Spell or High Water

by ReGina Welling

  “Possibly…What about the suicide theory, though? What about her home life? She had everything.”

  “She did,” said Bernie. “She came from nothing, from a council estate and poverty, and ended up living in the biggest house in the region. You know, that must have been hard.”

  “Especially with that Penelope as a mother-in-law,” Gloria added.

  “As far as we can tell,” Bernie said, “her relationships were surprisingly harmonious. She had a good marriage and a solid friendship with her mother-in-law. The staff at the house loved her. And she attended frequent functions where she was loved by everyone. She was very popular and is now much mourned. If I’m honest, suicide looks unlikely … but what else do we have? Yow-Yows aside,” she added, throwing us both a stern glare.

  “Nothing,” I said, glumly. “I suppose it will go down as an accidental or unexplained death, then. Oh – one thing. Where was Penelope at the time of her death?”

  “I just said they had a good relationship,” Bernie said with annoyance. She went to the door to leave. “Don’t you dare go meddling. As it happens, she was walking the gardens of the manor, as she always does at that time in the morning. She was definitely nowhere near the beach.”

  “And you’ve got witnesses?”

  “Zach Williams, actually, saw her leaving the house.”

  “Hang on,” I said, confused. “Who? Zach the supposed internet guru guy?”

  “Yeah.” Bernie paused with her hand on the door, and looked a little distant. “He turned up to give a statement at the station, which was really odd, as we hadn’t asked and as far as we know, he isn’t connected to any of them.” She shrugged. “But some people just like to be involved in everything. Don’t they?” she said, with menace and meaning.

  “I am not meddling.”

  She left. I looked at Gloria. “You’re right,” I said. “We are totally going to meddle. So, the Yow-Yows could have done it, okay. But … why did they call her?”

  Chapter Four

  We talked it over from every angle but got nowhere. I looked in my books on folklore, and she got onto the internet. The Yow-Yows were bent on revenge but they didn’t seem to target individuals. They called, and hoped that someone would answer the call, and die.

  “This is frustrating. My rational head tells me that it was a horrible accident. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “And your witchy head?” Gloria asked.

  I laughed. “Same as you – all my alarm bells are ringing and I don’t think it’s just because I want to get back at Penelope.”

  “I bet Penelope killed her because Penelope’s a snob, and Corey was not the right background,” Gloria said. “It’s classic. Corey wasn’t the right sort of class.”

  I sat back. We were still in the gallery, sitting behind the counter, and Gloria had to jump up to see to a customer from time to time. “The thing is,” I told her, “Penelope herself was from a very poor background.”

  “You are kidding me.”

  “No, listen. It’s why she kicked off so much at my article about her. She grew up in foster care, and dropped out of school before taking any exams. She got work as a waitress and did very well. She started working for an agency that sent staff to corporate events and conferences. She watched, and she learned, and she changed everything about herself so that she fitted in. When I interviewed her, I was so impressed by this, you know? I wanted the article to show how amazing she was.”

  “I am guessing she didn’t see it that way.”

  I sighed heavily. “She did not. Instead of being proud of her achievements, she was embarrassed by the reminder of her background. But the main thing is, how could she have killed Corey for being from the wrong class, when she herself was exactly the same?”

  “Damn,” said Gloria. “There’s my main motive gone.”

  “And let’s be sensible,” I said. “How on earth would Penelope lure Corey into the water and drown her? She would have come home soaking wet. Someone would have noticed. She has neither means, nor motive, nor opportunity.”

  “Right. It’s the husband, then. He will be having a torrid affair, mark my words.”

  “You know what?” I said. “Leave the poor husband. I actually want to go and talk to Zach. You coming?”

  Of course Gloria wanted to come along. She flipped her business sign to ‘closed’ and I was glad of her presence, because our magical abilities were very different. I hoped that together, we might be able to get to the bottom of things. Gloria was so wound up that she tended not to notice other people’s subtleties until afterwards, when her subconscious would throw insight back at her – that “oh! So that was what she meant!” thing that we all get. And I had my journalistic skills to draw on.

  I had encountered Zach a few times. He was a self-proclaimed entrepreneur and had a small, windowless office in a cluster of premises on a business park. I honestly thought that the management of the place had just taken the opportunity to rent out a broom cupboard, but it gave Zach legitimacy even if it didn’t give him ventilation. The hot little room was crammed with whirring computers and a fan that was struggling to cope. He dressed like he worked for a high-tech start-up in San Francisco, all casual and hipster, with a beard that made me feel itchy just looking at it.

  I was a witch of household domesticity and the only thing I could latch on to was a small bunch of flowers in a fancy glass mason jar on his desk. I smiled at them, but he thought I was smiling at him. He waved us both into chairs that crammed up against one another, and smarmed at us. “Hello, ladies. What can I do for you?”

  I leaned forward. “Hey, Zach. How are things going?”

  “Pretty good, pretty good. That article you did on me, that gave me a boost.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I hadn’t ‘done’ an article on him. I’d mentioned him, along with three others, in a piece about rural economies and broadband speed. But, whatever. “We’re … looking into the sad death of Corey Aldershaw-Pike. Did you know her?”

