Witch Is When Stuff Got Serious (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 11) (9 page)

Chapter 11

Overnight, I decided I’d have to speak to Socks. I couldn’t allow him to treat his brother like that.

As I made the short walk from my car to the office, I noticed people handing out flyers outside my building. They were probably for another new pizza place, so I grabbed one as I walked by, just in case there were any opening offers.

What the? How dare they?

The flyer was for Best P.I. Services, and it had the same heading as the advert in The Bugle:
‘Don’t Settle For Good(er)’.
The audacity! To hand these out right outside my door!

“Have you seen those people outside, Mrs V?”

“With the flyers? Yes, they gave me one.”

“I can’t believe their cheek.”

“That’s not the worst of it, dear.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you been listening to Radio Washbridge?”

“No, I never listen to the radio in the morning.”

“They’re running an ad every fifteen minutes for Best P.I. Services.”

This was war!

I didn’t want Winky to overhear me talking to Socks, so I waited until my one-eyed darling was asleep. His despicable brother was sitting on my desk doing something on his smartphone.

“Hey, Socks! You and I need to have words.”

“What’s got you so riled up, little witchy? Winky told me you had a hot temper.”

“Don’t ‘
little witchy
’ me.”

“Look, I know I dropped in kind of unannounced, but it’s not my fault my bro didn’t give you fair warning.”

“It’s got nothing to do with that.” I glanced across at Winky to make sure he hadn’t stirred. “I
saw
you!”

“I saw you too, girl. And, you’re pretty hot for a witch.”

“Never mind all the flannel. I saw you across the way with Bella.”

“That Bella is one hot pussycat.”

“She’s Winky’s girlfriend!”

“Him and me are bros. What’s his is mine, and what’s mine is his.”

“That does
not
extend to his girlfriend.”

“Chillax! There’s plenty of Miss Bella to go around.”

“Do you think Winky will agree when I tell him?”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, okay. If it makes you happy, I’ll leave the lady alone.”

Winky stirred. “What are you two talking about?”

“Witchy here was just asking me which salmon I preferred.” Socks winked at me.

“Need you ask.” Winky jumped off the sofa. “Red not pink, obviously.”

***

Grandma dropped into the office—unannounced. This was getting to be a habit.

“How’s the filming going?” I asked.

“They’re not giving enough attention to the Everlasting Wool and One-Size Knitting Needles.”

“It’s not supposed to be an advert.”

“See? This is why your business never has any clients. You fail to grasp even the basics of marketing.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Grandma?”

“I understand you’re wasting your time with this wand nonsense?”

“By
wand nonsense
, I assume you mean the Wand of Magna? Yes, Aunt Lucy asked if I’d help with the investigation.”

“A lot of fuss over nothing.” She scoffed.

“But surely it’s part of the rich history of witchcraft?”

“Baloney! I was on level four when Magna Mondale was made the first ever level six witch. She was magnificent. There’s never been anyone like her, before or since. But, I can tell you this for nothing—she wouldn’t have wanted all this fuss about her wand. When she became a level six witch, the first thing she did was to discard it, and she encouraged other witches to do the same. So, why would anyone preserve it as though it’s an important exhibit? That thing should be broken into pieces and burned. Did Coral Fish mention the sealed room to you?”

“She did, yes. It’s Magna Mondale’s original basement, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Magna developed spells that others hadn’t even dreamed of—they were so powerful that she feared what might happen if they fell into the wrong hands. If they’d been used for evil, it would have been devastating for Candlefield. When she knew she was dying, she sealed them away in that room. No one has been able to get in there since.”

“Have you ever tried to get in there, Grandma?”

“No. Of course not.”

There was something in her response which made me wonder if she was being entirely honest.

“If I was you, I’d drop this case.”

“I can’t do that now. I’ve already promised Aunt Lucy I would help.”

“To find a worthless wand? What’s the point?”

“The point is that I’ve given my word. I don’t intend to go back on it.”

“Very noble, I’m sure.”

“Is that the only reason you came to see me?” I couldn’t hide my annoyance. I was even more determined than ever to find the wand now.

“Actually, no. I wanted to tell you that the team photo for The Candle is tomorrow afternoon. We’re meeting at The Candle’s offices at four o’ clock.”

“What if I’m busy then?”

“Get un-busy.”

***

It was time to pay another visit to Mad in prison.

As I was walking down the stairs from my office, I heard footsteps behind me. It was the funny little man—the one who’d been talking to Gordon Armitage. I thought no more about it, and carried on out of the building and down the street towards my car. But after a couple of minutes, I realised the funny little man was still behind me.

Was this Armitage’s latest attempt to spy on me? If so, the guy he’d hired wasn’t very good at his job. I needed to be sure, so I took four left turns, and ended up back where I started. He was still behind me.

It was time to have words with my funny little friend.

“What do you think you’re doing? Why are you following me? If you’re a P.I, I have to tell you, you’re pretty useless.”

The man looked terrified. “I’m not a P.I.”

“But you
are
following me, so I assume you’re working for Gordon Armitage.”

