Witch Is When Things Fell Apart (3 page)

She shook her head. “No one. I can’t believe it could have been someone who knew him. Do you think it could have been a stranger?”

“It’s always possible, but the vast majority of murders are committed by someone known to the victim. Have you been to his apartment?”

“Only on a couple of occasions. We met originally through work; we were in the same office. Then, after I changed jobs, we stayed in touch. We usually met for coffee or lunch. He’d never actually been to my house.”

“Had he lived at Tregar Court long?”

“Five years, perhaps a little longer. It must be incredibly expensive to live there. Have you seen the development?”

I shook my head. Although I’d never visited Tregar, I was well aware that properties in that post code were way above my pay grade.

“They’re very exclusive,” she said.

“When was the last time you saw Alan?”

“Three weeks ago. We met every two or three weeks on average. We’d arranged to meet for coffee that day—”

Her tears began to flow—I really should have invested in a box of tissues.

“Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Luckily she’d had the foresight to bring her own tissues. “I’m okay.”

“You said you used to work with Alan. What did he do for a living?”

“He was an accountant.”

Perhaps my ex accountant, Mr Robert Roberts, had been right to quit the profession. It was obviously more dangerous than I’d realised.

“Not any old accountant,” she said. “He worked exclusively for wealthy, private clients.”

“A few disreputable types among them?”

“Oh no!” She sprang to his defence. “Like I said, Alan was a thoroughly honest man. He would never have taken on a client who he knew was breaking the law. It simply wasn’t in his nature.”

We talked for another thirty minutes. Or at least, Jackie talked—I mostly listened. It was impossible not to draw the conclusion that she’d been in love with Alan Dennis.

“Anything else you can tell me about him? Anything at all?”

“I don’t think so. Only that he was very much a creature of habit. He always went to the same restaurants, and ordered the same food. He even wore the same suit to work every day.”

She must have seen the horrified look on my face because she continued, “I don’t mean the exact same suit. He must have owned half a dozen—all identical. He did the same with ties and shoes. I used to tease him about it, but he couldn’t see the problem. He insisted it made perfect sense to stick with something he liked.” She managed a weak smile. “Men, eh?”

‘
She was nice
.’ Winky scribbled after she had left.

“Let’s hope I can help her.” I walked through to Mrs V who still looked glum. “Can you try to make me an appointment to see Detective Maxwell?”

For some reason, that seemed to put a smile on her face. What was it with her and Kathy? They seemed determined to pair me up with Detective Jack Maxwell. He’d only recently transferred to Washbridge, and to say we hadn’t immediately hit it off would have been something of an understatement. In his first few weeks in the job, we’d been constantly at each other’s throat. It was only after our so-called ‘date’, the result of a raffle which Kathy had rigged, that we’d buried the hatchet. It was during that ‘date’, that I’d discovered the reason for his mistrust of P.I.s. He’d been the lead detective on a kidnap case where the hostage had been killed, due in part at least to the negligence of the family’s P.I.

Since our ‘date’, our working relationship had improved dramatically. How long that would last was anyone’s guess.

Chapter 3

On my way to meet Maxwell, I passed Grandma’s yarn shop—Ever A Wool Moment. As well as being a level six witch—the highest skill level—she’d also proven herself to be an expert marketeer. Not a week went by that she didn’t come up with a new promotion.

This week’s was front and centre in the window. A giant jam jar, almost as tall as the window, was crammed full of balls of wool. The poster in the window read,
‘Win a year’s subscription to Everlasting Wool’
.

Everlasting Wool was another of Grandma’s innovations. Think Spotify or Netflix, and apply it to wool. How did it work? I had no idea. I suspected magic was involved, but she denied it. The person who guessed closest to the actual number of balls of wool in the giant jam jar would win the subscription. To make the window display more interesting, Grandma had persuaded (threatened?) one of her shop assistants to get into the jar with the wool. The poor woman was shoulder deep in yarn with only her head protruding. According to the poster, the competition would run until closing time. Hopefully, the young woman wouldn’t need the loo before then.

“Care to have a guess?” Grandma appeared in the doorway.

“I think I’ll pass. I don’t really have much need for the subscription.”

“You could give it to Annabel.”

That was a thought—Mrs V could certainly make the most of an Everlasting Wool subscription. “Okay, then. What do I do?”

“Come inside.”

Like a fly into a spider’s web.

Grandma gave me a pen and an entry form which I quickly completed. I had absolutely no idea how many balls of wool were in the jar, so I put down the first number that came into my head.

“That will be ten pounds.” Grandma held out her hand.

“What? I thought it was free to enter.”

