Authors: Adele Abbott

Witch Is When It All Began (16 page)

I strolled into the office feeling on top of the world. Cairn and Peterson were behind bars, and word would soon spread about my involvement in their capture. Hopefully that would bring some new business my way.

And to top it off, although Jack Maxwell hated P.I.s for some unknown reason, he apparently had the hots for me. Who would have thought it? I still wasn't interested—I didn't date asshats—at least not intentionally.

“Good morning, Mrs V,” I beamed.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” she said, without looking up from her knitting.

I should have known it was too good to be true. “The good news?”

“The man came to repair the scratches on your desk.”

“And the bad news?”

“That psycho cat attacked him.”

“Where is he now?”

“In your office, but if I had my way he'd have been through that window.”

“Not Winky. The man. The desk repair man.”

“He left. He said he wasn't being paid enough to put up with a crazy, killer cat.”

Great!

Winky was curled up on my still-scratched desk—fast asleep.

“What
is
wrong with you?” I yelled.

He opened his one good eye. “Do you mind? I'm trying to sleep.”

“Oh? I'm
so
sorry. I didn't realise YOU WERE TRYING TO SLEEP!”

He jumped off the desk and scurried underneath. “What's your problem?”

“What's my problem? Hmm, well, let me see?
You're
my problem.”

“What did I do? What has the old bag been saying?”

“You chased the desk repair man away.”

“Desk repair man? How was I supposed to know that's who he was? I thought he was a thief. I was protecting your property. You should thank me.”

“Jill, there’s someone to see you.” Mrs V’s voice came through the intercom.

“Has the desk repair man come back?”

“Jill? Can you hear me? There’s a man here to see you.”

I was going to have to get a louder intercom—either that or knock a hole through the wall.

I walked through to the outer office.

“You need to get this stupid thing repaired.” Mrs V thumped the intercom. “There’s a man here to see you.”

“So I see.”

“I’m Dougal,” the man introduced himself.

“Jill Gooder.”

“Bugle.”

“Nice to meet you Dougal Bugle.”

He looked momentarily confused, but then smiled. “A joke?”

“Allegedly. What can I do for you?”

“We’d like to run an article on how you brought the ‘Animal’ serial killer to justice.”

“There was no serial killer. He was a figment of your paper’s imagination.”

“Could we maybe go into your office to discuss it?”

“Are you allergic to cats?”

“Cats?”

“Small, furry things with whiskers.”

“No, why?”

“No reason. Why not? Come on through.”

“Mr Bugle,” Mrs V called.

“That’s not actually my name.”

“Would you like a scarf?”

He gave me a confused look.

I shrugged. “Just take one. It’ll be easier in the long run.”

“Any particular colour?” Mrs V opened the cupboard doors.

“Blue?”

“Sky blue, navy blue, turquoise—?”

“That one looks nice.”

“There you go, then.” She wrapped the navy blue scarf around his neck.

“Does she do that with all your visitors?” he asked, as soon as we were in my office.

“Mrs V? Oh yes. She’s partial to a scarf.”

“My last name is Andrews by the way.”

“Not Bugle, then?”

“What happened to your desk?”

“
He
happened.” I pointed to Winky who was underneath the leather sofa.

“What happened to him?”

“He didn’t see eye to eye with someone.”

Dougal looked at me blankly. Some people just don’t get my sophisticated sense of humour. He went on to explain that he wanted to do an article on how I’d shown the local police force, and Jack Maxwell in particular, to be totally incompetent.

It was very tempting.

“I’m not interested in doing a hatchet job on the police.”

“But they’re incompetent. You have to know that.”

“I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“The public has a right to know.”

“If that’s the article you want to write, then you can count me out.”

“Okay no hatchet job, but I’d still like to do a piece on you. It will be good for business.”

I certainly needed the publicity; those bills weren’t going to pay themselves.

“I get to approve the article before publication?”

“Of course.”

“Do I have your word on that?”

“You have my solemn word.”

“Okay let’s do it.”

