Witch Is When Everything Went Crazy

by Adele Abbott

  “They probably will. Do we have a deal or shall I give Daze a call?” I waved her business card in front of his face.

  “We have a deal.”

  When I got back to my flat, I spotted a familiar figure in the distance.

  ‘Ivy’ the Casanova had disappeared—in his place was Mr Ivers.

  “Evening, Mr Ivers.”

  He’d been staring at his feet, and hadn’t noticed my approach. “Oh, hello.”

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Err—yes—I think so.”

  “Good.”

  “I think I may have been a little rude to you lately,” he said, in barely more than a whisper. “I’m very sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Think nothing of it.” I turned and made to walk away.

  “Before you go.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m thinking of resurrecting my newsletter. Would you be interested in signing up?”

  It was the least I could do.

  Chapter 24

  Kathy’s text arrived as I was about to set off for the office. It read: ‘Pete has lost his job’.

  Kathy loved to moan, and she usually thought nothing of getting on the phone to bend my ear. The fact that she hadn’t called, had me worried. It wasn’t like her, so I went straight around there.

  Peter answered the door. “Hey, Jill. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “Sorry to hear about the job.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll find another one.”

  “Where?” Kathy shouted. “There aren’t any jobs!”

  “She isn’t taking it very well.” Peter forced a smile. “Do you want to come in?”

  “Where are the kids?”

  “The next door neighbour has taken them to school—we take their kids sometimes.”

  “I didn’t mean for you to come round.” Kathy was still in her dressing gown—never a good sign.

  “Do the kids know?” I asked.

  “I’ve told them,” Peter said. “But they’ve got other things on their minds. Like the giraphant that Kathy made for Lizzie.”

  “How bad are things?” I took a seat next to Kathy at the breakfast bar.

  “About as bad as they get.”

  “What about savings?”

  “What savings?” Kathy’s laugh was hollow.

  “I can help,” I said.

  “We can’t take your money,” Peter said. “I’ll find a job.”

  “They’ve laid everyone off at your old place.” Kathy picked at a fingernail. “They’ll all be chasing the same jobs.”

  “Then I’ll do something else.”

  “What? What can you do?”

  Peter stared at Kathy.

  “I’m sorry.” She began to cry. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “It’s okay.” Peter put his arm around her.

  I felt like I was intruding. “I’d better get to the office. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  I wasn’t sure if they heard me leave or not.

  I read the note that Mrs V had left on her desk. Apparently, she was going to be on TV.

  I hurried to the coffee shop, three doors down because they kept their TV on all day. It was tuned into a twenty-four hour news station, but no one was watching it.

  “Could I get a latte, please?”

  “Anything else?”

  “Do you have any blueberry muffins?”

  “We do.”

  Damn it.

  “I’ll have a small one.”

  “They only come in one size.”

  “I’ll take a small one.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Could you change the channel, please? No one seems to be watching this.”

  “Sure. What did you want to watch?”

  “Channel 381—Wool TV.”

  “Bull TV?”

  “Wool. You know.” I did a quick impression of someone knitting, which seemed to leave him even more confused, but he switched the channel anyway.

  Mrs V had been invited to make an appearance on Wool TV’s morning show. Apparently she’d knitted the longest scarf in the well publicised scarf-a-thon. After I’d handed over my sponsorship money, Kathy and Peter might not be the only ones filing for bankruptcy.

  I asked for the volume to be turned up, so I could hear the presenter.

  “Yesterday, the winner of the scarf-a-thon, sponsored by Ever A Wool Moment, was announced, and I’m delighted to say that Annabel Versailles is with us today in our Washbridge studio.” He turned around to face the screen behind him, on which Mrs V was adjusting her ear piece.

  “Annabel? May I call you Annabel?”

  “Is this thing working?” Mrs V continued to fiddle with her ear piece.

  Quality TV.

  “Annabel. This is Joe Stratford. Can you hear me?”

  “When do we start?” She pulled out the ear piece.

  A young man walked on screen, put the ear piece back into Mrs V’s ear, and made some adjustment to the small controller fastened to her dress.

  “Annabel?”

  “Hello.”

  “Can you hear me now?”

  “Yes, I can hear you.”

  The young man disappeared off-screen.

  “Annabel, this is Joe Stratford.”

  “Hello, Joe.” Mrs V blushed and came over all unnecessary. Clearly, she was a massive Joe Stratford fan.

  “Welcome to the show, and congratulations on your achievement. Do you have the scarf with you?”

  “I do.” She leaned forward, and picked it up.

  “How long is it?” Joe asked.

  “Just under twenty feet, Joe.”

  Twenty feet? Maths wasn’t my strong suit, but twenty times twelve, that was two hundred and forty inches. At two pounds an inch, that was four hundred and eighty pounds. You have got to be kidding me.

  “That’s incredible,” Joe gushed. “Tell me, Annabel, is there anywhere that people can see this magnificent scarf?”