“No, I’m not. I mean—I
was
following you, but I’m not doing it for Gordon.”

“Why then?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I think the way Gordon has treated you and Annabel is appalling.”

“Annabel? Do you know Mrs V?”

“Yes. Well, no. Not really.”

“Now I’m confused. What do you want? Do you work for Gordon Armitage or not?”

“Not exactly.”

This man was trying my patience. “
What
exactly, then?”

“I’m one of the partners at Armitage, Armitage, Armitage and Poole. I’m Joseph—”

“Poole?”

“No. Joseph Armitage. I’m Gordon’s brother. His older brother.”

“You’re not the least bit alike.”

“Thank goodness for that.” He gave a nervous laugh.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re not—did you send—are you Armi?”

He blushed.

“Oh wow! So you’re Mrs V’s secret admirer!”

“Did she like the flowers?”

“I think you may have overdone it a tad.”

“Oh dear.”

“Do you actually know Mrs V? Have you ever spoken to her?”

“No, I’ve just admired her from a distance. I thought the flowers might be an ice-breaker.”

“Would you like to meet her?”

“That would be great.”

“Leave it with me, Armi. I’ll see what I can do.”

***

I’d expected Mad to be really down in the dumps, but surprisingly she was much brighter than the last time I’d seen her. The orange jumpsuit did nothing for her.

“How’s it going, Mad?”

“I’ve had better times.”

“Are they treating you all right? How’s the food?”

“It’s better than the slop my mother serves up.”

“Has she been to see you yet?”

“Not yet. She reckons visiting time clashes with her bingo.”

“Surely visiting her daughter in prison is more important than bingo?”

“That’s what I said, but apparently the regional flyer is set to pay out a record jackpot, and she doesn’t want to miss out on it.” Mad rolled her eyes. “Have you made any progress with the investigation?”

“So far, the only real lead I’ve got is the CCTV footage. I counted everyone who went in and out of the building on the day of the murder. If my calculations are correct, one person was still in the library after the doors were locked.”

“You actually sat and counted them all? That must have been mind-numbingly boring.”

“It was, but I’ve become immune to boredom since living next door to Mr Ivers.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. I’ve got someone going through the footage again to see if they can identify the individual who stayed behind.”

“I really appreciate all your help, Jill.”

“Have you heard any more from the police?”

“I have, and it isn’t good. It seems they found my fingerprints on the knife that killed Anita.”

“Did they show you the knife?”

“Only a photo.”

“Did you recognise it?”

“Yes, but it isn’t mine.”

“How come your fingerprints are on it, then?”

“Do you remember I told you Anita and I had been at a fundraiser on the night before she was murdered?”

“Yeah.”

“It was in aid of the Carnation Foundation. The knife used to kill Anita was one of the steak knives from that event. I remember because they had a distinctive blue handle. Someone must have taken my knife after I’d used it.”

“Did you tell the police that?”

“Of course, but I’m not sure they were listening. They seem to have made their minds up already.”

We talked for about another hour, and then I left with the promise that I’d keep her updated. I needed to find out more about the fundraiser, and in particular about the Carnation Foundation.

***

First though, it was time to check out ‘Best P.I. Services’. Time to find out exactly who the competition was. According to the address on the flyers, their offices were only a short walk from my own. The building in which they were located was relatively new. Inside, was a huge reception area which served all of the offices in the building. The man behind the reception desk directed me to the seventh floor.

Once there, I spotted a red sign with the words, ‘Best P.I. Services’. Inside was a very professional-looking receptionist who was busy on her computer—there wasn’t a knitting needle or crochet hook in sight. I was pretty sure that her CV wouldn’t include stints in the food packing industry.

“Good morning, madam. Do you have an appointment?”

“No. But I’d like to see whoever’s in charge here, please.”

“I’ll have to see if anyone is available. What’s your name, please?”

“Jill Gooder.”

“Will you take a seat please, madam?”

The leather sofa squeaked as I sat down; it still smelled very new. In fact, everything about the office looked sparkly and new.

“There’s a lady in reception who’d like to see you. Her name is Jill Gooder. Yes, very well.”

“You can go through.” She pointed at the door to her right.

I walked through into a larger office, which again was beautifully decorated with expensive-looking furniture. On the far side of the room was a desk. Behind it, sat a man with his back to me. He seemed to be studying the wall for some reason. As I walked towards him, he suddenly swivelled around in his chair.

“Miles?”

He grinned.

“Since when were you a private investigator?”

“Since yesterday actually. Have you seen the ads?”

“Yes, I’ve seen the
ads
. They’re downright despicable. What do you mean by,
‘better than Gooder’
?”

“It’s just marketing, Jill. Nothing personal. Surely you’re not afraid of a little competition?”

“How are you even qualified to be a private investigator?”

He pointed to a framed certificate on the wall next to him.

“Just a minute. This says, ‘Awarded by the Best School for Private Investigators’. You issued this to yourself!”

He shrugged. “How is that any different to you? Weren’t you taught by Daddy?”

It took all of my self-control not to pull him across the desk, and strangle him.