Witch is When The Penny Dropped (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 6)

by Abbott, Adele

  The two girls nodded.

  “You’re right,” Lily said. “It hasn’t always been like that, but since things started to go wrong—well—”

  “Look.” Tilly took over. “The stats don’t lie. The increased rate of failures has all been at the Washbridge end.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “The percentage of witches who have decided not to pursue the relationship has barely changed since we started. The problem is with the humans—the men. The percentage of them who have decided not to pursue the relationship after the initial date has increased dramatically.”

  “What do you think is happening?” I glanced down at the plate. Had I really eaten the muffin already? They must be making them smaller.

  “We don’t think they’re vetting the applicants thoroughly enough. When we set up the business, we all agreed that the vetting process would be the key to our success or failure. Hilary and Milly must be letting anyone through. I don’t see what else it can be.”

  “Have you mentioned this to them?”

  “Of course, and it didn’t go down well. They blamed us. They tried to say the men were only dropping out because we weren’t maintaining standards at our end. Cheek! We only take on twenty percent of the witches who apply to us.”

  “As low as that? What determines if you accept someone?”

  “There are lots of different factors, but primarily we have to make a judgement as to whether we think the witch would be capable of living in the human world.”

  It had never really occurred to me until then, but of course the couple would have to live in the human world.

  “What about keeping the fact that she’s a witch from her boyfriend or husband?”

  “That’s another important factor. Not every witch is capable of keeping her powers under wraps. We actually run courses to help with that though.”

  I was intrigued. “What kind of courses?”

  “We cover all kinds of things. Things you might take for granted. As a witch it’s easy to become reliant on your magical powers. In the human world, the witch must either learn how to use these discreetly or learn how to cope without. You wouldn’t believe some of the applicants we see. We’ve had witches who have never made a meal without resorting to magic. Some of them use magic to make a cup of coffee.”

  Now why hadn’t I thought of that? Not that I’d be so lazy—obviously.

  Chapter 7

  Back in Washbridge, I made my way to the other office of Love Spell. I noticed I had a couple of missed calls from Kathy, but she could wait. If I knew her, she’d have more jokes lined up at my expense. My ‘date’ with Luther was going to take some living down.

  I was surprised to find Daniel, the wizard, on reception there too.

  “Hello again, Daniel,” I said.

  “It’s Nathaniel.”

  “Sorry?”

  “My name. It’s Nathaniel.”

  “Oh, sorry. I could have sworn—”

  “Daniel’s my brother. We’re identical twins.”

  Daniel and Nathaniel—nice.

  “I’m Jill Gooder. I have an appointment.”

  “Oh yes. Milly and Hilary are expecting you.”

  The Washbridge offices were more upmarket than their Candlefield counterpart. The girls were waiting for me in a meeting room at least twice the size of the one I’d been in earlier.

  “Jill, thanks for coming,” Milly said.

  Hilary greeted me with a smile.

  “Where’s your parrot?” I asked, as I took my seat.

  They grinned. “We gave up on that crazy idea a couple of weeks after we opened.”

  “Do the Candlefield girls know?”

  “Now you come to mention it, we may have forgotten to tell them.” They laughed.

  Hilary and Milly told me pretty much the same story as I’d heard earlier.

  “Look, if the problem is with your own vetting system, then I’m probably not going to be able to help.”

  “We understand that, but we thought if we could at least rule out outside interference, then we’d know the problem was internal.”

  “Is there anyone else you suspect of trying to damage your business?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “What about competitors? Any possibilities there?”

  “It’s a very specialist market as you might imagine. The only two competitors we have are: Charming and Enchanted,” Milly said.

  “And we have a great relationship with both of them. We all know one another, and we even socialise. I really can’t believe it’s something they’d do.”

  “Any disgruntled ex-employees?”

  “None. There’s only ever been the two of us in this office, and Tilly and Lily over at Candlefield. Plus Daniel and Nathaniel, of course.”

  “You’re really not giving me much to go on.”

  “We did have one idea,” Hilary said. “Why don’t you sign up and test out the service? We’ll easily be able to match someone as pretty as you.”

  Flattery would get her everywhere. And after the Luscious Luther debacle, I could use some help in the dating stakes.

  “Okay. That sounds like a plan. Let’s do it.”

  ***

  “Auntie Jill!” Mikey greeted me at the door. “I’ve got a rat.”

  “Yuk. Where?”

  “It’s in my bedroom. Do you want to come see?”

  “Maybe later.”

  I’d made arrangements to pop around to Kathy’s before the Luther incident. I was now regretting that decision—I knew she’d be merciless.

  “Let Auntie Jill get through the door, Mikey. She can look at your rat later.”

  “Rat?” I screwed up my face. “You let him have a rat?”

  “It’s not his. It belongs to the school. The kids take turns taking it home for the night. The thing gives me the creeps—its eyes follow me whenever I go into his bedroom.”

  “Guess what I’ve made!” Lizzie shouted.

  “What?” I felt I had to ask, but in all honesty, I didn’t want to know. She and Kathy seemed to take great pleasure in tearing apart my beloved beanies, so they could create all kinds of hybrid freaks.

