Witch Is Why A Pin Dropped (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 20)

by Adele Abbott

  “I’m really sorry. It was an accident. Please, come out from under there.”

  “I’m never coming out again. There’s nothing left for me now.”

  “Don’t say that. I’m sure there are other spiders in here.”

  “Do you think Bob can be replaced just like that? Do you think he’s interchangeable?”

  “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant.” I felt dreadful. “Look, why don’t you have some salmon? That might make you feel a little better.”

  “I’m really upset. It will take a lot of salmon to ease the pain.”

  “Of course. How does a double-helping sound?”

  “It’s a start, I guess. Anything to take my mind off the pain of losing Bob.”

  Once I’d put the salmon into his bowl, he came out from under the sofa, but deliberately didn’t make eye contact with me. Hopefully, time and plenty of salmon would get him through this difficult period.

  ***

  After work, as I was walking back to the car, my phone rang. It was Constance Bowler.

  “Jill, I’ve been in touch with Bertie Myflowers. He was a bit freaked out when I told him that he’d be talking to a sup, but he’s happy to see you. Is there any chance you could meet with him tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  She gave me his address, and I promised to go and see him the next day.

  “Hi, Jill!”

  It was Luther. Maria was on his arm, and they both looked very happy.

  “Hey, you two. I guess I don’t need to ask if things are going well.”

  “We’re very grateful to you, Jill,” Luther said. “Aren’t we, Maria?”

  “Very.” Maria patted her upper arm surreptitiously, and I realised that was where she’d attached the synthetic blood patch.

  “The four of us should have dinner again some time.” Luther suggested.

  “That would be nice. I’ll talk to Jack.”

  “And don’t forget that it’s the end of the tax year soon.” He was back in accountant mode.

  “Goody, goody. My favourite time of the year.”

  ***

  When I arrived home, Megan came over to see me.

  “Great news, Jill. Ryan is going to get those weird teeth of his sorted out at the dentist.”

  “Did you have a word with him about them?”

  “No, of course not. I didn’t want to embarrass him. It’s weird—it’s like we’re telepathic—like he knew what I was thinking. I guess that’s a good thing in a relationship, isn’t it? Does Jack often know what you’re thinking?”

  “I can’t say he does.” Thank goodness. “It’s great news about Ryan’s fangs.”

  She looked aghast.

  “Sorry. Did I just say fangs? I meant teeth. I’m glad he’s getting them seen to.”

  Jack was already home. I could tell he was bursting to tell me something as soon as I walked through the door.

  “I have good news!” he announced. “Times two.”

  “Has your mother decided not to come over?”

  “No. How would that be good news? I’ve got tickets for the Combined Forces Dinner and Dance.”

  “For the what?”

  “Washbridge and West Chipping hold a combined dinner and dance every year.”

  Whoop-de-doo!

  He continued, “When I joined West Chipping, the tickets had all been sold, so I didn’t mention it to you because I knew you’d be disappointed.”

  Devastated. “What’s changed?”

  “Someone had to drop out at the last minute, so they offered the tickets to me. Great, eh?”

  “Great. When you say, ‘last minute’, exactly how last minute is it?”

  “The dance is next Wednesday, so we still have a little time to practise.”

  “Practise what?”

  “Our dancing, of course.”

  “It’s not a competition, is it?”

  “No, but I have my reputation to think of.”

  “Reputation?” I tried, but failed to stifle a laugh. “Sorry.”

  “People know I’ve won competitions. They’ll expect high standards. It’s okay, though, we can put in some practice every evening between now and then.”

  Oh goody. “You said ‘times two’. Is your second piece of good news as exciting as the first?”

  “Even more so. Come and look at this.” He led the way into the lounge where he had his laptop open on the coffee table. “Look! I’ve found a ticket for the ‘We’ concert. You’ll be able to come with us.”

  If this was more good news, I didn’t want to be around when Jack had bad news.

  “Hmm? I’d love to go, obviously, but it wouldn’t be the same if I can’t sit with the three of you.”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Didn’t you know? The three tickets we already have are for the standing area. We couldn’t get any seats. This ticket is in ‘standing’ too, so we’ll all be together.”

  “Standing?”

  “Great, isn’t it?”

  “For an hour and a half?”

  “Three hours if you include the support acts.”

  “Fantastic!”

  “I do have some slightly bad news though,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure I could handle any more. “What’s that?”

  “The cleaner called by just before you got home.”

  “Mrs Crustie? Has she quit?”

  “No. She said she has to increase her rates.”

  “I hope you told her to get stuffed.”

  “Why would I do that? A good cleaner is hard to find. She does a good job, doesn’t she?”

  Oh yeah. She did a great job—using magic, while she lay on the sofa eating my chocolates and drinking my wine.

  “How much more is she going to charge?”

  “Another fiver a week.”

  I was obviously in the wrong business.

  Chapter 10

  “Foxtrot or quickstep?” Jack said when I came down to breakfast.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Which dance do you think we should practise tonight?”

