Witch Is When It All Began (9 page)

“Good afternoon, madam.” The young woman with flamingo earrings, and an overdose of tan greeted me as soon as I walked through the door.

I’d known it was a small, independent concern, but I hadn’t realised just how small. In the main shop there were only two desks. At the rear was a glass-fronted office.

“Good afternoon,” I said.

“I’m Beth. Is there anything in particular I can help you with today?”

“Actually, Beth, I’m not here to book a holiday. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Caroline Fox.”

Beth’s smile evaporated. “Caroline?”

“My name is Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired to look into Caroline’s murder.”

“Poor Caroline.” The woman seemed visibly shaken. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Of course. Shall I get you a drink or something?”

“No, I’m okay. It’s all so horrible. I still can’t understand why anyone would do something like that. Caroline was such a lovely person.”

“Were you and she close friends?”

“Not friends exactly. We didn’t see each other outside of work, but we did get on really well. Everyone liked her.”

“Do you know Danny Peterson, her boyfriend?”

“No, not really. Poor man. How’s he taking it?”

“Pretty much as you’d expect. Did you know she was going to get engaged?”

“Engaged? Really? No, she hadn’t mentioned it.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

“Yeah, I suppose. She did tend to keep her personal life to herself, but I’d have expected her to tell me about that.”

“Had you noticed any change in her over the last few weeks?”

“Not really.”

“Nothing at all? Are you sure?”

“She had seemed much happier recently. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the engagement?”

“Maybe. Is there anything you can think of which might help me?”

“What kind of thing?”

“Anything. Did she mention any trouble or problems she was having? Had there been any disgruntled customers?”

“No, nothing like that. She might have said something to Graham.” Beth gestured to the man seated in the office. “He’s the manager. He and Caroline had a really good working relationship.”

“Thanks.” I handed her my card. “Please give me a call if you think of anything else.

Graham Tyler was in his early thirties.

“I don’t understand what you’re doing here exactly,” he said. “Who are you working for?”

“Caroline’s boyfriend, Danny Peterson. Do you know him?”

He hesitated for a moment too long. “Caroline may have mentioned him in passing, but that was some time ago.”

“They were about to get engaged.”

Tyler’s expression changed—he looked puzzled. “Engaged? Are you sure?”

“Danny showed me the ring.”

Tyler shrugged. I had the sense he was holding something back.

“She hadn’t mentioned the engagement to you?” I pressed.

“No. Why would she? We were just work colleagues.”

“Beth said you and Caroline had a good relationship.”

He glared out through the glass at Beth who was still dabbing her eyes. “Caroline and I had a good
business
relationship. She was a good employee—that’s all.”

“Did Caroline say or do anything in the days leading up to her death that was in any way out of the ordinary?”

“Nothing at all.” His voice faltered a little. “She seemed perfectly happy. “

“Okay. Well if you do think of anything else, please give me a call.”

One other person who might have been able to give me more background on Caroline was her flatmate, Josie Trent. She was a dancer who had been working on a cruise liner for the previous few months, and wasn’t due back in the country for several more weeks. She’d been somewhere off the coast of Barbados at the time Caroline was murdered. I’d tried a couple of times to contact her, but so far with no luck.

Josie was still on my ‘to-do’ list.

Chapter 13

It wasn’t difficult to track down Mrs Lyon’s sister, Janet Wesley. She lived alone in a flat on the north side of Washbridge.

“Yes?” She’d cracked open the door only as wide as the chain would allow.

“Mrs Wesley? I’m Jill Gooder. I spoke to your brother-in-law—”

“You’re the private investigator?”

I nodded. “I’m sorry to trouble you. I wondered if I might have a word?”

She was already undoing the chain. “Geoff told me that he’d spoken to you. Do come in. Ignore the mess.”

Janet Wesley was a woman after my own heart. Her idea of ‘a mess’ was an empty cup on the coffee table. Other than that, the flat was immaculately clean and tidy. Maybe she could give Kathy a few tips. I refused her offer of a drink, and got right down to business.

“Geoffrey told me that Pauline came to see you two days before she was murdered,” I said. “On the night she should have gone to her school reunion.”

“That’s right. Are you sure you won’t have a drink?”

“No, thanks. She told Geoffrey she wasn’t well enough to go to the reunion, and yet she still came over here to see you?”

“She wasn’t ill. She just told Geoff that.” Janet Wesley smiled—a sad smile. “Geoff is a darling. He loved my sister to bits, but he’s still a man.”

I nodded even though I wasn’t really sure what she was getting at.

“He wouldn’t have understood. He’d have thought she was being silly.”

“Understood what?”

“The real reason Pauline didn’t go to the reunion. She’d been looking forward to it for months, but then some idiot made a complete pig’s ear of her hair. She took a real pride in her appearance—especially her hair. She couldn’t bear the idea of anyone seeing her like that. If Geoff had known that was why Pauline didn’t want to go to the reunion, he’d have tried to persuade her to go anyway.”

“What exactly happened to her hair?”

“She told me that the hairdresser had been drunk or high on drugs. Her hair looked as though it had been attacked by a lawn mower. When she complained, the manager of the salon stepped in, but by then the damage had already been done. The manager told her that the only way to rescue her hair was to cut it really short. Pauline hated to wear her hair short; she didn’t think it suited her, but she had no other option. She was distraught when she came to see me.”

“Geoffrey didn’t mention anything about her hair when I spoke to him.”

“He wouldn’t. He thought her hair looked just fine short. Pauline would have looked beautiful to him even if she’d been bald.”

“Was there anything else bothering your sister prior to her death?”

“Nothing. Pauline was always happy. She honestly was.”

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?”

“No one. Everyone loved her. She was that kind of person.”

