Witch Is When the Penny Dropped (3 page)

Chapter 4

No, I didn’t mean I should eat a custard cream. Anyway, where was I supposed to find a custard cream in a mousehole?

I meant that I should ask myself: ‘what would Grandma do now?’ Much as I loathed the bossy, obnoxious, card-cheating old hag, I couldn’t deny that she was one smart and powerful witch. So, what would Grandma have done if she’d found herself in this situation? Then it dawned on me—she never would have landed herself in this situation in the first place.

Was it my imagination, or was the cat’s paw getting closer? I couldn’t get any further away; my back was already up against the wall. If that feline managed to squeeze his paw any further inside, I’d be a goner.

I’d used the ‘illusion’ spell numerous times, so I felt confident with it, but I didn’t know if it would work on an animal. I was about to find out.

Yes! It worked! Did this girl have skillz or what?

The cat hightailed it across the room and out of the door. He hadn’t liked the look of the Pit Bull Terrier, which I’d conjured up. Not one little bit.

The room was filling up, and the conversations were getting louder. I remained in the hole which was at the front of the room—very close to the desk under which I’d hidden the last time I was there.

“Okay, guys!” The familiar voice of Jack Maxwell came from my left. I was relieved to see him push the door closed behind him. At least I didn’t have to worry about the cat coming back.

“I’m going to keep this brief,” he said, as he walked over to the desk. He was no more than a few feet away from me now.

Oh no! What was it with this guy and his cartoon-themed socks? Had there been a fire sale? Today he’d gone for Roadrunner. How was anyone meant to take him seriously when he insisted on wearing those?

“Okay,” he said. “A quick recap first. There were two murders over the weekend. As far as we are aware there is no connection between them, which is why I’ve set up two separate teams. I’ll lead the investigation into the murder of Gina Peel, and Detective Chalmers will head the investigation into the murder of Anton Michaels. Depending on how things develop, we may need to swap resources around. For now, I want Jimmy, Graham, Stevie, Angie and Carla to work on the Michaels case. Get yourselves over to conference room five. Chalmers is already in there.”

Maxwell waited until they’d left, and then continued. “Gina Peel was found dead in an apartment in East Side. It wasn’t her apartment—we’re still trying to trace the owner. She’d been stabbed—the murder weapon was found in the property. Forensics have lifted finger prints from the knife, and from the apartment. The good news is we have a match; the bad news is they match a certain Reginald Peel.”

“Is that the guy we have in custody?” someone called out.

“No. The man we are questioning is Ronald Peel. He’s the brother of the victim. Reginald Peel was Ronald’s twin brother. There’s just one minor complication—” Maxwell paused. “Reginald Peel died two years ago in a climbing accident.”

Wow! No wonder Maxwell had told me there were complications regarding the fingerprints. If I’d understood him correctly, the man they were interviewing, my client’s fiancé, was not the man whose fingerprints they’d lifted. They belonged to his twin brother who died two years ago.

The remainder of the meeting was taken up with Maxwell assigning duties to his team, after which the room cleared.

Once I was sure the coast was clear, I crept out of the mousehole. After the close shave with the cat, I felt very vulnerable at my minuscule size. It had been a hairy journey into the building—avoiding all the giant feet. I was too exhausted to do it again. I needed a way to pass through the building without attracting any attention, and I thought I knew just how to do it.

It was great to be back to full size. Now I was becoming more adept at magic, I was able to get much more out of spells than I had before. Many spells were available in more than one flavour. When I first started to use magic, I’d always settled for the basic, default options. Now I was more confident, I felt able to be more creative. For example with the ‘doppelgänger’ spell which I’d just cast. The default version affected only the person you were looking at. However there was an option which meant everyone you encountered would be affected. This took way more focus, but that came much easier to me now.

I walked along the corridor, and no one gave me a second glance. A couple more minutes, and I’d be out of the building and home free.

“Susan?” Jack Maxwell said.

Whoops! The one person I hadn’t wanted to bump into.

“What are you doing here?” He had a puzzled look on his face.

Hardly surprising because he thought he was looking at Detective Susan Shay (or Sushi as I’d come to know her). I’d figured no one would give Sue Shay a second glance. No one except Jack Maxwell.

“Jack.” I tried to mimic the mannerisms of Shay by running a hand through what Jack saw as my curly, peroxide blonde hair.

“I didn’t know you were down here.”

“Just a flying visit. I left a couple of things behind: straightening tongues, bleach—that sort of thing. I thought I’d better come and get them.”

What? I’m allowed to be bitchy—she deserved it.

“How long are you down here for?”

“Just a few hours. I promised Toby I’d be back tonight.”

“Toby?”

“Didn’t I mention Toby? He and I have become very close.” I gave him a sexy wink.

“Have you got something in your eye?”

“Look, I’d better get going.”

“Okay. Nice to see you again.”

“And you.” I made to turn away, but then hesitated. “Oh, and by the way. I think I may have misjudged that P.I. What was her name? Jill? She really is very talented.”

If only I’d had a camera to capture the expression on Maxwell’s face. Gobsmacked didn’t even come close.

***

I was still smiling to myself when I got back to the office. Mrs V had what looked like a brand new laptop on her desk—what was going on? Mrs V didn’t
do
computers. But even more strange—she wasn’t knitting. In fact there wasn’t a knitting needle or ball of wool to be seen. Instead her fingers were going nineteen to the dozen over the keyboard.

“Mrs V?”