  “I think I need breakfast.” I opened the fridge. “Where are the sausages?”

  “I threw them out.”

  “You did what? Why would you do that?”

  “They were past their ‘best before’ date?”

  “Had they started to smell?”

  “No, but—”

  “Don’t you know that the ‘best before’ date is just a cunning plan by the food industry to get you to buy more?”

  “And there was I thinking it was to prevent food poisoning.”

  “You can be so naïve sometimes.”

  “Anyway, about the dancing?”

  “I can’t think about that right now. I’m still half-asleep.”

  “Okay, I’ll make a decision. We’ll start with the quickstep.”

  “Great. Can’t wait.”

  “You should tell Kathy your good news.”

  “Which bit? There’s so much of it.”

  “About the tickets, of course.”

  I’d had a horrible nightmare about being crushed in the mosh pit at the ‘We’ concert.

  “Aren’t we all a bit old to be in the standing area?”

  “Of course not. It’s the best place to see a gig. You’re almost on stage with the band.”

  “I’d hardly call ‘We’ a band. It’s just Brenda.”

  “Even so. You can’t beat the atmosphere of the mosh pit. Go on. Give Kathy a call.”

  “I’ll do it later. I have some sausages to rescue from the bin first.”

  ***

  As soon as I walked out of the front door, Blake came rushing across the road.

  “Jill! Can I have a word?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Can we go inside?”

  “Sure.” Jack had already left for work, so I led the way back into the house. “What’s wrong, Blake?”

&nbs
p; “I’m being blackmailed.”

  “Who by? What about?”

  “Someone is threatening to give me up to the rogue retrievers. Somehow, they’ve found out that I’ve told Jen I’m a wizard.”

  “Do you have any idea who could be behind it?”

  “None.”

  “What do they want?”

  He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. “Look.”

  I read the note. In classic blackmail style, it had been put together from letters cut from a newspaper.

  “Five thousand pounds?”

  “I don’t have that kind of money to spare. I don’t know what to do.”

  “It says you have a week to come up with the money.”

  “It might as well be a year. I still wouldn’t be able to find that kind of cash, and even if I could, what’s to stop them from coming back for more? If they inform on me, that will be it for us. The rogue retrievers will haul me back to Candlefield, and Jen will be all alone. I’m really worried, Jill.”

  “Does anyone apart from me know that you’ve told Jen you’re a wizard?”

  “Not a soul.”

  “Are you absolutely sure? What about the sups you work with? Or your relatives?”

  “I haven’t told anyone else. I promise.”

  “It must have come from Jen. You know what she’s like with secrets.”

  “Jen promised she wouldn’t say anything to anyone else.”

  “It could have come from the blog.”

  “She’s closed that down.”

  “Maybe someone had already worked out who she was before she took the blog down?”

  “I guess that’s possible.” He bowed his head. “It looks like I’m done for.”

  “Don’t give up yet. Let me see what I can find out.”

  “I can’t afford to pay you.”

  “Don’t worry about that. You’re a neighbour, so you get the one hundred per cent discounted rate.”

  “Thanks, Jill. You’re an angel.”

  ***

  Mrs V and Jules were much more chipper.

  “Isn’t it meant to be your day off, Jules?”

  “Yes. I just popped in for a few minutes. Annabel and I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “If it’s about the hat and the tea cosy, I’ve already apologised for that.”

  “It isn’t that,” Mrs V said. “We realise that wasn’t your fault.”

  “I’m glad I’m off the hook. What did you want to talk to me about, then?”

  “The two of us spend a lot of time in this office,” Mrs V said. “And to be perfectly honest, it’s rather drab and depressing.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Just look around, Jill. The last time this room saw a lick of paint, your father was still alive.”

  She was right. The room was long overdue for a facelift—my office too.

  “Can we get the decorators in, Jill?” Jules said.

  “Provided it doesn’t cost too much. I’m not sure what I’ll do with Winky while they’re painting my office, though.”

  “Chuck him out onto the street for a few days,” Mrs V suggested. “He’ll survive.”

  “I can’t do that. He hasn’t forgiven me for Bob yet.”

  “Who’s Bob?” Jules said.

  “Bob? He—err—was—err—Winky’s favourite toy: A toy mouse.”

  “I thought that stupid cat was scared of mice?” Mrs V said.

  “So did I. That’s why I threw it out, but it turns out that he was actually Winky’s favourite toy.”

  “How do you know that it was his favourite toy?” Jules asked way too many questions.

  “I’m his owner. I can sense these things.”

  “Anyway,” Mrs V said. “About the decorator. I thought we could have a nice shade of green in here.”

  “Green?” Jules looked horrified. “Green is boring. We should have red and pink.”

  Now it was Mrs V’s turn to look horrified. “If you think I’m going to work in an office painted red, you have another think coming, young lady.”

  “Whoa, you two!” I interrupted. “When you’ve agreed on a colour scheme, let me know.”

