by Adele Abbott
I didn’t care what Mrs V thought, I liked my green ensemble, but I needed a second opinion. From someone a little more knowledgeable in matters of fashion than Mrs V.
“Winky? What do you think of my outfit? Do you think I look hot?”
Winky, my one-eyed, psycho cat, glanced across from where he was sitting on the leather sofa.
“Meow, meow.”
“Don’t just meow at me. I need your honest opinion.”
Ever since I’d inherited my witch powers from my birth mother, I’d been able to talk to Winky. For a feline, he had good fashion sense—particularly when it came to eye patches which I noticed he’d discarded today.
“Meow, meow.”
He jumped off the sofa, walked over to me, and began to rub against my legs while purring at high volume.
Something was amiss. Winky was acting strange—for him. Acting like a normal cat in fact. Winky never did that.
“Stop messing around. I need your opinion.”
“Meow, meow.”
I glanced over at the window sill. That was where Winky normally kept his little flags. He’d taken to using semaphore to communicate with Bella, his catwalk model girlfriend, who lived across the way. There was no sign of the flags.
“Meow, meow.” He continued to rub against my legs.
What was going on? Had he reverted to being a ‘normal’ cat? Could I possibly be so lucky? Might I actually be able to focus on my work instead of having to worry about what he was going to get up to next?
This day was getting better and better.
By early afternoon, Winky was still acting—err—normally, I guess. By that I mean he was still acting like a cat.
“I’m off to meet Jack Maxwell,” I said, as I left the office.
Mrs V gave my outfit another disapproving look. “I should make sure you go somewhere with subdued lighting.”
Charming. “By the way. Have you noticed anything different about Winky?”
Mrs V shrugged. “What kind of thing?”
“He isn’t—I mean he doesn’t—I don’t know. By the way, did you move the flags?”
“What flags?”
“Never mind. See you later.”
***
Jack Maxwell was waiting for me outside the coffee shop.
“Green suits you,” he smiled.
“What do you mean by that? What’s wrong with green?”
“Whoa!” He held up his hands. “Who bit your bum?”
“Sorry. I thought you were—sorry—I’ve been having kind of a strange morning.”
“I thought ‘strange’ was your default. Anyway, I meant what I said. Green does suit you.”
“Thanks.”
Jack insisted on buying the drinks—I pretended to object. The coffee shop was quiet except for the usual posers with their shiny, metallic laptops.
“I was sorry to hear that Sushi’s gone,” I said, trying my best not to smile.
“I doubt that. It’s a shame that you two didn’t hit it off. Sue is exceptionally good at what she does—”
“Get up people’s noses?”
“See, you do have something in common.”
“Touché. So, if she’s so good, why did you get rid of her?”
“We both felt it would be for the best.”
I wanted him to admit it was because he wanted to spend time with me, but he was never going to do that.
“Does that mean we can go back to our previous relationship?” I said.
He grinned. “I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship.”
I blushed. “I meant our professional relationship.”
He grinned some more. He was obviously enjoying my self-inflicted discomfort.
“You know my feelings about private investigators,” he said.
“They aren’t top of your Christmas list?”
“My feelings haven’t changed, but—” He took a sip of coffee. “I’d be a fool not to recognise that you’ve contributed to a number of recent high profile arrests.”
You think? Solved them all single-handedly more like.
“For that reason, I’m prepared to allow you a little leeway, but the old rules still apply. You do not get in the way of my investigations, and you bring everything you have to me. Understood?”
“Aye, aye, sir.” I gave him a little salute.
“And cut the smartassery.”
“Now you’re asking the impossible.” I smiled. “Everything else I can live with.”
“So we have a deal?” He offered his hand.
“Deal.”
I liked the feel of his hand on mine. Now if only I could get those lips on mine too.
“Refill?” he asked, but before I could say yes, his phone rang.
“Maxwell.”
He listened, and the longer the call went on, the more serious his expression became.
“Where? When? Okay, I’ll be there in ten.”
He finished the call, stood up, and almost as an afterthought turned to me.
“Sorry. I have to go.”
“Something serious?”
But he’d already gone, along with the promise of my second latte.
***
“Why does that cat have to be out here with me?” Mrs V sighed. “You know how much he hates me.”
“Mrs Rhymes is allergic to cats. You know what happened last time.”
Mrs Rhymes was a sweet old dear who thought her husband of close to fifty years was cheating on her. When she first came to see me, I almost had to call an ambulance because she couldn’t stop sneezing. She sneezed so much that she could hardly draw breath. I’d had no idea she was allergic to cats, and she hadn’t spotted Winky who was fast asleep under my desk. It was only when he popped his head out to see what all the noise was about that she was able to let me know what the problem was. I didn’t want a repeat performance, so this time I planned to get Winky out of my office before the old dear arrived.
