I spun around to find she was now standing next to my desk. Being a ghost must be a real hoot.

  “What’s going on with you and Aunt Lucy?” I said.

  “Take no notice of her. You know what sisters are like.”

  I did. Kathy and I were always falling out and then making up again.

  “She sounded pretty upset.”

  My mother shrugged.

  “She said something about a ‘man friend’?” I pressed.

  “Lucy should mind her own business.”

  “Do you think you should be dating?”

  “At my age, do you mean?”

  “No. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I realise no child likes to think that their parents have a love life.”

  “It’s not that either.”

  “What then?”

  “It’s just that you’re—”

  “Yes?”

  “Well—err—dead. Can ghosts date?”

  “Of course. We can’t leave all of the fun to the living.”

  “Right. Sorry, I didn’t realise. So why is Aunt Lucy—?”

  The door opened. Mrs V stared at me, no doubt wondering why I was having a conversation with myself.

  “Are you all right, Jill?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled. “Absolutely fine.”

  She looked around the room, and then back at me. “Could I finish a little early tonight? I have to prepare for tomorrow.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Thanks. Goodnight then.”

  “Goodnight.”

  My mother had moved over to the sofa. Winky was now wide awake and spitting fur.

  “Is he always so aggressive?” she asked.

  “You caught him on a good day. So, why is Aunt Lucy so upset?”

  “When Lucy and I were about the same age as the twins are now, we both had a crush on the same man. Alberto Belito.” Her face lit up when she spoke his name.

  “Italian?”

  “Welsh actually. Anyway, we both fancied him something rotten. He was a terrible flirt, and used to play us off against one another. One minute, I’d be sure he liked me best, the next he’d be all over Lucy.”

  She seemed to zone out—probably day-dreaming about Alberto.

  “Mum?”

  “Sorry. I was just—never mind. Where was I?”

  “The Welsh guy.”

  “Oh yes. He died much too young. A terrible accident involving a portable sander and a monkey.”

  “A monkey?”

  “Don’t ask. The memory is too painful.”

  “So? Aunt Lucy is jealous?”

  “Green with it.” Mum laughed.

  “Are you and Alberto an item?”

  “As far as Lucy is concerned, definitely yes.”

  “But?”

  “He’s still as big a flirt as ever. Of course, he denies it, but I’m sure he’s seeing other women.”

  “Ghosts?”

  “Of course. He can hardly date someone who’s alive, can he?”

  Of course not—that would be completely ridiculous.

  “Lucy will get over it,” my mother said. “She always does. Just give her a few days. Anyway, how’s the magic coming along? I hear Grandma has taken you under her wing.”

  “She scares me.”

  “She scares everyone, but she’s probably the most powerful witch in Candlefield. She’s forgotten more than most witches will ever know. You must stick with it. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  The next morning, I got up an hour earlier than usual so I’d have time for a run. My fitness levels were at an all time low, and I was starting to put on the pounds. I blamed the twins’ cupcakes. The park was empty except for a few dog walkers and a couple of runners.

  As I ran past the children’s play area, I heard footsteps behind me. Another runner, who by the sound of it was running much faster than I was.

  “Good morning,” Maxwell said, as he drew level.

  I’d only ever seen him wearing a suit before. The blue shorts and red running vest showed off his toned body. I was struggling to catch my breath; he looked as though he’d hardly broken sweat. I was amazed he’d even acknowledged me. Still, if he could be civil, it wouldn’t hurt me to try.

  “Morning. I didn’t realise you lived around here.”

  “Four miles away.” He pointed in a general westerly direction. “I usually run as far as the park, and then head back home.”

  “Impressive. How often do you do that?”

  “Depends on work. I try to manage at least four runs a week. What about you?”

  “About the same,” I lied.

  I was struggling to keep up with him as the gradient became steeper. Thank goodness Kathy wasn’t around to see this. I could almost hear her: ’Jack and Jill went up the hill’.

  “So, you’re a budding actor?” I said.

  “Not really.”

  “You’re listed on the Society’s web site.”

  “I only joined a few weeks ago on a whim. I thought it might take my mind off work.”

  “Hmm. That didn’t really work out for you, did it? What with the murder and all?”

  “I can’t discuss the case.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.” I thought it best not to mention that I’d be seeing Milly Brown later that morning.
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  “What about you?” he said. “Do you enjoy the theatre?”

  “Not really. My sister is the theatre buff. She insists on dragging me to every performance. I’m more of a ‘stay at home with a glass of wine and a box of chocolates’ kind of a girl.”

  He checked his watch. “I’d better get a move on or I’ll be late.”

  With that, he changed gear and sped off into the distance. Obviously, I could have kept up with him if I’d tried. What? I totally could have. Even with the excruciating stitch in my side.

  “Are you the private eye?”

  The man who opened the door to me at Milly Brown’s house was at least six-five, and built like the proverbial. Tartan trousers are never a good look unless you’re a cute bear. And nose hair—way too much nose hair.

  “Private investigator.” I hated the label ‘private eye’. “Jill Gooder. You must be Mr Brown.”

  “I’m not happy about this.”

  “I’m not surprised. The murder charge is ridiculous.”

  “Not that. I’m not happy about Milly talking to you. What can you do?”

  “Andy?” The woman’s voice came from somewhere inside the house. “Is that Jill?”

  “You’d better come in.” He led the way across the hall and into a large room that looked out onto a magnificent garden. Milly Brown was seated in a white armchair.

  “Jill, come in and take a seat. Thanks for coming,” she said.

  I sat beside her in a matching armchair. ‘Nose Hair’ took a seat at the table behind us.

  “You don’t have to stay, Andy,” Milly said.

  “I’m staying.”

  Milly sighed, and then turned to me. “Do you think you’ll be able to help me?”

  “I hope so. Frankly, I’m surprised they charged you.”

  “It’s all so terrible.” She wiped away a tear. “I still can’t believe it happened. It feels like some kind of bad dream.”

  “Stop crying woman!” ‘Nose Hair’ said. “I told you not to join that stupid drama group.”

  Sheesh and I thought I was the one who lacked empathy.

  Ignoring the interruption, I focussed on Milly. “Did you notice anything different about that night? What about the knife?”

  “Nothing at all. It was the third performance of the run. Everything had been going smoothly until—”

  I waited while she composed herself. ‘Nose Hair’ sighed.