Witch Is When Everything Went Crazy (16 page)

I was lying on the ground, exhausted, when I saw the bird swooping down towards me. I was about to become his dinner. I reversed the spell just in time, scaring the poor bird to death.

“Jill? We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Kathy said. “Where have you been?”

“I just nipped to my car. How did it go at the dentist?”

Kathy stared at me—she sensed something was amiss.

“I was admiring Lizzie’s kettle.” I held it up. “She has the same bad taste as you.”

Chapter 23

I blamed Mr Ivers. If it hadn’t been for his inexplicable transformation into ‘Ivy’ I would have been having a drink with Jack Maxwell. Would that have been our first, second or third date? The raffle prize probably didn’t count, and the bowling had been no more than a ruse to humiliate me. So maybe it would have been our first ever
proper
date.

I’d had to turn down his offer of drinks because speed dating only took place on one night each week, and I’d already booked my place—under a false name, obviously. Lottie Levine—I thought the name suited me.

Who knew speed dating would be so popular? The ballroom of the Regent Hotel was full of small tables. The women were already seated; I’d been allocated table thirty six, which was near to the cloakroom. At the far end of the room was a small posse of men. I felt strangely nervous.

A bell rang, and the men hurried like mice through a maze until they found their first ‘date’.

“Hello, I’m Walter,” Walter said. That’s all he said. Either he was the most nervous person on the planet or he really didn’t like me. I tried a few times to start a conversation, but I only managed to extract two smiles and one raised eyebrow.

“Bye,” he said when the bell rang again.

“Hi, sexy. I’m the man you’ve been waiting for all of your life,” the next man said.

Come back Walter. All is forgiven.

Leo talked a good game, but I had my suspicions that if any woman actually responded to his ludicrous lines, he’d probably run a mile. I didn’t test my hypothesis, just in case I was wrong.

The bell rang.

“I like trains.”

“Really?”

“My name is Timothy. Do you like trains?”

Who knew five minutes could last so long?

The bell rang.

“Lottie? It suits you.”

“Jack?”

“Arnold, please.” Jack Maxwell pointed to his name badge.

“Arnold?” I laughed. “Do me a favour.”

“It’s not as bad as Lottie. Where did you come up with that?”

I shrugged.

“So,” he said. “This is why you wouldn’t come out for drinks?”

“I’m here on a case.”

“Of course you are.”

“It’s true. Anyhow, what about you?”

“Same.”

“You’re a liar.” I adjusted my name badge. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“You should know the answer to that by now.”

“Because you’re a detective.”

“Correct. So, what do you think? Are we a match?”

“You’re better than some I’ve met tonight.”

“High praise indeed,” he said. “So how about we arrange to do something another night?”

“I could whup your ass at bowling again. That was fun.”

“No thanks. How about the movies?”

“Not my thing, but I know a guy who’d be happy to accompany you.”

“A skating rink just opened on the Peveril Leisure Park. Can you skate?”

“Me?” I laughed. “You must be kidding.”

“Me neither. It might be fun, and then a drink afterwards. How about the day after tomorrow?”

The bell rang.

“Sure. Why not.”

The second thing I noticed about Charlie was the annoying way he played continuously with a small silver coin. The first thing was his dayglow top. He was no looker, but you wouldn’t lose him in the dark.

“How about we hook up afterwards?” He certainly didn’t lack confidence.

The coin dropped onto the table and I grabbed it.

“Give that back to me, please.” Confident Charlie had suddenly disappeared. In his place was nervous, unsure of himself Charlie, who looked like he might burst into tears.

When I studied it more closely, I realised it wasn’t a coin at all. I’d seen trinkets like that before on a market stall in Candlefield.

“Where did you get this?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tell me where you got it or I’ll be forced to break your fingers.”

Do I know how to sweet talk a guy or what?

Nervous Charlie was too shocked to argue. He gave me all the information I needed, and then scurried away as soon as the bell rang.

“Hi, I’m Cedric.”

“Goodbye, Cedric.”

Mrs V was snoring like a trooper when I walked into the office—her head resting on the desk. She had obviously been knitting into the early hours of the morning. The woman was determined to bankrupt me. My only consolation was that Maxwell was going to have to match me pound for pound. We could declare bankruptcy together—how romantic.

“Morning, Mrs V,” I shouted.

“What? Who? Where am I?” She replaced her glasses which had slid onto the desk. “Jill? I must have fallen asleep.”

“Why didn’t you go home?”

“I can sleep when I—”

“Don’t say that.”

“I was going to say, when I’ve finished the scarf-a-thon. What time is it, anyway?”