Winky was still acting strangely. And by strange, I mean like a normal cat. He wasn’t talking to me, he wasn’t using semaphore to communicate with his girlfriend, Bella, and he hadn’t ordered anything online for several days. He was meowing and rubbing against my legs. I’d begun to wonder if maybe my magical powers had disappeared, but I tried a few spells and they seemed to work okay.
“He’s been on his best behaviour,” I reassured Mrs V, as I lay him down under the radiator in her office. It was the furthest point from the linen basket, which was full of yarn.
“I don’t trust him.” She eyed him suspiciously.
“Look.” I pointed to Winky who had curled up, and looked ready to sleep. “He won’t be any trouble.”
“He’d better not be.”
Before Mrs Rhymes arrived, I sprayed my office with a ‘neutraliser’ spray which I’d bought specially. It promised to get rid of any airborne allergens—it had better work—it had cost me an arm and a leg.
“Mrs Rhymes, how nice to see you again.”
Short, big-bosomed, and with hair that had a mind of its own, Mrs Rhymes reminded me a little of Aunt Lucy.
“I’ve been dreading this,” she said, as she took a seat. There were tears in her eyes, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t due to her allergy. “I’m not sure I want to know the truth.”
“I think you’ll want to hear this.” I smiled.
“You mean. Ronald isn’t—?”
“Your husband isn’t cheating on you.”
“Are you sure? He’s been acting so strangely recently. Going out in the evenings. Ronald never goes out in the evenings.”
“I believe it’s your wedding anniversary soon?”
“Yes, fifty years; our golden wedding. That’s what makes it all the worse.”
“I followed Ronald. He’s been taking dancing lessons.”
“Dancing? Ronald can’t dance. He hates dancing.”
“The course of lessons he’s been taking is usually for people who want to be able to lead the first dance on their wedding
day. It’s specifically targeted at beginners. Do you have a celebration planned for your wedding anniversary?”
“Yes. We’ve booked the Regent Hotel. Family and friends have all been invited.”
“Will there be music?”
“Yes, a four piece band.”
“There’s your answer then. I think Ronald plans to surprise you on the day.”
“Oh my goodness.” She reached for a handkerchief.
“You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Your husband obviously loves you very much.”
“Oh my goodness. I feel terrible for thinking badly of him. Does he know I had you follow him?”
“No. I was very discreet. He need never know anything about this.”
“Oh my goodness. I’m so relieved. How can I ever thank you?”
“No thanks necessary.”
“What about your bill? I wouldn’t want you to send it to the house.”
“I assumed not.” I opened the drawer, took out the bill which Mrs V had prepared earlier, and slid it across the desk to her. “There you are.”
Mrs Rhymes floated out of the office.
“Another satisfied customer,” Mrs V commented, after she’d left.
“Pity they can’t all be like that.” I glanced over at Winky who didn’t appear to have moved. “How was he?”
“He’s never moved. Never made a sound.”
“Been good as gold then?”
“I still wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
Chapter 3
I was spending more and more time in Candlefield, which was home to all manner of supernaturals (or sups for short). It was feeling less like somewhere I visited, and more like a second home. Having two different families was great. In Washbridge I had Kathy, Peter and the kids while in Candlefield I had Aunt Lucy and the twins. Oh, and Grandma of course. How could I forget Grandma? It’s a serious question—how could I forget Grandma? All suggestions on a postcard, please.
“Have you forgotten that I can read your mind?” Grandma said.
“Morning, Grandma. How are you on this beautiful day?”
“My bunions are giving me gyp.”
Gross! “Isn’t there a spell which could help?”
“Why gosh. I never thought of that.”
Whoops. Me and my big mouth.
“Thank you Jill for that brilliant suggestion.”
“I just meant—”
“You realise you have another test coming up soon?”
How could I forget? “Yes, Grandma.”
“I expect you to be thoroughly prepared.”
“Yes, Grandma.”
“Good. Well, I can’t hang around here all day. I need to find Lucy, so she can treat my bunions.”
“Bye then.” Lovely to see you too, Grandma.
“I heard that.”
No sooner had Grandma disappeared than the twins came charging down the street towards me.
“You were hiding,” I said.
They both giggled.
“We saw you with Grandma, and thought we’d wait until she’d gone,” Amber said.
I did a double-take. Amber had a beauty spot on her cheek which was the only way to tell the twins apart—except today they both had a beauty spot.
“Amber?”
“Yes,” they both said, then dissolved into giggles.
“Come on you two. What’s going on? Which one of you is Amber?”
“I am,” they both replied. And giggled again.
“Sorry Jill.” Pearl wiped off her ‘beauty spot’. “We couldn’t resist it.”
“Very funny. You should have tried it on Grandma. I’m sure she would have found it hilarious.”
“We’re not that crazy. She looked in a bad mood.”
“Isn’t she always? Her bunions are giving her gyp.”
“I hope I never get bunions.” Amber screwed up her face.
“You’ve already got them,” Pearl said.