Janet Wesley spent the next hour sharing memories of her sister. Several times, she broke down and cried. There had obviously been a strong bond between the siblings just as there was between me and Kathy.

I was getting nowhere fast, and had next to nothing to go on. I had to find out what the police knew. The crime scene reports might throw more light on the murders, and there was always the possibility that the police had deliberately held back some information from the press. On a long shot, and with little expectation, I called Jack Maxwell who was his usual, charming self. He refused point blank to see me, and told me to stay out of his investigation.

Like
that
was going to happen.

I had some time before my appointment with Trisha Lamb’s brother, so I decided to go back to my flat and practise a few spells. I half expected to find my mother hovering about the place, but there was no sign of her. She was probably still exhausted from our session earlier. Much as I liked the idea of having her around, I was pleased to be able to practise spells without anyone looking over my shoulder. I’d never been a good pupil; I’d always found it easier to learn alone.

The spell that caught my eye was called ‘power’, which according to the description, would make me twenty times stronger than normal. The spell would only last for five minutes. I’d noticed a lot of the spells were only effective for a short period of time.

My biggest problem was the speed at which I was able to cast the spells. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be an issue, but if I was in imminent danger, I’d need to be much faster or I might end up on the wrong side of dead.

I put the book of spells onto the breakfast bar, and began to picture the images: dolphin, mountain stream, snowdrops, antelopes, storm clouds, and so the list went on.

It took me almost ninety seconds. Fat lot of good that would be if I was in a tight spot. Had it even worked? I didn’t feel any different. There was only one way to find out. I grabbed one leg of the sofa and lifted. It felt as light as a feather. With practically no effort, I hoisted it above my head.

“Wow!”

I needed something heavier to really test my strength. I opened the French doors, being careful not to break them, and walked out into the garden. After a quick check that there was no one at the windows on the upper floor, I grabbed hold of the ornamental bird bath. I’d bought it the previous summer, so I could sit and watch the birds drink and bathe—another reason why I didn’t want to bring Winky home. It was cast from concrete and weighed a ton. It had taken two burly men to carry it from their truck, and even they had struggled. I took a deep breath, bent my legs and—

“Wow!” It was so easy. I was holding it above my head, and yet it felt no heavier than a loaf of bread. Dare I take one hand away? Why not? I dropped one arm to my side, and held the bird bath with only one hand. This was fantastic—

“Oh bum!” I ducked to one side as the bird bath crashed to the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces. What an idiot. I’d totally forgotten the spell only lasted for five minutes. One moment it had felt as light as a feather, the next it had been like trying to balance an elephant on my hand. What a mess! It had cost a small fortune too.

Just a minute! I had an idea. After a quick check in the book to remind myself of the images I needed, I cast the ‘take it back’ spell. Seconds later, the bird bath had been restored to its former glory. I was beginning to like being a witch.

Talk about a kid in a sweet shop. Now I’d got over my self-doubt, I couldn’t wait to try out more spells. I decided the best approach would be to focus on memorising the spells that I’d already tested before I moved on to the others.

I was just beginning to think there was no one in, when the door cracked open.

“What?” The man sounded half asleep.

“Derek Cairn?”

“Who are you?”

“Jill Gooder. I called you yesterday. Remember?”

“Just a minute.” He closed the door in my face, and left me standing in the corridor. The block of flats was run-down and in urgent need of a coat of paint, and air fresheners.

I was about to knock again when the door opened.

“Come in.” He was wearing a crumpled, long sleeved tee-shirt and baggy tracksuit bottoms. “Sorry about the mess.”

Not as sorry as I was. The living room wasn’t fit for purpose—nothing could have survived there. There were half eaten takeaways, still in their boxes, on every surface. Beer cans and wine bottles, most of them empty, littered the floor. I’d thought Mrs V’s obsession with collecting yarn was bad enough, but this guy seemed to collect scissors. They were all over the place. Not at all freaky.

“Grab a seat,” he said, as he sat back on what, underneath all the debris, was probably a sofa.

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“You a private eye?”

“Investigator.” I hated the label ‘private eye’. “Harry Lamb tells me that your sister visited you regularly.”

“I don’t know why she married that ass. She could have done much better for herself. I told her so.”

The smell of alcohol in the room was overpowering. On a shelf on the far wall was a framed photograph, which I recognised as Trisha Lamb. She was arm in arm with a handsome young man—both of them smiling. Happier days. Next to the photograph were two small trophies. If this room was anything to go by, they hadn’t been awarded by ‘Homes and Gardens’.

“How did she seem the last time you saw her?” I said.

“She was upset because she didn’t know how he’d take it.”

“How
who
would take
what
?”

“Harry, who do you think? She was going to tell him it was over between them. Took her long enough.” His words were slurred. I couldn’t be sure if he was upset at talking about his sister or if it was the alcohol taking its toll.

“Are you sure that’s what she was going to do?”

“Course I’m sure. She was my sister. My big sister. We told each other everything.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that your sister was murdered by her husband?”

“Who else?”

“The Bugle seems to think there may be a serial killer at large, and that your sister was killed because of her name.”

“Trisha?”

“No, her surname—Lamb. There have been two other murders where the victims have had an ‘animal’ surname: Lyon and Fox. They’re calling him the ‘Animal’.”

“I don’t read the news. I still think Harry did it. He wants locking up or better still, stringing up.”

Even as he was talking to me, I could see Cairn’s eyelids starting to close. Maybe he was on something stronger than just alcohol.

Back outside, I sucked in the fresh air. After that experience, I’d need to fumigate my clothes. I prided myself on being a good judge of character, and I’d pegged Harry Lamb as a loving husband. Could I have got it wrong? If there was even a hint of truth in what Derek Cairn had said, I might have to take another look at Mr Lamb.