  “A Tigrich.” She beamed.

  I looked to Kathy for a translation.

  “Tiger, Ostrich, of course. A Tigrich.”

  Gross!

  “Come and see.” Lizzie dragged me into her bedroom. I could have wept. Lying all around the room were my darling beanie babies. The ones I’d collected, catalogued and kept in pristine condition for over a decade. And now? I couldn’t bear to look at them.

  “Look!” Lizzie thrust the monstrous thing into my hand. It had the body of a tiger and the neck and head of an ostrich. “It’s a Tigrich. Guess what I call him?”

  “Frank?”

  “No. His name is Luther. Mum thought it up. It’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

  “Fantastic!”

  I heard Kathy laughing, and turned to find her standing in the doorway.

  “Very funny!” I snarled

  “Thought you’d like it. Come on through to the kitchen. I’ll make you a cuppa while you tell me all about your date. I could do with a good laugh.”

  “How much sugar did you put in here?” I asked. It was ridiculously sweet.

  “Two thousand, three hundred and thirty-six granules.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  “Talking of hilarious—tell me again what Luther said when you answered the door.”

  “Can we please drop the subject?”

  “Like a stone?”

  “Ha, ha. Anyway, there’s something I need to tell you while I remember.”

  “Is this you trying to change the subject?”

  “Yes, but I do actually have something to tell you. Does Pete still go fishing?”

  “Occasionally. Probably a couple of times a month. Why?”

  “According to Mrs V there are some conmen around who are targeting anglers. You’d better warn him to be on
the look out.”

  “What’s the scam?”

  “I’ve no idea. Mrs V heard the news on the woolvine. It might be nothing.”

  “Auntie Jill!” Mikey pounced on my lap. “Come and see the rat.”

  Before I could object, he’d dragged me by the hand into his bedroom.

  “Look!” He pointed to the cage on top of his cupboard.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Rat.”

  “No, I mean what do you call him?”

  “Rat’s his name. My teacher named him.”

  Just then, I heard Peter’s voice. He was home from work.

  “Dad!” Mikey shouted. I began to follow him to the door. “Wait here, Auntie Jill. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Okay.” I sat on the bed.

  And then it happened.

  “Thank goodness for that!” the naked man said. “I needed to stretch my legs.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “Whoops, sorry!” he said, grabbing a pillow to cover himself.

  I looked at the empty cage, and then back at the man.

  “You? It? Rat?” I prided myself on my articulation.

  “Yeah. Rat the rat, that’s me.”

  “Are you a wizard?” I said in a low voice. I can normally sense these things, but I wasn’t sure with this guy.

  “No. A shape-shifter.”

  “Like a werewolf?”

  “I suppose. Werewolves are the poster boys of the shifter family. Rats—not so much.”

  “It must be horrible living in that cage.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s the best gig I’ve ever had. Most of my friends are stuck down the sewers. I get to visit a different house almost every day. And the kids love to sneak me chocolate and stuff.”

  “How did you get out of the cage?”

  “Nothing to it. Think about it. If I can change from a man to a rat, getting through those bars isn’t really a problem.”

  “I guess not.”

  “How long have you—”

  Without warning, the man dropped the pillow, and turned back into a rat.

  “Jill?” Kathy said. “Why are you talking to the rat?”

  ***

  The next day, I’d arranged a meeting with Dot Comm at her apartment. I hadn’t expected to find her fiancé, Ron, there.

  “Did the police release you without charge?” I asked him.

  “What choice did they have? I’ve a good mind to sue them for wrongful arrest.”

  Dorothy took hold of his hand. They were sitting side by side on the sofa.

  “Tell her the rest,” Dot encouraged him.

  “Nothing to tell,” he grunted.

  “Ron, please! She can help.”

  He shrugged. He was obviously a man of few words. Dot took up the story.

  “Now they’re saying he helped his brother to fake his own death.”

  Colour me confused. “I thought his brother died in a climbing accident?”

  “He did. I should know,” Dot said. “The whole thing is nonsense.”

  “How on earth did they ever come up with that theory?”

  “It’s because they found Reg’s fingerprints in the apartment where Gina was murdered. They believe the twins faked Reg’s death, and that he has actually been in hiding for the last two years. They think he came out of hiding to kill Gina, and now the twins plan to split the inheritance between them.”

  “That’s too fantastical for words. Even if it was true, why wait for two years to kill Gina?”

  “According to the police, it would have been too suspicious to have killed her shortly after Reg died.”

  “There’s one way to prove it was actually Reg who died,” I said. “And that’s to exhume the body.”

  “No!” Ron shouted. “I won’t allow it. Reg has been laid to rest and that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

  “But you could prove—” I began, but Ron wasn’t in the mood to listen.

  “I won’t allow it. Reg stays where he is.”

  Dot showed me out of the apartment.

  “What do you think will happen?” she said in a low voice.

  “The police will probably insist on an exhumation regardless of what Ron says. It’s the only way they’ll know for sure who was actually buried there.”

