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

by Adele Abbott

“The knife was the same one as I’d used before. At least, it looked and felt exactly the same.”

  “Did you notice anything different about Bruce Digby?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “What about the rest of the cast?”

  “Everything seemed perfectly normal until—” She broke down in tears again.

  We talked for about thirty minutes with the occasional interruption from her charming husband.

  “You know the way out,” he said as I stood to leave.

  Back in the car, I was about to turn the ignition when someone tapped on the side window. Milly gestured for me to wind it down. She looked nervous, and kept checking the house.

  “I couldn’t tell you while Andy was there.” She was out of breath and could barely get the words out quickly enough. “I had an affair with Bruce Digby, but it had ended. I thought you should hear it from me first.”

  Before I could say anything, she’d turned tail and was heading back to the house. Did the police already know about the affair? Who had ended it?

  “Has the desk repair man been?” I asked Mrs V when I got back to the office.

  “He has. Such a nice young man with curly, brown hair.”

  “And?”

  “A nice smile.”

  “I meant has he repaired it? Winky didn’t chase him off did he?”

  “Good as new. You can’t tell where the scratches were. His name was Andrew. I gave him a scarf.”

  Sure enough, the desk was back to its former glory.

  “No more climbing on the desk, Winky. Do you hear me?” I looked under the desk. “Winky? Where are you?”

  That’s when I noticed the window.

  “Mrs V!”

  Deaf as a post.

  “Mrs V, why is the window in my office open?”

  “Andrew said the room needed ventilating because of the polish fumes.”

  “What about Winky?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Oh dear.” She didn’t even pretend to be upset.

  I spent the next ten minutes checking every nook and cranny in the office. It would have been just like Winky to wind me up. Not this time. He was nowhere to be seen.

  I hurried down the stairs and onto the street. I checked the road first—there was no feline road-kill as far as I could see.

  “Excuse me.” I stopped a man in a suit. “Have you seen a cat?”

  “Lots of times.”

  Everyone was a wise guy.

  “I meant just now. He only has one eye.”

  “I saw a one-legged pigeon once.”

  “That’s great, thanks.”

  Fifteen minutes later, and still no one had seen Winky.

  “He’ll be back,” Mrs V said when I returned to the office. “Unfortunately.”

  “How will he find his way back?” Why did I even care? I’d got rid of the psycho cat—I should have been breaking open the champagne.

  I slipped the paper into the photocopier. “How many copies do you think I’ll need?”

  Mrs V looked at me as if I’d totally lost my mind.

  “Thirty ought to do it,” I answered my own question. “What do you think?” I handed the first copy to Mrs V.

  “It’s scary.”

  I’d used a recent photo of Winky that I had on my phone. The poster listed my mobile, office and home phone numbers. “Is a fifty pound reward enough?”

  “I’d pay that much not to get him back,” Mrs V said.

  I ignored her comments, collected the posters, and headed back to the streets.

  Chapter 4

  “You can’t stick that there.” A middle-aged man wearing flared trousers and a tank top stabbed his finger at the poster that I’d just attached to the lamp post.

  “Why not?”

  “That picture will scare the kids. What is it anyway?”

  “A cat. What do you think it is?”

  “Why has it only got one eye?”

  “It got tired of having two, and gave one away.”

  “You’re better off without the ugly thing, if you ask me.”

  Before I could give him a piece of my mind, his phone rang and he walked away. No doubt the seventies wanting their clothes back.

  Whatever happened to all the animal lovers? It seemed like everyone who saw the poster either commented on how ugly/scary Winky was, or complained I was littering the streets.

  I covered an area of approximately one quarter mile radius of the office. I couldn’t convince myself that Winky would have had the stamina to go any further afield.

  Even though I was still annoyed at Mrs V, I’d still have to go to her knitting competition. It would have been more than my life was worth to miss it after she’d talked about nothing else all day. She’d told me who her main rivals were, which of the judges she thought were biased, and exactly where she intended to put the trophy if she won. I had a few ideas of my own on where she should put it. What? I’m only joking. Sheesh.

  “How did it go with Milly?” Kathy asked when I rang her that evening.

  “I didn’t get much out of her. I think she was intimidated by her husband.”

  “Nasty piece of work is Andy. Does he still have the nose hair?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I laughed. “She did manage to get away from him just as I was leaving. Did you know she’d had an affair with Bruce Digby?”

  “I’d heard rumours.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wasn’t sure it was true. Will it count against her?”

  “I don’t know, but the police are bound to find out sooner or later.” I checked my watch. “Sorry, I have to get going.”

  “Got a date?”

  “Yeah. With Mrs V and her band of happy knitters.”

  “You’re going to a knitting club?”

  “Not exactly. It’s some kind of big deal competition. She’s hoping to win a prize for her scarf.”

  “She has enough of them to choose from.”

  “Tell me about it. Gotta go. See ya.”

  I’d never been inside the Chequers Hotel before, and I wasn’t expecting much. To my surprise, it was quite luxurious—for a three star hotel. The ballroom was absolutely heaving with people—the vast majority of them women.

