Witch Is When Life Got Complicated (10 page)

Chapter 16

Ever had a recurring nightmare? Welcome to my world. Having to sit through that awful play once was bad enough, but a second time? Torture—there was no other word for it. I’d tried to persuade Peter that he should take my ticket, and I’d stay in and look after the kids, but he wasn’t having it.

“Don’t you think it’s a little disrespectful of them to continue with the run?” I moaned.

Kathy shrugged. “The committee took a vote, and decided it was what Bruce and Scott would have wanted. The show must go on and all that.”

“Have you met Brian Hargreaves?” I said.

“Can’t say I have.”

“He has a nervous tick.”

“What kind of tick?”

“It’s hard to describe, but you can't miss it.”

“Poor man.”

Milly Brown’s understudy had stepped into the leading lady’s role. Understandably, Milly hadn’t felt as though she could continue in the part.

There was an air of nervous anticipation in the theatre. Hushed voices speculated on Brian Hargreaves’ debut. I checked the back row only to find there was an empty seat where Jack Maxwell had been for the original performance. That reminded me.

“When do they announce the winner of the raffle from hell?”

“Not long now. I bet you can’t wait for your date with Jack.”

“The last thing I need right now is a date with Jack Maxwell. I’d rather have a night out with a shudder of clowns.”

“A shudder?”

“An alley of clowns, then.”

“You’re making these up.”

“A
lot
of clowns, then. Is that better?”

“Why do you keep up the pretence of not liking Maxwell? We all know you’d like to go up the—”

“If you mention hills or buckets again, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Change the subject.”

Kathy pouted. “Okay, if I can’t talk about your love life, how about we discuss when you’re going to take me to meet your family?”

Out of the frying pan— “You’ve already met them.”

“Only the twins. I want to meet your aunt Lucy and Grandma.”

“You don’t want to meet Grandma, trust me.”

“Of course I do.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“When?”

Saved by the curtain.

Brian Hargreaves was a revelation. There was no sign of his nervous twitch, and the man could act—I mean
really
act. He brought the part to life in a way Bruce Digby had failed to do. The tension was palpable when they reached the knife scene. To everyone’s relief—particularly Brian’s—there were no fatalities this time.

When the final curtain fell, the audience stood as one, and gave the cast—especially Brian Hargreaves—a standing ovation.

Kathy grabbed my arm as I was about to make my way to the exit.

“We have to go backstage.”

“Why?” There was a packet of custard creams with my name on it waiting for me back home.

“We have to congratulate Brian. He was amazing.”

Zero to hero—that was Brian Hargreaves. Backstage, he was basking in his new found glory. The dressing room, which was the size of a small broom closet, was full of flowers, cards and good luck charms. Brian had even put up a few of his old posters on the wall. While I waited for Kathy to fight her way through to the pocket-sized hero, I studied them, and recognised the photos on one. It was Brian, Bruce and Fiona—from their university days. One headline in particular on the poster caught my eye.

“Okay, we can go now,” Kathy said, once she’d made her way back through the crowd.

“Hold on a minute,” I said. “I need a quick word with Brian.”

Kathy looked suitably confused at my sudden change of heart.

“Great performance, Brian,” I said.

“Thanks?” I could tell by his expression that he couldn’t remember where he knew me from.

“Jill Gooder. I came to see you about Harrison.”

“The private investigator. I remember.”

“You were really good tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you by any chance have a spare copy of the script?”

“There should be one around here somewhere.” He glanced around. “There look, on the cupboard. Would you like me to sign it for you?”

“Sign it? Sure, why not? Thanks.”

“A star is born,” I said when I rejoined Kathy.

“What have you got there?”

“A copy of the script.”

“What do you need that for?”

“I’m thinking of joining WADs.”

“You?” She laughed. “On stage?”

“I was in the school play.”

“It was a pantomime, and you were the back end of a cow.”

“I was the front end.”

“I stand corrected. Clearly RADA will be beating a path to your door.”