  As I made my way on foot back to the office, I ran the case over in my mind. I could kind of follow the police’s reasoning. It had been Reg’s fingerprints which were found on the weapon that killed Gina Peel, and in the apartment where she was murdered. He could hardly have been there if he’d been buried two years earlier. If they could prove the body which was buried two years ago wasn’t Reg Peel, they had the twins banged to rights.

  I was a little concerned by Ron’s reaction to the suggestion of an exhumation. Was he genuinely upset at the idea of disturbing his brother’s remains, or did he have something to hide?

  ***

  The shop next door to Ever A Wool Moment was boarded up. Rod’s Rods was, to the best of my knowledge, Washbridge’s oldest fishing tackle shop. According to Kathy, it was one of Peter’s favourite shops—he could spend hours in there looking at flies—whatever floats your boat. He’d be devastated when he found out about the closure.

  Just then, the door of the boarded-up shop opened, and a man sporting a baseball cap with the words ‘Rod’s Rods’ on the front, emerged. He was carrying a large box. I could see he was struggling with the door, so being the Good Samaritan I am—not because I was being nosey, obviously—I grabbed the door for him.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “No problem. Any idea why they’re closing?”

  He put down the box which looked ridiculously heavy, and tried to catch his breath. “They is me. I’m Brian. I am—err—was—the owner.”

  “Brian?”

  “Yeah. Brian’s Rods didn’t have the same ring to it. So I became Rod.”

  Made sense, I guessed.

  “My brother-in-law will be sad to see you close shop. He loves his fishing.”

  “There’ll be a few people sad to see the shop close.”

  “Are you retiring?”

  “I guess so. I hadn’t planned to, but my hand’s been forced.”

  “Economic climate?”

  “That hasn’t helped, but it’s more than that.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s been one thing after another. First the shop was flooded. Then we had an infestation of rats. Then the power went out, and the energy company couldn’t get it fixed—it came back on by itself in the end, but not before we’d lost several days trading. This is going to sound stupid, but it’s almost as though the place is cursed.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m sorry to hear that. How long has that been going on?”

  “That’s the weird thing. Everything was okay up until a few months ago, and then everything went pear-shaped.”

  He picked up the box.

  “What will you do?” I asked.

  “I’ll be okay. I’ve put cash aside—guess I’ll have time to actually do some fishing now. Thanks again for the help. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I took a step back, looked at the boarded up shop, and then glanced next door. How long had Ever A Wool Moment been open? I was getting bad vibes. Very bad vibes.

  Chapter 8

  Dinner with Jack Maxwell. I should have been more excited than I was, but I was still stinging from my encounter with Luther. And besides, I didn’t totally trust Jack—I always had the feeling that he was trying to get one over on me—like with the bowling. Not that he’d ever manage it. Still, it had to be better than staying in my flat and moping. And it was certainly better than going over to Kathy’s, and having her take the mickey.

  It could prove to be an interesting evening because Jack had said he intended cooking dinner himself. Now it was perfectly possible that he was a good cook—many men are—although curiously, I’d yet to meet one. Somehow, he didn’t strike me as the culinary type. He was more the �
��fish, chips and mushy peas’ type. Maybe I was being unfair—I was about to find out.

  His flat was a fifteen minute drive from mine. I’d toyed with the idea of taking a taxi, but decided I preferred to have an excuse not to drink. I’d done with drink for a while after my post-Luther binge.

  “Come in.” Jack greeted me at the door with a welcoming smile. “You found it okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m a P.I., remember.”

  “Dinner will be about thirty minutes. Care for a drink?”

  “Just soda. I’m driving.”

  He led the way into the living room which had a minimalist feel to it.

  “You have a lot of bowling trophies.” I almost managed to say it without smirking. “Pity you missed out on that last one.”

  “Are you going to rub that in again?”

  “Oh yes. Plenty more mileage left in that yet. Did you have to hire a separate van to transport these?” I ran my hand along the top of the trophy cabinet.

  He smiled. “I’d better go and check on dinner. Have a seat.”

  “Why don’t I give you a hand?”

  “No!” He looked panic-stricken. “Sorry. I mean—No, it’s okay. I got this. Take the weight off your feet. I’ll only be a minute.”

  I didn’t take a seat. Instead, I studied the various photographs which he had on display. One was of a couple in their fifties or sixties who I guessed were his parents. Another was of Jack and another man who looked like a slightly younger version of him—his brother, I assumed. There were several photos of Jack being awarded a trophy. Those bowling shirts really didn’t do anything for him. I was pleased to find there weren’t any photos of Susan ‘Sushi’ Shay or any other women come to that. Perhaps he’d hidden them away before I arrived.

  When he wasn’t being ‘Detective Maxwell’, Jack could be good company. I’d discovered that on our first so-called date—the one where Kathy had rigged the raffle. He was interesting and funny. And although he wasn’t in the same league as Luther on the ‘phew’ scale, he was still pretty hot. Not that I’d noticed.

  And he could cook. I mean really cook. The meal was one of the best I’d had for many a month. I’d been expecting fish fingers and chips with ice cream for dessert. Instead, I’d been treated to a culinary feast.