Witch is How The Mirror Lied

by Adele Abbott

  “Of course I haven’t, but she was under Ma Chivers’ influence back then. Alicia has turned over a new leaf and is trying to make a fresh start.”

  “I never realised how gullible you are.”

  “I believe her.”

  “More fool you.”

  “Will you help me or not?”

  “I’d need something in return.”

  “Don’t you always? What is it this time?”

  “It’s the Elite Competition soon.”

  “And you want me to be your assistant again? Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Actually, I’ve retired from all competitions.”

  “Since when? Why?”

  “I’ve been at the top for long enough. It’s time for me to step aside and give someone else a chance.”

  “You surely don’t mean me, do you?”

  “Who else?”

  “I can’t take part in the Elite Competition—it’s for level six witches only. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still on level four.”

  “Which is plainly nonsense. The only reason you’re still on level four is because you snubbed the offer to become the first level seven witch.”

  “I’ve explained my reasons for that.”

  “Yes, yes, we don’t need to go over that again, but I’ve checked with the organisers, and as far as they’re concerned, you’re welcome to participate.”

  “Why would you do that without asking me first?”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I have no interest in taking part in that or any other competition.”

  “Please yourself, but that’s my condition for helping you with Alicia.”

  “That isn’t fair.”

  “Cry me a river.”

  Although I was now powerful enough to cast almost any spell I wanted, I still didn’t have the depth of knowledge or experience that Grandma possessed. Trying to figure out how to foil Ma Chivers’ control over Alicia wasn’t something I could do alone, but if I wanted Grandma’s help, I had no choice but to agree to her terms.

  “Let’s say I agreed, will you help me?”

  “With Alicia? Yes, I’ve just said so, haven’t I?”

  “No, I meant with the competition?”

  “Of course. You’ll need my help if you’re going to overcome your main opponent.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Who do you think? Ma Chivers of course.”

  “Okay, I’ll take part in the Elite Competition. Now, can we talk about Alicia?”

  Grandma listened in silence as I explained the problems that Alicia had encountered since she’d broken away from Ma Chivers.

  “I thought you might be able to come up with some kind of potion to protect her.”

  “I could, but that would be like putting a sticking plaster over the problem.”

  “What do you suggest, then?”

  “Ma Chivers has to be taken down a peg or two. She draws most of her power from the followers she attracts. If they were all to desert her, she’d be a spent force.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “We aren’t going to do it. You’re going to do it.”

  “Me? How?”

  “In the Elite Competition of course. It won’t be enough that you just win it. You have to totally humiliate her in front of all her peers.”

  “That’s easier said than done. If I remember correctly, you only just beat her the last time you competed.”

  “I never said it was going to be easy.”

  “In the meantime, what about Alicia?”

  “I’ll concoct a potion which will hide her from Ma Chivers. My magic alone may not be enough to thwart her, but if you add yours to it, then it should do the job. It will only last for a few weeks at the most, but that should be long enough to take us through to the Elite Competition.”

  “That sounds like a plan. When can you let me have the potion?”

  “Drop by tomorrow afternoon, and it’ll be ready for you to add your magic.”

  As I walked to the office, I thought about what Grandma had said. When I’d first discovered I was a witch, I’d been keen to work my way through the levels until I reached the pinnacle of level six. That no longer seemed important. I was now confident in my own abilities, and no longer needed a number to bolster my ego. Level four, six or even seven—what did it matter?

  I’d spent far too much time worrying about my past. I’d now resigned myself to never knowing for sure what connected me to either Magna Mondale or Juliet Braxmore. Was I a reincarnation of one or both of them? I had no idea, and would probably never know, but that was okay. At long last, I was comfortable in my own skin.

  I’m me. I’m Jill Maxwell.

  Chapter 19

  “Did you see her?” Mrs V said, as soon as I walked into the office.

  “See who?”

  “The spy.”

  Oh boy, here we go again. “Which spy would that be, Mrs V?”

  “She was hanging around on the street, near the entrance to the building. You must have spotted her; she’s dressed as a parking warden.”

  “I did see the parking warden.”

  “What did I tell you? Those crocheters will stop at nothing.”

  “It’s the same parking warden who’s worked in this part of town for the last six months. She’s there most mornings.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. She gave me a ticket three months ago when I’d stopped to drop off some files at the office.”

  “Hmm.” Mrs V didn’t sound convinced.

  If I was to tell you that Winky was no longer wearing the glasses and false moustache, you would probably think that common sense had prevailed.

  But you’d be wrong.

  “Why are you wearing that wig, Winky?”

  “Drat! I didn’t think you’d see through this disguise.”

  “Do you really think this is still necessary? Bruiser thinks you’ve gone away.”

  “Better safe than sorry. Maybe if I combined the glasses, false moustache and wig? What do you think?”

  Before I could respond, my phone rang.