“Didn’t you read the small print?”

“I didn’t see any.”

“Here.” She handed me a magnifying glass, and now I could see that what had looked like a few random dots on the bottom of the poster, actually read: ‘
Entry fee = £10 - no refunds’.

Jack Maxwell was waiting for me outside the coffee shop. Since our ‘date’, we’d taken to meeting on neutral ground.

“Shall we sit over there?” He pointed to a small alcove.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the bench seats? They look a little more padded.”

He looked confused for a few moments, but then the penny dropped, and he managed a smile. Since the ‘rigged-raffle date’, we’d been out together twice more. The first time, he’d tried to make me look an idiot at the bowling alley—although that hadn’t exactly worked out as he planned. The second time, I’d had my revenge at the ice rink where he’d spent most of the time on his backside, which is why I’d just offered him the padded seat. Neither of those outings had been what I’d call a date, although I’m sure Kathy and Mrs V would have said otherwise.

“I’m sorry about the skating thing,” I said when he brought our coffees to the table.

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” I laughed. “Just being polite.”

“I don’t have very long.” He checked his watch.

“You really know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

“Unlike you, I have work to do.”

Cheek! “I’ll have you know that I’m rushed off my feet.” The mystery of the squashed cupcakes wasn’t going to solve itself.

“What can I do for you?” He winced as the coffee burned his lips.

“I'm just keeping you posted as promised. I’m working on the murder at Tregar Court.”

“The ‘Lift of Death’?”

“Why are you using the Bugle’s headline?”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t, but it’s what everyone has started calling it. Who’s hired you?”

“A friend of the victim.”

“Friend? A woman?”

“Yes. They were just good friends apparently.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“When did you become so cynical?”

“I was born that way. Anyway, you know the drill. Don’t get in our way.”

“I’ll do my best. Is there anything you can tell me?”

“You know better than that.”

“What about the CCTV. Can I see it?”

“I don’t see why not. The management company at Tregar uses a security firm, Gravesend Security, to monitor the CCTV in their apartments. I can ask them to let you take a look at it. Another pair of eyes on it can’t do any harm. Goodness knows, I’ve watched it enough times, and there’s nothing to see.”

“Nothing? I thought he was murdered in the lift.”

“He was. He’d been stabbed when the lift reached the ground floor. The concierge saw him fall to the ground when the lift doors opened. But there’s no sign of him being stabbed on the CCTV.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Tell me about it.” Maxwell gave up on the coffee, which was hotter than Hades. “I have to get going.”

“Okay, thanks. Will you let Gravesend Security know I’ll be over later today?”

He gave me a thumbs up as he headed to the door.

Pearl phoned while I was on my way back to the office.

“Don’t forget it’s the baking competition tonight.”

I’d lost all track of the days. “Did Aunt Lucy decide to enter in the end?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. I thought you’d want to be there to support her.”

I did, but it had totally slipped my mind. “Okay, I’ll try to make it, but there’s something I have to do first.”

“Do your best. I know she’d love you to be there. You should see the cake she’s made. It’ll win easily.”

“Sounds great. Look, I have to run. Probably see you later.”

Gravesend Security was on a new industrial park, two miles west of Washbridge. If their own security was anything to go by, they should provide a good service to their clients. I didn’t think I was even going to get through the gates at first; Maxwell’s call hadn’t come through. I was on the verge of breaking open the spell book when the man in the control box confirmed authorisation had been received.

“We’ve already given the police a copy,” Tony said. In his late twenties, he had long hair and a nose which had been broken at least once. “How come you need to watch it here?”

The real reason was that Maxwell wouldn’t have wanted his people to know he had given me access.

“I was in the area, so it made sense to view it here.”

It didn’t, and Tony knew it, but he pulled the CCTV up on-screen anyway.

“That’s the fourth floor,” he said.

The illuminated panel on the left hand-side confirmed the floor number.

“What about the fifth? Doesn’t anyone live on the top floor?”

“Yeah, but the lift didn’t get called to the fifth. The first people to get on were on the fourth.”

The black and white images came from a camera which must have been mounted inside the lift, above the doors. A middle-aged couple entered and stood facing the doors. It began its descent, stopping again on the third floor where a man, who I recognised from press photos as the victim, entered the lift. The man didn’t appear to speak to, or even acknowledge the couple. He stood at the front, facing the doors.

It began to descend again—passing the second floor without stopping. On the first floor, a young woman entered the lift. She too, didn’t speak to, or acknowledge the other occupants. Apparently, neighbourhood spirit was alive and well in Tregar Court.

Once on the ground floor, the occupants vacated the lift.