  He licked his lips, and artificially composed his face into a sympathetic one. That didn’t make him guilty. People act very strangely when death is around, and you can’t read too much into odd reactions. “Uh – yes. Yes,” he repeated, more firmly. “I did know her. From, um, school and stuff.”

  “And you’d stayed in touch?”

  “Sort of. We saw each other around. She’d done well, marrying that Alex, so…”

  I wondered if there was just a hint of unrequited love there. But I was also getting a warm feeling of tenderness, and genuine affection, a brotherly kind of love. “Did you know the family she’d married into?”

  “Yeah – no – no, of course not. I mean, in that big fancy house, all deep red carpets and too many curtains up at the windows, that’s not my style, you know what I mean? We knew each other,” he said again. “But we weren’t close. Not close-close, you know?”

  I wasn’t sure that I did know, except I certainly knew there were lies packed in amongst all this. I wondered what Gloria was picking up. “You’ve been to the house, then,” I said.

  He looked a little startled. “Well, yeah, I mean, they have those open days, so I went on one like everyone else. I’m … interested in porcelain, and they have a lot of eighteenth century Sevres stuff.”

  That surprised me so much I forgot what I was going to ask him next. Gloria stepped in, asking, “When did you last see Corey?”

  “I can’t remember, sorry. Is this for an article?”

  “Yes – no,” I said, as evasively as he had spoken. I stood up and Gloria followed suit. “Thank you for your time.”

  Gloria felt guilty about leaving her shop closed, and we hurried back. “What did you pick up?” I asked her.

  “He’s lying.”

  “Yes, but what about?”

  “I don’t know. He did know Corey, though. Better than he’s letting on, too.”

  “An affair?” I asked.

  “No.”

  �
��No, I didn’t think so, either. So what is the link between them?”

  “Something more than friendship. What has he got against curtains?” she said.

  “I don’t know, and here’s another thing – when was the last time they held an open day at the manor?”

  “Not since I’ve been here,” said Gloria. “I keep checking online because I’d love to go.”

  “It’s years and years,” I said. “Something does not add up.”

  I left her in the gallery and sent another text to Bernie.

  She replied immediately.

  “I’ve already had a complaint from Penelope that you were trespassing. DO. NOT. MEDDLE. Don’t make me arrest you.”

  I deleted it. I could always pretend that I’d never received the text.

  Chapter Five

  It was time to perform some magic.

  I had made up my mind. Maybe Corey had walked into the sea, called by the Yow-Yows, but I didn’t believe it. I could see that there might be a cover-up, and the Yow-Yows were a handy distraction. The death was not linked to me, but as soon as I had set foot on the manor land again, Penelope had decided that it was about me. I was not going to be allowed to investigate anything. If I did, that would simply add more fuel to Penelope’s fire, and give her more reasons to act against me. What could she do? I had already had been barred from working for one large, prestigious magazine. I had noticed my invitations to certain rural functions – garden parties and the like – had dropped off. That would be her doing, too.

  She was a ruthless woman who held a grudge, that was for sure. And instead of hiding away from her, now I was about to start poking a stick into her nest.

  I was going to get chased by the queen bee if I was not careful.

  But I could be careful – I was a witch, dammit! I wanted to go back to the house and speak to the staff, preferably Daphne the maid, and anyone else who would talk to me. For that I needed stealth, charisma, persuasion and preferably invisibility.

  Unfortunately, invisibility was the most useful of the four and the most impossible. I did know a spell for it, from the late seventeenth century, but it involved seven black beans and a decapitated human head, not easily available in our local market. So I set about making charms and spells for the three achievable things.

  Persuasion was always going to be a matter of red silk and silver. I rattled about in my cutlery drawer until I found a silver spoon at the back. It had been a gift on my wedding day. I muttered a charm over it as I tied a red silk ribbon around it. Then I tucked it into a pocket.

  Charisma was slightly different. I went up to my bathroom and splashed my face with water that had been outside and blessed by the moon. I applied a lotion that had been infused with meadowsweet. This gorgeous-smelling common herb is used mostly in headache cures, but it was also Queen Elizabeth I’s favourite strewing herb. And if that queen didn’t exude charisma, I don’t know who did.

  Finally, stealth. For this I needed a small mirror, and I found one in my make-up bag. I sprinkled poppy seeds on it while I recited a hastily-made-up charm. “Between the reflection and the shadow and the dream … let me walk and slip unseen.” It wouldn’t make me invisible, but the mirror, hanging on the outside of my clothes, would divert an onlooker’s attention unless they were specifically hunting for me.

  Suitably armed, I headed back out in the late afternoon towards Aldershaw Manor.

  I was careful in my approach. Yes, I might be armed to the teeth with spells and charms, but that was no reason to stroll up the middle of the main driveway with a marching band and a loudhailer. I crept along the public footpath but as close to one side as I could, trying to screen myself using trees and bushes. And there were plenty of places to hide. In the tradition of rich houses everywhere, the routes used by the servants and common people were hidden from view so as not to spoil the country idyll.