I flicked slowly through the book of spells. It was gratifying to note how many of them I’d already mastered. I’d almost reached the back of the book when I spotted it—‘speed read’. The script was almost a hundred pages long, and it would have taken me all night to check it all with a conventional read through. The spell worked a treat, and ten minutes later I’d completed my check and was headed to bed. I’d confirmed my suspicions—now all I had to do was to get my hands on the suicide note.

I was just about to switch off the bedroom light when my mother’s ghost appeared.

“You made me jump!” I screamed.

“Sorry, Jill, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I’ve just been doing some thinking.”

That type of sentence never ended well.

“When I marry Alberto, he’ll be your step father.”

“I guess so.”

“It’s time you knew about your birth father.”

“When did he die?”

She looked surprised by the question. “What makes you think he’s dead?”

“At the funeral—your funeral—I asked Aunt Lucy.” My mind drifted back to that rainy day; it felt like another lifetime ago. What had Aunt Lucy actually said? I tried to remember. And then it dawned on me—she hadn’t actually said anything. When I’d asked about my father, she’d shaken her head. I’d assumed—. “Isn’t he dead?”

“I don’t know. No one knows. He walked out shortly after I told him I was expecting you, and I haven’t seen or heard from him since. For all I know, he could be dead.”

“Why did he leave?”

“Your father was a super sup, but he became involved with some very black magic. I tried to stop him, but it became an obsession. The police had started to take an interest when he disappeared.”

I simply hadn’t seen this coming. After the shock of finding my birth mother, and the revelation that I was a witch, I hadn’t given any thought to my father—especially since I’d assumed he was dead.

“What about your wedding?” I asked.

“What about it?”

“If my father is alive, can you still go through with the wedding?”

She laughed. “Of course. My marriage to your father was annulled years ago. I only came here tonight to set the record straight. Now you know the truth, you can look for your father, if that’s what you want to do. Personally, I’d recommend letting sleeping skunks lie, but that isn’t my decision to make. If anyone can trace him, you can. That’s what you do for a living after all.”

I lay awake long after my mother had left. Would I try to trace my father? Did I really want to track down someone who had walked out on me before I was born? Those were decisions for another day.

“Detective Maxwell.” I’d caught him on his way into the police station.

“Oh, it’s you.” He was trying
so
hard to hide his love for me. “What do you want?”

“What makes you think I want anything? I was passing by and thought I’d say ‘hello’.”

“Hello. Now, what do you want?”

Am I so transparent? “Could I get a look at Harrison Scott’s suicide note?”

“Let me think about that for a moment.” He put a finger to his chin. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Well let’s see. Firstly
because,
secondly
because
, and last but not least,
because
.”

“What harm would it do?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re just another member of the public. I’m not in the habit of showing evidence to the general public. And besides, in case it has escaped your notice, this case is now closed.”

“So you’ll think about it then?”

“I’ve thought about it, and the answer is ‘no’. If there’s nothing else, I have work to do.”

“Thanks for your help,” I shouted, but he’d already disappeared into the building.

No one could say I hadn’t tried to follow procedure, but look where it had got me. The last time I’d needed information from inside the police station had been during the ‘Animal’ case. On that occasion, I’d used the ‘invisible’ spell, but I’d nearly been caught out by the spell’s time limit. I’d spent several very scary minutes hiding beneath a desk staring at Jack Maxwell’s Tweety Pie socks. I didn’t want to risk a rerun of that situation.

The spell was called ‘doppelgänger’. It was a little unnerving and I would only have one chance to get it right. There were two officers on duty at the front desk. One of them was already busy with a group of three very loud men.

“How can I help you madam?” the young officer said, with absolutely no conviction whatsoever.

“Good morning.” I flashed my best smile, and then cast the ‘doppelgänger’ spell.

“I’d like you to go to the evidence room, pull out the suicide note from the Harrison Scott case, photocopy it, and bring the copy to me. Do you understand?”

With glazed eyes, the police officer nodded. “Yes Sir.”