  “Jill, it’s Chris Longacre.”

  “Hi. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, thanks. I wanted to let you know that we’ve spoken to Mark and Susan, and they’re both well. Physically, at least.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “They’re full of apologies for upsetting us like this, but neither of them can explain why they did what they did.”

  “Presumably they got carried away. You know what it’s like when you’re that age.”

  “Maybe, but that isn’t the only odd thing. When they told us about some of the things they’ve been up to in London, a few of them didn’t make any sense.”

  “Oh?”

  “For example, they said they’d been walking on the South Bank, and that work on the London Eye was almost completed, but the Eye opened almost twenty years ago now.”

  Oh bum! When I’d implanted my memories of a day trip to London, it hadn’t occurred to me that they might be a bit out of date.

  “Perhaps it was closed for maintenance?”

  “Maybe, but that’s not the only odd thing. They insist they went to see Return to Music, but that show hasn’t been on in the West End for almost eighteen years.”

  It was all coming back to me now. My adoptive parents had taken Kathy and me to London for the day, and in the evening, we’d been to the theatre, to see Return to Music.

  “Maybe they got the name of the show mixed up. Mark and Susan are both okay, though, aren’t they? That’s the main thing.”

  “You’re right, of course, but they’ve also managed to lose their train tickets for the journey home. I had to buy new ones for them. Anyway, none of this is your problem. We’re just grateful you were able to track them down. You’ll send me your invoice, I assume?”

  “It’ll be in the post tonight.”

  ***

  Charlie Cross had persu
aded Rosemary Thorne, the police officer in charge of Myrtle’s case, to spare me a few minutes. We met in The Boomerang, which was considerably busier than on my previous visit.

  I arrived first, and after ordering my usual lime and soda, I found a quiet spot by a window, which looked out over the rear garden.

  “Are you Jill Maxwell?”

  The woman was younger than I’d expected—probably around my age. Smartly dressed, she had a no-nonsense air about her.

  “That’s me.” I stood up and offered my hand, which she shook somewhat half-heartedly.

  “This will have to be quick. I’m very busy.”

  “Of course. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Not for me, thanks. I should tell you that I’m not in the habit of talking to private investigators. That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m doing this as a favour to Mr Cross.”

  “I appreciate you sparing the time. I’ve been hired by Myrtle Turtle.”

  “So I gathered. If you haven’t done so already, you’ll soon realise this is an open and shut case.”

  “Maybe, but I’d still like to ask you a few questions if I may?”

  “Fire away, but I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to answer all of them. And like I said, I only have a few minutes to spare.”

  “Fair enough. I understand that you haven’t yet found the murder weapon?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Doesn’t that worry you?”

  “Finding it would certainly tie things up nicely, but I’m confident the evidence against Ms Turtle is strong enough without it.”

  “Isn’t most of it circumstantial?”

  “In my judgement, there’s more than enough circumstantial evidence for a jury to convict her. There’s no dispute that the deceased entered the river close to the waterwheel that is on Ms Turtle’s property. His footprints were found in her back garden. The only access to that garden is through the house. And of course, the two of them were seen arguing earlier in the day.”

  “You’ll pardon me for saying so, but that still sounds very flimsy. Even if we accept he was killed in Myrtle’s back garden, who’s to say someone else couldn’t have done it?”

  “Like who? No one else has access to her house except those two friends of hers, and they were both out of the village at the time the murder took place.”

  “What about Rob Evans’ phone? Are there any records of calls he made or received just prior to his murder?”

  “The phone has never been recovered from the river.”

  “But surely, if you—”

  “I’m sorry. I really do have to get back to work now. Honestly, I think you’re wasting your time on this one.” And with that, she was gone.

  I was about to leave too when I was joined by Hodd and Jobbs. I hadn’t noticed them before then, but I suspected they’d been sitting somewhere close by.

  “That was short and sweet,” Hodd said.

  “She’s a woman of few words.”

  “We could have told you that you’d be wasting your time with that one. She’s already made her mind up that Turtle’s guilty.”

  “She may have difficulty getting a conviction without the murder weapon.”

  “You mean the poker,” Jobbs said, in a hushed voice.

  “Poker? I didn’t think they knew what the murder weapon was?”

  “They don’t.”

  “How can you be sure it was a poker?”

  “We’re not one-hundred percent sure, but when we took a look around the house, we—”

  “Hold on. I thought Myrtle’s house was still off-limits. How did you get inside it if the police haven’t released it?”

  “We have our methods.” Hodd gave me a knowing wink. “We wanted to see if we could find anything that might help Turtle.”

  “And did you?”

  “Not really, except we noticed one of her brass pokers was missing.”

  “One of them?”

  “Turtle collects them. It’s sort of a hobby with her.”

  “I don’t suppose you mentioned this to the police?”