“Is that it? I didn’t see anything happen.”

“Just a second.” Tony used the mouse to bring up another tape. “This is taken from the lobby.”

This second camera was situated on the ground floor. After a few seconds, the lift doors opened, and the victim, his chest stained with blood, fell face-first to the ground. The other occupants stepped over him into the lobby. The older woman appeared to be screaming. The younger woman was on her phone.

Afterwards, I was escorted out of the building by one of the secretaries. I could see why Maxwell hadn’t objected to my viewing the footage. There really was nothing to see. The other occupants of the lift had been standing right behind the victim who had died from stab wounds to the chest, and yet they had seen nothing. Nor had anything been picked up on CCTV. It made absolutely zero sense, unless he’d been stabbed before he got into the lift.

“You were lucky,” the secretary said.

“How do you mean?”

“Tony’s a bit of a creep. He used to have wandering hands; if you know what I mean?”

“Used to? Did he get a warning or something?”

“He got a girlfriend. Don’t ask me how. Someone told me she’s a real looker too. No accounting for taste.”

I used magic to transport myself to Candlefield. I wanted to make sure I was there in plenty of time for the baking competition. Pearl had told me to meet them at their place, above Cuppy C. I had my own room there where I kept a selection of clothes.

“Aunt Lucy and Grandma are going to meet us at the civic hall,” Amber said.

“Grandma? Is she coming? After all she said about Aunt Lucy’s baking?”

“She heard there’s a free bar.”

“She conned me out of ten pounds for a stupid competition—” I began.

“You won!” Amber said. “I almost forgot. Grandma said we had to tell you that you won the subscription. I didn’t even know you knitted.”

“I don’t. I won—really?”

“Yep.”

I was making a habit of winning competitions. Maybe I should start to do the lottery. But then, Kathy had rigged the raffle, and I wouldn’t have put it past Grandma to have done the same. But then why would she? It wasn’t like she’d do me any favours.

The baking competition was being held in the Washbridge Civic Hall. A grand title for a building which had seen better days. Stone steps with more filler than actual stone led to the outer hall, which was a fancy name for the waiting area.

Grandma and Aunt Lucy were already there when we arrived.

“Where’s the free drink?” Grandma said.

“Have patience, Mother.” Aunt Lucy’s sigh suggested it wasn’t the first time Grandma had asked that question. “It will be in the main hall.”

“When are they going to open the doors? A body could die of thirst out here.”

Aunt Lucy sighed again.

“Where’s your cake?” I asked.

“All of the competitors had to bring them earlier so they could be put on display before the main crowds arrived.”

“What’s the competition like?” Amber asked her mother.

“I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“The standard must be really low then, if you ask me,” Grandma said, as she checked her watch again.

“No one did ask you,” Aunt Lucy snapped.

The doors opened, and the crowd headed by Grandma, surged through to the main hall. Aunt Lucy led us to the section where the iced sponge cakes were to be judged while Grandma disappeared in search of the free bar.

“Oh no!” Amber screamed.

“No!” Pearl turned to her mother.

Aunt Lucy stared at what was left of her creation. The cake looked as if it had been hit with a mallet.

“Who would do that?” I said.

Aunt Lucy was so shocked, she couldn’t speak.

“What are you all looking so miserable about?” Grandma had what looked like a double whisky in her hand. “It looks like you could all do with a drink.”

“Look, Grandma.” Amber pointed to the remains of the cake.

“That monstrous looking thing is never going to win anything.” Grandma took a swig of whisky.

There were times when I could have gleefully strangled that woman.

“We may as well go home.” Aunt Lucy turned away.

“Hold your horses.” Grandma downed the rest of the whisky. “Don’t you want to stay and find out if you’ve won?”

Surely, no court in the land would convict me for murdering her.

Aunt Lucy began to walk towards the exit. The twins and I looked at each other, uncertain what to do.

“It’s a good thing I hid your cake this afternoon.” Grandma stooped down, lifted the tablecloth, and pulled out a magnificent iced sponge cake.

“How?” Amber stood open-mouthed.

Aunt Lucy turned around, and her face lit up.

“You lot are way too trusting,” Grandma said. “I know how these people operate, and what they are capable of doing, so I magicked up a look-alike and put it on display.”

“Thanks Mum.” Aunt Lucy gave Grandma a big hug.

I’d never heard Aunt Lucy call Grandma ‘Mum’ before, and I’d certainly never seen them embrace.

“Put me down, woman.” Grandma pulled away. “Don’t you want to know who did this?” She pointed a crooked finger at the mangled cake.

“How can we find out?”