  I got to the side of the house where the service doors were – the tradesman’s entrances. One door was open, and I slid up to it, calling up all the charisma and persuasion that I could.

  The universe was certainly smiling on me. I poked my head into the dark corridor, and caught a glimpse of a figure passing the open door of another room inside. It was Daphne, polishing some candlesticks.

  “Hey,” I said. “I’ve read Victorian novels. Isn’t that the butler’s job?”

  “He’s helping Mrs Aldershaw-Pike with the wine choice for this evening,” she replied.

  “Oh my god, I was joking. This place has a butler?”

  She smiled. “Of course.” She dropped her voice. “He won’t be happy about you sneaking in here. Nor will the family.”

  “I am sorry – I hope I didn’t get you into trouble with Sophia?”

  Daphne thinned her lips, and that told me everything. I was starting to dislike Sophia almost as much as I disliked her mother. “What do you want, anyway?” she asked. “Sorry, but I really ought to tell you to leave, you know.”

  “I know. I will. I just want to know about Corey.”

  Daphne shook her head and looked away. “She was so nice. It’s not going to be the same without her.”

  “She really was popular with everyone?”

  “Yes, everyone.”

  “Even the family?”

  “Yes. Everyone loved her. She didn’t have a single enemy. She was so special. Why did she do what she did?”

  “Listen,” I said urgently. “It wasn’t suicide. We’re looking into it but we have to be careful not to upset people. That’s why I’m sneaking around. Can you tell me exactly what times Penelope was out in the garden yesterday morning?”

  “I’ve told the police.” She sighed. “Okay, then. She left the house around six in the morning and went walking in the gardens. I didn’t think anything of it. She always does that, and I take the chance to air her bedroom and get her clothes ready for when she comes back.”

  “She goes out naked?”

  “I mean, she gets changed. She changes about four times a day,” she added with a sigh. “She came back around eight in the morning, as usual. And she stayed in for the rest of the day.”

  “Did you see a man hanging around? Zach Williams?”

  “I know of him, but no. Why would he be here?”

  “So you don’t see him here at all?”

  “No, never.”

  “Was there anything else strange or different about the day?” I put my hand in my pocket and stroked the silver spoon. Silver spoon, silver tongue … speak, speak, I urged her.

  She frowned briefly as the magic stroked her skin. “Well, don’t laugh, but I took her leaves.”

  “What?”

  “I wanted to refresh the display in the hallway. You know, dried plants, and stuff. I’ve got a big stately angelica as the centre piece, and around the bottom, I like to put artful things. Leaves, pine cones, you know?”

  “Yes, I can picture that.”

  “So, Mrs Aldershaw-Pike had leaves caught in her hair. I brush her hair for her, you see. I put them aside for my display. But that was the only thing.”

  A clue! I wanted to scream it. But carefully and nonchalantly, I said, “Could I have one?”

  She shrugged. “Wait here.” She darted off along the corridor and came back less than a minute later. “Here’s one.”

  “Thanks.” My shoulders sagged in disappointment as I recognised it. I was about to ask about Alex and Sophia’s movements when we both heard footsteps in the corridor.

  “Go!” she urged in panic, and hustled me out of the door before the approaching people could round the corner and see me. I found myself flung unexpectedly back outside. I didn’t want to risk getting Daphne into trouble, so I scurried to the public footpath, and then stopped, and looked again at the leaf still in my hand.

  It was indeed a clue, but not one that I wanted. The leaf was from a beech tree.

  And they didn’t grow anywhere near the sea. Nor did they grow in any of the gardens around the house, as far as I could see.
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  Penelope wasn’t at the beach that morning, so she was not the murderer – but nor was she in the gardens where she had said she was.

  So why would she lie? She had nothing to hide if she wasn’t at the beach … or did she?

  Chapter Six

  Zach Williams occupied my mind. I stamped my way home and got on with cooking up an evening meal. My cat watched me from a cushion on a chair, and offered no useful insight at all.

  “You’re rubbish as a witch’s cat,” I told her, waving a spoon at her. “I should sell you on the internet.”

  She mewed at me.

  She hardly ever mewed. I thought about what I’d said, and then looked again at Iceni, narrowing my eyes. “What?”

  She turned away and set about her ablutions, offering no more than her leg, thrust stiff and straight in the air.

  “Huh.” I continued to stir my soup, and think about Zach. Daphne had never seen him at the house. He had been there because he had told the police so.

  And, bizarrely, he had gone to the police station to offer his statement without being asked for it. Who even does that?

  Someone with something else to hide, of course.

  I had to discover the connection between Zach and Corey. That would lead me to the reason she had died, I decided.

  If the truth turned out to be something to do with Zach, then surely that would put Penelope’s mind at rest, too. She was currently reacting like I was out to get her, all over again. Already I’d had two emails while I’d been eating my evening meal – both from editors with whom I had long-standing professional relationships, questioning spurious details about my commitments to them. For example, I was commissioned to cover an upcoming “open garden” event in a nearby town. But the editor was emailing me in concern, asking if the rumour that I had been arrested for criminal damage in that town was true. Of course it wasn’t. It was a malicious lie and I knew who had spread it.