“I do not. That’s where my new sandals rubbed.”
“Sure looked like a bunion to me.”
“It’s not. Anyway, at least I don’t have crow’s feet.”
“I do not have crow’s feet.” Pearl’s hand automatically went to her face. “I don’t, do I?” She looked at me.
“Not that I can see.”
I stood between the two of them before things got out of hand. “Enough you two. You’re both beautiful. Except when you squabble. I come to Candlefield to relax—not to act as referee to you two.”
“Sorry, Jill. It’s her fault.”
“Yours more like.”
“I hate being a twin.”
“I hate being your twin.”
“Right. That’s enough,” I said. “I’m going back to Washbridge.”
“No, Jill. Please, don’t.”
“Don’t, Jill. Please.”
“I’ll only stay if you two pack this in.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, we’re sorry.”
“Okay. I’ll forgive you, but I need a favour in return.”
“Anything.”
“Name it.”
“It will mean a visit to Washbridge.”
“Yay!”
“We love it there.”
“There’s a guy in the same block of flats as me. He’s—well, he’s sort of—he’s kind of—. Well anyway, you’ll see for yourself. He’s got himself a gig writing a newspaper column for the local rag, and he wants a makeover before he has his photo taken for the column. I thought you two might be able to help.”
“Sure,” Pearl said. “We’d love to.”
“Is he hot?” Amber asked.
“Mr Ivers? Not really. Anyway, you shouldn’t be asking that.” I grabbed her hand, and touched her engagement ring.
“I was only asking.” Amber blushed. “You know I wouldn’t cheat on William.”
“You would if Jethro asked you out,” Pearl said.
“I—err—I.”
“Amber?” I pushed her.
“Of course I wouldn’t. Jethro is hot though.”
“Scorching,” Pearl agreed.
I’d heard tales about the legendary Jethro who looked after Aunt Lucy’s garden, but I had yet to meet him. From all accounts, I had a treat in store.
“What kind of column is your friend going to be writing?” Amber said.
“Funny you should ask. You and he should get along just fine. He’s going to review movies for the Bugle. He used to produce his own newsletter.”
“Really?” Amber looked genuinely impressed. “That’s my dream job. I can’t wait to meet him.”
It couldn’t be often that anyone said that about Mr Ivers.
“I’ll speak to him and let you know when he’d like you to come over.”
We made our way to Cuppy C, the twins’ cake shop and tea room. I kept Amber on my right and Pearl on my left. I figured there was less chance of them fighting if they had to go through me.
“What’s going on over there?” I pointed to the scaffolding and boarding on the property directly opposite Cuppy C.
“We’re not sure,” Pearl said. “That shop has been empty for some time. They started work on it last week.”
“I don’t believe it!” Amber yelled when we drew closer. “Look!”
“No!” Pearl stared in disbelief at the newly erected sign above the shop.
“Best Cakes?” I said, as the three of us came to a halt directly opposite.
“Why would they open here?”
“It isn’t fair.”
The twins were staring in disbelief at the white and blue sign.
“I shouldn’t worry.” I tried to sound cheery. “You’re already well established. Your customers won’t desert you.”
Pearl ran across the road, read the small notice which had been pinned up, and then sprinted back.
“It opens next Wednesday. Lots of opening offers it says.”
“This is war.” Amber huffed. “We’ll show them who has the
‘best’ cakes.”
“We can hold a sale on that day too.”
“Dead right we will.”
This was fighting talk. If nothing else, the new shop had brought the twins together with a common purpose.
Let the cake wars commence!
The twins were busy plotting their campaign against the new shop, so they declined the offer to accompany me when I took Barry, my Labradoodle, for a walk. Aunt Lucy and the twins had bought Barry for me, and they looked after him here in Candlefield whenever I was in Washbridge. How can I put this nicely? Barry wasn’t the brightest button in the box, but he was adorable all the same.
“I want to go for a walk.” He jumped around in circles with excitement.
“We’re going.”
“When?”
“Now. Right now.”
I began to put on my trainers.
“I want to go now.”
Oh boy. As soon as I’d clipped the lead to his collar, and opened the door, he dragged me towards his favourite place—the park.
“I love the park!”
“I know you do.”
“I love to walk.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“I love to walk in the park.”
Adorable, but not the world’s most engaging conversationalist, that’s Barry.
“Do you remember what I told you last time?” We were in the park, and he was raring to get off the lead.
“I remember.”
“And the time before that?”
“I remember.”
“What did I tell you?”
“Don’t go too far. Don’t go out of sight.”
“Good. You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Okay. There you go—Barry! Barry, come back!”
That dog would be the death of me. Every time we came to the park, he did the same thing. Every time he promised not to run off, and every time he did. I knew he could behave because he’d done it at the dog show. The problem was he seemed to pick and choose when to take any notice of me. Well, enough was enough. I’d spent the last twenty minutes chasing after him. This couldn’t go on.