Bingo! That had worked as well as I could have hoped. The spell had caused the police officer to see Jack Maxwell standing in front of him.

The other officer had finished with the three men and was now looking over at me.

“Are you being attended to?”

“Yes, thanks.”

This wasn’t good. If my officer came back and began to address me as Detective Maxwell, I was in big trouble. I’d never known the front desk so quiet. Where were all the villains when you needed them? I heard footsteps, and saw the door handle turn. As soon as the officer called me Detective Maxwell, the game would be up.

“Someone’s nicked my car!” someone behind me shouted.

Thank goodness for car thieves. The other officer forgot all about me, as he tried to calm down the man whose car had been stolen. I thanked my officer for delivering the photocopy of the suicide note, and then got out of there as fast as I could, reversing the spell as I walked out of the door.

Mrs V was all smiles when I walked into the office. “Did you see it?”

I scanned my brain. What was I supposed to have seen? I drew a blank. “See it?”

“Don’t tell me you missed it?”

“I might have.”

“The arts and crafts show? I told you when it was on.”

“I forgot. I’m sorry. How was it?”

“Really good, but there was a little too much of that presenter, and not enough of me and the trophy.”

“And not enough cat,” Winky shouted.

“Not to worry.” Mrs V beamed. “It’s repeated tomorrow night.”

“Oh good.”

“She’s changed the cat food,” Winky said, as soon as I walked into my office. “She’s started buying own-brand rubbish. I can’t be expected to eat that. Will you have a word?”

“Yes, in a minute, but first I need you to be quiet while I take a look at this.”

I began to study the suicide note.

Chapter 17

“Do you know what time it is?” Kathy sounded half-asleep, but then it was four-thirty in the morning. I’d already been up for half an hour.

“Did you ask Fiona Digby about the carpet cleaner?” I said.

“You rang me at stupid o’clock to ask me about the carpet cleaner?”

Before I could answer, I heard another muffled voice, which I took to be Peter.

“It’s Jill,” Kathy said.

The muffled voice said something else that I couldn’t make out.

“Pete says go to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Kathy! Wait! This is important.”

“Goodnight, Jill.”

The line was dead. My finger hovered over the ‘Last Number’ button, but if I knew Kathy, she’d have already switched off her phone. If I could only remember the name on the carpet cleaner’s van. I’d even checked the book of spells to see if there was one that might help me to remember, but I’d drawn a blank. Oh well, if magic couldn’t help, I’d have to revert to old-school methods. There were five pages full of carpet cleaners in the Yellow Pages: a few large display ads, and dozens of small listings. I had hoped I’d recognise the name as soon as I saw it, but I went through the listings twice, and nothing rang a bell. I threw the directory onto the floor, got dressed, and prepared to make myself even more unpopular.

Kathy’s hair was a disaster even for bed-hair. She had one eye open—barely, and was wearing what looked like a pair of Peter’s pyjamas.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she slurred, as she hung onto the door.

“Are you going to let me in?”

“No. Go home.”

I wedged my foot in the doorway to prevent her shutting the door.

“It’s the middle of the night,” she complained.

“It’s five-thirty.”

“Yeah. Middle of the night.”

“It’s important, Kathy.”

She breathed a sigh of resignation. “You can make me a coffee,” she said in a whisper. “And don’t make a noise because if you wake the kids, I
will
kill you.”

By the time she was half-way down her coffee, she’d begun to take on the appearance of a human being—if you ignored the hair.

“Did you get the name of the carpet cleaner from Fiona Digby?” I asked.

“Seriously? That’s why you dragged me out of bed at this hour?”

“It’s really important. Life or death.” Okay, maybe a little melodramatic.

“What did you spill?” she said.

“I haven’t spilled anything. I just need the name of the carpet cleaner.”

“You’re getting seriously weird, Jill. I mean even weirder than you used to be. It’s ever since you found that new family. What’s going on?”

“I just need the name of the carpet cleaner.”

“I don’t have it. I didn’t need to call in the professionals. I cleaned the carpet myself. Besides, it would have cost a fortune.”

