Witch Is When Stuff Got Serious (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 11) (5 page)

“There’s really no need. You’ve done that already.”

The ‘portrait’ she’d done of me was hidden away at the back of a cupboard in my flat.

“Perhaps I can do something for your sister?” She turned to Kathy. “Tell me dear, do you have a family?”

“I do. A husband, Peter, and we have two young children, Mikey and Lizzie.”

“That’s lovely. I’m an artist, you know. I’d love to paint a family portrait for you, if you’d allow me to?”

Oh no! I’d seen Dolly’s paintings. They were rubbish.

“We’d love that,” Kathy said, enthusiastically. “That’s so very generous of you.”

“My pleasure. Jill will give you my phone number. Give me a call to set up a date. Anyway, I must be getting back home. Bye, dears.”

She began to walk away, but then suddenly stopped and turned back. “By the way, Jill—next time you’re walking your dog, do call in and see Babs. She misses him so much.”

When she’d gone, Kathy looked at me. “Dog? What dog?”

“I think she must have mixed me up with someone else.”

Whoops!

Chapter 6

I hate the smell of paint.

I could smell it as soon as I walked into my office building. There were two workmen wearing white overalls: one at the top of a ladder, the other standing on the stairs. Zac Whiteside, my landlord, was just on his way out of the building.

“Hi Jill, how’s it going?”

“Hi, Zac. I see you’re sprucing the place up.”

“Yeah. Your friend and mine, Gordon Armitage, has been on my back for some time now to decorate the common areas. Between you and me, I’m beginning to regret ever leasing the offices to him. He’s more trouble than he’s worth. He rings me up almost every week with some complaint or other. You, and your father before you, have had that office forever, and I don’t think you’ve ever complained about anything.”

“They’re painting it orange?”

“That was Gordon’s idea. Apparently orange is the corporate colour of Armitage, Armitage, Armitage and Poole. Although these are common areas, his company does occupy most of the building, so I agreed that we’d paint it in their colour. Anyway, I’ve got to go. See you around, Jill.”

Paint was dripping from the brush held by the man on the ladder, onto the head of the smaller guy below him.

“Hey! Do you mind?” The smaller guy looked up; it was Blaze. Only then did I realise the person on the ladder was Daze.

“Sorry, Blaze,” Daze said, but she didn’t look very sorry.

“Hiya, Daze,” I called.

“Hi, Jill. I thought this was where your office was.”

“I take it this is your latest job—painting and decorating?”

“Yeah, I’m quite enjoying it. Although I’m not over fond of the orange.”

“Me neither.”

She came down the ladder, and joined Blaze and me on the stairs.

“What are you really doing here?” I said. “Are you on a case?”

“Yeah, we’ve had reports that a goblin has infiltrated the law firm that shares the building with you.”

“What’s he been up to?”

“Changing people’s Wills.”

“That’s pretty despicable.”

“Typical goblin,” she said. “They’re masters at it. They ingratiate themselves with people—usually the elderly, who are vulnerable, and then persuade them to change their Wills in favour of themselves. Anyway, we’ve marked this guy’s card. We should have him out within a day or two.”

“That’s good, how’s it going with Haze?”

“Okay, thanks. He’s asked me to move in with him, but I haven’t decided if I will or not yet. I need time to think about it; I don’t want to rush into anything.”

“What about you, Blaze, how’s it going with Maze?”

“Okay, thanks. The only problem is she wants me to meet her parents, and between you and me, I’m a bit nervous about that.”

“You’ll be fine. I’d better get upstairs, and see what’s waiting for me. See you both later.”

***

When I walked into my office there was a large rectangular box—the size of a coffin—propped on two wooden stands on castors. What was going on now? This had Winky written all over it.

Then, he appeared, dressed in a dinner suit complete with bow tie.

“What are you up to, Winky?”

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re about to conduct a funeral.”

That’s when I noticed the digital recorder mounted on a tripod in the corner of the room.

“Are you recording this?”

“I will be doing in a minute.”

“What exactly is it you’re doing?” Did I really want to know?

“Recording my audition, obviously.”

“How silly of me not to realise.” I took a deep breath, and then let him have it. “What audition? And why is there a coffin in my office?”

He sighed. Winky had exasperation off to a fine art. “Firstly, this is not a coffin. It’s a prop. Secondly, I’m taping my audition for The Meow Factor.”

“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

“It’s the biggest talent competition in the feline world.”

“You mean like the X Factor?”

“Sort of. They copied the Meow Factor.”

“Don’t you have to go into the studios to audition?”

“No. Anyone can record and submit an audition of their act. The judges at Meow Factor view them all, and invite the top sixteen onto the live show.”

“I’m really not sure the world is ready for an undertaker/light entertainer.”

“I’m not an undertaker. I’m The Great Winkini.”

“The great what?”

“Winkini. The world’s premier magician.”

“Ah, right! That’s why you’re wearing that get-up. I still don’t get the coffin, though.”

“This prop is part of my act. Surely you’ve seen the ‘saw the lady in half’ trick?”

“Isn’t that a little ambitious? Particularly if you’re recording it? If anything goes wrong, the evidence is there for the police to see.”

“Nothing will go wrong. You’re talking to a professional here.”

“Okay. Well, good luck with it. I don’t envy whoever is going in the box.”

He grinned.

“Hold on a minute. You surely don’t think I—”

“Why not? All you have to do is lie down for a few minutes.”

“If you think I’m getting into that box, and letting you come anywhere near me with a saw, you’ve got another think coming.”

“Fair enough. I’ll get Jules to do it.”

“No, you can’t involve that poor young girl.”