  “Yes, Joe. When I leave the studio, I’ll be taking it to ‘Ever A Wool Moment’, which is located on the high street in Washbridge. It’ll be on display there until the end of the month.”

  My grandmother, the marketing genius.

  I left a note for Mrs V congratulating her on the scarf. I also mentioned that I was going to pay Colonel Briggs a visit.

  “Hello again, young lady.” Colonel Briggs met me at the door. “Do come in. Tea? Coffee? Something a little stronger, maybe?”

  “Nothing for me thanks. I can’t stay long.”

  “Story of my life. Pretty girls never could wait to get away from me.”

  “I don’t believe that for a moment.”

  His grin gave him away. Colonel Briggs had almost certainly been a lady’s man in his day.

  “What can I do for you, Jill?”

  “I wanted to let you know about the Vicars case. No charges are going to be brought against Doctor Mills.”

  “Jolly pleased to hear it.”

  “You are? I thought you might have been disappointed.”

  “Not at all. As far as I can see, the doctor’s only crimes were stupidity, and a love of his dog. I’m guilty of both of those. Living with the consequences of what he did will be punishment enough.”

  “What about the trophy? Will you take it off him?”

  “Certainly not. It was the dog who won the trophy, and he’s done nothing wrong. I do appreciate your driving all the way out here to tell me though.”

  “I did have an ulterior motive,” I said.

  “Maybe my old charm is still working after all.” He grinned.

  “There’s no question about that, but that’s not the reason I came either.”

  “How can I help you then?”

  “Have you hired a new gardener yet?”

  “Can’t you tell? The borders are in a shocking state. I really need to get my finger out and find someone.”

  “I may be able to help.”

  “Oh?”

&n
bsp; “My brother-in-law, Peter, is a landscape gardener. At least he was. He’s been made redundant. I was wondering.—”

  “Send him to see me tomorrow. If he’s half as good a gardener as you are a private investigator, he’ll have himself a job.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  “My absolute pleasure.”

  I gave Kathy a call. “Kathy?”

  “Oh, hi.” She sounded just as depressed as when I’d seen her that morning.

  “I might have found Peter a job.”

  “Really? What kind of job?”

  I told her all about the Colonel, about his house, and most importantly about his gardens.

  “He wants to see Peter tomorrow.”

  “He’ll be there. Thanks, Jill. You’re a diamond.”

  “No problem.”

  “Hey, by the way.” Kathy already sounded as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “Did you see Mrs V on the TV this morning?”

  “I did.”

  “That scarf of hers was incredible. How long was it?”

  “Too long.”

  I met Maxwell in the car park of the new ice rink which had been open for less than a month—the old one had closed over ten years ago.

  “Are you sure you can’t skate?” I asked.

  “This is my first time.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you after the way you set me up at bowling.”

  “I set you up? You were the one who finished on three strikes.”

  “That’s right.” I grinned. “I did, didn’t I? Maybe, I should buy my own bowling shirt. What should I have on it? ‘Three Strikes Baby’?”

  “Are you ever going to let me forget that?”

  “Highly unlikely.”

  The ice rink was doing good business; the opening offers had ensured the place was full.

  “It’s cold in here,” Maxwell said as we stood rink-side.

  “It’s ice. What did you expect?”

  “There are more people on the ice than I thought there would be,” he said. “Maybe we should just watch.”

  “Chicken. Cluck, cluck.”

  “I was only thinking of you.”

  “That’s so very considerate of you. Cluck, cluck—”

  “Okay. Let’s get some shoes.”

  “Shoes?” I laughed.

  “Whatever they’re called. Those things with the metal underneath.”

  We made our way over to the central desk where a pretty young woman, wearing a tee-shirt with the words ‘Have an Ice Day’ printed across her chest, jumped to attention. “How may I be of assistance today?”

  I wondered how long such unbridled enthusiasm would last. A month? Six?

  “My friend and I would like two pairs of those things with the metal underneath,” I said.

  Maxwell scowled at me.

  “Size?”

  “Six,” I said.

  “Same.” Maxwell started to undo his boots.

  “Six?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “You have women’s feet.”

  “Tell me again why you had to resort to speed dating.”

  “I told you. I went there to work on a case.”

  “So says you.”

  We hobbled over to the rink.

  “After you.” I stepped aside.

  Maxwell held onto the rail for grim death, as his feet tried desperately to go in opposite directions. “This is harder than it looks.”

  “I think you’re supposed to let go of the rail,” I said.

  “Whose bright idea was this?” As he spoke, one of his legs slipped from under him, and he landed with a thud on his backside.

  I laughed. “Sorry.”

  “You look it.” He clambered back to his feet.

  “Why don’t we give it a go?” I said. “I’ll go first.”

  “Okay, but don’t go too fast.”

  I let go of the side, and took slow, deliberate steps, with my arms held out wide for balance. “Come on!” I called back to him.

  He released his grip on the side, and tried to get his balance. After a few moments, he took one hesitant step, and then another.

  “Come on.” I held out a hand, but he didn’t see it because his gaze was fixed on his feet.