Foiled again. I cringed as Kathy took a custard cream out of the biscuit tin, and dunked it in her coffee.

“Will you call Fiona Digby anyway?”

“What for?”

“Tell her you need a carpet cleaner, and ask if she can recommend one.”

“But I don’t need one.”

“I know.”

“It’s too early for this. My head’s spinning. You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.”

For the next fifteen minutes, I gave Kathy the low-down, and when I’d finished, she agreed to make the call.

“Morning.” Peter looked and sounded like a grizzly bear.

“Sorry if I woke you.” I gave him my best smile.

“This had better be important.”

“Life and death,” I assured him.

“Jill needs the name of a good carpet cleaner,” Kathy added helpfully.

It was rare for me to be in the office before Mrs V. She usually arrived a little after seven even though I’d told her a thousand times that it wasn’t necessary to come in so early. As I crossed the road to my office block, I could see the lights burning in the outer office. Surely she hadn’t come in even earlier.

It took me several seconds to register exactly what I was seeing. There was an empty wine bottle on the floor. Mrs V was face down on the desk—fast asleep. Had she been there all night? It certainly looked that way. And what had she done to her hair?

“Mrs V!” I nudged her shoulder.

A groan but no other sign of life.

“Mrs V!” I nudged again—a little harder this time. “Wake up!”

She stirred and sat bolt upright.

“Grandma?” I screamed.

“Jill?”

“Grandma?”

“Why do you keep saying that?” She rubbed her head. “And why did you wake me up?”

“Where’s Mrs V?”

Grandma put her head back down on the desk and held out her hand. It was difficult to be sure, but I assumed her crooked finger was pointing at my office.

“This isn’t acceptable!” Winky fired at me, as soon as I walked through the door. “She’s a disgrace!”

I was too stunned to reply.

“Jill!” Mrs V opened one eye and then closed it again. She was flat out on the leather sofa. On the floor beside her were another empty wine bottle and two glasses.

“What are you going to do about it?” Winky sprang onto my desk. “You should sack her sorry backside.”

“What happened here?”

“Some ugly woman, with a boil on her nose, turned up last night.”

Harsh but true. I let him continue.

“I think she was looking for you. Anyway, I heard them cackling on about knitting and such, and the next thing I knew, they went out together. Good riddance I thought, but then they turned up again in the middle of the night, smashed off their faces. They were singing—if you could call it that—and dancing. I almost got skewered on a high heel. Then, about two o’clock, they both passed out.”

Kathy called me a little after nine. I still wasn’t her favourite person, but she’d come through with the carpet cleaners’ name. I didn’t feel too guilty at having disturbed her sleep—I figured she owed me after dragging me to the theatre and the circus.

Mrs V and Grandma were still out for the count, and looked as though they would be for some time. Winky was driving me insane with his self-righteous complaining. He sensed an opportunity to get rid of his nemesis, and he wasn’t going to let it pass. I didn’t want to be around when the lush sisters woke up. Grandma was bad enough at the best of times. I couldn’t imagine what she’d be like with a hangover. And besides, if I had to listen to one more minute of Winky’s moaning, I’d throw him out of the window.

It took all of my charm. What? I can be charming when I want to be. Anyway, it took every ounce of it to persuade the man behind the counter at the carpet cleaners to check which of their operatives had attended the Fiona Digby call-out. From there, I soon caught up with the operator in question. Another dose of charm later and I had the information I needed.

Fiona Digby did not want to know. I buzzed her from the gate, but she refused to let me in. “I’ve nothing more to say on the matter,” she said, and then cut me off. I buzzed a dozen more times, but she continued to ignore me.

I’d memorised, but hadn’t yet tried to use the ‘levitate’ spell. The wall was easily ten feet tall, and I’d never been any good at climbing. As a kid, Kathy had scaled trees with little or no effort. I’d been too scared and way too clumsy. She’d goaded me from high in the branches. Even if I had been able to climb, I didn’t like the look of the razor wire on top of the walls and gates that surrounded Fiona Digby’s house. Levitation it was then.