  “Jill!”

  I barely recognised Mrs V. She was always smartly dressed for work, but tonight she looked positively glamorous. Everything sparkled: her dress, her shoes and even her hair.

  “When does the judging take place?” I had to shout over the noise of the crowd.

  Mrs V led me into a smaller side room. “I can’t hear myself think out there,” she said.

  “I was asking when the judging takes place.”

  “They’ll be starting in about twenty minutes. I have to take my ‘baby’ through to the judging hall.” She held out the scarf, which had secured her place in the finals of the competition. “I need to pee first—must be the nerves—can you look after it for me?”

  “Sure.” I took the scarf, and she hurried across the room towards the toilets. She’d no sooner disappeared than my phone rang.

  “Are you the woman who’s lost a cat?” a man’s voice said.

  “Yes. Have you found him?”

  “Is there—?” His voice broke up.

  The signal was terrible, so I moved around the room trying to get a better reception. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “Is there a reward?”

  “Yes. Fifty pounds. Are you sure it’s him?”

  “He’s only got one eye.”

  “Great! I’m tied up this evening. Will you hold onto him until tomorrow morning?”

  “Going to cost you. Another tenner.”

  “What? Oh, okay then. Give me your address.” I had to type the address using only one hand, as I juggled phone and scarf. “OK, I’ll pop around first thing tomorrow. Thanks.”

  Winky was safe and sound. Thank goodness!

  That’s when I saw it. Oh no. No, no n
o!

  The trail of wool stretched back to the corner of the room where I’d first answered the call. The scarf must have caught on a nail or something, and had unravelled. It was now at least two feet below the regulation size for its class. I was a dead woman walking. There was no shortage of knitting needles at this event, and Mrs V would know just how to use them to inflict the maximum amount of pain. I glanced over to the toilets—there was no sign of her—yet.

  I had to stay calm. If I panicked, it would be game over. My mind went blank. Come on! Concentrate! I cast the spell as quickly as I could without once taking my gaze from the toilets. After I’d finished, I said a silent prayer. Had I remembered it correctly? I hardly dared look down at the scarf.

  Phew!

  “Jill! Come on! We need to hurry.” Mrs V was striding across the room.

  I held up the scarf—the ‘take it back’ spell had worked a treat.

  “And the winner of the scarf, seven feet in length, category is—.” The MC took the obligatory drawn-out pause.

  The tension was unbearable. Mrs V was squeezing my hand so tightly my fingers had turned white.

  “Mrs Annabel Versailles.”

  “Oh well.” I smiled. “Never mind. You made it to the finals.”

  Mrs V threw her arms around me. “I won!”

  Annabel Versailles? Oh yeah—it was so long since I’d heard anyone call Mrs V by her full name. “You won! Yay!”

  The block of flats where the man who’d found Winky lived, turned out to be three miles from my office. I was amazed Winky had had enough stamina to wander so far. The smell in the stairway turned my stomach. I knocked on the door and waited. No reply. I tried again.

  “What?” a voice from inside called.

  “I’ve come about the cat.”

  “Wait ‘til I get dressed.”

  Gladly.

  Two minutes later, he opened the door.

  “Did you bring the reward?”

  “Where is the cat?”

  “Inside. What about the reward? Plus a tenner for keeping him overnight?”

  I pulled out six ten pound notes. “I want to see the cat.”

  The room was filthy—even the bacteria had moved out.

  “That’s not him!”

  “Course it is. Look! One eye.”

  “It’s the wrong eye. Look at the poster.”

  “That’s because it’s a photo. Things are always back to front in photos.”

  “That’s mirrors.”

  “What is?”

  “Mirrors reverse an image. Not photographs.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Anyway, I know my own cat, and that is definitely not Winky.”

  “He’s brown.”

  “So is my handbag, but that’s not Winky either.”

  “Don’t you want him then?”

  “No, I don’t want him.”

  “Do you know anyone who might?”

  “No.”

  All of this time, the cat had rested impassively in the man’s arms.

  “I suppose I’d better get shut of him then?” he said.

  “Get shut?”

  “Guess so.”

  “Take him to the cat re-homing centre you mean?”

  “Nah. Waste of time. Who’d want a one-eyed cat?”

  Yeah, who’d be that stupid? “What are you going to do with him?”

  “Probably best to put him out of his misery.”

  “Who says he’s miserable?”

  “Does he look happy to you?”

  “You can’t have him put down because he looks a bit unhappy. The vet won’t do it.”

  “No need to involve the vet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Too expensive. A hammer will do the job.”

  “No! You can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll take him.” What was I saying? Would I ever learn?

  “What will you give me for him?”

  Unbelievable. “A minute ago, you were going to kill him with a hammer.”

  “That was before I knew you wanted him.”

  “I’ll give you a fiver.”

  “I want the full reward. Fifty pounds.”

  “Twenty and that’s my final offer.”

  “Done!”