  “Of course not. It wouldn’t help Turtle if they knew the murder weapon was one of her pokers, would it?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “What else did Thorney have to say?” Hodd said.

  “Nothing I didn’t already know. I asked if they’d checked Rob Evans’ phone records, but she said the phone hadn’t been recovered. It’s probably been washed away downstream by now. To be honest, she didn’t seem to think it was important.”

  “Do you?”

  “I don’t know. It might have been.”

  “We can get the records off it if it would help?” Jobbs said.

  “How?”

  “Best you don’t know.”

  “Okay. It can’t do any harm.”

  “Consider it done.”

  ***

  “I think they managed to get into your office, Jill,” Mrs V said.

  “Who did?”

  “One of the crochet spies.”

  Sigh.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I went through there to feed the stupid cat, and I found these.” She held up the wig, the pair of plastic glasses and the false moustache. “They must have been here in disguise.”

  “Those don’t belong to the crocheters, they belong to—err—” I suddenly realised what I was about to say.

  “Who?”

  “Err, me—they’re mine.”

  “Yours? I know you have to work undercover sometimes, but these aren’t going to fool anyone.”

  “No, they’re—err—was that my phone ringing?”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “I think it was.” I grabbed the wig, glasses and moustache, and then bolted for my office.

  “She’s a thief!” Winky yelled.

  “Sorry?”

  “The old bag lady. She stole my disguise.”

  “It’s all here. Keep these somewhere out of sight, will you? And whatever you do, don’t let Mrs V see you wearing this lot. Even I couldn’t explain that away.”

  ***

  It was mid-afternoon, and I was at a bit of a loose end. Until Hodd and Jobbs got back to me with the phone records for Rob Evans, there wasn’t much else I could do on Myrtle’s case. I was on the point of giving myself the rest of the day off when my phone rang.

  The voice was so quiet, I couldn’t make out who it was or what they were saying.

  “You’ll have to speak up. I can’t hear you.”

  “It’s Sarah, from Coffee Games. Can you hear me now?”

  “Only just.”

  “I daren’t speak any louder or he might hear.”

  “Who might?”

  “You told me to be on the lookout for anyone trying to get us to sell blood. Well, there’s a vampire in here now. He reckons he runs the blood distribution network, and he’s just asked if we’d consider selling blood in the shop.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I’d have to go and get the boss. That’s where he thinks I am now.”

  “Can you keep him talking for a few more minutes until I get down there?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “He’s wearing a purple tie.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way.”

  “Hurry, Jill, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep him talking for long. Not once he knows the boss isn’t actually here today.”

  “I’m coming now.”

  As soon as I was out of the building, I cast the ‘faster’ spell, and then sped down the high street to Coffee Games. I arrived just in time to see a man, with a purple tie, step out of the door.

  I considered confronting him there and then, but I had no evidence of any wrongdoing. It would be his word against Sarah’s. Instead, I decided to follow him. If I could find out where he was based, I could let Daze know. She could then handle it
however she thought best.

  I half-expected him to get into a car, which would have caused me a few problems, but instead, he walked to one of the new apartment blocks close to the town hall. I followed him inside, made a note of his apartment number, and then contacted Daze.

  “Thanks, Jill, that’s great. We’ll pay him a visit shortly. We’re bound to find some evidence in his flat.”

  ***

  I phoned Mrs V.

  “I’m not going to bother coming back to the office. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Is everything okay? I was a little worried when you rushed out without a word.”

  “Everything’s fine. I just needed a coffee.”

  “I worry about that caffeine habit of yours.”

  “It’s okay. I had decaf. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  It was nice to finish early, and as it was such a beautiful day, I planned to relax in the garden with a good book.

  “Jill!”

  Oh no! I’d just pulled onto the drive when Mr Ivers came scurrying across.

  “Hello, Monty.”

  “I wanted to check that you haven’t forgotten.”

  “Err, no. Of course not.” What was he talking about?

  “Good. Make sure you’re early because I’m expecting a large crowd.”

  The penny dropped. “Oh yeah, the opening of your new shop. It’s this week, isn’t it?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “That soon?”

  “Yes. At nine o’clock. Charlie Barley has confirmed, so it’s all systems go.”

  “Fantastic.” Yawnsville.

  “The local TV and radio will be there.”

  “Really? Do you think they’ll want to interview people in the crowd?”

  “They’ve said they want to speak to me, and to Charlie, but I suppose it’s always possible. Why?”

  “No reason, but if they do, you’ll want to be sure it’s someone articulate who can speak positively about the prospects for your business, won’t you?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I’d be happy to volunteer. You can tell them they’re welcome to speak to me if they wish.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Thank you very much.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Who said I didn’t understand marketing? Once in front of the microphone and camera, I’d quickly drop a few platitudes about the internet café, and then namecheck my business. Was I brilliant or what?