Witch Is When Things Fell Apart (2 page)

The twins were both engaged. Amber to William, a werewolf; Pearl to Alan, a vampire.

“They can’t go,” Pearl said. “Only those who attended the school can go.”

“No partners allowed?” I asked.

“No.” The twins exchanged a glance. “Well, that’s what we’ve told them. We don’t want them there—we want to meet up with old friends. Anyway, they’d only be bored.”

“Old friends, eh?” I was beginning to smell a rat. “Any
particular
old friends?”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

The twins were terrible liars.

“There’s a strange man in your office,” Mrs V said.

“Strange how?”

“You’ll see.”

The strange man was dressed in a floral shirt, lime green trousers and flip flops. His glasses were all the colours of the rainbow.

“Over there, I see glass, and chrome. Lots of chrome,” he said. “Velvet for the curtains. Dark blue.”

“Excuse me!” I said.

“He pirouetted around to face me. “Who are you? Can’t you see I’m busy? You’ve interrupted my flow.”

“What exactly are you doing here?”

“I’m re-imagining this space. I’m thinking maybe cyber chic with a hint of Paris.”

Either I was still asleep or the local coffee shop had put something strange in my latte.

Winky beckoned me to one side, and whispered, “This is Maurice. The man is a genius.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s going to give the office a makeover.”

Over my dead body. I glared at Winky. “Excuse me, Morris,” I said.

“My name is pronounced Maurice—like Chevalier—not Morris. Maurice Montage.”

“Well, Monsieur Montage.” I gave it my best French accent, which if I’m honest was more Grimsby than Paris. “I’m Mademoiselle Jill Gooder, and this is my office.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” He took my hand and kissed it. “This office has such potential. You were so right to call me in. The sooner we get rid of this—” he waved his hand around the room, “the better.”

“I didn’t call you in.”

“Your secretary then?”

“No it was—” I looked down at Winky.

“Yes?” Maurice Montage said.

“It was—err—I mean—that’s to say—I guess I did contact you. I must have forgotten.”

What else was I supposed to say? I could hardly tell Monsieur Montage that he’d been called in by my cat. Not unless I wanted the men in white coats to appear and cart me away. Instead, I spent an excruciating hour listening to Maurice’s vision for the office.

“I can have this place transformed in a matter of weeks,” he said when the ordeal finally came to an end.

“Great.” I turned to Winky and whispered, “No salmon for you ever again.”

“I’ll let you have a quotation in writing within the next three days,” he said, as he glided out of the room.

“Can’t wait.” And I know just where I’ll file it.

“I like the sound of cyber chic,” Winky said.

Chapter 2

“Today, I have a special treat for the three of you,” Grandma said.

Amber looked at Pearl. Pearl looked at me. I looked at Amber. No words were necessary; each of us knew what the others were thinking.

“You could look a little happier about it.” Grandma took a deep sigh. “Ungrateful girls.”

It was the day of our magic lesson. They were never fun, and I was under no illusion (no pun intended) that her so called ‘special treat’ would be anything but a treat.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?”

I bit. “What’s the
special treat,
Grandma?”

“I’m pleased you asked. First though, I want to pose you a question. What’s the difference between magic and an illusion?”

Neither Amber nor Pearl seemed in any hurry to step in.

“An illusion is pretence,” I said. “It’s what magicians in the human world do. It looks like magic but it isn’t really. Whereas magic, well magic is—err—magic.”

“Correct, if not too eloquent.”

Coming from Grandma, that was high praise.

“In today’s lesson we are going to combine the two in a spell appropriately called ‘illusion’. If you have studied your spell books—” She hesitated, and glanced between the three of us. As usual, the twins suddenly found their feet fascinating. I met Grandma’s gaze. I’d studied this particular spell, but had yet to put it into practice.

“For the benefit of the twins then,” Grandma continued. “The ‘illusion’ spell does exactly what its name suggests; it allows you to create an illusion. For example, if you want someone to think that the bike they are riding is actually a horse, you could use the ‘illusion’ spell. The bike doesn’t actually turn into a horse, but to the subject of the spell, it will appear as if it has. To all other humans, the bike will still appear to be a bike. Understand?”

The three of us nodded.

“Good. One important aspect of this spell is that it will only work on humans—not on sups. You’ll see why shortly. Which brings me nicely to my special treat. In order to practise the spell, we’ll need some guinea pigs.”

“I love guinea pigs,” Amber said.