  I had been—well and truly.

  Mrs V was looking a little the worse for wear. When I’d left her at the hotel the previous evening, she’d been on her fifth glass of elderflower wine.

  “Look what I’ve got!” I lifted the cat out of the basket and held him out for Mrs V to see.

  “Shush!” She rubbed her head.

  “Sorry,” I whispered. “Look.”

  “Whoopee. You got the stupid cat back. I’m so very pleased. I’ve missed him like a hole in the head. Speaking of which, do you have any aspirin?”

  “There’s some in the filing cabinet. Bottom drawer.” I held the cat even closer to her. “Look! This isn’t Winky. It’s a different cat. I’ve called him Blinky.”

  So sue me. I thought it was funny.

  “Who’s he, and why is he here?” Winky screamed at me when I walked into my office. Blinky was curled up in my arms.

  “More to the point, what are you doing here?” I said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I even put up posters.”

  “Yeah, I saw those. Looked kind of cute in them, didn’t I?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Here and there,” he said. “Been sharing the love, you know.”

  Yuk. I didn’t know, and I certainly had no desire to. “How did you get back in?”

  “I followed the old bag lady in. She looks rougher than usual this morning. I reckon she’s turning into a lush.”

  “Mrs V won a competition for her scarf last night. She’s allowed to celebrate.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question.” Winky turned his one good eye on the new arrival. “Who is he?”

  “This is Blinky.”

  “Really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

  “I like it—it suits him. Someone thought he was you.”

  “Me? He looks nothing like me. He’s ugly!”

  Pot, kettle.

  “This is his home now.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  Don’t tempt me. “It’s your own fault. I thought you’d gone for good, and besides someone was going to kill him.”

  “They’d have been doing him a favour. Doing us all a favour. The world isn’t ready for a cat as ugly as that.”

  “Blinky is here to stay, so you’d better get used to the idea.”

  I had planned to ask Mrs V to keep an eye on the cats, but she was fast asleep.

  “You two had better behave. No fighting and no destroying my office. Got it?”

  I looked from one to the other. Winky was perched on the window sill; Blinky was on the leather sofa. If the new arrival was intimidated by Winky, he was doing a good job of hiding it.

  I didn’t like the idea of leaving them in the office together, but I had to get going. I’d promised to go to a barbecue at Kathy’s, but before that I wanted to call in at the props shop where the original knife had been purchased. Mrs V didn’t stir when I left, and I wondered if she’d still be there in the morning.

  “Mr Culthorpe isn’t in,” the spotty kid behind the counter at the props shop informed me.

  “Is Mr Culthorpe the proprietor?”

  “No, he just owns the place. He’s gone away on holiday. He’ll be back on Monday.”

  “Do you know much about stage props? Specifically knives?”

  “I don’t know nowt about owt,” ‘Mastermind’ said. “I just sell stuff.”

  “Does Mr Culthorpe often leave you in charge?”

  “Not usually. Jason is supposed to be here—he’s the manager. But he rang in to say he’d won fifty grand on the lottery, and I should tell the gaffer that he could shove his job.”

  “It might be better if I call i
n again when Mr Culthorpe is back. Thanks. You’ve been—err—thanks.”

  Chapter 5

  Barbecues were not really my thing. Wasps, flies and over-cooked meat—what’s not to like? Kathy and Peter, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of them. From May to September, they averaged one every four weeks. And guess who got invited to them all? A pattern was emerging. Whenever I said I didn’t like something and definitely did not want to do it, Kathy browbeat me into doing it. Did she actually hate me?

  “Auntie Jill!” Lizzie screamed. “I’ve got a hot dog. Do you want one?”

  “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

  “Come and see my new beanie!”

  Lizzie had cleared the middle shelf of her bookcase to make way for the beanies.

  “Look, Auntie Jill. I’ve got five already.”

  “Wow! Aren’t you doing well?”

  It totally didn’t matter that they weren’t displayed in the correct order. I could live with it—probably.

  “Who bought you all of these?”

  “I bought this one with my pocket money, and Mummy and Daddy bought me the rest.”

  “I think this bear might like to go at the other end of the row,” I suggested.

  “Jill!” Kathy made me jump. I hadn’t heard her walk into the bedroom. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Lizzie was just showing me her beanies.”

  “I like him where he is,” Lizzie said, after giving the matter careful consideration.

  “So do I,” Kathy said. “He looks just fine there.” She gave me that big sister look of hers. “Doesn’t he, Auntie Jill?”

  “Fine. I guess.”

  “Lizzie, why don’t you go and see if Daddy needs any help?”

  “Okay.” Lizzie dashed out of the bedroom.

  “Don’t you dare!” Kathy said.

  “What?”

  “You know what. She doesn’t want to alphabetise or catalogue them.”

  “I just thought—”

  “I know what you thought. They’re just toys.” She grabbed the beanies off the shelf, tossed them into the air, then gathered them up in random order and put them back on the shelf. “See! It doesn’t matter what order they’re in. Okay? Got it?”