I walked to the rear of the property where it was more secluded. After making sure there was no one around, I cast the spell. It felt weird—really weird, as I began to rise off the ground. I’d asked Aunt Lucy if I was able to fly now that I was a witch. Much to my disappointment, it turned out that only the most experienced witches like Grandma could fly, and even then only under very special circumstances. The ‘levitation’ spell was the closest thing I had to flying. It was a painfully slow process, but eventually I was above the wall. Horizontal movement was much more difficult, and it took all of my concentration to propel myself forward and clear of the wall. Now all I had to do was to lower myself down slowly—

Ouch! I hit the ground with a thud, knocking the wind out of me. My knees and elbows were scuffed, but nothing appeared to be broken. I was such an idiot! The spell offered two ways to descend: The slow, steady one—similar to the way I’d levitated, and the fast, instant one. Guess who’d used the wrong one? If Grandma ever found out, I’d be in detention for a week.

I made my way to the house, and peered through the French windows. There was no sign of Fiona Digby. Keeping close to the wall, I edged my way to the next window. The kitchen was also empty.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fiona Digby appeared at the side of the house. “Get off my property before I call the police!”

“Be my guest. You can tell them how you arranged your husband’s murder.”

Her face was suddenly red with rage. “Get out! Get out of here now!”

“Did you actually love Harrison or were you just using him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You aren’t going to deny you had an affair with Harrison Scott, are you? I have witnesses.”

“It was hardly an affair. Just a silly fling. And who could blame me?”

“Maybe not for having an affair, but murder and conspiracy to murder, that’s a whole different ball game.”

“You’re insane!” She spat the words. “Harrison Scott swapped the knife that killed my husband, and then killed himself because of the guilt.”

“That’s certainly what you’d like people to think, but it isn’t what actually happened is it, Mrs Digby? You killed Harrison Scott.”

“Now I know you’re crazy. How am I meant to have killed him? He was a mountain of a man. Do you really think I could have thrown him off the cliff? And what about the suicide note?”

“When you told me about your time at university, you conveniently forgot to mention one of your skills.”

For the first time, I thought I saw apprehension register on her face.

I continued. “I’ve seen one of the posters from back then. You were billed as a hypnotist. That’s how you got Harrison to write the suicide note and to walk off the cliff edge.”

“That’s nonsense. You can’t prove any of that.”

“Actually I can.” I fished the photocopy of the suicide note out of my pocket. “Harrison wrote this—it’s in his handwriting, but you dictated it. I’ve had to suffer his play twice now, and I’ve read his script. He didn’t appear to know the word ‘only’ existed. He always used the word ‘just.’ Not once in a one hundred page script did he ever use the word ‘only’ and yet here,” I tapped the note. “Here, in this short note, he uses that word twice.”

“That proves nothing.” She was trying her best to appear calm, but her voice was wavering.

“By itself, maybe not. But then there’s the red clay. When I was here before, you had the carpet cleaners in. I’ve checked with them, and they confirm that you called them in to remove the red stains from your carpet. It was raining on the day you met Harrison at Moston, so the red path would have coated your feet and the dog’s paws.”

“All speculation. You can’t prove a thing.”

“The CCTV says otherwise. It has you arriving in the car park shortly after Harrison, and then leaving shortly after the time of his death,” I lied. It was a gamble, but I had to try.

Fiona Digby broke down in tears. “I loved that man more than life itself. All he ever did was cheat on me. I couldn’t bear it any longer.”

“Bruce?”

“Of course, Bruce. Do you think I could love someone like Harrison Scott? The man made my skin crawl.”

“But you used him anyway?”

“He didn’t need much persuading to swap the daggers. He hated Bruce with a passion.”

“Why kill Scott?”

“He thought that once Bruce was dead, I’d want to be with him. I told him it was over but he wouldn’t accept it. He threatened to go to the police unless I agreed to stay with him. I could never live with a man like that. He had a manky toe.”