“Not real ones.” Pearl laughed.

“Care to share the joke with me?” Grandma fixed the twins with her gaze.

“Nothing, Grandma. Sorry.”

“As I was saying, we need humans to practise on, so we’re going to take a short trip to Washbridge.”

“Can we visit your shop while we’re there?” Pearl asked.

“There’ll be no time to visit anywhere. You’re going to the human world for one reason, and one reason only. Understood?”

“Yes, Grandma.”

I was about to cast a spell to transport myself to Washbridge when Grandma grabbed my arm. “We’ll travel together. Take my hand.”

Those horrible bony fingers?

“What are you waiting for?”

I did as I was told. Amber took my other hand; Pearl took Amber’s. Once the four of us were linked together, Grandma cast her spell.

We were in a park. It took me a few moments to get my bearings, but then I recognised it as one on the outskirts of Washbridge.

“Here.” Grandma handed us each a sheet of paper which had details of the ‘illusion’ spell.

“Who wants to go first? Amber? Well volunteered.”

Amber looked horrified. Pearl could barely hide her smirk.

Grandma took us along a path which led to a children’s play area. Surely she wasn’t going to have us cast the spell on children? I wouldn’t have put anything past her.

She walked by the play area and stopped in front of a row of benches which looked out over a sunken garden.

“See the man over there, reading the newspaper?” Grandma said.

Amber nodded.

“Make him see a bat instead of his newspaper.”

“A bat?”

Grandma nodded. Amber looked to us for reassurance, and we smiled encouragingly.

She cast the spell, and now I could see why it wouldn’t work on sups. Because I was a witch, I could actually see both images—flicking back and forth. One second it looked like a newspaper, the next it looked like a bat.

“Not that kind of bat!” Grandma yelled.

I wasn’t sure who looked more confused: the man who thought his newspaper had turned into a cricket bat, or Amber.

Grandma reversed the spell. The man looked a little shaken. Amber looked more than a little embarrassed.

“Your turn, Pearl. You can’t possibly do any worse.”

Pearl stepped forward.

“Do you see the woman lying on the grass, with the Chihuahua next to her?”

Pearl nodded.

“I want you to make her think the Chihuahua has turned into a St Bernard.”

Pearl was about to cast the spell when Grandma grabbed her arm. “You do know what a St Bernard is, don’t you?”

“It’s a big dog.”

“Very good. I just wanted to avoid an ecclesiastical faux pas.”

Pearl cast the spell. The woman jumped to her feet, and ran down the path, screaming.

Little wonder. The St Bernard looked an awful lot like a wolf from where I was standing.

“Sorry,” Pearl said. “I lost focus.”

Once again Grandma reversed the spell.

“So far, so bad.” Grandma stared at the twins who shrank under her gaze. Then she turned to me. “Let’s see what you can do.”

At least I had nothing to beat.

“Do you see the young man with the Frisbee?”

I could hardly miss him in his pink tee-shirt and orange shorts.

“Make him think the Frisbee is a pizza.”

“Any particular flavour or toppings?” Why did I have to be such a smart ass?

“Just do it!”

I cast the spell, and voila: one pizza.

Although I say it myself, it looked good enough to eat. Wait! Oh, no! The young man thought so too. Before I had the chance to reverse the spell, he’d bitten down hard on the Frisbee. That had to hurt.

The twins laughed. I reversed the spell as quickly as I could. The young man checked he still had all of his teeth.

Grandma turned on the twins. “Once again, Jill shows you two how it’s done. You can both write me a thousand word essay entitled ‘Why focus is important to a witch’.”

“Grandma. That’s not fair.”

“Make that two thousand words.”

I’d have preferred to boycott the Bugle in protest at the article they’d published in which I’d supposedly criticised the Washbridge police. Problem was, even in the internet age, it was still the best source of news for the Washbridge area. One thing the Bugle didn’t lack was sensational or ‘clever’ front page headlines. No matter how slow the news or how humdrum the story, the Bugle could always come up with an eye-catching headline. And today’s was no exception: ‘Lift of Death’.

As expected, the story was low on facts, but high on sensationalism. A man had been murdered while in a lift with several other people. According to the Bugle, no one in the lift had seen the murder take place, nor had it been captured on the lift’s CCTV. According to the Bugle, the police were completely ‘stumped’.

No doubt a quote from an official source. The Bugle was not a big fan of the Washbridge police.

Mrs V was hard at work on a bright red sock.

“Morning, Mrs V.”