After the twins’ overnight stay, it had taken me several hours to get the living room and kitchen back into shape. There were cups and plates everywhere, and they’d managed to trail crumbs all across the carpet. Every surface seemed to be covered in greasy fingerprints.

The worst was still to come—now I had to tackle the spare bedroom. They’d only spent the night, but it looked like a hurricane had hit the room. I should have persuaded Kathy to let them stay at her place. She probably wouldn’t have even noticed the mess.

I stripped and remade the bed, dusted and polished every surface, and then vacuumed the carpet. I’d just about finished when I knocked the bedside cabinet with the vacuum cleaner. To my horror, the small glass angel figurine, which my adoptive mother had bought for me when I was eight, toppled off the cabinet and shattered as it hit the skirting board. Shards of glass were sprinkled all over the bedroom carpet.

I could still remember the day when she’d bought those figurines—one for Kathy and one for me. Kathy’s had lasted no more than a month. I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened to it; she was always breaking things. I crouched down and stared at the remains of the angel. I was on the brink of tears when I realised that all was not lost. I could use the ‘take it back’ spell to restore it. I loved magic!

I cast the spell, and lo and behold my treasured figurine was restored. I picked it up and gave it a gentle kiss.

“What the—?” Kathy screamed.

I spun around to find her standing, open-mouthed, in the bedroom doorway.

“Kathy. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What’s going on, Jill?”

How much had she seen? How long had she been standing there? She must have let herself in while I was vacuuming. I stood up, figurine still in hand. “I was just tidying up after the twins. They’re even more untidy than you.” I forced a weak laugh.

“It was broken.” She pointed at the figurine. “It was in pieces.”

“Don’t be silly. It had just fallen onto the carpet.”

“I’m not stupid, Jill. I know what I saw. One minute, it was in a thousand pieces, and the next—” She pointed to the figurine. “What’s going on? Tell me.”

I cast the ‘forget’ spell, put the figurine back on the bedside cabinet, and said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Kathy stared blankly at me for a moment. “You were vacuuming.”

“Is something up?”

“No. I just needed to escape from the kids for an hour.” She glanced down at the figurine, and for a horrible moment, I thought the spell might not have been strong enough. “Anyway, I wanted to hear how you went on with Jacky Boy.”

“He was his usual obnoxious self, what did you expect?”

“He must have been at least a little grateful for the way you cleared up those murders?”

“You’d have thought so wouldn’t you?”

“He wasn’t?”

“He basically told me to butt out of his investigations.”

“Maybe he’s just playing hard to get?”

“Or maybe he’s just an asshat.”

I ushered Kathy out of the bedroom, and away from the figurine. I didn’t want to run the risk of it jogging her memory. I was going to have to start putting the chain on the door, so Kathy couldn’t just walk in unannounced, or who knew what she might see.

We drank tea, Kathy moaned about Peter and the kids in a loving kind of way. I listened. She tried to persuade me that I should sign up for online dating. I told her to butt out of my love life—like I had one. After two hours, Peter rang to ask why it was taking her so long to buy a pint of milk. We hugged and she left.

I was really beginning to enjoy being a witch. Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say. My mother was right. I should spend more time in Candlefield where I’d have the freedom to be more open about who I really was. It’s not like my time there would affect my old life because time would stand still in Washbridge while I was away. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to work with the twins though—there was only so much stress I could handle. Perhaps, I could treat my time in Candlefield as a kind of break—a chance to recharge between cases. There was another advantage to being in Candlefield. I wouldn’t have to put up with Mrs V and Winky. Barry, I could handle.

My phone rang; it was Aunt Lucy.

“Hi, Jill. How are you?”

“Fine thanks. Look, if it’s about working in the tea room, I’m not sure it’s for me.”

“That’s not why I’m calling. Grandma asked me to speak to you, although why she can’t do it herself, I’ll never know.”

“Grandma?” This couldn’t be good.

“She thinks you should have some help to learn the spells.”

“It’s okay. I seem to be mastering them. You have enough on.”

“That’s just it. She doesn’t want me to help you; she plans to do it herself.”

Huh?

“Jill? Are you still there?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Did you hear what I said?”