“If you won’t do it, what choice do I have?”

Poor old Jules. I was probably going to have to let her go. I could hardly put her through this ordeal too.

“Are you sure this is safe?”

“Of course. It’s perfectly safe. This illusion has been performed thousands of times. “

“How many times have
you
performed it?”

“A few less than that.”

“How many times?”

“I’ve watched the instruction video twice.” He pushed a set of wooden steps in front of me. “Here, climb in.”

“I’m not sure about this.”

“I’ll get Jules, then.”

“Okay, okay.”

I climbed up the steps, and into the box. As soon as I was inside, Winky closed the lid. There was a gap at the top where my head poked out.

“I’m having second thoughts about this.”

Too late. I heard the click of the catches as he fastened them to stop me getting out.

“You will be careful, won’t you?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ve even put a plastic sheet on the floor in case there’s any blood spatter.”

“What?” I screamed.

“Only joking. I’ll just go get the saw.”

“I’m really not sure this is a good idea.”

All of a sudden, I heard a buzzing sound.

“What’s that?”

“Just the saw. Nothing to worry about.”

“I thought you’d be using a handsaw.”

“A chainsaw is much quicker.”

“No! You can’t—”

He began to cut through the box. I closed my eyes tight shut, and waited for the pain. Moments later, the buzzing stopped, and he spun me around. It was the weirdest sensation. I was looking at my feet which were sticking out from the other half of the box. I wiggled my toes just to be sure, and the toes in the other box wiggled.

I was freaked out, but also more than a little impressed.

“That was brilliant, Winky.”

“The Great Winkini, please.”

“Would you put me back together again now, please?”

“There’s no point. The audition is finished.”

“Winky! You can’t leave me like this!”

“I suppose I could be persuaded.”

“Salmon?”

“Red not pink, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

***

It was several days since the murder, and the library had now reopened. It was high time I had a look around there. The woman sitting behind the desk was wearing a badge which read: ‘
Acting Senior Librarian’
. Presumably, she’d had it made specially.

“Morning.” She smiled. “Welcome to Washbridge library. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“I’m not actually looking for a book. My name is Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. I’m investigating the murder of Anita Pick.”

“Oh? Aren’t the police dealing with that?”

“I’m working alongside them.” Whether they like it or not. “Did you know Anita well?”

She glanced left and right, as though she wanted to make sure no one could overhear.

“Quite well. Or, at least as well as anyone
could
get to know that woman. To be honest, I always found her a little cold—and she could be really spiteful sometimes.”

“Spiteful, how?”

“I applied for a Senior Librarian position at another library; I’d rather not name it. But when I asked her if she’d support my application, she refused. She said I didn’t have the necessary experience, which is total rubbish. I’ve been doing the job for over eight years; I know just as much about the library as Anita.”

“I see. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to murder her?”

“No, certainly not. She wasn’t my favourite person, but I have no idea why anyone would want to do her harm.”

“Have you worked in this particular library recently?”

“On and off. I tend to move around between several libraries—filling in as necessary to cover absence and holidays.”

“Is it okay if I take a look around?”

“Yes, of course. Help yourself.”

The library was old and in need of some renovation. Apart from a lot of books, there really wasn’t much else to see. There didn’t appear to be any security cameras inside the building, so on my way out I checked with the Acting Senior Librarian.

“I can’t see any CCTV cameras inside the building. Is that right?”

“There isn’t the money for them, and anyway, what would people steal? A few books? It wouldn’t be worth it these days. There are cameras outside which cover the main doors.”

“I didn’t notice them when I came in.”

“They’re actually obscured a little by the tree.”

“But they still work, do they?”

“I don’t actually know, but I assume so.”

“Would it be possible to see the recordings?”

“That’s all dealt with by an external security company. I believe the same company covers all the libraries in the region. I can find you the name if you like. You could leave me your number, and I’ll call you with the details.”

“Thanks. That would be very helpful.”

***

Aunt Lucy had sent a message that she wanted to see me, so I magicked myself over to her house.

“Thanks for coming, Jill. Would you like a cup of tea and a custard cream? I got some in specially for you.”

“Go on then, if you’re twisting my arm.”

She made tea, and we settled down in the kitchen with a plate of custard creams in front of us. There were six on the plate. So that was four for me and two for Aunt Lucy.

What? I’m only joking. Sheesh.

“What did you want to talk to me about, Aunt Lucy?”

“A friend of mine, Coral Fish, is the curator of the Candlefield Museum of Witchcraft.”

“I didn’t know there was such a place.”

“It’s on the other side of Candlefield, so you probably won’t have seen it. Anyway, it seems their most important exhibit has been stolen: The Wand of Magna.”

“Wand? I didn’t think witches used wands?”

“They never have really, but a long time ago they used to carry them as a sort of symbol; a representation of their magical powers. It was a silly tradition, but it was one that no one seemed to dare challenge. Until Magna Mondale.”

“She’s the one the wand is named after?”

“That’s right, it’s actually her wand. Magna emerged as the most powerful witch of her time, and probably of all time. Up until that point, there’d only ever been five levels. But she was so much more powerful than any other witch, that level six was created just for her.”

“Why haven’t I heard about her before?”

“If you’d been brought up in Candlefield, and had attended school here, you would have. It’s taught as part of the history of witchcraft. Even so, because it’s so long ago now it’s not something that many young people can relate to. One of the first things Magna did when she became the first level six witch, was to discard her wand. And, she encouraged all other witches to do the same. A few didn’t like the idea, and resisted. But over time, the wand was consigned to history.”

“I see. So this wand—the one that’s gone missing—it doesn’t actually have any magical powers?”