She looked up from her knitting, and I could see something was amiss. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had some terrible news. My sister—”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Had she been ill long?”

“She’s not dead.” Mrs V put her knitting down on the desk. “She’s coming to visit me.”

“Don’t you two get along?”

“We never have. I wish we could be more like you and Kathy.”

Was she kidding? Me and Kathy get along? That would be news to both of us.

“Ever since we were kids, she’s always had to get one up on me,” Mrs V said. “She got better marks at school, and she was better at sports. She even got all the best boyfriends.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is, but I don’t mind any of that. I’m used to it.” She thumped the table. The last time I’d seen Mrs V so annoyed was when Winky had emptied her yarn all over the office floor. “The thing that really annoys me is that she chose to take up knitting. She only did it to spite me. It was the one thing that I was good at. She just couldn’t bear it.”

“I’m sure she isn’t as good as you.” I couldn’t imagine anyone could out-knit Mrs V.

“Don’t you believe it. Whatever ‘G’ touches turns to gold.”

“G?”

“That’s what I call her.”

“And she calls you ‘V’?”

“No, she calls me Annabel.”

Obviously.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Mrs V said as I started towards my office. “I’ve arranged an appointment for you at ten. A Mrs Jackie Langford. She’s a friend of the man who was murdered in the lift.”

“I’ve just been reading about that in the Bugle.”

“She sounded rather upset.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Oh, and one more thing, Jill,” Mrs V called after me. “I’ve found you a new accountant. He’s going to pop in to see you as soon as he can.”

“I can hardly wait.” Accountants are always so much fun.

Winky, my one-eyed cat was stretched out on the leather sofa.

“Morning, Winky.”

He shook his head.

“Cat got your tongue?” What? Come on, that was funny.

Winky sat up. He had a small notepad in his paws. He scribbled something. It read:
‘I’ve taken a vow of silence’
.

How I resisted fist pumping the air, I don’t know. But after a few minutes, curiosity got the better of me. “Why the vow of silence?”

More scribbling.
‘It’s a spiritual thing’
.

“Right. How long will this vow of silence last?” A week, a month. I could dream.

Winky sighed. All the scribbling was obviously wearing him out:
‘24 hours’
.

Oh well. I should be grateful for small mercies.

Mrs V must have really been depressed because she didn’t even offer my ten o’clock appointment a scarf or socks. Jackie Langford was middle-aged, tall and wore expensive shoes.

“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.” There was sadness in her voice.

“No problem. How can I help?”

“Are you familiar with the recent murder at Tregar Court?”

“The murder in the lift?”

She nodded. “The victim, Alan Dennis, was a close friend of mine.”

‘Close friend’ could mean anything—I waited for her to elaborate.

“We’d known one another for years.”

Maybe she needed a prompt. “You say he was a
‘close friend’?
”

“Yes, precisely that. I know there are those who believe a man and woman can never be simply friends, but that’s exactly what we were to one another. He was my closest and dearest friend. We confided in one another. We helped one another.”

“Never more than that?”

“No. That’s why I came to see you. A
‘friend’
has no standing as far as the police are concerned. If I was a relative or if we’d lived together, then maybe they’d talk to me. As it is, they won’t give me the time of day. All I know is what’s been reported on the TV, and in that awful local rag—whatever it’s called.”

“The Bugle?”

“That’s the one. Insensitive reporting at its best.”

No arguments from me there. “I need you to tell me everything you know. Let’s start with Alan. How long had you and he been friends?”

Before she could answer, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Winky had scribbled another note and was holding it aloft. Thankfully, Jackie Langford hadn’t noticed. The note read:
‘Need food and milk - NOW!’

“Sorry.” I stood up. “Before we get started, would you mind if I fed the cat?”

I know what you’re thinking—not very professional, but if I’d ignored him, he would have kept at it, and I’d never have been able to concentrate.

“Cat?” She’d been so focussed on her own grief that she hadn’t noticed Winky. “Oh, yes, I didn’t see him there. He’s a handsome little guy, isn’t he?”

“In his own way, I guess.”

Winky scribbled a note, and passed it surreptitiously to me. It read:
‘I like her.’

Once the cat was settled with his food and a saucer of milk, I got back to the case in hand. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

“Alan was such a kind man. Such an honest man. I know people throw those terms around willy nilly, but in his case it was true. He was truly a good man and a dear friend.” She wiped away a tear.

“Can you think of anyone who would want to kill him?”