  Thud! He hit the ice again. That had to hurt.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, the smile on my face threatening to turn into laughter.

  “This is stupid.” He slipped again when he attempted to stand.

  “Why don’t we hold hands?” I said. “We can help each other to balance.”

  “Okay.” He took my hand, and we made our way slowly around the edge of the rink. Kids, no more than five years of age, came flying past us.

  “How do they do that?” Maxwell grumbled.

  “What?”

  “Skate so fast. And jump and twirl like that?”

  “You mean like this?” I let go of his hand and glided away, building speed as I went. My toe-loop was a little rusty, but I landed the axel perfectly. After one lap of the rink, I slid to a halt in front of Maxwell.

  “I suppose you think that’s funny!” he said, stern faced.

  “Actually, yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you could skate?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you could bowl?”

  He cracked a smile. “I guess I deserved that. Quits?”

  “Quits.”

  “It’s not funny,” Maxwell was shuffling around on the seat. We’d abandoned the skating, and were in the adjoining bar.

  “It kind of is.”

  He’d taken so many falls on the ice that he could hardly bear to sit.

  “When did you learn to skate?”

  “When I was a kid. Kathy used to go dancing, but I couldn’t see the appeal. Dad took me skating instead. I won a few medals.”

  “Why did you give it up?”

  “The old rink closed down. The nearest one was sixty miles away. And besides, I’d more or less grown out of it by then.”

  “I probably won’t be able to walk in the morning.” He shifted position again.

  “Never mind. I have some news which is guaranteed to cheer you up.”

  “Go on.”

  “Mrs V’s scarf came in at just under twenty feet.”

  Chapter 25

  Mrs V came through to my office.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Mr Roberts is here. He looks different.”

  “Different how? Don’t tell me he’s wearing a coloured tie.”

  “Shall I send him in?”

  “Yes, please.” Now, I was intrigued.

  What the? Either I’d slipped into some psychedelic, parallel universe or Mr Robert Roberts, my accountant, had been smoking the funny tobacco.

  “Hi!” he said.

  Hi? Robert Roberts was many things, but he was not the kind of man who said ‘Hi’.

  Something very strange had occurred. Mr Robert Roberts had undergone a scary transformation. Mr Robert Roberts had turned into a hipster.

  “Mr Roberts?” I managed, once the initial shock had passed. “I almost didn’t recognise you.”

  “Do you like the threads?”

  “Very nice. I didn’t think you were due to call yet.”

  “That’s true. True that is.”

  He had to have been smoking something.

  “I’ve given up the accountancy practice.”

  “Oh? What about my books?”

  “I’ve left all your accounts and papers with the good lady out there. I’m sure you’ll find someone to take them over. It’s not as though you have much income to account for.”

  Thanks for the reminder. “What are you going to do instead?”

  “I’m now a food critic.”

  “Really. That’s quite a career change.”

  “I suppose so.” He scratched his hipster beard.

  “Well, thanks for popping in to tell me. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  He looked me slowly up and down. �
�Unlikely.”

  Cheek!

  “You have to see it, Jill.” Mrs V had been on my case for most of the day.

  It wasn’t that I minded going to Ever A Wool Moment; I was just worried that I might bump into Grandma. My next lesson was in a couple of days, and I was behind on my studies. Mrs V’s scarf-a-thon scarf was on display in the shop. The scarf that had cost me the best part of five hundred pounds.

  “If it isn’t my star pupil.” Grandma collared me as soon as I set foot in the door of her wool emporium. “What brings you here? The wine offer has finished.”

  “I didn’t come for the—I came to see Mrs V’s scarf-a-thon scarf.”

  “You mean Costa?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I’ve decided to call the scarf.”

  “Oh? Okay.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know why?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’ll tell you anyway. I called it Costa because it costa you five hundred pounds in sponsorship. Get it?”

  “Hilarious.”

  “I thought so.”

  “So where is Costa?”

  “Follow me.” She led me to the back of the shop. There, just above the pay desk was a huge glass cabinet. Inside it was Costa—looking like a huge red python. Next to the cabinet, an illuminated display flashed the words ‘Scarf-a-thon - Costa, by Annabel Versailles.’

  After a few moments, Grandma had lost interest in me, and was chatting to some of the customers who were waiting to pay. The queue stretched all the way back to the door.

  “Hi,” I said to one of the assistants. “You’re busy today.”

  “It’s been like this all week—ever since the ‘everlasting’ arrived.”

  “Everlasting?”

  “It’s a new concept apparently. I don’t know how it works, but these balls of wool never run out.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “That’s what I said, but apparently it’s true.”

  “How can Grandma make money if the wool lasts forever?”

  “It’s sold on subscription. Like Spotify and Netflix.”

  I knew nothing about knitting, but I knew BS when I smelled it. “Can I see one?”

  “Sure.” She skipped across the shop, and seconds later came back with a ball of red everlasting wool.

  “How much is this?” I asked.

  “One colour is one pound per month. Two colours are—”