“A little after nine.”

“Time’s up then. I’d better take this—hold on—where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The scarf, of course.”

I shrugged.

“It was here before I fell asleep. Someone must have stolen it.”

And I knew who.

I rushed into my office. The scarf was tied to one leg of my desk. From there it stretched to, and out of, the open window. Just as I suspected.

“What are you doing?” I called down to Winky who was swinging on the other end of the scarf.

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re stuck.”

“This stupid thing isn’t long enough.”

“Good thing too. It’s already going to cost me a small fortune.”

“Your financial travails are all very interesting,” Winky said, “but in case it has escaped your notice, I’m in mortal danger. Call the rescue services. Quickly!”

That conversation would go well.

‘A cat you say? Hanging from a scarf, you say?’

I legged it downstairs.

“Let go, and I’ll catch you,” I shouted up to Winky.

“How do I know you won’t drop me?”

“You’re going to have to trust me.”

“Why don’t you lie down on the floor, and I can fall onto your body?”

“I’m going to count to five then you jump. If you don’t, I leave you there.”

“Are you any good at catch?”

“Five.”

“There’s still time to call the rescue services.”

“Four.”

“If I die, I’ll haunt you.”

“Three.”

Who knew a cat could weigh so much. It was just as well I’d cast the ‘power’ spell before he’d let go of the scarf.

I kept a tight grip on Winky, in case he tried to make a break for it. Overhead, I could see Mrs V pulling the scarf back through the window.

“She’s going to kill you,” I said, as I walked back up the stairs.

“Let her try. I’ll use my kung fu moves on her.”

“Since when did you know kung fu?”

“I’ve been taking a correspondence course.”

Of course. I should have known.

“He didn’t mean any harm,” I said to Mrs V.

“Cats will be cats.” She smiled.

Winky and I exchanged looks.
‘Cats will be cats?’

“Quick,” he whispered. “Take me next door before she changes her mind.”

I did as he asked, then went back to check on Mrs V. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Winky? The scarf?” I’d lost the ability to string together even a simple sentence.

“He did me a favour. The scarf is a foot longer now. More money for a good cause.”

Yay!

‘Harry Tinsel’s Magic Shop’ was on a small back street, just off the high street in Washbridge. The window was stacked high with all manner of cheap magic tricks: marked cards, magic rope, magic cup and ball. Mikey would have loved it.

A bell sounded on the door as I entered. The interior was even smaller than it appeared from outside.

“Good morning, madam.” The man behind the counter had more hair on his chin than on the top of his head. I could sense he was a wizard.

“Good morning.”

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for today?”

“It’s a little embarrassing.” I looked around as though there might be someone lurking nearby.

“I see.” He clearly didn’t.

“I’m having difficulty—” Another look around—just for effect. “Getting a date.”

I had hoped he might look a little more surprised that I couldn’t get a date.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, but I’m not sure how I can help. Maybe a dating agency?”

“Good idea. Perhaps I should try speed dating. I believe some of your customers do.”

His expression changed. He knew the game was up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he stuttered.

“I think you do. Maybe I should call someone to jog your memory. A Rogue Retriever?”

“No! Please, don’t do that! Please, I’m begging you!” Tears ran down his cheeks as he continued to plead with me.

“How many Stor-a-Spells have you sold?” I said.

“Three.”

I glared at him.

“Five then, certainly no more than eight. Ten at the most.”

“What spell did you use?”

“‘Attract’. I only did it as a favour the first time. One of my regular clients told me that he’d never had a date in his life. I felt sorry for him.”

The spell had made the holder
attractive
to all members of the opposite sex. That in turn had given him a self-confidence he’d never known before.

“To the tune of?”

He looked puzzled.

“How much did you charge your friend?”

“Fifty pounds.”

“Very generous. And the others? How did they find you?”

“Word of mouth. Other men saw the results, and asked what had caused the change in him.”

“And how much did you charge the others?”

“A hundred pounds each.”

“A nice little earner then?”

“Business has been quiet.”

“Have you heard of Daze?”

“Please don’t call her. Please! I’m too old to go to prison.”

Call me a big, old softy, but I genuinely felt sorry for the guy. Sure, he’d been making money, but he’d also given a few men the confidence they needed to get a date. Even so, enough was enough.

“I won’t call Daze if you promise that you won’t sell any more Stor-a-Spells.”

“I promise.”

“And, you reverse the spells on all the ones you’ve already sold.”

“But they’ll stop working.”

“That’s the idea.”

“They’ll want their money back.”

“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?”

“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.”