“Morning, Jill.” She checked her watch. “Afternoon, I mean.”

I ignored her wisecrack. “New computer?”

“Yes, I got it with Yarn Stitches.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s a bit like Air Miles, but for yarn. I’ve been saving them for years, but there wasn’t anything which caught my eye until now.”

“You must have had a lot of points—I mean stitches—to get that.”

Not that I was any kind of expert, but the laptop looked like a high-end model.

“I had just over two million.”

“Wow! But then, you do get through an awful lot of wool.”

“Not so much now that I have the Everlasting Wool subscription. Did I tell you I’ve upgraded my plan to give me five colours a month?”

“Grandma will be pleased.”

“That reminds me. Your grandma called in this morning. She asked me to give you a message, but to be honest it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“What did she say?”

“Well at first, I thought she was talking about that detective friend of yours, Jack Maxwell, but then she said ‘six jacks are better than four’.”

I could gleefully strangle that woman.

“Do you know what she was talking about?” Mrs V said.

“I think so. It’s nothing to worry about. Just Grandma and her little joke.” I took a deep breath. I wouldn’t let that woman get to me. “Anyway, why did you get the laptop? Are you writing your memoirs?” I laughed.

“No, but I am writing a book. It’s called ‘Scarf knitting for complete thickos’.”

“Hmm. The title may need a rethink. Only dummies would class themselves as ‘complete thickos’.”

“You might be right. How about V for Knitting? Like V for Victory.”

“Again, I see a minor flaw. Maybe give it some more thought?”

“You’re right. I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

Winky was on the window sill.

“Have you seen what the crazy old bag lady is up to now?” he greeted me.

“I do wish you wouldn’t call her that.”

“Have you seen her though? She’s writing a book.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Who’s going to buy a book written by that headcase?”

“Mrs V is a well respected figure in the world of yarn. I’m sure there’ll be a lot of demand for her book.”

“You have to say that because no one else would work for you for free. Can you spell EXPLOITATION?”

“Hold on. I’m not exploiting anyone. Mrs V does it out of the kindness of her heart.”

“Tell that to the Bugle when they get hold of the story. I can see the headlines now: Well known P.I. refuses to pay staff! Read all about it.”

“The Bugle wouldn’t be interested in that.”

“Maybe.” He smirked. “Maybe not. But if someone was to email their news desk—anonymously of course—who knows what might happen?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I could be persuaded not to.”

“Salmon?”

“Red?”

“Obviously.”

I gave him the salmon, but I still didn’t entirely trust him.

“Mrs V, sorry to interrupt your flow.”

“That’s all right, dear. What about ‘Where there’s a wool, there’s a way’ for a title?”

“Too contrived. You need something short and snappy.”

“Hmm.”

“Would you contact Dot Comm to set up a meeting, please? Oh, and one other thing, if you get a call from the Bugle, tell them ‘no comment’.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Just tell them ‘no comment’ and hang up.”

***

Tomorrow was ‘L’ day. ‘L’ for Luther. ‘L’ for luscious. I had to pull out all the stops, and that included a new outfit. Something alluring, something sultry, something which said, ‘come and take me. I’m yours’. There were other things I probably should have been doing—like background research into the Peel family. But to heck with that—I was a woman on a mission.

If I hadn’t been daydreaming about Luther, I might have spotted Betty Longbottom, my tax inspector neighbour, before I bumped into her. She wasn’t alone.

“Jill, hi.” Betty beamed. Betty didn’t usually beam.

“Hi, I didn’t see you there.”

There was something familiar about the young man standing next to Betty, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I felt like I knew him from somewhere.

“This is Norman,” Betty said.

Norman! Of course. Or mastermind, as I would always think of him. I’d first met Norman when I was investigating a murder at Washbridge Amdram. Norman worked in his uncle’s prop shop. When I’d tried to question him about the props, he’d famously told me he didn’t know ‘owt about owt.’

“We’ve already met,” I said.

I looked at Norman. Betty looked at Norman. Norman looked out to lunch—as per usual.

“Do you know Jill?” Betty asked him.

He opened his mouth, and for a moment I thought he was going to come out with the classic line, but instead he managed only, “’Huh?”

“We met at your uncle’s shop. You probably won’t remember.”

He didn’t. He probably didn’t remember his name most days.

“How did you two meet?” I asked.

Betty beamed even more; Norman obviously had hidden depths. “Through the personal ads in Sea Shell Monthly, didn’t we Norman?”

Norman nodded.

“So, do you collect sea shells too, Norman?” See, I can make small talk when I try.

“No. I collect bottle tops.”

“Right. I see.” I didn’t, and Betty could tell.

“Norman’s a bit short-sighted, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“He’s also a bit forgetful. He’d gone out without his glasses, and stopped off to buy a magazine. He’d intended to pick up Bottle Tops Monthly, but picked up Sea Shell Monthly by mistake.”

“An easy mistake to make.”

“Anyway, he had a browse through it, and found my details in the personal ads. I guess that’s fate for you.”

“That’s amazing. Well, I’d better press on. I have one or two things to get.”

“Bye!” Betty said.

“Who was she?” Norman said.

***

It had taken the best part of two hours, but I was thrilled with my purchase. You can’t go far wrong with a little black number—or so I’d read somewhere. I’d also invested heavily in candles—got to set the right mood. Tomorrow night couldn’t come around quickly enough. This was going to be the start of my great, romantic adventure. I could feel it in my blood.