  “I heard your lies.” Winky was waiting for me just inside my office. “Why didn’t you tell them the truth about Bob?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want them to know that you had a spider as a best friend.”

  “Used to have, don’t you mean? You didn’t tell them because you’re ashamed that you murdered my only friend.”

  “That’s a bit strong. I’d hardly call it murder. It was a tragic accident.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive you.”

  “What about some nice salmon?”

  “Red, not pink?”

  “Obviously.”

  “And a double helping?”

  “Of course.”

  I’d have to hope that it would take Mrs V and Jules some time to agree on a colour scheme. With all the money I was spending on salmon, I wasn’t sure I’d have any left to get the office redecorated.

  ***

  I was at the radio station to speak to Lee Sparks’ producer, Dale Royal. For some reason, I’d always pictured the radio station as being based in ultra-modern premises. In fact, it was located in a small unit on an industrial estate.

  “Morning.” The receptionist was Bubbly. Not in the joyful sense of the word—far from it—she was actually a bit miserable. Her name was Susie Bubbly.

  “That’s an unusual name,” I commented.

  “Susie? I know. I hate it. I don’t know why my parents couldn’t have given me a sensible name like Pumpkin. My best friend is called Pumpkin. I think it’s the best name in the world.”

  Huh? “I meant your last name: Bubbly. I’ve never come across that before, but then I guess a lot of people must tell you that?”

  “No, you’re the first. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I have an appointment with Dale Royal. I’m Jill Gooder.”

  “Gooder? And you think Bubbly is a strange name?”

  Dale Royal had hiccups.

  “Hi. I’m hiccup Dale.”

  “Jill Gooder. Thanks for seeing me.”

  “Would you like to come through hiccup to the studio?”

  “Sure.”

  He led the way to a small studio, which overlooked a larger room from which the DJs broadcast their shows.

  “Is that where Lee Sparks was murdered?”

  “Yes hiccup. Right there in that hiccup chair.”

  “Would you like to go and get a drink?”

  “Sorry?”

  “For your hiccups.”

  “It won’t do any good. I’ve had them all day. I’ve tried absolutely—”

  “Boo!” I shouted at him, and he almost fell off his seat.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Have they gone? Your hiccups?”

  He waited for a few moments. “I think so. Thanks.”

  “I understand you were producing the show when Lee Sparks died.”

  “Yes. I produced all of his shows.”

  “And yet, you didn’t see anything?”

  “He’d sent me down the road for coffee.”

  “Was that usual? Aren’t you supposed to stay in here while the show is on air?”

  “Lee treated me like his own personal slave. I was no more than a gopher to him.”

  “I take it you weren’t a fan?”

  “He thought he was something special. That he knew it all.”

  “Why did you put up with it?”

  “What choice did I have? Lee was the station’s star. Producers are ten a penny. I can’t afford to lose this job; I have a family to feed.”

  “Did he seem okay when you left to fetch the coffee?”

  “Yeah. He was his usual obnoxious self.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone hanging around the studio when you went out?”

  “No. Like I told the police. I didn
’t see anyone either on my way out or when I came back.”

  “Can you describe what you found when you got back?”

  “I heard a scream when I was on my way down the corridor. When I walked in, Kylie had her back up against this glass.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “Nothing. She was hysterical.”

  “This is very important. Did you see Kylie touch the knife?”

  “No. Like I said, she’d moved away from Lee, and was up against the glass.”

  “Had Lee seemed okay that day?”

  “He was just the same as always.”

  “Do you know if he met with anyone else earlier?”

  “Not that I saw, but then I only arrived a short time before the show was due to go on air. I could take a look at his calendar, if you like? It’s on the computer.”

  “You have his password?”

  “He thought it was part of my job to update his calendar.” Royal logged onto the computer, which was on the table behind him.

  “There. It looks like he had a couple of meetings in the morning before his show.”

  The first entry was for a meeting at Sounds coffee shop at ten o’clock with Raymond Conway, Lee Sparks’ ex-manager. The second meeting was with Mike Spins, the DJ that Sparks had replaced on the drivetime show.

  I would need to speak to those two gentlemen, but first, I wanted another word with Pumpkin wannabe, Susie Bubbly.

  “Hi. It’s me again.”

  Judging by the blank expression on her face, she’d already forgotten who I was. This woman obviously had the memory of a goldfish.

  “I was here a few minutes ago. I’ve been with Dale Royal.”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember.”

  “Are there any other entrances to the radio station?”

  “No. Just this one.”

  “And is reception always manned?”

  “Yeah. Two of us take it in turns to work the day shift; one of the security men is here during the night.”

  “Dale Royal said it would be okay for me to look at the CCTV coverage for the day that Lee Sparks was murdered,” I lied.

  “I don’t know how to work it.”

  “That’s okay, I do. If you could just point me to the office where it’s kept?”

  “It’s in the security office, down that corridor, but you’ll have to clear it with Bert.”